Iroquois Supernatural: Talking Animals and Medicine People

by Michael Bastine

  The Storyteller’s Bag

  The old Iroquois tales fall into three main subject areas. When delivered live, the storyteller introduced each tale with a formulaic phrase that alerted listeners to the story type they were about to hear.

  The first category is creation tales about the origins of the world and of the nations: “These are things that really happened,” the storyteller often began. These are mythic or religious. Another category is animal tales: “It’s as if an animal walked. . . .” Many of these tales are ingenious and familiar: “How the Skunk Got His Stripe” or “How the Bear Lost His Tail.” Most of them are whimsical and remind us of jokes or riddles. Both these categories have been well preserved from their ancient forms, and neither belong in our book.

  The forest tales make a third category: “They went into the woods.” These stories can change by the decade. To the Iroquois, field and village were the domain of humans. Like the Celts of Europe, the Iroquois considered the forest and remote regions to be the realms of the supernatural. Though the supernatural could reach into the community—usually with a bit of inviting—even witches left their village homes for their dark rites and spells in the woods. The forest was also home to the most famous Iroquois supernatural beings: Flying Heads, Stone Giants, vampire skeletons, Little People, and the rest. This book is about the subjects of the forest.

  In addition to the formulaic introductions, traditional Iroquois storytellers abided by a number of conventions. Particularly when entertaining children, the storyteller might bring a bag to the event and spill it at the start. It was always filled with small objects, often curious, sometimes junk: a bone, a stone, a feather, a broken pipe. Before starting, the storyteller picked one of these items and improvised a way that it reminded him of the upcoming tale. The children’s eyes widened.

  This book is a bag, and we empty it before you. A few things in it remind us of this and that. And now we’re going into the woods. . . .

  2

  The Witches’ Craft

  If one can forget the twentieth-century preoccupation with black magic (which is a comparatively recent innovation), it becomes clear that the real witchcraft is more than likely to be yet another variation on the ways in which the old practices were perpetuated.

  JANET AND COLIN BORD,

  THE SECRET COUNTRY

  IROQUOIS WITCHES

  Like preindustrial people everywhere, the old Iroquois had an outlook on the world that might be called animistic. Spirits were thought to animate everything, including animals, plants, and earthly features. They could be the invisible causers of storms, floods, natural disasters, and plagues. But what powered the spirits?

  Many world societies have words for the life force: mana, prana, pneuma, ch’i, kaa, manitou. The power of life, landscape, spirituality, and divinity for Iroquois society was often called something that sounded like orenda. There is debate about the prevalence of this exact word, but not the concept. To simplify things, let’s think of it like the Force in the Star Wars motif.

  Orenda was a titanic, universal, inexhaustible power that could be channeled to do almost anything. It was also carried around as part of a being’s life package. By their nature, gods and supernatural critters had big batteries of orenda. One supernatural could spot it in another by sight, through any disguise. Humans could enhance their own orenda through virtue, training, and life experience. Chiefs, heroes, and shamans packed plenty of it. Someone who could master the use of orenda or gain the aid of spirits who wielded it could do almost anything.

  But orenda—the Force—could be turned. It could be refocused into a weapon.

  Otkon is a broad term for negative things, beings, energy, or forces. It was thought that otkon, the other side of orenda, could be launched like a fateful laser beam at human targets. It could be projected into objects like dolls or trinkets, turning them into psychically radioactive land mines that work to the grief of all who come near them. Who would do such a thing with orenda?

  The old Iroquois had a powerful belief in witchcraft. They feared it, they hated it, and they quickly killed anyone convicted of practicing it. The witch—and any other wielder of otkon—was thought to hold the power to cause death, drought, sickness, blight, storms, and almost any other calamity that could befall people and the natural environment. Anyone—man, woman, child—could become a witch. Some could even turn themselves into animals. But is this all witches are? Supernatural evildoers? People who reroute orenda and use it selfishly? It could well be that some witches were more.

  The difficulty of making sharp and current distinctions in matters of ancient supernaturalism is one of the themes of this book. We see that in many world cultures, some form of proscribed supernaturalism operated in the shadow of the mainstream, and that it was often vigorously persecuted. The handiest example may come to us from medieval and Renaissance Europe, where a Christianity struggling to solidify itself made witches out of herbal healers and the practitioners of older, pagan religions, as well as whatever “devil worshippers” might truly have been out there. Things aren’t even that clear-cut with the Iroquois.

  The Iroquois had their own alternative god, sometimes called the Evil-Minded One. His name would have been different in each Iroquois language and virtually unpronounceable in this one. As we have said, he could be more of a Trickster than a demon. But in some of the tales we have, some Iroquois witches are portrayed as the Evil One’s devotees. Maybe so. We should not presume that a few people might not have given up asking the Good-Minded One for what they wanted and figured to give his rival a try. The first deed of every initiated witch of this type was to magically kill a treasured friend or family member.

