DOCAS The INDIAN BOY of SANTA CLARA

By GENEVRA SISSON SNEDDEN

D. C. HEATH AND COMPANY BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO ATLANTA DALLAS SAN FRANCISCO LONDON

Copyright, 1899, By D. C. Heath and Company Copyright Renewed, 1927, By Genevra Sisson Snedden 3 K 6 No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission of the publisher Printed in U.S.A.

My dear Children:—

What sort of people do you like best to read about—white people or Indians?

I think you will say Indians, because all the children of whom I have ever asked this question have said that they liked best to read about Indians. Indians do everything so differently from the way we do that they are always interesting.

This book which we are now going to read is about Indians,—the Indians who lived near the Pacific Ocean before our grandfathers were born, and before we Americans came west and settled the country.

Do you like best to read about grown-up people or about children? I think I can hear you say, “What a question! Children, of course!” Yes, children can have such fun, running and playing and finding out about all kinds of things for which grown people never have time, that it is much pleasanter to read about them. So[vi] this whole book is about children. The first part tells about the little Indian boy, Docas; farther on, when Docas grows to be a man, the book tells about his children and grandchildren.

Last of all, the stories tell about things that actually happened to Indian children long ago in California, so they are what you call “truly stories,” not “made-up ones.”

These are some of the reasons why the children for whom the stories were first written liked them and learned from them, and for these same reasons I think many of you will care to read about Docas, the Indian boy of Santa Clara.

THE AUTHOR

NOTE

These stories were originally written to serve as reading material for the children in the University School connected with the Department of Education at the Leland Stanford Junior University. The never-failing delight with which those children welcomed each new instalment was the first impetus toward putting the stories in a form where they would have a larger audience.

The work was done as a thesis in history under the direction of Mary Sheldon Barnes. To her careful supervision and many suggestions the book owes much of whatever merit it may possess.

PART I WHEN DOCAS LIVED AT THE INDIAN VILLAGE

A little Indian boy poked his head out of a brush house.

PART I WHEN DOCAS LIVED AT THE INDIAN VILLAGE

BUILDING THE FIRE

“OH, mother!” cried a little Indian boy, “I am hungry.”

“Then go and start the fire so that I can cook breakfast,” answered his mother.

It was about a hundred years ago that this little boy, whose name was Docas, poked his head out of a brush house. Ama, his mother, was sitting on the ground just outside, grinding acorns in a stone bowl.

Docas went to the middle of the hut, where the blazing fire of wood had been the night before. Just before Ama had gone to sleep she had covered with ashes the glowing coals that were left from the fire.

Docas raked off the ashes and began to blow on the blackened coals that were left. There was not much life in them, but they began to redden a little.

He put some dry leaves against them and blew[4] harder. The leaves smoked, but would not light, no matter how hard he blew. And all the time the coals were getting blacker and blacker.

At last he called, “I cannot light it, mother.”

Ama came over where he was and began to blow, too; but even she could not start it, for the fire had died out.

“I must get some new fire,” said Ama at last.

She picked up two dry willow sticks and two flints. She rubbed the willow sticks together very hard for a while.

“Do you see the little dust that is gathering?” she asked. “Now I will strike the flints together until they send a spark down into that dry dust.”

In a few minutes a spark fell into the dust, the dust flared up, and Docas exclaimed, “There! now we have a fire.” He dropped some dry leaves on the burning dust, then he put some little twigs on the leaves. After that he called to his younger brother:—

“Wake up, Heema! Come and get some big sticks for the fire.”

Heema rolled off the mat of tule reeds on which he had been sleeping, rubbed his eyes, and said, “I’m ready, Docas.”

Heema did not have to spend time dressing. All the Indian children ever wore was a little skirt made of rabbit-skin or deer-skin.

[5]In a minute more Heema had piled some large sticks on the fire. Then it blazed up brightly.

“It’s foggy, and I’m cold,” said Docas. “Sit down by the fire with me and get warm.”

Docas and Heema were California Indians. They lived in an Indian rancheria, or village, near San Francisco Bay. Their father, whose name was Massea, was chief of the rancheria.

Docas was seven years old, while Heema was six. Alachu, one of their sisters, was three. Umwa was the other sister. She was so tiny that she had to be carried in a basket on her mother’s back.

