If sorcerers could be banished from Papua, nearly all troubles would be banished with them. There are nominal chiefs in the villages, but their power is as nothing beside that of the sorcerer. In fact the chief seems only to have such power as comes from having a fist that can strike a heavier blow than any one else, or a voice that can be heard above all others. The sorcerer, on the other hand, is feared by all, and there is no doubt about his word often carrying death with it.

The Papuan knows nothing of the laws of Nature, and he usually traces home to the sorcerer the reason for all that happens to himself and his belongings. The sorcerer is the great trouble of his life, and his influence is ever present from birth to death. It cannot be dodged, and so has to be bought off. The power of the sorcerer is hereditary, but does not always pass to the eldest son. It seems to depend upon the possession of certain charms, and these may be almost anything from a stone to a bone.

With so many to choose from it is difficult to decide which sorcerer shall be introduced, but perhaps it will be better to take Miria, the hereditary chief of Delena. He would probably strike you as the most friendly man in the village, as he is certainly the most vain. After I had taken his photo once or twice he seemed to think I never took the camera out for any other purpose, and I had to dodge in all sorts of ways so as not to offend him and yet save my plates. Smilingly he will readily admit that there are plenty of sorcerers in the neighbourhood, and that his father was one with much power. If asked as to his own connexion with the craft, he will smile still more blandly and tell you that he had a little to do with it in the past, but that was before he knew better. Exactly what he would mean by that remark I do not know. Perhaps his idea of time is vague, for he has only this month returned from serving his fourth term of imprisonment for sorcery.

My first contact with Miria as a sorcerer was soon after I landed at Delena. Late one night when all was quiet, a slight cough told me some one was near, and Miria, as silently as a ghost is supposed to move, came within the range of the light of my lamp. Sitting down in front of me, he began to explain that certain bad persons had accused him of having caused the death of a man by sorcery, and that the police were after him to take him to prison. Then he began to unwrap the parcel he had taken from his bag. It contained various smaller parcels, and from these he produced a bird-of-paradise plume, a small armshell, a very inferior nose stick, and one or two other bits of native finery. Evidently the greatest treasure was contained in a carefully wrapped-up matchbox. It was a shilling, and placing this by the side of the other things at my feet, Miria said all should be mine if I would tell the police they were not to take him to prison. I had some difficulty in persuading him that it was not through ill will that I refused his present, and offered the advice that he should give himself up, take his punishment like a man, and then have nothing more to do with sorcery.

The advice as to giving himself up he took, and I heard from the magistrate that he was an exemplary prisoner, gave no trouble to the warders, and, much to my surprise, gathered the other prisoners for prayers each morning and evening during the time of relaxation they were allowed. I had hopes that Miria would take the other part of the advice and have nothing more to do with sorcery, but in that I was disappointed. He had not long been back in the village when there were fresh complaints, and the police were again on his track. This time he tried to put out of sight the proof of his guilt, by bringing me a peculiar stone and asking that I would keep it.

I can remember our conversation, and give you the chief questions and answers.

“Well, Miria, what is this stone you have brought me?”

“Father, it is a great medicine (charm), with such power that any one looking upon it will die at once.”

“Should I die if I looked at it?” “Yes.”

“Well, I shall not sleep to-night till I have had a look at it. Where did you get it?”

“From a mountain man with whom I was in prison. He was also there because he was a sorcerer.”

“Had he the stone with him in prison?”

“No, but we made all the arrangements about it while we were in prison, and when we were liberated he got the stone from its hiding-place in the forest, and handed it over to me after I had paid him a big price.”

“Where was it hidden?”

“In a white ants’ nest. The man made a hole in the nest, put the stone in, and the ants soon built all round it and covered it up, and the man only knew where to look for it.”

“You really believe the stone has all the power you claim for it?”

“Yes; and I do not want the police to get it.”

“Well, now we will unwrap it and put the matter to the test.”

“You must not look at it. I will not stay to see you look at it.”

