Miskito

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Mis·ki·to

 (mĭ-skē′tō)
n. pl. Miskito or Mis·ki·tos
1. A member of an American Indian people inhabiting the Caribbean coast of northeast Nicaragua and southeast Honduras.
2. The Misumalpan language of the Miskito. In both senses also called Mosquito.

[Spanish misquito, from Miskito Miskitu, ethnic self-designation.]

Mis•ki•to

or Mís•ki•to

(məˈski toʊ)

n., pl. -tos, (esp. collectively) -to.
1. a member of an American Indian people of NE Nicaragua and adjacent areas of Honduras.
2. the language of the Miskito.
References in classic literature ?
A number of Mosquitoes seeing its plight settled upon it and enjoyed a good meal undisturbed by its tail.
As Ned remarked, it did look like a camping party, for in the canoes were tents, cooking utensils and, most important, mosquito canopies of heavy netting.
Its shores seemed to be thickly set with brambles and thorny plants, growing together in wild confusion, and were literally hidden, sometimes, from the gaze, by myriads of mosquitoes of a light-brown hue.
But later on when they sat outside, smoking furiously to keep off the mosquitoes and watching the fireflies dart in and out amongst the trees, the boy was silent.
Among the numerous afflictions which the Europeans have entailed upon some of the natives of the South Seas, is the accidental introduction among them of that enemy of all repose and ruffler of even tempers--the Mosquito. At the Sandwich Islands and at two or three of the Society group, there are now thriving colonies of these insects, who promise ere long to supplant altogether the aboriginal sand-flies.
He was a stranger in the locality, so had no means of knowing that summer homes were always burgled on Long Island every year, as regularly as the coming of the mosquito and the advent of the jelly-fish.
Small wonder that he had accumulated such a virulence and variety of fevers, he thought, as he recalled that sleepless night of torment, when the throb of his wounds was as nothing compared with the myriad stings of the mosquitoes. There had been no escaping them, and he had not dared to light a fire.
But the stories my father told me, sometimes odd enough stories to tell a little girl, as we wandered about the echoing rooms, or hung over the stone balustrade and fed the fishes in the lake, or picked the pale dog-roses in the hedges, or lay in the boat in a shady reed-grown bay while he smoked to keep the mosquitoes off, were after all only traditions, imparted to me in small doses from time to time, when his earnest desire not to raise his remarks above the level of dulness supposed to be wholesome for Backfische was neutralised by an impulse to share his thoughts with somebody who would laugh; whereas the place I was bound for on my latest pilgrimage was filled with living, first-hand memories of all the enchanted years that lie between two and eighteen.
The mosquitoes made merry over her, biting her firm, round arms and nipping at her bare insteps.
The place swarmed with myriads of mosquitoes, which, with their stings and their music, set all sleep at defiance.
The air was calm, full of the eternal hum of insects, a tropical chorus of many octaves, from the deep drone of the bee to the high, keen pipe of the mosquito. Beyond the veranda was a small cleared garden, bounded with cactus hedges and adorned with clumps of flowering shrubs, round which the great blue butterflies and the tiny humming-birds fluttered and darted in crescents of sparkling light.
"By the way, you spoke about the Mosquito Coast just now.