Humboldt on Cannibalism II 

To get the context of this post, the reader might want to see Humboldt on Cannibalism. Today’s post, in effect, concludes that one.

In his writings on the Americas, Alexander von Humboldt, whom I admire and respect for his great learning and energy (not to overlook the wonderful clarity of his writings), like all secular humanists before him and since, cannot resist the temptation to posit moral equivalencies between the “savage practices” he witnessed and the “like practices” of advanced civilizations in history. He does a sleight of hand here in that by “civilized” he usually means — and his readers usually assume — Christian lands, but his examples are not always of such lands.

As one reads him, one readily sees that all those moral equivalence assertions have the purpose of minimizing if not denigrating Christianity; in effect, arguing that the historic faith has no great positive impact on civilization, and indeed might be a negative force.

He tries but fails. I say this as an admirer of Humboldt.

In the prior post on Cannibalism, we saw that Humboldt goes on at some length to compare the practices of some of the Indian tribes in Venezuela to those of Egypt in the 13th century. But, of course, the former was a daily routine, whereas the latter was a rare occurrence. He also goes on to deny that cannibalism ever existed in Africa. He does this by questioning the observations of “some travelers” while citing a single source which denies the allegations. However, research then and since documents the history of the practice there (see for example, A History of Cannibalism: From ancient cultures to survival stories and modern psychopaths, N. Constantin; Cannibalism: The last taboo, B. Marinner; Ibn Battuta in Black Africa, and more).

Nevertheless, Humboldt did document evidence of cannibalism among those who accompanied him:

“We inquired of this young man, so calm and so affectionate in the little services which he rendered us, whether he still felt sometimes a desire to eat of a Cheruvichahena. He answered, without discomposure, that, living in the mission, he would only eat what he saw was eaten by the Padres. Reproaches addressed to the natives on the abominable practice which we here discuss, produce no effect; it is as if a Brahmin, traveling in Europe, were to reproach us with the habit of feeding on the flesh of animals.

But then the great explorer goes on to affirm moral equivalency, citing Abd al-latif al-Baghdadi’s account of cannibalism in Egypt in the 13th century:

“And why should we be so much astonished at this inconstancy in the tribes of the Orinoco, when we are reminded, by terrible and well-ascertained examples, of what has passed among civilized nations in times of great scarcity? In Egypt, in the thirteenth century, the habit [sic!] of eating human flesh pervaded all classes of society; extraordinary snares were spread for physicians in particular. They were called to attend persons who pretended to be sick, but who were only hungry; and it was not in order to be consulted, but devoured.

“‘It then no longer caused any surprise; the horror it had at first inspired vanished; and it was mentioned as an indifferent and ordinary thing. This mania of devouring one another became so common among the poor, that the greater part perished in this manner. 

“‘These wretches employed all sorts of artifices, to seize men by surprise, or decoy them into their houses under false pretenses. This happened to three physicians among those who visited me; and a bookseller who sold me books, an old and very corpulent man, fell into their snares, and escaped with great difficulty. All the facts which we relate as eye-witnesses fell under our observation accidentally, for we generally avoided witnessing spectacles which inspired us with so much horror.’ (Account of Egypt by Abd-allatif, physician of Bagdad, translated into French by De Sacy pages 360 to 374.)”

However, the events which Abd al-latif al-Baghdadi (1162-1231) describes so vividly occurred during a terrible famine in Egypt; it was not a usual occurrence, but did have far-reaching and widespread impact across that land. His writings on Egypt did not at all imply this was a common (“habit”) practice there; he focused on that famine and its horrible deleterious effects on the entire country.

More notably, Humboldt cannot cite a single source documenting widespread cannibalism in Christian lands. On the contrary, he approvingly, and fairly, cites the efforts of missionaries to banish the practice. He even cites the horrified reactions of Christians when confronted with the practice. Indeed, it was that horror which eventually led Hernán Cortés to  destroy the ancient city of Mexico as it was a center for human sacrifice and cannibalism which the Aztecs continued to revert to until the city was destroyed.

