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.