_The Home-coming. The Beginning of Missionary Life. Clarissa,
"the Little White Cayuse Queen." Her Death. Sketches of Daily
Events._
After a somewhat tedious journey up the river for two hundred and
fifty miles, against the current and strong winds, Mrs. Whitman and
her escort reached the mission station December 10th, and alighted
from her horse at the cabin door after dark, while the wolves from
the farther banks of the Walla Walla united in a vigorous howl,
either of protest or of welcome. My girl readers may imagine that the
surroundings were not such as would call out any enthusiasm in a
young wife, entering her first home. And yet there is a beautiful
lesson of contentment, thankfulness, and love shown in the words of
this earnest little Christian woman, surrounded by savage life. She
writes in her diary:
"We reached our new home December 10th, found a house reared, and
the lean-to inclosed, a good chimney and fireplace, and the floor
laid, but no windows or doors, except blankets. My heart truly
leaped for joy as I alighted from my horse, entered, and seated
myself before a pleasant fire, for it was night and the air
chilly."
Again, December 26th, she writes (you will observe the date, one day
after the world's greatest anniversary):
"Where are we now, and who are we, that we should be so blessed
of the Lord? I can scarcely realize that we are thus comfortably
fixed and keeping house, so soon after our marriage, when I
consider what was before us."
Think of it, girls! no chairs except those rudely made with skins
stretched across them. Table made of four posts, covered with boards
sawed by hand; stools made of logs sawed of proper length; pegs along
the walls upon which to hang the clothing, nails being too expensive
a luxury to use. Beds were bunks fastened to the walls, and filled
with dried grass and leaves, and yet the young bride, accustomed to
the luxuries of civilization, set about building a home around which
always cluster life's comforts and joys. Every page of her diary
speaks her thankfulness for unnumbered blessings, and not a
discordant note, or a complaint, or a regret in all the pages. If I
were to stop to moralize, I should mark the love that only comes
where gold glitters, as the demoralizing agency of our day in this
Christian land. Young people desire too often to start in life rich,
even when their honored parents toiled for years for life comforts.
This desire for wealth is to-day so universal as to mark it the chief
aim of life. To start rich and be happy have lured a multitude to
misery. The little story I relate, however, tells its own moral in
its simple facts, and needs few words to impress its beautiful
lessons.
Mrs. Whitman thus describes the great farm and its surroundings. I
have many times wandered over the old place, and cannot better
describe it than to insert a note from her diary:
"It is a lovely situation. We are on a level peninsula formed by
the two branches of the Walla Walla River. Our house stands on
the southeast shore of the main river. To run a fence across,
from river to river, will inclose three hundred acres of good
land, and all directly under the eye. Just east of the house
rises a range of low hills, covered with bunch grass almost as
rich as oats, for the stock. The Indians have named the place
'Waiilatpui,' the place of the rye grass."
Upon one of the highest of those hills in the East, which Mrs.
Whitman refers to, the pioneers of Oregon, Washington, and Idaho
recently erected a stately marble monument to Whitman, and at its
base is "the great grave" containing the remains of Dr. and Mrs.
Whitman, and twelve others who perished in the massacre, which will
be referred to more particularly in another chapter.
Dr. Whitman regarded it his first duty to plan to live in comfort,
and set his Indians a good example. He toiled day and night in making
his arrangements to plant and sow in the early spring months. The
Indians flocked about the mission in great numbers, curious to see
the active, earnest work of the man, and wondering at his
accomplishments. Mrs. Whitman soon organized classes of Indian
children, and entered with enthusiasm upon the work to which she had
dedicated her life. Indian children are bright, docile, and
quick-witted, and she soon had them under control, and saw rapid
progress, considering the fact that each had to learn the language of
the other at the start. The Cayuse were very anxious for their
children to learn all the secrets of "great medicine" and often sat
around the yard and grounds in groups to take mental note of events.
Whitman tried hard, by example and otherwise, to persuade the Indians
to lend a helping hand at work; now and then they would join him in
some heavy lifting which one man could not do, but they did not
believe that Indian men were made to work, that "work was only for
squaws."
What Whitman accomplished may be best seen by a short extract from a
book written by T. J. Farnham, who visited the mission in 1839, three
years later. He writes:
"I found two hundred and fifty acres inclosed and two hundred
acres under good cultivation. I found from forty to fifty Indian
children in the school, and Mrs. Whitman an indefatigable
instructor. One new building was in course of construction, and
a small grist mill in running order. It appeared to me quite
remarkable that the Doctor could have accomplished so much since
1836, and act as physician to the Indians, and also to the
distant mission stations at Clearwater and Spokane. He could not
have done so, and kept the mission work to its high standard,
only by the tactful and unceasing work of Mrs. Whitman."
