I
THE
STORY OF THE LAST YANA INDIANThe
glory and romance of archery culminated in England before the
discovery of America. There, no doubt, the bow was used to its
greatest perfection, and it decided the fate of nations. The crossbow
and the matchlock had supplanted the longbow when Columbus sailed for
the New World.It
was, therefore, a distinct surprise to the first explorers of America
that the natives used the bow and arrow so effectively. In fact, the
sword and the horse, combined with the white man's superlative
self-assurance, won the contest over the aborigines more than the
primitive blunderbuss of the times. The bow and arrow was still more
deadly than the gun.With
the gradual extermination of the American Indian, the westward march
of civilization, and the improvement in firearms, this contest became
more and more unequal, and the bow disappeared from the land. The
last primitive Indian archer was discovered in California in the year
1911.When
the white pioneers of California descended through the northern part
of that State by the Lassen trail, they met with a tribe of Indians
known as the Yana, or Yahi. That is the name they called themselves.
Their neighbors called them the Nozi, and the white men called them
the Deer Creek or Mill Creek Indians. Different from the other tribes
of this territory, the Yana would not submit without a struggle to
the white man's conquest of their lands.The
Yana were hunters and warriors. The usual California natives were
yellow in color, fat and inclined to be peaceable. The Yana were
smaller of stature, lithe, of reddish bronze complexion, and instead
of being diggers of roots, they lived by the salmon spear and the
bow. Their range extended over an area south of Mount Lassen, east of
the Sacramento River, for a distance of fifty miles.From
the earliest settlement of the whites, hostilities existed between
them. This resulted in definitely organized expeditions against these
Indians, and the annual slaughter of hundreds.The
last big round-up of Mill Creek Indians occurred in 1872, when their
tribe was surprised at its seasonal harvest of acorns. Upon this
occasion a posse of whites killed such a number of natives that it is
said the creek was damned with dead bodies. An accurate account of
these days may be obtained from Watterman's paper on the Yana
Indians. [Footnote: Vol. 13, No. 2,
Am. Archaeology and Ethnology.]During
one of the final raids upon the Yana, a little band of Indian women
and children hid in a cave. Here they were discovered and murdered in
cold blood. One of the white scouting party laconically stated that
he used his revolver to blow out their brains because the rifle
spattered up the cave too much.So
it came to pass, that from two or three thousand people, the Yana
were reduced to less than a dozen who escaped extermination. These
were mainly women, old men and children. This tribal remnant sought
the refuge of the impenetrable brush and volcanic rocks of Deer Creek
Canyon. Here they lived by stealth and cunning. Like wild creatures,
they kept from sight until the whites quite forgot their existence.It
became almost a legend that wild Indians lived in the Mount Lassen
district. From time to time ranchers or sheep herders reported that
their flocks had been molested, that signs of Indians had been found
or that arrowheads were discovered in their sheep. But little
credence was given these rumors until the year 1908, when an electric
power company undertook to run a survey line across Deer Creek Canyon
with the object of constructing a dam.One
evening, as a party of linemen stood on a log at the edge of the deep
swift stream debating the best place to ford, a naked Indian rose up
before them, giving a savage snarl and brandishing a spear. In an
instant the survey party disbanded, fell from the log, and crossed
the stream in record-breaking time. When they stopped to get their
breath, the Indian had disappeared. This was the first appearance of
Ishi, [Footnote: Ishi is pronounced "E-she."] the Yana.Next
morning an exploring expedition set out to verify the excited report
of the night before. The popular opinion was that no such wildman
existed, and that the linemen had been seeing things. One of the
group offered to bet that no signs of Indians would be found.As
the explorers reached the slide of volcanic boulders where the
apparition of the day before had disappeared, two arrows flew past
them. They made a run for the top of the slide and reached it just in
time to see two Indians vanish in the brush. They left behind them an
old white-haired squaw, whom they had been carrying. She was
partially paralyzed, and her legs were bound in swaths of willow
bark, seemingly in an effort to strengthen them.The
old squaw was wrinkled with age, her hair was cropped short as a sign
of mourning, and she trembled with fear. The white men approached and
spoke kindly to her in Spanish. But she seemed not to understand
their words, and apparently expected only death, for in the past to
meet a white man was to die. They gave her water to drink, and tried
to make her call back her companions, but without avail.Further
search disclosed two small brush huts hidden among the laurel trees.
So cleverly concealed were these structures that one could pass
within a few yards and not discern them. In one of the huts acorns
and dried salmon had been stored; the other was their habitation.
