Evangelization of the Aborigines of South America
By David Foster Watkins
The most recent authors on missions show that little has been done to evangelize the native races of South America. The oldest Protestant mission was planted on the eastern side of the continent, and has been nurtured by godly men; but the result of its labor is but a drop in the bucket, compared with the needs of the people and the ocean of opportunities. Many Protestant Christians living in the Latin republics have neglected the Indians as if they had no claim to the glad tidings intended for all. The Welsh colonists, who went to Patagonia two generations ago to save their language, which they have so far successfully done, have gained the respect and confidence of the Patagonian Indians, because they have always been just and kind in their dealings with them. As a result, not a Welshman has met death at the hands of these Indians, while other nationalities have suffered much. Protestantism has done little to give the gospel of Jesus Christ to the native races of South America; while that church nominally called Christian has but sent them to lower depths of degradation than they were in before. What, therefore, can be done to fortify these people against the coming of the whites, who within a few years will be pouring into the marvelously rich country of South America by the tens of thousands?—They must be taught the religion of Jesus Christ. But they can neither read nor write; and only a few of the tribes have a written language. Evidently, the first thing must be to teach them to read and write. It is the purpose of this article to set forth how this may be easily, quickly, and inexpensively done, and mostly by the Indians themselves. It will be a simple matter to teach them the gospel after they know how to read and write. Another difficulty is that they do not all speak one language, but have almost as many languages and dialects as there are tribes. Some missionaries favor teaching them some one language, as Spanish or English, from the start; but Brazil requires that Portuguese be taught, and other republics require Spanish. None, however, would object to their being taught their native language, provided the official language was not entirely neglected. To teach the Indians another language, for their immediate needs, is out of the question. But if we can teach them to read and write their own language in a short time, the first obstacle to bringing the gospel to them will have been overcome. That this can be done by a few weeks’ study, seems clear to my mind from the following experiment:—11About a year ago, on my third trip to Peru, I went inland from the little port of Mollendo, some seven days’ journey, carrying my Blickensderfer, with English and Spanish type-wheels, for the purpose of teaching the Indians to read and write their own language within a few weeks. I had confidence in my ultimate success, though I did not mention my purpose to my friends, lest I fail; for in that case I preferred to carry the burden of my defeat alone. I had been on the banks of the Rio Toro before, and had been much pleased with the people and the country. The Indians spoke Kechua only, and were not able to distinguish one letter of the alphabet from another. After distributing some handkerchiefs among the older people, and some trinkets among the children, I was served with roasted corn and boiled potatoes, which were thoroughly enjoyed; for I had tasted no food for thirty-six hours. For good reasons, I had refused to sleep in a jacal that had been kindly offered me. By noon of the following day I had built myself a shelter with branches under the shade of a large tree, had fixed my typewriter on props, and was writing in the presence of more than a hundred Indians. Many were the remarks they were making, but I could not understand a word of their language. One of the aged women spoke to me in broken Spanish; but as my business made it necessary that I should know no language known to them, I made no reply. I heard a man say pirac, and I wrote the word on a piece of paper, and read it over several times. This seemed to please them. There was a woman, apparently thirty-five years of age, standing near by with her child, which was caressing her affectionately, and the mother said to it, “Cuyan hua maque.” These words I also wrote and read several times. An old man present corrected the sound I tried to represent with the letter “q,” for which I smiled my thanks. I learned that the sound I tried to represent by the letter “q” can not be properly represented by any letter in the English or the Spanish alphabet. The children were talking loudly, I supposed about what was going on, and one little boy about seven years old did his best to recite after me every word I wrote and read to the people. One of the men, probably thinking the child too impertinent, took him by the ear, and said, “Ama rimichucha nihim.” I at once wrote the words, and soon was able to pronounce them correctly, when I found that it was three words and not one, as I had at first written it. After writing the words again on a slip of paper, and pronouncing them, I gave the slip to the little fellow who