Chapter XI: Part 11

Willows of many species also appear; and now and then, in stunted forms, the oak, the elm, maples, and sycamores. But all these last are very rarely encountered within the limits of the desert region. On the mountain, and more frequently in the mountain ravines pines of many species—some of which produce edible cones—grow in such numbers as to merit the name of forests, of greater or less extent. Among these, or apart from them, may be distinguished the darker foliage of the cedar (_juniperus_) of several varieties, distinct from the _juniperus virginiana_ of the States.

The arid plains are generally without the semblance of vegetation. When any appears upon them, it is of the character of the “chapparal,” already described; its principal growth being “tornilla,” or “screw-wood,” and other varieties of _mezquite_; all of them species of the extensive order of the _leguminosæ_, and belonging to the several genera of _acacias_, _mimosas_, and _robinias_. In many places _cactacæ_ appear of an endless variety of forms; and some,—as the “pitahaya” (_cereus giganteus_), and the “tree” and “cochineal” cacti (_opuntias_),—of gigantesque proportions. These, however, are only developed to their full size in the regions further south,—on the deserts of the Colorado and Gila,—where also the “tree yuccas” abound, covering tracts of large extent, and presenting the appearance of forests of palms.

Perhaps the most characteristic vegetation of the Great Basin—that is, if it deserve the name of a vegetation—is the wild sage, or _artemisia_. With this plant vast plains are covered, as far as the eye can reach; not presenting a hue of green, as the grass prairies do, but a uniform aspect of grayish white, as monotonous as if the earth were without a leaf to cover it. Instead of relieving the eye of the traveller, the artemisia rather adds to the dreariness of a desert landscape,—for its presence promises food neither to man nor horse, not water for them to drink, but indicates the absence of both. Upon the hill-sides also is it seen, along the sloping declivities of the sierras, marbling the dark volcanic rocks with its hoary frondage.

More than one species of this wild sage occurs throughout the American desert: there are four or five kinds, differing very considerably from each other, and known to the trappers by such names as “worm wood,” “grease-bush,” “stink-plant,” and “rabbit-bush.” Some of the species attain to a considerable height,—their tops often rising above the head of the traveller on horseback,—while another kind scarce reaches the knee of the pedestrian.

In some places the plains are so thickly covered with this vegetation, that it is difficult for either man or horse to make way through them,—the gnarled and crooked branches twisting into each other and forming an impenetrable wattle. At other places, and especially where the larger species grow, the plants stand apart like apple-trees in an orchard, and bear a considerable resemblance to shrubs or small trees.

Both man and horse refuse the artemisia as food; and so, too, the less fastidious mule. Even a donkey will not eat it. There are animals, however,—both birds and beasts, as will be seen hereafter,—that relish the sage-plant; and not only eat of it, but subsist almost exclusively on its stalks, leaves, and berries.

The denizens of the Great Basin desert—I mean its human denizens—are comprehended in two great families of the aboriginal race,—the _Utahs_ and _Snakes_, or _Shoshonees_. Of the white inhabitants—the Mormons and trap-settlers—we have nothing to say here. Nor yet much respecting the above-mentioned Indians, the Utahs and Snakes. It will be enough for our purpose to make known that these two tribes are distinct from each other,—that there are many communities or sub-tribes of both,—that each claims ownership of a large tract of the central region, lying between the Rocky Mountains and the Sierra Nevada; and that their limits are not coterminal with those of the Great Basin: since the range of the Snakes extends into Oregon upon the north, while that of the Utahs runs down into the valley of the Rio del Norte upon the south. Furthermore, that both are in possession of the horse,—the Utahs owning large numbers,—that both are of roving and predatory habits, and quite as wicked and warlike as the generality of their red brethren.

They are also as well to do in the world as most Indians; but there are many degrees in their “civilization,” or rather in the comforts of their life, depending upon the situation in which they may be placed. When dwelling upon a good “salmon-stream,” or among the rocky mountain “parks,” that abound in game, they manage to pass a portion of the year in luxuriant abundance. In other places, however, and at other times, their existence is irksome enough,—often bordering upon actual starvation.

It may be further observed, that the Utahs and Snakes usually occupy the larger and more fertile oases of the desert,—wherever a tract is found of sufficient size to subsist a community. With this observation I shall dismiss both these tribes; for it is not of them that our present sketch is intended to treat.

This is specially designed for a far _odder_ people than either,—for the _Yamparicos_, or “Root-Diggers;” and having described their country, I shall now proceed to give some account of themselves.