DOCAS AT BREAKFAST

“PUT the stones into the fire, boys, so that they will be hot when the acorns are ground,” said Ama.

Docas pulled toward the fire five large stones that were lying near.

“I’ll throw them in,” said Heema, tossing them into the middle of the hottest blaze.

Then Docas said, “Let’s surprise father by shooting a rabbit for breakfast.”

“Here are your bow and arrows,” answered Heema.

In a moment more they ran off. Docas hunted among the brush and trees near by for a rabbit,[6] but he could not find one, so he ran back toward the rancheria.

“I’ve found something that’s better than rabbits,” Docas heard Heema say suddenly.

“Where are you, Heema?” asked Docas.

“Here among the bushes, eating thimble-berries,” answered Heema, peeping out from among the large green leaves.

Docas laughed and began eating berries, too. The berries were so good that they forgot all about breakfast, until suddenly they heard their mother’s voice calling:—

“Boys, where are you? The acorns are ready to cook.”

The boys took one last mouthful of thimble-berries and then bounded toward the rancheria.

Ama put a basketful of cold water down by the fire as they came up.

“Heema, pour the acorn meal into the water. Docas, rake out the hot stones and put them into the water to cook the mush,” said Ama.

“I hope this mush will not be bitter,” said Docas, as he dropped a red-hot stone into the water.

“No; this will be good, for I soaked the acorns a long time and then dried them in the sun before I ground them,” answered Ama.

In a few minutes the mush was cooked; then Ama called Massea, and the whole family sat[7] around the basket. They all ate out of it at once, using sticks hollowed out at the end instead of spoons.

HOW DOCAS WENT FISHING

ONE day Massea came up to Docas.

“To-day we will go fishing,” he said.

Then Docas ran away to find his playmates.

“We are going fishing! We are going fishing!” he cried.

Then all the children began to dance and jump.

“We are going fishing! We are going fishing!” they screamed. For the children were glad when the fishing days came.

But first Massea must drive stakes across the bed of the creek just below the boys’ swimming hole.

And he must drive them very close together, for he wants to keep the fish from swimming through.

After Massea had made the fence, Docas called to Heema, “I’ll race you up the creek.”

“You will have to hurry or I shall beat you,” answered Heema.

Then they both started to run along the bank of the creek.

[8]“Come, Alachu. You may go, too,” said Ama.

All the women and children in the rancheria went also. They walked along the bank of the creek for about a quarter of a mile, then Alachu cried, “I see Docas. I see Heema.”

Docas was standing on the bank. “Watch me!” he called to Alachu.

He dived off the bank and disappeared in a large hole.

“Mother! mother! Docas is drowned!” cried Alachu.

Ama smiled and answered, “Wait and see.”

In a minute more Docas’s head popped suddenly out of the water.

Then the women and children walked out into the middle of the creek and began to wade down it.

Alachu heard a shout and saw Heema getting ready to jump.

“Be careful; I am afraid you will jump on top of me,” she cried.

There was a big splash, and Alachu gave a scream as the water splashed over her. Heema was standing in the water a few feet away.

“A water fight! We’ll have a water fight!” cried the children.

[9]

“Then we will spear them.”

They jumped about in the water. They splashed it all over each other. They laughed and shouted and made all the noise they could.[10] As they stopped for a moment to take breath, Docas said, “See the fish swim down the creek. They are scared.”

The battle lasted until the rancheria was in sight, and by that time all the fish were in the swimming hole. Then Massea said, “Now we must build a fence above them.”

When the fence was built, Docas said, “Now the fish cannot swim away, for there is a fence below them and a fence above them.”

That night Massea said, “We will build fires on the bank of the creek. The fish will come near to look at the light; then we will spear them.”

And so it happened. The men speared enough fish that night to give them something to eat for several days.

MASSEA’S STOREHOUSE

ONE day in October, Massea said to Docas, “Come, Docas, you must help me make a storehouse to-day, so that we shall have something to eat by and by.”

Massea and Docas went out into the woods. They hunted until they found an oak tree with two branches growing straight out at about the same height from the ground.

[11]Massea said, “Climb the tree, Docas;” so Docas scrambled up.

Massea then handed him some straight sticks. Docas put these sticks across from branch to branch, and tied the ends fast to the two branches of the tree with deerskin strings. After this his father brought up some twigs that bent easily. They wove these back and forth among the sticks until they had a good floor for their storehouse. In the same way they made the sides and the top, leaving a hole near the trunk of the tree for a door.

