By Pliny Earle Goddard, with named Hupa narrators

Pliny Earle Goddard published Hupa Texts in 1904 as Volume 1, No. 2 of the University of California Publications in American Archaeology and Ethnology. The Hupa live along the lower Trinity River in northwestern California. This collection gathers fifty-one items in three groups: fourteen myths and tales, fifteen further texts relating to dances and feasts, and twenty-two medicine formulas — the private, personally owned ritual language used to bring luck in childbirth, war, wealth, healing, and other pursuits. Many items name the person who told them, among them Emma Dusky, credited at several formulas.

This edition reproduces the complete text as digitized from the sacred-texts.com archive's copy of the 1904 edition: Goddard's introduction and phonetic key, and all fifty-one myths, tales, and formulas in their original three-part grouping and numbering. Hupa words are printed here in Goddard's own Americanist phonetic notation.

Introduction

This collection of texts is offered primarily as a basis for the study of the Hupa language, which seems to differ considerably from the other languages of the Athapascan stock in the Pacific division. Connected texts furnish the most satisfactory material from which to discover the structure of the grammar. Many verb forms and peculiar usages are met with in texts which one would never discover by questioning. The more delicate shades of meaning of individual words are brought out by the aid of texts.

In presenting the Indian text the usual form has not been followed for several reasons. The text has not been punctuated because it seemed best to leave it in such a form that others might construe it as they pleased. The interlinear and free translations show the author's interpretation of the original. Contrary to the prevailing custom, hyphens have been used, as it seemed of great importance to divide the words into syllables, especially in so highly synthetic a language where each syllable has considerable individuality. The usual method of employing diæreses to separate vowels not forming diphthongs interferes with diacritical marks, and leaves the affiliation of the consonants unindicated. The syllabication has been determined from a native speaker of the language in almost every instance.

Great confusion between quantity and quality of vowel sounds exists not only in English, but in German, French, and other continental languages as well. Length of time has been confounded with closeness of quality and shortness of time with openness of quality. The result has been that, with few exceptions, those who have recorded Indian languages have intended to mark the quantity, but they have really indicated only the quality of the vowel.

In the following texts the main effort has been to represent properly the quality of the sounds. The vowel ū with the macron, for instance, indicates the vowel which stands at the extreme of the vowel scale next to the semi-vowel w. It may be either long or short in quantity (the time occupied in speaking). The quantity has not been marked, partly because of the difficulty in determining duration by ear, and partly for lack of available characters. There seems to be no justification for considering all vowel sounds as falling into two divisions of length. To represent all shades of length is clearly impossible. In the Hupa language at least, the length of time spent in uttering the consonants, as well as the quantity of the vowels, is of some importance in determining the weight of the syllable. Notwithstanding these difficulties some attempt would have been made to represent a phase of speech so evidently important as that of time, had not means been at hand for a more perfect determination. By means of the Rousselot apparatus it is possible to determine within a few thousandths of a second, the time occupied by either a vowel or a consonant. About four thousand Hupa words have already been recorded with this apparatus.

No attempt has been made to mark the relative pitch of the vowels in the texts of Indian languages so far published. The Rousselot machine reveals the pitch much more precisely than it can be fixed by ear.

The stress accent would have been marked had it existed as a fixed accent. Words of two syllables are often evenly stressed. Longer words usually have every second syllable stressed, but they are heard with the principal accent now here and now there. These matters of quantity, pitch, and stress are to be considered in a paper on the phonology of the Hupa language. A detailed study of the morphology, based on these texts, has furnished material for a paper now being prepared for publication.

The subject matter of these texts has been arranged in three divisions. First have been given a number of myths and tales. The first myth is evidently a composite. It is the nearest approach to a creation myth to be found among the Hupa. Several of the texts in this first division deal with important personages in Hupa mythology and are deemed by them to be worthy of serious consideration. Others are tales evidently intended to teach a moral. Number ix was no doubt told to young mothers that they might treat their children more kindly. The texts relating to the dances and feasts, which form the second part, were secured that it might be known what the Hupa himself thinks of the origins and purposes of his great religious ceremonies. The last portion of the collection consists of what may be called formulas for want of a better name. In their particular form they are perhaps peculiar to this culture area. These formulas may be thought to exert their power in one or all of three ways. The spirit of the recitor may be viewed as undergoing the journey and hardships undergone by the originator of the medicine and in a vicarious manner meriting favor; the good-will of the originator of the medicine may be aroused by the recital of his deeds; or the very words themselves may be thought to have the power of self-fulfillment.

Most of the texts here given were collected during two visits to the Hupa in the summer and fall of 1901. A few were obtained in the summer of 1902, and still others were added in October of the same year. The texts were taken down from the lips of the narrator in the presence of an interpreter who made sure that all was recorded in proper order. Interlinear translations were made with the aid of the interpreter. The words occurring in the text have since been carefully studied by comparing them with the same words occurring elsewhere in the texts. Especial study has been made of the verbs, as many forms as possible having been secured by questioning. No chances have been made in the texts in editing, except where errors of the ear or hand were evident.

Oscar Brown served as interpreter for the texts recorded in the summer of 1901. These were revised by the aid of his brother, Samuel Brown, who served as interpreter in recording most of the remaining texts. James Marshall assisted with many of the texts, especially those recorded from his wife, Mary Marshall. Miss Ada C. Baldwin (Mrs. David Masten) was able to give especially valuable help because of her knowledge of English. Julius Marshall has in many cases suggested correct renderings for the Indian words. To these Hupa thanks are due for their patience and interest in this most difficult task of preserving the language and lore of their people.

Key to the Sounds Represented by the Characters Used

a as in father.

ā nearly of the same quality, but of longer duration. It is used as a matter of convenience to distinguish a few words from others nearly like them.

ai as in aisle.

e as in net.

ē as in they but lacking the vanish.

ei the sound of ē followed by a vanish.

i as in pin.

ī as in pique.

ō as in note.

o a more open sound than the last, nearly as in on.

oi as in boil.

ū as in rule.

û nearly as in but, a little nearer to a.

û at faint sound like the last. Sometimes it is entirely wanting.

y as in yes.

w as in will.

w an unvoiced w which occurs frequently at the end of syllables. When it follows vowels other than ō or ū it is preceded by a glide and is accordingly written uw.

hw the preceding in the initial position. It has nearly the sound of wh in who.

l as in let.

L an unvoiced sound made with the tip of the tongue against the teeth, the breath being allowed to escape rather freely at one side of the tongue.

L̲ nearly like the preceding, but the sides of the tongue are held more firmly against the back teeth, resulting in a harsher sound often beginning with a slight explosion. Some speakers place the tip of the tongue in the alveolar position.

m as in English.

n usually as in English, but sometimes very short.

ñ as ng in sing.

h as in English but somewhat stronger.

x has the sound of jota in Spanish.

s as in sit.

z the corresponding voiced continuant; only after d and rare.

c as sh in shall. It seldom occurs except after t.

d is spoken with the tongue on the teeth.

t an easily recognized, somewhat aspirated surd in the position of d.

t an unaspirated surd which is distinguished from d with difficulty.

k, ky a surd stop having the contact on the posterior third of the hard palate. Except before e, ē, i, and ī a glide is noticeable and has been written as y.

g, gy the sonant of the preceding, occurs rarely.

k when written before a back vowel (a, o, ō, û, ū) without a following y, stands for a surd nearly in the position of c in come, but the contact is very firm. The resulting sound is very harsh and quite unlike the English sound.

q is a velar surd occurring only before back vowels.

tc as ch in church.

dj the corresponding voiced sound equivalent to j or soft g in English.

Myths and Tales

I. Yīmantūwiñyai.--Creator and Culture Hero. [1]

It was at Tcōxōtewediñ he came into being. From the earth behind the inner house wall he sprang into existence. There was a ringing noise like the striking together of metals at his birth. Before his coming smoke had settled on the mountain side. Rotten pieces of wood thrown up by someone fell into his hands. Where they fell there was fire.

After him there grew the Kīxûnai everywhere in the world. Some of these who were bad he did not like. There was no food as yet in the world. One of the Kīxûnai had it in his keeping. He had all the deer confined inside of a mountain through the side of which was a door. Yīmantūwiñyai, not liking this, started out through the world to find a remedy. In the middle of the world he sat down. When he looked this way (toward Hupa) he saw a madroña tree. He took a piece of bark from it the length of the back-strap of a deer and put it in his quiver. Starting out again he came to the house of the Kīxûnai who was guarding the deer and entered. After sitting there sometime he put his hand into his quiver and drew out the madroña bark which had become sinew. "Deer must have grown also where that man lives," thought the Kīxûnai. Then Yīmantūwiñyai said, "I am hungry for fresh venison, I am tired of dry meat."

The Kīxûnai went to secure the deer and Yīmantūwiñyai watched to see which way he went. He saw him open a door in the side of a mountain where he kept the deer, never letting them go out to feed. When Yīmantūwiñyai had found out what he wished to know he ran back to the house. He carried his quiver outside and put it on the roof that it might be at hand when he needed it. When the Kīxûnai had brought in the deer, Yīmantūwiñyai said, "I am going out to swim because I am going to eat venison." [1] As he passed out he took down his quiver from the roof and went to the door behind which the deer were confined. Looking into his quiver he saw there had grown in it the herb, wild ginger, with which he was to entice the deer out and cause them to scatter. When he had placed this before the door, the deer came out and scattered over the country this way toward the north. Everywhere they were feeding about. Wherever the Kīxûnai had come into existence they were eating venison.

When Yīmantūwiñyai came back to Tcōxōtewediñ it occurred to him that there should be salmon. Someone had them shut up in the world across the ocean toward the north. It was a woman who guarded them. When Yīmantūwiñyai came to the place where she lived, he went in and addressed her as his niece. She gave him fresh salmon for the evening meal. The next day, having spent the night there, he told her he would like some eels. When she went to catch them he followed to spy upon her. Having found out what he wished to know he ran back and went into the sweat-house. The woman brought back the eels and dressed them. When she had them ready she called to him to come in. He went in and ate the eels. After he had remained there two nights he was again hungry for salmon. When she went for them he followed to see what she would do. He saw there the fishing boards projecting out over the water and many nets leaning up near by. There were also nets for surf fish there. He came back to the house.

The next time he was hungry for surf fish. He watched her get them as he had done before. When she had brought them up she cooked them for him between two sticks. He had now found out what to do. He made a flute and then smoked himself in the sweat-house. When he was done with the sweating he talked to the flute, telling it to play when he had gone out. [1] In the evening, he went and looked about everywhere to see where he had best dig the outlet. He saw the digging at one place would be easy. He went back to the house and sharpened a stick. He told the flute to play and went out taking with him his quiver which he left on the roof. Then he went where the fish were. There in a lake were all kinds which live under water. Beginning at a certain rush he dug an outlet. When the ditch was finished he took out the rush also. Then the water carrying the fish with it ran out encircling the world.

When he came back by the house he picked up his quiver and followed along beside the stream to teach the people how to prepare the fish for food. The woman ran along after the salmon that used to be hers, crying: "Wût-te wût-te my salmon." It was salmon's grandmother [1] who used to own the salmon. When Yīmantūwiñyai came along he saw fish had already been eaten. He saw eels had been cut. "Not that way, this way you should cut them," he said, cutting them with a knife of white stone. At another place he saw they were cutting surf fish which had come ashore. "Not that way, "he said, "this way you must dry them"; and he scattered them whole on the grass. He came back to Tcōxōtewediñ. Salmon's grandmother came on to Hupa following her fish. She still comes in the fifth month.

Yīmantūwiñyai started up the Klamath river. When he came to Orleans Bar he found two women had come into existence there. These women were well behaved and always stayed in the house. Yīmantūwiñyai wanted in someway to meet them. Picking up a stick he wished it would become a canoe and it did. Then he wished for a lake and the lake was there. Putting the canoe in the water he transformed himself into a child and seated himself in it. At earliest dawn the women came along and saw him there. They started to catch the canoe and secure the baby, but the boat avoided them. They made the circuit of the lake wading or swimming after it. When they were about to catch it, the water broke out of the banks and they failed. They wen back and lived where they had before. Yīmantūwiñyai then went on up the Klamath until he came to Somes where two more women had come into existence. Here he played the lover. He made a dam that there might be a lake there also. He planned that there should be a road under this dam. He did this for the sake of the women. He made a small boat and put it in the water on the further side, but to no purpose, for the women did not come out. Then because he failed to entice them out he tore the dam down and turned back. [1] When he came again to Orleans Bar he saw someone making a white stone knife. "What are you doing?" he asked. "We are going to cut those women open," they said. "Hold on," said Yīmantūwiñyai, and he began. to plan how birth should take place. First he thought it might be from the woman's shin. After thinking about it again he looked into his quiver. He saw there a net-sack had grown. This he thought would become the uterus forming a part of woman and from it birth should take place. [2] From there he went back to his home.

He thought he would now go toward the south. He made baskets and gave them away. [3] Then he came up along the Trinity until he came to Sugar Bowl. There he made a dam and then went back down on the other side of the river until he came to Xonsadiñ. Two women were soaking acorn meal at this place. He climbed up the steep bank and went toward the top of Bald Hill. Wherever he turned to look back the ground rose up making little knolls. From the top of the hill he looked back at the dam he had made. He thought it looked so good with the falling water that even a newly made widow would think of many things, if she should see it, and would sing love songs. As this would not do he went back and made the ridge which stands in front of it so the water-fall could not be seen. Then he made a butte on each side at Djictañadiñ from which he might look. He made a canoe and started toward the south thinking he might have intercourse with some woman. Failing in this he took away the buttes and went back down the river. [4]

When he got back to TakimiLdiñ the people were making so much noise that the birds flying over nearly dropped dead. [1] Someone came over from Bald Hills. When they looked up a cloud had risen. "It is disease that is coming; Come make a dance," said Yīmantūwiñyai. The Kīxûnai danced in the large house circling around the fire. "Let me find a dancing place," thought Yīmantūwiñyai. Coming up on a bank some distance down the river he thought that would be the place. He called out "Salmon," and a salmon came ashore. Going further down he called, "Water," and water boiled out of the ground.

Going on down to Miskût he called again, "Water." It did not appear. There he made the place for the final dance. Then he went back to TakimiLdiñ. The next day they danced again. When they looked they saw the cloud had drawn back. They danced for five days and it continued to go back. 'Then they danced in the house five days by jumping. Afterwards they had a jumping dance at Miskût. "That way it will be," he thought, "if disease comes." Then he went south until he came to Leldiñ. [2]

As he was going along south he saw someone coming toward him carrying a load. He had no eyes. When he met him he said, "Eh! Old man, the load has nearly worn you out." The old man sat down, falling over as he did so. "Help me carry it," he said. "All right," said Yīmantūwiñyai. "Push the load on me," said Yīmantūwiñyai sitting under it. When he pushed it on him he untied the strap. Yīmantūwiñyai jumped out and the pieces stuck up in the ground right where he had been. Yīmantūwiñyai stood facing him. It was black obsidian he was carrying. With them he used to kill people to eat. The blind man felt around for his victim saying, "I always catch them, this one I did not catch." Then he arranged the obsidians as usual. Yīmantūwiñyai said, "Come, it is your turn." "No,"' said the old man. "Anyway," he said, "come let me push it on you." No," said the old man, "nobody pushes it on me." Nevertheless

Yīmantūwiñyai threw him under it and pushed the load on him. They stuck into him cutting him all to pieces.

Going on to the south he saw someone trying to catch passing travellers with a hook. When Yīmantūwiñyai came where he was, he grasped the hook and allowed himself to be drawn quite close; then he let go. The old man said as the other had, "I always catch them, this one I did not catch." Yīmantūwiñyai standing facing him said, "Come, let me catch you." "No," said the old man, "nobody helps me hook." Nevertheless Yīmantūwiñyai took the hook out of his hand and caught him. "People will travel the trails in safety," said Yīmantūwiñyai. There mustn't be those who eat people."

As he went on walking toward the south he saw someone making a seesaw [1] by the roadside. When Yīmantūwiñyai came there he caught the pole with which the person was seesawing, causing him to jump off. "Sit on it for me," he said. Yīmantūwiñyai sat on it. He untied the lashing, but Yīmantūwiñyai jumped off in time. Yīmantūwiñyai stood facing him. That one, who also was blind, felt around for his supposed victim saying, "I always catch them, this one I didn't catch." "Come," said Yīmantūwiñyai, "let me seesaw with you." "No," he said. Nevertheless Yīmantūwiñyai put him on it and untied the lashing. He was cut to pieces. That was because the seesaw was made of obsidian. "The creaking of trees as they rub together you may become," he said. "There must not be those who eat people."

As Yīmantūwiñyai went along he was surprised to see someone splitting logs. He thought to himself, "I will go where he is." When he got there he said, "Old man are you splitting logs here?" "Yes," said the old man. That one too had no eyes. "I am trying to split here," he said, "but it won't split for me. Come, jump in the opening for me." "Yes," Yīmantūwiñyai said. When the blind man had set the wedge he pounded the log open. Then he said, "Come, get in between." Yīmantūwiñyai got in but jumped out to one side as it sprang to after him. "Dûl" it rang out. Yīmantūwiñyai stood facing him. Then the old man took a big basket-pot and set it under to catch the blood. Yīmantūwiñyai stood watching him. Then he set the wedge again and pounded the log open. He felt around saying, "I always catch them, this one I didn't catch." Come, you do it," said Yīmantūwiñyai. "No, I never do that way," he said. Nevertheless Yīmantūwiñyai pushed him in and let it spring to upon him. "You may become a borer and live in trees," he told him. "There must not be those who eat people. When they are going to build a house they may split logs but they must not kill people this way."

