Chapter 22: Through the Land of the Carajás

THE Carajá tribe of Indians lives in a little-explored region, about a thousand miles from the coast of Brazil.
In order to reach it from Rio de Janeiro, until a better route is found, a journey is involved of four days’ continuous railway travel, followed by about three weeks on horseback, and then several weeks down the Araguaya in a primitive canoe. This river traverses a part of Brazil where there are no white people, no guarantee whatever, nor the slightest traces of civilization. There the Redskins reign supreme. They acknowledge as yet no other law than their own crude traditions, and they live in just the same way as their forefathers lived five hundred years ago, when Brazil was undiscovered.
The customs and culture of the Carajás are about as rudimentary as those of any people on earth. Their only weapons are bows and arrows, clubs, and stone instruments, with which they are equally skillful in war, the chase, and in obtaining the fish which forms their chief diet. Almost their only utensils are calabashes and shells. They use no clothing whatever, but paint their bodies with bright colors, and are perfectly unashamed. A healthy, dignified, and most interesting people, in the lovely setting of the great Araguaya River they form a very picturesque and romantic panorama; on the oilier hand, they live like wild animals, and their only gel seems to be their stomach. They are largely free from the immorality and from the gross and cruel ideas of the so-called savage races. They are without the ban of caste, the curse of idolatry, and the deadening influence of a counterfeit Christianity, and are not image-worshippers as are so many Brazilians; but they are naturally superstitious, and they possess vague ideas of evil spirits of the forests that shut them in. They appear to have no words in their dialect which convey any of the great master-ideas of the Gospel.
Leaving Maceio on the 27th of April, 1919, accompanied by my faithful ex-sailor colporteur, Antao Pessoa, and traveling via Rio, Sao Paulo, and Goyaz, I reached the banks of the Araguaya on the night of 7th June, nearly a month having been occupied by the overland journey on horseback. We now had before us the prospect of a long and venturous journey of some two thousand miles by canoe down to the ocean at Para. Our food supplies for the voyage were ample and ready, but ten days had to be spent ere I could obtain a canoe large enough and strong enough for such an undertaking. These days were not wasted, however, as every evening at sundown Antao and I took our stand on the steps of the little Catholic chapel of the village of S. Leopoldina and held well-attended Gospel services, distributing Testaments among the inhabitants. It is the only book many of them now possess.
Meanwhile I succeeded in engaging a young half-caste, named Tiago, to take an oar for half the distance down the river, with Antao as a good second, and decided to pilot the boat myself. On loading up we found the canoe leaked so badly that we had to lose another day while we plugged up the worst holes with resin, fat, and cotton wool.
We finally launched out on the 17th June, and two days later we reached the first Carajá village, where we spent a happy night among my Redskin friends. I found them as admirable and lovable as ever, and just as primitive and rudimentarily picturesque in their manner of living and their general attitude to the little world they know, which does not extend far beyond the margins of the Araguaya. Of course, they knew nothing about the Great War, which was quite a relief to me; nor did I attempt to explain so complicated a matter to them. They scarcely know such a place as Brazil exists, or that there can be anything else in existence much greater or finer than their simple palm-leaf huts, feather plumes, and headdresses, and their variegated clothes of red and black paint. My visit was honored by a special wild-beast dance. All seemed glad to see me again and to receive the little gifts of beads and mirrors I handed round.
Descending the river with a swift current in our favor, we made good time; and on Sunday afternoon I preached under a spreading tamarind tree in S. Jose, the last little outpost of the Pale-faces in that region, which is visited by a Catholic friar every two or three years. It proved an impressive meeting; and again I was able to leave behind quite a number of Testaments, with their immense power for light and blessing, especially in the dark places of the earth. One man earnestly declared that he would teach himself to read in order to learn the contents.

Continuing our journey we soon came across several other Indian villages, and three days later w,: reached the famous Bananal Island, the largest fluvial island in the world, 250 miles in length and obit inhabited by Indians. We took the western channel, reaching the northern end of the island two weeks later.
