SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION—BUREAU OF ETHNOLOGY.

J.W. POWELL, DIRECTOR.

ILLUSTRATION OF THE METHOD

OF

RECORDING INDIAN LANGUAGES.

FROM THE MANUSCRIPTS OF MESSRS. J.O. DORSEY, A.S. GATSCHET, AND S.R. RIGGS.

HOW THE RABBIT CAUGHT THE SUN IN A TRAP.

An Omaha Myth, obtained from F. LaFlèche by J. Owen Dorsey.

NOTES.

581, 1. Mactciñge, the Rabbit, or Si¢e-makaⁿ (meaning uncertain), is the hero of numerous myths of several tribes. He is the deliverer of mankind from different tyrants. One of his opponents is Ictinike, the maker of this world, according to the Iowas. The Rabbit's grandmother is Mother Earth, who calls mankind her children.

581, 7. a¢ai te aⁿ. The conclusion of this sentence seems odd to the collector, but its translation given with this myth is that furnished by the Indian informant.

581, 12. haⁿ+egaⁿtcĕ-qtci, "ve—ry early in the morning." The prolongation of the first syllable adds to the force of the adverb "qtci," very.

582, 3. hebe ihe a¢e-hnaⁿ-biama. The Rabbit tried to obey the Sun; but each time that he attempted it, he was so much afraid of him that he passed by a little to one side. He could not go directly to him.

582, 4. 5. maⁿciaha aia¢a-biama. When the Rabbit rushed forward with bowed head, and cut the bow-string, the Sun's departure was so rapid that "he had already gone on high."

ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THIS MYTH.

TRANSLATION.

Once upon a time the Rabbit dwelt in a lodge with no one but his grandmother. And it was his custom to go hunting very early in the morning. No matter how early in the morning he went, a person with [pg 583] very long feet had been along, leaving a trail. And he (the Rabbit), wished to know him. "Now," thought he, "I will go in advance of the person." Having arisen very early in the morning, he departed. Again it happened that the person had been along, leaving a trail. Then he (the Rabbit) went home. Said he, "Grandmother, though I arrange for myself to go first, a person anticipates me (every time). Grandmother, I will make a snare and catch him." "Why should you do it?" said she. "I hate the person," he said. And the Rabbit departed. When he went, the foot-prints had been along again. And he lay waiting for night (to come). And he made a noose of a bow-string, putting it in the place where the foot-prints used to be seen. And he reached there very early in the morning for the purpose of looking at his trap. And it happened that he had caught the Sun. Running very fast, he went homeward to tell it. " Grandmother, I have caught something or other, but it scares me. Grandmother, I wished to take my bow-string, but I was scared every time," said he. He went thither with a knife. And he got very near it. "You have done wrong; why have you done so? Come hither and untie me," said the Sun. The Rabbit, although he went thither, was afraid, and kept on passing partly by him (or, continued going by a little to one side). And making a rush, with his head bent down (and his arm stretched out), he cut the bow-string with the knife. And the Sun had already gone on high. And the Rabbit had the hair between his shoulders scorched yellow, it having been hot upon him (as he stooped to cut the bow-string). (And the Rabbit arrived at home.) "Itcitci+!! O grandmother, the heat has left nothing of me," said he. She said, "Oh! my grandchild! I think that the heat has left nothing of him for me." (From that time the rabbit has had a singed spot on his back, between the shoulders.)

DETAILS OF A CONJURER'S PRACTICE.

In the Klamath Lake Dialect. Obtained from Minnie Froben, by A.S. Gatschet.

NOTES.

583, 1. shuákia does not mean to "call on somebody" generally, but only "to call on the conjurer or medicine man".

583, 2. wán stands for wánam nī'l: the fur or skin of a red or silver fox; kaníta pî'sh stands for kanítana látchash m'nálam: "outside of his lodge or cabin". The meaning of the sentence is: they raise their voices to call him out. Conjurers are in the habit of fastening a fox-skin outside of their lodges, as a business sign, and to let it dangle from a rod stuck out in an oblique direction.

583, 3. tchélχa. During the treatment of a patient, who stays in a winter house, the lodge is often shut up at the top, and the people sit in a circle inside in utter darkness.

583, 5. liukiámnank. The women and all who take a part in the chorus usually sit in a circle around the conjurer and his assistant; the suffix -mna indicates close proximity. Nadshā'shak qualifies the verb winóta.

583, 5. tchútchtníshash. The distributive form of tchú't’na refers to each of the various manipulations performed by the conjurer on the patient.

584, 1. mā'shish, shortened from māshípkash, mā'shipksh, like ḵ'lä'ksh from k’läkápkash.

584, 2. 3. There is a stylistic incongruity in using the distributive form, only in kukuàga (kúe, frog), káhaktok, and in nshendshkáne (nshekáni, npshékani, tsékani, tchékĕni, small), while inserting the absolute form in wishinkága (wíshink, garter-snake) and in ḵáḵo; mú'lkaga is more of a generic term and its distributive form is therefore not in use.

583, 2. káhaktok for ká-akt ak; ká-akt being the transposed distributive form kákat, of kát, which, what (pron. relat.).

584, 4. lgú'm. The application of remedial drugs is very unfrequent in this tribe; and this is one of the reasons why the term "conjurer" or "shaman" will prove to be a better name for the medicine man than that of "Indian doctor".

584, 4. kú'tash etc. The conjurer introduces a louse into the eye to make it eat up the protruding white portion of the sore eye.

Kálak.

THE RELAPSE.

In the Klamath Lake Dialect by Dave Hill. Obtained by A.S. Gatschet.

NOTES.