That leads us to the “why” human sacrifice and its usual attendant, cannibalism, have by and large disappeared as open practices around the world. A hint can be easily discerned in the Christian revulsion to such practices. And that revulsion can be traced to the Ultimate Sacrifice: that of the Son of God nailed to the cross for the sins of His people. No other human could satisfy such a claim. That explains why human sacrifice was considered such an abomination in the Old Testament Scriptures, which point to that Ultimate Sacrifice. No human can satisfy for his own sins, let alone the sins of others. Only the God-Man, Jesus Christ has that power and that authority.

That might explain Humboldt’s dissimulations, diversions, and distractions. As he himself notes, “civilized” people have not delivered us from cannibalism, but rather Jesus the Christ.

Image of Abd al-latif al-Baghdadi (1162-1231), who deserves to be as well known as Ibn Battuta (1304-1369). Battuta, who has hotels and malls named after him, travelled extensively for 30 years, always documenting his accounts, which are a rich historical source for his time period. Abd al-latif al-Baghdadi travelled 40 years, documenting voluminously. In addition, he was a physician, philosopher, scientist, Egyptologist, and more. Humboldt quoted his account of instances of cannibalism in Egypt, but was not candid as to the context vis-à-vis cannibalism along the Orinoco.
Alexander von Humboldt on the Orinoco River
“The more you contemplate the antiquities of Egypt, the more your wonder increases….”–Abd al-latif al-Baghdadi
Carib Indians, early 20th century. 

Mining Camp Memories (continued): Part 3

With great pleasure and gratitude I continue to post from the Mining Camp Memories by Michael John Ashe II (Mike). These arise from his and family’s sojourn in El Pao from 1953 to 1961.

I think General Lew Wallace had an understanding of the pull that childhood has on the rest of one’s life:

… some there will be to divine [such] feelings without prompting. They are such as had happy homes in their youth, no matter how far that may have been back in time — homes which are now the starting points of all recollection; paradises from which they went forth in tears, and which they would now return to, if they could, as little children; places of laughter and singing, and associations dearer than any of all the triumphs of after-life.”  Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ, Book Sixth, Chapter 6, by General Lew Wallace (1827-1905)

Thank you again, Mike!

Mike Ashe:

Organized Entertainment:

Below is a picture of the Castillo de San Francisco de Asis on the Orinoco which is located about 15 or 17 miles downstream from where Dick and I would fish. The company would organize a day trip for the whole camp (once a year) we would all travel by rail to Palua board the YaYa Tug Boat travel down river to the Castillo and have fun exploring the fort. The company would arrange lunch for us.  Built by the Spaniards in 1685 to tax travelers on the river by raising a chain until tolls were paid. Children and Adults would have a great time.

Looking at these pictures the Castillo was built on top and around a large boulder. These boulders were everywhere in the Orinoco and the river banks for miles which only adds to the river’s beauty.
A picture of the river near Ciudad Bolivar-note the amount of river current.  The mighty river was wide in the rainy Season it swells to a breath of 14 Miles. Average depth of 165 feet in the rainy season to 50 feet in the dry season

Another camp outing would be to travel down to the Caroni River during the dry season, when the water level was low exposing a sandy beach from the tree line to the water’s edge in some places 100 feet. The Caiman would leave their tracks in the sand from the tree line to the water’s edge, which was kind of neat.  The families would go swimming in the river and I would go fishing downstream from them.  Never told the swimmers that piranhas (AKA Caribes) were all that I was catching, and a lot of them.  

The communal restaurant at the Club served good food (big night was Sunday for families) and the swimming pool was also very nice and all of us kids would spend a great deal of time there, mostly swimming. We would also get our haircuts there.  The barber had a nude woman tattooed on his forearm and Dad would get a kick out of how I would be eyeballing the barber’s forearm-he never said anything to me about it.  

We had movies twice a week. Everyone would bring lawn chairs and watch/wait until the projector malfunctioned! 

My favorite person in Venezuela was “Juan the Bartender” Juan like many folks in the camp and in Venezuela, were there to escape the economic collapse in Europe after the War. Actually, I was godfather to his son one of the highlights of my life in the little Church in the labor camp.  I did speak with Richard Barnes about Juan who had left before the mine closed. While working in El Pao he had made enough money to buy a bar in Soledad (across the Orinoco from Ciudad Bolivar) which he later sold for a nice profit that enabled him to return to Portugal with his family.  Juan’s importance to the community was never recognized and in that he was special.