With that Miria cleared out of the house and left me to my fate. I looked at the stone—a queer water-worn piece, weighing about three pounds. I wondered what was its history, and how many lives it had ended, for there is no doubt that the natives do die because of the charms. The sorcerer has made use of his charm and said they will die, and that is enough. Die they do. However, I did not die as the result of looking at that stone, nor did any of the many boys and girls who during the next few months, saw it used as a door stop to my room. When at last I told them what it was, they were horrified, and gave my room a wide berth till I had put the stone away.

Parting with the stone did not save Miria. He was accused of having caused the death of a man at a neighbouring village, and the dead man’s friends, finding courage in numbers, came in a body and tried to settle accounts with Miria. I managed to save him from their spears, but in the end he had to serve another term in prison. When released he promised amendment, and however much he was suspected while I was in England, he was allowed to continue at liberty. Whether from love of power, or love of gain, it is hard to say, but he has fallen again. This time he was supposed to have made a man very ill, and the magistrate was determined to take all his charms from him. In the end Miria told where they were hidden, and there was no little excitement when the police arrived and began to pull to pieces a small house under the one in which Miria and his two wives and two families lived. They had to dig as well as pull down, and then the treasures were found. Up till then all the braver spirits in the village had lingered round the working party, but when the parcels were dug up the sight was too much for their nerves. In a few minutes the only people in the village were the police, the Rarotongan teacher’s wife, and two young boys who lived with us at the mission. They told my wife of the strange things the parcels contained, amongst them being the thigh-bone of Miria’s father, and the hand of his own dead child.

I do not know if you would think as much as I did of those two boys Anederea and Aisi remaining to watch the unwrapping of the charms. Probably not; but I realized how different their outlook had become from that of their friends and relatives and was thankful to see such a result of our teaching. All they expressed was disgust that Miria should have desecrated the bodies of his father and child, and pity for those who believed such remains possessed the power of life and death.

Whether Miria will ever cease from being a sorcerer I cannot tell, but sometimes I am sorry for him and think he would like to have done with the whole business, despite the gain it brings in the shape of payment for the use of his powers. He finds it difficult to cut himself adrift from the old life. If people come with presents and he receives them, then he is accused of accepting payment to practise sorcery. On the other hand, if he refuses the present, and any one even distantly connected with those who offered it becomes ill or dies, the trouble is put down to Miria, and it is reported that he is angry as the present was not of sufficient value, and the sickness or death has been the result of his anger.

It is not necessary to go very far back in history to find queer practices used in England in both surgery and medicine, but even that backward glance is not necessary in Papua. The strange practices are in use every day. A man is sick and a sorcerer is called in from a neighbouring village. He brings his outfit with him and, spreading the strange articles around him, begins to examine his patient. More often than not he pronounces it a case of a snake or a stone somewhere inside the patient, but occasionally the cause of the trouble may be as bulky as a whole wallaby skin. He then looks at the present offered him and begins manipulations with a view to removing the snake, stone, or wallaby skin. With various grunts and exclamations, and dives here and there, he says that it is coming away, but at last in despair he announces that he cannot manage it. The payment is not enough. Another pig must be added. If the sick man’s people have not the required pig they borrow one, and then the sorcerer begins again. “’Tis the little pig as done it.” Away comes the cause of all the trouble. At least so says the sorcerer, but no one ever sees it. He is careful to hide it in his blanket, or bark cloth.

The belief the people have in the power of the sorcerer to heal them may be useful to them, but unfortunately they believe that he can kill them. At times there is little doubt he uses poisons, and that he has power over real snakes, but it is a question as to how much the sorcerer deceives himself as well as the people and just what use he makes of the snakes. Rarely is any one bitten by a snake without its being put down to the account of some sorcerer, and many cases can be recalled of snakes being found in or near a house immediately after the sorcerer has threatened death, but in only one case can I remember the snake being in the possession of the man.

The magistrate of the district was making a raid upon the sorcerers, and though the man escaped he left his “kit” behind him. Amongst other things were two earthenware pots fitting the one over the other, and forming a closed vessel. Inside was a human skull, and while the magistrate was examining this a snake popped out. You may be sure the skull was promptly dropped and the snake killed, but unfortunately it was not examined to find out whether it was a poisonous one, and if so whether the fangs had been extracted.

There are many unsolved mysteries about the sorcerer, but all, Government officers, missionaries, and natives, vote him a nuisance.