It may be necessary here to remark that the name “Diggers,” has of late been very improperly applied,—not only by the settlers of California, but by some of the exploring officers of the United States government. Every tribe or community throughout the desert, found existing in a state of special wretchedness, has been so styled; and a learned ethnologist (!), writing in the “Examiner,” newspaper, gravely explains the name, by deriving it from the gold-diggers of California! This “conceit” of the London editor is a palpable absurdity,—since the Digger Indians were so designated, long before the first gold-digger of California put spade into its soil. The name is of “trapper” origin; bestowed upon these people from the observation of one of their most common practices,—viz., the _digging for roots_, which form an essential portion of their subsistence. The term “yamparico,” is from a Spanish source, and has a very similar meaning to that of “Root-digger.” It is literally “Yampa-rooter,” or “Yampa-root eater,” the root of the “yampah” (_anethum graviolens_) being their favorite food. The true “Diggers” are not found in California west of the Sierra Nevada; though certain tribes of ill-used Indians in that quarter are called by the name. The great deserts extending between the Nevada and the Rocky Mountains are their locality; and their limits are more or less cotemporaneous with those of the Shoshonees or Snakes, and the Utahs,—of both of which tribes they are supposed to be a sort of outcast kindred. This hypothesis, however, rests only on a slight foundation: that of some resemblance in habits and language, which are very uncertain _criteria_ where two people dwell within the same boundaries,—as, for instance, the whites and blacks in Virginia. In fact, the language of the Diggers can scarce be called a language at all: being a sort of gibberish like the growling of a dog, eked out by a copious vocabulary of signs: and perhaps, here and there, by an odd word from the Shoshonee or Utah,—not unlikely, introduced by the association of the Diggers with these last-mentioned tribes.

In the western and southern division of the Great Basin, the Digger exists under the name of _Paiute_, or more properly, _Pah-Utah_,—so-called from his supposed relationship with the tribe of the Utahs. In some respects the Pah-Utahs differ from the Shoshokee, or Snake-Diggers; though in most of their characteristic habits they are very similar to each other. There might be no anomaly committed by considering them as one people; for in personal appearance and habits of life the Pah-Utah, and the “Shoshokee”—this last is the national appellation of the yampah-eater,—are as like each other as _eggs_. We shall here speak however, principally of the Shoshokees: leaving it to be understood, that their neighbors the “Paiutes” will equally answer the description.

Although the Shoshokees, as already observed, dwell within the same limits as their supposed kindred the Shoshonees, they rarely or never associate with the latter. On the contrary, they keep well out of their way,—inhabiting only those districts of country where the larger Shoshonee communities could not dwell. The very smallest oasis, or the tiniest stream, affords all the fertility that is required for the support of a Digger family; and rarely are these people found living more than one, or at most, two or three families together. The very necessity of their circumstances precludes the possibility of a more extensive association; for on the deserts where they dwell, neither the earth nor the air, nor yet the water, affords a sufficient supply of food to support even the smallest “tribe.” Not in tribes, then, but in single families, or little groups of two or three, do the Digger Indians dwell,—not in the larger and more fertile valleys, but in those small and secluded; in the midst of the sage-plains, or more frequently in the rocky defiles of the mountains that stand thickly over the “Basin.”

The Shoshokee is no _nomade_, but the very reverse. A single and isolated mountain is often the abode of his group or family; and beyond this his wanderings extend not. There he is at home, knowing every nook and rat-hole in his own neighborhood; but as ignorant of the world beyond as the “sand-rats” themselves,—whose pursuit occupies the greater portion of his time.

In respect to his “settled” mode of life, the _Shoshokee_ offers a striking contrast to the _Shoshonee_. Many of the latter are Indians of noble type,—warriors who have tamed the horse, and who extend their incursions, both hunting and hostile, into the very heart of the Rocky Mountains,—up their fertile valleys, and across their splendid “parks,” often bringing back with them the scalps of the savage and redoubtable Blackfeet.

Far different is the character of the wretched Shoshokeee,—the mere semblance of a human being,—who rarely strays out of the ravine in which he was brought forth; and who, at sight of a human face—be it of friend or enemy—flies to his crag or cave like a hunted beast!

The Pah-Utah Diggers, however, are of a more warlike disposition; or rather a more wicked and hostile one,—hostile to whites, or even to such other Indians as may have occasion to travel through the deserts they inhabit. These people are found scattered throughout the whole southern and southwestern portion of the Great Basin,—and also in the northwestern part of the Colorado desert,—especially about the Sevier River, and on several of the tributaries of the great Colorado itself of the west. It was through this part of the country that the caravans from California to New Mexico used to make their annual “trips,”—long before Alta Calafornia became a possession of the United States,—and the route by which they travelled is known as the _Spanish trail_. The object of these caravans was the import of horses, mules, and other animals,—from the fertile valleys of the San Joaquin and Sacramento rivers, to the more sterile settlements of New Mexico. Several kinds of goods were also carried into these interior countries.

This Spanish trail was far from running in a direct line. The sandy, waterless plain—known more particularly as the Colorado desert—could not be crossed with safety, and the caravan-route was forced far to the north; and entered within the limits of the Great Basin—thus bringing it through the county inhabited by the Pah-Utah Diggers. The consequence was, that these savages looked out annually for its arrival; and, whenever an opportunity offered, stole the animals that accompanied it, or murdered any of the men who might be found straggling from the main body. When bent on such purposes, these Diggers for a time threw aside their solitary habits,—assembling in large bands of several hundred each, and following the caravan travellers, like wolves upon the track of a gang of buffaloes. They never made their attacks upon the main body, or when the white men were in any considerable force. Only small groups who had lagged behind, or gone too rashly in advance, had to fear from these merciless marauders,—who never thought of such a thing as making captives, but murdered indiscriminately all who fell into their hands. When horses or mules were captured, it was never done with the intention of keeping them to ride upon. Scarcely ever do the Pah-Utahs make such a use of the horse. Only for food were these stolen or plundered from their owners; and when a booty of this kind was obtained, the animals were driven to some remote defile among the mountains, and there slaughtered outright. So long as a morsel of horse or mule flesh remained upon the bones, the Diggers kept up a scene of feasting and merriment—precisely similar to the _carnivals_ of the African Bushmen, after a successful foray upon the cattle of the Dutch settlers near the Cape. Indeed there is such a very striking resemblance between the Bushmen of Africa and these Digger Indians of North America; that, were it not for the distinction of race, and some slight differences in personal appearance, they might pass as one people. In nearly every habit and custom, the two people resemble each other; and in many mental characteristics they appear truly identical.