Encounter with wild beasts and diversity of wildlife:

On one occasion I ran into a rather large Tapir while on a fishing trip on the Caroni River bank circa 1957-58 during the dry season.   On the way back from my position on the river bank to the pickup (the rest of the fishing party was waiting to head home) I entered the tree line and I froze, the Tapir was about 15-20 feet away from me.  I wasn’t afraid of it but knew that it was a big wild animal and I really didn’t know how dangerous it was. If I had known, I would have started running. When we made eye contact, it turned and moved away, I remained calm but as soon as it was out of sight, I picked up the pace and got out of there.  I told everyone what I saw but didn’t get much of a response.  No big deal.  This actually was a very big deal and I was blessed to be able to experience a contact with an endangered animal.  A Tapir (shown below) typically spends a great deal of time around rivers.  I would also expect them to be around more in the dry season (calmer waters provided easier access).  Their primary predators in addition to man would be the Jaguar.  

I ran into this guy “a Tarsiers” (above) while looking into a burrow and it scared me to death.

The diversity of wildlife was amazing.  We had pet parakeets, toucans and a remarkable parrot called Big Parrot.  I am convinced that a lot of the birds in Venezuela have not yet been cataloged.  Big Parrot was an amazing bird; had long feathers surrounding the back of its neck and when excited the feathers would raise up creating a crown around its head.  

The Herons lived next to us; a sloth meandered into camp one day and ended up in one of their trees- stayed there a couple of weeks and died.  

There was also a large Burro that wandered into camp when I was 10.  I took care of it and would ride around camp.  One day the Burro disappeared (did not know how or why) but I was devastated.  Somehow the Burro reappeared only to die in the Wrights (Dad’s Boss) front yard.

Silke Gerbrecht had a pet Ocelot in camp a beautiful animal but not too friendly.  I never did see a Jaguar but hunters would sell their skins in the worker’s camp so they were not too far from camp.  

Each year the camps were invaded by a relative of a cane toad, that littered the roads as road kill.  I understand if they are kept in captivity, they will live for 35 years.  

We made several trips to Cerro Bolivar (US Steel mine) to visit Art Ruff and his family. Art was a snake expert he had horses so we would go out in the bush looking for snakes. When he spotted one he’d jump off the horse and capture it with his bare hands.  Dad and Art went off on one trip and caught a 10-foot red tailed boa.  Art skinned it and sent it over to Dad. I don’t know what ever happened to the skin but someone could have made a lot of boots with it!

We ran into a lot of anteaters and porcupines.  Our dogs would invariably have run ins with porcupines and come home with white spines all over their noses. Both are dangerous; the Giant Anteater has large front claws and are hunted in Venezuela primarily for the claws.  

Birds by the Thousands:

William Phelps a North American from New York City, and Harvard Educated was an ornithological explorer and businessman who arrived in Venezuela Circa 1900, in the states of Sucre and Monagas. He became like myself, fascinated by the country and its birds. In San Antonio de Maturin he met British settlers, the Tuckers and fell in love with one of their daughters Alicia Elvira. He continued his studies at Harvard and returned to Maturin to sell coffee and pursue ornithology.  His son William Jr founded the Phelps ornithological Collection considered the largest in Latin America.  There are over 80,000 birds in feathers and thousands preserved in alcohol and over 1000 skeletons.   William also founded Radio Caracas Radio (RCR) which was only shut down when the communist dictator Hugo Chavez came to power.  The collection I believe is still in Caracas and continues to grow.

We ate a lot of bananas in Venezuela.  Dad would buy a whole stock of bananas and hang it outside on the porch.  The birds would feast on the top of the stock and we would eat the rest as it ripened.

The bird population in Venezuela is simply spectacular in terms of diversity, quantity and habitats.  One of my favorites is the Crested Oropendolas that weave sock like nests that hang high up in the jungle canopy.  There would be thousands flying into and out of their nests as we drove down the dirt road to Palua.

This is a Hawk Headed Parrot, our pet Parrot in Venezuela-simply called Big Parrot.  When he got angry or disturbed the head feathers would go up on his head.  He was a great friend and companion. We had several dogs in Venezuela, but Big Parrot was always my favorite.

