[Illustration: The house on the left was called the Mansion House,
where emigrants wintered.
The house in the center, the Blacksmith Shop. The house in the distance
was the mill. The house to the right was the Whitman's home.]
A SURVIVOR'S RECOLLECTIONS
of the
WHITMAN MASSACRE
by
MATILDA J. SAGER DELANEY
In the spring of 1844 we started to make the journey across the plains
with ox teams. I was born in 1839, October 16th, near St. Joseph, Mo.,
which was a very small town on the extreme frontier, right on the
Missouri River, with just a few houses. My father's name was Henry
Sager. He moved from Virginia to Ohio, then to Indiana and from there
to Missouri. My mother's name was Naomi Carney-Sager. In the month of
April, 1844, my father got the Oregon fever and we started West for the
Oregon Territory. Our teams were oxen and for the start we went to
Independence, the rendezvous where the companies were made up to come
across the plains. There were six children then--one was born on the
journey, making seven in all.
The men of the company organized in a military manner, having their
captain and other officers, for they were going through the Indian
country and guards had to be put out for the protection of the
travellers and to herd the stock. The immigration of '43 was piloted
through by Dr. Whitman and ours was the second immigration across the
mountains. The road was only a trail and was all Indian territory at
that time, from the Missouri River to the Rocky Mountains. We had to
ferry streams, sometimes with canoes fastened together and the wagons
put on them; and the Indians rowed us across the rivers in some places.
The mountains were steep and sometimes we had to unyoke our cattle and
drive them down, letting the wagons down by ropes. The Captain of our
company was named William Shaw. There were vast herds of buffalo on the
plains and wandering bands of Indians. We had to guard the cattle at
night by taking turns. After we started across the plains we traveled
slowly; and one day in getting out of the wagon my oldest sister caught
her dress and her leg was broken by the wheel running over it. There
was no doctor in our company, but there was a German doctor by the name
of Dagan in the following company and he and my father fixed up the leg
and from that time on the old doctor stayed with us and helped. My
father was taken sick with the mountain fever and he finally died and
was buried on the banks of the Green River in Wyoming. His last request
was that Captain Shaw take charge of us and see us safe through to the
Whitman station. He thought that was as far as we could go that winter.
Twenty-six days later my mother died. She made the same request of
Captain Shaw and called us around her and told my brothers to always
stay with us and keep us together--meaning the girls of the family. Dr.
Dagan came on and helped to care for us with the boys' help. When my
mother died, my injured sister could walk only with the help of a
crutch. Mother was wrapped in a blanket and buried by the side of the
road. So the Captain and his wife looked after us and the other
immigrants showed their concern for the orphans by taking an interest
in us. A kind woman, Mrs. Eads, took the tiny baby and the big-hearted
travelers shared their last piece of bread with us. We finally arrived
at Dr. Whitman's station on the 17th day of October, 1844, seven months
from the Missouri River to the Whitman station. It was a long time!
Mrs. Whitman wanted to keep the girls, but she did not care for the
boys. Dr. Dagan went on the Willamette valley and left us there. Doctor
Whitman finally concluded he would keep the whole seven of us and took
us in charge. We lived there three years. I might say something of the
home incidents. The first thing Mrs. Whitman did was to cut our hair,
wash and scrub us, as we were very much in need of a cleaning up; then
she gave us something to eat and the bread seemed very dark to us--it
was unbolted flour. Mrs. Eads, who had been caring for my baby sister,
five months old, arrived three days later and then Mrs. Whitman took
the motherless little one in charge and she grew to be a fine baby.
Everything was so different from what we had been used to. The Whitmans
were New England people and we were taken into their home and they
began the routine of teaching and disciplining us in the old Puritan
way of raising and training children--very different to the way of the
plains. They hired a teacher and the immigrant families all had the
privilege of sending their children to this school during the winter
months. We had a church and Sunday school every Sabbath and we had our
family worship every morning and evening. We had certain things to do
at a certain hour. We never had anything but corn meal mush and milk
for our suppers and they were very particular in our being very regular
in all our habits of eating and sleeping.
