Remembering Anderson Valley’s First People [1936]

My first recollections of the Indians in Anderson Valley was in the early 1870s, probably 1874 or 1875. At that time, the rancheria was on the bluff, facing Anderson Creek and a small creek or branch that came out of the meadow below Grandpa Rawles’ house to the east of the orchard. Here they lived in a primitive way. Their homes were real Indian huts or tepees, made in circular style with a hole in the top for the smoke to issue, and only one small opening for a door. An adult had to stoop to enter.

The fire was kept going in the middle of the hut but it was always smoky or so it seemed. Their beds were pallets arranged around the sides and here they lived and slept and ate, adults, children, babies and dogs, always plenty of dogs or rather curs, “Injun Dogs” as they were called by locals. These huts were mostly made of redwood slabs with the bark on and in the summer they had huts or flat topped ones, covered with willows.

They had a big sweat house here, also made of the redwood slabs and bark. They were air-tight except for a little door and a hole in the top, with a fire in the middle. Around this they staged their dances. Whites were not allowed to witness these dances except as a special favor, but of course our people, the Rawles, were specially privileged as these Indians considered Grandpa Rawles their boss and friend. These dances were held at night. They danced in the nude except for a “breech cloth’ and a band on their heads.

The squaws and visitors were lined around the sides and the dancers formed a circle around the fire while they danced and cavorted, but mostly they danced squatted, as near as I can express it, and made a noise constantly, something like “huh — huh.” As soon as one was covered with sweat and about done up, he rushed from the circle out the little door. The sweat house stood on the bank of the creek at a deep hole so he would plunge into this cold water. After floundering a while, out he came, and bee-lined it for his own hut. And so on through the dance, anew each one took his place in the dance.

At this time the Indians cooked in the ashes with hot rocks. They ate mostly as they had before the white man. They had acorn flour and made their hoe cakes or ash cakes and cooked their wild game or fish on the coals. Acorns, buckeyes, pepperwood balls, etc. were made into pinole, tarweed, etc. The white settlers always let the squaws garner their fields after the thrashers had gone, and they gathered it in their little flat baskets using the little fan-like baskets they used in getting the tarweed. They also ate the tender clover and wild anise.

It took them several days to fix the buckeye balls, which they fixed in the sand on the creek, by fixing hot rocks and dropping them into the buckets of water on the sand. They buried them in this hot sand until they were leached. Then they dried and ground them into flour. Also in those deep holes above a riffle, they would pound up the wild mullein on a rock and throw it in the water. A few minutes later the little fish came to the top, belly up. The squaws took what they needed and as the rest washed over the riffle to clear water, they came alive. I saw these things many times as a child.

Also the squaws washed their clothes by pounding the soap root on a rock, making a lather and using rocks to rub the clothes on, at the same time washing their long hair with the lather, and while it was drying, throwing their little papooses into the water to teach them to swim. Oh how they laughed at the squawks and sputterings.

At this time many of the Indians were of the generation of the time of the settlement of Anderson Valley, and of these I remember four old men, who must have been close to 100 years. They nearly blind, but had perfect teeth, though badly worn. No hats or shoes, just overalls tied with a string. Sambo and Gabriel are the only names I remember. 

In summer the Indians lived mostly outdoors. When the squaws went to wash for a white, they wore all their dresses one over the other. If not, when a squaw got home some lady friend might have borrowed one. They didn’t eat the wild berries as some claim, except the wild manzanita. They had fish baskets in the creeks for salmon, and also caught quail in these long pointed baskets made of hazel bushes. 

My husband Bob and I used to help “Somersow” at this on rainy days. Indian Tom’s wife was Molly, one of the last of the old ones to go. After the Rancheria broke and scattered, where Tom Ornbaun now lives, Indian Tom died and Molly was left alone. She carried all her belongings in a big basket on her back, fastened around her head with a strap.

She would “pase ah” (walk) from Yorkville to Papa's and to Bill Ball's and back to Yorkville. Papa said that she would stay several days then travel on. He said they would get up some moming and there would be old Molly, sitting out in the wood shed, with her basket of belongings. She would sit around, sleep there at night, and of course they fed her. She kept this up for several years until she finally died.

Tom and Molly had the biggest family, except Bill Ball and Mary. Jim was their eldest. Then Somersow John (Fred's father) was sent to San Quentin for murdering the man who the Indians were afraid of because he was a Spiritualist and talked to himself. They said he talked to the trees. 

Somersow married Nellie, a half breed, with a white father named Fletcher, and he was raised at Navarro. (Mose James, the locally famous the Indian football player who made such a reputation from Carlisle was his grandson.) They had quite a family. Fred, for one, and Jimmie Knight in Ukiah married one girl, and Steve Knight the other. Emma, I think. Most of the family died of tuberculosis as did most of that generation of these Indians.

Nellie still lives with the Knight family in Ukiah. She was raised by the whites. (Mama said she saw Fred at Tom’s and she said “How many children do you have, Fred?” “None,” he replied. “I live around Tom Ornbaun too long.”)

The Indians made annual pilgrimages or “Pase ah.” I believe Stewart Edward White spells it “Passeur,” but we always said it “The Injuns pase ah” to the coast, to the Manchester and Point Arena section in the summer time for fish and seaweed. The seaweed was cooked in their pinole and such, whether for salt or food, I never knew.

These “pase ahs” were always made by many, they never travelled alone or left their huts after dark. It was many years before an Indian travelled at night when they made these trips, it was like the old rhyme, “Single file, injun style.” They covered the same trail every year and these trails were worn down, knee deep and narrow. The squaws, of course, were loaded down with those big baskets, worn over their head. They always carried the load, while the bucks swung along without a care. And if any of the older ones were blind, which was frequent, the squaws led them, leading them by a long stick or hazel switch.

One of these was “Blind Pete” who later was murdered by “Dave,” a young half-breed with one leg off. He wore a wooden leg. He was sent to San Quentin and later returned to Anderson Valley. He murdered Blind Pete while he was chopping wood and covered him up with the brush, for a few dollars that Pete had. His disappearance caused the Indians to hunt for him and then to suspect Dave, and Calti turned him over to the officers.

The squaws wore their hair long and tied up in the back like a horse tail is tied, and also straight bangs and all were tatooed around the mouth. This generation of Indians never wore shoes nor hats, and the squaws always went barefoot as late as the late 1880s. The bucks were not so long getting shod, though the old ones were barefoot to the last.

Their language was a mixture of Spanish, so much so that I could talk to my next neighbor on 9th Avenue, who was a Spanish woman without English. I could make her understand and could understand her (with gestures). The mahalas would come to our house most any time of day and say, “Dutch, me much a a hunkiler, mike, carey chenee.” Or, I am very hungry; I want bread.

The mahalas sat around in circles and wailed at certain times of the day for weeks after a death. They could be heard clear across the valley. At the time Grandma died, the old mahalas, about half a dozen, would come and sit in the backyard and wail. Also their wailers would cut themselves on their face and neck with bits of glass. They used certain leaves of for coloring.