A PARAGUAYAN CHRISTIAN FAMILY

Each child gets a large piece of meat in its hands. There is no waiting, no blessing asked, but all eat until everything is finished, while the crowd of hungry dogs around try to steal pieces out of the pot.

Then the pipe is passed round; and the father tells how he saw the ostrich, how he dressed himself up with leaves and twigs to look like a tree and stalked the bird. Presently he got near enough to shoot it with his arrow. He tells also how, in coming home, he saw a tiger in the forest, and later on killed a snake. It is a long, long story, but the children listen eagerly, and next day they act it all over in their play.

Now it is bedtime. If we were Indians we would all choose a place as near the fire as possible, not so much for the warmth, as to escape the unwelcome attentions of our diminutive friends, the mosquitoes. We would spread out our little skin beds, or if you had not one of your own, you would cuddle up with the other children, always putting the tiny tots and any sick ones in the middle. And while you are in slumberland the dogs crouch near. Over you spreads the blue sky, with the beautiful moon shining down upon you in company with the myriad stars.

But you will not sleep for long: a weird cry rings out through the silent night, the cry of some animal or bird, and, starting up in a frightened way, the Indian shakes his rattle to frighten away the evil spirit.

The fire has to be kept up all night while the children sleep, and the dogs must be watched in case they try to reach the tasty piece of ostrich hung up in the neighbouring tree for breakfast. You will probably be disturbed, too, by the barking of wolves or the snarl of a tiger, as they prowl round the encampment.

In the morning everybody is on the move, for these Lengua Indians do not stay long in one place. Pots and pans are collected, together with gourds and skins, and put into big nets which the women are expected to carry. The men go on in front with their bows and arrows, so that they may be ready for any dangers, such as tigers, or to shoot any game for food.

Three children can ride astride a horse or mule, although it is exceptional for an Indian to have either; or a mother and two little ones can travel thus—one tied in front and one behind round her waist. But very often you would have to walk on and on, through swamps and over wide, hot plains, always on the look-out for something to eat.

Sometimes there is no water, and the children are only too glad to stoop and scrape up the muddy dregs in the print of a horse’s hoof, or else they look for the caraguata plant, which generally has a little water at the bottom of its long, prickly leaves.On the sandy plains there are tiny insects which burrow into the feet, and make them swell until they are very, very sore. Sometimes so many of these insects get in that you can scarcely walk at all.

All at once someone catches sight of a herd of wild pigs feeding; then away go our little Indian friends, snatching up sticks, to chase and if they can to capture a pig.

At night-fall another halt is made, this time by a stream, for there are fish and alligators to make a splendid meal. So all the things are unpacked, and the houses of twigs and leaves are soon erected. A big fire is kindled, and after an “alligator” supper, quiet once more reigns in the camp as another night falls, wooing the Chaco children to sleep under the twinkling stars.

The Lengua Indians are very fond of their children, but they seldom correct them when they are naughty. If mother should attempt to correct them, father very unwisely interferes, so I am afraid a great many Chaco children are spoilt.

When Mr W. Barbrooke Grubb came to the Gran Chaco the Indians showed him plainly by their manner that they did not want him. This, however, did not discourage him in the least, but only spurred him on to try to win their favour. He made himself one with them; he learned their customs and their language; he travelled when they travelled, took part in their feasts, and lived exactly as they did—until finally he won their confidence and love. How they needed the Gospel, for they were in gross heathen darkness! They had no religious customs, though they had their witch-doctors, and lived in constant dread of evil spirits.

Amongst the Indians here “baby-killing,” which grown-up people call “infanticide,” is sadly very common. “Superstition,” writes Mr Grubb, “causes many of these deaths. Girl babies, if they are born first, are put to death; deformed children are also killed, and twins are never allowed to live. Many die through want of care during the first years of childhood.”

How heartless such customs seem! Yet there is something still more sad, which has to do with their beliefs. For many years Mr Grubb tried to show the Indians “the better way,” and to do away with the cruel practice of killing their babies.

Their burial rites are very weird, and no funeral ever takes place after sunset. If, therefore, a sick Indian is likely to die in the night, before sunrise, they bury her or him before the sun goes down, even though the spirit may not have left the body, break up their camp, and move away before they settle down for the night.

The mother of a dear little Indian girl became very ill one day. The husband, who really loved his wife, did all he could to make her well, but in spite of this she gradually grew worse instead of better. When he saw that she could not possibly live, and that all hope was gone he left her alone.

There she lay, outside the hut, with a reed matting over her face, her life fast ebbing away. It was about an hour before sunset. The Indians were getting restless, when the missionary walked into their midst. Seeing the form on the ground, he stooped down, taking the matting from the Indian woman’s face.

She whispered: “Water.” Reluctantly it was brought by the Indian husband, but a few minutes later she became quite unconscious. The eyes of the Indians were anxiously looking, not towards the dying woman, but toward the sinking sun, for she must be buried before sunset. They would all have to pack up and hurry away to a new camping place, where the woman’s spirit could not follow.

Impatiently they stepped forward, but were waved back by the missionary. Her grave was ready, everything was prepared for the funeral rites.

“The spirit has not left her yet,” he said; “do not touch her.”

“But we must hasten, or darkness will be upon us before we leave,” replied the husband; “we cannot break our custom.”

The missionary held them off as long as he could, till finally they bore her away. Stepping into their hut, he heard a faint noise, and seeing a small, dark object on the floor, he stooped down and tenderly lifted up the now motherless baby girl. What a dear, wee, brown living thing she was!

Turning round he saw her father, who held out his arms saying that he had come to take her away to be buried with her mother. The missionary gazed at him with horror in his eyes.