The Pah-Utah Diggers have not yet laid aside their hostile and predatory habits. They are at the present hour engaged in plundering forays,—acting towards the emigrant trains of Californian adventurers just as they did towards the Spanish caravans. But they usually meet with a very different reception from the more daring Saxon travellers, who constitute the “trains” now crossing their country; and not unfrequently a terrible punishment is the reward of their audacity. For all that, many of the emigrants, who have been so imprudent as to travel in small parties, have suffered at their hands, losing not only their property, but their lives; since hundreds of the bravest men have fallen by the arrows of these insignificant savages! Even the exploring parties of the United States government, accompanied by troops, have been attacked by them; and more than one officer has fallen a victim to their Ishmaelitish propensities.

It is not in open warfare that there is any dread of them. The smallest party of whites need not fear to encounter a hundred of them at once; but their attacks are made by stealth, and under cover of the night; and, as soon as they have succeeded in separating the horses or other animals from the travellers’ camp, they drive them off so adroitly that pursuit is impossible. Whenever a grand blow has been struck—that is, a traveller has been murdered—they all disappear as if by magic; and for several days after not one is to be seen, upon whom revenge might be taken. The numerous “smokes,” rising up out of the rocky defiles of the mountains, are then the only evidence that human beings are in the neighborhood of the travellers’ camp.

The Digger is different from other North-American Indians,—both in physical organization and intellectual character. So low is he in the scale of both, as to dispute with the African Bushman, the Andaman Islander, and the starving savage of Tierra del Fuego, the claim to that point in the transition, which is supposed to separate the monkey from the man. It has been variously awarded by ethnologists, and I as one have had my doubts, as to which of the three is deserving of the distinction. Upon mature consideration, however, I have come to the conclusion that the Digger is entitled to it.

This miserable creature is of a dark-brown or copper color,—the hue so generally known as characteristic of the American aborigines. He stands about five feet in height,—often under but rarely over this standard,—and his body is thin and meagre, resembling that of a frog stretched upon a fish-hook. The skin that covers it—especially that of an old Digger—is wrinkled and corrugated like the hide of an Asiatic rhinoceros,—with a surface as dry as parched buck-skin. His feet, turned in at the toes,—as with all the aborigines of America,—have some resemblance to human feet; but in the legs this resemblance ends. The lower limbs are almost destitute of calves, and the knee-pans are of immense size,—resembling a pair of pads or callosities, like those upon goats and antelopes. The face is broad and angular, with high cheek-bones; the eyes small, black, and sunken, and sparkle in their hollow sockets, not with true intelligence, but that sort of vivacity which may often be observed in the lower animals, especially in several species of monkeys. Throughout the whole physical composition of the Digger, there is only one thing that appeals luxuriant,—and that is his hair. Like all Indians he is amply endowed in this respect, and long, black tresses—sometimes embrowned by the sun, and matted together with mud or other filth—hang over his naked shoulders. Generally he crops them.

In the summer months, the Digger’s costume is extremely simple,—after the fashion of that worn by our common parents, Adam and Eve. In winter, however, the climate of his desert home is rigorous in the extreme,—the mountains over his head, and the plains under his feet, being often covered with snow. At this season he requires a garment to shelter his body from the piercing blast; and this he obtains by stitching together a few skins of the sage-hare, so as to form a kind of shirt or body-coat. He is not always rich enough to have even a good coat of this simple material; and its scanty skirt too often exposes his wrinkled limbs to the biting frost.

Between the Digger and his wife, or “squaw,” there is not much difference either in costume or character. The latter may be distinguished, by being of less stature, rather than by any feminine graces in her physical or intellectual conformation. She might be recognized, too, by watching the employment of the family; for it is she who does nearly all the work, stitches the rabbit-skin shirt, digs the “yampa” and “kamas” roots, gathers the “mezquite” pods, and gets together the larder of “prairie-crickets.” Though lowest of all American Indians in the scale of civilization, the Digger resembles them all in this,—he regards himself as lord and master, and the woman as his slave.

As already observed, there is no such thing as a _tribe_ of Diggers,—nothing of the nature of a political organization; and the chief of their miserable little community—for sometimes there is a head man—is only he who is most regarded for his strength. Indeed, the nature of their country would not admit of a large number of them living together. The little valleys or “oases”—that occur at intervals along the banks of some lone desert stream,—would not, any one of them, furnish subsistence to more than a few individuals,—especially to savages ignorant of agriculture,—that is, not knowing how to _plant_ or _sow_. The Diggers, however, if they know not how to _sow_, may be said to understand something about how to _reap_, since _root-digging_ is one of their most essential employments,—that occupation from which they have obtained their distinctive appellation, in the language of the trappers.

