1842-7. Doubtless the reader remembers the disquiet felt and expressed
by the Indians in the upper country in the year 1842. For the time they
had been quieted by presents, by the advice of the Hudson's Bay Company,
and by the Agent's promise that in good time the United States would
send them blankets, guns, ammunition, food farming implements, and
teachers to show them how to live like the whites.
In the meantime, five years having passed, these promises had not been
kept. Five times a large number of whites, with their children, their
cattle, and wagons, had passed through their country, and gone down into
the Wallamet Valley to settle. Now they had learned that the United
States claimed the Wallamet valley; yet they had never heard that the
Indians of that country had received any pay for it.
They had accepted the religion of the whites believing it would do them
good; but now they were doubtful. Had they not accepted laws from the
United States agent, and had not their people been punished for acts
which their ancestors and themselves had always before committed at
will? None of these innovations seemed to do them any good: they were
disappointed. But the whites, or Bostons, (meaning the Americans) were
coming more and more every year, so that by-and-by there would be all
Bostons and no Indians.
Once they had trusted in the words of the Americans; but now they knew
how worthless were their promises. The Americans had done them much
harm. Years before had not one of the missionaries suffered several of
their people, and the son of one of their chiefs, to be slain in his
company, yet himself escaped? Had not the son of another chief, who had
gone to California to buy cattle, been killed by a party of Americans,
for no fault of his own? Their chief's son was killed, the cattle robbed
from his party, after having been paid for; and his friends obliged to
return poor and in grief.
To be sure, Dr. White had given them some drafts to be used in obtaining
cattle from the immigration, as a compensation for their losses in
California; but they could not make them available; and those who wanted
cattle had to go down to the Wallamet for them. In short, could the
Indians have thought of an American epithet to apply to Americans, it
would have been that expressive word _humbug_. What they felt and what
they thought, was, that they had been cheated. They feared greater
frauds in the future, and they were secretly resolved not to submit to
them.
So far as regarded the missionaries, Dr. Whitman and his associates,
they were divided; yet as so many looked on the Doctor as an agent in
promoting the settlement of the country with whites, it was thought best
to drive him from the country, together with all the missionaries.
Several years before Dr. Whitman had known that the Indians were
displeased with his settlement among them. They had told him of it: they
had treated him with violence; they had attempted to outrage his wife;
had burned his property; and had more recently several times warned him
to leave their country, or they should kill him.
Not that all were angry at him alike, or that any were personally very
ill-disposed towards him. Everything that a man could do to instruct and
elevate these savage people, he had done, to the best of his ability,
together with his wife and assistants. But he had not been able, or
perhaps had not attempted, to conceal the fact, that he looked upon the
country as belonging to his people, rather than to the natives, and it
was this fact which was at the bottom of their "bad hearts" toward the
Doctor. So often had warnings been given which were disregarded by Dr.
Whitman, that his friends, both at Vancouver and in the settlements, had
long felt great uneasiness, and often besought him to remove to the
Wallamet valley.
But although Dr. Whitman sometimes was half persuaded to give up the
mission upon the representations of others, he could not quite bring
himself to do so. So far as the good conduct of the Indians was
concerned, they had never behaved better than for the last two years.
There had been less violence, less open outrage, than formerly; and
their civilization seemed to be progressing; while some few were
apparently hopeful converts. Yet there was ever a whisper in the
air--"Dr. Whitman must die."
The mission at Lapwai was peculiarly successful. Mrs. Spalding, more
than any other of the missionaries, had been able to adapt herself to
the Indian character, and to gain their confidence. Besides, the Nez
Perces were a better nation than the Cayuses;--more easily controlled by
a good counsel; and it seemed like doing a wrong to abandon the work so
long as any good was likely to result from it. There were other reasons
too, why the missions could not be abandoned in haste, one of which was
the difficulty of disposing of the property. This might have been done
perhaps, to the Catholics, who were establishing missions throughout the
upper country; but Dr. Whitman would never have been so false to his own
doctrines, as to leave the field of his labors to the Romish Church.
Yet the division of sentiment among the Indians with regard to religion,
since the Catholic missionaries had come among them, increased the
danger of a revolt: for in the Indian country neither two rival trading
companies, nor two rival religions can long prosper side by side. The
savage cannot understand the origin of so many religions. He either
repudiates all, or he takes that which addresses itself to his
understanding through the senses. In the latter respect, the forms of
Catholicism, as adapted to the savage understanding, made that religion
a dangerous rival to intellectual and idealistic Presbyterianism. But
the more dangerous the rival, the greater the firmness with which Dr.
Whitman would cling to his duty.