“Oh, but you are not going to kill her, surely?” said he, hugging Baby closer.

“Of course not,” said the father; “we are going to put her in the ground alive. It is our custom!”

He did not think about the cruelty of such a proceeding. It was part of their religion, and, therefore, must be carried out. So there was a tussle between the father and the missionary for the Chaco baby’s life, and I am glad to say the missionary won, but the Indians did not like it at all.

The first thing to be considered was what to give baby to eat, and the second problem how to get her to the mission-station a hundred miles away. Finding that no Indian woman would help him in the matter of nursing and feeding her, he saw that he would have to be both mother and nurse to her himself.

What could he give “Brownie”? Well, God showed him what to do, so she was kept alive on rice water and goat’s milk, which the missionary gently squirted into her mouth from his mouth, and on egg and milk, these being the chief items in Baby’s diet.After miles and days of riding on horseback, with five Indians to show the missionary the way, they at length reached the mission-station, and Baby was handed over to a kind motherly missionary. I am sorry to say, however, that Baby Hope (for that is the name the missionaries gave her), was taken ill six months afterwards, and died, and she was laid to rest on the banks of the River Paraguay.

How sad it is to think that there have been many of these little ones who were not so fortunate in being rescued from a living grave like Baby Hope! But these Indians are learning that Jesus loves the little children in the Chaco. For nearly thirty years the missionaries of the South American Missionary Society have been working here for the preserving and uplifting of the children, and to-day they are being rewarded by seeing many Christian Indian homes established.

There are day-schools, Sunday-schools, and schools of industry where the older boys and girls are learning how to become useful men and women. Carpentering, house-building, agriculture, cooking, laundry, and housework are now taking the place of wandering, hunting, dancing, and feasting, which, with them, have now become things of the past.

There are many other Indian tribes in Paraguay yet to be reached, so we will leave the Gran Chaco, and once more crossing the river we come back to civilization—but not to stay, our destination being Santa Teresa, in South-Eastern Paraguay. We must travel on horseback now, for there are no smooth roads; so, accompanied by Mr John Hay, of the Inland-South America Missionary Union, we proceed on our journey. For the benefit of those who did not go with him he wrote an account of his experiences. In his diary he says:—

“When we entered the dense forests the Indian tracks soon became impassable for men on horseback. We could no longer ride, and in some places we were obliged to travel barefoot, in deep mud, leading our horses as best we could, while we stumbled on over the roots of trees and interlacing bamboo creepers.

“Led by a native guide, we found the Indians hidden away behind the shelter of almost impassable swamps, across which we could not take our horses—amid the most savage conditions, and in great poverty. Some of them had a little maize, but for the most part they appeared to live on wild fruits, roots, reptiles, caterpillars, or anything procurable by hunting and fishing. For clothing, they wore only loin-cloths, and bands of women’s hair twisted round the legs below the knees and round the wrists.

“Their faces were painted in curious patterns, with some black pigment, and in some cases mutilated by a hole in the lower lip, through which a long appendage of resinous gum protruded, hanging down in front of the chin. They were armed with long powerful bows, from which they can shoot, with deadly effect, arrows pointed with long, hard, wooden barbs. Some of these arrows measure over six feet in length.

“Some of the women were busily weaving their little loin-cloths, made from fine cotton fibre, on rude square frames made with four branches of a tree firmly fixed in the ground.”

It is to these Indians and their little children that Mr Hay and his fellow-workers seek to minister. A mission-station has been built here in the wilds, under tremendous difficulties and very trying conditions. “The Indians are scattered in very small companies, sometimes merely families, over immense areas; they are constantly moving their dwellings”—their chief idea being to get away from the one they think their greatest enemy—the white man!

It has, therefore, been uphill work to win the confidence of these Indians; but God, who is always on the side of the missionaries, has rewarded their patient, prayerful, and persevering efforts, so that now quite a number of the Indians, recognizing the missionaries as their friends, are seeking them out. At one time, when the maize and mandioca crops failed, the people had to eat rats and wild animals of the forest. The missionaries gave them work to do and paid them in food. “At first they were very shy, especially the women, but as they got to know them their shyness wore off, and even the little children began to feel at home with them.”

It will take us too long to visit the other I.S.A.M.U. Stations. If we had time we could go to Caaguazw, the base from which the missionaries work among the Forest Indians; to Villarica, the third city in Paraguay, where there is a school for the children of English-speaking people, and where the Roman Catholic officials have warned their people not to send their children to the Protestant schools, for Rome prefers to keep her little ones ignorant.

Had we time to linger in Concepcion, the second city of the republic, situated on the River Paraguay, with its 14,000 inhabitants, we should be able to learn something of the missionary work carried on there amongst the children. Here as elsewhere, the Roman Catholic priests are very hostile, and do all they can to hinder the work of Christ amongst these little ones.

Just before we leave Paraguay, we must have a peep at the children who are not Indians, but the natives of the country. The Paraguayan children go about naked from three to four years of age until they go to school; the Paraguayans of the town are, of course, better dressed. The boys are very fond of hunting birds, with bows and marbles of hard clay. These bows have two strings each, with a little rag on the strings on which the marble is placed. It shoots a good distance, and can kill good-sized birds.

The Paraguayans, like other peoples, have bad habits—such as drinking, card-playing, swearing, and smoking. Even little boys of three and four years of age are sometimes seen smoking, while their parents just look on and smile! Alas, that this religion of “baptized paganism” should prevail everywhere, and that the boys and girls of Paraguay should be bought and sold to Paraguayan masters to be their slaves!

“It is not the will of your Father that one of these little ones should perish.”