The Araguaya, as large as the Ganges, is the most lovely river in Brazil, and one of the least known. Its silvery shores, limpid waters, splendid forests, and unrivalled fauna once seen can never be forgotten; yet withal, in the course of the first thousand miles, I met only one white man’s canoe.
We had not traveled many days before Tiago developed an extraordinary fear of the Indians, and feigned sickness as an excuse for deserting us, as he did two days later. This fear and distrust of the Indians is rather common with some Brazilians, and may be the outcome of an evil conscience, remembering the fate these Redskins have received at their hands in the past. We were thus very shorthanded; so I sought to improvise a mast and sail, to take advantage of the southerly breeze. Knowing nothing of the technique of the thing, it was a long time before our experiments began to succeed. At this point the river was a mile wide, and we were about mid-stream when, quite suddenly and without warning, a hurricane of wind and rain burst over us, just when we could not lower our crude sail without peril. Tiago was feigning sickness under my tolda, and Antao was holding up the extemporized mast, while I governed the sail with one hand and grasped the tiller with the other. We tore before the storm and current at an alarming speed, the water curling over the bows; and the situation became exciting. It was impossible to pull up at that place, with it, high banks or fringing forests.
Antao’s strength was giving out under the strain, and the canoe was filling with water; so at last we had to compel the “sick” man to get up and bail the boat. Not long after I sighted a sheltered cove Anil beach, and to our inexpressible thankfulness I was able to make it just in time.
I visited many Indian villages, sleeping in several; and I encountered very little difficulty in my dealings with the inhabitants. Living in so very isolated a region, far from the white man’s sphere, and far from his laws and ideas — and vices, too — they are the real owners and rulers of the shores of the Araguaya, and can do what they please with those who may venture through their country. Yet they do not abuse their power; and, with rare exceptions, I have ever found them to be a noble, honorable, and trustworthy race. They are a very dignified people, well built, and with little that is abnormal about them. I saw no sign of skin disease, even though their diet is almost exclusively of fish without salt. The young men keep strong and muscular by constant bouts of wrestling — their favorite sport, in which they excel. Their women and children are quiet and modest, and the latter are especially attractive. There is no polygamy. The women have a voice and influence in most Carajá, affairs. Though no clothing is used except the small fiber tanga of the women, they atone for this by painting their bodies a bright red, picked out with some elaborate designs in a black stain made from the genipápa fruit.
In dealing with these people one requires to exercise constant care and restraint — and a world of at fence too. No familiarity should be permitted, fur must fear ever be shown, however concerned one may feel.
On one occasion while exploring the lower reaches Araguaya tributary in search of a reported tribe who are enemies of the Carajás, and with whom they are at constant warfare, I was alarmed to discover that we were being hotly pursued by four Indian dug-outs with fourteen huge naked savages on board, all in full war paint.
On overtaking us they at once boarded our leaky boat en masse, almost to sinking point. Taking the helm from my hands and the oars from my two men, our boat was at their mercy.
I had to pretend, however, to be highly amused, and to enjoy the situation. Then I ordered Antao to cut up some raw sugar-bricks among them. I handed out some fish-hooks, too, and in a very short time we were the best of friends, though it was many hours before I was master of my own canoe again.
Two of these Indians I eventually took on with me for several hundred miles, and capital fellows they proved. Our larder improved, too, for these Indians are experts in fishing with the bow and arrow; and we also had a fair supply of turtle, wild fowl, and venison.
