HE Mandans, have dignitaries whom they call “rain makers,” and “rain stoppers,” because they believe in their powers to bring rain in case of drought, or to stop the rain when too strong and violent. Catlin gives a very interesting account of an instance in which the powers of these men were tested.

The Mandans, says Catlin, raise a great deal of corn; but sometimes a most disastrous drought visits the land, destructive to their promised harvest. Such was the case when I arrived at the Mandan village, on the steamboat Yellow Stone. Rain had not fallen for many a day, and the dear little girls and ugly old squaws, altogether, (all of whom had fields of corn,) were groaning and crying to their lords, and imploring them to intercede for rain, that their little patches, which were now turning pale and yellow, might not be withered, and they be deprived of the customary annual festivity, and the joyful occasion of the “roasting ears,” and the “green corn dance.”

The chiefs and doctors sympathized with the distress of the women, and recommended patience. Great deliberation, they said, was necessary in these cases; and though they resolved on making the attempt to produce rain for the benefit of the corn; yet they very wisely resolved that to begin too soon might ensure their entire defeat in the endeavor: and that the longer they put it off, the more certain they would be of ultimate success. So, after a few days of further delay, when the importunities of the women had become clamorous, and even mournful, and almost insupportable, the medicine-men assembled in the council-house, with all their mystery apparatus about them—with an abundance of wild sage, and other aromatic herbs, with a fire prepared to burn them, that their savory odors might be sent forth to the Great Spirit. The lodge was closed to all the villagers, except some ten or fifteen young men, who were willing to hazard the dreadful alternative of making it rain, or suffer the everlasting disgrace of having made a fruitless essay.

They, only, were allowed as witnesses to the hocus focus and conjurations devised by the doctors inside of the medicine lodge; and they were called up by lot, each one in his turn, to spend a day upon the top of the lodge, to test the potency of his medicine; or, in other words, to see how far his voice might be heard and obeyed amongst the clouds of the heavens; whilst the doctors were burning incense in the wigwam below, and with their songs and prayers to the Great Spirit for success, were sending forth grateful fumes and odors to Him “who lives in the sun and commands the thunders of Heaven.” Wah-kee, (the shield,) was the first who ascended the wigwam at sun rise; and he stood all day, and looked foolish, as he was counting over and over his string of mystery-beads—the whole village were assembled around him, and praying for his success. Not a cloud appeared—the day was calm and hot; and at the setting of the sun, he descended from the lodge and went home—“his medicine was not good,” nor can he ever be a medicineman.

Om-pah, (the elk,) was the next; he ascended the lodge at sunrise the next morning. His body was entirely naked, being covered with yellow clay. On his left arm he carried a beautiful shield, and a long lance in his right; and on his head the skin of a raven, the bird that soars amidst the clouds, and above the lightning’s glare—he flourished his shield and brandished his lance, and raised his voice, but in vain; for at sun set the ground was dry, and the sky was clear; the squaws were crying, and their corn was withering at its roots.

War-rah-pa, (the beaver,) was the next; he also spent his breath in vain upon the empty air, and came down at night—and Wak-a-dah-ha-hee, (the white buffalo’s hair,) took the stand the next morning. He was a small, but beautifully proportioned young man. He was dressed in a tunic, and leggings of the skins of the mountain-sheep, splendidly garnished with the quills of the porcupine, and fringed with locks of hair taken by his own hand from the heads of his enemies. On his arm he carried his shield, made of the buffalo’s hide—its boss was the head of the war-eagle—and its front was ornamented with “red chains of lightning.” In his left hand he clinched his sinewy bow and one single arrow. The villagers were all gathered about him; when he threw up a feather to decide on the course of the wind, and he commenced thus: “My friends! people of the pheasants! you see me here a sacrifice—I shall this day relieve you from great distress, and bring joy amongst you; or I shall descend from this lodge when the sun goes down, and live amongst the dogs and old women all my days. My friends! you saw which way the feather flew, and I hold my shield this day in the direction where the wind comes—the lightning on my shield will draw a great cloud, and the arrow, which is selected from my quiver, and which is feathered with the quill of the white swan, will make a hole in it. My friends! this hole in the lodge at my feet, shows me the medicine-men, who are seated in the lodge below me and crying to the Great Spirit and through it comes and passes into my nose delightful odors, which you see rising in the smoke to the Great Spirit above, who rides in the clouds and commands the winds! Three days they have sat here, my friends, and nothing has been done to relieve your distress. On the first day was Wah-kee, (the shield,) he could do nothing; he counted his beads and came down—his medicine was not good—his name was bad, and it kept off the rain. The next was Om-pah, (the elk;) on his head the raven was seen, who flies above the storm, and he failed. War-rah-pa, (the beaver,) was the next, my friends; the beaver lives under the water, and he never wants it to rain. My friends! I see you are in great distress, and nothing has yet been done; this shield belonged to my father the White Buffalo; and the lightning you see on it is red; it was taken from a black cloud, and that cloud will come over us to-day. I am the White Buffalo’s Hair—and am the son of my father.”