  In 1989 the anthropologist Annemarie Anrod Shimony (1928–1995) estimated that about a third of the residents of the Six Nations Reserve in Canada were “traditionalist Indians,” and that it was about this percentage who still believed in the power whites call witchcraft. While few contemporary Longhouse folk would ever think of working a curse in the traditional way, few would deny that others have the power to do it. In fact, witchcraft is alive and well, or at least the faith in something that answers to it. Only those who categorically deny the existence of psychic phenomena could say that the Iroquois are completely wrong. The Iroquois were not alone in their belief.

  A faith in something we would classify as witchcraft has developed in so many unconnected parts of the world that we have to conclude there could be something interesting and original going on. Witchcraft of the European style—along with occultism of many types—came across the Atlantic with the first wave of immigrants to North America. Even in the nineteenth century, the territory once owned by the Iroquois was so proverbial for its alternative white cults and religious movements that the region drew nicknames like “the Spirit Way” and “the Burned-over District”—meaning that all spiritually flammable souls had been set alight. Some of the eclectic tenets of this period included Christian spin-offs like Evangelism and Adventism. Some other indigenous isms like Spiritualism and Mormonism looked a lot like witchcraft to some mainstream Christians.

  Ethnic supernatural customs and traditions could be found among many New York families well into the twentieth century, and some whites may have known plenty about the Iroquois dark arts. In 1923, Seneca scholar Arthur C. Parker claimed to know a white doctor with a reputation for diagnosing and curing victims of witchery on the Tonawanda Reservation. Never forget that our own day has its trends that to many materialist thinkers look no less magical: feng shui, homeopathic healing, past-life regression, reiki, and psychic communication.

  Though direct terms like magic and witch aren’t used on the reservations very much any more, some Iroquois today will give you a sly glance and acknowledge that they know someone who. . . . They tell a lot of stories about people who do “extra” things. They may also be guarded. It’s never been good form on the rez to talk much about witchcraft. Seeming to know too much about it, even showing signs of a talent like E
SP or prophecy, could get people wondering.

  Michael and I don’t know much about witchcraft, either, by the way. He’s just telling you what he’s heard. And I’m just telling you what I’ve read. This chapter details stories and incidents about the dark art in Iroquois country.

  TWO KINDS OF WITCHES

  There is a hierarchy among Iroquois witches. Anyone working a spell out of a handbook and hoping for a new job or a new lover might be called a witch. But there’s a big difference between this and a seasoned witch working a spell out of malice or for hire.

  There may also be categories among Iroquois witches. Arthur C. Parker tells us that they come in two styles, distinguished by their methods.

  With some witches, the power is innate. They can blight with a thought—they need not even voice it—or by casting a cold eye. The only tool of the trade they need is the occasional bit of tobacco, a generic offering. Natural witches like these are the original black magicians, using the power of “malefic mental suggestion,” which seems to be mostly psychic. They may be helped by training, but they need only practice. They can take the forms of animals, even ancient monsters like the niagwahe, the demon bear.

  The second and more modern style of witch works his or her will through objects and spells, a general style of magic found all over the world and often classified as sorcery. Though we have never heard this word used on the reservation—they call it all “witched” or “medicine”—this is what sorcery is: magic done with spells and implements. It’s like baking: get the ingredients and follow a recipe. This is what most of us would do if we tried black magic.

  An Iroquois version of this type of cursing was to introduce something small into the body of a victim by supernatural means. The object was often a worm or a splinter from a deer bone, but sometimes it was more intricate, like a wooden needle, pointed on either end and with a hair from the witch threaded through the eye and wrapped around it. A wasting death was certain unless these cursed things were found and withdrawn. Another technique was planting a charm—the dreaded otkon—by the target’s house.

  SPOTTING A WITCH

  Traditional witches can do their deviltry safely and effectively as long as they stay hidden. Sometimes just finding and confronting a witch is enough to back him or her off. Does that surprise you? Let it not.

  You see, some witches aren’t really evil. Some have been driven to their practice by poverty, despair, or even jealousy. Some of them haven’t even thought through what they are doing. Practicing magic is a guilty little power game. Discovering them, calling them out, and getting them to realize what they’ve done to others can make them break into tears and give it all up. One might presume that these are entry-level witches.

  And many witches are shy individuals, neither personally nor socially powerful. Most of them are afraid of their victims, which is probably the reason they choose witchcraft; it’s a way to strike from hiding and at long range. Simply showing up on the witch’s front door—armed and raving—is often enough to make the witch back off.

  Witches are thought to travel as witch lights (ga’hai), which probably ought to be considered their astral bodies. Sometimes their faces are even visible inside these fuzzy light spheres. You can’t hurt witches in this form, often called the witch’s torch, but they come back to their natural bodies sooner or later. Of course, if you see one of these witch lights leaving or entering your neighbor’s chimney, the case is made that someone who lives in that house is a witch. That’s an ad for otkon the way a neon Bud Lite sign proclaims a bar. Such a witch has to be a rookie, or an old one, absent-minded enough to be careless or too powerful to care.

