Part 1

MYTHS OF THE MODOCS

BY JEREMIAH CURTIN

Author of “The Mongols, A History,” “The Mongols in Russia,” “Myths and Folk-Lore of Ireland,” “Creation Myths of Primitive America,” etc.

TRANSLATOR OF THE WORKS OF HENRY SIENKIEWICZ

London SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY, Limited Overy House, 100 Southwark Street, S. E.

INTRODUCTION

The majority of Americans know who the Modocs are and where they live, for on a time their bravery and so-called treachery gave them widespread notoriety; but for those who do not know, the following sketch may be helpful.

The Old Modoc Country was the valley of Lost River in Oregon, and the country adjacent to the shores of Little Klamath Lake, and Tula Lake which in main lies within the boundary of California.

The country around Tula Lake is of volcanic formation and at the southern end of the lake are the lava beds about which so much was written during the Modoc War of 1872–1873. Along the rivers and lakes the scenery is pleasing and in places, grand. Lake Klamath, nearly surrounded by mountains, is as beautiful as are the famed lakes of Italy and Switzerland. Mount Pitt, which, from a distance, seems to rise from the very shore of the lake, is snow-crowned except for a few weeks in midsummer. Mount Shasta is seen from its summit to the snow line.

The Modoc people believe that Kumush created the world—the world in Modoc myth means the country inhabited by the Modocs and the tribes they come in contact with.—He made the mountains, lakes and rivers and gave them names. We are not told about the creation of the “first people,” those wonderful beings who inhabited the world before man was created and were “so numerous that if a count could be made of all the stars in the sky, all the feathers on birds, all the hairs and fur on animals, and all the hairs on our heads, they would not be as numerous.” No man knows how long those “first people” lived, but after countless ages a time came when they were transformed into beasts, reptiles, birds, fishes, insects, plants, stones, snow, earthquake, sun, moon and stars, in fact into every living thing, object, phenomenon and power outside of man. This transformation took place about the time that Kumush created the Modoc and other Indian tribes and gave them names, told them where their homes would be—designated the Klamath country for the Modocs—and established the present order of things.

For the Modocs the valley of Lost River and the lands around Klamath and Tula Lake are sacred. We, who endeavor to trace our origin back to a monkey or, still farther, to a bit of protoplasm, or who believe in and search far and wide for the Garden of Eden, cannot revere a country which is ours simply by chance of birth as the Indian reveres the country where his tribe originated. We cannot estimate the love an Indian has for his country. His holy places are not in far-off Palestine; they are before his eyes in his own birthplace, where every river, hill and mountain has a story connected with it, an account of its origin. No people could be more religious than were the Indians before the advent of the white man; they had no observance, rite, or custom which they did not believe to be God-given.

Into this country that Kumush gave to the Modocs came white settlers. To protect the lives and property of the intruders it was necessary for the United States government to establish a fort and garrison it. Thenceforth the Indians could not subsist by fishing and hunting. At last, to obtain food, supplies and annuity, they were forced to sign the Treaty of 1864. That treaty outlines the limits of a reservation where the Modocs can live, take fish and gather edible seeds, roots and berries. As a payment for lands they gave up they received eight thousand dollars per annum, for a period of five years, five thousand per annum for the next five years, and three thousand per annum for the five years next succeeding. The treaty provided thirty-five hundred dollars for removing the Indians to the reservation, giving them rations for the first year, and furnishing them with clothing, tools and teams. It reserved the right to the government to provide each Indian family with land in severalty to the extent of from forty to a hundred and twenty acres.

The Modocs pledged themselves to commit no depredation upon the persons or property of the settlers.

The amounts stipulated were insignificant for a body of Indians considered as numbering two thousand, and they were to be paid only after the Senate and the President had ratified the treaty, which did not take place till five years after the Indians signed it. The Modocs were not forced to leave their land, now ceded to the United States, till 1869. At the end of that year, two hundred and fifty-eight dissatisfied and unhappy Indians were on the reservation. In April, 1870, rations gave out, and a considerable number of the reservation Indians went back to Lost River Valley; others went to Yaneks on Sprague River. They were permitted to stay in their old homes till the autumn of 1872, then steps were taken to drive them to the reservation. They resisted, and the President ordered the commander at Fort Klamath to have them removed from Lost River Valley: “peaceably if you can, forcibly if you must.”

November 29, 1872, troops surrounded the Modoc camp on Lost River. When the men escaped to the hills, soldiers and settlers fired upon the unprotected women and children of a camp farther north. The Indians retaliated by killing fourteen settlers, then they retreated to the lava beds south of Tula Lake and selected as headquarters a cave called Ben Wright. There they remained undisturbed till January 17. Then, in spite of a fog so dense that the lake and lava beds were shrouded as with a pall, Colonel Wheaton ordered an attack. Four hundred men moved against seventy, but fog forced them to withdraw.

