One of the principal offices of the native conjuror is to find out the reason of sickness and death, or of any misfortune or disaster happening to the tribesfolk. But in this matter of primitive medicine, the Eskimo are probably far behind the untutored folk of other uncivilised peoples, for the simple reason that, unlike the dwellers in temperate or tropical and therefore vegetated regions of the world, they have nothing with which to experiment, in sickness, by way of herbs and simples. An absolutely barren land, covered for the most part of the year with snow, provides no material for the empirical pharmacist. Eskimo medical practice consists entirely in incantation, in dealings with the spirit world, and in the exercise of an amazing and complicated system of fetish and taboo, i.e., the doing or refraining from doing all sorts of unreasonable things to attain or produce some desired end. In surgery, the conjuror is no less intrepid, if considerably more lucky (thanks to an air so pure as to be almost sterile) than the ghastly practitioners of West Africa, whose appalling anatomical ventures are described in Mary Kingsley’s unrivalled book of travel in the Cameroons.

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The arctic folk seem to have no glimmering of an idea as to natural cause and effect in sickness. Bodily ills and death, to them, admit of only one explanation. The sufferer has in some way or other in some particular transgressed the communal law. The disorders of women are considered as a punishment for the infringement of some of the meticulous regulations laid down for their observance at certain times. Hence the first business of the conjuror on being summoned to a sick bed, is to scare or worry the invalid into the remembrance and acknowledgment of whatever he or she may have done contrary to the general well-being of the village. He does this after his usual fashion, by crawling into the igloo in some particularly horrid guise, and sitting down in the darkened place with his face to the wall and his features well concealed by his hood, giving vent to the most horrific howls, mutterings, ventriloquisms and unhuman-sounding noises, at his ingenious command. Then he proceeds to interrogate the sick person, and of course wrings some acknowledgment from him or her. Treatment—of sorts—may ensue; but as a rule the issue of commands as to atonement or compensation is the wind-up of what the Americans would aptly describe as the whole “stunt.” Occasionally a piece of flaming moss wick from one of the lamps is laid upon the painful part of the sufferer’s body and fanned with the conjuror’s breath, or merely blown up into the air. All real attempt at cure is left to nature, and it must be added that the recuperative [226]powers of a hearty-eating, hardy, healthy-blooded people like the tribes of Eskimo, are quite remarkable.

Eskimo flesh has wonderful healing power. The writer has seen the most fearful gashes quickly close and heal up without any precautions or dressing whatever. One case he certainly thought would have a fatal termination. A hunter was repairing his implements, a small box of tools lying on the ground beside him. A large file without a handle happened to be sticking straight up out of the box. The man’s foot slipped on the ice and he fell, in a sitting posture, straight upon the file. He sustained a deep punctured wound. It was merely bandaged with some very dirty strips of soiled skin underclothing, and inflammation and intense suppuration presently set in. At no time did the wound receive any further attention, but in due course the hunter was about again, as though nothing had happened.

Something, however, must be said for the conjuror as an anatomist. By virtue of his calling and of his continual dealing with animals of all kinds, he knows the positions of joints, muscles, ligaments, veins and arteries, and can find any one of them. Some men have more aptitude in this respect than others, and these occasionally act as surgeons. A young woman, who may be called Omanetok, the daughter of one of the minor conjurors, developed a large mysterious swelling in the groin. There was acute inflammation, pointing to deep-seated pus in accumulation. A native surgeon was called in, and [227]after examination he pronounced for an immediate operation. He decided to lance the swelling. A time was arranged, and by special request the writer was allowed to be present.

The surgeon arrived, accompanied by two hefty fellows as assistants (his “dressers,” probably, in an enhanced state of things!) His lancet consisted of a rough piece of all-round, useful steel, inserted into a piece of ivory by way of a handle. The blade was about two inches long and had a rounded end instead of anything so convenient as a sharp point. This blade had, however, been filed, in an attempt at an edge. In addition, there was a small oilstone. Both stone and instrument were very dirty. The operator began by spitting on the oilstone and sharpening the lancet upon it, afterwards wiping the latter with a soiled piece of birdskin previously used for scouring out the cooking pots.