Not being agriculturists, you will naturally conclude that they are either a pastoral people, or else a nation of hunters. But in truth they are neither one nor the other. They have no domestic animal,—many of them not even the universal dog; and as to hunting, there is no large game in their country. The buffalo does not range so far west; and if he did, it is not likely they could either kill or capture so formidable a creature; while the prong-horned antelope, which does inhabit their plains, is altogether too swift a creature, to be taken by any wiles a Digger might invent. The “big-horn,” and the black and white-tailed species of deer, are also too shy and too fleet for their puny weapons; and as to the grizzly bear, the very sight of one is enough to give a Digger Indian the “chills.”

If, then, they do not cultivate the ground, nor rear some kind of animals, nor yet live by the chase, how do these people manage to obtain subsistence? The answer to this question appears a dilemma,—since it has been already stated, that their country produces little else than the wild and worthless sage-plant.

Were we speaking of an Indian of tropical America, or a native of the lovely islands of the great South Sea, there would be no difficulty whatever in accounting for his subsistence,—even though he neither planted nor sowed, tended cattle, nor yet followed the chase. In these regions of luxuriant vegetation, nature has been bountiful to her children; and, it may be almost literally alleged that the loaf of bread grows spontaneously on the tree. But the very reverse is the case in the country of the Digger Indian. Even the hand of cultivation could scarce wring a crop from the sterile soil; and Nature has provided hardly one article that deserves the name of food.

Perhaps you may fancy that the Digger is a fisherman; and obtains his living from the stream, by the side of which he makes his dwelling. Not even this is permitted to him. It is true that his supposed kindred, the Shoshonees, occasionally follow the occupation of fishermen upon the banks of the Great Snake River,—which at certain seasons of the year swarms with the finest salmon; but the poor Digger has no share in the finny spoil. The streams, that traverse his desert home, empty their waters into the briny bosom of the Great Salt Lake,—a true _Dead Sea_, where neither salmon, nor any other fish could live for an instant.

How then does the Digger obtain his food? Is he a manufacturer,—and perforce a merchant,—who exchanges with some other tribe his manufactured goods for provisions and “raw material?” Nothing of the sort. Least of all is he a manufacturer. The hare-skin shirt is his highest effort in the line of textile fabrics; and his poor weak bow, and flint-tipped arrows, are the only tools he is capable of making. Sometimes he is even without these weapons; and may be seen with another,—a long stick, with a hook at one end,—the hook itself being the stump of a lopped branch, with its natural inclination to that which forms the stick. The object and purpose of this simple weapon we shall presently describe.

The Digger’s wife may be seen with a weapon equally simple in its construction. This is also a stick—but a much shorter one—pointed at one end, and bearing some resemblance to a gardener’s “dibble.” Sometimes it is tipped with horn,—when this can be procured,—but otherwise the hard point is produced by calcining it in the fire. This tool is essentially an implement of husbandry,—as will presently appear.

Let us now clear up the mystery, and explain how the Digger maintains himself. There is not much mystery after all. Although, as already stated, his country produces nothing that could fairly be termed _food_, yet there are a few articles within his reach upon which a human being _might_ subsist,—that is, might just keep body and soul together. One of these articles is the bean, or legume of the “mezquite” tree, of which there are many kinds throughout the desert region. They are known to Spanish Americans as _algarobia_ trees; and, in the southern parts of the desert, grow to a considerable size,—often attaining the dimension of twenty to twenty-five feet in height.

They produce a large legume, filled with seeds and a pulp of sweetish-acid taste,—similar to that of the “honey-locust.” These beans are collected in large quantities, by the squaw of the Digger, stowed away in grass-woven baskets, or sometimes only in heaps in a corner of his cave, or hovel, if he chance to have one. If so, it is a mere wattle of artemisia, thatched and “chinked” with grass.

The mezquite seeds, then, are the _bread_ of the Digger; but, bad as is the quality, the supply is often far behind the demands of his hungry stomach. For vegetables, he has the “yampah” root, an umbelliferous plant, which grows along the banks of the streams. This, with another kind, known as “kamas” or “quamash” (_Camassia esculenta_), is a spontaneous production; and the digging for these roots forms, at a certain season of the year, the principal occupation of the women. The “dibble”-like instrument already described is the _root-digger_. The roots here mentioned, before being eaten, have to undergo a process of cooking. The yampah is boiled in a very ingenious manner; but this piece of ingenuity is not native to the Shoshokees, and has been obtained from their more clever kindred, the Snakes. The pot is a _wooden one_; and yet they can boil meat in it, or make soup if they wish! Moreover, it is only a basket, a mere vessel of wicker-work! How, then, can water be boiled in it? If you had not been already told how it is done, it would no doubt puzzle you to find out.

But most likely you have read of a somewhat similar vessel among the Chippewa Indians,—especially the tribe known as the “Assineboins,” or ‘stone-boilers’—who cook their fish or flesh in pots made of birch-bark. The phrase _stone-boilers_ will suggest to you how the difficulty is got over. The birch-bark pot is not set over fire; but stones are heated and thrown into it,—of course already filled with water. The hot stones soon cause the water to simmer, and fresh ones are added until it boils, and the meat is sufficiently cooked. By just such a process the “Snakes” cook their salmon and deer’s flesh,—their wicker pots being woven of so close a texture that not even water can pass through the interstices.