There were so many causes at work to produce a revolution among the
Indians, that it would be unfair to name any one as _the_ cause. The
last and immediate provocation was a season of severe sickness among
them. The disease was measles, and was brought in the train of the
immigration.
This fact alone was enough to provoke the worst passions of the savage.
The immigration in itself was a sufficient offense; the introduction
through them of a pestilence, a still weightier one. It did not signify
that Dr. Whitman had exerted himself night and day to give them relief.
Their peculiar notions about a medicine-man made it the Doctor's duty to
cure the sick; or made it the duty of the relatives of the dead and
dying to avenge their deaths.
Yet in spite of all and every provocation, perhaps the fatal tragedy
might have been postponed, had it not been for the evil influence of
one Jo Lewis, a half-breed, who had accompanied the emigration from the
vicinity of Fort Hall. This Jo Lewis, with a large party of emigrants,
had stopped to winter at the mission, much against Dr. Whitman's wishes;
for he feared not having food enough for so many persons. Finding that
he could not prevent them, he took some of the men into his employ, and
among others the stranger half-breed.
This man was much about the house, and affected to relate to the Indians
conversations which he heard between Dr. and Mrs. Whitman, and Mr.
Spalding, who with his little daughter, was visiting at Waiilatpu. These
conversations related to poisoning the Indians, in order to get them all
out of the way, so that the white men could enjoy their country
unmolested. Yet this devil incarnate did not convince his hearers at
once of the truth of his statements; and it was resolved in the tribe to
make a test of Dr. Whitman's medicine. Three persons were selected to
experiment upon; two of them already sick, and the third quite well.
Whether it was that the medicine was administered in too large
quantities, or whether an unhappy chance so ordered it, all those three
persons died. Surely it is not singular that in the savage mind this
circumstance should have been deemed decisive. It was then that the
decree went forth that not only the Doctor and Mrs. Whitman, but all the
Americans at the mission must die.
On the 22d of November, Mr. Spalding arrived at Waiilatpu, from his
mission, one hundred and twenty miles distant, with his daughter, a
child of ten years, bringing with him also several horse-loads of grain,
to help feed the emigrants wintering there. He found the Indians
suffering very much, dying one, two, three, and sometimes five in a day.
Several of the emigrant families, also, were sick with measles and the
dysentery, which followed the disease. A child of one of them died the
day following Mr. Spalding's arrival.
Dr. Whitman's family consisted of himself and wife, a young man named
Rodgers, who was employed as a teacher, and also studying for the
ministry, two young people, a brother and sister, named Bulee, seven
orphaned children of one family, whose parents had died on the road to
Oregon in a previous year, named Sager, Helen Mar, the daughter of Joe
Meek, another little half-breed girl, daughter of Bridger the
fur-trader, a half-breed Spanish boy whom the Doctor had brought up from
infancy, and two sons of a Mr. Manson, of the Hudson's Bay Company.
Besides these, there were half-a-dozen other families at the mission,
and at the saw-mill, twenty miles distant, five families more--in all,
forty-six persons at Waiilatpu, and fifteen at the mill, who were among
those who suffered by the attack. But there were also about the mission,
three others, Jo Lewis, Nicholas Finlay, and Joseph Stanfield, who
probably knew what was about to take place, and may, therefore be
reckoned as among the conspirators.
While Mr. Spalding was at Waiilatpu, a message came from two Walla-Walla
chiefs, living on the Umatilla River, to Dr. Whitman, desiring him to
visit the sick in their villages, and the two friends set out together
to attend to the call, on the evening of the 27th of November. Says Mr.
Spalding, referring to that time: "The night was dark, and the wind and
rain beat furiously upon us. But our interview was sweet. We little
thought it was to be our last. With feelings of the deepest emotion we
called to mind the fact, that eleven years before, we crossed this trail
before arriving at Walla-Walla, the end of our seven months' journey
from New York. We called to mind the high hopes and thrilling interests
which had been awakened during the year that followed--of our successful
labors and the constant devotedness of the Indians to improvement. True,
we remembered the months of deep solicitude we had, occasioned by the
increasing menacing demands of the Indians for pay for their wood, their
water, their air, their lands. But much of this had passed away, and the
Cayuses were in a far more encouraging condition than ever before." Mr.
Spalding further relates that himself and Dr. Whitman also conversed on
the danger which threatened them from the Catholic influence. "We felt,"
he says, "that the present sickness afforded them a favorable
opportunity to excite the Indians to drive us from the country, and all
the movements about us seemed to indicate that this would soon be
attempted, if not executed." Such was the suspicion in the minds of the
Protestants. Let us hope that it was not so well founded as they
believed.