Insects by the Millions:

Ants were my favorite insects.  Army ants are actually scavengers that can swarm and consume a dead carcass in minutes. They provide a great service in keeping the jungle floor clean. When they are in the march they number in the millions and leave a bare trail about 8 inches wide for miles.  

The leaf cutter ant is an amazingly strong creature able to carry leaves to the nest in great numbers.   They all can and do bite which is always painful.

Beetles came in all types and sizes, we would play with them for hours, we’d get two large Hercules and/or Rhinoceros beetles and arrange gladiator fights just like in the Roman Colosseum. Blood thirsty jerks that we were! 

Termites were everywhere, they would magically appear overnight on the walls of our company cinder block home. They would scale the walls inside a mud tube from the floor to the ceiling; don’t know what they were in search of maybe roof rafters (maybe wooden).  Anyway, it would always freak out my mother. 

Butterflies:

There were over a 1000 species of butterflies in Venezuela.  The ones in the rainforest where we lived were amazingly colorful and evolved to blend in, some with wings that looked like eyes. 

(I’ll briefly interject here to note that Andrew Neild from England published The Butterflies of Venezuela some years ago. Many of his specimens were from the area surrounding El Pao. If the reader is interested in this, he or she can search for Andrew and find him — RMB)

To be continued….

Mining Camp Memories: Chapter 2 (continued)

…Mom would always say that the best time of her life was in El Pao with all her children about her….

Moving In:

I can’t be sure but I think we moved to Venezuela in 1953 (I was 6 and my sister was 2). Dad was an IMCOV employee hired as a Mine Foreman and left there in 1961. Our first on Delta DC7 going from New Orleans stopping in Havana, Kingston, Montego Bay and onto Maiquetia (I can’t be sure but I think flight time was 7 hours). From Maiquetia to Ciudad Bolivar on a bumpy DC3 (Plenty of barf bags on board) and by company vehicle to El Pao.  Our first night in camp was really something. Red Howler monkeys would growl like lions and all of us were too afraid to sleep. My sister Mary Ellen and I ended up in bed with the folks for a couple of weeks! The camp weather was nice all year round including the rainy season-no HVAC.

Most of my memories were from a kid’s perspective and Venezuela was a great adventure for me but I knew it was very different for an adult. It takes a special person to spend a lifetime in a place where there is considerable isolation in language and culture not to mention the absence of family connections (my Grandmother the daughter of a New York City policeman lived in a mining camps in Chile and Mexico for almost 40 years). Outside, communication was not possible when we lived there, we had a short-wave radio and when atmospherics were right about 7-8PM we would get the news from the US, but not too often. The mail service was always touch and go.  The commissary was in the labor camp. I remembered my mother would bake bread twice a week and would have to sift the flour to get the hundreds of black bugs out.  We still managed to get some protein from the bread even after the sifting.  Sanitary conditions were not optimum there.  I remember that the women would travel to the Oil Fields to get frozen vegetables and Ice Cream about 3 times a year.  Meat processing was done at labor camp the which took sanitation to a whole new level.  

Bo Johnson was an exciting character, a geologist and a Pilot with a lot of flight hours in Venezuela and other parts of South and Central America. He would take off and land on the top bench of the mine until the day he crashed landed. He and Ted Heron salvaged most of the plane and stored the parts in the machine shop with the idea of rebuilding it.  I left for school in the states around that time, so I don’t know if that ever happened.  If anyone could fix something it would be Ted.  Ted and Dad worked together in Inspiration Az-(Anaconda Copper) Ted’s expertise was in mining equipment maintenance.

Looks a lot like Bo’s plane.

In 1953-54 El Pao had a serious maintenance problem.  Dad convinced management to hire Ted to solve the issue, which he did.  When Dad went to Mexico in 1968 there were a similar maintenance issues with the Autlan’s Molango Mines and Ted was back in business.  As I recall, Bethlehem Mines had a longwall shipped there from “I think” Mine 131 Boone Division that was giving them fits I don’t know if that problem was ever fixed. 

