From the desk of Steve Willis, Central Library Services Program Manager of the Washington State Library

Do you believe in water witchcraft? The following article was found in the October 15, 1891 issue of the Big Bend Empire, from, appropriately enough, Waterville, Washington. A small chunk of the article is missing so I have tried to transcribe this around it.

Water Witches

“Witches used to be held in fear and abhorrence, in the olden times. People suspected of dealing in the supernatural were persecuted and put to death. A familiar test, which was inflicted upon those falling under the ban of suspicion, was the ducking stool, which was a see-saw contrivance, with a chair at one end in which to seat the victim, securely tied. The loaded end projected over a pond, and the chair and its occupant were soused into the water, in order to determine by the cries and struggles of the half-drowned wretch, whether she was witch or not. An ability to take water with composure was the test. What a number of condemned would there be nowadays, were the same tests applied.”

“Perhaps this enforced familiarity with water, may have descended to later generations of dealers in the mysterious. Be that as it may, witches, so called, are not unusual figures in the wonderful country of the Big Bend of the Columbia, and most singular of all, they are in demand. Many honest grangers have dug and dug for water on their claims, in locations of their own choosing, scouting the idea that the efforts of water witches were anything but nonsense. A majority of these unbelievers after sadly depleting their pockets in vain endeavors to strike moisture, at last come reluctantly to the point of trying the water witch.”

“With his cabalistic stick held in both hands, the magnetic individual struts across fields indicating the course of veins and pointing out the proper place to dig. He even tells within a foot or so, just how far down the well must be sunk before water is reached. The witch claims nothing supernatural about his work. He says it is electricity. As he goes over the ground, when passing above a vein of water, his stick visibly turns and points out the location of the underground stream. It is simple enough. He holds the magnetic stick and it does the rest. […]over this phenomenon may be […]d dozens of settlers will tes-[…] finding water through such a […] Some of the so-called water witches have never been known to fail, […] confident of their powers are they, that they contract to pay for the cost of digging, if their location proves a barren one. Often 60 or 70 even 100 feet down do the diggers go, the witch indicating beforehand the depth to which his guarantee runs, and paying for the work in the event of failure. If he succeeds he gets $5.”

Interestingly, 70 years later the periodical Northwest Science pointed out (v. 35, issue 4, 1961): “the number of water witches is greatest where chances are smallest that any one well will be successful. They state that in the Columbia Plateau the ratio of witches to population is the highest in the United States. The reason is not that water is scarce, but rather that the permeability of the Columbia River Basalt is extremely variable. A well that yields large quantities of water can be drilled within a few tens of feet of a well that was a dry hole.”

Adequate water supply was more important than gold to many of the residents in the Columbia Plateau. Some of our readers might recall the post we ran awhile back, also from the Big Bend Empire, regarding the rainmaker Charles Hatfield visiting the area in 1920.

Water witching, also known as dowsing, has been around for a long time but has never been fully accepted as a legitimate tool by the scientific community. The Dewey Decimal classification system places dowsing in 133.323 in the neighborhood of fortune-telling, parapsychology and occultism.

A federal publication entitled The Divining Rod : a History of Water Witching, With a Bibliography / by Arthur J. Ellis for the US Geological Survey,  originally published in 1917, is pretty blunt: “It is doubtful whether so much investigation and discussion have been bestowed on any other subject with such absolute lack of positive results. It is difficult to see how for practical purposes the entire matter could be more thoroughly discredited, and it should be obvious to everyone that further tests by the United States Geological Survey of this so-called ‘witching’ for water, oil, or other minerals would be a misuse of public funds.”

As late as 1977, in the publication Water Dowsing, the Feds would write: “Despite almost unanimous condemnation by geologists and technicians, the practice of water dowsing has spread throughout America. It has been speculated that thousands of dowsers are active in the United States; many are members of the American Society of Dowsers, Inc.”

But a brief walk through Internet will demonstrate that dowsing is as strong as ever, and just as controversial now as it was in 1891.

From the desk of Steve Willis, Central Library Services Program Manager of the Washington State Library:

The reel grabbed at random this week contained The Big Bend Empire, the first newspaper established in Waterville, Washington. The issue for May 13, 1920 included this intriguing article:

 EPHRATA TO TRY OUT RAINMAKER

 “The people around the Grant county seat want rain, and in fact they are willing to try any old scheme to get it, even to employing a professional rainmaker.”

 “The Ephrata Commercial Club has entered into negotiations with Chas. M. Hatfield of Los Angeles, who claims to have had success in rainmaking in other sections.”

“The fact that the commercial club of Ephrata became interested in Mr. Hatfield’s proposition made it possible to guarantee $6,000 to Mr. Hatfield. Under the contract with the Commercial club he is to receive for first inch nothing; for second inch $3,000; third, $3,000 additional with a time limit of June 10. We understand that Mr. Hatfield is now on the ground and busy with his experiments.”

Charles Mallory Hatfield was already a famous figure throughout the West by 1920. The dapper 45 year-old sewing machine salesman had a strong resume, he claimed, of creating conditions which would result in rain for the parched corners of the world. His method included mixing a concoction of 23 chemicals (to this day the ingredients remain a secret) and setting this stew in vats atop 20-ft. high towers near bodies of water. Hatfield’s place in the history of “pluviculture” earned him an entire chapter in Clark C. Spence’s The Rainmakers (1980). One editor is quoted in this work on the odoriferous impact of Hatfield’s towers, writing they smelled like “a limberger cheese factory has broken loose … These gases smell so bad that it rains in self defense.” Electricity was also used in the process.

The rainmaker had set up his operation at the east side of Moses Lake and became an instant regional media sensation. He erected a tower constructed of 4 x 4s about 16 ft. square and over 20 ft. high, with vats containing his 23 top secret ingredients.

Sure enough, the area was rained on, but less than an inch. Weathermen pointed out that the distribution of the wet stuff was too vast to give any Hatfield any credit. They said the rainmaker took a long chance and won. But it was still far short of what the inventor promised. The Wenatchee World seemed to take a special interest in covering this story. After Hatfield’s June 10 deadline passed without reaching the desired goal, legendary World publisher Rufus Woods paid a visit to Moses Lake to conduct an interview.
Some of the rainmaker’s observations made during the interview concerning the Ephrata-Moses Lake area included:

“The conditions in this country are the hardest to make a showing in of any place I have been. When I get my forces at work, so often the wind comes up and blows them all away.”

“I have operated from Dawson to Mexico and Texas but this is the dryest atmosphere I have ever had to deal with.”

“It is harder to produce one inch here than it is five in California. I gave these people a better contract than I should have had I known the conditions in this locality.”

Hatfield also made a political prediction: “It is only a matter of time till the government will come to me … I know all these weather men poke fun at this. But they always tell what can’t be done when I am starting. It’s the same old hash, they go for me at the start. But results are what count. I have never failed to produce the record rainfall in every place I have operated.”

But fail he did at Moses Lake, and he quietly dismantled his tower, collected no fee, and set out for the next customer. His pluvicultural career was over by the 1930s. He died in 1958.

The U.S. government apparently never used his services. In fact the U.S. Weather Bureau made a point of highlighting Hatfield’s failures. During the Dust Bowl years Hatfield supporters could not convince the government to employ his methods.

But Hatfield did live long enough to see rain-making develop into a high-tech science both in cloud seeding and in warfare. If you look up the subject heading “Rain-making” in the WSL catalog, you will find many reports in state and federal publications.

The Big Bend Empire, which started in 1888, is an ancestor of the current Douglas County Empire Press. The entire run is available on microfilm, yes even via interlibrary loan, through the Washington State Library.