_AMONG THE ESKIMOS._
The success which has attended the labours of the Lutheran and Moravian
Missionaries among the Eskimos has been well deserved by their
self-denying devotedness. Few of the Arctic tribes are now outside the
pale of Christianity; and all have been more or less directly influenced
by its elements of purification and elevation. But prior to the coming of
the pioneers of the Cross, the moral code of the Eskimo was curiously
imperfect, and did not recognise murder, infanticide, incest, and the
burial of the living among its crimes. Woe to the unfortunate vessel which
touched upon the coast! The Eskimos were not less treacherous than the
Polynesians of the Eastern Seas. And Krantz relates the story of a Dutch
brig that was seized by the natives at the port of Disco in 1740. The
whole crew were murdered. Two years later a similar fate befell the crew
of another vessel that had accidentally stranded.
The religion or creed of the aborigines seems to have been very vague and
imperfect. It is certain, however, that they believed in the immortality
of the spirit, and in a heaven and a hell. It was natural enough that
their conception of the latter should be affected by the conditions under
which they lived; that their experience of the miseries of an Arctic
climate should lead them to think of hell as a region of darkness and of
ice, traversed by endless snow-storms, and without any seals.
They placed implicit confidence in their angekoks, or angekos, or
“medicine-men,” ascribing to them almost unlimited powers over the things
of earth and sea, this world and the next. When setting out for the chase,
or prostrated by illness, they always sought the assistance of the
angekoks, who, on such occasions, indulged in a variety of strange
ceremonies. The nature of these may be inferred from what was witnessed by
Captain Lyon, who, during his famous Arctic voyage, bribed an angekok,
named Toolemak, to summon a Tomga, or familiar demon, in the cabin of his
ship.
All light having been carefully excluded from the scene of operations, the
sorcerer began by vehemently chanting to his wife, who, in her turn,
responded with the Amna-aya, the favourite song of the Eskimo. This lasted
throughout the ceremony. Afterwards, Toolemak began to turn himself round
very rapidly, vociferating for Tomga, in a loud powerful voice and with
great impatience, at the same time blowing and snorting like a walrus. His
noise, agitation, and impatience increased every moment, and at length he
seated himself on the deck, varying his tones, and making a rustling with
his clothes.
Suddenly the voice seemed smothered, and was so managed as to give the
idea that it was retreating beneath the deck, each moment becoming more
distant, and ultimately sounding as if it were many feet below the cabin,
when it ceased entirely. In answer to Captain Lyon’s queries, the
sorcerer’s wife seriously declared that he had dived and would send up
Tomga.
And, in about half a minute, a distant blowing was heard approaching very
slowly, and a voice differing from that which had first been audible was
mixed with the blowing, until eventually both sounds became distinct, and
the old beldame said that Tomga had come to answer the stranger’s
questions. Captain Lyon thereupon put several queries to the sagacious
spirit, receiving what was understood to be an affirmative or a favourable
answer by two loud slaps on the deck.
A very hollow yet powerful voice, certainly differing greatly from that of
Toolemak, then chanted for some time; and a singular medley of hisses,
groans, shouts, and gobblings like a turkey’s, followed in swift
succession. The old woman sang with increased energy, and as Captain Lyon
conjectured that the exhibition was intended to astonish “the Kabloona,”
he said repeatedly that he was greatly terrified. As he expected, this
admission added fuel to the flame, until the form immortal, exhausted by
its own might, asked leave to retire. The voice gradually died away out of
hearing, as at first, and a very indistinct hissing succeeded. In its
advance it sounded like the tone produced by the wind upon the bass cord
of an Æolian harp; this was soon changed to a rapid hiss, like that of a
rocket, and Toolemak, with a yell, announced the spirit’s return. At the
first distant sibilation Captain Lyon held his breath, and twice exhausted
himself; but the Eskimo conjuror did not once respire, and even his
returning and powerful yell was uttered without previous pause or
inspiration of air.