After the storehouse was made, Docas said to some of the other little Indian children, “Let’s go off and get some acorns to put in the storehouse.”

They took their baskets and went off toward the hills. Soon they came to some big oak trees.

One of the little boys called out, “Look! the ground is covered with acorns under that tree.”

Sure enough, the acorns had dropped down from the tree until they were so thick on the ground that the children could scrape them up. Before night they had filled their baskets.

Docas put the acorns he had gathered into the storehouse which he and his father had made. Every day the children went out to gather acorns; every night they poured them into the storehouse, and soon it was full.

[12]The day they finished filling it, Docas saw a little squirrel run up the trunk of the tree and go into the storehouse. Docas stood very still and watched. In a few minutes he saw the squirrel come back with his cheeks sticking out. He was carrying off the acorns.

Docas ran over to where his father was lying in the shade of a large tree, and said, “Oh, father, we shall not have any acorns left in a few days. The squirrels have begun to carry them off.”

Massea went over to the tree in which the storehouse was built. He smeared a broad band of pitch clear around the trunk.

“This will stop them,” he said.

The Indians had no more trouble after that; for if anything tried to climb the tree, it was caught in the band of sticky pitch.

While Massea was smearing the pitch around the trunk, Docas saw a bird at work in a tree near by.

“There is the woodpecker,” cried Docas, pointing to a woodpecker busily putting acorns away in his storehouse.

The woodpecker’s storehouse was not like Massea’s. Every summer the woodpecker pecks a great many holes just the size of an acorn in the bark of a tree. When fall comes, and the acorns are ripe, he puts the best ones in his holes. He hammers them in so tight that they do not often fall out.

[13]

After the storehouse was made.

[14]“I hope we shall not have to take the woodpecker’s acorns this winter,” said Massea.

As long as their acorns lasted, Massea and the other Indians did not touch the acorns that the woodpecker had gathered. But one day all the Indians at the rancheria went off fishing. While they were gone their campfire spread and burned the tree in which they had made their storehouse.

Docas was skipping along ahead as they came home. He saw what had happened. He ran back to Massea and Ama, crying out, “The storehouse is burnt! The storehouse is burnt!”

Massea looked very sad at supper that night, and said, “I am afraid we shall have to take the woodpecker’s acorns.”

The Indians did not like to take the acorns, so they waited three days. By that time they were so hungry that they could wait no longer.

Docas built a fire near the woodpecker’s tree. The smoke that went up from it told the woodpecker that he would have to go. After a little he did not care to stay, for the smoke spoiled the acorns for him. So he flew away.

Docas then climbed the tree and pulled off the bark. That let the acorns fall out and then the Indians gathered them up and put them into a new storehouse, ready for future use.

HOW DOCAS CAUGHT THE GRASSHOPPERS

ONE day in September, Docas and the rest of the family were all seated round a large basket. They were eating their acorn mush. Just as Docas put his stick in to get some, he heard something go “click” behind him.

He thought to himself, “The grasshoppers are getting thicker.”

He lifted his stick, and there in the mush on the end of it was a grasshopper.

“Look!” said Docas to Heema.

“Let me get him out,” said Heema, laughing and picking up a stick from the ground. Heema lifted the grasshopper out of the mush.

Then Docas said, “Let’s catch grasshoppers to-morrow.”

Heema said, “Yes.”

All day they heard the “Click, click,” of jumping grasshoppers.

That evening, when the children began playing, Docas ran up to them and said, “Help me dig a hole to catch the grasshoppers in.”

The children began digging a little way out from the rancheria, and before dark they had made a big hole.

Next morning, while the grasshoppers were still cold and stiff, Docas said to the children,[16] “Let’s make a big ring around the hole before the sun warms the grasshoppers.”

And they did so.

“Now we will walk slowly toward the hole,” said the children.

Little by little the children came nearer. Little by little the ring grew smaller. Little by little the grasshoppers inside the ring grew frightened.

“They’re jumping down into the hole now,” said Docas.

Soon the children were close to the edge of the hole.

“I am going to jump into the hole,” said Docas. “I can soon catch them down there. They cannot jump out so easily as they jumped in.”