There was a small hearth for indoor cooking; bows, arrows, fishing
tackle, a few aboriginal utensils and a fur robe were found. These
were confiscated in the white man's characteristic manner. They then
left the place and returned to camp.Next
day the party revisited the site, hoping to find the rest of the
Indians. These, however, had gone forever.Nothing
more was seen or heard of this little band until the year 1911, when
on the outskirts of Oroville, some thirty-two miles from the Deer
Creek camp, a lone survivor appeared. Early in the morning, brought
to bay by a barking dog, huddled in the corner of a corral, was an
emaciated naked Indian. So strange was his appearance and so alarmed
was the butcher's boy who found him, that a hasty call for the town
constable brought out an armed force to capture him.Confronted
with guns, pistols, and handcuffs, the poor man was sick with fear.
He was taken to the city jail and locked up for safekeeping. There he
awaited death. For years he had believed that to fall into the hands
of white men meant death. All his people had been killed by whites;
no other result could happen. So he waited in fear and trembling.
They brought him food, but he would not eat; water, but he would not
drink. They asked him questions, but he could not speak. With the
simplicity of the white man, they brought him other Indians of
various tribes, thinking that surely all "Diggers" were the
same. But their language was as strange to him as Chinese or Greek.And
so they thought him crazy. His hair was burnt short, his feet had
never worn shoes, he had small bits of wood in his nose and ears; he
neither ate, drank, nor slept. He was indeed wild or insane.By
this time the news of the wild Indian got into the city papers, and
Professor T. T. Watterman, of the Department of Anthropology at the
University of California, was sent to investigate the case. He
journeyed to Oroville and was brought into the presence of this
strange Indian. Having knowledge of many native dialects, Dr.
Watterman tried one after the other on the prisoner. Through good
fortune, some of the Yana vocabulary had been preserved in the
records of the University. Venturing upon this lost language,
Watterman spoke in Yana the words,
Siwini, which means
pine wood, tapping at the same time the edge of the cot on which they
sat.In
wonderment, the Indian's face lighted with faint recognition.
Watterman repeated the charm, and like a spell the man changed from a
cowering, trembling savage. A furtive smile came across his face. He
said in his language,
I nu ma Yaki--"Are
you an Indian?" Watterman assured him that he was.A
great sense of relief entered the situation. Watterman had discovered
one of the lost tribes of California; Ishi had discovered a friend.They
clothed him and fed him, and he learned that the white man was good.Since
no formal charges were lodged against the Indian, and he seemed to
have no objection, Watterman took him to San Francisco, and there,
attached to the Museum of Anthropology, he became a subject of study
and lived happily for five years. From him it was learned that his
people were all dead. The old woman seen in the Deer Creek episode
was his mother; the old man was his uncle. These died on a long
journey to Mt. Lassen, soon after their discovery. Here he had burned
their bodies and gone into mourning. The fact that the white men took
their means of procuring food, as well as their clothing,
contributed, no doubt, to the death of the older people.Half
starved and hopeless, he had wandered into civilization. His father,
once the chieftain of the Yana tribe, having domain over all the
country immediately south of Mt. Lassen, was long since gone, and
with him all his people. Ranchers and stockmen had usurped their
country, spoiled the fishing, and driven off the game. The acorn
trees of the valleys had been taken from them; nothing remained but
evil spirits in the land of his forefathers.Now,
however, he had found kindly people who fed him, clothed him, and
taught him the mysteries of civilization. When asked his name, he
said: "I have none, because there were no people to name me,"
meaning that no tribal ceremony had been performed. But the old
people had called him Ishi, which means "strong and straight
one," for he was the youth of their camp. He had learned to make
fire with sticks; he knew the lost art of chipping arrowheads from
flint and obsidian; he was the fisherman and the hunter. He knew
nothing of our modern life. He had no name for iron, nor cloth, nor
horse, nor road. He was as primitive as the aborigines of the
pre-Columbian period. In fact, he was a man in the Stone Age. He was
absolutely untouched by civilization. In him science had a rare find.