It happened on this memorable day about noon, that the steamboat Yellow Stone, on her first trip up the Missouri river, approached and landed at the Mandan village. I was lucky enough to be a passenger on this boat, and helped to fire a salute of twenty guns of twelve pounds calibre, when we first came in sight of the village, some three or four miles below. These guns introduced a new sound into this strange country, which the Mandans first supposed to be thunder; and the young man upon the lodge, who turned it to good account, was gathering fame in rounds of applause, which were repeated and echoed through the whole village; all eyes were centred upon him—chiefs envied him—mother’s hearts were beating high whilst they were decorating and leading up their fair daughters to offer him in marriage, on his signal success. The medicine-men had left the lodge, and came out to bestow upon him the envied title of “medicine-man, or doctor,” which he had so deservedly won—wreaths were prepared to decorate his brows, and eagles’ plumes and calumets were in readiness for him; his friends were all rejoiced—his enemies wore on their faces a silent gloom and hatred; and his old sweethearts, who had formerly cast him off, gazed intently upon him, as they glowed with the burning fever of repentance.

During all this excitement, Wak-a-dah-hahee kept his position, assuming the most commanding and threatening attitudes; brandishing his shield in-= the direction of the thunder, although there was not a cloud to be seen, until he, poor fellow, being elevated above the rest of the village, espied, to his inexpressible amazement, the steamboat ploughing its way up the windings of the river below; puffing her steam from her pipes, and sending forth the thunder from a twelve-pounder on her deck!

The White Buffalo’s Hair stood motionless and turned pale, he looked awhile, and turned to the chief and to the multitude, and addressed them with a trembling lip—“My friends, we will get no rain! there are, you see, no clouds; but my medicine is great—I have brought a thunder boat! look and see it! the thunder you hear is out of her mouth, and the lightning which you see is on the waters!”

At this intelligence, the whole village flew to the tops of their wigwams, or to the bank of the river, from whence the steamer was in full view, and ploughing along, to their utter dismay and confusion.

In this promiscuous throng of chiefs, doctors, women, children, and dogs, was mingled Wak-a-dah-ha-hee, (the white buffalo’s hair,) having descended from his high place to mingle with the frightened throng.

Dismayed at the approach of so strange and unaccountable an object, the Mandans stood their ground but a few moments; when, by an order of the chiefs, all hands were ensconced within the piquets of the village, and all the warriors armed for desperate defence. A few moments brought the boat in front of the village, and all was still and quiet as death; not a Mandan was to be seen upon the banks. The steamer was moored, and three or four of the chiefs soon after, walked boldly down the bank and on to her deck, with a spear in one hand and the calumet or pipe of peace in the other. The moment they stepped on board, they met (to their great surprise and joy) their old friend, Major Sanford, their agent, which circumstance put an end to all their fears. The villagers were soon apprized of the fact, and the whole race of the beautiful and friendly Mandans was paraded on the bank of the river, in front of the boat.

