in plaited cotton images, were regarded as powerful fetishes; and from what is told us of the funeral ceremonies certain beliefs may be inferred. The statement by Columbus, already quoted, closes with an account of some such rites: "When these Indians die, they have several ways of performing their obsequies, but the manner of burying their caciques is thus: they open and dry him at the fire, that he may keep whole. Of others they take only the head, others they bury in a grot or den, and lay a calabash of water and bread on his head; others they burn in the house where they die, and when they are at the last gasp, they suffer them not to die but strangle them; and this is done to caciques. Others are turned out of the house, and others put them into a hammock, which is their bed, laying bread and water by their head, never returning to see them any more. Some that are dangerously ill are carried to the cacique, who tells them whether they are to be strangled or not, and what he says is done. I have taken pains to find out what it is they believe, and whether they know what becomes of them after they are dead," and the answer was that "they go to a certain vale, which every great cacique supposes to be in his country, where they affirm they find their parents and all their predecessors, and that they eat, have women, and give themselves up to pleasures and pastimes." This is very much the belief of all the primitive world, but it has one interesting feature. The strangling of caciques and of those named by caciques clearly indicates that there was a belief in a different fate for men who die by nature and men who die with the breath of life not yet exhausted; quite likely it was some Valhalla reserved for the brave, such as the Norseman found who escaped the "straw death," or the Aztec warrior whom Tonatiuh snatched up into the mansions of the Sun.
IV. TAÏNO MYTHS16
"I ordered," says Columbus, "one Friar Ramon, who understood their language, to set down all their language and antiquities"; and it is to this Fray Ramon Pane, "a poor anchorite of the order of St. Jerome," as he tells us, that thanks are due for most of what is preserved of Taïno mythology. The myths which he gathered are from the island of Haiti, or Hispaniola, but it is safe to assume that they represent cycles of tales shared by all the Taïno peoples. They believe, says the friar, in an invisible and immortal Being, like Heaven, and they speak of the mother of this heaven-son, who was called, among other names, Atabei, "the First-in-Existence." "They also know whence they came, the origin of the sun and moon, how the sea was made, and whither the dead go."
The earliest Indians appeared, according to the legend, from two caverns of a certain mountain of Hispaniola—"most of the people that first inhabited the island came out of Cacibagiagua," while the others emerged from Amaiauva (it is altogether likely that the two caves represent two races or tribal stocks). Before the people came forth, a watchman, Marocael, guarded the entrances by night; but, once delaying his return into the caves until after dawn, the sun transformed him into a stone; while others, going a-fishing, were also caught by the sun and were changed into trees. As for the sun and moon, they, too, came from a certain grotto, called Giovava, to which, says Fray Ramon, the Indians paid great veneration, having it all painted "without any figure, but with leaves and the like"; and keeping in it two stone zemis which looked "as if they sweated"; to these they went when they wanted rain.
PLATE III.
Antillean stone ring, of the ovate type, with carved panels. Stone rings, or "collars," form one of the types of symbolic stones from this region the significance of which has so profoundly puzzled archaeologists. Reference to their possible meaning will be found on page 24 and note 14. there referred to. The specimen here figured is in the Museum of the American Indian, New York. Joyce (Central American Archaeology, pages 189-91) interprets the design as a human figure. The disks on either side of the head are ear-plugs; arms and hands may be seen supporting them; the pit between the elbows is the umbilicus; while the legs are represented by the upper segments of the decorated panels exterior to the disks.
The story of the origin of the sea is a little more complex. In introducing the tale, Fray Ramon says: "I, writing in haste and not having paper enough, could not place everything rightly.... Let us now return to what we should have said first, that is, their opinion concerning the origin and beginning of the sea." There was a certain man, Giaia, whose son, Giaiael ("Giaia's son"), undertook to kill his father, but was himself slain by the parent, who put the bones into a calabash, which he hung in the top of his house. One day he took the calabash down, and looking into it, an abundance of fishes, great and small, came forth, since into these the bones had changed. Later on, while Giaia was absent, there came to his house four sons, born at a birth from a certain woman, Itiba Tahuvava, who was cut open that they might be delivered—"the first that they cut out was Caracaracol, that is, 'Mangy.'" These four brothers took the calabash and ate of the fish, but seeing Giaia returning, in their haste they replaced it badly, with the result that "there ran so much water from it as overflowed all the country, and with it came out abundance of fish, and hence they believe the sea had its origin." Fray Ramon goes on to tell how, the four brothers being hungry, one of them begged cassaba bread of a certain man, but was struck by him with tobacco. Thereupon his shoulder swelled up painfully; and when it was opened, a live female tortoise issued forth—"so they built their house and bred up the tortoise."
"I understood no more of this matter, and what we have writ signifies but little," continues the friar; yet to the modern reader the tales have all the marks of a primitive cosmogony, a cosmogony having many analogues in similar tales from the two Americas. The notion of a cave or caves from which the parents of the human race and of the animal kinds issue to people the world is ubiquitous in America; so, too, is the notion of an age of transformations, in which beings were altered from their first forms. Peter Martyr, who tells the same stories in résumé, as he says, of Pane's manuscript, adds a number of interesting details; as that after the metamorphosis of Marocael, or Machchael, as Martyr calls him, the First Race were refused entrance into the caves when the sun rose "because they sought to sin," and so were transformed—a moral element which recalls similar motifs in Pueblo myths. But perhaps the most striking analogies are with the cosmogonies of the Algonquian and Iroquoian stocks. The four Caracarols (caracol, "shell," plural cacaracol, is the evident derivation), one of whom was called "Mangy," recall the Stone Giants, and again recall the twins or (as in a Potawatomi version) quadruplets whose birth causes their mother's death, while the tortoise cut from the shoulder (Martyr says it was a woman by whom the brothers successively became fathers of sons and daughters) is at least suggestive of the cosmogonic turtle of North American myth. In the flood-legend, the idea of fishes being formed from bones is remotely paralleled by the Eskimo conception of the creation of fishes from the finger-bones of the daughter of Anguta; and Benzoni tells how, in his day, the Haitians still had a pumpkin as a relic, "saying that it had come out of the sea with all the fish in it."
In the order of his narrative—though not, apparently, in the order in which he deemed the events ought to lie—Fray Ramon follows the story of the emergence of the First People from caves with the adventures of a hero whom he calls Guagugiana, but whom Peter Martyr terms Vagoniona. It is easy to recognize in this hero an example of the demiurgic Trickster-Transformer so common in American myth. Like the Trickster elsewhere, he has a servant or comrade, Giadruvava, and the first story that Pane tells is one of which we would fain have a fuller version, for even the fragmentary sketch of it is full of poetic suggestion. Guagugiana, it seems, was one of the cave-dwellers of the First Race. One day he sent forth his servant to seek a certain cleansing herb, but, as Pane has it, "the sun took him by the way, and he became a bird that sings in the morning, like the nightingale"; to which Peter Martyr adds that "on every anniversary of his transformation he fills the night air with songs, bewailing his misfortunes and imploring his master to come to his help."
In this tale, slender as it is, there is an element of unusual interest, fortified by various other allusions to Antillean beliefs. It would appear that the First People, the cave-dwellers, were of the nature of spirits or souls, and that the Sun was the true Transformer, whose