As he went walking along he heard laughing. Farther along he saw a fire blazing. He went and stood there. No one was about. He looked around but saw only soaproots scattered there. Someone pushed him toward the fire but he jumped over it. He felt himself pushed toward the fire again. Finally he was tired out with jumping. Then he picked up the soaproots which were scattered about and threw them into the fire. "A-lo-lo-lo" they said. He found out that the soaproots were accustomed to eat people. "Become food," he said. "There must not be those who eat people." Then they became soaproots.

As Yīmantūwiñyai was walking along toward the south he saw three women coming carrying loads. When he met them lie said, "Without food I have come." They gave him some bulbs which he ate and liked very much. He ran back and by going around got ahead of them again. He defecated there and said to the faeces, "Become Yurok." The Yurok went along with him. When he met the women again he said, " They are traveling without having eaten." The women left food for them. Finally in this manner he ate up all the food they were carrying. He made there every kind of language, Karok, Yurok, Shasta, Tolowa, Mad River, Southfork, New River, and Redwood; so many he made. [1]

He went on toward the south where he saw a house. When be went in he saw a kinaLdûñ girl sitting there. She got up and grave him nuts of the sugar pine and hazel to eat. While he was eating he became thirsty. The girl took the basket-bucket and went to bring water for him. When she had gone Yīmantūwiñyai wished that a grey-back louse would bite her. Feeling the bite she sat down to find her tormentor, forgetting the water she had set out to bring. Yīmantūwiñyai, taking advantage of her absence, took all the food of every kind and ate it up. He then went on toward the south. The girl came up from the spring and said, "Here, is the water, take it," passing it in. When she went in and looked about she saw her food was all gone. "I wish all the creeks would dry up ahead of you," thought the kinaLdûñ girl. As Yīmantūwiñyai was walking along he heard the murmuring of a creek. "I am going to have a drink," he thought. When he got there it was dry. He went on toward the south. He heard another creek. He ran to it only to find it dried up. He was nearly dead for water. He thought the next time he would throw a deerskin blanket into the water. He kept on toward the south. He heard another creek as he was walking along. He ran there with the skin but the creek had dried up. He threw the skin into the dry bed of the stream. He went on toward the south. He thought about his quiver. He resolved to throw that in. When he heard the next creek he fixed it ready and ran there with it. He threw it into the dry bed where it stuck up. Failing in this attempt he picked it up and went on. He heard another creek and thought he would try shooting in an arrow from which the fore-shaft had been removed. With the socket he thought he might dip up the water. He shot it in. It stuck up in the dry place. He pulled it out and went on. As he was walking along toward the south he heard a bull frog croaking. There must be a lake there, he thought. He did not run this time. Coming down to the outlet of the pond he put down his mouth and drank and drank and drank.

He rolled over there. He could not get up. The birds began to fly up and he said, "Pick my stomach open." Buzzard sat there first. "Pick my stomach open," he told him. Buzzard flew up and kept thinking, "He is peeking under his arm; is he dead or is he yet alive?" Then he went to him and laid out all the tools he was going to pick with. He picked with the last one which he took out. Then he picked his stomach opened and Yīmantūwiñyai got up. He looked around and was surprised to see a hollow tree standing there. He crawled into that and went to sleep.

When he woke up he found it had grown together in front of him. Sapsucker lit on the tree and began to peck. "Do it a little harder," said Yīmantūwiñyai. He was frightened and flew away. Larger woodpecker did that and then yellowhammer. This time Yīmantūwiñyai kept quiet. He pecked until a chip flew off. Then largest woodpecker jumped on and pecked until he pecked it open. In that way Yīmantūwiñyai got out.

"Come to me," he said. Then all kinds of birds flew to him. He made a bill for buzzard. At first he made crow into a large woodpecker. "Fly up there," he told him and he flew up. Then he flew back and said, "Make me red all over. If a man kills me he will be rich at once." [1] Yīmantūwiñyai pounded up some charcoal and dusted it over him. "Come fly up there," he said, and he flew up. "Ka ka ka" he said and became crow. He made largest woodpecker, eagle, yellowhammer, little woodpecker and all kinds as many as fly. When he had finished he went on toward the south.

As he was walking along he thought, "I wish I had a dog to go along with me." Then he defecated and said to the faeces, "Become a dog." They became a dog. "There is a dog at the place where I am going," he thought. When he got there a dog was lying on the house. Yīmantūwiñyai's dog crawled under him in fright. The one that was on the house got up. The house, though made of blue-stone, gave a creak. It was a "lion" that was lying on the house. The one with Yīmantūwiñyai became a "lion" also. "Let our two pets fight," said the host. "No," said Yīmantūwiñyai, "tomorrow they will fight." He told his dog to paw the ground in the morning. The next morning he pawed the dirt. The one that was lying on the house got up and shook himself. The one by the sweat-house entrance got up and shook himself. Then Yīmantūwiñyai's dog jumped upon the house and they commenced to fight. They chased each other to the sky. "Let us see whose dog's blood drops first," said the host. To this Yīmantūwiñyai agreed. Soon the host's pet dropped down dead. Yīmantūwiñyai 's dog they saw coming along with his face half covered with blood. He ran back to his master. [1]

It was at the edge of the world toward the south that they had the fight. When Yīmantūwiñyai looked back the way he had come he was surprised to see smoke. When anything is about to come into existence its smoke appears. Indians were to appear. He started back toward the north. When he got down to Leldiñ he found the Kīxûnai preparing for a journey. They were going to the world across the ocean northward. He traveled with them down this way toward Hupa. At Tcōxoltcwediñ they camped. In the morning they started out in boats and went across the ocean to the north. Yīmantūwiñyai went back with them.

Then he thought, "How is it going to be with the Indians who are to appear?" "I am going around the world," he thought, "and measure it. They will renew their youth." [2] He started around the world to measure it. When he got to the place west of us on the other side, The Maiyōtel began to talk about him. "He must not do this thing he is attempting," they said. "I wish someway we could stop him. It is women that he can't resist," said the Maiyōtel. As Yīmantūwiñyai was walking along he saw a woman lying in the trail waiting for him. He stepped over her and walked on. Soon he saw a second woman. With her he dallied. She caught him and swam back with him through the water north to the world beyond the ocean. Through his own weakness and the plots of his enemies he failed to arrange for Indians to renew their lives upon earth. He came back here again to a place south of the Big Lagoon. There he placed a sweat-house and a house in which the people should dance. "Here," he said, "they will dance if anything goes wrong with the ocean. If the water rises up they will dance here and it will settle down again." Then he went back to the northern world beyond the ocean.

He thought again about the coming of men. "In that place they will come into existence before my eyes," he thought. "I will go back to the place where I was born." He came back to Xoñxauwdiñ where the jealous man lived. No one ever saw his wife. Sand was scattered all around the house that the tracks of intruders might be seen. When birds walked on it they died. Blood ran out their mouths. Yīmantūwiñyai took ten elder sticks and slipped one over the other. These he pushed down his throat. Then he opened the door and went in. He seated himself beside the wife. The jealous man came out of the sweat-house and noticed that someone had been around. The door was open. He went in and saw a man sitting by his wife. He looked him in the eye. [1] Then he felt in his quiver and drew out an arrow. "Not that one," said Yīmantūwiñyai. He pulled out another. "No," said Yīmantūwiñyai. Finally he had pulled out all but one. Then he pulled out the xoñxanwdiñ arrow. [2] "That is the one," said Yīmantūwiñyai. "Shoot into my mouth." Then the jealous man shot him in the mouth. Yīmantūwiñyai tumbled out of the smoke-hole and rolled all around the place in frenzy. When lie came under a pepperwood tree he came to his senses. He thought he had been killed. He drew out the elder sticks, and found all of them were burned through. He took out the arrow-head also. The place where he rolled around can be seen yet. An herb [3] grew up there. He put some of it in his mouth. He caused that plant to be a medicine. [4]

He came back to Tcōxoltcwediñ. He saw a man and a woman had grown there. He came up the Trinity to Miskût. He found again a man and a woman. At TakimiLdiñ several had grown. He went on south to Leldiñ. There Indians had come into existence. He went on to XonteLtcitdiñ. There he rested and smoked his pipe. On looking toward the south he saw someone in the distance fishing. When he went up the stream and crossed over, the man was gone. Yīmantūwiñyai looked about. Only the board on which he fished was there; the net was gone. Salmon scales were scattered about. He looked for him everywhere in vain. Then he took off his belt and stepped into the water. Entering the eddy he struck the water with his belt. Then he could see under the water. Toward the south he saw someone sitting with one leg each side of the fire. He went to him and addressed him. He did not reply. Everyway he spoke to him but failed to get an answer. Then he threw him into the fire. He burned up. That was salmon's heart. Yīmantūwiñyai carried the salmon out, built a fire, cooked the salmon, and ate it.

Then he went on south to the world's edge. When he got there bluejay, a woman who would become a Wintûn, was there. She greeted Yīmantūwiñyai as her nephew. "All kinds of people have grown at the places you have passed," she said. "Yes, they had grown here and there as I came along," said Yīmantūwiñyai. "Did you eat along with them?" asked bluejay. "Yes," said Yīmantūwiñyai.

Then he started back this way from the south. At XonteLme he camped. The next night he spent at Southfork. The following day he came down to Xowûñkût. He felt sleepy, so lying down by the trail he went to sleep. When he woke up he felt heavy. He could not roll over. He went to sleep again. When he woke up a second time, his belly was so swollen that it fairly loomed up over him. He looked around and saw redwood sorrel [1] had grown up there. He chewed that and it cured him. He made that to be everybody's medicine. He got up. "This plant will be Indian's medicine," he said. Then he went back to Tcōxōltcwediñ where he spent the night. The next day he went back across the ocean to the north where he became lost from men. He went to his grandmother [2] and said: "I have made the medicines for Indians."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, June, 1901, by Emma Lewis, wife of William Lewis, a woman about fifty-five years; of age, a native of Tsewenaldiñ (Senalton village). It seems that no other Hupa knows this myth in its connected form.

[1] The Hupa bathed before a meal especially one of meat.

[1] Another version has Yīmantūwiñyai place the flute so the wind makes music. The woman hearing it thinks he must be in the sweat-house and is thrown off her guard.

[1] A yellow-breasted fly-catcher.

[1] This incident and the one at Orleans Bar explain the presence of a large flat, furnishing a good village site at one place and the lack of one at Somes. Yīmantūwiñyai's acts are governed by his elation or chagrin as he succeeds, or fails with the women in question.

[2] These were the same women who had pursued the baby in the canoe a few days before. It is believed that the act of looking at Yīmantūwiñyai would cause pregnancy.

[3] "Therefore better baskets are made on Klamath than elsewhere," explained the narrator.

[4] These incidents account for the topography of the extreme ends of the valley.

[1] The narrator explained that the noise of the village was so great as to affect the birds.

[2] Compare xxiv. For an account of this dance compare Life and Culture of the Hupa, p. 82.

[1] This is said to have been a primitive means of amusement among the Hupa. Only one person sat on the seesaw at a time. The other worked the pole up and down with his hands.

[1] Compare Dixon, Maidu Myths, p. 61.

[1] The red scalps of the woodpecker are hoarded by the Hupa.

[1] Compare Dixon, Maidu Myths, pp. 84-5.

[2] If the world proved large, people might be rejuvenated several times without overcrowding it.

[1] The glance of his eye killed ordinary men.

[2] This had an especially poisonous arrow-point which Yīmantūwiñyai wished to get away from the monster.

[3] Hypericum formosum var. Scouleri.

[4] Compare xlv.

[1] Oxalis Oregana.

[2] This is the first mention of Yīmantūwiñyai's antecedents. A contradiction that the first person to exist had a grandmother would not disturb the Indian's mind; but this myth is very evidently a collection of many which may have been told in the first place about other persons. When they were strung together they were all made to relate to Yīmantūwiñyai.

II. XaxōwilwaL.--Dug-from-the-ground. [1]

An old woman was living with her granddaughter, a virgin, at Kintcūwhwikût. The girl used to go to dig roots and her grandmother used to say to her "You must not dig those with two stocks." The girl wondered why she was always told that. One morning she thought, "I am going to dig one," so she went across the river to Tceindīqōtdiñ and began digging. She thought, "I am going to take out one with a double stock." When she had dug it out she heard a baby cry. She ran back to the river, and when she got there she heard someone crying "mother" after her. She jumped into the boat and pushed it across. When she got across, the baby had tumbled down to the other shore. She ran up to the house and there she heard it crying on that side. She ran into the house, then she heard it crying back of the house. At once she sat down and then she heard it tumble on the roof of the house. The baby tumbled through the smoke-hole and then rolled about on the floor. The old woman jumped up and put it in a baby basket. The young woman sat with her back to the fire and never looked at the child.

The old woman took care of the baby alone. After a time it commenced to sit up and finally to walk. When he was big enough to shoot, the old woman made a bow and he began to kill birds. Afterward he killed all kinds of game; and, because his mother never looked at him, he gave whatever he killed to his grandmother. Finally he became a man. The young woman had been in the habit of going out at dawn and not returning until dark. She brought back with her acorns as long as her finger. One time the young man thought "I am going to watch and see where she goes." The young woman had always said to herself, "If he will bring acorns from the place I bring them, and if he will kill a white deer, I will call him my son."

Early one morning the son saw his mother come out of the house and start up the ridge. He followed her and saw her go along until she came to a dry tree. She climbed this and it grew with her to the sky. The young man then returned saying, "Tomorrow I am going up there." The woman came home at night with the usual load of long acorns.

The next morning the man went the way his mother had gone, climbed the tree as he had seen her do, and it grew with him to the sky. When he arrived there he saw a road. He followed that until he came to an oak, which he climbed, and waited to see what would happen. Soon he heard laughing girls approaching. They came to the tree and began to pick acorns from allotted spaces under it. The young man began to throw down acorns. "That's right Blue Jay," said one of the girls. Then another said, "It might be Dug-from-the-ground. You can hardly look at him, they say, he is so handsome." Two others said, "Oh, I can look at him, I always look at this walking one (pointing to the sun) that is the one you can hardly look at." He came down from the tree and passed between the girls. The two who had boasted they could look at him, turned their faces to the ground. The other two who had thought they could not look him in the face were able to do so.

The young man killed the deer, the killing of which the mother had made the second condition for his recognition as a son. He then filled the basket from his mother's place under the tree and went home. When the woman saw him with the acorns as long as one's finger, she called him her son.

After a time he said, "I am going visiting." "All right," said the grandmother, and then she made for him a bow and arrows of blue-stone, and a shinny stick and sweat-house wood of the same material. These he took and concealed by putting them under the muscles of his forearm. He dressed himself for the journey and set out. He went to the home of the immortals at the edge of the world toward the east. When he got down to the shore on this side they saw him. One of them took out the canoe of red obsidian and stretched it until it was the proper size. He launched it and came across for him. When he had landed, the young man placed his hand on the bow and as he did so, the boat gave a creak, he was so strong. When they had crossed he went to the village. In the middle of it he saw a house of blue-stone with a pavement in front of black obsidian. He went in and heard one say, "It is my son-in-law for whom I had expected to be a long time looking." When the sun had set there came back from different places ten brothers. Some had been playing kiñ, [1] some had been playing shinny, some had been hunting, some spearing salmon, and others had been shooting at a mark. Eagle and Panther were both married to daughters of the family. They said to him, "You here, brother-in-law?" "Yes," he said, "I came a little while ago." When it was supper time they put in front of him a basket of money's meat, [2] which mortal man cannot swallow. He ate two baskets of it and they thought he must be a smart man. After they had finished supper they all went to the sweat-house to spend the night. At midnight the young man went to the river to swim. There he heard a voice say, "The sweat-house wood is all gone." Then Mink told him that men could not find sweat-house wood near by, but that some was to be found to the southeast. They called to him for wood from ten sweat-houses and he said "Yes" to all. Mink told him about everything they would ask him to do. [3] He went back to the sweat-house and went in. When the east whitened with the dawn, he went for sweat-house wood as they had told him. He came to the place where the trail forks and one of them turns to the northeast and the other to the southeast. There he drew out from his arm the wood his grandmother had provided him with and split it fine. He made this into ten bundles and carried them back to the village. When he got there he put them down carefully but the whole earth shook with the shock. He carried a bundle to each sweat-house. They all sweated themselves. He spent the day there and at evening went again to the sweat-house. When he went to the river to swim, Mink met him again and told him that the next day they would play shinny.

After they were through breakfast the next morning, they said, "Come, brother-in-law, let us go to the place where they play shinny." They all went and after placing their bets began to play. Twice they were beaten. Then they said, "Come, brother-in-law, play." They passed him a stick. He pressed down on it and broke it. "Let me pick up something," he said. He turned about and drew out his concealed shinny stick and the balls. Then he stepped out to play and Wildcat came to play against him. The visitor made the stroke and the balls fell very near the goal. Then he caught Wildcat smashing his face into its present shape, and threw the ball over the line. He played again, this time with Fox. Again he made the stroke and when he caught Fox he pinched his face out long as it has been ever since. He then struck the ball over the line and won. The next time he played against Earthquake. The ground opened up a chasm but he jumped over it. Earthquake threw up a wall of bluestone but he threw the ball through it. "Dol" it rang as it went through. Then he played with Thunder. It rained and there was thunder. It was the running of that one which made the noise. It was then night and he had won back all they had lost. There were ten strings of money, besides otterskins, fisherskins, and blankets.

The next day they went to shoot at the white bird which Indians can never hit. The others commenced to shoot and then they said to their guest, "Come, you better shoot." They gave him a bow, which broke when he drew it. Then he pulled out his own and said, "I will shoot with this although the nock has been cut down and it is not very good." They thought, "He can't hit anything with that." He shot and hit the bird, and dentalia fell all about. They gathered up the money and carried it home.

