A “CRY” FOR THE DEAD—CAPTAIN TOM’S SON. 329 
around the fire, holding in their hands their votive offerings; the second 
evening and morning they burn the offerings during the dance. 
But the southern Nishinam custom is to hold a “cry” at various vil- 
lages and various times throughout the year, according to appointment, at 
which they sit in a circle on the ground, weeping and wailing. An effigy 
or effigies of the dead are rudely made of skins and cloths, and carried 
about over the hills and through the valleys, wherever the departed were 
most accustomed to resort during life, to recall the memory of the absent 
ones, and fill the breasts of the mourners with a more piercing sorrow. 
After this is done the effigies are burned, as the real bodies would have 
been. 
I witnessed a scene of cremation on Bear River that was one of the 
most hideous and awful spectacles of which the human mind can conceive. 
The mourners leaped and howled around the burning pyre like demons, 
holding long poles in their hands, which ever and anon they thrust into the 
seething, blistering corpse, with dismal cries of “ Wu-wu-wu!” On American 
River, after the body is reduced to a little smouldering lump, the women 
draw it out of the fire, then each one in succession takes it in her hands, 
holds it high above her head, and walks around the pyre, uttering doleful 
wails and ululations. 
A touching story is related of old Captain Tom, of Auburn. His son 
Dick was an incorrigible raseal, and it finally fell out that he was arrested 
for something or other, tried, proved guilty, and sentenced to San Quentin 
for ten years. This was a terrible blow to Captain Tom, for he loved his 
boy, with all his wickedness. When Dick was manacled and taken away 
out of his sight, the old man turned away his head and wept. Dick became 
to him as one who is dead. Nevermore (for ten years to an Indian seems 
like eternity), nevermore should his old eyes behold him. The white man 
had bound his wrists and ankles with iron, hobbled him like a horse, carried 
him away to the uttermost ends of the earth, and buried him alive. He 
turned sadly away, and went back to his wigwam. Mingling their tears 
together, he and his family mourned for Dick as for one dead. Then they 
arose, gathered together all the things that had ever belonged to him, carried 
them out to the family burning-ground, erected a pyre, and placed them on 