When the spring came all the immigrants left and went on down to the
Willamette valley--the families who had wintered at the Mission leaving
the Sager children behind with the big-hearted Dr. and Mrs. Whitman. We
had our different kinds of work to do. We had to plant all the gardens
and raise vegetables for the immigrants who came in for supplies. We
got up early in the morning and we each had our piece of garden to weed
and tend. We had to wipe the dishes and mop the floors. We had verses
of scripture to learn each morning which we had to repeat at the family
worship. The seven verses would be our Sunday school lesson. We took
turns in giving our passages of Scripture. Everything was done in
routine. Sometimes we had to walk in the afternoon. Mrs. Whitman would
go with us; we would gather specimens and she would teach us botany.
During the summer when the Indians went to the buffalo grounds, we were
alone and we looked forward to the coming of the immigrants as one of
the great events of our life. Sometimes in the summer we went bathing
in the river. We would get the Indian girls to teach us to swim. Once,
Missionary and Mrs. Eels came down from Walker's Prairie, having with
them a girl by the name of Emma Hobson, and the latter went in bathing
with us children; she could not swim and the current swept her down the
river. She caught on an overhanging bush and an Indian took her out of
the river and put a blanket around her. Mrs. Eels gave the alarm. We
always called that "Emma's place." We cut water melons in two and
strung them together and would play for hours with those water melon
boats, having a great deal of enjoyment. Still, discipline was strict
and when we were told to do a thing, no matter what, we went.
Once a month we had a missionary meeting and we would sing missionary
hymns and the Whitmans would read extracts from missionary papers. They
took the Sandwich Island paper, the editor being the Rev. Damon. There
was a man at the Mission by the name of O'Kelley; he was an Irishman,
and he went with the Doctor who had to go out and give the Indians a
lesson in farming. They took all we girls in a wagon and this man
O'Kelley drove. Dr. Whitman showed the Indians how to cultivate their
little patches. There was not very much cultivation about anything,
however. O'Kelley was to cook the dinner. He had a big chunk of beef to
boil and he told us he would give us a big dinner--would give us some
"drap" dumplings; so we became very curious to know what "drap"
dumplings were. No doubt they were "drap" dumplings, because they went
to the bottom of the kettle and staid there until we fished them out.
We put in the day there. Returning, my brother took me on his horse and
some of the others rode in the wagon. We had riding mares and they had
colts. When we came to the Walla Walla River the colts began floating
down stream and we had an awful time, but I hung on. I had on an old
sunbonnet, but I lost it. We finally got safely home.
The summer of '46 the Doctor went down into the Willamette valley and
while he was down there my sister and I drove the cows off in the
morning to pasture and while we were roaming along we looked for
different kinds of herbs that the Indians eat; we got hold of something
and started to eat it. I told sister it was poison, but she said if the
Indians could eat it, it was all right. I ate some of it, became very
ill, but managed to get home, falling just outside the door. They
carried me in and found I had been eating wild parsnip and was very
sick. Life was dispaired of and Mrs. Whitman sent a messenger to the
Willamette valley to bring the Doctor home. He came on horseback as
fast as he could, finding me somewhat better. I was able to go around
the house, feebly. Everyone was eager to see the Doctor, but he hardly
looked to the right or left, coming quickly to me, took me up in his
arms and then went out and gave them all a greeting. He seemed to be so
anxious about me. I always remember that.
Once in a while we would have a picnic. Mrs. Whitman would fix up some
food and we would go picnicking in the woods and do different things to
employ our time. It was a lonesome place away back there, shut in the
hills.