The Hupa man went home to his grandmother at Kintcūwhwikût. As many nights as it seemed to him he had spent, so many years he had really been away. He found his grandmother lying by the fire. Both of the women had been worried about him. He said to them, "I have come back for you." "Yes," they said, "we will go." Then he repaired the house, tying it up anew with hazel withes. He poked a stick under it and away it went to the end of the world toward the east, where he had married. They are living there yet.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, June 1901. The first part was told by Oscar Brown, a half-breed, about 30 years of age whose mother belonged to TakimiLdiñ. The story was finished by James Anderson, a man about 55 years old, a native of Medildiñ.

[1] See Life and Culture of Hupa, p. 61.

[2] The meat of dentalia is believed to be the food of the Kīxûnai.

[3] The feats which follow must be done the one who would marry the daughters.

III. Xontcūwditcetc. [1]--Rough-nose [2]

Rough-nose lived with his younger brother. He used to say to him, "Never put the short ribs of the deer in the fire to roast." One day when Rough-nose was away hunting the younger brother got to thinking about it. "Why does he always tell me that?" he thought. "I am going to roast them." When he had roasted them something carried him off. The older brother came home at night and looked everywhere for his brother but could not find him. "He must have roasted the short ribs," he thought and began to cry. He mourned every day for his brother. He used to sit out on the prairie with his cane sticking up beside him. A bird would come and light on the cane and say, "His brother has been carried off, his brother has been carried off." After several days Rough-nose thought to himself, "I wish I could do something to him, I wish I could catch him, I wish I could kill him." The next day when he went out to sit down he put pitch on the top of his cane. The bird came and lit on it as usual and was easily caught. "Now I will kill you," he said. "Don't kill me," said the bird, "I will tell you where they have taken him. They are roasting him in the world above. Gather the people, and have them make rope. With the help of that you can go there. I will go ahead of you."

Then Rough-nose called the people together:--Spider and Coyote to make rope, Mouse to chew off the bowstrings, Frog to put out the fires, Louse to tie together the enemy by their hair as they slept, Caterpillar to make the trail. Coyote and Spider commenced to make the rope. Coyote soon had a storage basket full, but Spider's rope was fine and looked like only one coil. Coyote made fun of it saying, "That looks as if it would reach a long way." "Well who will shoot?" said Rough-nose. "I," said Coyote. He tied his rope to an arrow and shot. Soon it fell back. Then Spider shot with his rope. It went up and up until it could be seen no longer. When one coil of rope was still left they heard the arrow strike the sky with a ringing noise. Then Rough-nose said, "Who will go ahead and make the trail?" "I," said Coyote. He started up but soon came tumbling back. Then Caterpillar tried it. He leaned way back and Coyote called out, "He is falling;" but he caught the rope again higher up. Soon they could see him no longer. Then they saw he had finished the trail and was coming back. "Well, go on up," said Rough-nose. Rough-nose caught a wood-rat and put it in his sack and then went with the rest.

When they reached the world above he said to the others, "You wait here, I will go along to the place where the fire is." He changed himself into an old woman and walked with a widow's cane. He came up to the place and said, "I am only asking that I may warm myself by your fire." "You might be Rough-nose," said the old woman who was tending the fire. "Oh, yes, that fellow is likely to come here," said Rough-nose. Then the old woman ran up with a spruce tree in her hand, smashed it to pieces, and threw it on the fire. She commenced poking the bag in which the boy was hanging over the fire. "Tso, tso," he cried. "You had better roast the short ribs," she said. Rough-nose waited until he heard them eating in the house, then he caught the old woman and held her in the fire until she was dead. He stripped her clothes off and dressed himself in them. He went up to the sack and felt of his brother, who said, "Is that you Rough-nose?" "Speak softly," said Rough-nose, and then he took the boy out and put the wood-rat in his place. Then someone put his head out of the door of the house and said, "Come and eat." Rough-nose putting only his head in, said, "Just throw something out here for me." When he had eaten he went to the sack and began punching it. "Tso, tso," it cried. "You better roast the short ribs," said Rough-nose.

When the people had gone to bed, Rough-nose and his companions made an attack on them. All was confusion. It was dark. The fires had been put out. Some of them cried out, "My hair hurts." Others were saying, "A mouse has chewed up my bowstring." Others ran after the attacking party. When they jumped into their canoes to give chase they filled with water and sank. The mice had gnawed holes in them. Then Rough-nose, carrying his brother, went safely home.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, July, 1901, by Mary Marshall, wife of James Marshall. She was born at Miskût about 1868, where she lived most of the time until her marriage. Her mother was a Yurok who was married to a Hupa.

[2] A wood rasp is called by the Hupa tsel-tce ditc-tcetc, "iron rough."

IV. Yīnûkatsisdai. [1]--He-lives-South.

At Orleans Bar there lived a maiden. She always brought wood for her fire in the morning before breakfast. The rest of the day she used to spend making baskets. One morning when she was after wood she heard a baby rolling about in a hollow tree. Without stopping to gather the wood for which she had come, she took the baby and carried it home. There she cared for it as if it were her own. When the umbilical cord fell off she considered where she should put it. She decided to throw it into the river. Soon the boy was large enough to run about. She made a bow for him and put up a mark in the house for him to shoot at. She did not go for wood as she had formerly done. She kept the door shut and never allowed the boy to go out for fear she should lose him. Whenever she was obliged to go out she closed the door with great care. After a time he became a good-sized boy.

At a village below Orleans there lived another maiden, who noticed that her neighbor did not go Out as she had been in the habit of doing and suspected there must be some cause for it. One day when the foster mother was gone after wood this girl came and sat down by the house to watch. Soon she saw a straw fall and stick up in the ground like an arrow. Watching carefully she saw another one come out of the smoke-hole. Running up on the roof of the house she looked in. She was surprised to see a boy inside. She opened the door, picked him up, and ran away with him. When she got back to her own house she took a little canoe out of the house, put water in it, and stretched it until it became a full-sized canoe. She also took from the house a small storage basket which contained her treasures. Placing the boy in the stern of the boat she started down the river. They went on down past Weitchpec until they came to the mouth of the Klamath.

When the foster mother came back she saw that the door was not just as she had left it. She went in and found the boy was gone. She looked for him everywhere but could not even find his tracks. She searched for him in the neighboring mountains in vain. "Somebody has taken him away from me," she thought. Taking her stone pestle with her she climbed the mountain on the south side of the river. From its top she saw with surprise a boat going along on the ocean toward the south. "I am going to kill him," she thought, and threw the pestle at him with all her might. The girl had taken a head-dress from the storage basket and put it on the boy. The pestle just hit the end of this and knocked the feathers off. These feathers flew away as gulls and other sea-birds. The pestle stuck up in the water and stands there yet. They went on to the end of the world at the south where they are still living.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Emma Lewis.

V. Naxkekōsnadūwûl. [1]--Two-neck.

Owl used to kill deer by driving them into the river and then sitting between their horns until they landed. When he had the meat dressed and packed up ready to carry home, Two-neck used to come along and carry it off for himself. One day Coyote came to Owl' s house and said, "Why have you no venison?" "Something always takes it away from us," said Owl. "I will kill him," said Coyote.

The next morning when Owl landed with his deer, Coyote was sitting in the brush ready to fight. As soon as the load was ready Two-neck came along as usual. Coyote, from his place in the brush, saw what sort he was and decided not to come out. Then Two-neck said, "Come lift the load onto my back." As Owl was lifting it up he suddenly pushed it back toward the ground. "What are you doing?" said Two-neck. "Well, what am I doing?" said Owl. [1] When Two-neck had carried it off, Owl came to the place where Coyote had been lying in wait. He was not there. When Owl got back to his house he found Coyote sitting with his legs stretched each side of the fire. "Don't you remember? I told you he was a terrible fellow," said Owl. "Well, I will kill him to-morrow," said Coyote. The following morning Owl brought another deer to land. When the load was ready, Two-neck came along. Coyote was watching ready to fight. "Come lift the load on my back," said Two-neck. As Owl was lifting it up he jerked it back. Coyote jumped out and struck the monster where his neck was crotched. The heads fell off but jumped back again. Coyote slashed him all over with his knife but could not kill him. Then he ran to the river and got a sedge and whipped him with that. Two-neck, cut everywhere, died.

Owl and Coyote carried the meat home. When they had eaten, Coyote said, "Well, I am going to walk down the river a way." "Very well," said Owl. As Coyote was walking along he saw a woman coming towards him. When he met her he saw she was dressed all in white. On looking closer be was surprised to see that her dress was of deer fat. He killed her on the spot for the sake of her dress which he ate. The woman was Frog. Coyote walked on till he came to a house, which he entered. Several boys were sitting there. "Where are they all gone?" asked Coyote. "This morning the old man went up the valley and has not come back yet. After awhile the old woman went after him, Didn't you meet her?" they said. "No," said Coyote. Then they came up to him and smelled of him. "You have her odor about you," they said. Then they attacked him and there was a fight. Over and over again he pushed them into the fire only to see them jump out again. When he was nearly dead with the exertion, they said, "You can't kill us, our hearts hang in a row there in the smoke-hole." Then Coyote jumped up, got their hearts, and threw them in the fire. The boys fell back dead. A great quantity of venison was stored in the house and Coyote stayed until he had eaten it all. Then be went back to see Owl for whom he had killed so many.

When he got to the house be was surprised to see grass growing all over the roof. He went in and sat down. After a little he heard a noise outside. "That is right," said Coyote, looking toward the door through which he fancied someone was about to come in. Finally he went out and looked around. No one was to be seen. Then looking up toward the hillside he saw a dead tree. Owl was climbing up this tree carrying something with him. When he got up with it, his wife began to boil some venison. Holding out a piece Owl said," Take it, Coyote, eat it." "Come down," said Coyote, but they would not. Then Coyote tried to shoot them, but he could not hit them. After that he tried to burn the tree by building a fire at its base, but the fire would not burn. All the time the Owls kept saying, "Here, Coyote, take this, eat it." They were only fooling him. Finally Coyote said, "Owls you may become since you have treated me so badly." Then they turned into Owls. It happened this way: Coyote thought he had been away only one night but he had really stayed away a whole year. [1] The Owls did not recognize him as their benefactor.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, June 1902, by Oscar Brown.

[1] Owl pretends he is absent minded.

[1] Compare p. 149.

VI. Litcūwdiñ yadeLtse. [1]--At Sand-place They Lived.

Three sisters were living at Sand-place. Their father was very old. Once it turned very cold and snowed. "The old man might sleep in the wood-room near the fire," suggested one of the daughters. "No, he might be cold there," said another. "Well then," the other said, "we will keep a fire burning for him in the wood-room." To this the others agreed so they left him there and went to bed. When one of the girls went out in the morning she was surprised to see blood by the door. Running in again she called to the others, "There is nothing but blood outside." Jumping up they looked in the wood-room. He was not there. Then they began to cry. "Don't cry," said the oldest, "dress yourselves."

Telling the youngest to stay at home the two older sisters followed the tracks to the river. On the other side of the river they found tracks where someone had gone toward the east. After a time they heard someone pounding. "Come, hurry up, he is close by," said one of them. As they were going along they saw smoke down by the creek. They found a fire burning there at the butt of a spruce. It was plain from the marks on the snow that he had arranged his load there. Blood was scattered all about. When they had warmed themselves the oldest sister said, "Come, let us go on. He is close by." After a time they saw smoke again. "Don't be afraid" said the oldest sister. They went on cautiously until they came to the house. They heard someone talking inside. There must be two of them; don't get excited," said the oldest sister. A dog skin blanket was hanging there over the door. "I am going to look in," she said. An old man was saying, "Why do you sit there, why don't you cook a piece?" "There must be two of them," she thought. When she went through the outer door and looked in, she saw an old man sitting alone before the fire by which a human thigh was cooking. Then she ran in. The old man jumped up and tried to run out but she struck him in the throat with a knife. The other sister came in and they fought with him, and killed him. They found there the bones of their father whom he had already eaten. They took away all the red obsidians, fisher-skin quivers, otter-skins, dentalia and everything else of value they found. One of the sisters carried the remains of their father. They came back along the way they had gone, crossing the river to their home. The next morning they prepared their father's remains and buried them. The sisters continued to live there as before.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, June 1901, by Oscar Brown.

VII. Xonsadiñ Kûntcūwiltcwil. [1]--Xonsadiñ Young Man.

A young man who was living at Xonsadiñ said to a young man living at Miskût, "Let us go visiting." "Very well," said the Miskût young man. "Tomorrow then we will meet at NiLûtkalai," said the Xonsadiñ young man.

The next morning the Miskût young man climbed the hill to NiLûtkalai and examined the trail. Seeing no tracks he said to himself, "He has not gone along yet." He sat down in the brush and waited. After a long time he saw a wolf coming up the trail. It came up, and climbed a hollow stump that was standing there. Soon it put its face out and looked about. The Miskût young man then saw it was the one with whom he was to travel. He saw him come down the stump holding something in front of himself. He went along the trail a little way past him and sat down to wait. "I have been here along time," he told the Miskût young man when he came along. "No," said the Miskût young man, "I came ahead of you. How you were dressed when you climbed that tree!" "Don't say that," he said. "We will visit people with it."

After they had been travelling sometime the Xonsadiñ young man said, "Come, dress up in it." [1] He put it on him but the Miskût young man could do nothing with it. He did not know how to use it. They went on to the mouth of Redwood creek and camped. When it was dark the Xonsadiñ young man said, "You stay here. I will go to the house." He dressed himself in the wolf skin and loped away. At dawn he came running back. "I looked at a man," he said. In the morning they went on. When they came to the village they were told that a man had died. The Xonsadiñ young man went into the house. He pretended to be so overcome with grief that he actually rolled about on the floor. "Yesterday he was all right," they said, "then in the middle of the night he suddenly came upon a man. He had a headache and died."

When they had finished the burial, the Xonsadiñ young man said, "Come, let us go home." "Even as it is, you may stay," they said. "No, I will not stay overnight, I am too lonesome for my dead friend," he said. They went back a way and camped. After dark the Xonsadiñ young man said, "I will go back,--no, you go back." "I am afraid," said the Miskût man. Nevertheless his friend put the wolf skin on him. "Now go on, run," he told him. He did not know how. Then his friend showed him. "Here do it this way." He went back. When he came to the grave he looked about. He heard them eating in the house. Then he tore away the fence which was about the grave and began to take down the things which were hung above it. He had only secured a few articles when he heard someone coming. He started to run but was nearly caught before he thought of the kitdōñxoi [1] which he had. He touched that and then he nearly flew. When he came where his companion was sitting he said, "They nearly caught me."

Then the Xonsadiñ young man put on the wolf skin and ran back. Soon he came again. He had taken everything away from the grave. The next morning they went home. The Xonsadiñ young man said, "We will own it together; with it we will go visiting."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, July 1901, by Mary Marshall.

[1] Probably it was a wolf skin.

[1] Kitdōñxoi is the name given to the material thing of whatever kind from which the evil power is obtained. See Life and Culture of the Hupa, p. 64.

VIII. Datcwindiñ Xonaïswe. [1]--Gooseberry-place Brush Dance.

One time they had a Brush dance at Datcwindiñ. Two young women sat on the roof watching the dance. Two strange men were noticed about the place where the dance was being held. About midnight one of the two girls who were sitting on the roof said to the other, "Xûnai, let us get a drink of water." "Very well," said the other. They walked along the river-shore toward the spring. The two strange men overtook them and carried them away toward the south. At Nōtañadiñ they stopped and wrapped the girls' faces in double deer-skin blankets. Leaving the river they took them up Kîyaneke creek. When they had crossed Djictañadiñ and Xaslindiñ creeks, the girls began to fear for their lives. They pulled off the fringes of their dresses and dropped them by the trail that their friends might know which way they had been taken. At Southfork they were taken across the Trinity river and conducted along Southfork creek. They cried as they went along. At the camping places the men showed them where the red obsidians were buried and the dried venison was stored. Finally they came to their journey's end where there were many houses and sweat-houses.

After they had been living there some time they went down to the river shore to make acorn soup. A very old woman came down to see them. Speaking to them in the Hupa language she said, "I too was brought here many years ago when I was young. Now my children are as large as I am. These people are always stealing girls. There are Yurok women living here also. You will get used to it in time." After a while each had a child. Both were boys.

Their husbands showed them where the red obsidians were buried and taught them to kill deer by magic. The deer used to come out to feed on the opposite side of the stream. When they pointed something at them the deer always fell dead. One time they said to each other, "Why wouldn't our husbands die if we did that way with them?" One evening after the children had learned to walk the men went into the sweat-house. The women standing outside did to them as they had been accustomed to do to the deer. They called to them but received no reply. Again they called but still they received no reply. They had already been dead some time. The women packed up their things quickly, taking away only the red obsidians, and started home.

They camped each night at the places they had camped before. They dug up the red obsidians at these places. When they got to their home one of them went into her mother's house. The family were sitting about the fire. They had their hair cut in mourning for the lost daughter. "Mother," she said. "Eh," said the old woman, "who spoke to me in a forbidden manner? I had a daughter some years ago. They hid her away from me." "I am that daughter," the young woman said, "I have got back." She passed her child to her mother who took it. She told her people all that had happened to her since her disappearance.

The boy used to imitate the call of flint's grandmother (a bird) in the wood-room at night. He did not act like a human being and always sat with his back to the fire. They took care of him the best they could. He grew to be quite a large boy. Some of the people did not like him. After a time the two boys went away. For a while they used to come back occasionally. When they became men they ceased coming back.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, July 1902, by Mary Marshall.

IX. Mīmedakût Kyūwintsit. [1]--At Mīmedakût She Pounded Acorns.

[1]

A woman was pounding acorns at Mīmedakût. Her baby while playing near her became hungry and tried to crawl up on her. She pushed it off. Again it crawled on her and again she pushed it off. All was quiet. After pounding a while she looked around. The baby was gone. She ran out. She ran around the house and looked in different places. It was gone. When her husband came home at night, she said, "I have lost the baby."