  Another light is inside the witch. They say when Iroquois witches are outdoors at night, a red light shines through their mouths and nostrils as they breathe, as if forge fires burn inside them and their lungs work like bellows. This “internal luminosity” is reported of shamans and power people worldwide. The only way to recognize an Iroquois witch by sight is to see this fire glowing through them. (“When you see one coming down a road,” said the Seneca Cephas Hill, “you get the effect of a flashlight being turned on and off.”) The sight is particularly atmospheric on frosty nights on those wooded trails between villages in the Alleghenies, the Finger Lakes, and the Mohawk Valley.

  One of the distinctive powers of the Iroquois witch (like the Celtic druid) was shape-shifting: the ability to become another being, usually a bird or mammal, and still think like a human. (This, of course, is connected to shamanism, a type of religious expression once found all over the world.) Not all metamorphosis is witchcraft, nor are all witches shape-shifters. Still, the Iroquois have many stories of witches becoming animals. Though some can do this with the aid of the right charm, most witches who shape-shift are the old kind of witch with innate powers.

  Not only are these witches well disguised, but they travel quickly in their animal forms. Sometimes they do things directly to hurt their human enemies, but so much of the time they just spy and do their real business later. If you know what to look for, you can often spot them. They don’t act like normal animals. Their movements are atypical and strange. They may even look weird.

  If you recognize one of these witch critters and track it to somebody’s house, you’ve narrowed the field. Someone who lives or visits there is the witch. Animal tracks between the homes of the victim of a curse and a suspected witch are a giveaway—especially if the tracks start or end as human footprints.

  Sometimes one of these shape-shifting witches is spotted in the act. One might be disguised as a strange pig or cow in the barn or an extra cat or dog in the yard. Somebody might lash out with a stick or whip. A passing hunter might take a shot. The wounded critter splits. A few hours later and not too far off someone is found with a matching injury—someone perhaps long suspected of being a witch. A bloody trail of the prints of hoof or paw may even lead to the house. This, too, is an Old World motif.

  In the late and desperate stages of a curse, some bewitched people can even see their tormentors, particularly when they are coming to visit. Often, they say, in this sort of vision trance, the sufferer can narrate the witch’s movements as if watching a surveillance video.

  Recognizing your hexer is critical to any defense. It’s rare that it’s easy. The witch could be anyone. The best thing, of course, is to spot someone engaged in some act or practice—say, making a charm—which would take away all doubt. But most witches train and work in secret.

  We hear stories about witches who learned the dark art at the private tutelage of a friend or family member. The tutor may even be someone no longer alive. But often a semipublic ceremony seems part of the process of becoming a witch, and a sip of a magic brew completes the initiation. Witches often go into the deep woods and work their rites and spells by small, slow fires. If you spot one of these in progress—and make it back—you may know several witches.

  If you chance to be out in the New York countryside and come across one of these midnight rites, you can start by being quiet. Rrreeeaaallll quiet. You might see a slow blaze, a steaming kettle, and a ring of human countenances in the glow. Note the faces. Hear what the voices are saying. You may be able to figure out what they’re up to. If someone in the community has been suffering, you may know why.

  The old Iroquois believed that the spirits of exceptional witches could inspire living ones long after their physical deaths. Like the European vampire, this spirit witch lingers in the grave in a queer state of death-in-life. A living witch with such a disembodied friend is especially powerful. The spirit witch will lead the living one to prosperity and luck. In some tales, the live witch occasionally visits the graveyard, showering the dead one with grisly gifts and tokens. If you go by a cemetery and see someone paying homage to an open grave, you may have spotted one of these eerie transactions. When it’s discovered by the medicine people, the witch body has to be specially dealt with. This is another parallel to the European vampire.

  If you’re bold e
nough to poke around in the house of a suspected witch, you might find ritual objects, particularly totems and animal parts used in cursing or shape-shifting. But be careful what you play around with. If you hold one of these otkon objects, you may, against your will, learn how it works. You may curse or kill the next living thing you see. If you put on the wrong hat or glove, your next move may be in something other than your natural form. If one of the veteran practitioners spots you flitting around in your animal body and asks you a few questions, you may not make it back in any form.

  GETTING TO THE ROOT OF THE HEX

  Once you realize that you or someone you know is the target of a curse, the source of it has to be identified before any effective cure can be found. This won’t always be easy. Witches usually attack in secret.

  The stroke could have come anywhere or any time in the past few months. It could have been launched quickly, with a powerful witch blinking the victim with an evil eye. It could come slowly, a traditional hurting curse wrought with spells and implements in a private ritual and from far away. Like an avenging spirit, its energy keeps escalating.

  There might also be a charm targeting the victim, an inanimate, metaphysical time bomb as traditional as a charm-bundle or as seemingly non-Iroquoian as a simple effigy representing the victim. Like a voodoo doll, it might have burns or scratches in selected places. It could be a tiny object magically placed within the victim’s body. It could be witch powder fed to the victim by “sprinkling”—tossing charmed dust on a dinner or drink.