The rest of the family who were able came to the table and we had
breakfast; there was to be an Indian funeral later and the Doctor was
to conduct it; so we separated and went to our various employments.
Many of our family were sick. Those able to attend school were my
brother Frank and myself, the two sons of Mr. Manson, a Hudson's Bay
man, who were boarding with the Whitmans for the winter in order to
attend the Mission school; Eliza Spalding, daughter of the Rev. H. H.
Spalding, having arrived with her father a few days before; David
Malin, a half breed. 'Liza was to remain for the winter. There were
eight members of our family not well enough to attend school that
morning, and most of the children of the immigrant families wintering
there were unable to attend. I can recall only a few of these children
besides those of our own family that were at school that morning, it
being Monday and the first day of the term. School had not been in
session before that, on account of so much sickness.
At nine o'clock we went to the schoolroom. Mr. Sanders was the teacher.
Joe Stansfield went out that morning to drive in a beef animal from the
range to be killed and brother Frank was the one to shoot it down. That
made him late for school and when he came in school had been in session
perhaps half an hour. When the hour for the forenoon recess had come,
the girls had theirs first and we went over to the Doctor's kitchen. My
brother John, who was just recovering from a severe case of measles,
was sitting there with a skein of brown twine around his knees, winding
it into a ball for there were brooms to be made soon. We all got a
drink of water. John asked me to bring him some and after he had
drank, said, "Won't you hold the twine for me?"
I replied, "'Tis only recess, but I will hold it at noon." The bell
called us then, so we returned to the schoolroom and the boys were
given their recess. The beef was being dressed in the meadow grass,
northeast and not far from the school house. Three or four white men
were at work and a lot of Indians were gathered around with their
blankets closely wrapped about them and it is supposed that they had
their guns and tomahawks under them. The boys went to where the beef
was being dressed; in a short time we heard guns and the boys came
running in and said the Indians were killing the men at the beef. Mr.
Sanders opened the door and we looked out. We saw Mr. Rogers run from
the river to the Mission house and Mr. Kimball running with his sleeves
rolled up and his arms all bloody; he ran around the end of the house
to the east door and Mrs. Whitman let him in. Mr. Hoffman was fighting
with an Indian, swinging an ax; he was at the beef. Mr. Sanders ran
down the steps, probably thinking of his family, but was seized by two
Indians; he broke away from them and started for the immigrant house
where his family were. One Indian on horseback and two on foot ran
after him and overtook him just as he reached the fence to cross it;
they killed him and cut his head off and the next day I saw him lying
there with his head severed. Mrs. Whitman stood at a door which had a
sash window, looking at the attack on Mr. Sanders. Mr. Rogers came to
the door and she let him in; his arm was broken at the wrist.
Mary Ann Bridger was the only eye-witness of the attack on Dr. Whitman
and John Sager, which had occurred just before the attack on the men at
the beef. She ran out of the kitchen door and around the house and got
into the room where Mrs. Whitman and the rest of the family were and
cried, "Oh, the Indians are killing father and John!" It seems that
after attending the Indian funeral, the Doctor returned to his home,
where, soon after, some Indians came into the kitchen and as Dr.
Whitman started to go from the living room to the kitchen he said to
his wife, "Lock the door after me," which she did. In the course of
conversation regarding the condition of the sick Indian, one of those
in the kitchen slipped up behind the good man, drew a tomahawk from
under his blanket and sank it into the Doctor's skull. Others attacked
John Sager. Their dastardly deed accomplished, they left the room, not
paying any attention to the fact that the little half-breed girl had
run out; then they joined those around the beef and the general attack
immediately began. The Doctor was not instantly killed. Mrs. Hays, Mrs.