He threw the deer which he had brought on the bank back of the fire and went out again. He ran around outside aimlessly until morning. Then he found where the baby had crawled out under the house. Following its trail he saw where it had crawled along. After a while he saw its foot-print and knew that it had begun to walk. He saw where it had spent the night. He could see that it had played along as it travelled. The father journeyed without food. Soon he saw the boy had succeeded in making a bow. Then he found he had built a fire. Still further on there were birds already cooked lying on something beside the trail. He ate these. As the father went along he wept. Every now and then he found something left for him, cooked squirrels and small game. After a time he saw the boy had become quite large. Finally he found where he had killed a deer. He ate some of that which had been left for him. The father always cried as he travelled.

After a time he saw by the appearance of the trail that his son had gone along only a little ahead of him. When he came closer he heard him singing. Woodpecker heads had been left for him on sticks by the trail. Then right across from him he heard his son singing. Then the son thought, "Poor man, never mind, let him catch up with me." He waited for him. When the father came along the son said, "I just thought you would turn back from here." "No," said the father, "I will go with you." He was surprised to see that the son's eyebrows had become woodpecker color. "Well," said the son, "go back after your things and then you may go with me."

When he got back to the house he found his wife lying dead by the fire-pit covered with ashes. Groping about he found his own things and went back. The son pounded up incense root and bathed him with it. Both of them became Kīxûnai. They are still living in the world to the southeast.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, July 1901, by Mary Marshall.

[1] NOTE.--This song was taken down from a phonograph cylinder and the voice of a Hupa, by Miss Edith May Lee, class of 103, University of California.

A mechanical record, made on the Rousselot apparatus, has been compared with this. The results as regards both time and pitch agree almost exactly.

X. Tōdiñ KeïtLō. [1]--By the River She Made Baskets.

A young woman, a virgin, who lived at Kintcūwhwikût used to make baskets by the riverside. After a time she became pregnant. She wondered about her condition for she had not even seen a man. She gave birth to a girl and took proper care of it. When the child was quite large the mother made baskets by the river again. She became pregnant a second time. This time she gave birth to a boy. She hated it and never took care of it. The girl tended her little brother. After a time the mother was to be married and started to her husband's house taking the little girl with her. She dropped the boy, baby-basket and all, down a steep bank by the trail.

"Come along," she said to the girl. "No," she said. She cried for her brother but the mother went off and left them both. The sister, seizing the baby-basket by the bail, dragged it up the hill and back into the house. When at night they lay down to sleep the girl said, "I wish when we wake up in the morning we would be lying in a blanket and something to eat would be by our heads." When they woke in the morning they found themselves covered with a blanket and food was lying by their heads. They always did that way. When the boy became large his sister said, "I wish, my brother, when we wake up tomorrow morning a string of dentalia would lie at our heads." In the morning it was there.

They always made wishes that way and they afterwards came to pass. After a time he began to run about. One night the sister said, "I wish when we wake up in the morning we would find a bow and arrows at our heads." In the morning there they were. Then they went hunting and he killed birds. Finally he became a man and killed deer. The girl was now a woman. They filled their house with dried meat. Then the boy fished and they dried the fish and stored them away. When their house would hold no more they made cribs of hazel. They filled ten of these with provisions. All this time they saw nothing of their mother. One night the girl had a dream. The next morning, the young man, who now slept in a sweat-house, came in and said, "I dreamed there will be a famine." "I, too, dreamed that," said the sister. For several years there was a famine. The people about began to starve.

One morning the sister thought she heard someone moving outside. She looked out and saw a woman who said, "Here take your brother." She took it and carried it in. Then she took in another and another until she had taken in ten children which had been born to her mother. Last of all the husband came in. "I have come back," said the mother, "these your brothers were about to starve." "Poor things," thought the girl, "I had better hurry and feed them." She fed the smallest one and told the others to eat as fast as they could. She was afraid of the young man, her brother.

When he came back at night he brought in a deer. "I am glad my boy," said the woman, "for I am going to eat." He did not even look at her, but turned around and went out. All the next day he stayed in the sweat-house without food. The following evening the girl went to the sweat-house entrance and said, "Come and eat." "No," he said, "gather up your things. I have found our father; he has come for us. Soon he will push a stick under our house." The girl went back to the house and made a quantity of soup that they might all have plenty to eat. When the rest were asleep she emptied down some acorns and buried some salmon under the earthen floor. At midnight the father pushed a stick under both the house and sweat-house and they went of their own accord under the water. [1] There their father, a water sprite, [2] lived.

The next morning when the others woke up they saw they were lying without a house to cover them. The woman looked about but saw nothing left. Then she began to dig in the wood-room where she found acorns and salmon buried. She knew her daughter had done that for her.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, July 1901, by Mary Marshall.

[1] For another instance of this singular method of house-moving see p. 149.

[2] This sprite's name is Xaslinme Kûntcūwiltcwil, "Riffle in young man." He lives in the riffle below the Miskût ford and has a love song which the Hupa men sing to win the hearts of the maidens.

XI. The Cause of the Lunar Eclipse. [1]

The one who always travels at night has ten wives in the west and ten wives also where he rises. In the distant west he always comes out to the ocean and hunts the deer which live on the water. He calls them by saying "wū wū wū wū" He always kills ten and then ten more. Taking ten on his back he carries them to the place where he goes up into the sky. It is there his house is. Then his pets crowd around him, his lions and his rattlesnakes. He divides the deer among the animals but they are not satisfied with one apiece. They jump on him and eat him besides. They leave only his blood. Then Frog who stands in the body of her husband clubs them off and they desist. He goes down in the west, nothing but blood. There his wives brush together the blood and he recovers. He always goes back to the place of rising and there they make him well again.

His pets do not do that way with him every time. Sometimes they get enough and then they quit. When they are not satisfied with the food given them, then they eat him.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, October 1902, by McCann, who has lived for many years on the left bank of the Trinity river, near the cañon.

XII. Origin of Fire. [1]

It was the Old-man-across-the-ocean. He picked up stones and struck them together. Nothing happened. Then he picked up a willow root and whittled it down to the dry part. He bored holes in it and then setting another stick in one of the holes, rolled it, between his hands. He was surprised to see smoke come out. Soon fire rolled out. That was the way it happened. They do that way now.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, July 1902, by McCann to offset a story by a Redwood Indian which tells of the stealing of fire.

XIII. The Coming of White Men. [1]

It was winter when they heard they were coming from the south. "Let us make a dance or do something else," they said. "Something is coming." Then they heard that they had already reached Southfork. Southfork men ran down to Medildiñ and told them that the strangers did no harm. They came down to Medildiñ and camped for the night on the other side above the village. There they bought bear, fox, and coon hides, giving hatchets and knives for them. They came down here to Sauwtitcdiñ and camped on the north side of the creek. We ran away from them down into the cañon. They went on and spent the next night at Bloody camp. Then they say they went on crossing Pine creek at Martin's Perry. They went over the Bald Hills coming out to the ocean at the mouth of the Klamath.

Three or four years after that they heard a boat had come in at Trinidad. A Bald Hill Indian ran over and reported that something was coming. They camped at French camp. Then they came here. They bought otter-skins with blue beads. They went on this way up the river.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, July 1902, by McCann, a white-haired old man who was born and has always lived at the northern end of the valley near the beginning, of the cañon. He said that he was at this time about as large as his grandson who is probably 10 years old. He appears now to be between 70 and 75 years of age.

XIV. The Coming of White Men. [1]

When they first came along with a pack-train we ran away and hid. They came up on to the flat cast of Medildiñ and went around among the houses of the village. They began to buy Manzanita flour with small blue beads. Those with brave hearts traded with them. Some of us ran away from them. The babies were hid in the storage baskets. They went across the river south of Medildiñ and camped for the night. They came back the next day and traded hatchets for the native dogs which they ate. After remaining only one night they went up the river with their train.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, July 1902, by the wife of Dan Miskût. She was born at Medildiñ and lived there until her marriage. She appears to be about 75 years old. Her younger brother at the time of this incident was a small child. He was hid in a storage basket. He now has the appearance of a man of 65 or 70 years.

Relating to Dances and Feasts

XV. The Young Man who Threw Himself with the Arrow. [1]

At Kintcūwhwikût grew a Kīxûnai. By one side of him grew a son and by the other side grew an arrow. This arrow was to fly with. When he threw it he stuck to it. He delighted in throwing himself to the mountains standing there. The young man watched him and was surprised to see what he did. He picked the arrow up and saw that he too stuck to it. He thought, "I am going to do as he does." When the sun was down he thought, "I wish you would go to sleep quickly." Then the old man went to sleep. The young man picked up the arrow and did as the father had done the day before. He threw it and stuck to it. It came down with him on Tsetitmilakût. There it stood sticking up. Then he thought, "This must be the way he has been doing. "And again he threw it with himself. At Xōwûñkût it came down. Here where it came down was to be the place for the dance. Then he threw it with himself. It came down on the sweat-house door which was made of red obsidian.

Then the father told the son, "There across to the south is hanging a blanket made of rows of woodpecker heads. There is no way to get it for a crane watching near will give warning." "I wish I might go there. What if the crane sitting beside it does see me?" the boy thought. The next day the boy threw himself and came down on Tsetitmilakût. He threw himself again and came down on other mountains. From there he threw again and came down near the place where the blanket was hanging. He took it down. The crane did not see him. Still unseen by the crane he threw himself, carrying along the blanket. When he lit with the arrow on a certain mountain he heard the crane cry out. From there he threw himself to Tsetitmilakût. Then he threw himself and came down at Kintcūwhwikût.

When his father came out in the morning he saw the blanket hanging there. The one who used to live across the ocean to the south heard about it. "Hi," he thought, "that which he has done is good." And the Kīxûnai who used to live there said, "It will be my blanket. "No," he said, "I am the one who will own it," Here from the north across the ocean, Yīmantūwiñyai came and said, "It will be my blanket." "I am the one", he told him, "it will be my blanket." For several days Yīmantūwiñyai watched trying to get it, but in vain.

Notes

[1] Told at Pupa, December 1901, by Senaxon, whose Hupa name is Takilkyū. He has for many years been the priest of the northern division of the Hupa. He has charge of the Spring Dance, the Jumping Dance, the Acorn Feast, and the Tcexōltcwe rocks on the river bank above TakimiLdiñ. He shares the control of the White Deer-skin Dance with the priest of the southern division. Since the death of his only son, in 1899, he has refused to assist in any of these ceremonials, which have been nearly discontinued in consequence.

XVI. The Scabby Young Man. [1]

At Kintcūwhwikût there grew ten Kīxûnai and one woman. One of the brothers who was covered with scabs lay next to the steps in the sweat-house where the others stepped over him with their dirty feet. Once the head-man of the family commanded him to feather arrow-shafts. "Here across the river toward the south hangs a blanket made of woodpecker scalps in rows," he said. "The man who stands in the middle of the dance always wears that blanket." "Very well, let us go," said the brother who was covered with scabs.

They found ten men lying there a little way from each other. Right in the middle was hanging the blanket. The scabby brother stepping over them took the blanket down. The man lying on the outside first discovered what had happened. "He has taken the blanket away from us," he cried. Then the scabby one in whose hand lies the arrow [1] threw himself with it. The arrow came down on the west side of the Trinity river south of Medildiñ. Those who were pursuing him came there. He threw himself with it again. This time it came down at Tsemita. Again he threw it landing opposite Miskût. From there he threw himself with it to Kainoñadiñ. Then he threw the arrow with himself back to Estciñ. Those who were following him fell behind. He threw it again coming down at Tseyediñ. The next time he threw it landed with him at NiLûtkalai. Then without special reason he threw it to Yidaxomiñwatciñ. Having succeeded in taking away the blanket he put it into a storage basket.

After a time two maidens came to marry him from the shore of the eastern world. "They have come to marry you," said the sister to the scabby brother. The stranger women made soup for them of dentalia meat. The scabby brother was the only one who could eat it. Then he went with them along the ridge from Kintcūwhwikût toward the east. Before they left one of the women told his sister that when the feathers on his head-dress disappeared behind the crest of the mountain she might know he had reached the eastern world.

When they came to the shore of the body of water which separates the eastern world from this, one of his wives cautioned him to step into the canoe with care. The canoe, which had come to ferry them across, was made of black obsidian, on which ordinarily one would slip and hurt himself. So many woman were making soup by the water's edge that the ground was white with their hats, as if dough had been spread over it. The women laughed at him as he walked along. His quiver looked as badly as he. When he was yet a long way off he heard someone calling him son-in-law. He heard himself called that way ten times.

When he came to the house of his wives he went in. They made soup and brought him ten baskets full. He ate it all. "Ye! he will be the one," they thought. When the meal was over the men went into the sweat-house. After the scabby one had finished sweating he went out to swim. Then someone said to him, "You can't find sweat-house wood around here. Northeast from here is the only sweat-house wood." It was Mink who told him this. Then they two went there after it. The scabby one took a Tan oak and split it to its roots with his hands. Then he split it up and made ten bundles of it. They went back each carrying five bundles. When they were near the village they put the wood down. Having tied them all together, Mink lifted them all onto the back of the scabby man. "Put them down carefully wherever you take them," he said. [1]

Then the scabby fellow smoked himself. When he was through he went to the river to swim. He came to the surface of the water way down stream. How beautiful his hair looked! There were so many women making soup by the riverside that the steam of the cooking settled over the place like a fog. One of the woman said, "That fellow who came here from Kintcūwhwikût and married is drowned." "Your husband is drowned," she told one of the wives. When he had come up from the river, now no longer scabby, he swept the sweat-house. "Come," said Mink to him, "let us go into the house. Tomorrow there will be shinny-playing."

The next day Mink took the stranger along to the game and handed him a shinny stick. When the one who had been scabby pressed down on it to test it, it broke. Mink gave him another which broke also. "Well, let it go," said the guest and drew from his arm a shinny stick of blue-stone. [1] "They will make a wall come between you and the goal," his companion told him. He sent the balls right through the wall. They played until night. Having won, Mink and the man from Kintcūwhwikût went home. "He will stay here," thought the father of the wives. The next day the one who had been scabby concluded to return to his brothers and sister. When he got back to Kintcūwhwikût he said to his sister, "Let us go to the eastern world." He gave to each of his brothers a woodpecker headdress. The brother and the sister went away. They are there now.

This along-the-river-dance is his. "In the Indian world they will do this way," he said. "There will be one man and one woman who will fix the dancing place. My body will come to the mind of the man who will do that."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by McCann.

[1] See p. 205.

[1] Compare p. 148.

[1] Compare pp. 147 and 149.

XVII. The Passing of the Kīxûnai. [1]

At Leldiñ he grew with one son. He painted the wrists of the boy and then buried him. The Kīxûnai who used to live there were afraid of what he had done and fled. They went away. A white bug made medicine. The Kīxûnai met at TakimiLdiñ outside of the large sweat-house. One of them said, "We must not go away at once. We must leave that which the Indians will do."

Then they made a canoe and went up the river. They landed above Medildiñ on the opposite side of the river. They painted themselves and danced there one night. The next morning they danced again. Then they came down landing at Tsemita. They danced there all that night. The next day when they had danced they dressed themselves and got into the canoe. They headed the boat across the river and up stream. Then as they floated down, they danced. When they had floated down opposite Miskût they approached the shore. Ten times they came up to the shore and went back again. Finally landing, they danced there that evening and again in the morning. Then they went down to Tselûndiñ where they danced. After dancing the next morning, they went up the river and landed close to Tceïndīqotdiñ, where they danced that evening. The next morning they went down to MeïsdiLdiñ. There they danced one afternoon and one morning. Next they moved up to Bald Hill. They danced there that day. The next day they danced there again. Then it was they lined up facing the northwest. "This is the dance we will see," they said.

And then they went away. Some of them went across the ocean toward the north. Others went across the ocean to the south. Still others went to the southwest. Some went to the world above us. And others went to the northeast. "This is the way Indians will do when they come. We did it for them," said the Kīxûnai.

One of Kīxûnai had not gone with the rest. "Let me see where the Kīxûnai are who were living about here," he thought. He was surprised to see only a dog among the willows. He came up to him and the dog said, "They have gone away and left you." "Yes," said the Kīxûnai. "I am going to talk just this once," said the dog, "I am going to live around here and watch the Indians. When the Indians come, I will not talk again. If I should talk the Indians would be no more. They would die." Then the dog ran up the hill and drove a deer out of the brush into the river. The Kīxûnai threw the deer out of the water and then he said, "I shall not be seen again either."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1902, by Senaxon.

XVIII. The Spoiling of the World. [1]

Yīmankyūwiñxoiyan [1] and the two women who were to be his wives grew at Leldiñ. When the time was near for Indians to appear upon the earth the smoke which was a token of their coming was seen. It hung along on the mountains as far down as those which stand in the middle of the world. Yīmankyūwiñxoiyan got lonesome and started to travel over the world. He went down this way through Hupa toward the north. When he had travelled nearly around the world he saw a handsome woman living there. He liked her. Finishing his journey he came back where he used to live and saw his wives and his child.

Then he went away to the world's edge toward the south where the handsome woman lived and became the father of a son. When the child was large enough to stand, his father told him to lie down back of the fire. Someone called out, "A Southfork man is running along from the north on the other side. He has the cover of the fire-pit on his head." [2] "Quick, take the boat over to him," Yīmankyūwiñxoiyan said. He was surprised to hear the stranger asking, "Where is the one who lives here?" "Why, what do you want?" they asked him. "Your child they have put in the ground still alive," said the messenger. Immediately Yīmankyūwiñxoiyan put his hand under himself and got up. He went into the house and girded himself.

