Collection: Directories and Documents > Tanis Thorne Native Californian & Nisenan Collection

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Title: Handbook of Yokuts Indians - Pahmit's Story Collection Type: Directories and Documents Collection Name: Tanis Thorne Native Californian & Nisenan Collection # of Pages: 11 Download PDF: User Login Required Download OCR Text: User Login Required

Date Scanned: 2024-09-03 22:09:32 OCR Software Version #: tesseract 5.4.1 Item Sourced From: PDF First Created: 2025-03-17 03:18:10 Last Updated: 2025-03-17 03:18:10

Original Held At: Searls Historical Library Location: 161 Nevada City Hwy, Nevada City, CA 95959

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222 HANDBOOK OF YOKUTS INDIANS Major Savage go ’way. He go Kings River. White’man there shoot Major Savage like our man shoot ’im. Major Sayage hedie. Ha! Ha! Why he no catch ’em bullets? Then white man come ; they mine gold in river, They shoot Indian. Soldier put Indian in jail; they whip Indian. They run all Indian ’way from village Kuyu Illik. They burn all Indian house. They smooth ground where Indian house burn. They play music there. Blue clothes soldier march, march, march there. They make Indian dig dirt, mix mud; make adobe brick; make white soldier big house. White men call big house Fort Miller. They take Indian by tree over river. They hang ’em there; they cut rope and dead Indian fall in river. My grandpa, Tomkit, he tell white soldier, ‘‘You better look out.’ He tell white miner, ‘‘You better look out. Indian spirits no like you do this. Pretty soon bad things happen you.”’ Then high water come wash *way all white man’s store; wash ’way lots white man; wash ’way lots, lots Chinaman. Then pretty soon white soldiers all g0 away. My people think Indian spirit make ’em go. They glad. They dance. They sing. Not many Indian left. Lots Indian die whisky; lots Indian die bad white man sickness. Just few Indian left, Indian live Kuyu Illik gen. White miner still whip Indian; still shoot Indian. Then by ’n by, white man all talk fight. They say long way off, white man shoot white man. Lots white man go long way off, fight. Then white soldier come back Fort Miller. This time white soldier pretty good man; they no shoot Indian, they no whip Indian too much. Some Indian work for white soldier; white soldier give ’em flour, give ’em tobacco, but Indian pretty near all gone. White soldier stay this time maybe three, maybe four years. Then all go ’way. I never see no more white soldier. My father, Dawktaw, gone. My grandpa, Tomkit, gone. My uncle, Tomas, gone. I big chief now, but no got Indian tribe. Just me; just my sister left. My sister got one boy, got one girl. I blind; I no see. I no see maybe ten, fifteen year. I got one boy; he got three, four, baby. We work hard, we don’t have ’nough eat. Big Father at Washington no send flour; no send horse; no send clothes; no send blanket, like white chief say when Indian sign paper at Kuyu Illik. a HANDBOOK OF YOKUTS INDIANS 2: My people no drink whisky, I think be lots Indian yet. drink just once. I work for white man. He put me in wagon. He take me home. He tell me, ‘‘Pahmit, whisky no good. Whisky kill white man. Whisky kill Indian. You no drink ’em.’’? White man good my friend. I live long time. Pret soon I go. Then white man no haf pay me seven dollar ha ; live one month. YOIMUT’S STORY THE LAST CHUNUT Of the several thousand pioneers I have interviewed, no one was more fascinating than Yoimut (Yoi mut), last survivor of the Chunut Yokuts tribe which once occupied the northeast shore of Tulare Lake. It is of interest to know how I found Yoimut. One evening I was at the Loy Cutler ranch east of Visalia j talking with Indian Joe Wilcox, making inquiry about the in.” dividuals who had been the last survivors of several extinct San Joaquin Valley Indian tribes. Joe had known several last survivors, those from the Kaweah; Yokodo, Telumne, Pahdwishi, Wowol, and Yaudanchi tribes. I asked him about the Chunut. For a moment or two he was at a loss to recollect. Suddenly remembering, he spoke, ‘‘There is one Chunut left, Her daughter was here last night. She is at the W. H. Wilbur ranch, near Tulare.’’ It was then 10:30 P.M., December 1, 1930. I immediately drove to the Wilbur ranch. Billy Wilbur had not gone to bed, so he climbed in the car with me and at 11:30 we were in the cotton camp in the Wilbur field. Soon we had awakened everyone at the camp. Yoimut’s daughter and son-in-law talked with us in the kitchen. Yoimut stood silent in a doorway. I explained who I was and that I wanted Yoimut to go with me to our home for a visit, so I could record her story. I expected it to take at least two or three days to persuade her to go. No one spoke. The daughter looked inquiringly at Yoimut. Yoimut then addressed me in as good English as I could ask and said, ‘Yes, we know all about you. Our people tell us all about the questions you ask them. Lots of times I tell them what tc tell you. I like to tell my story myself. I will go with you tomorrow.’’ And so Yoimut came. From the first she was as interested and interesting as it is possible for a person to be. She had a