Knowing His Cupidity, I Was Not Surprised When, Later, He
Came To Me And Said That I Could Tell Them Words, And Held Out His
Hand For The Gift.
After sun-worship next morning the king announced that I had
something new to tell them.
When all were seated on the ground in
wondering silence, I began in simple language to tell "the old, old
story." My address was somewhat similar to the following: "Many moons
ago, Nandeyara, looking down from his abode, saw that all the men and
women and children in the world were bad; that is, they had done
wrong things, such as . . . Now God has a Son, and to Him He said,
Look down and see. All are doing wicked things! He looked and saw.
The Father said that for their sin they should have to die, but that
Jesus, His Son, could come down and die in their place. The Son came,
and lived on earth many moons; but was hated, and at last caught, and
large pieces of iron (like the priest's knife) were put into His
hands and feet, and He was fastened to a tree. After this a man came,
and, with a very long knife, brought the blood out of the side of
Jesus, and He died." Purposing to further explain my story, I was not
pleased when the priest stopped me, and, stepping forth, told the
people that my account was not true. He then in eloquent tones
related to them what he called the real story, to which I listened
in amazed wonder.
"Many moons ago," he began, "we were dying of hunger! One day the
Sun, our god, changed into a man, and he walked down that road."
(Here he pointed to the east.) "The chief met him. 'All your people
are dying of hunger,' said god. 'Yes, they are,' the chief replied.
'Will you die instead of all the people?' Nandeyara said. 'Yes, I
will,' the chief answered. He immediately dropped down dead, and god
came to the village where we all are now. 'Your chief is lying dead
up the road,' he said, 'go and bury him, and after three days are
passed visit the grave, when you will find a plant growing out of
his mouth; that will be corn, and it will save you!'" Then, turning
to me, the priest said: "This we did, and behold us alive! That is
the story!" A strange legend, surely, and yet the reader will be
struck with the grains of truth intermingled - life, resulting from
the sacrificial death of another; the substitution of the one for the
many; the life-giving seed germinating after three days' burial,
reminding one of John 12:24: "Except a corn of wheat fall into the
ground and die, it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth
much fruit." Strange that so many aboriginal people have legends so
near the truth.
Some days later the chiefs son and I were alone, and I saw that
something troubled him. He tried to tell me, but I was somewhat
ignorant of his language, so, after looking in all directions to see
that we were really alone, he led the way into a dark corner of the
hoga, where we were. There, from under a pile of garden baskets,
calabashes, etc., he brought out a peculiarly-shaped gourd, full of
some red, powdery substance. This, with trembling haste, he put into
my hand, and seemed greatly relieved when I had it securely. Going
then to the corner where I kept my goods, he took up a box of matches
and made signs for me to exchange, which I did. When Timoteo returned
I learned that the young man was custodian of the devil - the only and
original one - and that he had palmed him off on me for a box of
matches! How the superstition of the visible presence of the devil
originated I have no idea, but there might be some meaning in the
man's earnest desire to exchange it for matches, or lights, the
emblem of their fire or sun-worship. Was this simple deal fallen
man's feeble effort to rid himself of the Usurper and get back the
Father, for it is very significant that the Caingwa word, ta-ta
(light), signifies also father. Do they need light, or are they
sufficiently illumined for time and eternity? Will the reader
reverently stand with me, in imagination, beside an Indian grave? A
girl has died through snake poisoning. A shallow grave has been dug
for her remains. Into this hole her body has been dropped,
uncoffined, in a sitting position. Beside the body is placed some
food and a few paltry trinkets, and the people stand around with that
disconsolate look which is only seen upon the faces of those who know
not the Father. As they thus linger, the witch-doctor asks, "Is the
dog killed?" Someone replies, "Yes, the dog is killed." "Is the head
cut off?" is then asked. "Yes, the head is off," is the reply. "Put
it in the grave, then," says the medicine man; and then the dog's
head is dropped at the girl's feet.
Why do they do this? you ask. Question their wise man, and he will
say: "A dog is a very clever animal. He can always find his way. A
girl gets lost when alone. For that reason we place a dog's head with
her, that it may guide her in the spirit life." I ask again, "Do they
need missionaries?"
My stay with the sun-worshippers, though interesting, was painful.
Excepting when we cooked our own food, I almost starved. Their habits
are extremely filthy, indeed more loathsome and disgusting than I
dare relate.
My horses were by now refreshed with their rest, and appeared able
for the return journey, so I determined to start back to
civilization. The priest heard of my decision with unfeigned joy, but
the king and queen were sorrowful.
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