The medicine-man, a shaman—Remedies and cures—Powers and duties of the medicine-man—Virtue of breath—Ceremonial healing—Hereditary office—Training—Medicine-man and tigers—Magic working—Properties—Evil always due to bad magic—Influence of medicine-man—Method of magic-working—Magical cures.
The medicine-man of the South American Indian tribes has been described as “the counterpart of the shaman type.”[292] There would seem to be hardly need for any qualification—he is a shaman. The word has attained a certain vogue, with too frequent lax usage, so that merely finding the name “shimano” in connection with any of these Indians—especially when it is found in the pages of an American writer—does not warrant this assertion.[293] But a short study of the exhaustive paper on Shamanism and the Shaman in the Royal Anthropological Institute Journal[294] will show that point for point the methods and procedure of the Witoto, the Boro, and kindred tribes tally with that of the shamans of Siberian peoples. That is to say he is a doctor and a wizard, not a priest. He claims to deal with spirits by magical processes, to exorcise, outwit, and circumvent, not to officiate in any sacred office as the minister, the vicar, of a deity. He is a hypnotist and a conjuror. But he is more than a mere charlatan. He is the poison-maker for the tribe, and possesses, as a rule, especially among the Andoke and Karahone, a considerable knowledge of drugs, both curative and lethal. The curare poison is a treasured secret of the medicine-men. Its recipe is religiously guarded by them, and the deadly preparation is made with both ceremony and privacy. The Andoke medicine-men have an ointment concocted from a plant—the identity of which they would not divulge—that is used for massaging purposes. They all use tobacco juice, coca, and a white snuff that I thought must be the famous niopo, but could not find out anything about it.[295] One cure for a headache is worked with a special kind of dried bark. The medicine-man carries a piece of this in his magic-bag, and with it he rubs over the head of the sufferer; or, if he is dealing with a wound, he will pass the bark over the skin to make it heal. There is also a species of lichen or moss used by them to rub lightly over the affected part, which acts as a very mild blistering agent. It stings and, acting as a counter irritant, draws the inflammation away from the seat of the injury to the surface, and thus to some extent neutralises the pain. It is a sage green in colour, dry and feathery in appearance, and is found growing round the roots of trees.
Pain, sickness, death, each and all are caused in Indian opinion by some evil spirit, sent of course by an enemy. It is to combat this magic-worked mischief that the medicine-man’s services are required in the first place. Magic must be countered by magic.[296] Incidentally the medicine-man relies also to some extent on his own medicine, his purges, and narcotics. However potent these may, or may not be, the fact that the patient has implicit faith in their efficacy goes far to assist their intrinsic merits and further the cure, the expulsion of the evil spirit that has wrought the trouble. A medicine-man probably has a number of these more or less genuine remedies, infusions of herbs that possess curative properties, such as those already dealt with in the previous chapter.
But drugs and ointments alone do not, to the Indian mind, go far to bring about recovery. Much more effective, as a spirit-evicting agent, is the medicine-man’s virtue, represented by his breath. It is sufficient for him to breathe over food or drink to render it healthy, to breathe on a sore place to secure removal of pain, to breathe on the sick to promote recovery.[297] Nor is this power vested only in the medicine-man. Other people’s breath may have similar value, if of less degree.[298] Should an Indian wish to eat of forbidden food, he may get an old woman to breathe over it. Is a child sickly, a like procedure may restore it to health. In all the medicine-man’s performances breathing and blowing over the patient is a prominent part of the processes. The medicine-man will breathe on his own hand and then massage the part of the patient that is affected; and if stronger measures are required he will suck the place, or as near the place as his mouth can be put, suck vigorously and possibly spit out a black liquid—the tobacco juice freely taken by him during the performance explains the colour. The avowed object of the suction is that it draws out the poison—the evil spirit.[299] It is here that some degree of charlatanism comes into play, for the operating medicine-man will presently produce a tangible object from his mouth, a bit of stick, a thorn, a fishbone, or anything of a similar description, and inform the patient and his friends that this is the material form which had been assumed by the evil spirit which he has drawn bodily from the flesh of the sick person.[300] This is the usual accompaniment of the shaman’s rites, and too universally indulged in by the wizard fraternity to need any particular comment.
The Indian medicine-man receives presents for the cures he effects. Should he fail he must make the best case he can for himself, and depart to the bush to work magic against the rival who has successfully—according to his account—outmanoeuvred him. The blame for failure is not to be his but another’s. This, it is hardly necessary to note, is an alluring chance for the repayment of any personal injury or slight, not often missed by so entirely human a person as the Indian medicine-man.
