Illustration of the Method of Recording Indian Languages: From the First Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution

In Short

This volume serves as a technical manual for field ethnologists, intended to standardize how indigenous languages are recorded and analyzed. Rather than offering a narrative, it provides a series of verbatim myths and cultural observations from Omaha, Klamath, and Dakota sources. By pairing literal interlinear translations with rigorous linguistic notes, the contributors create an enduring, if specialized, record of the grammatical structures, folklore, and social customs of these nations. It remains a primary reference for those interested in the documentation of North American linguistic diversity.

The Story

The book opens with an Omaha myth concerning the Rabbit, a figure who lives with his grandmother and finds himself constantly thwarted by a mysterious person with long feet. Determined to outpace this stranger, the Rabbit sets a trap using a bow-string, only to discover that he has ensnared the Sun. When the Sun demands release, the terrified Rabbit finds himself unable to approach directly, eventually rushing forward to cut the snare while scorched by the immense heat. The story concludes with the Rabbit returning home, his back permanently singed, as his grandmother laments the physical toll the encounter has taken on him.

Following this, the focus shifts to the Klamath Lake region to document the practices of a "conjurer" or medicine man. The narrative describes how the community summons a healer by raising a red fox-skin on a pole outside his lodge. Inside the dark, crowded dwelling, the healer works on a patient, surrounded by singing women. He extracts the physical manifestation of disease—small frogs, insects, or bits of bone—and, in cases of eye ailments, even employs lice to consume the diseased tissue. A subsequent account details the specific protocol for a "relapse," where a different healer uses "spider medicine"—a small piece of deer-skin inserted under the skin—to restore the patient to health after a series of ritual songs and procedures.

The volume then explores the social and spiritual dimensions of the Klamath sweat-lodge. These structures, built for mourning, are described as semi-underground rooms where the bereaved gather to weep and purify themselves. The process is meticulous: the mourners heat stones to generate steam, and after several hours of sweating, they cool off in nearby rivers or lakes. This ritual cycle, repeated over five days, is a communal act of remembrance, concluded by the construction of small stone cairns.

Finally, the focus moves to a Dakota fable about a dog who, after being struck by an old woman for attempting to steal her dried meat, recruits a group of canine companions to seek retribution. The dog explains his injury to his allies, who collectively decide to raid the woman's tent. Through their specialized roles—one bringing rain to soften the tent-pins, another biting them off silently, and a third tearing open the pack—the dogs successfully steal and consume the woman's entire supply of meat. The book concludes with the moral that a thief who associates with more daring companions only descends further into criminality.

How It Unfolds

The Rabbit’s snare The Rabbit attempts to outrun a mysterious person by setting a trap, only to inadvertently catch the Sun. He finds himself unable to approach the trap due to the intense heat, eventually succeeding by rushing past and cutting the bow-string.

The healing ritual The conjurer is called to treat a sick person by a community that sings in the dark, crowded lodge. The practitioner extracts various small creatures and objects from the patient's body to cure them of their ailment.

The secondary remedy When a patient suffers a relapse, a specialized spider-medicine is employed. The healer inserts a piece of deer-skin under the patient's skin, accompanied by specific songs that must be performed in secret.

The mourning rites Mourners utilize specialized, semi-underground sweat-lodges to process their grief. These ceremonies involve specific heating stones and a rigorous schedule of sweating and bathing that lasts for days.

The canine conspiracy A wronged dog gathers a group of specialized companions to exact revenge on an old woman. They use a coordinated effort to soften the tent, breach the entrance, and carry away her store of dried meat.

The People

The Rabbit is the central protagonist of the Omaha myth, characterized by his curiosity, his desire to prove himself, and his profound fear of the Sun. He is a trickster figure whose hubris leads to his own physical injury. His grandmother acts as the voice of caution, questioning his motives and mourning his suffering, serving as the link between the Rabbit’s actions and the broader human experience.

In the Klamath accounts, the Conjurer is a figure of immense communal importance, possessing the authority to manipulate the physical and spiritual realms to extract illness. He is supported by the chorus of women, who provide the rhythmic structure for his work. The patient, though largely passive, is the subject of intense, often invasive rituals that reflect the tribe’s belief in the tangible, biological nature of disease.

The Dakota fable centers on the Injured Dog, who is driven by resentment and a desire for vengeance. He acts as the leader of a conspiratorial pack, each member possessing a unique, functional name—such as Bite-off-silently or Strong-neck—that dictates their role in the heist. The old woman is their antagonist, representing the established order of labor and storage. She remains unaware of the coordinated assault until the dogs have successfully depleted her resources, illustrating the consequences of theft and the escalation of bad behavior through peer influence.

In Its Own Voice

The Rabbit’s physical encounter with the sun is described with a raw, immediate sense of consequence:

"And the Rabbit had the hair between his shoulders scorched yellow, it having been hot upon him."

(Describing the physical mark left on the Rabbit after he cuts the snare.)

The Klamath practice of using small animals in healing is treated as a standard, if intense, procedure:

"He sucks out then a small frog, small snake, insect, whatsoever anything."

(Explaining the objects extracted by the conjurer during the healing ritual.)

The Dakota fable characterizes the escalation of theft with a clear moral outcome:

"A common thief becomes worse and worse by attaching himself to more daring companions."

(The stated moral at the conclusion of the dog's revenge story.)

What It's Really About

At its core, this volume is an argument for the scientific importance of preserving the nuances of indigenous oral traditions. It explores how language is not merely a tool for communication but a vessel for cosmology, medicine, and social moralizing. The texts suggest that myths are practical documents—teaching tools that explain natural phenomena (like the sun or rain), guide health practices, and reinforce social warnings about greed or vengefulness. By documenting the exact mechanics of these stories and rituals, the authors treat indigenous knowledge systems as complex, coherent, and valuable datasets that require precise, scholarly preservation.

Why Read It Today

This work will appeal to students of linguistics, anthropology, and folklore who appreciate the raw, unfiltered nature of primary field notes. Reading it feels like looking over the shoulder of the nineteenth-century scholars who gathered these accounts; you encounter the text as a collection of artifacts, complete with its original, sometimes idiosyncratic, transcription symbols and interlinear notes.

The reading experience is demanding. The text does not shy away from the specialized, at times repetitive, nature of the original myths and the technical abbreviations required to decode them. The period attitudes of the era are present in the framing of these traditions as "fables" or "conjuring," which may feel dated to a modern reader. However, the value lies in the precision of the documentation. You are not reading an adapted storybook, but a direct attempt to capture a fleeting voice in its original structure. It is a dense, academic experience that rewards patience, offering a rare glimpse into the linguistic and cultural life of the late 1800s. You will walk away with a profound respect for the diversity of the stories that were being told, and for the painstaking, humble work of those who first sat down to write them into history.