It is not often, however, that the Digger is rich enough to have one of these wicker pots,—and when he has, he is often without anything to put into it.

The _kamas_ roots are usually baked in a hole dug in the earth, and heated by stones taken from the fire. It requires nearly two days to bake them properly; and then, when taken out of the “oven,” the mass bears a strong resemblance to soft glue or size, and has a sweet and rather agreeable taste,—likened to that of baked pears or quinces.

I have not yet specified the whole of the Digger’s larder. Were he to depend altogether on the roots and seeds already mentioned, he would often have to starve,—and in reality he often _does_ starve,—for, even with the additional supplies which his sterile soil scantily furnishes him, he is frequently the victim of famine.

There may be a bad season of the mezquite-crop, and the bears—who are as cunning “diggers” as he—sometimes destroy his “plantations” of yampah and kamas. He finds a resource, however, in the _prairie-cricket_, an insect—or reptile, you may call it—of the _gryllus_ tribe, of a dark-brown color, and more like a bug than any other crawler. These, at certain seasons of the year, make their appearance upon the desert plains, and in such numbers that the ground appears to be alive with them. An allied species has of late years become celebrated: on account of a visit paid by vast numbers of them to the Mormon plantations; where, as may be remembered, they devastated the crops,—just as the locusts do in Africa,—causing a very severe season of famine among these isolated people. It may be remembered also, that flocks of white birds followed the movements of these American locusts,—preying upon them, and thinning their multitudinous hosts.

These birds were of the gull genus (_Larus_), and one of the most beautiful of the species. They frequent the shores and islands of the rivers of _Prairie-land_, living chiefly upon such insects as are found in the neighborhood of their waters. It was but natural, therefore, they should follow the locusts, or “grasshoppers,” as the Mormons termed them; but the _pseudo-prophet_ of these deluded people could not suffer to pass such a fine opportunity of proving his divine inspiration: which he did by audaciously declaring that the birds were “heaven-born,” and had been sent by the Almighty (in obedience to a prayer from him, the prophet) to rid the country of the pest of the grasshoppers!

These prairie-crickets are of a dark-brown color,—not unlike the _gryllus migratorius_ of Africa, and with very similar habits. When settled thickly upon the ground, the whole surface assumes a darkish hue, as if covered with crape; and when they are all in motion,—creeping to and fro in search of their food,—a very singular effect is produced. At this time they do not take to wing; though they attempt to get out of the way, by making short hops from place to place, and crawling with great rapidity. Notwithstanding their efforts to escape, hundreds of them are “squashed” beneath the foot of the pedestrian, or hoofs of the traveller’s horse.

These crickets, with several bug-like insects of different species, furnish the Digger with an important article of food. It may appear a strange provender for a human stomach; but there is nothing unnatural about it,—any more than about the eating of shrimps or prawns; and it will be remembered that the Bushmen, and many other tribes of South Africa eat the _gryllus migratorius_; while, in the northern part of that same continent, many nations regard them as a proper article of food. Though some writers have asserted, that it was the legume of the locust-tree (an acacia) which was eaten by St. John the Baptist in the wilderness, it is easily proved that such was not the case. That his food was the locust (_gryllus migratorius_) and wild honey, is strictly and literally true; and at the present day, were you to visit the “wilderness” mentioned by the Apostle, you might see people living upon “locusts and wild-honey,” just as they did eighteen hundred years ago.

The Diggers _cook_ their crickets sometimes by boiling them in the pots aforementioned, and sometimes by “roasting.” They also mix them with the mezquite seeds and pulp,—the whole forming a kind of plum-pudding, or “cricket-pasty,”—or, as it is jocosely termed by the trappers, “cricket-cake.”

Their mode of collecting the grasshoppers is not without some display of ingenuity. When the insects are in abundance, there is not much difficulty in obtaining a sufficient supply; but this is not always the case. Sometimes they appear very sparsely upon the plains; and, being nimble in their movements, are not easily laid hold of. Only one could be taken at a time; and, by gleaning in this way, a very limited supply would be obtained. To remedy this, the Diggers have invented a somewhat ingenious contrivance for capturing them wholesale,—which is effected in the following manner:—When the whereabouts of the grasshoppers has been discovered, a round hole—of three or four feet in diameter, and of about equal depth—is scooped out in the centre of the plain. It is shaped somewhat after the fashion of a kiln; and the earth, that has been taken out, is carried out of the way.

The Digger community then all turn out—men, women, and children—and deploy themselves into a wide circle, enclosing as large a tract as their numbers will permit. Each individual is armed with a stick, with which he beats the sage-bushes, and makes other violent demonstrations: the object being to frighten the grasshoppers, and cause them to move inward towards the pit that has been dug. The insects, thus beset, move as directed,—gradually approaching the centre,—while the “beaters” follow in a circle constantly lessening in circumference. After a time the crickets, before only thinly scattered over the plain,—grow more crowded as the space becomes contracted; until at length the surface is covered with a black moving swarm, and the beaters, still pressing upon them, and driving them onward, force the whole body pellmell over the edges of the pit.

Bunches of grass, already provided are now flung over them, and upon that a few shovelfuls of earth or sand; and then—horrible to relate!—a large pile of artemisia stalks is heaped upon the top and set on fire! The result is that, in a few minutes, the poor grasshoppers are smoked to death, and parched at the same time—so as to be ready for eating, whenever the _débris_ of the fire has been removed.