The patient was then “prepared” by her mother. She was laid flat upon the bed bench, and the part to be operated upon was exposed. The surgeon, wetting his fingers in his mouth, proceeded to moisten and slightly cleanse (!) the skin. Then the two assistants grasped Omanetok by the legs, her mother held her head, and two more helpers held her well down by the shoulders. The conjuror inserted the lancet simply by pressing on it and sawing it in, backwards and forwards, until it had gone deep enough to reach the pus. Omanetok squirmed considerably, but her nurses had her well in hand. The contents of the [228]swelling were expelled by repeated pressure, and wiped away from time to time with a little bit of dirty mouse or lemming skin. When this was finished, the wound was covered by a piece of lemming skin, licked by the operator’s tongue and stuck on over the place.

Two days afterwards the patient was walking about, well and jolly as ever she had been in her life.

Apropos of the extraordinary command the conjurors universally exercise over the people, and of the paramount psychic influence they establish in the community, it is not too much to say that they hold every man’s life in their hands. We know how the fatalistic-minded Asiatic can die by auto-suggestion. The Eskimo, too, dies by suggestion, even when strongly against his will.

A fully qualified practitioner, well known for a sensual and self-indulgent man, was particularly tenacious of his purposes and able to bide him time. He had long desired the good-looking half-breed wife of a certain hunter, and had frequently approached the man on the question. Contrary to the general rule, in this instance he was consistently refused. Now, Moneapik, the hunter, was a skilful fellow, well able to provide himself and his wife with food and clothing. He was careful, too, and rather exclusive, not liking to squander his gains upon the lazy folk of the village, after the generally accepted fashion. For this reason he was unpopular. He had his own circle of friends, however, and was content not to enlarge it. The conjuror had nothing to work upon [229]so far as Moneapik was concerned, except the latter’s superstition. The man was neither poor, nor feckless, nor friendless.

At length a long spell of bad weather set it, bringing in its train a season of sickness and semi-starvation. The conjuror was expected to set matters right by his arts and incantations; but on this occasion he had only a signal failure to register. He loudly excused himself for it on the ground that the spirits were profoundly offended by the unsociable practices of Moneapik. He had committed the heinous offence of keeping largely to himself; he had not given freely to the tribesfolk. Only by his death could the powers be propitiated and the famine ended. The majority of the villagers were prone enough to agree with this, for over and over again the hunter had set their greed at nought. Whereupon the conjuror boldly faced the man, stated the incontrovertible facts, pronounced his death sentence, and departed saying: “I command you to die!”

Moneapik was a strong, healthy man, in the prime of life and the pink of condition. Normally, he should have lived to a ripe old age. But so ingrained was his belief in the conjuror, in his power to get into communication with the spirit world, that this command was virtually fatal. He said: “I am commanded to die!” He gave up his active occupations, withdrew into his tent, ate and drank very sparingly, and within four days was dead. They sewed up the body in skin blankets and left it on the rocks of a neighbouring [230]island, to be devoured by foxes. The writer visited the spot a few days later—but only bones remained.

Friends had indeed visited Moneapik in his tent before the end, and argued with him, laughed at him, tried by every possible means to disabuse the man’s mind of its obsession. But all in vain. The victim’s sole response was, “I am commanded to die!” And die he did, although it was by no means a death from starvation. It was death by suggestion.

The conjuror, of course, obtained his own ends.

An account has already been given of the conjuror spearing himself in the breast during the Sedna ceremony, and appearing no whit the worse for it shortly afterwards. Although this extraordinary action may often perhaps be simulated by a trick, (the performer concealing a bladder of blood under his tunic and merely stabbing that), there seems to be sufficient evidence that such feats are within the compass of the genuine practitioner. No less authority than Dr. Boas gives an instance of an Angatok, on the island of Utussivik, who thrust a harpoon through his body and was led through the village by twenty-five men. Another conjuror, at a place called Umanaqtuaq, on finishing his incantations, “jumped up and rushed out of the hut, to where a mounted harpoon was standing. He threw himself upon the harpoon, which penetrated his breast and came out at the back. Three men followed him, and holding the harpoon line led the Angatok, bleeding profusely, to all the huts in the village. When they arrived again at the first hut, [231]he pulled out the harpoon, lay down on the bed, and was put to sleep by the song of another Angatok. When he awoke after a while he showed the people he was not hurt, although his clothes were torn and they had seen him bleeding.” (Monograph on the Central Eskimo, by Dr. Boas.)