After this defeat, General Gillen was placed in command, and his troops were reenforced by four companies from San Francisco. The new commander decided to negotiate for peace. A few of the Indians were willing to listen to overtures; others, having no confidence in the promises of the United States government, were opposed to wasting time in parley, but at last April 11, 1873, was appointed for a peace meeting. But before the day came, Kintpuash’s ponies were captured by the troops, in spite of General Canby’s promise of a total suspension of hostilities.

That act so roused and enraged the chief that he determined to kill the peace commissioners, whom he now thought to be planning treachery in place of peace. General Canby and Doctor Thomas were murdered; the others fled. Wright’s Cave was bombarded on April 16, 17 and 18. On April 19 the Modocs left the cave. At Sand Hill, April 26, an encounter took place which was more disastrous for the troops than for the Indians, but at a battle fought May 10 the Indians were forced to retreat.

May 25 a number of the warriors, dissatisfied with their leader and considering their cause hopeless, surrendered to General Davis, who was then in command of the government troops. June 1 Kintpuash, and the men who had remained faithful to him, betrayed by an Indian, gave themselves up to a scouting party of cavalry.

The men who killed General Canby were condemned and hung; those accessory to the deed were incarcerated at Fort Alcatraz; the other warriors, with their wives and children, numbering about one hundred and forty-five, were removed to the Quapaw Agency in the Indian Territory (now Oklahoma) and are still there.

Exile for the Modocs was a crushing sorrow. When I saw them, in 1884, they were still mourning over their changed condition, and for the Klamath country,—the country Kumush created and gave to them.

A large number of the myths in this volume were related to Mr. Curtin, in 1884, by one of the exiles, Ko-a-lak′-ak-a, a woman who was then old and feeble, but who as late as Aug. 1, 1912, was still living, the oldest woman of the Klamath-Modoc tribe of Indians. At the time she told the myths she was remarkable for her intelligence and her wonderful memory. In childhood her grandfather had instructed her in the religion of her people, in other words, taught her all the myths of the Modocs, and to old age her tenacious memory retained many of them. For years Ko-a-lak′-ak-a was the most unhappy of all the exiles.

Later in 1884, Mr. Curtin visited the Modocs who were left in the Klamath country. There is much that could be written regarding the treatment those poor, unhappy creatures were receiving from the professedly Christian men and women who were in power on the reservation. Such abuses existed, that Mr. Curtin mentioned them to the proper officials in Washington, and changes were made.

Sconchen, the oldest Indian there, related to Mr. Curtin a number of the myths which are in this volume, and also told him a good deal about the customs of the Modocs. Though old and infirm, his mind was still clear and active. For years, in the prime of his life, he was chief of his people, and in his old age they revered him.

M. A. Curtin.

Pasadena, California, March, 1912.

CONTENTS

PAGE

Introduction v

Látkakáwas 1 The Five Brothers of Látkakáwas 17 Isis and Yaulilik’s Daughters 27 Kumush and His Daughter 39 Wanaga Becomes Wus-Kumush 46 Stealing Fire 51 How Sickness Came into the World 60 How Old Age Came into the World 68 Leméis and Nul-we 73 Wind and Thunder 76 Gáukos and Kûlta 81 Tcoitcak and His Pack 83 Witsduk 85 Djákalips 88 Moasäm Beps, the Daughter of South Wind 91 West Wind’s Wives 93 The Star Brothers 95 The Rainmaker 118 Old Man Lulus-Dewieas or Earthquake Old Man 122 Máidikdak’s Daughters 125 Wus Kumush and Tsmuk 129 Frost and Thunder 145 Yahyáhaäs 148 Yahyáhaäs 153 Yahyáhaäs and the Kúja Sisters 159 Tsmuk and Góshgoise 169 Kaiutois Fools Wus 183 Blaiwas and the Head 186 Wus and His Troubles 191 Cedar Bird’s Daughters Marry Bull Snake 194 Lok and Her Children 203 Gäk and the Kaiutois Brothers 207 War between Beasts and Birds 213 Wus Wants to Marry a Butterfly 214 Lok Snewédjas 219 Snake Tries to Marry Squirrel’s Daughters 228 Wŏn and Dûnwa 240 Wus and Tsmuk’s Daughter 243 Frog Steals Deer’s Baby 249 How Kalaslákkas Won His Wife 254 The Sloä Brothers 268 Coltz and Wus 272 The Bad Brother 276 Kówam and Gáhga 284 Mink and Weasel 288 Gäk Kills Pakol 310 The Stone People 314 Pitoíois 318 Ilyúyu and Kûlta’s Sisters 333 Näníhläs 339 The Bringing to Life of the Wus Brothers 343 Lok and Kékina 350 Grasshopper in Love with Deer 355 Kai and His Father-in-law, Natanatas 359 The Spirit of the Tula Grass 366 A Medicine Story. Number I 370 A Medicine Story. Number II 374 A Skoks Story 376 A Doctor Story 379