He turned back the pages of history countless centuries. And so they
studied him, and he studied them.From
him they learned little of his personal history and less of that of
his family, because an Indian considers it unbecoming to speak much
of his own life, and it brings ill luck to speak of the dead. He
could not pronounce the name of his father without calling him from
the land of spirits, and this he could only do for some very
important reason. But he knew the full history of his tribe and their
destruction.His
apparent age was about forty years, yet he undoubtedly was nearer
sixty. Because of his simple life he was in physical prime, mentally
alert, and strong in body.He
was about five feet eight inches tall, well proportioned, had
beautiful hands and unspoiled feet.His
features were less aquiline than those of the Plains Indian, yet
strongly marked outlines, high cheek bones, large intelligent eyes,
straight black hair, and fine teeth made him good to look upon.As
an artisan he was very skilful and ingenious. Accustomed to primitive
tools of stone and bone, he soon learned to use most expertly the
knife, file, saw, vise, hammer, ax, and other modern implements.Although
he marveled at many of our inventions and appreciated matches, he
took great pride in his ability to make fire with two sticks of
buckeye. This he could do in less than two minutes by twirling one on
the other.About
this time I became an instructor in surgery at the University Medical
School, which is situated next to the Museum. Ishi was employed here
in a small way as a janitor to teach him modern industry and the
value of money. He was perfectly happy and a great favorite with
everybody.From
his earliest experience with our community life he manifested little
immunity to disease. He contracted all the epidemic infections with
which he was brought in contact. He lived a very hygienic existence,
having excellent food and sleeping outdoors, but still he was often
sick. Because of this I came in touch with him as his physician in
the hospital, and soon learned to admire him for the fine qualities
of his nature.Though
very reserved, he was kindly, honest, cleanly, and trustworthy. More
than this, he had a superior philosophy of life, and a high moral
standard.By
degrees I learned to speak his dialect, and spent many hours in his
company. He told us the folk lore of his tribe. More than forty myths
or animal stories of his have been recorded and preserved. They are
as interesting as the stories of Uncle Remus. The escapades of
wildcat, the lion, the grizzly bear, the bluejay, the lizard, and the
coyote are as full of excitement and comedy as any fairy story.He
knew the history and use of everything in the outdoor world. He spoke
the language of the animals. He taught me to make bows and arrows,
how to shoot them, and how to hunt, Indian fashion. He was a
wonderful companion in the woods, and many days and nights we
journeyed together.After
he had been with us three years we took him back to his own country.
But he did not want to stay. He liked the ways of the white man, and
his own land was full of the spirits of the departed.He
showed us old forgotten camp sites where past chieftains made their
villages. He took us to deer licks and ambushes used by his people
long ago. One day in passing the base of a great rock he scratched
with his toe and dug up the bones of a bear's paw. Here, in years
past, they had killed and roasted a bear. This was the camp of
Ya mo lo ku. His
own camp was called
Wowomopono Tetna or
bear wallow.We
swam the streams together, hunted deer and small game, and at night
sat under the stars by the camp fire, where in a simple way we talked
of old heroes, the worlds above us, and his theories of the life to
come in the land of plenty, where the bounding deer and the mighty
bear met the hunter with his strong bow and swift arrows.I
learned to love Ishi as a brother, and he looked upon me as one of
his people. He called me
Ku wi, or Medicine
Man; more, perhaps, because I could perform little sleight of hand
tricks, than because of my profession.But,
in spite of the fact that he was happy and surrounded by the most
advanced material culture, he sickened and died. Unprotected by
hereditary or acquired immunity, he contracted tuberculosis and faded
away before our eyes. Because he had no natural resistance, he
received no benefit from such hygienic measures as serve to arrest
the disease in the Caucasian. We did everything possible for him, and
nursed him to the painful bitter end.When
his malady was discovered, plans were made to take him back to the
mountains whence he came and there have him cared for properly. We
hoped that by this return to his natural elements he would recover.
But from the inception of his disease he failed so rapidly that he
was not strong enough to travel.Consumed
with fever and unable to eat nourishing food, he seemed doomed from
the first. After months of misery he suddenly developed a tremendous
pulmonary hemorrhage. I was with him at the time, directed his
medication, and gently stroked his hand as a small sign of fellowship
and sympathy. He did not care for marked demonstrations of any sort.He
was a stoic, unafraid, and died in the faith of his people.As
an Indian should go, so we sent him on his long journey to the land
of shadows. By his side we placed his fire sticks, ten pieces of
dentalia or Indian money, a small bag of acorn meal, a bit of dried
venison, some tobacco, and his bow and arrows.These
were cremated with him and the ashes placed in an earthen jar. On it
is inscribed "Ishi, the last Yana Indian, 1916."And
so departed the last wild Indian of America. With him the neolithic
epoch terminates. He closes a chapter in history. He looked upon us
as sophisticated children--smart, but not wise. We knew many things
and much that is false. He knew nature, which is always true. His
were the qualities of character that last forever. He was essentially
kind; he had courage and self-restraint, and though all had been
taken from him, there was no bitterness in his heart. His soul was
that of a child, his mind that of a philosopher.With
him there was no word for good-by. He said: "You stay, I go."He
has gone and he hunts with his people. We stay, and he has left us
the heritage of the bow.