In the spring of '46 we hitched up the wagon and thought we would go
with Mrs. Spalding and one of the Walker boys on a trip. We went where
the city of Walla Walla now stands. There were just four lone cabins
there; they had large fireplaces and big stick chimneys. We only took
provisions for the day. We turned the oxen out to graze and when we were
ready to go home they could not be found. My brother went to look for
them, but being unable to find them, we had to stay there all night. We
had a few blankets, for we always took some with us even on a short
trip. When it came time to go to bed we had our prayers. Mrs. Whitman
had taught us to memorize Scripture and the children took turns in
repeating the verses, "Let not your hearts be troubled." We had songs
and prayers and then laid down and went to sleep. The next day we found
a large fish in the creek and we had some of it for dinner. My brother
came and took us home and we called what is now known as Walla Walla,
the "Log City."
Some eight years ago I was in the city of Walla Walla and standing in
the door of a drug store, looked down the main street. As I looked down
the street where the creek makes a turn and where there are many bushes
of alder and willow, I saw what I saw in '46. There were some cabins
down in there and I said to the proprietor, a friend of mine, "It seems
to me it looks familiar."
"Well," he said, "you are right. It is supposed they were put there for
trapping and quarters by the Hudson's Bay men, but it is not certain."
In '46 all this Northwest territory was jointly occupied by English and
Americans and it was not settled. Dr. Whitman and Mr. Spalding with
their wives were the first homeseekers to cross the Rockies and it was
just a string of Hudson's Bay posts all the way. Aside from the four
missionary stations there were no other American settlements, save in
the Willamette valley. Vancouver, Washington, was a Hudson's Bay post
then.
We used to go to the Indian lodges sometimes. Doctor would talk to them
about the Bible and on a few occasions we were invited to a feast where
they ate with big horn spoons. Once a year the Indians went to the
buffalo hunting grounds and came back with jerked or dried meat which
we enjoyed very much. They also gathered huckleberries in the Blue
Mountains and we bought and dried large quantities of berries for our
own use. The Doctor had quite large fields of corn and the crows were
very troublesome; so we children had to go up and down the rows ringing
bells to scare them away. That was one of the things that kept us busy.
He had a large family and the immigrants came there for supplies. He
had to make use of a primitive custom in saving his crops; the grain
was harvested by sickles and tramped out by the horses and winnowed. He
had a mill out of which came the unbolted flour; we never had white
flour. There were some sheep and some beef cattle. Dr. Whitman always
sent the immigrants on to the Willamette valley as fast as he could;
but many were obliged to remain at the Mission on account of their oxen
having given out and he had to feed from fifty to seventy-five persons
during the winter months. One of the jobs that I disliked in the fall
was when he pulled up the white beans and every child was given a tin
cup and told to pick up these beans with their hands. Every bean had to
be saved.
We also had hogs. We raised a few, but never ate the pork, reserving
that for the immigrants. The Doctor furnished them with meat, flour and
vegetables through the winter and what work there was to be done they
helped with, though there was little to be done at that season of the
year; looking after the stock that was turned out and getting up a
little firewood was about all that they could do for the Doctor.
I can never forget the Sunday services and the Sunday school held in
the Whitman home. The first time I ever heard the song "Come Thou Fount
of Every Blessing"; it was sung by an old Baptist believer at the
Whitman house.
In the fall of '45 a family named Johnson came, who had a young
daughter eighteen or nineteen years of age and Mrs. Whitman hired her
to help with the family work; she also studied and the Doctor and his
wife taught her all they could. The Doctor also treated her mother, who
was paralyzed. This woman's husband would carry his wife in his arms
to the evening meetings, place her in a chair and then all would join
in "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing." The daughter, Miss Johnson,
instead of going into the valley with her family went to Lapwai and
worked for Mrs. Spalding, and was there at the time of the Massacre.
Mrs. Whitman used to go to Fort Walla Walla to make little visits.