Notes 381

MYTHS OF THE MODOCS

LÁTKAKÁWAS

CHARACTERS

Dásläts California lion Djakkonus A duck Dohos A duck Dútûte A duck Isis Kai Jack rabbit Kládo Duck Kols Badger Kumush Látkakáwas Lok Bear Mówatwas South wind place people Mukus Owl Nada A bird Skakas Free toad Tcíkas Wren Tókwa Mole Wálwilegas Butterfly

Látkakáwas and her five brothers lived on the south side of Klamath Lake. The brothers went every day to fish from an island in the middle of the lake. Látkakáwas stayed at home; she gathered wiwhi seeds and burned the down from them to prepare them as food for her brothers and for herself.

When Látkakáwas was at work, she looked like a common old woman, but when she shook herself and went out of the house, she was young, blue and beautiful.

The “Old Man” (Kumush) lived on the eastern side of Klamath Lake. On the western side of the lake lived many people. Those people often saw Látkakáwas standing on the top of her house, looking blue and nice, but as soon as they went toward her she changed to an old hunchback woman.

The young men of the western village counseled together; then each day they sent one of their number to try to steal up to Látkakáwas and catch her before she could make herself old and ugly. They wanted to talk to her; they wanted to ask her to take one of them for a husband.—Every young man in the western village tried, but Látkakáwas was never young when they came toward her.

One man started before daybreak; he wanted to get near the house and hide till Látkakáwas came out. That day she stayed inside, an old hunchback woman stringing beads. She knew when people were looking at her or thinking of her; she even knew where they were.

Each morning Látkakáwas’ brothers went to the island to catch salmon, and dry them, but as soon as it was dark they came home. One night Látkakáwas said to her eldest brother: “Men come here to watch me, and try to catch me; when they find me hunchback and ugly to look at, they make fun of me. I don’t like that. It makes me feel badly.”

“How soon will you have seeds enough gathered?” asked her brother.

“To-morrow,” said Látkakáwas.

“When the seeds are ready, you will go with us to the island where nobody can bother you,” said her brother.

On the west side of the lake there was a young man as blue and beautiful as Látkakáwas herself. His father kept him in an underground place; no one ever saw him except when he went out to bathe or swim. When all the other young men had tried to get near Látkakáwas, and had failed, the people said to this young man’s father: “Why don’t you send your son? Maybe he could catch that beautiful blue woman.”

When the old man told his son about Látkakáwas, the young man said: “There is no use of my going there. If all the others have failed I should fail, too.”

“You are as blue and nice to look at as Látkakáwas is,” said his father; “maybe she will like you and take you for a husband.”

The old man took his son out of the underground place, washed him and got him ready, made him clothes from a wonderful cap, a cap that could never be destroyed. When the young man put on those clothes, he was beautiful beyond anything in the world; he was blue and gold and green, like the clouds in the sky. He could run in the air and under the ground. He had great power.

When he was ready to start, his father said to him: “When the sun comes to the edge of the sky, Látkakáwas shakes herself and goes to the top of the house to watch it. If you travel under the ground you will get near her before she sees you.”

When Látkakáwas shook herself and stood on top of the house to watch the sun, the young man was near by, under the ground, with one eye looking out. She knew that he was there, but she didn’t change to an old woman. She said to herself: “This man pleases me; he is not like the others. He is the first man who hasn’t laughed and made fun of me.”

The young man watched Látkakáwas for a time and then went home.

When Látkakáwas’ brothers came, she said: “A young man, all blue and gold and green, nice to look at, has been here to watch me, but he didn’t make fun of me as the others did.”

The eldest brother said: “We will move to the island to-morrow. Just at sundown we caught two big salmon; we will go early and dress them, then we’ll come for you. While we are gone, you must pack up the beads and skins.”

In the morning, before it was light, the brothers started for the island. Just as the sun looked up over the edge of the sky, the young man from the west came again. As Látkakáwas shook herself and came out at the smoke hole on top of the house, a light shone in her face. It was so strong that it dazzled her and she turned back. The young man was brighter than before, for he was out of the ground.

When Látkakáwas went into the house, he peeped through a crack and watched her. She knew he was there, but she didn’t turn old; she sat down and assorted her beads according to color. Then she picked up her mats and got ready to go to the island.

Early in the forenoon the five brothers came and began to pull down the house.

The people on the west side of the lake saw them at work and asked one another: “Where are those brothers going? Why are they pulling down their house?”

At midday, when the brothers were ready to start, they spread mats from the house to the canoe, for Látkakáwas to walk on. When she got into the canoe at the edge of the lake, she forgot all about the young man, forgot that she had fallen in love with him that morning.