The underlying idea in the treatment of all sickness (as distinguished from accident) being that some spirit is offended and is punishing the delinquent, it becomes necessary to discover what custom has not been complied with or what observance has been omitted, or what prohibition has been neglected. The science of divining what spirit, too, is antagonised, comprises perhaps the whole volume of Eskimo fetish and superstition. The conjuror knows beforehand, of course, the character and the failings of any individual he may be called upon to attend. He makes a shrewd guess from hearsay what the man may have been doing, and by skilful questions and half accusations, manages pretty generally to get at the core of the matter and extort more or less genuine (if wholly irrelevant) confession.

There are some crimes for which there is no forgiveness, such as having communion with the dead, especially the Toopelat, i.e., the earth-bound spirits of indifferent folk. If the sick man confesses to this, there is no hope of cure for him. Adown the long interrogatory we come upon a few questions which illumine the apparent nonsense of all the rest with gleams of good human sense and logic: Have you [232]stolen from the sick? Have you greatly lied about your neighbours or your race? Have you been abusive to the old folk? And—for a woman—have you concealed a miscarriage?

Otherwise the questions turn upon whether the patient (if a woman) has worked upon forbidden sorts of skins, i.e., heavy and arduous work likely to upset her (if she is enceinte), at certain seasons; whether the meat of land and sea creatures has been eaten at the same meal; whether shell fish were gathered when seal should have been hunted; whether lamps were cleaned during a time of taboo, etc., etc. The underlying idea of half these prohibitions is lost in the obscurity of time immemorial, and the Eskimo to-day can account for them no better than by saying, “As our fathers did, so do we.”

The invalid thoroughly believes in the authority and omniscience of the conjuror. He racks his brains for the remembrance of some breach of the unwritten social law, and generally succeeds in the effort, and so complies with what is required of him. Should he be so grievously ill, however, that the conjuror can elicit no sort of response, should the sickness be obviously leading to death, the failure of all these proceedings is taken as proof positive that a crime has been committed beyond the power of the witch doctor’s machinations to palliate, because beyond the power of the spirits to forgive.

In any less serious case the practitioner has a peculiar method whereby to determine the probable [233]duration of the sickness, and also its gravity. He has among his assistants minor conjurors called the head or leg lifter, as the case may be; and an incantor whose business it now becomes to squat upon the floor with covered head and improvise a chant for the occasion. He is called the Kunneyo.

As soon as this wail begins the others assistants bind a piece of wood upon the sick man’s head with a length of thong, and lift it tentatively as if in the act of weighing it, asking the spirit meanwhile wherein the patient has offended. If the head is inert and heavy feeling, he is judged to be guilty; if it feels light, he is innocent. Sometimes the wood is bound upon the leg, and this is lifted instead of the head. When this examination is over and the patient has promised to comply with any orders given him, the conjuror commands, “Let the bindings be cast off.” This is done, and he pursues, “Let the cause of guilt be cast away, and let him recover.”

The penalty imposed often takes the form of some abstinence to be observed for a time. When the illness has been brought about by gluttony or exposure, this injunction, joined to a period of rest and quietness, may prove quite enough to restore the patient to his accustomed health. Nature does her own work. Should there have been some real fear or disquiet of mind, the whole thing simply resolves itself into a faith cure. Incidentally, the Angatok maintains his inflated authority, and earns a fat livelihood. He exacts payment, of course—a dog, a sled, a skin, a [234]length of line, and the favours of the patient’s wife; and prescribes the use of various charms. These charms may be a fringe of deer or bearskin, a spider or beetle sewn up in a piece of skin, worn on boot or breast or back, as directed. Most potent of all is a scrap of the garment worn during the first year of life, and this is always affixed to the cap or hood. Then, of course, a present has to be given to the spirit. Some small article is placed among the rocks and dedicated. [235]