The prairie-cricket is not the only article of the _flesh-meat_ kind, found in the larder of the Digger. Another animal furnishes him with an occasional meal. This is the “sage-hare,” known to hunters as the “sage-rabbit,” but to naturalists as the _lepus artemisia_. It is a very small animal,—less in size than the common rabbit,—though it is in reality a true hare. It is of a silvery, or whitish-gray color—which adapts it to the hue of the _artemisia_ bushes on the stalks and berries of which it feeds.

It is from the skins of this animal, that the Digger women manufacture the rabbit-skin shirts, already described. Its flesh would not be very agreeable to a European palate,—even with the addition of an onion,—for it has the sage flavor to such a degree, as to be as bitter as wormwood itself. An onion with it would not be tasted! But tastes differ, and by the Digger the flesh of the sage-hare is esteemed one of the nicest delicacies. He hunts it, therefore, with the greatest assiduity; and the chase of this insignificant animal is to the Digger, what the hunt of the stag, the elephant, or the wild boar, is to hunters of a more pretentious ambition.

With his bow and arrows he frequently succeeds in killing a single hare; but this is not always so easy,—since the sage-hare, like all of its kind, is shy, swift, and cunning. Its color, closely resembling the hue of the artemisia foliage, is a considerable protection to it; and it can hide among these bushes, where they grow thickly—as they generally do—over the surface of the ground.

But the Digger is not satisfied with the scanty and uncertain supply, which his weak bow and arrows would enable him to obtain. As in the case of the grasshoppers, he has contrived a plan for capturing the sage-hares by wholesale.

This he accomplishes by making a “surround,” and driving the animals, not into a _pit_, but into a _pound_. The pound is constructed something after the same fashion as that used by the Chippewas, and other northern Indians, for capturing the herds of reindeer; in other words, it is an enclosure, entered by a narrow mouth—from the _jaws_ of which mouth, two fences are carried far out into the plain, in a gradually diverging direction. For the deer and other large animals, the fences of the pound—as also those of the funnel that conducts to it, require to be made of strong stakes, stockaded side by side; but this work, as well as the timber with which to construct it, is far beyond the reach of the Digger. His enclosure consists of a mere wattle of artemisia stalks and branches, woven into a row of those already standing—with here and there a patching of rude nets, made of roots and grass. The height is not over three feet and the sage-hare might easily spring over it; but the stupid creature, when once “in the pound,” never thinks of looking upward; but continues to dash its little skull against the wattle, until it is either “clubbed” by the Digger, or impaled upon one of his obsidian arrows.

Other quadrupeds, constituting a portion of the Digger’s food, are several species of “gophers,” or sand-rats, ground-squirrels, and marmots. In many parts of the Great Basin, the small rodents abound: dwelling between the crevices of rocks, or honeycombing the dry plains with their countless burrows. The Digger captures them by various wiles. One method is by shooting them with blunt arrows; but the more successful plan is, by setting a trap at the entrance to their earthen caves. It is the “figure of 4 trap,” which the Digger employs for this purpose, and which he constructs with ingenuity,—placing a great many around a “warren,” and often taking as many as fifty or sixty “rats” in a single day!

In weather too cold for the gophers to come out of their caves, the Digger then “digs” for them: thus further entitling him to his special appellation.

That magnificent bird, the “cock of the plains,” sometimes furnishes the Digger with “fowl” for his dinner. This is a bird of the grouse family (_tetrao urophasianus_), and the largest species that is known,—exceeding in size the famed “cock of the woods” of northern Europe. A full-fledged cock of the plains is as large as an eagle; and, unlike most of the grouse kind, has a long, narrow body. His plumage is of a silvery gray color—produced by a mottle of black and white,—no doubt, given him by a nature to assimilate him to the hue of the artemisia,—amidst which he habitually dwells, and the berries of which furnish him with most of his food.

He is remarkable for two large _goitre-like_ swellings on the breast, covered with a sort of hair instead of feathers; but, though a fine-looking large bird, and a grouse too, his flesh is bitter and unpalatable—even more so than that of the sage-hare. For all that, it is a delicacy to the Digger, and a rare one; for the cock of the plains is neither plentiful, nor easily captured when seen.

There are several other small animals—both quadrupeds and birds—inhabiting Digger-land, upon which an occasional meal is made. Indeed, the food of the Digger is sufficiently varied. It is not in the quality but the quantity he finds most cause of complaint: for with all his energies he never gets enough. In the summer season, however, he is less stinted. Then the berries of the buffalo-bush are ripe; and these, resembling currants, he collects in large quantities,—placing his rabbit-skin wrapper under the bush, and shaking down the ripe fruit in showers. A _mélange_ of prairie-crickets and buffalo-berries is esteemed by the Digger, as much as would be the best specimen of a “currant-cake” in any nursery in Christendom!

The Digger finds a very curious species of edible bug, which builds its nest on the ledges of the cliffs,—especially those that overhang a stream. These nests are of a conical or pine-apple shape, and about the size of this fruit.

This bug,—not yet classified or described by entomologists,—is of a dark brown color, about the size of the ordinary cockroach; and when boiled is considered a proper article of food,—not only by the unfastidious Diggers, but by Indians of a more epicurean _goût_.