The brothers pushed the canoe to get it into the water, but they couldn’t move it; the young man was holding it. He was right there by them, but they didn’t see him. They worked for a long time. Finally he let go of the canoe, and it started, but he pulled it back. He let them push it out a second time, and a second time he pulled it back. They started many times but each time, before they could get out into the lake, they were back at the shore. They strove in that way till the middle of the afternoon, then the young man freed the canoe and the brothers rowed toward the island.

As the canoe went on, the young man swam behind it in the form of a salmon. He was in love with Látkakáwas, and he wanted to look at her. She sat in the middle of the canoe with one of her brothers; two brothers sat at the end of the canoe and two in front.

As they rowed along, one of the brothers saw a beautiful salmon, all blue and gold and green. He speared it and pulled it into the canoe, and that moment the salmon turned to a young man; but right away he died.

Látkakáwas cried and blamed her brothers. She knew the young man, and she felt badly. The brothers felt badly, too. They went back to the shore and the next day they put their beads and mats in one big pile and burned them, together with the young man’s body. When the pile was burned, there was a bright disk in the ashes. The disk was as bright as the sun in the heavens. This was the crown of the young man’s head.

Látkakáwas saw it, and said: “Look, what is that bright thing in the ashes?”

The brother who had speared the salmon took up the disk, gave it to Látkakáwas, and said: “Take it to Kumush. He is in his sweat-house at Nihlaksi. Kumush can bring a man to life if he has only one hair from his head.”

Látkakáwas put the disk in her bosom, then she gave each of her brothers a bundle of bone head-scratchers, and said: “If Kumush doesn’t bring my husband to life, you will never see me again.”

Látkakáwas traveled all day; when night came she camped at Koáskise, not far from Kumush’s sweat-house.

The next morning, just as the sun came up, Látkakáwas gave birth to a child, a wonderfully beautiful boy. She strapped the baby on a board, put the board on her back and went to Kumush’s sweat-house.

When Kumush asked why she came, she took the disk out of her bosom, and said: “I want you to bring this to life.”

When Kumush saw the disk, he thought he had never seen anything that was half as bright and beautiful. Látkakáwas wanted to gather wood to build a fire in the sweat-house, but Kumush said: “You stay here; I will get the wood.”

Right away he had a big fire; then he heated stones, and when they were ready to put in the basket of water, he said to Látkakáwas: “Take your baby and lie down in the corner; wrap yourself up and keep still.”

When she was wrapped up tight, Kumush put the hot stones into the basket, and when the water boiled, he put in the disk. After a little while the disk came to life, and became the young man again.

When Kumush saw how beautiful the man was, he wanted him to die, and never come to life again. He thought he would get the disk and the young man’s beauty. As Kumush wanted, so it was. The young man died.

When Látkakáwas unwrapped herself and saw that her husband was dead, she cried, she felt so lonesome. She cried all the time Kumush was gathering wood to burn the body.

When the body was half consumed, Látkakáwas asked Kumush to put more wood on the fire. While he was picking up the wood, she strapped the baby on to the board, put the board on her back and sprang into the fire. Kumush saw her just in time to snatch the baby from her back. Látkakáwas and the young man’s body were burned to ashes.

The baby cried and cried. Kumush called it by every name he could think of. He called it Wanaga, Lákana, Gailalam-tcaknoles. When he called it Isilámlĕs, it didn’t cry quite as hard; when he said Isis Uknóles, it cried only a little; when he said Isis, the child stopped crying. The name pleased it.

Kumush put the child on the ground and looked in the ashes for the disk. He found it and was glad, but he didn’t know where to put it. He put it on his knee, under his arm, on his breast, on his forehead, and on his shoulders, but it wouldn’t stay anywhere. At last he put it on the small of his back. The minute he put it there it grew to his body, and right away he was beautiful and young and bright, the brightest person in the world. The disk had become a part of him, and he was the father of Isis, for the disk was the father of Isis.

Then Kumush left Nihlaksi and traveled toward the north. On the road he kept thinking where he was to hide the baby. At last he hid it in his knee, where it appeared as a boil. That night he stayed with two old women who lived in a house at the edge of a village. All night he groaned and complained of the boil on his knee. In the morning he asked one of the old women to press the boil.

As soon as she began to press it, she saw bright hair. “What is this?” asked she.

“I told you that wasn’t a boil,” said the other old woman.

They both pressed, and soon the baby came out. The women washed the child, wrapped it up in a skin blanket and fed it.

Right away people found out that old man Kumush had a baby and everybody wanted to know where he got it.

Kumush said: “The earth is kind to me. The earth gave this baby to me.”

Kumush took Isis and went to live on the southeast side of Tula Lake, [1] and there he fished and worked and reared Isis.