To a certain extent the office of tribal medicine-man is hereditary, that is to say the eldest son, if efficient, succeeds the father. It would be more correct to say the most hairy of his sons, as hirsute qualifications are far more weighty and essential determinatives than questions of primogeniture. The hairier the wiser it would seem. But of this anon. Often the medicine-man will have a small boy with him, who may be his son, actual or adopted, and who is also credited with magic gifts.[301] Thus the secrets of the profession are preserved from generation to generation, the chosen youths being the recipients of the secrets and trained to develop and carry on the magic of their predecessors. Part of the ritual of initiation, as of the ceremonial healing, consists of what to the unbelieving white man is not too well done conjuring. The medicine-man is a clumsy conjuror, and only the implicit trust of his patients and audience saves him from frequent detection. But the belief that they must see what he declares they see goes far to make them in very truth behold it. The “conjuring” in the initiation of a novice consists of simple “passes” of sticks up through the nostril and out of the back of the head. According to Waterton the probationers have to endure exhausting ordeals and torture.[302] This is very probable, but on this point I received no information.
So far as I am aware not one of these tribes attaches any importance to the hair that is clipped or depilated, nor to nail parings; if they do the point escaped me. But though they depilate because they dislike resembling monkeys with a hairy pelt, at the same time it is noticeable that not only does the medicine-man ignore this general custom, especially among the Andoke where it is strictly tabu to him—yet hairiness is, as I have stated above, a necessary qualification for any man or youth who is desirous of attaining the position of medicine-man. He is certainly the only man in the tribe with any face hair. When the medicine-man has a hairy son the boy is trained to inherit the “practice,” but should he have no offspring with this distinctive requirement, a hairy child will be chosen and educated for the post.
There may possibly be some connection between this tabu and the belief that when a medicine-man dies he returns as a tiger, and even during his lifetime he can make excursions in tiger-form, and be so absolutely tiger that he can slay and eat the beasts of the wild. Every medicine-man possesses a jaguar skin that he is said to use when he turns tiger. By possession of a skin he has the power of resuscitating the tiger, he himself being the spirit of the tiger. He can thus work his will, afterwards returning to human form. An ordinary tiger might be killed, but a medicine-man in tiger form could not be.[303] On one occasion a medicine-man I met had a bag made of tiger-skin hung round his neck, in which he carried all his paraphernalia. But the medicine-men never wear these skins as wraps or coverings. Each hides his tiger skin away, when not in actual use for magic purposes.
The power to return after death in the shape of the dreaded jaguar is a further defensive measure, a precaution against hostile peoples, as in this shape both before and after death the medicine-man can attack the tribal enemies, and carry obnoxious individuals away into the bush whenever opportunity offers.
The medicine-man lives with, and yet aloof from his fellow-tribesmen. He has to observe many tabu, certain kinds of food are prohibited, and he must have no connection with women when making his medicines,[304] for should the woman bear a child it will be a tiger cub. To make his drugs and unguents a medicine-man goes alone into the forest, and this in itself marks him as different from other men, who will never of their own free will go far without a companion. Spruce mentions an armed guard attendant on medicine-men, “their lives being in continual jeopardy,” but no such thing is known south of the Japura.[305] The medicine-men certainly wander in the bush alone, for they will disappear at times, and on their return inform the tribesfolk that they have been about some magical journeyings; they may have worked in the guise of tigers against tribal enemies; or paid visits in the spirit to other lands. No armed escort could protect a medicine-man better than his own reputation suffices to do, for all medicine-men are feared—certes one that was not feared would not be worth the killing—and no Indian would be likely to risk the danger resultant on doing one an injury. I doubt if even a hostile tribe would wittingly put a medicine-man to death, for they fear retaliation on the part of the spirit, which would certainly haunt them, even if it worked no graver ill.
The medicine-man’s dress, as already mentioned, is largely a matter of personal taste; something original and striking is usually attempted. The Orahone medicine-man clothes himself in tapir-skin, and the Andoke medicine-man in the illustration opposite p. 73 was wearing a dyed turban when I took his portrait. Any fancy article that comes to hand is utilised to make him different from his fellows. His “properties,” which are carried in an ornamented bag of tiger skin, or of beaten bark sewn with fibre string, consist of a rattle—of rather more elaborate design than the ordinary dance rattle—some small magic stones, and a cup made from the shell of a river fish.[306] The latter resembles a large oyster, and the mother-of-pearl inner coating is much used for earrings and ornaments. The medicine-man takes this cup, speaks into it, and rubs the sick person all over with it. Then, if this does not bring about a cure, the patient must suck it till he vomits, and continue to vomit till the evil spirit be expelled.