Besides the yampah and kamas, there are several other edible roots found in the Digger country. Among others may be mentioned a species of thistle (_cirsium virginiarum_),—the root of which grows to the size of an ordinary carrot, and is almost as well flavored. It requires a great deal of roasting, or boiling, before it is sufficiently cooked to be eaten.

The _kooyah_ is another article of food still more popular among Digger gourmands. This is the root of the _valeriana edulis_. It is of a bright-yellow color, and grows to a considerable size. It has the characteristic odor of the well-known plant; but not so strong as in the prepared substance of _valerian_. The plant itself does not grow in the arid soil of the desert, but rather in the rich fertile bottoms of the streams, or along the shores of marshy lakes,—in company with the kamas and yampah. It is when these roots are in season, that the Shoshokees most frequent such localities; and, indeed, this same season is the time when all other articles of Digger food are plenteous enough,—the summer. The winter months are to him the “tight times.”

In some parts of the desert country, as already observed, grow species of pines, with edible cones,—or rather edible seeds which the cones contain. These seeds resemble nuts, and are about the size of the common filberts.

More than one species of pine produces this sort of food; but in the language of the Spanish Californians and New Mexicans, they are all indifferently termed _piñon_, and the seeds simply _piñones_, or “piñons.” Where these are within the reach of the Digger,—as they are in some districts,—he is then well provided for; since the piñons, when roasted, not only form an agreeable and nutritious article of food, but can be stored up as a winter stock,—that will keep for a considerable time, without danger of spoiling, or growing too stale.

Such is the _commissariat_ of the Digger Indian; and, poor in quality though it be, there are times when he cannot obtain a sufficient supply of it. At such times he has recourse to food of a still meaner kind,—to roots, scarce eatable, and even to the seeds of several species of grass! Worms, grubs, the _agama cornuta_, or “horned-frog of the prairies,” with other species of lizards, become his sole resource; and in the search and capture of these he occupies himself from morning to night.

It is in this employment that he finds use for the long sapling, with the hooked end upon it,—the hook being used for dragging the lizards out of clefts in the rocks, within which they have sought shelter. In the accomplishment of this, the Digger displays an adroitness that astonishes the traveller: often “jerking” the reptile out of some dark crevice within which it might be supposed to have found a retreat secure from all intruders.

Many other curious habits might be related of this abject and miserable race of human beings; but perhaps enough has been detailed, to secure them a place in the list of our “odd people.”

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THE GUARAONS, OR PALM-DWELLERS.

Young reader, I may take it for granted that you have heard of the great river Orinoco,—one of the largest rivers not only of South America, but in the world. By entering at its mouth, and ascending to its source, you would have to make a journey of about one thousand five hundred miles; but this journey, so far from being direct, or in a straight line, would carry you in a kind of spiral curve,—very much like the figure 6, the apex of the figure representing the mouth of the river. In other words, the Orinoco, rising in the unexplored mountains of Spanish Guiana, first runs eastward; and then, having turned gradually to every point of the compass, resumes its easterly course, continuing in this direction till it empties its mighty flood into the Atlantic Ocean.

Not by one mouth, however. On the contrary, long before the Orinoco approaches the sea, its channel separates into a great many branches (or “caños,” as they are called in the language of the country), each of which, slowly meandering in its own course, reaches the coast by a separate mouth, or “boca.” Of these caños there are about fifty, embracing within their ramifications a “delta” nearly half as large as England! Though they have all been distinguished by separate names, only three or four of them are navigable by ships of any considerable size; and, except to the few pilots whose duty it is to conduct vessels into that main channel of the river, the whole delta of the Orinoco may be regarded as a country still unexplored, and almost unknown. Indeed, the same remark might be made of the whole river, were it not for the magnificent monument left by the great traveller Von Humboldt,—whose narrative of the exploration of the Orinoco is, beyond all comparison, the finest book of travels yet given to the world. To him are we chiefly indebted for our knowledge of the Orinoco; since the Spanish nation, who, for more than three centuries, have held undisputed possession of this mighty stream, have left us scarce a line about it worth either credit or record.

It is now more than half a century, since the date of Humboldt’s “Personal Narrative;” and yet, strange to say, during all that period, scarce an item has been added to our knowledge of the Orinoco, beyond what this scientific traveller had already told us. Indeed, there is not much to say: for there has been little change in the river since then,—either in the aspect of nature, or the condition of man. What change there has been possesses rather a retrograde, than a progressive character. Still, now, as then, on the banks of the Orinoco, we behold a languid commerce,—characteristic of the decaying Spano-American race,—and the declining efforts of a selfish and bigoted missionary zeal, whose boasted aim of “christianizing and civilizing” has ended only in producing a greater _brutalization_. After three centuries of _paternosters_ and bell-ringing, the red savage of the Orinoco returns to the worship of his ancestral gods,—or to no worship at all,—and for this backsliding he can, perhaps, give a sufficient reason.

Pardon me, young reader, for this digression. It is not my purpose to discuss the polemical relations of those who inhabit the banks of the Orinoco; but to give you some account of a very singular people who dwell near its mouth,—upon the numerous caños, already mentioned as constituting its delta. These are the “Guaraons,”—a tribe of Indians,—usually considered as a branch of the Great Carib family, but forming a community among themselves of seven or eight thousand souls; and differing so much from most other savages in their habits and mode of life, as fairly to entitle them to the appellation of an “Odd People.”