Sometimes she took one child and sometimes another and once she took
me. It was a great treat to be allowed to go so far as Fort Walla
Walla, right on the Columbia River. When the boats came in sight of the
Fort, they were saluted by the firing of a cannon. I was frightened. I
had never before heard a cannon and I held on to Mrs. Whitman. She told
me to have no fear for they were only firing to salute the boats.
Once they sent me to the river for water and I became badly frightened.
I raced to the house and tried to tell how this queer animal acted and
how I felt; they thought it was some wild animal and my brother went
down with his gun, to find it was only a huge toad. Mrs. Whitman taught
us the love of flowers. We each had a flower garden, which we had to
weed and care for. She had my brothers take a tin case and gather
flowers as they would ride over the country and on their return would
press them. She taught us a great deal about things of that kind and
instilled in us a love of the beautiful. That kept our minds busy and
cultivated a feeling of reverence for Nature.
An artist named Kane was sent out by the English government. He took
pictures of the Mission. We children were cleaning up the yard and
varying labor by trying to balance the rake on our fingers. Mrs.
Whitman reproved us, saying she did not want that in the picture. It
was customary to ask individuals what church denomination they belonged
to and one day we discovered a man sitting outside the kitchen door;
sister Elizabeth asked him about his church. He said he was a
Methodist. She came in and told us, "There's a Methodist out there." As
we had never seen a Methodist, we looked at him in wonder; but soon
found he was not different from other men, and making up our minds he
was not dangerous, went and talked with him.
One year Mrs. Whitman took a trip to visit the Eels and Walker Mission,
taking my sister with her that time. She tried to take us on these
little trips to break the monotony and let us see something besides our
home life. We didn't have any shoes in those days--we went barefooted.
In the winter we had moccasins, but they were not much protection.
Shoes were not to be had in that part of the world. Our dresses for
winter were made of what was called "baize-cloth," purchased from the
Hudson's Bay Company. For summer, our dresses were made of a material
much resembling the hickory shirting so much used at that time. We did
not have a very big assortment of clothing; and we wore sunbonnets.
Wash-day was a great day; it meant a very early rising, though the boys
did most of the washing. When it came ironing day, all the youngsters
had to iron. Mrs. Whitman taught us according to our years, to do all
kinds of housework. We used to hire the Indians to dig our potatoes.
They dug them with camas sticks. They were good at stealing the best of
them, and good at stealing other people's water melons.
I can see in memory that there was a great deal of wild rye grass on
the surrounding plains. Waillatpu means "rye grass." Droves of Indian
horses would come through there. The grass was so tall I could just see
their manes and tails. The land is now under cultivation. The wolves
were very plentiful and one winter--'45-6--they became so poor and
starved they would come right up to the door hunting for food. The
Walla Walla River froze over, so that holes had to be cut in the ice
for the sheep to obtain water. Some of the sheep fell in. One day we
came down from the school for our dinner and in the kitchen the Doctor
had five sheep, warming them up. He had rescued them from the water,
but Mrs. Whitman was very indignant that he had turned the kitchen into
a sheep pen.
In November of 1847 many immigrants had gathered at the Mission,
intending to winter there. Measles had broken out among them and many
of the Indians had also become victims of this disease and the Doctor
was very busy attending them all. On the 27th of the month, Mr.
Spalding, who had come to the Whitman mission on business, went with
Dr. Whitman to visit the sick at Umatilla and to remain over night. The
Doctor was very worried because there were so many sick at his Mission,
having ten of his own family down and Mrs. Whitman much alarmed about
the children. Some of them were very low--especially my sister Louise
and Helen Marr Meek. Leaving Mr. Spalding at Umatilla, the Doctor
started for home, meeting Frank Sager on the way, who had been sent by
Mrs. Whitman to ask him to return at once because of the critical
condition of some of the family. After reaching home, he told the boys
to go to bed and he would sit up and look after the sick. So all went
upstairs to bed and to sleep, little dreaming of the march of events
that would blot out splendidly useful lives on the morrow and leave the
girls of the Sager family again without protectors.