The Rev. Dr. Jonathan Edwards, writing of the mission, which he
visited in 1842, says:
"I found the Indians had taken a practical lesson from the
Doctor, and were each cultivating for themselves from one-fourth
to four acres of ground, and they had seventy head of cattle and
a few sheep."
The great crops of wheat, barley, potatoes, melons, and vegetables so
easily raised in the rich soil were a revelation to the Indians, and
taught them just the practical lessons the Doctor so much desired.
His theory was, that little could be done in a religious way with the
Indians until he could induce them to build homes, and plant and sow
and reap, and adopt the methods of civilized people. Many had been
induced to build houses, and much of the unnecessary nomadic life had
been abandoned. Mrs. Whitman retained her wonderful voice and sang
and won the hearts of the savages, long before she knew enough of the
language to make the sentiment of her songs impressive lessons. From
the outset she was regarded as their friend, and they embraced every
opportunity, in their crude way, to show their appreciation. They
often brought her presents of venison and wild fowl, which was an
agreeable change of diet from the horse meat they were compelled to
use for over three years. Their stock of cattle and sheep and hogs
was too small to be used for food.
Mrs. Whitman says in her diary, in 1838: "To supply our men and many
visitors we have this year bought of the Indians and eaten ten wild
horses." Those young Cayuse horses that roamed over the rich pastures
and nearly as wild as the deer, are not such bad food, as the author
can testify. They are not to be compared with the old broken-down
horses sometimes used for food by civilized people. Mrs. Whitman, in
her diary, seldom enters a complaint against her Indian wards. She
treated them as friends; nothing was kept under lock and key, and she
declares nothing was ever stolen. But they liked to roam all over the
house and were curious to see everything. After the home had been
enlarged, as it had been each year, and bedrooms were added, she had
a difficult task in teaching the Indian men that it was not proper
for them to open the door or enter a lady's bedroom. They seemed to
have difficulty in understanding that it was "a sacred place," and
appeared hurt and aggrieved, lest that in some way they had lost
favor with their good friend.
_A Notable Event_
Perhaps I should have noted it long before this, for it was a
distinct event to these two people, so far separated from kindred and
civilized friends, when a little girl baby came to cheer their rude
home in the wilderness, seemed a gracious gift direct from paradise.
To the Indians she was a wonder and delight. Great burly savages with
their squaws came from miles and miles away to look upon the "little
white squaw baby." They seemed to think it a great privilege and
honor to be permitted to touch the soft, white cheek with a finger.
To the sixty and seventy Indian children in the school, the baby was
more interesting than their lessons, and the older and more careful
Indian girls who were permitted to nurse and care for the little one
during school hours were envied by all others.
In the pure health-giving air, with her vigorous constitution, the
baby grew strong and vigorous. She was a precocious child physically
and mentally, and before she was a year and a half old, she spoke
both the English and Indian language. Her constant association with
Indian children made her even more familiar with their language than
the English. She had inherited a wonderful musical voice from her
mother, and sang as the birds sing, because they cannot help
singing.
[Illustration: MT. TACOMA FROM LONGMIRE SPRINGS. (The home of
Nekahni.)]
Later on, she incorporated Cayuse words in her songs which delighted
the Indians, and they thought her almost more than human. Every day
they would lounge around the yard and watch every movement and listen
to her songs. The old chief was one of her great admirers; he called
her "the little white Cayuse Queen," and openly gave notice that he
would make her the heir to all his wealth, for he was rich, as the
Indians understood riches. We have had but the meager facts, those
written by Mrs. Whitman to her family and the notes in her diary, to
guide us in telling the story of this fleeting beautiful young life.
_An Impending Calamity_
But an affliction was impending, even before the child reached two
and a half years of age. It was Sunday morning in June, and none
brighter or more glorious than June days in Oregon, and the little
girl had been permitted by her father as usual to select the hymn for
the morning service. The hymn was one unusual for the child of her
tender years, but you must remember that at that far-away date there
were few hymns adapted to children, and she selected one she had
memorized. It was the olden-time favorite
"_Rock of Ages_
"While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eyelids close in death,
When I rise to worlds unknown,
And behold Thee on Thy throne;
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
May I hide myself in Thee."
This was the morning family service; in the afternoon there was a
large attendance of the Indians. The Doctor led the service, and for
the opening hymn selected the same one sung in the morning, and the
little girl's sweet childish voice chimed in beautifully with the
rich soprano of her mother. Mrs. Whitman writes, "This was the last
we ever heard her sing." I never hear "Rock of Ages," but it calls to
mind little Clarissa, and her wilderness home, where the angelic
messengers hovered even then, to bear the dear child, in the words of
her song, "to worlds unknown."