Picking up his child he put him in his sack and crossed over. He ran down Southfork creek to Leldiñ. There was no one to be seen walking about. He saw his former wives sitting facing each other. He went to that something (grave) which had been made. He dug out the child and put it by the fire. It ran into the grave again. He dug in out ten times and it ran back each time. It quite spoiled the world. People would never have died but for that. "Well, let it be that way," thought Yīmankyūwiñxoiyan.

Then he started down toward Hupa after the Kīxûnai who had fled. He went on foot following those who had gone in a boat. When he came down the hill to Djictañadiñ he found they had been gone some time. He ran on to the mouth of the Trinity. He was surprised to see from there that they were passing Kaikisdēke. He passed Natinōxoi Tcewilindiñ and at last ran down to the mouth of the Klamath. There he saw the Kīxûnai dancing in a boat which was headed across the ocean. One of them said, "Way over there is walking the one who spoiled the world." "Wait," called Yīmankyūwiñxoiyan, "only take my child." One of them took the child from him, and having painted it, put it into the boat. Then they went away.

Yīmankyūwiñxoiyan tumbled about on the sand in his grief and cried. Then Smaller hawk, Cotton-tail, Jack-rabbit, Ground-squirrel, Pine-martin, Coyote, Wildcat, Wolf, Fox, Hawk, and Crow came to him. "Come dance, my grandchildren," said Yīmankyūwiñxoiyan. And they danced. Then someone said to the others, "Way over there, that one who spoiled the world is leaving a dance." "Ye-he!" he exclaimed, "I wish something would happen to him." Yīmankyūwiñxoiyan went back. "I wish I had left dances for them at other places," he thought. He came back and arranged another dance. Some bears danced this time. He came back across Redwood creek and thought to go south. There he left two more dances. Then someone who was living way to the north said, "I wish something would happen to that one who did wrong." Finally he told TsōyōLtel to go and lie in the trail to tempt Yīmankyūwiñxoiyan. [1] She did as she was told. Yīmankyūwiñxoiyan was surprised to see her lying there but he walked on by her toward the south. Yielding to temptation he returned to her. Immediately she caught him against her breast and went with him through the water back across the ocean. As often as he became unconscious she held his head above water for him to recover.

Notes

[1] Told by McCann at Hupa, December 1901.

[1] Yīmankyūwiñxoiyan, "Old-man-across" is said to be the same as Yīmantūwiñyai.

[2] It is customary for those who have touched a corpse to cover their heads lest the world be spoiled.

[1] Compare p. 132 and footnote. In the former case the immortal beings wished to prevent the Indians' renewing their youth and becoming immortal. In this case they wished to prevent their securing the dances which are the Peculiar possessions of the immortals.

XIX. Formula of the Jumping Dance. [1]

When that Indian was becoming a Kīxûnai he worked making kiseaqōt. He worked on them every day. He finished one each day without eating, so quickly he made them. They did not see him any longer. They thought he was dead.

Then after a while he came back. "I just came back to tell you what it is they will do up the river on the bank. That will be the place for eating the acorn soup. The pipe will lie buried there. That dance too will be held here. The way they do over in the Kīxûnai world; that way they will make the dance here. In the way of the Kīxûnai world they will dance." He, the priest, must not talk about the wind that blows from the south. He must talk about the ten winds which blow down from the world above. These will blow down here. Ye winds which never blow in the Indian world, blow down here. People will live to old age if they blow on them. He always pounds incense and scatters it there.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, November 1901, by Senaxon.

This formula is repeated by the priest while preparing the ground where the dancers stand in the Jumping Dance at TakimiLdiñ. He is assisted in this work by a woman. The stones and sticks are removed. The priest then strews the powdered roots of Leptotaenia Californica over the ground on which the dancers are to stand. The formula is repeated as the root is scattered. The priest does not drink water during the ten days of the dance. He omits the customary daily bath in the river or otherwise it will rain. He fasts each day of the dance until the ceremony is completed for the day. He stripes his body with charred Leptotaenia root beginning at his wrists.

XX. Daily Prayer of the Priest at the Jumping Dance. [1]

It will be pleasant weather everywhere in the world. The clouds which used to be, will be no more. Everything will be as it should be. The good food will come again; it will grow again. By means of it the people will live happily. This sickness which the people used to have they will have no more. This that the people used to be sick with, blow out to sea with you, O, wind.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, November 1901, by Senaxon.

This prayer is uttered by the priest each day as he sits before the dancers during the Jumping Dance.

XXI. Origin of the Jumping Dance. [1]

[1]It was at TakimiLdiñ the Indian who became Kīxûnai used to live. He liked dances. When it rained much he used to say, "Come, let's dance, I don't like heavy rains." He went over the world looking at dances. Finally he went around the world. Over here northeast from us he saw a dance. They danced ten places near together. "I like that," he said. When he got back he said, "Come, let's dance. This is the way Indians will do

here. I am going away. If Indians want to dance they will do it this way." He left directions that one woman and one man should fix the place. "The man will go north," he said, "the woman will go south." "The one who fixes the place will go this far," he said.

Here toward the northeast from us, he went to live where they always have the dance which he likes. After a time they found him among the redwoods. So often he had dressed for the dance his face had become black below the eyes. "This time only you will see me," he said. "When there is a dance at TakimiLdiñ it will be foggy along the base of the mountain toward the south. That is the place I will look from. This way it will be when the time comes. This way they will do. Whoever will do that will always think of me."

At every place woodpecker head-dresses they used to bring him, but he always took out his own. They always brought him the kiseaqōt in a storage basket. He never took that, he always took out his own. After a while he said to them, " Don't bring them to me. I have plenty of my own." After a while they brought mounted deer-skins to him. "I won't do that way," he said. "This only will be mine. Only this one I like. The Indians will quit this deer dance, only this one they will practise. Only this one I like."

Here across the ocean to the north he went. He was surprised to see they danced only once. "I don't like it," he said, "when they dance but once. Where I live it will be ten times that they will dance." When he had gone from us southeast he saw only twice they danced. "I don't like it," he said. He did not like it wherever he went. He always comes to the TakimiLdiñ dance. He likes that.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, November 1901, by McCann. This is apparently another form of the formula told by Senaxon which is given above. The narrator called it one of his choicest stories, but said nothing of its ceremonial use.

[1] Compare Powers' version in Contributions to North American Ethnology, Vol. iii, p. 80. The author feels like apologizing on behalf of himself and his Indian informants for the tameness of the form here given as compared with that produced by Mr. Powers and the Indian Agent.

XXII. Formula of the Acorn Feast. [1]

Whatever has grown any where in the world in time past let it come back here. The people must eat but little. If one eats but little he shall feel as if he had eaten much. Birds must not like the food. Let every kind come back here which used to grow in the world.

Notes

[1] This formula is repeated after the feast is eaten and the people have gone away. The priest repeats it while standing close over the fire which is renewed to consume the remains of the feast. See Life and Culture of the Hupa, pp. 80, 81.

XXIII. Formula used at the Tcexōltcwe Rocks. [2]

na-xōL-tûñ na-xōL-tûñ dō-wes-yō nûñ-xōs-tiñ

Let it get soft | Let it get soft | I don't like | frost.

Notes

[2] Told at Hupa December 1901, by Senaxon. Said by the priest while bathing the Tcexōltcwe rocks with incense root, Leptotaenia Californica, and warm water. Life and Culture of the Hupa, p. 80.

XXIV. Formula of the Spring Dance. [1]

Everybody sang a song. One of them sang a song. The cloud of disease went back a little way. He stopped and another sang a song. It went back a little way. While he was singing it went farther back. Again one of them sang a song and it went back a little way. Three of them had sung. "Come, you sing." When he had sung he saw it had gone back a little way. Four had sung. When he had finished that song another one sang. And when he looked he saw it had gone back a little way. He found out it would do that way. Six had sung. Again another one sang. Seven had sung. It had gone back a little way, it was afraid of that one's singing. "A little way it has gone back," he said. Again another sang. Eight had sung. Again another one sang. Nine had sung. He was surprised to see it had gone back a little way.

The sticks of wood were leaning up. Then when the tenth on had sung he put the stick in the fire and leaned the bark around it. Then they sang another song and danced, circling around the fire. The ceremony lasted ten days. Five days the priest built the fire and five days they danced. He carefully avoided saying anything wrong. When they stopped after ten days, he looked. He was surprised to see that the sickness which had been in the world had gone. It had melted away. "This way it will be when Indians become. If they sing this way it will be afraid. If they dance around the fire this way the people will live happily again."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Senaxon.

This formula is repeated by the priest while he collects the bark used for the fire of the dance. He goes alone, or with a virgin, to the mountainside west of the TakimiLdiñ, setting out in the middle of the afternoon and returning after dark.

XXV. Origin of the KinaLdûñ Dance. [1]

Yīmantūwiñyai and his daughter lived by themselves. He used to fish for eels and when he had caught some he would say to his daughter, "Cook plenty of them and carry them to your uncle." When she had gone with them Yīmantūwiñyai would take the house on his head and, by following a trail higher up on the mountain, run ahead and place it where the imaginary uncle was supposed to live. He would also bring the sweathouse. He used to eat the eels himself. [1] After his daughter had started back he would take the house on his head again and run back, so that on her arrival she found it as she had left it.

He used to tell her not to look up as she was carrying the eels, but one time she did look up and saw someone carrying a house along the upper trail. When she got to the place, the house was there. Yīmantūwiñyai ate the eels as usual. When his daughter had gone home he took up the house and carried it back. When the girl got home she said, "I looked up and saw someone was carrying a house along the upper trail toward the south." "It was wrong for you to look," said Yīmantūwiñyai, "sit down facing the back of the house. I am going to shake a stick." He made a kinaLdûñ dance stick. He saw no one, but after night-fall he heard the sound of many feet. The invisible people ran in until the house was crowded. They danced till morning. The next night more people came and the night after still more. After the tenth night they ceased dancing. Standing outside Yīmantūwiñyai threw incense root into the fire praying, "May you live to be men."

When it was dawn he did not see them. He went into the house. When they ceased dancing the noise stopped in the house. He sang again and stopped. The invisible ones sang in the smoke-hole. A cloud enveloped her and took her away. They took the girl with them to the world above. They are dancing there now. The girl became a perpetual kinaLdûñ. They always dance there; only when the Hupa dance here they stop up there.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, June 1901, by Robinson Shoemaker, a man about 30 years of age. His father and mother, both quite old, are unusually well supplied with myths and formulas.

KinaLdûñ means a girl who is undergoing her first menstruation. Life and Culture of the Hupa, p. 53.

A story similar to this is told of Coyote.

[1] For other devices employed by Yīmantūwiñyai to gratify his greed, compare pp. 129, 130.

XXVI. Directions and Formula for the Brush Dance. [1]

Directions and Formula for the Brush Dance.

I always get up at dawn. I go to the south corner of the house and rap and call [1], then I do the same at the north corner, and last at the west corner. I do this to notify the people of the under-world that they must give back the soul of the sick person who is to be treated.

THE FORMULA.

In the middle of the world there lived a woman with her granddaughter. After a time the granddaughter became pregnant. "Hei," exclaimed the grandmother, "it looks as if the Indians were about to appear," she said. "Their smoke in everywhere." The baby contracted some sort of sickness from its mother before its birth. The child was born.

"What shall we steam the baby with," thought the grandmother. "You must go out and try to find the medicine," she told the granddaughter. She went out and looked over the world. She was surprised to see something standing toward the southeast. Then she saw it was the herb, and going to it she dug it out. It was wild ginger. Placing it in a basket she put it under the baby and steamed it with it. It was then evening. At dawn she noticed the baby was feeling around in her armpit.

The old woman went out. When it was light she was surprised to see pitch sticks lying there. She carried two of them into the house. Having lighted them in the fire she waved them over the baby. When it was broad daylight she stopped. "Hei," she thought, "Indians are soon to come. It may be their babies will take sick from them. They will think about us. With what shall we make them think about us?" "Oh, yes," she thought, "one night will intervene between the dances. That is the way they will do. There will not be one medicine only," she thought.

Then she told her granddaughter again, "Go out and look for an herb." She went out again to look for it. She looked everywhere in vain. As she looked toward the east she saw Mount Shasta standing there. She started toward it and when she came near she saw a basket-cup floating at its base. She looked into the cup but saw nothing in it. There was not even a leaf which she could put into the baby's mouth.

She walked along after it. She turned her eyes away and when she looked again the cup was gone. She saw it floating by Kitōkût. She looked into it but there was nothing there. "I wonder why I can't find the medicine which I am to put into the baby's mouth?" she thought.

Again she missed the cup. She saw it floating by Kilaigyadiñ. It had floated by her. When she came where it was, she looked into it again. She looked away again and it was gone. She found it floating by Bluff creek. She went to it and looked into it. Again it disappeared and reappeared in a fog above Weitchpec. "Where am I to find that medicine?" she thought.

When she looked away again it was floating around below Weitchpec. She looked into it but there was no medicine in it. Again she looked away and the cup floated down the middle of the river. She saw it a little above Tcexōltcwediñ below the rock that stands in the water. Again she looked into it in vain. The cup did the same thing again. It went down the middle of the river and she followed it. Below Cappel it stopped until she came up and looked into it. There was nothing in it. It did that way again. It floated right down the middle of the river. She went after it. She was surprised to find it at Pecwan creek. She came up and looked into it. There was nothing in it. "Where am I going to find that medicine?" she thought. And then it did that again. It floated right down the middle of the river. She went after it. When she came to the mouth of the Klamath river she saw it floating across to the north. "Hei!" she thought. When she turned her head slowly about, the tears fell. "How can I find that medicine?" she thought.

When she looked for it again it floated back. Then she went along the shore toward the south. The cup came back and floated along beside her. South of Redwood creek she came down to the beach. The cup floated back to her. She went along again and the cup floated after her. At Fresh-water Lagoon she again came down to the beach. She saw the cup was floating across the ocean toward the west, but it came back to her as if it had been shot from a bow. She looked into it. There was nothing in it.

She was surprised to see a house standing in the distance toward the east. "I will go there," she thought. She went to the house and went in. She saw an old woman sitting there. "You can't find that medicine anywhere," the old woman told her. " Day before yesterday it came into my head. This is what they said of you, 'This way her child does. In vain she will look for it.' There in the corner stands your cup." Then the old woman took the cup and held it up to the sky. Something fell into it. [1] She was holding it up pointing crosswise. She gave it to her saying, "Take it along and put it into your baby's mouth."

DIRECTIONS.

When I get through speaking I bathe the child with the medicine. In the morning I bathe it all over. I always leave the medicine there.

In the woods I always set up two forked sticks on each side. Then I placed the pitch sticks crosswise on them. I put four stones along side. I put pitch sticks and incense root on these stones. When there are good coals I put the incense roots into the fire. I always put the stones back from the fire. I do not drop the forked sticks just anyway, I always lay them down carefully. I tie up the pitch sticks.

I do not have my face white (unpainted). I have my face painted black. I paint my wrists, my shoulders, my ankles, my thighs, and my breast. I tie up my hair with tseûk. [2] I do not wear dirty things. I wear only good things. I take along all the utensils, I do not leave any of them for the one over whom I wave the fire.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by the wife of McCann who is the only person living that has performed the ceremony.

[1] The noise made consists of one or several knocks on the wall with the hand and the call "ha ha ha." This is to notify the people of Tcindintax, the world below, that they must give back the spirit of the sick. To make sure the omission was not accidental, the attention of the narrator was called to the fact that she had mentioned only three of the world-quarters. She volunteered no information as to why the fourth had been omitted. The world of the dead is underground toward the west. It is likely the east is not associated with the dead. The Hupa are never slavish adherers to the world-quarters.

[1] It was the bark of the yellow pine, Pinus ponderosa, which fell into cup.

[2] Tseûk are the ribbons of mink fur with which the clubs of hair are wound. These tseûk are sometimes covered with woodpecker scalps. See Life and Culture of the Hupa, p. 20 and Pl. 5.

XXVII. Formula for the Eel Medicine. [1]

Across the ocean towards the south were three bodies of water. Yīmantūwiñyai went there. He saw there the red eels which never come to this world. "They will come," he thought. The bank of the lake slid out and some of the eels went out with the water. Yīmantūwiñyai himself walked along the shore and accompanied the eels until he came to the mouth of the Klamath river. There they stopped and waited for him. There at the mouth of the Klamath a TimatciLtcwe (one who stops the run of fish) lives. "You who stop the run of fish, you will go to sleep," thought Yīmantūwiñyai, "and the fish will go through without your knowledge."

Yīmantūwiñyai walked along the Klamath accompanying the eels until he came to Weitchpec, where another TimatciLtcwe lived. Yīmantūwiñyai said to him, "You will go to sleep; fish will go through without your knowledge." "They will never go on up the Klamath," thought Yīmantūwiñyai. "A mountain shall project into the water to prevent it." He went on up the Trinity. He saw that the eels were coming along.

When he got quite a way up he thought, "These eels won't go on towards the south; they will stay in the waterfall at Xaiyame." "I will go back again," he thought. "I don't want a miñkilen to eat my eels," he thought, "but if she does eat them, these eels of mine won't die. KiLtcwe may eat them without harm; the eels won't die; they will be good and many will be caught." "Ten canoes will be filled with them," he thought.

He went back again. "I will do this again; I will go back across the ocean towards the south." When he got back there he thought, "I will go again; I will take them with me." He went northward again to the mouth of the Klamath. "You will go to sleep," he thought of the TimatciLtcwe. "Your heart will go to sleep; without your knowing it the eels will go past." He walked along accompanying the eels to Weitchpec. "This is the way it will be done," thought Yīmantūwiñyai, "they won't go on; they will stay here," he thought. "They will say of me, 'He did this.' KiLtcwe will eat them without harm. My eels will not melt away. Miñkilen may eat them without harm. Ten canoes shall be filled with eels. It will be that way everywhere. It will be good," he thought.