On the occasion just referred to, while we were being paddled back to the Araguaya at a tremendous speed, with but two inches of freeboard, I succeeded, not without difficulty, in persuading the accompanying Indians — now swollen to about twelve canoes with some sixty occupants, besides the eight on board — to show me one of their jealously-hidden cemeteries, whose proximity I suspected. After some debate the request of the friendly Tauri (Paleface) was conceded; and a little later, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, the Redskins swung my canoe through the overhanging brushwood and branches of the fringing forest in a way that nearly swept my sun-shelter overboard. Just where the boat touched land there appeared a faint path, absolutely hidden from the view of the casual traveler, and disappearing away into the forest. Accompanied by a big group of Redskins as guides, we wended a zigzag way through the thick forest, finally emerging at a small clearing covered with high earthen mounds. Here lay the remains of generations of bygone warriors, with here and there the usual open earthen pans containing their bleached bones and skulls — where time had not already reduced them to powder, to be scattered far and near by the strong winds of the Araguaya. The spot was impressively solemn to me as I thought of the unknown history of this race, who hunted and fished and died on the banks of this great river before South America was heard of, and whose descendants still live the same primitive, savage life their fathers led within sight of these ashes. Feeling deeply moved by these reflections, I remained rooted to the spot for some time, my companions gazing at me in surprise. Then, raising my hand and speaking in Portuguese, which a few of the Indians might understand a little, I addressed a prayer to Almighty God for these lost sheep without a Shepherd, and prayed for the day when the Gospel tidings would be made known to them also. The Indians seemed awestruck. It was their first Conception of prayer; prayer addressed to an unseen God, and in which they heard their own tribal name and country mentioned. Then we made our way back to the canoe.
The Carajás are of a happy disposition, and having a keen sense of humor are easily provoked to mirth. Their wild, savage songs have a real charm and fascination about them. Stretched out over the soft, clean, sandy shore, round their camp fires, they sang by the hour; and when I essayed to return the compliment they would mimic my style in a childlike fashion or ripple with laughter. About their greatest conception of happiness appears to be the chance of a share of the white man’s pot, or to obtain a raw sugar-brick or a small mirror for their very own. But one scents dissatisfaction in all their joys.
As stated, they live entirely on fish, which is very plentiful and varied. Some of these are dangerous, like the dreaded carnivorous piranha, attacking you in the water, as happened to me once during the voyage; but I managed to get out before they got much out of me. Considering how many piranha I fried with farinha I think we can cry quits I found that the best bait for these creatures was a bit of my red shirt, and we rarely had to wait more than four seconds for a bite. It was rather rough on my shirt-tail, but would have been rougher still if I had fallen in on such occasions! A less interesting fish is the stingray, which a few weeks later gave me while swimming, a most painful and dangerous wound, taking two months to heal. We were often plagued by mosquitoes, and haunted by alligators at night. Truly, there is no earthly Paradise yet! Here one must ever take the bitter with the sweet.
I saw no evidence of idol worship among the Carajás, but they have a strong belief in the spirit world, and have a trace of fetishism about them. They make a great mourning for their dead, which may go on for many months, day and night, even though only for a baby. A long, drawn-out, sad and hopeless dirge it sounds, though limited to one or two members of the family — generally the old women; but the rest of them may have their long black hair cropped and be painted all black for season (Note the savage origin of crape).
Firearms, if carried, should never be seen; it makes the Indians suspicious; and even a camera must be used with great care and some strategy. I used to set up my camera, and, looking at the screen under the hood, evince a great interest in what I saw. This would excite curiosity, and they must have a peep, too. This was just what I wanted, and I humored them by posing in front of the camera. When they had finally caught on, and had had a good look, I would indicate that I wanted a turn at looking too, and that they must now pose for me. Then quickly slipping in a dark slide I sometimes managed to get a good picture.
The only occasion when I had any real difficulty was, strange to say, in the same village, in which I had trouble eight years before. The old chief of those days was dead — they had pointed me out his grave in the cemetery I had just visited — but this successor evidently had inherited his predecessor’s failings. On approaching this village the chief ordered my heavy canoe to be pulled up high and dry — rather a serious lookout it seemed.
