Meanwhile the day passed on, and towards evening a cloud began to rise above the horizon. Wak-a-dah-ha-hee no sooner observed this, than, with shield on his arm and bow in hand, he was again upon the lodge. “Stiffened and braced to the last sinew, he stood with his face and his shield presented to the cloud, and his bow drawn. He drew the eyes of the whole village upon him, as he vaunted forth his superhuman powers; and at the same time commanded the cloud to come nearer, that he might draw down its contents upon their heads and the corn-fields 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 threatened the heavens, commanding it to rain—his bow was bent, and the arrow drawn to its head, was sent to the cloud, {210} and he exclaimed, ‘My friends, it is done! Wak-a-dah-ha-hee’s arrow has entered that black cloud, and the Mandans will be wet with the water of the skies!’ His predictions were true—in a few moments the cloud was over the village, and the rain fell in torrents. He stood for some time wielding his weapons, and boasting of the efficacy of his _medicine_ to those who had been about him, but were now driven to the shelter of their wigwams; and descended from his high place (in which he had been perfectly drenched) prepared to receive the honours and homage that were due to one so potent in his mysteries; and to receive the style and title of _medicine-man_.” Catlin further informs us, that when the Mandans undertake to make it rain, they always succeed, for their ceremonies never stop until rain begins to fall: and also, that he who has once made it rain never attempts it again; his medicine is undoubted—and on future occasions of the kind he stands aloof, giving an opportunity to other young men who are ambitious to signalize themselves in the same way. A superstition similar to that of the Mandans prevails also among the Caffers of Southern Africa, and among the natives of Ceylon. The Caffer chiefs, attended by their warriors, proceed with much ceremony, and laden with presents, to the dwelling of the rain-doctor, where a grand feast is held while certain charms are in process. The impostor at length dismisses his guests with a variety of instructions, on the due observance of which the success of their application is to depend. These instructions are generally of the most trifling kind: they are to travel home in perfect silence; or they are not to look back; or they are to compel every one they meet to turn back and go home with them. Should rain happen to fall, the credit is given to the rain-doctor; but should the drought continue, the fault is laid upon the failure of the applicants to fulfil these instructions with sufficient exactness.