Camp School:

The camp school was a one room structure. There were two teachers, Mrs. Dorsey and Mr. Shipe. Mrs. Dorsey’s husband had died in El Pao, but she continued teaching there.  When my mother went to the States to have my brother Tim, I stayed with her, a great lady.  I had one year of Mr. and Mrs. Eller. Both were very nice, however I thought Mr. Eller was a little strange wearing sandals in the jungle which was always a topic of conversation with the kids.  Mrs. Ivanoksy was my piano teacher. She was a very eccentric but a wonderful French lady whose latest husband Boris Ivanosky was a huge Russian, who drove a very small sports car and always wore his French beret while driving. Both of them were getting up in age and she would sometimes speak to me in French, sometimes in Spanish and rarely in English.  She would always have a snack for me after practice to soothe my invariable headaches?  Needless to say, I really didn’t progress very far as a musician but loved my teacher.   

Top picture is circa 1955; bottom picture is circa 1958

The Mine:

I spent a lot of time at the mine with my Dad most likely to give my mother a break (I was a handful).  The crusher was a constant issue and the greatest bottleneck in the operation, so we spent a lot of time there.  There were a couple of nasty crusher accidents one incident involved a third shift worker who had climbed onto the conveyor belt for a nap and didn’t wake up when the crusher started up in the morning.  He was dismembered when he reached the head frame, just an awful accident.   There was another accident (luckily no one hurt) when a dump truck unloading clay overburden tipped over while unloading and ended up about half way down a very steep and high dump site (a buildup of clay inside the bucket might have caused the accident or maybe operator error). Shortly thereafter one of the trucks was outfitted with a device to scrap clay buildup off the buckets, improving productivity and safety.

I got a chance to operate dozers and went to countless blasts with Sam Wright and my Dad which was really fun. The shovels would be positioned outside the blast zone and we would go inside the shovel bucket for protection. Dad or Sam would keep the pickup running, light the fuse, jump in the pickup, and race down the bench out of the blast zone (which was relatively large). The blasts were really something and everyone was different, a cloud of red dust and large sized debris (mostly 2-4” rock projectiles) flying in all directions.   I was almost killed by a dump truck driver, so I was confined to the pickup after that when the mine was operating.  IMCOV safety is a little less stringent than Bethlehem Steel’s!  

Labor Unions were strong there.  I remember one time Dad had a rather nasty disagreement with the union and he was arrested by the Guardia and put in jail.  In Venezuela the police were actually not local but a Federal Military force called the Guardia Nacional.  I do believe that Dad was taken into custody for his own safety but really not sure of that.  I always thought the Guardia was a good organization but who knows nowadays. 

Fishing Tales

Full Fine Print Disclosure I hate eating fish- so catch and release was the operative action. 

Actually, there was considerable risk in living in a remote mining camp.  Dick Guth was my Fishing Buddy and we went fishing at least a couple times a month.  He would pick me up at 4:30 and drive down a dirt, sometimes gravel road to Palua (with Conucos on both sides of the road).  It was right before daybreak that we would be on the Orinoco. It was beautiful calm water like glass with flocks of parakeets, parrots, and occasional guacamaya overhead.  We would go downstream to our favorite fishing bend in the river and during the dry season come ashore. During the rainy season the Orinoco would overflow its banks flooding the surrounding low lands then would recede during the dry season, leaving behind lagoons full of fish (great opportunities for the Caiman and us) We’d head back (Orinoco would begin to get rough at midday) and troll upstream. 

We would always get a Payara strike-AKA saber tooth barracuda great game fish average size 30-40lbs with two 2-3” long fangs in its lower jaw and go up to where the Orinoco and Caroni merged (amazing line of clean “Caroni River water and Brown Orinoco Water”) just upstream on the Caroni past Puerto Ordaz and back to Palua and head home. 

I didn’t think about it at the time but it would have been a real problem if the outboard 30HP motor would have quit on us when we were downstream from Palua – since the banks of the Orinoco were impenetrable at that time. Amazing rivers full of fish, river dolphins, tarpon, sharks Crocodiles. I’m sure you know that the camp water was pumped up from the Caroni.  Pumping station was slightly downstream from the amazing Falls (which was somewhat ruined by the dam). See below:

Somehow I misplaced my pictures of catches. This is a stock picture of a Payara. When landing one, you needed to watch out for their teeth!