The two friends arrived late at the lodge of _Stickas_, a chief, and
laid down before a blazing fire to dry their drenched clothing. In the
morning a good breakfast was prepared for them, consisting of beef,
vegetables, and bread--all of which showed the improvement of the
Indians in the art of living. The day, being Sunday, was observed with
as much decorum as in a white man's house. After breakfast, Dr. Whitman
crossed the river to visit the chiefs who had sent for him, namely,
_Tan-i-tan_, _Five Crows_, and _Yam-ha-wa-lis_, returning about four
o'clock in the afternoon, saying he had taken tea with the Catholic
bishop and two priests, at their house, which belonged to _Tan-i-tan_,
and that they had promised to visit him in a short time. He then
departed for the mission, feeling uneasy about the sick ones at home.
Mr. Spalding remained with the intention of visiting the sick and
offering consolation to the dying. But he soon discovered that there was
a weighty and uncomfortable secret on the mind of his entertainer,
_Stickas_. After much questioning, _Stickas_ admitted that the thought
which troubled him was that the Americans had been "decreed against" by
his people; more he could not be induced to reveal. Anxious, yet not
seriously alarmed,--for these warnings had been given before many
times,--he retired to his couch of skins, on the evening of the 29th,
being Monday--not to sleep, however; for on either side of him an Indian
woman sat down to chant the death-song--that frightful lament which
announces danger and death. On being questioned they would reveal
nothing.
On the following morning, Mr. Spalding could no longer remain in
uncertainty, but set out for Waiilatpu. As he mounted his horse to
depart, an Indian woman placed her hand on the neck of his horse to
arrest him, and pretending to be arranging his head-gear, said in a low
voice to the rider, "Beware of the Cayuses at the mission." Now more
than ever disturbed by this intimation that it was the mission which was
threatened, he hurried forward, fearing for his daughter and his
friends. He proceeded without meeting any one until within sight of the
lovely Walla-Walla valley, almost in sight of the mission itself, when
suddenly, at a wooded spot where the trail passes through a little
hollow, he beheld two horsemen advancing, whom he watched with a
fluttering heart, longing for, and yet dreading, the news which the very
air seemed whispering.
The two horsemen proved to be the Catholic Vicar General, Brouillet,
who, with a party of priests and nuns had arrived in the country only a
few months previous, and his half-breed interpreter, both of whom were
known to Mr. Spalding. They each drew rein as they approached, Mr.
Spalding immediately inquiring "what news?"
"There are very many sick at the Whitman station," answered Brouillet,
with evident embarrassment.
"How are Doctor and Mrs. Whitman?" asked Spalding anxiously.
"The Doctor is ill--is dead," added the priest reluctantly.
"And Mrs. Whitman?" gasped Spalding.
"Is dead also. The Indians have killed them."
"My daughter?" murmured the agonized questioner.
"Is safe, with the other prisoners," answered Brouillet.
"And then," says Spalding in speaking of that moment of infinite horror,
when in his imagination a picture of the massacre, of the anguish of his
child, the suffering of the prisoners, of the probable destruction of
his own family and mission, and his surely impending fate, all rose up
before him--"I felt the world all blotted out at once, and sat on my
horse as rigid as a stone, not knowing or feeling anything."
While this conversation had been going on the half-breed interpreter had
kept a sinister watch over the communication, and his actions had so
suspicious a look that the priest ordered him to ride on ahead. When he
had obeyed, Brouillet gave some rapid instructions to Spalding; not to
go near the mission, where he could do no good, but would be certainly
murdered; but to fly, to hide himself until the excitement was over. The
men at the mission were probably all killed; the women and children
would be spared; nothing could be done at present but to try to save his
own life, which the Indians were resolved to take.
The conversation was hurried, for there was no time to lose. Spalding
gave his pack-horse to Brouillet, to avoid being encumbered by it; and
taking some provisions which the priest offered, struck off into the
woods there to hide until dark. Nearly a week from this night he arrived
at the Lapwai mission, starved, torn, with bleeding feet as well as
broken heart. Obliged to secrete himself by day, his horse had escaped
from him, leaving him to perform his night journeys on foot over the
sharp rocks and prickly cactus plants, until not only his shoes had been
worn out, but his feet had become cruelly lacerated. The constant fear
which had preyed upon his heart of finding his family murdered, had
produced fearful havoc in the life-forces; and although Mr. Spalding had
the happiness of finding that the Nez Perces had been true to Mrs.
Spalding, defending her from destruction, yet so great had been the
first shock, and so long continued the strain, that his nervous system
remained a wreck ever afterward.
[Illustration: MOUNT HOOD FROM THE DALLES.]