When light was admitted, the wizard, as might be expected, was in a state
of profuse perspiration, and greatly exhausted by his exertions, which had
continued for at least half an hour. Captain Lyon then observed a couple
of bunches, each consisting of two strips of white deerskin and a long
piece of sinew, attached to the back of his coat. These he had not seen
before, and he was gravely told that they had been sewn on by Tomga while
he was below.
During his absence, the angekok professes to visit the dwelling-place of
the particular spirit he has invoked, and he will sometimes astonish his
audience with a description of the nether-world and its inhabitants. For
instance, there is a female spirit called Aywilliayoo, who commands, by
means of her right hand, all the bears, whales, seals, and walruses.
Therefore, when a lack of provisions is experienced, the angekok pays a
visit to Aywilliayoo, and attacks her hand. If he can cut off her nails,
the bears are immediately released; the loss of one finger-joint liberates
the small seals; the second joint dismisses the larger seals; the knuckles
place at liberty the whole herds of walruses, while the entire hand
liberates the whale.
Aywilliayoo is tall, with only one eye and one pigtail, but as this
pigtail is as large as a man’s leg, and descends to her knee, she may well
be contented with it. She owns a splendid house, which, however, Toolemak
refrained from entering, because it was guarded by a huge dog, with black
hindquarters and no tail. Her father, in size, might be mistaken for a
boy of ten years old; he has but one arm, which is always encased in a
large bear-skin mitten.
Dr. Kane considers it a fact of psychological interest, as it shows that
civilised or savage wonder-workers form a single family, that the angekoks
have a firm belief in their own powers. “I have known,” he says, “several
of them personally, and can speak with confidence on this point. I could
not detect them in any resort to jugglery or natural magic: their
deceptions are simply vocal, a change of voice, and perhaps a limited
profession of ventriloquism, made more imposing by the darkness.” They
have, however, like the members of the learned professions everywhere
else, a certain language or jargon of their own, in which they communicate
with each other.
While the angekoks are the dispensers of good, the issintok, or evil men,
are the workers of injurious spells, enchantments, and metamorphoses. Like
the witches of both Englands, the Old and the New, these malignant
creatures are rarely submitted to trial until they have suffered
punishment--the old “Jeddart justice”--_castigat auditque_. Two of them,
in 1818, suffered the penalty of their crime on the same day, one at
Kannonak, the other at Upernavik. The latter was laudably killed in
accordance with the “old custom” ... custom being everywhere the apology
for any act revolting to moral sense. He was first harpooned, then
disembowelled; a flap letdown from his forehead “to cover his eyes and
prevent his seeing again”--he had, it appears, the repute of an evil eye;
and then small portions of his heart were eaten, to ensure that he should
not come back to earth unchanged.
When an Eskimo has injured any one of his countrymen,--has cut his
seal-lines, or lamed his dogs, or burned his bladder-float--or perpetrated
some equally grievous offence--the angekok summons him to meet the
countryside before the tribunal of the hunapok. The friends of the
parties, and the idlers for miles around, assemble about the justice-seat;
it may be at some little cluster of huts, or, if the weather permit, in
the open air. The accuser rises, and strikes a few discords with a
seal-rib on a tom-tom or drum. “He then passes to the charge, and pours
out in long paragraphic words all the abuse and ridicule to which his
outrageous vernacular can give expression. The accused meanwhile is
silent; but, as the orator pauses after a signal hit, or to flourish a
cadence on his musical instrument, the whole audience, friends, neutrals,
and opponents signalise their approval by outcries as harmonious as those
we sometimes hear in our town meetings at home. Stimulated by the
applause, and warming with his own fires, the accuser renews the attack,
his eloquence becoming more and more licentious and vituperative, until it
has exhausted either his strength or his vocabulary of invective. Now
comes the accused, with defence, and counter-charge, and retorted abuse;
the assembly still listening and applauding through a lengthened session.
The Homeric debate at a close, the angekoks hold a powwow, and a penalty
is denounced against the accused for his guilt, or the accuser for his
unsustained prosecution.”