Dick Guth, Ted Heron, Ted Jr. and I would go spear fishing off the coast.  We would travel to Puerto la Cruz take two Zodiac type boats and motor out to an uninhabited island about 1- ½ mile off shore and stay there for 3-4 days.    Great adventure for all of us. The water was very clear and relatively calm.  We’d catch Longostinos (Spanish for little lobster) and boil them over an open fire.  We were all strong swimmers and would sometimes venture out into blue water.  On one occasion, I had gone out pretty far and Dick and Ted were yelling and screaming for me to get out of the water.  I thought they were yelling because I was out too far. As it turned out they were yelling because there was a large shark close to me which I failed to see.

As you might have already guessed, fishing was really an important part of my life since organized sports of any kind was not an option for me.  It didn’t stop when I was not in Venezuela.  My Uncle Bob Broadley (a great angler) taught me a great deal about fishing during summer trips to Pensacola Florida.  We would go out early mornings stop off at B&B Donut shop around 5:30 and off to the Pensacola Beach Pier on Santa Rosa Island and fish for Kings and Lings (Cobia). If the fish weren’t biting there, we would go to the pier at Fort Pickens and fish for Spanish (Spanish Maceral). 

No one would believe the number of 8–12-foot hammer head sharks that used to circle the Pensacola Beach Pier. In those days the beach was packed with swimmers!  Uncle Johnny McCluskey was another angler that I loved dearly.  He was a great man of character, that I was fortunate to be a part of my life.  He took an interest in my life and was always my buddy.  He was a boxing fan and we would watch the Gillette Saturday fights together along with his son Mathew McCluskey.  Just great memories.  Johnny would fish for Mullet with a net since that was the only way to fish for Mullet.

Ling/Cobia

Also, it’s important to understand that, although it was fun to fish, the relationships with my fellow anglers’ memories of them were and still remain the most important for me.

Many of us mining camp brats can appreciate how much our mothers sacrifice for their families.  They are the true heroes of the mining camp life. Without them we would have not survived it.  

My mother a Pensacola, Florida gal, met my Dad on a blind date in 1943.  Dad was in flight training in the Naval Air Station there and after a six-month courtship they were married in Jacksonville, Florida.

Pensacola was always home base for us. Even today we always manage to return often to visit my brother and parents’ gravesite there.

 Mom would always say that the best time of her life was in El Pao with all her children about her.

To be continued….

Humboldt on Cannibalism

To read Alexander von Humboldt’s journals of his and Aimé Bonpland’s journey to the Americas, much of which took place in Venezuela (1799-1804), is not only a pleasure, but also a rewarding experience. In many instances, I find his narratives and observations to be as helpful and profitable today as readers found them to be two centuries ago.

His praiseworthy writing and infinite curiosity does not, however, obscure Mr. Humboldt’s manifest prejudice against Christianity or his exasperating blind spot towards the enormous contributions by missionaries who loved the Americas and who travelled and lived there centuries before Humboldt’s birth. Were it not for those who went before, Humboldt’s travels would not have been possible, certainly not anywhere close to the extent he was able to achieve. 

For more on Humboldt, see herehere and here. As noted in that last link (“So Far From God and So Close to the United States”), Humboldt got his passport, enabling him to travel, not from “Enlightenment France” but from “priest-ridden Spain.”

The following comments are extracted from the sections of his journals concerning his explorations in the lower Orinoco regions. 

“Some of the islands are inhabited by a cruel and savage race, called cannibals, who eat the flesh of men and boys, and captives and slaves of the male sex, abstaining from that of females.” Hist. Venet. 1551. The custom of sparing the lives of female prisoners confirms what I have previously said of the language of the women. Does the word cannibal, applied to the Caribs of the West India Islands, belong to the language of this archipelago (that of Haiti)? or must we seek for it in an idiom of Florida, which some traditions indicate as the first country of the Caribs?) It is they who have rendered the names of cannibals, Caribbees, and anthropophagi, synonymous; it was their cruelties that prompted the law promulgated in 1504, by which the Spaniards were permitted to make a slave of every individual of an American nation which could be proved to be of Caribbee origin.

Note Humboldt’s allusion to a possible Floridian origin to the Caribs. Although some anthropologists make strong arguments for a Brazilian origin, meaning the Caribs came up from what is now Brazil, the Floridian, or North American origin of the Caribs is not an unprecedented hypotheses. Their features would seem to corroborate that theory. This is not due only to their physical features but also their few surviving sculptures and even their language. These things intimate an ancestry very dissimilar from that of most of the other Indians of South and Central America and the Caribbean. The Caribs seem to be evidence of ancient communications between North and South America.