The “rain maker,” whose apprehensions of a public calamity brought upon the nation by his extraordinary medicine, had, for the better security of his person from apprehended vengeance, secreted himself in some secure place, and was the last to come forward, and the last to be convinced that the visitation was a friendly one from the white people; and that his medicine had not in the least been instrumental in bringing it about. This information, though received by him with much caution and suspicion, at length gave him much relief, and quieted his mind as to his danger. Yet still in his breast there was a rankling thorn, though he escaped the dreaded vengeance which he had a few moments before apprehended as at hand; as he had the mortification and disgrace of having failed in his mysterious operations. He set up, however, (during the day, in his conversation about the strange arrival,) his medicines, as the cause of its approach; asserting every where and to every body, that he knew of its coming, and that he had by his magic brought the occurrence about. This plea, however, did not get him much audience; and in fact, every thing else was pretty much swallowed up in the guttural talk, and bustle, and gossip about the mysteries of the thunder boat; and so passed the day, until just at the approach of evening, when the “White Buffalo’s Hair,” more watchful of such matters on this occasion than most others, observed that a black cloud had been jutting up in the horizon, and was almost directly over the village! In an instant his shield was on his arm, and his bow in his hand, and he again upon the lodge! stiffened and braced to the last sinew, he stood, with his face and shield presented to the cloud, and his bow drawn. He drew the eyes of the whole village upon him as he vaunted forth his super-human powers, and at the same time commanding the cloud to come nearer, that he might draw down its contents upon the heads and the cornfields of the Mandans! In this wise he stood, waving his shield over his head, stamping his foot and frowning as he drew his bow and threatening the heavens, commanding it to rain—his bow was bent, and the arrow drawn to its head, was sent to the clond, and he exclaimed, “My friends, it is done! Wak-a-dah-ha-hee’s arrow has entered the black clond, and the Mandans will be wet with the waters of the skies!” His predictions were true; in a few moments the clouds were over the village, and the rain fell in torrents. He stood for some time wielding his weapons and presenting his shield to the sky, while he boasted of his power and the efficacy of his medicine, to those who had been about him, and were now driven to the shelter of their wigwams. He, at length, finished his vaunts and threats, and descended from his high place, (in which he had been perfectly drenched,) prepared to receive the honors and the homage that were due to one so potent in his mysteries; and to receive the style and title of “medicine-man.” This is one of a hundred different modes in which a man in Indian countries acquires the honorable appellation.

This man had “made it rain,” and of course was to receive more than usual honors, as he had done much more than ordinary men could do. All eyes were upon him, and all were ready to admit that he was skilled in the magic art; and must be so nearly allied to the Great or Evil Spirit, that he must needs be a man of great and powerful influence in the nation, and was entitled to the style of doctor or medicine-man.

During the memorable night of which I have just spoken, the steamboat remained by the side of the Mandan village, and the rain that had commenced falling continued to pour down its torrents until midnight; black thunder roared, and vivid lightning flashed until the heavens appeared to be lit up with one unceasing and appalling glare. In this frightful moment of consternation, a flash of lightning buried itself in one of the earth-covered lodges of the Mandans, and killed a beautiful girl. Here was food and fuel fresh for their superstitions; and a night of vast tumult and excitement ensued. The dreams of the new-made medicine-man were troubled, and he had dreadful apprehensions for the coming day; for he knew that he was subject to the irrevocable decree of the chiefs and doctors, who canvass every strange and unaccountable event, with close and superstitious scrutiny, and let their vengeance fall without mercy upon its immediate cause.

He looked upon his well-earned fame as likely to be withheld from him; and also considered that his life might perhaps be demanded as the forfeit for this girl’s death, which would certainly be charged upon him. He looked upon himself as culpable, and supposed the accident to have been occasioned by his criminal desertion of his post, when the steamboat was approaching the village. Morning came, and he soon learned from some of his friends, the opinions of the wise men; and also the nature of the tribunal that was preparing for him; he sent to the prairie for his three horses, which were brought in, and he mounted the medicine lodge, around which, in a few moments, the villagers were all assembled. “My friends,” said he, “I see you all around me, and I am before you; my medicine, you see, is great—it is too great; I am young, and was too fast—I knew not when to stop. The wigwam of Mah-siah is laid low, and many are the eyes that weep for Ko-ka, (the antelope;) Wak-a-dah-ha-hee gives three horses to gladden the hearts of those who weep for Ko-ka; his medicine was great—his arrow pierced the black cloud, and the lightning came, and the thunder-boat also! who says that the medicine of Wak-a-dah-ha-hee is not strong?”

At the end of this sentence an unanimous shout of approbation ran through the crowd, and the “Hair of the White Buffalo” descended amongst them, where he was greeted by shaken of the hand; and amongst whom he now lives and thrives under the familiar and honorable appellation of the “Big Double Medicine.”

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