The Orinoco, like many other large rivers, is subject to a periodical rise and fall; that is, once every year, the river swells to a great height above its ordinary level. The swelling or “flood” was for a long time supposed to proceed from the melting of snow upon the cordilleras of the Andes,—in which mountains several of the tributaries of the Orinoco have their rise. This hypothesis, however, has been shown to be an incorrect one: since the main stream of the Orinoco does not proceed from the Andes, nor from any other snow-capped mountains; but has its origin, as already stated, in the _sierras_ of Guiana. The true cause of its periodical rising, therefore, is the vast amount of rain which falls within the tropics; and this is itself occasioned by the sun’s course across the torrid zone, which is also the cause of its being periodical or “annual.” So exact is the time at which these rains fall, and produce the floods of the Orinoco, that the inhabitants of the river can tell, within a few days, when the rising will commence, and when the waters will reach their lowest!

The flood season very nearly corresponds to our own summer,—the rise commencing in April, and the river being at its maximum height in August,—while the minimum is again reached in December. The height to which the Orinoco rises has been variously estimated by travellers: some alleging it to be nearly one hundred feet; while others estimate it to be only fifty, or even less! The reason of this discrepancy may be, that the measurements have been made at different points,—at each of which, the actual height to which the flood attains, may be greater or less than at the others. At any one place, however, the rise is the same—or very nearly so—in successive years. This is proved by observations made at the town of Angostura,—the lowest Spanish settlement of any importance upon the Orinoco. There, nearly in front of the town, a little rocky islet towers up in the middle of the river; the top of which is just fifty feet above the bed of the stream, when the volume of water is at its minimum. A solitary tree stands upon the pinnacle of this rock; and each year, when the water is in full flood, the tree alone is visible,—the islet being entirely submerged. From this peculiar circumstance, the little islet has obtained the name of “Orinocometer,” or measurer of the Orinoco.

The rise here indicated is about fifty feet; but it does not follow from this, that throughout its whole course the river should annually rise to so great a height. In reality it does not.

At Angostura, as the name imports, the river is _narrowed_ to less than half its usual width,—being there confined between high banks that impinge upon its channel. Above and below, it widens again; and, no doubt, in proportion to this widening will the annual rise be greater or less. In fact, at many places, the width of the stream is no longer that of its ordinary channel; but, on the contrary, a vast “freshet” or inundation, covering the country for hundreds of miles,—here flooding over immense marshes or grassy plains, and hiding them altogether,—there flowing among forests of tall trees, the tops of which alone project above the tumult of waters! These inundations are peculiarly observable in the _delta_ of the Orinoco,—where every year, in the months of July and August, the whole surface of the country becomes changed into a grand fresh-water sea: the tops of the trees alone rising above the flood, and proclaiming that there is _land_ at the bottom.

At this season the ordinary channels, or _caños_, would be obliterated; and navigation through them become difficult or impossible, but for the tree-tops; which, after the manner of “buoys” and signal-marks, serve to guide the pilots through the intricate mazes of the “bocas del Orinoco.”

Now it is this annual inundation, and the semi-submergence of these trees under the flood, that has given origin to the peculiar people of whom we are about to speak,—the Guaraons; or, perhaps, we should rather say, from these causes have arisen their strange habits and modes of life which entitle them to be considered an “odd people.”

During the period of the inundation, if you should sail up the southern or principal caño of the Orinoco,—known as the “boca de navios,” or “ships’ mouth,”—and keep your face to the northward, you would behold the singular spectacle of a forest growing out of the water! In some places you would perceive single trees, with the upper portion of their straight, branchless trunks rising vertically above the surface, and crowned by about a dozen great fan-shaped leaves, radiating outwards from their summits. At other places, you would see many crowded together, their huge fronds meeting, and forming close clumps, or “water groves,” whose deep-green color contrasts finely as it flings its reflection on the glistening surface below.

Were it night,—and your course led you through one of the smaller caños in the northern part of the delta,—you would behold a spectacle yet more singular, and more difficult to be explained; a spectacle that astounded and almost terrified the bold navigators, who first ventured to explore these intricate coasts. You would not only perceive a forest, growing out of the water; but, high up among the tops of the trees, you would behold blazing fires,—not the conflagration of the trees themselves, as if the forest were in flames,—but fires regularly built, glowing as from so many furnaces, and casting their red glare upwards upon the broad green leaves, and downwards upon the silvery surface of the water!

If you should chance to be near enough to these fires, you would see cooking utensils suspended over them; human forms, both of men and women, seated or squatting around them; other human forms, flitting like shadows among the tops of the trees; and down below, upon the surface of the water, a fleet of canoes (_periaguas_), fastened with their mooring-ropes to the trunks. All this would surprise you,—as it did the early navigators,—and, very naturally, you would inquire what it could mean. Fires apparently suspended in the air! human beings moving about among the tops of the trees, talking, laughing, and gesticulating! in a word, acting just as any other savages would do,—for these human beings _are_ savages,—amidst the tents of their encampment, or the houses of their village. In reality it is a village upon which you are gazing,—a village suspended in the air,—a village of the Guaraon Indians!