Interested readers might take a few minutes to open a map of the Caribbean Sea, put a finger on the southern tip of Florida, and then trace it down to Cuba, and then move it in a pronounced southeastern arc across Hispaniola, Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, and on and on, all the way down to Grenada and finally to Tobago and Trinidad, just off the coast of Venezuela. It doesn’t take too much imagination to see an ancient land bridge which once connected Florida and Venezuela. At the least, it isn’t difficult to hypothesize that the Caribs migrated through those islands down to South America.

Humboldt seeks to cast doubt on the extent of the cruelties of the Caribs, writing “I believe [such cannibalism] was much exaggerated….” Much exaggerated? So they ate human flesh, just not as much as reported? Instead of a pound of flesh a week, they limited themselves to, say, a pound fortnightly? That might be an academic question to a detached observer, but certainly not to the ill-fated victims of that cruel and ferocious people.

We’ll conclude this post with his citing an old missionary and then going on to relate his own experience with “the perversity” of certain Indian tribes, which experience corroborates the missionaries comments.

“You cannot imagine,” said the old missionary of Mandavaca, “the perversity of this Indian race (familia de Indios). You receive men of a new tribe into the village; they appear to be mild, good, and laborious; but suffer them to take part in an incursion (entrada) to bring in the natives, and you can scarcely prevent them from murdering all they meet, and hiding some portions of the dead bodies.” In reflecting on the manners of these Indians, we are almost horrified at that combination of sentiments which seem to exclude each other; that faculty of nations to become but partially humanized; that preponderance of customs, prejudices, and traditions, over the natural affections of the heart.

Note how Humboldt, in appealing to “natural affections”, knowingly or not, cites the first chapter of Romans, which warns that any people who reject God will degenerate and that among the characteristics of a people evidencing that degeneration are men “without understanding, covenantbreakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful….[Emphasis mine]”

We took one who had become sufficiently civilized in a few weeks to be useful to us in placing the instruments necessary for our observations at night. He was no less mild than intelligent, and we had some desire of taking him into our service. What was our horror when, talking to him by means of an interpreter, we learned, that the flesh of the marimonde monkeys, though blacker, appeared to him to have the taste of human flesh. He told us that his relations (that is, the people of his tribe) preferred the inside of the hands in man, as in bears. This assertion was accompanied with gestures of savage gratification. 

We inquired of this young man, so calm and so affectionate in the little services which he rendered us, whether he still felt sometimes a desire to eat of a Cheruvichahena. He answered, without discomposure, that, living in the mission, he would only eat what he saw was eaten by the Padres. Reproaches addressed to the natives on the abominable practice which we here discuss, produce no effect; it is as if a Brahmin, travelling in Europe, were to reproach us with the habit of feeding on the flesh of animals.

In the eyes of the Indian of the Guaisia, the Cheruvichahena was a being entirely different from himself; and one whom he thought it was no more unjust to kill than the jaguars of the forest. It was merely from a sense of propriety that, whilst he remained in the mission, he would only eat the same food as the Fathers. The natives, if they return to their tribe (al monte), or find themselves pressed by hunger, soon resume their old habits of anthropophagy. 

Humboldt goes on to seek to mitigate excessive revulsion to the described practice by noting that cannibalism was widespread in thirteenth century Egypt. Howbeit, his brief dissertation on the Egyptian practice does not eclipse the yuck factor elicited by his matter-of-fact discussion about his “sufficiently civilized” travel companion.

As readers of this blog know, I very much admire Alexander von Humboldt. My father introduced me to him and I’ve introduced him to my children. He makes for exhilarating reading. But, as you read him, be sure to “prove all things, hold fast that which is good.”

We’ll visit with him again.

Alexander von Humboldt (left) and Aimé Bonpland in the lower Orinoco.
Carib Indian natives in Dominica (circa early 20th century)
Satellite photo taken “looking east”. The Meta River flows east into the Orinoco, which at this point flows south to north, but in photo it’s “right-to-left”. This and further south (right) is the vast Upper Orinoco region.
Map helps “visualize” the satellite photo (previous). Note the Meta River to the left (in Colombia). For about 150 miles before it flows into the Orinoco, it forms the boundary between Venezuela to the north and Colombia to the south. Note the Casiquiare Canal further south. Humboldt and Bonpland made it that far but were eventually turned back by Portuguese civil authorities.