So Docas caught all the grasshoppers that were in the hole. He longed to eat them, but he waited until they were cooked. Ama baked the grasshoppers in the fire until they were quite dry; then she ground them in the stone bowl just as she did the acorns.

After that the Indians ate them.

THE GRASS-SEED BASKET

ONE morning in spring, Ama said to Docas, “Stir up the fire. I must get breakfast.”

“I shall have to get some sticks,” answered Docas, running off to the woods.

Baby Umwa was playing near. “Baby will make a big fire for mother,” she thought.

She began picking up dry leaves and throwing them on the fire. “Here are some good sticks,” she said to herself.

Docas had dropped his bow and arrows on the ground. She picked them up and threw them on the blazing leaves; then she picked up a basket and threw it on also.

“Hurry, Docas! See baby’s big fire!”

Docas rushed forward and seized the blazing basket, but it was so badly burned that it could not be used.

“Umwa! Umwa!” he cried. “You silly little baby! Mother will have to work for weeks to make her basket for grass-seed again.”

Ama felt very sorry when she saw the burnt basket.

“You must go to-day and get some more roots with which to make some new baskets,” she said.

After breakfast Docas and Heema went down to the edge of the bay.

[18]“How are you going to dig up the roots?” asked Heema.

“With my toes,” answered Docas.

The long round roots ran along just under the ground in the mud. Docas stuck his bare toes into the mud, wriggling them along under a root. He loosened it a little at each wriggle, and by and by he pulled up a long straight root.

Heema helped also, and that evening they carried home a big bundle of roots.

The next day they went up in the hills and gathered a large number of maidenhair ferns. They came back by the San Francisquito creek and broke off a great many willow branches.

As they trudged home, Heema asked, “Do you think mother will put feathers or shells on these new baskets?”

“I don’t know,” answered Docas, “but she will make a pretty pattern with the dark fern stems or the willow bark.”

Next morning Ama began making the new basket. She made this basket flat.

By the time the basket was finished, the grass-seed was ripe in the fields around them.

One morning Ama got up very early. Docas saw her pick up the new flat basket and a deep basket with a handle.

“I’m going to see what she does with the new basket,” thought Docas, creeping out very softly.

[19]

“I can carry the new basket,” said Docas.

[20]He trotted along behind Ama as she walked out to the field of grass. The grass was so tall that Docas was almost hidden, and his mother did not see him.

Docas watched Ama brush the tops of the grass with the flat basket. Every few minutes there would come a little rattle as Ama knocked the seeds down into the deep basket. “Just hear the grass-seed rattle down into the deep basket,” said Docas to himself.

The poppies were still asleep. Docas tried to poke some of them open, but they closed tightly again. He pulled some of the little green caps off the buds, but the little golden buds refused to open.

“They want the sun to drive away the mist before they wake up. Everything is sleepy this morning except mother. I think I’m sleepy myself.” With that he fell asleep among the poppies, with the tall grasses nodding over him. After a little Ama came over that way, brushing the grass tops as she came. Suddenly she stumbled and looked down.

“Why! There’s a child! It’s my own little Docas!” she exclaimed.

Docas rubbed his eyes and looked at her. Then he rolled out of her way and jumped up.

By that time the basket was full of seeds, so they started back to the rancheria. Ama slung[21] the deep basket on her back, carrying it by a strap across her forehead.

“I can carry the new basket,” said Docas.

After they came to the rancheria, Ama made the grass-seed into bread for breakfast.

DOCAS’S NEW SKIRT

MASSEA and some of the other Indian men went out to hunt deer. Docas ran to meet them as they came home.

“How many did you get? One, two, three, four, five, six,” he said, counting the deer.

Then he ran to his mother and said, “Oh, mother, may I not have a new skirt? I want one of deer-skin instead of rabbit-skin this time.”

“Yes, you shall have it as soon as I can make it for you,” answered his mother.

After the deer were skinned, Ama took up a skin and said to Docas, “Put it into a still pool in the creek and let it stay there.”

“How long must it stay?” asked Docas.

“Until the hair is loose,” answered Ama.

So every morning Docas went out to the skin to see if the hair was loose. One morning he came running to his mother, crying, “Look, mother, I pulled this bunch of hair out so easily this morning!”

[22]Then Ama took the skin out of the water.

“You may pull all the hair out,” she said to Docas. “After that I will scrape it with a sharp stone.”