585, 1. náyäns hissuáksas: another man than the conjurers of the tribe. The objective case shows that mā'shitk has to be regarded here as the participle of an impersonal verb: mā'sha núsh, and mā'sha nú, it ails me, I am sick.

585, 2. yá-uks is remedy in general, spiritual as well as material. Here a tamánuash song is meant by it, which, when sung by the conjurer, will furnish him the certainty if his patient is a relapse or not. There are several of these medicine-songs, but all of them (nánuk hú'k shuī'sh) when consulted point out the spider-medicine as the one to apply in this case. The spider's curing-instrument is that small piece of buckskin (ubá-ush) which has to be inserted under the patient's skin. It is called the spider's medicine because the spider-song is sung during its application.

585, 10. gutä'ga. The whole operation is concealed from the eyes of spectators by a skin or blanket stretched over the patient and the hands of the operator.

585, 10. kiatéga. The buckskin piece has an oblong or longitudinal shape in most instances, and it is passed under the skin sideways and very gradually.

585, 11. tánkĕni ak waítash. Dave Hill gave as an approximate limit five days' time.

SWEAT-LODGES.

In the Klamath Lake Dialect by Minnie Froben. Obtained by A.S. Gatschet.

NOTES.

No Klamath or Modoc sweat-lodge can be properly called a sweat-house, as is the custom throughout the West. One kind of these lodges, [pg 587] intended for the use of mourners only, are solid structures, almost underground; three of them are now in existence, all believed to be the gift of the principal national deity. Sudatories of the other kind are found near every Indian lodge, and consist of a few willow-rods stuck into the ground, both ends being bent over. The process gone through while sweating is the same in both kinds of lodges, with the only difference as to time. The ceremonies mentioned 4-13. all refer to sweating in the mourners' sweat-lodges. The sudatories of the Oregonians have no analogy with the estufas of the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico, as far as their construction is concerned.

586, 1. lápa spú'klish, two sweat-lodges, stands for two kinds of sweat-lodges.

586, 5. shashámoks=lólatko forms one compound word: one who, or: those who have lost relatives by death; cf. ptísh=lúlsh, pgísh=lúlsh; hishuákga ptísh=lúlatk, male orphan whose father has died. In the same manner, ḵĕlekátko stands here as a participle referring simultaneously to híshuaksh and to snáwedsh wénuitk, and can be rendered by "bereaved". Shashámoks, distr. form of shá-amoks, is often pronounced sheshámaks. Túmi etc. means, that many others accompany to the sweat-lodge, into which about six persons can crowd themselves, bereaved husbands, wives or parents, because the deceased were related to them.

586, 7. Shiúlakiank etc. For developing steam the natives collect only such stones for heating as are neither too large nor too small; a medium size seeming most appropriate for concentrating the largest amount of heat. The old sweat-lodges are surrounded with large accumulations of stones which, to judge from their blackened exterior, have served the purpose of generating steam; they weigh not over 3 to 5 pounds in the average, and in the vicinity travelers discover many small cairns, not over four feet high, and others lying in ruins. The shrubbery around the sudatory is in many localities tied up with willow wisps and ropes.

586, 11. Spukli-uápka mā'ntch means that the sweating-process is repeated many times during the five days of observance; they sweat at least twice a day.

A DOG'S REVENGE.

A Dakota Fable, by Michel Renville. Obtained by Rev. S.R. Riggs.

NOTES.

588, 24. This word "hduze" means to take or hold one's own; and is most commonly applied to a man's taking a wife, or a woman a husband. Here it may mean either that one who starts in a wicked course consorts with others "more wicked than himself," or that he himself grows in the bad and takes hold of the greater forms of evil—marries himself to the wicked one.

It will be noted from this specimen of Dakota that there are some particles in the language which cannot be represented in a translation. The "do" used at the end of phrases or sentences is only for emphasis and to round up a period. It belongs mainly to the language of young men. "Wo" and "po" are the signs of the imperative.

TRANSLATION.

There was a dog; and there was an old woman who had a pack of dried meat laid away. This the dog knew; and, when he supposed the old woman was asleep, he went there at night. But the old woman was aware of his coming and so kept watch, and, as the dog thrust his head under the tent, she struck him across the face and made a great gash, which swelled greatly.

The next morning a companion dog came and attempted to talk with him. But the dog was sullen and silent. The visitor said: "Tell me what makes you so heart-sick." To which he replied: "Be still, an old woman has treated me badly." "What did she do to you?" He answered: "An old woman had a pack of dried meat; this I saw and went for it; and when it was now far in the night, and I supposed she was asleep, I went there and poked my head under the tent. But she was lying awake and cried out: 'Shoo! what are you doing here?' and struck me on the head and wounded me as you see."

Whereupon the other dog said: "Alas! Alas! she has treated you badly, verily we will eat up her pack of meat. Call an assembly: call Water-mist (i.e., rain); call Bite-off-silently; call Strong-neck; call Sharp-knife." So he invited them all. And when they had all arrived, he said: "Come on! an old woman has treated this friend badly; bestir yourselves; before the night is past, the pack of dried meat which she prizes so much, and on account of which she has thus dealt with our friend, that we will eat all up".

Then the one who is called Rain-mist caused it to rain, and it rained all the day through until dark; and the tent was all drenched, and the holes of the tent-pins were thoroughly softened. Then Bite-off-silently bit off all the lower tent-fastenings, but he did it so quietly that the old woman knew nothing of it. Then Strong-neck came and seized the pack with his mouth, and carried it far away. Whereupon Sharp-knife came and ripped the pack through the middle; and so, while it was yet night, they ate up the old woman's pack of dried meat.

Moral.—A common thief becomes worse and worse by attaching himself to more daring companions. This is the myth.

INDEX.