Condor claws play a great part in magic-working among the northern tribes. These gigantic birds are rare in the bush, and I never saw one, though I heard of them from all the medicine-men, and obtained some specimens of the dried feet from them. These are ugly objects, the leg stump stopped with pitch and bound roughly round with bands of beaten bark, about half or a quarter of an inch wide, and not twisted. But though I got the claws I could not get any details as to what they were supposed to do.[307]
I once saw a medicine-man with the skin of an anaconda, and was told that by using the skin he could control the spirit of the anaconda.[308] For this purpose the medicine-men are habitually provided with the dried skins of lizards and snakes.[309]
The Andoke place great faith in strings of magical stones, five or seven in number. These are taken off the string and laid by the medicine-man in certain patterns on the sufferer. The medicine-man gazes at them abstractedly till a degree of self-induced trance is established. He will then break out into a frenzy, stamp, shout, and brandish his rattle. The stones are also used for magical rubbing, and are most assiduously guarded by their possessors, who will not part with them for any consideration. The only string of such stones I managed even to see are shown in the illustration. They are of quartz, somewhat roughly made flat discs, worn smooth by continual use, about three-quarters of an inch in diameter and a quarter of an inch thick, bored in the centre, the hole being half the size in the middle to what it is at its external radius. These stones are always carried on a string.
PLATE XLI.
STONE AXE HEAD (BORO)
STRING OF MAGIC STONES (ANDOKE)
Whatever goes wrong in tribal life, from a pain in the finger to a hurricane, the malice of an enemy working through the evil spirits is held to be responsible, as will be shown more fully hereafter. It is the medicine-man’s business not only to frustrate their malicious purposes, but also to discover who is the foe inciting their wickedness by magical influences. Mischief can be wrought without any bodily presence.[310] Revenge is also possible by the exercise of similar extra-natural powers. For instance, if a child is lost, or killed by a tiger, the bereaved parents call the tribal medicine-man to their assistance. If the hunters sent out to retaliate upon the tiger-foe fail to capture or overcome it, the medicine-man proceeds to work magic. This may be quite simple, for it is possible that in his solitary wanderings in the bush he may have the luck to come across the lost youngster. In this case he “re-creates” the child by the potency of his magic-working, and secures an unshakable reputation by producing it alive in due course. Should such luck not befall him he can but return with a tale of vengeance wreaked on the tiger, and a tiger-tooth—not necessarily of fresh extraction—in proof of that same. Then it is his duty to discover which might be the wicked tribe that sent the tiger, or had it sent at their instigation, as he would have to ascertain who had sent sickness were it the death of an adult that was under investigation. The procedure is the same whether the trouble be a house blown down by the wind or any other catastrophe. The tribe assembles for a solemn palaver, and the medicine-man, frenzied with drugs, eventually “divines” who is the enemy. The final decision usually is that the tribe had better go to war at once lest worse befall them.
The medicine-man invariably has a considerable say in intertribal policy. War is never made without his advice, and in addition to his duties as tribal avenger and healer, he must warn the tribe of impending hostilities.[311] Should hostilities break out, or a death occur, during a white man’s visit to a tribe, he would possibly find himself in considerable personal danger. Success to the tribe might in part be attributed to his virtue, but disaster would certainly be considered due to his malign presence, a point the medicine-man would not be slow in urging against the visitor.
The white stranger, with his foreign magic—for magic every other thing he possesses must seem to the unsophisticated child of the bush—in any circumstances is regarded with some jealousy by the professional magic-workers of the tribes. Naturally, therefore, it is with extreme difficulty that any details of their methods and doings can be learnt. It goes without saying that the medicine-man regards any inquisitive stranger as a potential rival, is on his guard against bluff or bribery, and never willingly gives so much as an opening for exchange of professional confidences. It is the hardest thing in the world to obtain information from the Indian, for every Indian will say “I don’t know,” or “Pia”—because it is so—in order to avoid having to explain his beliefs to the white man. I tried to bluff, and by feigning to possess magical gifts hoped to draw the local exponent into a rival display, but with no encouraging results. What I could gather had to be done with circumspection, a bit here, a trifle there, a note from a chance remark, a comment from another.