He went back south across the ocean. "I will go again," he thought. "I want my eels." He went along the shore from the south until he came to the mouth of the Klamath. He said to the TimatciLtcwe, "You will go to sleep. My eels will go on when you go to sleep." He went on up the Klamath to Weitchpec. "Soon you will go to sleep," he said to the TimatciLtcwe. "Only one river will flow for you, my eels; this one, my river. In this my river the eels will go. They won't go east," he thought. "A mountain will project into the water in front of them. One river will flow out for you. They will go into this one," he kept thinking. "He will say of me, 'He did that way.' Now I will quit."

As he went along he looked at the eels. "They won't go into this river (Klamath)," he thought. "They will live in this river of mine even when it becomes shallow. He (the coming priest) will do this way," he thought. "He will say of me, 'He did that way;' he will do this way with the eels." Then Yīmantūwiñyai ate them where he had cooked them. "He will say of me, 'I hear he did this way.' He shall eat eels there for five days." He did not eat all of those eels. "This is the way he will do," Yīmantūwiñyai thought, "when he gets enough he will throw the remainder in the fire; with this medicine he will tell of my deeds. This way he will do for five mornings."

"When a woman is through with her period of seclusion she may eat the eels; they will not die. She may eat them if she is hungry," he thought. Yīmantūwiñyai fished for eels thinking, "Hereafter the priest will do this way; he will say of me, 'He did that way.'" "Even if he does not catch anything, nevertheless he will talk about me." Then he took the net outside. "Tomorrow he will talk about me this way. Tomorrow I will go fishing. Everybody will fish tomorrow." Yīmantūwiñyai fished and thought to himself, "He will say of me this way he did." "A woman who has suffered miscarriage may eat them without doing harm; even if she eats them the run of eels will not disappear." "I will go back," he thought.

Then having gone back be soon came along the shore again from the south until he came to the mouth of the Klamath. There again he said to the TimatciLtcwe, "You will go to sleep, and while you sleep they will go past. "Yīmantūwiñyai was carrying along medicine in his hand while he was saying this. "He (the coming priest) will do that, and then he will eat them," thought Yīmantūwiñyai. That is why he always carries the medicine. If he eats the eels without the medicine he will be bitten by a rattlesnake. "You will not live," he thought, "this was not a good thing that you did. I wish that you may not live. Even if he does not catch any eels he must talk about me. Even then many eels will be caught. If he does not talk about me he will not live."

"I will go back," he thought. "What am I going to do? I will do this for him. This way he will eat them. If he eats, having the medicine in his hands as I have it, he will get enough. He will put the remainder in the fire with this medicine and burn it. He will not carry to the house what is left after he gets enough. This is the way he shall do; this is the way he shall eat. Ten days I will fish," thought Yīmantūwiñyai. "This way he will do," he thought. "He will say of me, 'He did this way.' I will go back. Already I have finished. All kinds of people will eat the eels. I will watch the eels. I will look at my eels. They appear good. They won't dodge away from the net. Already all kinds of people eat them, even KiLtcwe, and miñkilen. My eels won't dodge away from the net. All is good. It will be this way, nevertheless I will watch my eels; he will say of me, 'He did this way.' They will be good. Already they are good. He (the priest) will eat this way. Everybody will eat them. I have finished. They won't dodge. Now I will go back across to the south. "

When he got back the water in which the fish lived was all gone. He made the banks of the ponds slide out. Then he came back from the south along the shore of the ocean to the mouth of the Klamath. He never ceased having the medicine in his hand. "You will go to sleep," he thought of the TimatciLtcwe. "While you sleep, they will go by. I wish something would cause your mind to melt away. They will go while that happens." Yīmantūwiñyai went along to Weitchpec. He thought concerning the TimatciLtcwe, "You will go to sleep. The eels will never go to the east. Only one river and that mine, will flow out for them. I will watch my eels."

He came up to Hupa. "Here in this valley I will watch my eels," he thought. "KiLtcwe will eat them. Even if the river becomes shallow they will live in some deep places. Many boats filled with eels shall be counted. Every one ate them. Every one has eaten my fish. Already I have done that which I was intending to do." He fished. "Now I am fishing," he thought. "He shall do this way for five mornings." He cooked it with the medicine lying in his hand. "It shall be done this way," he thought. He (Yīmantūwiñyai) ate the eels. "He will say of me, 'He did this way.' He will eat them here as I have done. When he has enough he will put the medicine in the fire. This medicine is good. He will say of me, 'He did this way.'

"Now here in this place I finish. This is the way it shall be. Not many shall say of me, 'He did that way.' Every kind of people will eat them. Even if bad people eat them I do not want that the eels shall stop coming. They will not stop. This is the way he will talk of the fish. He will eat them in this manner with the medicine. This way now I will make it for him." "Now," he said, "I am about to finish." "I am finishing for him. Now I am going home across the ocean to the south."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, November 1901, by William Lewis (Kū-wī-ta) said to be the only person who knows the formula. He performs this ceremony which necessitates ten days of fasting without recompense for the good of the people.

XXVIII. Formula for the Salmon Medicine. [1]

Three immortals came into being at Xaslindiñ. They began to talk about what would be when Indians should come into existence. One of them went away up the Klamath river. The other two remained waiting for him. "I don't think we better wait for him," said one of those who remained. He went down to the river. "Let a stone cup become," he thought. And it became. And then in it a salmon became. "Already it has happened," he thought. "It is finished," he told his brother.

He made the salmon swim down the Trinity and Klamath rivers to the ocean. Then he caused it to swim along the beach southward. Having gone entirely around the world, he came back with it from the north to the mouth of the Klamath again. He made it swim back up the Klamath and Trinity rivers to the starting place.

There he questioned it. "What will you do if a person with a bad body eats you?" he asked. The salmon swam around in one place. He asked it about every kind person. After each question it swam for a short time in one place. Finally he asked, "What will you do if a woman who has miscarriage eats you?" It died at once. It rose to the surface of the water. Then he took it and placed it on the shore where it lay for five days.

After the five days, in the morning, the two brothers went down the river and crossed over to the place where it lay. The one who was officiating cut the salmon and cooked it there. He put incense root in the fire with which he cooked it. When the salmon was done they ate it. When they were through they shot at a mark and had all kinds of games. "This is the way Indians will do when they come," he thought.

Then he said, "All of you go away from me." Having built a fire he put incense root in it and prayed. "Indians when they come into existence, will eat this happily," he thought. "They will have plenty of food when the time comes for it to grow. The birds will not bother it. It will be good wherever it grows. Whatever anyone says will happen."

The two brothers went up the river and crossed over to their home. They found the one who had gone up the Klamath was not yet come back. Then they tore down the house and the sweat-house and went back to Xaiyame. There, one on each side of the river, they took their stations to watch their salmon.

When the one who had gone on the journey, came back to Weitchpec and started up the Trinity he was surprised to see salmon scales scattered about. When he got back where they had lived he found they had departed. He tracked them to Xaiyame where he found them. "Well," he said, "I will take my place at the Tseyekyauwhwikût. There I will keep watch. The salmon which a bad person would eat, if it were caught, I will take out as it passes up. Indians when they come into existence will make mention of us. 'At that place he did that,' they will say."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, June 1901, by Robinson Shoemaker in whose family the celebration of this medicine is an hereditary trust. The priest performs the ceremony in ceremonial dress, with beads around his neck, and his face painted red. He carries a fisher-skin quiver. When he has caught the salmon at the fishing-place in Sugar Bowl valley he cuts it with a stone knife, holding his breath while he does it. He then builds a fire and cooks the fish. He places incense root, Leptotaenia Californica, in the fire saying, "Kyōle, may there be many salmon." For ten days following he does not drink water. One meal a day is eaten at the exact time the sun reaches a fixed mark in the sweat-house. The meal is eaten from new baskets and is cooked by a woman chosen for the duty. She is dressed in a beaded dress. A male attendant remains in the sweat-house to attend to the fire. The priest keeps the incense root in his hand at night that he may not have dreams. He is careful not to say evil things for what he says or dreams will happen. He prays every night for many salmon. He does not eat salmon during the remainder of the year.

XXVIII. Formula of the Rain-rock Medicine. [1]

Ten brothers lived at Yastsime. One of them went away toward the south. At the end of the world to the south he stayed. After a time he felt the wind blow on him. Frost rolled out of the ground in big chunks. "What is it going to do?" he thought. He took some incense root with him and started back south. When he came back to Yastsime he looked around. He saw nothing. He went on and came down opposite Mīme. He was surprised to see some one sitting there. He turned about and went again to Yastsime. "What is the matter here?" he asked. From some place he heard a voice say, "Indians will become." Here at the world's end toward the north sickness flew up. "Those weather spirits who used to be here have gone away," he told him.

Then that one, who used to stay at the world's end at the south, started down the river. When he came to the creek above Eslick's he built a fire. Then he went on down, coming out on the river bank south of Xaslindiñ. He saw someone sitting above Xaslindiñ. He built a fire there where a pepper wood tree was standing. He went down to Sugar Bowl. The wind was so cold he could hardly face it. He saw someone had taken up his abode each side of the fishing place at Sugar Bowl.

Then crossing the river he went below Nilinkindiñ. He turned back to Nilinkindiñ and built a fire there. "Here he will do this who knows my body," he thought. Then he put incense root into the fire. He started down river climbing the mountain. When he got up the hill he was warm. "This way it will be," he thought, "when Indians come to be." He built a fire on top of the hill and then went down to the northern side.

On the north side of the creek opposite Djictañadiñ above the trail he built a fire. Then he commenced to talk. "Here they will build a fire," he thought. "I first of all will know Indians' hearts when they pass."

Then he started back. "I will lean my foot up this way. The wind will blow up from the ground. They will call me first at the end of the world toward the south where I used to live. Then they will call me here at the end of the world toward the north. There he stays who first knew it." "This way they will do if frost comes," he thought. "Just this way it will happen to the one who talks about my body. In the fashion of the Indian world he will let go from his hand the incense. The wind, just a little warm, will blow gently, if they put this incense in the fire. The fog will stay in the middle of the mountain." This way he established it.

"West it will draw back, north too it will draw back, east too it will draw back, south it will draw back. There will be sunshine. It will be good weather in the world. It will be wet. The frost that used to be will melt. It will settle down. I brought it down."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Emma Lewis, whose father belonged to the southern division of the Hupa.

Formulas of Private Medicines

XXX. Formula of Medicine for Pregnant Women (Deer's Medicine). [1]

They say, deer, you do this way when the young grow in your body. All day and all night you chew this brush. You drop your young without harm even in rocky places. You do this way for the sake of people. It is your medicine that does it. By the use of your medicine it will happen the same way to me.

Notes

[1] Told at Hops, June 1901, by Mary Marshall.

The formula is said to the growing shrub, Ceanothus integerrimus. The tender shoots are then taken and chewed. The practice is followed during the first three months of the term to keep the fœtus of moderate size.

XXXI. Formula of Medicine for Pregnant Women (Bear's Medicine.) [1]

While walking in the middle of the world Bear got this way. Young grew in her body. All day and all night she fed. After a while she got so big she could not walk. Then she began to consider why she was in that condition, "I wonder if they will be the way I am, in the Indian world?" She heard someone talking behind her. It said, "Put me in your mouth. You are in this condition for the sake of Indians."

When she looked around she saw a single plant of redwood sorrel [1] standing there. She put it into her mouth. The next day she found she was able to walk. She thought, "It will be this way in the Indian world with this medicine. This will be my medicine. At best not many will know about me I will leave it in the Indian world. They will talk to me with it."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, June 1901, by Mary Marshall. This medicine is for the same purpose as the preceding, and may be used along with it or alternately.

[1] Oxalis Oregana.

XXXII. Formula of Medicine for Childbirth. [1]

He came to the middle of the world where two maidens were living. He smoked himself all day. When the sun went down they came out to look at him. The next day they were pregnant. Their brothers went into the sweat-house after him. They were going to cut the girls open and then kill him. "Wait," said Yīmantūwiñyai, "I will make medicine. Give me a cup." "Make the medicine right here," they said. Right there in the house he made it of ashes. Then he hung up the straps of the carrying baskets. He put some of the medicine in the mouth of one of them and rubbed some of it across her abdomen. When he turned around he heard a baby cry. When he had done the same to the other he turned again and heard another baby cry. "This way it will be with those who know my medicine." [1]

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, June 1901, by Mary Marshall.

[1] For another version of this incident, compare pp. 125-6.

XXXIII. Formula of Medicine for the Birth of the First Child. [1]

Yīmantūwiñyai lived at Tcexōltcwediñ. He went down the river to TseLtcediñ. He followed the beach south for some distance and then he went along the ridge. He sat down to rest. Two women came from the south. "You sit down and rest too," he said. They sat down. He thought, "I would like to have intercourse with them." Then he left that place, and the women went on toward the north.

He himself walked along toward the south. Below Willow Creek he spent the night with two women. He went on walking along in the middle of the world toward the south. Again he did not feel like going on. His mind again turned toward women. He was surprised to see a hollow white oak standing there. He lay with that. Then he went on toward the south.

He came to the end of the world at the south and then turned back the way he had come. When he came back to the place where the white oak was standing he heard a baby crying somewhere. Then he thought about what he had done some time before. As he stood facing the tree he heard something inside. "How will it be," he thought. Then he pounded off the bark around the knurl where it had grown together. Having made a decoction of the bark he poured it on the tree. That white oak opened at once. "This way it will be," he thought, "when Indians become." "It will be easy this way," he thought. That was the way he took the baby out.

He saw it was a boy. He brought it back to Tcexōltcwediñ. He carried the baby around with him but he did not succeed in raising it. "I did it for Indians," he thought. "I will bury it at Yīdekitciñ Tcexûneūwkûtciñ," he thought. He put it in his buckskin sack and took it there.

He found no one about. All the Kīxûnai who used to live there had fled. They were afraid of him. Then he took it to all the places where the Kīxûnai used to live. Finally he went all around the world and came back to Tcexōltcwediñ where he buried it.

Panther was living alone at NiLkyakildūwime. In the same manner he, too, got a baby. It was for Indians he did it. He thought, "I will go to Yīdekitciñ Tcexûneūw to bury it." They ran away from him. Then he thought he would take it around the world. He, too, brought it back to the place from which he had started and buried it. He, too, carried it over the world in vain.

At Tcexōltcwediñ the plant that was to be the medicine grew. Small Douglas spruces grew there. The medicine that grew at NiLkyakildūwime was yarrow. That way they both did. That is why I call Yīmantūwiñyai a second time, and then I call panther again. Then he talked to them. He told one of them, "Stand on the river side where the branch hangs over. The salmon with long tails will pass under that." He told the other one, "Stand on the shore side. Those with small tails will pass under that."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, November 1891, by Emma Lewis.

XXXIV. Formula of Medicine to Cause the Infant to Grow Fast. [1]

Here in the eastern corner of the world grew a maiden by herself. She lived all alone, seeing no one. After a time without cause she became pregnant. She had seen no one. She had not even seen the tracks of people. "From whom have I a child," she kept thinking. After a while the time for her to be sick had nearly come. Finally she was sick and gave birth to a baby. "I will pick up that baby," she thought. When she tried to pick it up it dodged from her. Many times she tried to pick it up but it eluded her until finally it fell down from the world above. When it had crawled near the beach across toward the west it stopped. Where it stopped the medicine grew. She broke off some of it and with that picked up the baby. That which grew at the place toward which he crawled became the medicine. She took him back to the eastern corner where she steamed him with it. The medicine was wild ginger. [1]

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Emma Lewis. For the treatment of infants by the Hupa compare, Life and Culture of the Hupa, p. 51.

[1] Asarum caudatum Lindl.

XXXV. Formula of Medicine to Cause the Infant to Grow Strong. [1]

A Kīxûnai woman lived at Tcexōltcwediñ with her grandson. The boy used to go every morning to the sweat-house where he worked fastening the feathers to arrows. He used to go back into the house and get sinew from the case in which feathers were kept. He worked the sinew into shape with his teeth, throwing the pieces scraped off into the spoon-basket. The old woman was always lying down. The next day the boy did the same thing.

After a time the old woman, while lying there one night, woke up and heard a baby cry. Having started a fire she took up a brand and was surprised to see a baby squirming about in the spoon-basket. She took it up and then thought, "With what am I going to steam it?" She went down to the river and picked up some blue-stones which she carried to the house and put in a basket of water. Then she went out again to get the herb for the medicine she was going to make. She saw small Douglas spruces growing there about so high (two feet). These she broke off, leaving only one standing. She sat down this way facing the south. "This way it will be," she thought. She talked to the one still standing. "This way it will be," she said, "one always will be left toward which she shall talk."

Then she put that under the baby in water. Several days after the basket-plate spread out and broke. After five days it did that again. After five days more she put it in a baby-basket. The baby-basket broke. She put it in a second one and leaned it up against something. The baby kicked up its legs. It was a blue-stone storage basket she leaned it against. Finally she thought, "I wish I could make some better kind of a baby-basket." It was only during five days that she carried it in the hazel baby-basket. At last she thought, "I will make for it a basket of blue-stone." She carried it in that for it was tough. When she leaned it up, the blue-stone baby-basket made a creaking noise. Then she carried it about. "This way it will be," she thought, "with those who put my medicine under. The Indians, when they come, will say of me, 'That is the one who did this way there.' She will sit the way I sit."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Emma Lewis.