had been punished, and then the man who had taken him by the ear pushed him forward, motioning that I should give him some more words to be pronounced, which I gladly did. Others of my congregation also gave me words. These I wrote and read; and soon all were clamoring for written words. I realized that such a hubbub would interfere with my plan; so, to divert their attention, I took up ten pebbles, and counted them in English, loudly enough for all to hear. The little fellow already mentioned, Pisco, pronounced every word after me, and to show my appreciation I gave him a piece of twine out of my saddle-bags, which pleased him highly. I then counted five on the ends of my fingers, and motioned to Pisco to tell me what “one” is in his language; but here he failed me. This seemed to disappoint him very much; but the old man said, “Huc,” and after that all was easy. He then counted my pebbles to ten,—huc, iscay, quisma, tahua, pchca, sokta, kanchis, pusak, iscan, chunca. From these words I took all the different sounds, and added the sounds of “f,” “ll,” and “pas,” as in Spanish, which I had also heard. This gave me the sounds represented by the following letters and combinations: a, e, i, o, u, y, ch, k, ll, m, ny, p, q, r, s, and t. I noticed that c, k, p, m, s, t, and q were sounded at times as if they were doubled; at least it was evident that my English and Spanish wheels could not give characters that would represent all the sounds of the Kechua language. However, the Spanish letters are sufficient to represent all the sounds in some of the native languages; and when a language is to be taught which has sounds that can not be represented by these letters, other signs may be used. This may be the best way to proceed, since it would aid the people if they ever tried to learn one of the European languages. All the native languages will not contain more than six such sounds, and in no one language will they all be found. Having isolated these sounds, I determined to make a type-wheel which would have signs on it that would represent these sounds. I took a piece of soft wood and made a wheel, then cut a strip of leather from the top of one of my high boots, and fastened it to the wheel with gum, pins, and thread. This I thinned down, leaving raised signs to represent the sounds. Having arranged my wheel with euphonious signs, I again wrote hundreds of words for the people, such as the names of birds and animals, and of things both within and without the jacals. Little Pisco was able, after studying the signs one day, to put the sounds together, and read the words slowly. It did not take any of the boys more than a few days to learn to read some words. The next thing was to teach the boys to write on the machine. Pisco was able at once to strike the right key, on which, of course, I had put the new signs, and he wrote correctly word after word which his mother and others gave him. He wrote all the numbers up to ten, and of his own accord the word mapa, which he used when he spoke to an intruder, and which, I believe, means “be careful.” Never before were the Rio Toro people so rejoiced over the doings of their children as on that day a little over a year ago. I also was happy, because it would have been demonstrated that the Indians could be taught to read and write their own language in a very short time, and that by one who knew nothing about it. I gave the boys the free use of my machine while I was resting for a few days, preparatory to my trip back to the coast, and a visit to the cannibal Cachivo Indians, of Ecuador, in whom I had been interested for several years. One evening, on retiring, I noticed about a dozen Bolivian Indians enter the village, heavily laden with sacks of salt from the deposits near by. On awakening the following morning, the first thing I noticed was the click of the typewriter; but being indisposed I paid little attention to it. On the second day, being somewhat better of the coast fever with which I was suffering, I got about, and found that one of the Bolivians had stopped, and Pisco was attempting to teach him his native language, the Aymara. I found this Indian working away at the typewriter with the help of Pisco, and this suggested to me the thought that my theory was of much wider application than I had first thought,—that even an Indian, ignorant of the language of another, could teach him to read and write his native tongue. Then I seemed to hear, as in a dream, the click of the machine among all the Indian tribes on the South American continent. I seemed to see Christian friends in Chile, Brazil, Paraguay, Uruguay, Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, and in the Central American republics, learning in a few days the new system of teaching, and going forth to teach it among the Indians. Then I seemed to see the more intelligent Indians, having learned, going forth with zeal to teach their fellows. Yes, I was truly happy when Pisco made clear to me that the Indians could thus easily teach one another to read and write. The day came when I must leave the poor Indians; and when I packed my typewriter, the world had come to an end for some of them, to judge from their weeping and sighs.