Hall and Mrs. Sanders came running to the Mission house for protection
and Mrs. Whitman and Mrs. Hall unbolted the door, went into the
kitchen and brought the wounded man into the living room and laid him
on the floor, putting a pillow under his head. Mrs. Whitman got a towel
and some ashes from the stove and tried to staunch the blood. He
lingered but a short time, for the blow of his treacherous adversary
had been sure and deadly. Mrs. Whitman went to the sash door and looked
out to see what had become of those around the beef. She stood there
watching, when Frank Iskalome, a full blooded Indian, shot her in the
left breast, through the glass. Sister Elizabeth was standing beside
her and heard her exclaim, "I am wounded; hold me tight." The women
took hold of her and placed her in a chair; then she began to pray that
"God would save her children that soon were to be orphaned and that her
dear mother would be given strength to bear the news of her death."
Finally Mr. Rogers suggested that they all go up stairs for safety. The
only weapon of defense they had was an old, broken gun; but when the
Indians would start to come up, as they did after a time, some one of
them would point it over the stairs, and the Indians were afraid to
face it. Miss Bewley and her brother had staid behind their family, to
winter at the Mission. She was sick and the Doctor thought he could
treat and help her; she would not consent to remain unless her brother
staid also; he was lying in bed in a little room off the kitchen, very
sick with measles, during the attack upon the Doctor and John, but the
Indians paid no attention to him at that time. Miss Bewley was supposed
to assist with the housework and to teach the girls some fancy
work--knitting, tatting, etc.--the few kinds of such work as was done
in that day. The Doctor had been asked to go up to see her that
morning, as she was reported to be in a very excited state. He found
her weeping bitterly, but she would give him no reason as to why she
cried so hard. He came down and asked Mrs. Whitman to go up and see if
she could not comfort her. This was early Monday morning. Another
incident that fixes the day and time as the Monday forenoon recess is
this. One of the fixed rules of the Doctor's was the hour of the day we
took our baths, both summer and winter--eleven o'clock in the morning;
and as we did not get our usual baths on the Saturday previous on
account of the sickness of so many of the children, Mrs. Whitman was
bathing a part of them this Monday morning. Some were out of the tub
and dressed; one was in the tub and some were dressing. Elizabeth said
that mother came and told them, in a calm tone of voice, to dress
quickly and then she helped the one who was in the tub to get out and
assisted her to dress. This is the hour that is fixed in my mind beyond
a doubt, as the hour of the massacre, regardless of the statement of
others that it was two or three o'clock in the afternoon.
Now to return to the schoolroom. My brother Frank came in with the
other boys and shut the door, saying, "We must hide." So we climbed to
a loft that was above a part of the schoolroom and was sometimes used
as the teacher's bedroom. It did not extend to the ceiling, but was so
arranged that it left a hall on the south side of the building where
there were two windows giving light to the main room. There was a
fireplace in the schoolroom. In order to get up to the loft, we had to
set a table under the opening and pile books on it; one of the boys got
up first and then we girls stepped on the books and the boy above
managed to pull us up, until finally all were up and hidden among the
rubbish that had accumulated there. Frank told us all to ask God to
save us and I can see him now, after all the years that have passed, as
he kneeled and prayed for God to spare us. It seemed as though we had
been there a long time, when the door was opened and Joe Lewis and
several Indians came into the schoolroom and called "Frank." As they
got no answer, he called the Manson boys and they answered. Lewis then
said for all to come down and the two Mansons, about 16 and 17 years of
age, and David Malin, 6 or 7 years, went among the first; then the
girls. I was afraid to try to jump to the floor, but Lewis said, "Put
your feet over the edge and let go and I will catch you." He failed to
do this and I struck the floor hard, hurting my head. When he helped me
up I was dazed and when he asked me "Where is Frank?" I replied, "I
don't know." Frank remained quiet and it evidently did not occur to any
one to search for him in the loft.
They sent the Hudson Bay boys and the half-breed Indian boy in charge
of an Indian to Finlay's lodge and from there they were sent the next
day to Fort Walla Walla and were safe there. Later, after the rescue of
the survivors, the two Manson boys went down the river from the fort
with us; but they would not let the boy David go, claiming him as a
Canadian. His father was a Spaniard and his mother a squaw. The last
look I had of him was when we rowed away from Fort Walla Walla, leaving
him standing on the bank of the river crying as though his heart were
breaking.