Austin. But they cannot really bring rain.
Hunter. The matter is managed in this way.—When once they undertake to bring rain, they keep up their superstitious ceremonies, day after day, till the rain comes. Oftentimes it is very long before they succeed. It was in a time of great drought, that I once arrived at the Mandan village on the Upper Missouri. At the different Indian villages, peas and beans, wild rice, corn, melons, squashes, pumpkins, peaches and strawberries were often found in abundance; but, on this occasion, the Mandans had a very poor prospect of gathering any thing that required rain to bring it to perfection. The young and the old were crying out that they should have no green corn.
Austin. Why did they not tell the medicine men earlier to make the rain come?
Hunter. They did so: but it was not quite convenient to the medicine men; for they saw clearly enough that there was not the slightest appearance of rain. After putting it off, day after day, the sky grew a little cloudy to the west, when the medicine men assembled together in great haste to make it rain.
Brian. Ay! they were very cunning.
Hunter. No sooner was it known that the medicine men were met together in the mystery lodge, than the village was all in commotion. They wanted rain, and they were very sure that their medicine men could bring it when they pleased. The tops of the wigwams were soon crowded. In the mystery lodge a fire was kindled, round which sat the rain-makers, burning sweet-smelling herbs, smoking the medicine pipe, and calling on the Great Spirit to open the door of the skies, and let out the rain.
Basil. That is the way they make it rain, is it?
Hunter. At last, one of the rain-makers came out of the mystery lodge, and stood on the top of it with a spear in his hand, which he brandished about in a commanding and threatening manner, lifting it up as though he were about to hurl it up at the heavens. He talked aloud of the power of his medicine, holding up his medicine bag in one hand, and his spear in the other; but it was of no use, neither his medicine nor his spear could make it rain; and, at the setting of the sun, he came down from his elevated position in disgrace.
Austin. Poor fellow! He had had enough of rain-making for one day.
Hunter. For several days the same ceremony was carried on, until a rain-maker, with a head-dress of the skins of birds, ascended the top of the mystery lodge, with a bow in his hand, and a quiver at his back. He made a long speech, which had in it much about thunder and lightning, and black clouds and drenching rain; for the sky was growing dark, and it required no great knowledge of the weather to foretell rain. He shot arrows to the east and west, and others to the north and the south, in honour of the Great Spirit who could send the rain from all parts of the skies. A fifth arrow he retained, until it was almost certain that rain was at hand. Then, sending up the shaft from his bow, with all his might, to make a hole, as he said, in the dark cloud over his head, he cried aloud for the waters to pour down at his bidding, and to drench him to the skin. He was brandishing his bow in one hand, and his medicine in the other, when the rain came down in a torrent. The whole village was clamorous with applause. He was regarded as a great mystery man, whose medicine was very powerful, and he rose to great distinction among his tribe. You see, then, the power of a mystery man in bringing rain. Does it not astonish you?