The expulsion of the evil spirit causing sickness is a matter requiring invariably much noise and fury. The maloka is always dark, be it day or night, and the gloom is not broken by torches for the medicine-man’s visit, nor are the smouldering fires kicked into a blaze. The doctor, well under the influence of drugs, works himself to a state of wild exaltation. He beats the floor with a palm branch, shakes his rattle vigorously, and makes the most appalling noises. He will imitate the beasts and birds of the forest, and—as he must be a skilled ventriloquist if he has any claims whatsoever to magic gifts—the sounds apparently come from every side. This is to demonstrate the embodying of the spirits of the nether world, the active causation of all ill. Also it is to summon to his assistance all friendly spirits, or all over whom he has attained magical influence. He carries on conversations with the assumed speakers, and intermittently howls, and shrieks, and beats the air with his palm branches. The greater the noise, the wilder the excitement, the more potent is the magic of the medicine-man. South of the Japura he does not blow smoke over the patient, but he makes use of both tobacco juice and coca. He further drugs himself most probably with some such powerful agent as aya-huasca, though that is not supposed to be known to these tribes. The medicine-man also doses himself with a drink made from a certain liana. When thoroughly intoxicated with it he will run away, and shortly go into profound slumber. In this comatose state he is supposed to hold intercourse with the unseen world, to wander in spirit to other places, and, as a result of what he has hereby learnt, to be able to foretell the future when he awakes.
Magic-making in cases of sickness includes the blowing, sucking, and so forth, already described. The relatives of the patient will discourse at length on the story of the sickness, and the medicine-man will either announce who sent it himself or expound the sick person’s dreams and therefrom deduct the source of evil. The official explanation and verdict is always given in the most ambiguous phraseology, so that whatever happens the medicine-man may be able to twist his dictum to the desired equivalent of “I told you so.”
As already described the invalid may be given a strong narcotic drink, the decoction of a root, and carried out to a small clearing made in the bush. There he is left under a rough shelter. No one may speak to him, or pass him while he lies there, otherwise he will die. The relations go out of sight, and guard the bush tracks, to prevent any such passage. If the patient die the medicine-man asserts very positively that some one has transgressed, knowingly or unknowingly, and so caused the fatal ending. I saw such a case on one occasion and was prayed by the Indians not to go anywhere in the direction of the sick man.
Should a man’s wife fall ill her relatives may, if they are within reasonable distance, come and take her away. Koch-GrÜnberg mentions a case among the Bara Indians where two men came from another tribe and removed their sick sister. They were treated with a show of hostility and followed—as the ailing woman took her healthy children away—for some distance into the bush. But no tribal quarrel ensued, the hostility appears to have been merely ceremonial. This is typical of what might occur among any friendly tribes.
Spruce, after seven months among the Uaupes Indians, “failed to catch a payÉ”[312] or see one at work. I attempted to get on terms with sundry of these gentlemen by an exhibition of my own “magic” powers, in the hope that I might elicit some comments, or hints of their own secrets. I made play with my eyeglass, and informed them that it was great medicine, and enabled me to see through a man. But though the tribesmen had on their own account attributed this faculty to my camera, the medicine-men were very sceptical of the eyeglass. Still I had better fortune than Spruce, for one day when I was with an Okaina tribe, a woman of my party went down with fever. She had a temperature of 103° to 104°, and the quinine with which I dosed her had no effect. There happened to be a great and noted medicine-man in the district, so they sent for him. The maloka, some fifty yards from wall to wall each way, was dark as pitch. Into the gloom rushed a frenzied figure. It was the medicine-man in a state of tremendous excitement. He passed his hands frantically all over the woman’s body. She lay rigid, and he was shaking with the intensity of his emotion. Never in my life have I seen a man so excited. If he were play-acting he believed most emphatically in his own play-acting. Then he filled his mouth with coca, and stooping over the moribund woman put his lips upon hers. Eager and trembling, he sucked up the contents of the woman’s mouth, then rushed out of the house and expectorated, emptying his mouth with his fingers. After this he announced that he had sucked away the evil spirit.
Next morning the woman was perfectly well.
I considered it the most extraordinary faith cure: but there was no burking the fact that a dying woman had been restored most miraculously to health. Certainly imagination goes very far in the curative process with a patient in Amazonia—as elsewhere,—but even allowing for this it was extraordinary.
Faith in the healing powers of the medicine-men is not confined to the tribesmen, for I knew one case of an Indian woman who had been married for years to a white man and lived in the rubber district. She fell ill, and her husband, instead of trusting to the white man’s remedies, insisted on sending for a medicine-man.
