Same subject continud.
The Utilla is about 20 miles from Waiilatpu, prairie country, as is the
whole of the middle district of Oregon, with the exception of one or two
mountains, at intervals of one and two hundred miles.
The night was dark, and the rain and wind beat furiously upon us. But
our interview was sweet. We little thought it was to be our last. With
feelings of deepest emotion, we calld to mind, that eleven years before,
we crossd this trail the day before we reachd Walla-walla, the end of
our seven months’ journey from New York. We little thought the journey
of life was so soon to close. We calld to mind the high hopes and
thrilling interests which had been awakend during the year that
followd—of our successful labors, and the constant devotedness of the
Indians to improvement. True, we rememberd the months of deep solicitude
we had had, occasiond by the increasing, menacing demands of the Indians
for pay for their water, their wood, their air, their lands. But much of
this had passd away, and the Cayuse, as to efforts for improvement, and
menacing the station, were in a far more encouraging condition than ever
before.
But the principal topic of conversation during that dark night was the
danger that threatend from another source. The little cloud, as a man’s
hand, which had been hanging for some years in the distant horizon, now
assumd a darker and more alarming appearance. The Papal Bishop and his
priests seemd determind to crowd themselves upon us, and without
consultation.
We felt that the present sickness among the Indians afforded the
Catholics a favorable opportunity to excite the Indians to drive us from
the country. And all the movements seemd to indicate that this would
soon be attempted if not executed. Besides, we are informd by their own
writers, that the oath of every priest requires him to oppose, to
persecute and to ruinate every heretic, and every other power, but the
Papal power, to the utmost of his ability. But my worthy brother
replied, “in God we put our trust,” and repeated “if I am to fall by
Roman Catholic influence, I believe my death will do as much good to
Oregon as my life can.”
We arrivd late at the lodge of Stickas, thoroughly wet. In coming down
the hill to the lodge, my horse fell and rolld partly over me, which
causd severe pains in the head, and one leg, through the night and the
next day. We spread down our blankets by a good fire in the lodge, and
lay till morning.
28—Sabbath. Stackas, after family worship, prepard for us a good
breakfast of potatoes, squash, fresh beef, and wheatbread of his wife’s
make. My departed brother observd how gratifying to notice the
advancement of this people—their present abundant means for comfortable
living, compard with their wretchedness and starvation, when we arrivd
among them ten years ago.
I was particularly struck with the stillness and the order that prevaild
in the lodge, and through the village, during the Sabbath.
The Dr. was immediately sent for, and after breakfast, he went over the
river, to visit the sick, in the villages of Tawitwai, Pa-hat-ko-ko,
(Five crows, Yumhawalis, (Growling bear.) At the hour appointed, the
Indians were collected, and I explaind to them the way of salvation.
About 4 o’clock, the Dr. returnd much fatigued, but said the sickness in
his family, made it his duty to return home—said he had taken tea with
the Bishop and two of his priests, who had arrivd from Walla-walla, the
night before, and were occupying a house belonging to Tawitwai, (young
chief,) built for him some years ago, by Mr. Pambran—said he had invited
the Bishop and his priests to visit him, which they promisd to do in a
short time. The doctor was much pleasd with the idea—hoping that we
might come to some understanding and bring it before the people, to say
who should be their missionaries.—I consented to remain, visit the sick
and dying, and preach to the people a few days, then take my daughter
and return home. Mr. Rogers expected to return home with us, to give his
undivided attention to the native language. My dear brother bade me good
evening, and left about sundown, although he greatly needed sleep and
rest. My eyes saw him for the last time, as he passd at good speed over
the hill, in the distance—to fall with his dear companion, at their post
of duty.
What follows, I have receivd from the children, widows and others, who
escapd the bloody massacre. I have taken every precaution, and made
extensive inquiries, and believe the statement can be relied on.
Our devoted friend reachd home at 12 at night, and after examining the
sick, took some rest. In the morning, he was at his work, administering
to the sick, in the families of the whites and the Indians. That night
or morning, an Indian died. The doctor as usual, had a coffin and
winding sheet prepard, and assisted the friends in burying. He observd,
on returning to the house, that but two or three attended at the grave.
As the doctor returnd from the grave, great numbers of Indians were
observd gathering about the station, but an ox had been killd, and was
being dressd, and was supposd to be the cause, as the Indians on such
occasions, always collect in great numbers, and often from a distance.
Joseph Stanfield had brought in the ox from the plains,—which had been
shot by Francis. Messrs. Kimble, Camfield, and Hoffman, were dressing
the beef between the two houses. Mr. Saunders was in the school which he
had just calld in for the afternoon. Mr. Marsh was grinding at the mill.
Mr. Gillan was upon his tutor’s bench, in the large adobie house, calld
the mansion, a short distance from the dwelling of the doctor,—Mr. Hull
was at work, laying a floor to a room adjoining the doctor’s house. Mr.