Tragavenado

She moved slowly, as if tentatively feeling her way up the massive mahogany in the jungle to the left of that road which formed the boundary to the outlying wilderness.

Had I seen her, as she slid up the great trunk, I would have called her a tragavenado. All boas in Venezuela were known by that name. Even the ones along the Orinoco River, more properly identified as anacondas, were invariably called tragavenados: deer swallowers. Both boas and anacondas were plentiful in the regions around El Pao during my childhood. The anacondas especially in the wet jungle areas around the rapids of the Caroní River near its confluence with the Orinoco River.

The boas are smaller than the anacondas, which have been known to grow up to 30 feet and more. Tragavenados measure between 5 and 15 feet. The largest tragavenado seen in that part of Venezuela, for which there is record, measured just under 20 feet. That was considered exceptional.

Living in the damp jungle maze for up to 25 years and even more, this one grew undisturbed, never venturing very far from that area west of the road limning the west of the mining camp. Since her habitat had not changed much in a man’s generation, she remained therein where she fed on abundant wildlife of wild pigs, stray goats, tapir, deer, chiguires (capybaras), monkeys, and large fowl. Had she wandered closer to the Orinoco, her diet would have been augmented by small caimans.

The tragavenado can act as a very quick coil. She rests midst the brambles or branches for several days. Eventually, large birds, such as jungle parrots, settle nearby, oblivious to the danger. The tragavenado slips slowly,  imperceptibly towards the resting prey. She does this by sliding the upper part of her long body towards the bird in an almost circuitous route. The tail end rests on a branch at the lower left side of the tree, seemingly to dangle, like a thick vine, two feet to the lower left and up to the upper left of the bird.

The massive middle section runs along, one or two feet away, further up and then curves along the higher branches so that it rests directly above and to the upper right of the bird. The snake completes as it were an expansive frame around the bird, so that eventually the snake’s head is beneath the bird, mere inches away.

The power of this reptile is embedded in muscles all along her 20-foot length, covering her entire body.

The head acts as a guided missile. The muscles along the 2 or 3 feet below the head are designed not only to cut off her prey’s blood circulation, but also to “launch” the head. This they do, and the bird never knew what hit him. Within minutes it is inside the snake’s jaws and beginning its final, unwilling journey into the entrails of its killer.

Other prey, such as a pig or goat, or especially a deer, requires accommodation. This the serpent does by biting and, while keeping the fangs sunk into her quarry, coiling herself around the quickly immobile body and squeezing it. This is done by degrees. When the victim struggles, it creates small spaces which the snake’s muscles exploit by taking those spaces over, thereby slowly reducing all room for maneuver, until the animal ceases to breathe, has cardiac arrest, dies, and, finally, it is slowly but relentlessly swallowed whole into the laboratory whose acids work on it, preparing it for absorption and transforming it into nutrition.

All this activity, occurring mere yards from the camp, my friends and I mostly ignored. Everyone in the camp ignored. But we knew it went on.

Once, during a game of war around our makeshift “forts” in the jungle, I had wandered off alone and stood in what appeared to be a natural, heavily forested culvert. Unexpectedly, I sensed as if the earth were opening or sliding under me. I looked down and saw a boa pulling herself, carrying me along like a jelly legged marionette. I, bravely, sprang like a jack-in-the-box, tumbled like a rag doll, and scampered like a hysterical baboon out of there, running on pure adrenaline till I reached the edge of the jungle. Only then did I catch my breath enough to call out. We all fearlessly marched to the scene of the scare. But, boas being very good at camouflage, we failed to find it.

The above is true.

Except for the “bravely” and “fearlessly”.

Venezuela tragavenado (boa)
Tragavenado killed by machinery during the El Pao road construction
Photo of Anaconda captured in Parque La Llovizna, about 40 minutes from El Pao.
La Llovizna falls. One of a series of cataracts on the Caroní River as it approaches its confluence with the Orinoco in Ciudad Guayana. About a 35-40 minute drive from El Pao.