Numbers of Indians of the Patamona tribe live in the surrounding forest. They are a friendly though primitive people, and some of them speak or understand a few words of English. We accompanied the Protector of Indians, a British official living at Tumatumari, to one of the Indian dwellings one day. It seems that a negro had promised to marry a Patamona woman, then ran away, when she promptly married a man of her own tribe. Learning of this, the former suitor had written a letter to the officer demanding either his bride or damages. The official spent a very bad hour trying to explain the situation to the woman in the limited Patamona vocabulary at his command, while she sat stolidly in a hammock. When he had finished, she calmly remarked, “Well, you tell him I think he is a damn fool,” in perfect English!
This tribe of Indians has a curious custom of torturing themselves in various ways, which performance is called “beena.” It is supposed to insure success in any undertaking. A favorite method is to insert tough, pliable creepers into the nostrils and draw them out through the mouth. Another consists of slashing the breast, arms, and legs, and rubbing into the wounds the acrid juice of a plant. The official to whom I have previously referred had an Indian in his employ whose duty it was to supply the table with fresh meat. He hunted daily in the forest, bringing in deer, peccaries, agoutis, and other game in abundance; but on one occasion fortune conspired against him. Thereupon he tried his favorite beena, but it failed to bring him luck; every other means of mutilation known to the man was then resorted to in rapid succession, but still his long tramp and careful stalking yielded no meat. He became greatly discouraged and told his employer that he would make one more attempt at hunting, and should he fail in this would use his weapon upon himself. The officer thought it unwise to permit the discouraged man to return to the forest on the day following this declaration, so ordered him to cut weeds in his back yard. This the Indian reluctantly consented to do, but scarcely had he begun when he cut down a bush containing a wasps’ nest and was severely stung. He immediately took his gun and hurried away, saying that a new “beena” had been sent to him, and that at last the evil spell was broken. Strange to relate, that night he returned laden with game.