Rogers was in the garden. Mr. Osborn and family were in the Indian room
adjoining the doctors seting room. Young Mr. Sails was sick in the
family of Mr. Camfield, who were living in the blacksmith’s shop. Young
Mr. Bewley was sick in the doctor’s house. John Sager was sitting in the
kitchen, but partially recoverd from the measles.—The doctor and his
lady, with their three sick children and a sick child of Mr. Osborn, and
Mrs. Osborn, were sitting in the dining or sitting room. Several Indians
came to the middle door, and requested the Doctor to come into the
kitchen. He did so, shutting the door after him, and taking the Bible in
which he was reading, and which I believe is now in the hands of one who
escapd, and having upon it the marks of blood.—Edward sat down by his
side, and was earnestly soliciting medicines, while Tamahas, an Indian
calld the murderer, came behind him, and drawing a pipe-tomahawk from
under his blanket, struck the doctor in the back of the head. The first
blow only stunnd him, and his head fell upon his breast, but a second,
which followd instantly upon the top of his head, brought him senseless
but not lifeless upon the floor. John, rising up, attempted to draw a
pistol. The Indians before him, rushd to the door, crying out, “he will
shoot us,” but those behind, seizd his arm, and he was thrown upon the
floor. At the same instant, he receivd several shots from every
direction, while a number with tomahawks and knives, rushd upon him, and
cut him terribly to pieces. His throat was cut, and a woollen tippet
stuck into it. Still he lingerd. In the struggle, two Indians were
wounded, one in the foot, and one in the hand, by each other.
As soon as the tumult commencd, Mrs. Whitman, overhearing, and judging
the cause, commencd in agony, to stamp upon the floor, and wring her
hands crying out, “oh the Indians! the Indians! that Jo has done it
all!”
Mrs. Osborn stepd into her room with her child, and in a short time, Mr.
Osborn and family were secreted under the floor.
Without coming into the other rooms, the Indians left the kitchen,
doubtless to aid in the dreadful work without. At this moment, Mrs.
Hayse ran in from the Mansion, and with her assistance, Mrs. Whitman
drew her dying husband into the dining room, and placing his mangled,
bleeding head upon a pillow, and did all her frightful situation would
allow, to stay the blood, and revive her husband, but to no purpose—the
dreadful work was done. To every question that was put to him, he would
simply reply “no,” in a low whisper.
Probably after he receivd the first blow, he was not sensible of his
situation. About this time, Mr. Kimble, from the beef, ran into the room
through the kitchen, and rushd up stairs with a broken arm hanging by
his side. He was followd immediately by Mr. Rogers, who in addition to a
broken arm, was tomahawkd in the side of the head, and coverd with
blood. He assisted Mrs. Whitman, in making fast all the doors, and in
removing the sick children up stairs. Jo Lewis was seen several times
approaching one of the windows with a gun, but when Mrs. W. would ask,
“Jo, what do you want?” he would flee away.
By this time, the scene without had reachd the summit of its fury. The
screams of the fleeing, fainting women and children—the groans and
struggles of the failing, dying victims—the roar of the musketry—the
clash of war clubs,—the whistling of balls—the clouds of burning
powder,—the furious riding and rushing of naked, painted Indians,—the
unearthly yells of infuriated savages, self-maddend, like tigers, by the
smell of human blood,—all, all, require other language, and other ears
than those of civilized beings! My blood chills as I write. But I am
amazd at the self possession of dear Mrs. Whitman. In the midst of the
terrible scene, she leaves not the room of her pale, gasping husband.
Two Americans were overpowerd by crowds of savages, and hewd down by her
window. It attractted her attention but for a moment—but this afforded
an opportunity for a young Indian, who had always been particularly
favord by Mrs. Whitman, to level his gun. His victim receivd the ball
through the window in her right breast, and fell, uttering a single
groan. In a few moments, she revivd, rose and went to the settee, kneeld
in prayer. She was heard to pray for her dear children, now to be left
orphans a second time, and that her aged father and mother might be
sustaind under the terrible shock, which the news of her fate must
occasion.
Soon after this, faint and bleeding, she was helpd into the chamber,
where were now collected Mrs. Whitman, Mrs. Kimble, Mr. Rogers, all
wounded and fainting with the loss of blood—Mr. Hayse, Mrs. Bewley,
Catharine Sager, 13 years of age, and the three sick children.
They had scarcely gaind this temporary retreat, when the crash of the
windows and doors, the deafening war whoop took the last hope from their
fainting bosoms.
The under rooms were plunderd of all their property, the furniture dashd
to pieces, and cast out. Jo Lewis was seen among the foremost to dash in
the windows and bring out the goods. Here a deed was perpetrated, that
exhibits the deep treachery and malignity of the Indian character—
Telaukaikt came into the room, where the doctor lay yet breathing, and
with his hatchet, deliberately chopd his face terribly to pieces, but
still left him alive.
Telaukaikt was a principal chief, had ever receivd markd favors from the
doctor. A store house was then about being completed for him by the
doctor. For several years he had exhibited a good christian character,
and was on probation for admission into the church. But such was the
return for untold favors, and such the end of his religion. A few days
before, it will be recollected, he had given a piece of land to the
priests, to commence a mission station within 4 miles of the Dr.’s house
and told the Bishop they were going to get rid of the Doctor—according
to Capt. McKay’s statement. The same hatchet or some other, cut several
deep gashes in the face of John, while he was yet living.
About this time, Jo Lewis went up into the school room and sought out
the children, who were hid in the upper loft, and brought them into the
kitchen to be shot.
[Illustration: Decorative glyph]