XXXVI. Formula of Medicine to Insure Long Life for an Infant. [1]

A man lived in the middle of this world all alone. His stool always lay in the sweat-house. Once when he came in and looked at his stool he was surprised to see a baby's track near it. The next day when he looked again he saw it had been playing still more. He studied about it. The next day he saw it had done that again. After a time he thought be would watch, so he sat near by. In the morning when he looked he saw it had been playing with woodpecker heads. The next day again it had been playing with woodpecker heads, and the next day also. He picked up the woodpecker head. The third day he picked one up also. When he had watched nearly four days and the fourth night was nearly passed, well after midnight he heard a jingling noise. He heard a baby cry. He went into the house. He saw a baby squirming about. He got a piece of buckskin, picked up the baby, and wrapped it up in it.

Then, because he did not want to leave it, he put it in his sack and went away. He went all over the world looking for the herb with which he was going to make medicine. Finally he went all around the world without finding it. He came back to the middle of the world where he used to stay and went into the house without having found the medicine. When he looked around inside of the house he saw it growing by the wall that holds the wood, at the very place where the baby was born. Then he pulled it off and put it under the baby and steamed him with it.

And then the baby grew. Really it grew very fast. Soon it was creeping about. It seemed very vigorous. After a while it ran about, it was so strong. He began to study about it. He said to the child, "Lie down and go to sleep." The child obeyed. The man went away.

He climbed one ridge, and then a second, and a third, and a fourth. When he got up the fourth ridge be sat down. He looked back where he had left the baby. He looked this way toward the north. Then he looked toward the south. After that he looked toward the eastern water's shore. And then he looked across to the west. Wherever he looked clouds came up.

As he looked he saw them slide together toward each other. "He is growing strong," he thought. "What is going to happen, they are going to come together before me," he thought. Finally where he used to stay they came together. Just blackness and darkness hung there. The baby was afraid of that which had happened. Suddenly it ran up and at once in every direction they drew back. "This way sickness will be afraid," he thought. And he went back.

The medicine he had made did that. He looked at it thinking, "How will it be good?" He started home and in time got there. He saw the baby running about. "I have made the medicine good," he thought. "The Indians, who are coming to be, will know of me. It will be only a few who will talk about my medicine. This way those who know my medicine will do," he thought. "They will place this under the child. This way they will do. Here across to the north he will hold it up. Here across to the south, too, he will hold it up. He who knows my formula will do this way. I made this my medicine for Indians. They will ask me for it. That which grows in the Indian world [tobacco] he will grow with," he thought. "I will leave something for them. Sickness will be afraid like this if he puts my medicine under the child. He, who knows my medicine, will grow in this way to be smart." This way he made it. This way he finished it.

THE PRAYER.

"Here are ten packages of tobacco with which I ask you for it. Lend me your medicine. I have not much of that which grows in the Indian world." "Yes, I guess it is true that you know my formula. I will lend it to you. There stands my medicine; put it under the child." And then he blows from his hand the offering of incense root.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Emma Lewis.

XXXVII. Formula of Medicine to Protect Children in Strange Places. [1]

In the middle of this world the birds flew together in a flock. They were the children of an old woman. "Let me go and look about," she said. When she returned she said, "Come, run into Tseninme (Burnt Ranch mountain)." When the sun was down they came back. "Way up the river stands a yew tree. Come, run into the mountain which stands by that," she told them. At sundown the flock came flying back. "Come, run into Djelōme," she said. They went and returned to the middle of the world. "Come, run into the mountain east of Djictañadiñ," she told them. After a time they returned. "Come, run into

Tsetitmilakût," she said. They did so and came back where their mother lived. "Come, run into Lōhwûnme (Bald Hill)," she told them. They went into Lōhwûnme and came back into the middle of this world. "Come, run into Lōkyō," [1] she said to them. They came back again to the middle of this world. "Come, Xaïsdilme (Hooker's Ridge) run in," she told them. They went and came back again. "Come, run into Yidatciñdinûndiñ (Weitchpec Butte)," she said. They came back again to the middle of this world. "Come, Yīdekitciñ Tcexûneūwme, run in," she told them. When they had come back again, she said, "Come, run into Misxûstûndiñ (a mountain north of the Klamath)." They went and came back. "Come, run into Dadinmōtdiñ (a mountain at the mouth of Redwood Creek)," she told them. After they had been gone a short time they came back.

And then she said, "Come, run into Tañaime (a mountain at Trinidad)." There they made slaves of them. They put them inside of that mountain.

Finally night came and she looked for them. When it became dark she thought, "That is the only place they got into trouble." When it became very dark she looked for them. Long after night had fallen she thought, "I am going to make medicine against him. That is why I kept saying to them, 'Come, run in here and there.'"

All night long the old woman sat up; she did not lie down at all. She got up and took a water bug and put it with incense root. Then rubbing them together between her hands she dropped them into the fire. "To whomsoever took my children in," she said, "when dawn comes this smoke will blow. After them it will go there." When dawn came, thereat Tañaime (Trinidad) they smelled that incense root. That Tañaime man said, "I smell incense root. It smells on account of those children. Throw them out."

When they had been thrown out they came back. They got back to this middle world when the sun was up only a little way. When her children came back to her she asked them, "Did you smell anything on yourselves?" "There was something on us that smelled," they said. "He told them to throw us out. 'The smell comes on account of them,' he said." "Indians are coming into existence," the old woman thought. "They will say of me, 'That is the one who did this way. In vain they tried to take them into the bad mountains. Notwithstanding she made incense go there after them.' They will say of me, 'That is the one who did this way.' Whoever makes for them this medicine which I made, will accomplish what I did."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Emma Lewis.

[1] A mountain near the Eight-mile camp on the Redcap trail from Hupa to Orleans.

XXXVIII. Formula of Woman's Love Medicine. [1]

The young men of the Kīxûnai used to come to a certain rock that stands in the ocean at the mouth of the Klamath. They used to hold there their sports and shooting matches. But notwithstanding all the attractions, a modest woman lived there who never went out of her house. Once, while she was sitting working on her baskets, a beam of sunlight fell on her without cause. "What is going to happen?" she thought. As she was going on with her weaving, she noticed a person coming in. "Up there is the place they go in," she said. "The Kīxûnai who live around here never come in this house."

The one who came in, came intending to be the woman's husband. He lived there for a time and then he went away and never returned. She heard no longer the sound of the games and the talk of the Kīxûnai.

Mink came to her, one time, and said, "You won't see again the one who used to come here. Across the ocean to the south he has two wives. One lies in each of his arms." When she had found out this, she was more lonesome than ever. She went outside. "When Indians come," she thought, "they will do this way." She used to go outside and look in vain for the herb with which she was to make the medicine. She looked all over the world for it.

Once she was surprised to see that as the lonesomeness fell upon her, the herb grew. It came into the world with lonesomeness. She looked at the ground and saw the herb growing there. She pulled off part of it and took it into the house with her. She bathed her arms and legs with it, and when it was night lay down with some of it in her hand and a bundle of it behind her. In the middle of the night she took the bundle up and put it in front of her.

Then speaking to it she said, "If ten times his heart goes from me to other women, finally it will come back to me. I hope he may be crazy. How many soever women he likes, even if they lie in his arms, this medicine will come to him. Among how many soever of them he goes, this my heart will find him."

The noise of the Kīxûnai was quiet. She did not hear their talk. "This way it will be," she thought. "You will hate the one you used to like. Before all others you will think about me. It will be this way in the Indian world, if they do this." When she got up in the morning, she put the bundle of medicine toward the north. When the sun was just here it shone upon her. "This way it will be," she thought, "if Indians when they come, make medicine. But there will not be many who will make it," she thought. "I have made it good," she thought. "This way it will be." It went even on him and he came back to her. It was the moon who discarded her.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Emma Lewis.

XXXIX. Formula of Medicine to Shorten Period of Exclusion after Menstruation. [1]

A body of water came into existence here to the southeast of us. The deer frequent that water in bands. From the east the does come and stand in the water all night. Here to the southeast from us the deer come down the hill. They go into the water and stand. The water covers their ankles, but soon, when the dawn has come, their droolings have filled the pond.

After the dawn comes, deer yet gray come from the northeast in bands and go among the Lōdaitc. They go into the water. From the ocean's border at the north, black deer come and go into the water. From the ocean's edge to the south the white deer come and go into the water.

Dentalia crawl in their armpits. The pond is filled with their spit. In the morning one side of the pond is full of dentalia's spit. As far as the water reaches, the dentalia crawl.

She always thinks, "It is dentalia's spit I have bathed in. Whoever eats the food which I leave, his body will be liked in this manner." [1]

She charred a shelled acorn, the next morning, and marked a cross with it on her right arm. "This way it will be," she thought. "He will hunt deer without harm if he does eat what I leave. Anyhow she will go into the house," she thought. "He, who eats what I leave, will kill deer the same as ever," she thought. "This way it will be. She will ask me for the water. She will pick out the stones and make a pond. She will think about the pond which lies southeast from here. The miñkilen will rub herself with it. Her body will become another one."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Emma Lewis.

The night of the eighth day after the beginning of the menstrual period the woman makes a small pool by the river. After repeating the formula she bathes, throwing the water over her right shoulder and then over her left, repeating the operation once. The next morning she makes a cross on her arms half way between the elbow and the shoulder with a burned acorn. After this has been done she may return to the xonta with the rest of the family.

[1] If the water which consists of the saliva of deer and dentalia likes his body he will, of course, have luck in hunting and gambling.

XL. Formula of Medicine for Going in Dangerous Places with a Canoe. [1]

Snipe lived across to the south. His canoe was very narrow. It was so shallow it did not come above his ankle. "I am going in it," he thought. "How is it going to be?" he thought. He took the paddles out of the house and went down to the river. He got into his canoe and then he got out again. He turned the canoe around. He placed it with the stern toward the land. "Indians are going to come into existence," he thought. "They will think about me with this." He held it with the stern toward the land, headed this way across the river and down stream. "There must not be many," he thought, "who will say of me, 'That one I hear did this way."' Then he went into the canoe, beat on the stern with the paddle, and sang. When he started across, his canoe grew up higher, and floated with him over the world. The boat did not mind the water. It floated with him over this body of water which lies around the world. He sang a song as he went along. It floated back with him across to the south. "It will do that way with the man who knows my medicine," he thought. "Even if he goes into a bad place, if he thinks about me, this way the water will not trouble his boat."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Emma Lewis.

XLI. Formula of Medicine for Going Among Rattlesnakes. [1]

While at Tcexōltcwediñ Yīmantūwiñyai felt dissatisfied with something. "How will the people live?" he thought. He started out and walked up along the Klamath. When the sun went down, rattlesnakes which had wings flew about. He looked about as he went along and thought, "What kind of medicine shall I make?" He saw a bush of Philadephus [1] standing there. He broke off a shoot, made rings around it, and used it for a cane. "When I come to Lōknasaûndiñ, that lies ahead of me," he thought, "I will whip the air with it." When he came out into the prairie at Lōknasaûndiñ he whipped about himself with the cane. He found nothing there. He had killed them all immediately. "This is the way it will happen," he thought. " if any one takes my cane along. He will go through dangerous places if he carries my cane, and he will not see rattlesnakes."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, October 1902, by McCann.

[1] Philadephus Lewisii.

XLII. Formula of a Deer Medicine. [1]

A Kīxûnai lived in the middle of this world. He came into existence just before the coming of Indians. "How will it be," he thought, "when Indians come into existence and a miñkilen eats of the venison they have killed?" Then it happened that a woman in such a condition did eat of venison which he had killed. He went out to hunt and walked about until night without seeing a deer. He heard someone say to him, "It has happened because a miñkilen has eaten of your venison." "How will it be?" thought the Kīxûnai. When he looked around he saw buck brush [1] growing there. He took some of the leaves and tender shoots, pounded them up, and rubbed them on himself.

When he went out to hunt the next morning two deer came toward him. He killed them. "This way it will happen to that one of the Indians who shall know my medicine. Not many of them shall know my medicine. It will be well with the one who knows it. I wish that he may have no trouble in killing deer."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, June 1901, by Robinson Shoemaker.

[1] Ceanothus integerrimus.

XLIII. Formula of a Deer Medicine. [1]

The Kīxûnai lived at Southfork. One lived farther down the river on the other (east) side at Taikyûwwelsilkûtciñ.

Up the river on the west side there was nothing but dogs and their barking. The dogs made the noise when they drove the deer into the river. When the people ate, the steam of the cooking venison was like a fog spreading over the country. The one who lived down river on the other side thought, "I wish something could be done with them. Who will make medicine so they will not see deer any longer? That one will be the smartest." The one who lived below on the east side did what they do in the Indian world. [1] Then he went up across the river and put his face in at the doors of the Kīxûnai's houses. He did it because his body was bad. The next morning when they started out to hunt they had to coax the dogs out. Some of the dogs lay in the house. All day it was quiet. There was no chasing of the deer by the dogs. Until night the Kīxûnai lay there. They were so worn out they could not get up. None of the Kīxûnai could make medicine. When the sun had gone down the one who lived down river on the east side made medicine and then went up to the village on the west side. He made enough for all, both the Kīxûnai and their dogs. "Rub yourselves with my medicine," he told them, "and the dogs beside." The next morning when they went out the dogs barked wonderfully. There was nothing but barking. "I am the one they must tell about," he thought. "They must not tell about these Kīxûnai. I am the one they must tell about. They did not make this medicine."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, November 1901, by Senaxon. This formula was told with xv as connected with the White Deer-skin Dance. It seems clear from its form that it is a hunting medicine. The venerable priest was questioned about its connection at another time without definitely settling the matter. If it is really a formula of the White Deer-skin Dance, then that dance, held as it is at the end of the period of cohabitation, purifies the people for the hunting season.

[1] The Hupa formerly did not cohabitate at all during the season for hunting. It is believed that the man himself who has cohabitated will not have luck in hunting, and that his bad luck will be communicated to those with whom he mingles.

XLIV. Formula of Medicine for Making Baskets. [1]

A Kīxûnai maiden did this at Isdiname (the south head, at the entrance of Humboldt Bay). She used to go down to the water every morning and sit on the beach facing the west with her legs half under water. One time as she was sitting there making baskets the wind blew gently from the north. She always sang as she made baskets. The wind, which blew gently at first, increased in violence until it blew very hard. Suddenly a gust came along and blew the basket from her hands. She saw where the wind had blown it into the water, far to the south. She crawled along after it. Failing to get it, she went back to the house.

The next morning when she went down to the beach she was surprised to see her basket floating there. She took it out of the water. The hazel ribs were covered all over with sucking dentalia. Returning to the house she took down a little canoe from the earthen bank back of the fire. This canoe had come into existence at the same time as herself. She put the dentalia into. it.

When she went down to the beach again to work on her basket, she found it had floated around the world to every place where the dentalia-maker had grown. Her basket always did that way. Then she thought, "I shouldn't wonder if I did it for Indians. I wish long life for the woman who always has a basket in her bands. That one will think about me. My experience will come to her mind. She will do the way that I have done. I didn't do this for every one. I did it only for smart women who shall come into existence. When the dawn comes my formula will come to her mind," she thought.

PRAYER FOR THE MEDICINE.

Ha ha ha ha! You, I believe, I have heard, Kīxûnai maiden, did this at Isdiname. Loan me your medicine.

"Yes," she said, "I am the one that did it."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, October 1902, by Emma Dusky (Tasentce), the wife of Henry Frank. She is about 40 years of age and very conservative. She surpasses all other Hupa women in basket-making.

XLV. Formula of Medicine for Wounds Made by Flint Arrowheads. [1]

At Mount Shasta he grew with his brother. He said to him, "Let us go visiting." They started out. They came to Nûndilwintediñ, one of the Salmon mountains. They fished in the lake with a hook and caught a water monster. They skinned him and went on.

When they had traveled some way the elder brother said, "You stay here. I will hide from you." He went on, and when his younger brother came along he jumped out of the brush dressed in the skin of the water monster. His brother almost died of fright. "That will answer," he said.

Then they went on until they came to Nadēiltcwûndiñ (Tule ranch). "You stay here," he said. "I will go on alone." He put on the water monster's skin. He took two elder sticks and removed the pith. Then he put his vitals inside of them, slipping one stick over the other.

He went on until he came to Xoñxauwdiñ (Masten ranch). He went into the house where two women were sitting. One of them said to him, "You better go back. This is the place that no one comes in." "No," he said. After a time he heard the men coming home. One ran in and threw the deer he was bringing onto the bank back of the fire. Again one ran in. Then they kept coming in until the ninth had run in. Last of all the head-man came in. His eye was hot when he looked at him. He pulled out the fire-like arrow. "Here in my breast shoot me." said the visitor. He shot him in the breast. It felt very hot where he shot him. The guest jumped up. He jumped through the smoke-hole. "Stop, give me my arrow-point," said the one who shot. He jumped up river and across to the other side. He took out his vitals. One only of the elder sticks was burned through. Again he went on jumping along until he came to Nadēiltcwûndiñ. Then they started toward home.

The wound was so hot he was nearly burned. When they came to Weitchpec Butte he said, "I wonder how it will be when Indians come." He looked around and saw something standing [1] there. He pulled it up and chewed it. He became cold again. "This is the way it will be," he thought.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, July 1902, by James Marshall. Compare pp. 117,118.

[1] Woodwardia radicans.

XLVI. Formula of Medicine for Going to War. [1]

In the middle of this world, chicken hawk grew with her younger brother. She said to him, "To-morrow a company will come to kill us." The girl always remained under the age of puberty. When the sun was here they heard the war party. They came from the east where the sunrises. "Eat first, "she told him. When he had eaten and had enough he said, "Who will go out first?"

"I will go out first," his sister said. Then the girl stood on the north side of the door. She had on leaves of the black oak for a dress. She had left off her other dress. The boy took out a bundle of twigs, pulled out the knot of the string that tied them, and threw them at her. They all missed her; not one struck her. Then she went to the south side. Again from the north side he pulled out a bundle of twigs and threw them at her. Then she went out and they all fought with her. When the sun was here in the west she had killed all of that company of one hundred men who had come to kill her. When she was through fighting she went in. She took off her dress and put on another.

