I was with him at the time, directed
his medication, and gently stroked his hand as a small sign of
fellowship and sympathy. He did not care for marked demonstrations of
any sort.
He was a stoic, unafraid, and died in the faith of his people.
As an Indian should go, so we sent him on his long journey to the land
of shadows. By his side we placed his fire sticks, ten pieces of
dentalia or Indian money, a small bag of acorn meal, a bit of dried
venison, some tobacco, and his bow and arrows.
These were cremated with him and the ashes placed in an earthen jar. On
it is inscribed "Ishi, the last Yana Indian, 1916."
And so departed the last wild Indian of America. With him the neolithic
epoch terminates. He closes a chapter in history. He looked upon us as
sophisticated children--smart, but not wise. We knew many things and
much that is false. He knew nature, which is always true. His were the
qualities of character that last forever. He was essentially kind; he
had courage and self-restraint, and though all had been taken from him,
there was no bitterness in his heart. His soul was that of a child, his
mind that of a philosopher.
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