66 
than once a month, or perhaps two or three times in a summer; the ordeal 
was too exhausting, or, as the Indians say, the helping spirits disturbed 
too greatly the medicine-man’s soul. Hence a great many conjurors were 
also mede, able to prescribe herbal remedies every day in the year, even in 
old age when their conjuring powers were extinguished. 
The djiskan, or conjuring lodge, consisted of six or eight poles arranged 
in a circle to enclose a space about 4 feet in diameter. A hoop encircled 
them near the top, partly to hold the frame together, partly to provide a 
seat for the helping spirits. Four deer dew-claws attached to one of the 
poles rattled whenever the lodge was shaken, and rolls of birch bark, or in 
recent times cloth, enveloped the entire frame to a height of about 6 feet. 
It was not the conjuror who erected this lodge, but the people who 
requisitioned his services. On rare occasions they set up two lodges within 
a few feet so that the medicine-man might place his coat inside one and 
himself enter the other; both lodges then shook during his seance. The 
Indians claim that an exceptionally powerful conjuror could mark off the 
space for a lodge by creating a hollow in the ground 3 feet deep with a 
single sweep of his hand, and that a second wave of his hand at the con- 
clusion of his seance restored the ground to its original position. 
Let us imagine ourselves now in an Indian camp, sharing all the views 
of the Parry Islanders as to what takes place during a conjuror’s seance. 
Some man has hired him to discover why a relative lies dangerously ill, 
and, with the assistance of friends, has erected a proper conjuring lodge. 
We idle around until dusk, for, unlike the knsabindugcyu, the con- 
juror may not operate in full daylight. At last he approaches, crawls 
beneath the birch-bark envelope and disappears within. He is speaking. 
We cannot distinguish the words, but we know he is calling the manido 
that blessed him during his puberty fast, and the other manidos that always 
lend their aid. There is a sudden thud, and the lodge rocks violently, for 
a spirit ( medewadji : a spirit of the conjuring lodge) has entered it. Another 
thud and further rocking; then another, and still another. Perhaps a voice 
says “What do you want me for?,” and snapping turtle ( mashikkan ) 
answers: “We do not want your help.” Inside the lodge there are now 
five or six medewadji or manidos, souls or spirits of animals like the bear 
and the serpent, who have assembled together with the spirit of thunder, 
their chief, and of snapping turtle, longest-lived of all creatures, their 
interpreter. We cannot see them, but we understand that turtle rests at 
the bottom of the lodge, feet up, keeping it from sinking into the ground; 
that thunder is at the top, covering it like a lid; and that the other spirits 
are perched around the hoop that encircles the frame. 1 They look like 
human beings about 4 inches tall, but have long ears and squeaking voices 
like bats. 
Meanwhile the conjuror has been kneeling on the floor of the lodge 
with his face to the ground, and remains thus (supposedly) throughout 
the performance. Probably he has omitted to take any tobacco inside 
with him, and since the manidos require a little tribute before they set 
about their task his employer must hand in some tobacco over the top 
1 So two informants, Jonas King and James Walker. John Manatuwaba, however, maintained that turtle is at 
the top of the lodge, and that thunder never enters, even though it is from thunder most of the conjurors derive 
their power. 