That dress of black oak leaves is the one that flies around her. She has a song which she sings. She sings it in the morning. When the war party used to hear it they would say, "Come, let's run away." Then they always ran off. Here southeast of the middle of the world they used to lie until morning, and then they went home. When there was to be a fight she always sang a song. She sang it in the morning and again when she went to bed. None could affect her by singing or saying formulas. The hearts of the men always went along the way that lays behind this world. The song did it.

Again another night the girl found out they were coming "Again a party is coming to kill us," she told her brother. "Indians are about to become," she said. "This will be the medicine. The Indians will say of me when they become, 'This one, I hear, did that way.' Even if many men come against him, there will not be blood on him. When he puts the twigs and black oak leaves on his head, tied together this way, he will be ready to fight."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Henry Hostler often called "Packer Henry."

XLVII. Formula of Medicine for Acquiring Wealth. [1]

A young man grew at Xotūwaikût. [1] There was no water. Gulchs came out there, but there was no water in them nor anywhere in the world. He always went to get sweat-house wood in the morning. He always cried. When the sun went down he finished the sweat-bath. He always thought, "Maybe at night after I have gone in, the water flows." He used to go over the world. In a day he used to make the trip around, but he never found water. Ever since he had been living, he had cried as he made the sweat-house wood.

"After a time he thought, "I wish I could see water." "To-morrow," he thought, "I am going to look for water." He started in the morning. "In the upper world only I have never looked," he thought. He went to the world above and looked about. He was surprised to see four ridges there. He saw someone sitting on one of the ridges. He went towards him. When he came near him, he saw he had no eyes. A basket-bowl was sitting by him. The Xotūwaikût young man put his hand into it and water dripped off when he drew it out. He saw the basket was half full. He took it up and drank, leaving a little.

"Hei," said the one who had his eyes shut, "you think you have succeeded." "You did it for the Indians," he said, "who are going to come into existence. Smoke hangs over the world. You think it was water you drank. It was your own tears which you have been crying ever since you have been living. I held this basket under to catch them one by one as they fell. After a time there will be many Indians who will be poor. Even if they sweat themselves, if they drink water they will be poor. If they do that they will drink their tears." "Come, go home," he said. While he was looking he saw him put his hand into the water in the basket and sprinkle it everywhere. "To-morrow there will be water." That is why there is water wherever it dropped.

The next day when he went out at dawn he heard water running. "This is the way it will be," he said. "Even if he makes much sweat-house wood for himself, if he drinks water he will not become a rich man. I am the one they will say of, 'That is the one who did this way.' That one even if he does drink water will get something for himself. He will become rich." This one was living when there was no water but his tears.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Henry Hostler.

[1] Pactaw, opposite Weitchpec.

XLVIII. Formula of Medicine for Green Vomit. [1]

The sun, here at the end of the world toward the south, did this. He it is who always went over the world by day and at night came back home. The next day he did the same thing again. After a time he listened at the place they talk about (underworld). He did the same thing the next day. At first he did not understand what they were saying, but after a time he understood it.

While traveling through the middle of the world, he thought, "I wish I had a wife. Let something become my wife" He did not find anything which might be his wife. Finally he thought, "I wish this one we walk on would be my wife." This that we walk on became his wife. He immediately forgot the places where he used to listen, so much did he care for the one who had become his wife.

A child grew in her and she could not move. Soon it would be time for the movements of the child to begin. By the time it did move she was like a log. Only her eyes moved about in circles.

Then her husband thought again of the rounds he used to make, which he had forgotten since he had a wife. "Yes," he thought, "that is the way I used to do." Then he took up the basket-cup which was on the bank back of the fire and went out over the world. He did not find the medicine he sought. "I wonder if Indians are coming into existence," he thought. "It will be hard for them to have children if they listen at that kind of a place.

Then he took up the cup again and went down to the river. There he saw alder roots projecting into the water. They were very beautiful, just like woodpecker crests sticking out there. "This way it will be when Indians become," he thought. "However, there will not be many who will say of me, 'That is the one who did this way.'" And then he made the medicine in the cup. He picked up a blue-stone [1] besides. He poured water on the medicine and carried it with the blue-stone to the house.

When he got there the one in whom the child was moving vomited green stuff from her mouth. Then he put the blue-stone into the fire. When it was hot he put it into the cup containing the medicine. As soon as the medicine was warm he put it into her mouth, and then commenced placing her in proper position. Before he had her laid as he wished a baby cried. The one that was born was Yīdetūwiñyai. Once again he arranged her and again a baby cried. That one came to be "Ground-lies-around." Then he steamed the babies with the medicine. "This way it will be," he thought, "even if they listen at that kind of a place."

After midnight, when it began to be light, he heard the babies kicking in their baskets. "This way it will be with Indians," he thought, "when they come into existence, if they repeat these words. There will not be many at all events who will say of me, 'That is the one who did this way.'" "I guess I did it for Indians," he thought.

Right then they both became men. "Ground-lies-around you are going to be," he told one of them. "You are going to be Yīdetūwiñyai," he told the other. "Whoever knows our formula will become smart." And then one of them went away. It was Yīdetūwiñyai who left them. The father himself became the sun. To the other one he said, "You will be the one that lies around the world. Indians are going to live here. You must lie belly uppermost for the Indians, so they may live happily. If you do not, this world will tip up on edge."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Emma Dusky.

[1] A hard, dark colored stone used to heat in the fire for cooking purposes.

XLIX. Formula of Medicine for Spoiled Stomach. [1]

Yīdetūwiñyai lived here at the end of the world toward the south. He travelled over the world all day long. He took care of the people who died. He ate whatever he found along the river, even the dead things.

One time when he came to the middle of the world he was rather weak. When he awoke in the morning he felt just as badly, but nevertheless he went over the world as usual. The next night he was just as tired and in the morning he was even worse. That which he had been in the habit of eating along the river had caught him. The next day he was still worse. "I won't just die here in a day without doing something," he thought. He started from the south to come down this way. When he was at the middle of the world, he went to sleep. After he awoke he went on a little farther until he came to Natcilyeūwdiñ, where he died. Only the bones of his arms and legs were clinging to his trunk.

After a time he came to life again. When he opened his eyes he thought, "What is that white thing standing up there? I must have done this for the Indians who are to come into existence," he thought. Then he crawled on his elbows to the white thing he saw standing up. It was dark when he had succeeded in crawling there. Here to the northeast from us dentalia's pond of water lies, in which a yellow pine stands. When he had reached the butt of the tree, he scraped off some of the inner bark and made an infusion of it. He drank some of it and rubbed his arms and legs with it.

At night the dentalia eat that yellow pine. They eat as far as the branches of the top. The abalones jump up under the top. These are the ones that eat it up. When morning comes it stands in the water just a naked white tree. He thought, "A second time, I am going, to spend the night here, I am going to get well." When the sun went down in the west the wind blew on the tree and it grew again. Across to the south the sound of the wind went along. Across to the north, too, the wind went along. Then he thought, "I wish a man may not grow up poor who knows my medicine and does as I did, even if his stomach is spoiled."

Then he went home here to the end of the world toward the south from which he had started out. "I can't stay here," he thought. "It is getting near to the time when Indians are to come into existence. Anyway they will talk about me. There will not be many who will know my formula." Then he tied up his house and his sweat-house. He poked a stick under them. "Here across to the north I am going," he thought. Here across to the north he came to have ten dances.

There he became lost. He was afraid of the bad Indians who were going to come into existence.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, December 1901, by Emma Dusky.

L. Formula of Medicine for Purification of One Who has Buried the Dead. [1]

Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha.

"I come to you who have made your abode at Xaslindiñ. They say you are the smartest of all. I am suffering from that evil (death) which has been left to us of the Indian world. The people are afraid of me. I do not have a fire where the others have their fire. I have a fire by myself. And besides, what the rest eat I do not eat. Furthermore, I do not look at the world. So much my body frightens them. I am telling you that you may be sorry for me."

"Yes, I saw his spirit running down on the other side of the river with the string tied around his head. No, I am not the one. I will tell you who is the smartest, but that which makes the Indian happy (tobacco) you must leave for me. Hurry and go on to him who sits across the river from Djictañadiñ."

(The priest calls up in a similar manner the spirits who live at the following places: Djictañadiñ, Tseyekexōxūw, Xonsadiñ.

At each of these places he receives a reply similar to the one given above. At Xonsadiñ he is told to go to the one who dwells below on the other side of the river. There he calls as at the former places. The reply is as follows:)

"Yes, I think so. I saw a spirit running down on the other side toward the north, his head tied around with a string. I heard the wailing of the Indians, then I ran away carrying with me my medicine, by means of which my heart is made sorrowful for them. I will give it to you. Bathe yourself with it. You will live among the people, but go on; hurry up. Give me that which makes the Indian feel happy. Go to him who dwells at Xōtūwaikût."

(In the same manner the priest calls upon the spirits who dwell at Xōtūwaikût, Tcwitcnaniñadiñ, Tsenōñadiñ tanēdjit, KyūweLediñ, KiLwēdiñ. Calling at the latter place he receives the usual reply and is told to go on to the old woman who dwells at TseLtcediñ:)

Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha.

"I come to you old woman who dwell at TseLtcediñ" (The address is finished as in former cases.)

"Yes, I will tell you who is the smartest. Call to the one who dwells north, just below Mûkanadūwûladiñ.

Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha.

"No, he does not hear me."

Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha.

"Now he hears me. I have come to you, Mûkanadūwûladiñ. I am in the sorrowful condition which has been left for those of the Indian world. I have been in vain to all these nine places. At each they have told me that someone else is the smartest. The Indians are afraid of me. I do not build my fire where the Indians build theirs. I have a fire by myself. That which the Indians eat I do not eat. Besides I do not look at the world. This much they fear me. I am telling you that you may feel sorry for me."

"Yes, I hear you. Do not be too much frightened. You will travel again in the Indian world. Your body will be renewed. I will loan you this my medicine. You shall hunt and the deer will lie still for you. It shall be the same in regard to dentalia.

Now look at the shrub which stands outside by my house. As soon as it is dark, it grows up tall. To-morrow in the morning it will be eaten down. The deer will come to feed upon it. Look at this too which stands back of the fire. The dentalia eat it down, but it grows up again at the break of day. It comes to my mind that it will be that way with you. I will loan it to you. There will not be many who will know the formula by means of which my mind is made to feel sorry for them. Take this medicine of mine with you. Leave for me that which makes the Indian feel happy.

(Said by the priest to the recipient as the medicine is applied to him). Now your body will be renewed. You will be as the other Indians are. Already your body is renewed. It will be less heavy upon you. Everything will be easy for you to get. You will possess dentalia."

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, June 1901, by Mary Marshall, who learned it from an aged relative and employed it after his death.

LI. Formula of Medicine for the Purification of Those Who Have Buried the Dead. [1]

They say Yīmantūwiñyai lived with two wives at Leldiñ. One of his wives was a Yurok, the other was from Redwood creek. Each of them bore a child, one of them a boy and the other a girl. Yīmantūwiñyai went away from them to the southern end of the world. There also he saw two women and there he begot a boy.

In the morning about this time of day [1] while he was sitting outside he heard someone calling. A man came running toward him, wearing a woodpecker head-dress, saying, "I have just came to tell you that they have put your children into the ground alive. The children came up again, saying, 'It is not a good place there; it is dark; we can't live there.' All of the Kīxûnai who used to live there have gone away. They have taken all of the dance stuff with them, but your children remain in the ground alive."

Yīmantūwiñyai, taking only his child which he put in his sack, started back to the south. When he came to Leldiñ he was surprised to see the two women lying at the grave with their heads toward each other. "You have done badly," he said to them. "Ten times the people should renew their youth." "No," they said. "Five times at least," said Yīmantūwiñyai. "Once, anyway," he said to them. "No," said the two women. "We are not the only ones who will do this. Every one shall do this way." Yīmantūwiñyai, tramping them into the ground, said to them, "Never again will you see the games and dances of the Kīxûnai. You shall travel a marshy way." The wife who had come from Yurok territory became a white bug; the one from Redwood creek became a black bug.

Then Yīmantūwiñyai started down the river toward the north. He spent the night at Tcexōltcwediñ, where he found the Kīxûnai were also camped. He himself camped at one side some distance from them. The next morning when the sun had come up from the east to about here (gesture) the Kīxûnai started out in boats. Yīmantūwiñyai went along the bank on foot. Just above Natinōxoi Tcewilindiñ the Kīxûnai commenced the boat dance. The dancing sent waves to both shores of the river. They landed on the shore at TseLtcediñ. Then Yīmantūwiñyai called to them, "Only take the boy into the boat for me that he may become a Kīxûnai." No one looked at him. Nevertheless Yīmantūwiñyai threw the boy across the water to the canoe, in the middle of which he fell. When the boat had started the boy looked back at his father, who was astonished to see that the boy's eyebrows had become woodpecker color and that he had already become a Kīxûnai.

Then they all went away across the ocean to the north, but Yīmantūwiñyai remained at TseLtcediñ. There he built a sweathouse, and in the morning went out to get sweat-house wood. He wished to make medicine for himself because his children had been placed in the ground. He gathered young black oaks for sweat-house wood and carried them home, but they would not burn. Then he went out and climbed the mountain north of the mouth of the Klamath to the resting place, where he sat down. He saw nothing there which he could use for medicine. He went on toward the north until he came to Yīmantūwiñyai where he stayed for awhile.

When he looked about he discovered that he was sitting in a sweat-house. From near the door where he was sitting he saw the post back of the fire was white from top to bottom. When he went out he saw a house was also standing there from which he took a wood basket and a cane for a digging stick. Then he went after medicine toward the northeast to Danaxûnūwinehwil where the ridges run across. The fisher only runs along there in whose arm-pits cling the dentalia.

"There will not be many," Yīmantūwiñyai said, "who will say of me, 'I hear that he did this way;' he must be very clever who shall say of me, 'I hear he did that.'" Then he made sweat-house wood of buck brush, to which the dentalia ever come to suck. The brush is dry after the dentalia have been sucking it, but when the sun comes up here (gesture) it blossoms again, then after it has blossomed and the sun has gone down the dentalia come again. Yīmantūwiñyai went back to the sweat-house, where he sweat himself with the wood which he had brought. When it had finished burning, the dentalia could be heard sucking at the pile of sweepings.

Then he went across the ocean to the north where a lake lies, along the shore of which grows a medicine. The red eels live in that lake. Across the ocean toward the west lives the small fork-tailed fish. Across the ocean to the south a rock stands having folds encircling it; the medicine, yerba buena, grows in these folds. South from there is ILbaladiñ where the white deer come out to feed. The eyebrows of these deer are woodpecker color. Five ridges for the white deer and five for the vine maple run out into the water. Ten ridges in all run into the water. There grows the vine maple, always in blossom, for which the dentalia-maker is continually seeking.

From there Yīmantūwiñyai went still farther south to TceiLtelnaladiñ. The Kīxûnai's salmon live there, and also those which come to this world. The Kīxûnai's salmon are woodpecker color all over, and their scales are as broad as a winnowing basket. They are knee-deep along the shore where the wind blows them out from the water. The medicine grew there with which his body when he rubbed it became perfect.

It was the mountain above the mouth of the Klamath to which the birds brought back the dances. Yīmantūwiñyai thought, "Well, let them do that." Then he brought to Hupa all the different dances. Had he not done this there would not be dances in this world.

Notes

[1] Told at Hupa, June 1901, by Lillie Hostler, wife of Henry Hostler. She is a native of TakimiLdiñ, about 55 years of age. Compare, Life and Culture of the Hupa, pp. 71 and 72.

[1] About 9 A.M.

Colophon

Pliny Earle Goddard's Hupa Texts was first published in March 1904 by the University of California Press as Volume 1, No. 2, of the University of California Publications in American Archaeology and Ethnology. Public domain (pre-1930).

Source: digitized text of the sacred-texts.com archive, from the library's local mirror.

Prepared for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church with AI-assisted research, transcription, and editorial work.

The source digitization prints each item's Roman numeral and its title as two separate heading lines (occasionally at inconsistent heading levels); this edition merges each pair into one heading line, no wording changed. Two items in the source share the number "XXVIII" (a numbering slip in the original: "Formula for the Salmon Medicine" and "Formula of the Rain-rock Medicine"), preserved here as printed rather than silently renumbered. The double hyphen used throughout in place of an em dash is preserved as printed, per this library's established convention for sacred-texts.com mirror editions. Footnotes are renumbered [1], [2], ... at the end of the item in which they occur, in place of the source's per-page numbering. The mirror's own errata notice (nine corrections, mostly single-word scannos such as "hapened" for "happened") is already incorporated into the digitized chapter text as found; no further change was needed. The source digitization splits a number of paragraphs at every printed page boundary even where the boundary fell mid-sentence; wherever a split plainly broke a sentence in two, the halves have been rejoined here into one paragraph, with no wording changed.

Three musical illustrations belong to the original edition and are reproduced in place, each a brief chant notation with its sung syllables given beneath the staff exactly as printed: one in "IX. Mīmedakût Kyūwintsit," and two among the medicine formulas, in "XLIV. Formula of Medicine for Making Baskets" and "XLVI. Formula of Medicine for Going to War."

Spot-read against the source HTML: the Introduction and phonetic key, the opening myth ("I. Yīmantūwiñyai"), a formula from the middle of the collection with a musical illustration ("XXII. Formula of the Acorn Feast" and, nearby, "XLIV. Formula of Medicine for Making Baskets"), and the closing "LI. Formula of Medicine for the Purification of Those Who Have Buried the Dead." No other dropped or garbled text was found in the sections checked.

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