Knowing I was quite at his mercy — as we could not launch it alone — the sly Indian began to make exorbitant demands for one thing or another for himself and his numerous relatives — knives, axes, mirrors, beads, hooks, cloth — a wholesale order. I bowed in a noncommittal way, for I was out of most of these things and wanted time to reflect. Then I suggested a visit to his palm-leaf residence, and squatting down on the reed mat I glanced round. On the floor lay a large Indian bow of a most uninteresting and commonplace type; but expressing great interest in the same, I asked if he would dispose of it. His Indian’s love of a bargain rose to the bait, and forgetting all his previous demands he eagerly inquired what I had to give him in exchange. After mentioning several things I knew not attract him, I spoke of a coat. This touched a soft spot. “Barabe” (Let us go and see), he said at once; and back we went to my stranded canoe, now swarming with Redskins. To my great relief I found nothing missing. On producing my brightest-colored pajama jacket the eyes of the chief shone with satisfaction; and after laboriously helping him into the same, and buttoning him up, when he noticed the braid and buttons the victory was complete. Before he could well get over the effect of that garment I had quickly and quietly induced some of the Indians to push us off; and, bidding them a hasty farewell, away we went at full speed, leaving the chief in all his grotesque glory. We did not stop rowing until several turns of the river hid the village from our sight, as I feared lest the smoke of our breakfast preparations might bring the whole village upon us again.
In another village the chief got hold of my flask of camphorated spirits — useful for mosquito bites — and thinking it was some very special kind of white man’s beverage he quite misinterpreted my shout of warning and swallowed a mouthful. There was a big gurgle, but I anxiously hastened our departure, so cannot say just what the after effects were.
From the day of our setting out we heard many rumors of the death of my dear young friend Odidi. Even among the Carajás reports were conflicting; but after many disappointments we actually found him alive and well. Our meeting made quite a sensation, which the Carajás of that particular village enjoyed as much as I; nor did they seem to envy him the many gifts I had brought him from so far. He was overjoyed, but reserved and modest, remembering perhaps the time when he wore clothes dined at our table, and attended our meetings in Goyaz. Among many other gifts I gave him a New Testament, which he may be able to decipher. I spent two days at this village, and became quite intimate with his people, who loaded us with gifts of bananas and yarns.
Some of these villages are full of wild birds — hawks, eagles, owls, goshawks, wild duck, macaws, parrots of every hue, gulls, and other varieties — walking about as tame as possible. Besides being their pets, they furnish the Indians with the necessary feathers for their arrows, and for their headdresses and other ornaments, many of which are most elaborate and artistic.
On the lower Araguaya, near the last of the Indian villages, is the outpost town of Conceiçao, quite cut off from the outside world, with no postal service. Here I spent a week while arranging a new canoe and crew to carry me down the cataracts to the ocean.
I paid an interesting visit to a convent of Dominican friars in this place, and left two Testaments in the hands of two friendly monks of that Order, who seemed pleased to get them. Quite casually I found a believer living in a village across the river, and I held a splendidly-attended men’s meeting in his house. At his earnest request I baptized him on the eve of our departure.
My long journey was now nearly over, though the greatest dangers had still to be faced. Below Carajáland came the perilous descent of the cataracts of the Araguaya and Tocantins, occupying about two weeks of considerable strain and excitement, and more than once my stout-hearted crew of eight men trembled for our safety; but beyond staving in our canoe, and getting caught by several whirlpools, we escaped without loss, where so many lives have been cast away. Every morning away out in midstream, as the sun rose glorious over the treetops and across the river, we stayed our oars and lifted up our hearts and voices to God in prayer and praise, and then Antao and I sang a hymn or two ere proceeding. This makes a difference.
We eventually reached the big port of Pará on the 11th August, being hospitably received by the agent of the British and Foreign Bible Society, the Rev. O. Walkey, and five days later boarded a British steamer bound for our home in Maceio, having occupied four months on the round trip of about six thousand miles.