After the service Mrs. Whitman was busy in the preparation of the
evening meal for her large family; the little child was here and
there, busy as usual, and had not been missed until five minutes
before the alarm was given, and a hurried search made in every
direction, with calls that were unanswered. They had a path which led
to the Walla Walla River, sixty or more yards away, and a platform
built out, so that pure water could be dipped up for family use.
There upon the platform they found one of her little red tin cups,
which was a treasure she greatly prized. The Indian who found it at
once reached the conclusion that the little girl had fallen in while
attempting to dip the water. He at once dived in, and allowing the
rapid current to drift his body as it would the child, he soon seized
the clothing and bore the little body, yet warm, to its father's
arms. Every effort was made to recall the life which had departed,
but in vain. Possibly my young readers may inquire why was this
permitted? Why was the dear child taken, and such sorrow left in the
home? Such thoughts and utterances have occurred thousands of times
during the centuries. The pure, the good, and the true depart, and
the vicious often live on. We indeed "look through a glass darkly" on
this earth, but we may know more for the reasons of life when we
reach the life beyond.
Certainly such events are trials of Christian faith in multitudes of
Christian homes! Did they come too near worshiping the child? Was it
likely the great, strong man who was to be called to a great work
would have been turned aside from it had the child lived? Could the
"Silent Man" have left that tender charge in the wilderness to answer
a call to duty? Who can answer? Dr. Whitman himself writes nothing of
the event. But one glancing at the notes of Mrs. Whitman's diary,
will see revealed the profoundly Christian character of the mother.
She writes, "Lord, it is right, it is right! She is not mine, but
Thine! She was only lent to me to comfort me for a little season, and
now, dear Saviour, Thou hast the best right to her. Thy will, not
mine, be done!" One seldom reads a better sermon upon Christian faith
than that.
The effect of the death of "the little white Cayuse Queen" upon the
Indians was marked. They had but little of the faith of the mother's
heart to buoy them up. They could not understand it. The Indians were
superstitious, and they conceived it to be a judgment, sent by the
Great Spirit, upon Dr. Whitman, and that he was displeased with
"Great White Medicine." From that event the older Indians appear to
have lost most of their interest in the mission and its work, and the
task of the missionaries never after ran as smoothly as before. The
best of them still attended the religious services, and the school
flourished. The medicine men of the Cayuse had long been jealous of
Whitman's power, and they helped the grumblers and mischief-makers to
lessen the Doctor's power and influence with the tribe.
The occupants of the mission were very busy people. The fields and
gardens produced bountiful crops, but it required it all to feed the
many at the mission, and the hungry transient guests. It was upon the
direct route of immigrants--many sick and impoverished, and they all
met with hospitable welcome. Mrs. Whitman writes, in her diary, "In
some respects we are in a trying situation, being missionaries and
not traders." Dr. Spalding, who was more intimately associated with
Whitman and his work than any other man, years after Whitman's death,
made this record.
"Immigrants by the hundreds, and later on, and near the close of
his life, by the thousands, reached his mission, weary, worn,
hungry, sick, and often destitute, but he cared for them all.
Seven small children of one family, by the death of parents, were
left upon the hands of the Doctor and his wife, one a babe four
months old. They adopted them with four others, furnishing food
and clothing without pay. Frequently the Doctor would give away
his entire food supply, and send to me for grain to get him
through the winter."
The Cayuse Indians were scarcely a fair test of Dr. Whitman's
theories of Indian elevation and civilization. They were smart,
shrewd traders, and not fur-hunters, and a low state of morals
existed. While many of the older ones accepted the Doctor's advice of
living in peace with surrounding tribes and treating them honestly,
yet many of the younger Indians rebelled against his strict rules,
and went on forays that he severely condemned. In one case a distant
tribe owed a debt which they had failed to pay, and the Cayuse
braves made a foray and stole their horses to pay the debt. The
Doctor made a vigorous protest, and the young bloods had to take back
their booty, but it estranged many of the influential, younger
Indians, who rebelled against such strict moral methods. Such
conditions grew with the years. They were near the fort, and came
oftener under the influence of the Canadian fur-traders and
hangers-on of the Hudson Bay Company, and as we shall see later on,
were easily led to believe the stories started at the time of the
great ride, that "Whitman's designs were to kill off all the Indians,
and take possession of their lands." But we will not enter into any
discussion of the direct causes which led up to the great disaster of
1847, many of them not well authenticated.
The Nez Perces presided over by Dr. Spalding, whose mission was
intimately associated with that of Whitman, and one in which he took
a deep interest, was a much more tractable tribe, and have ever since
proved their training. They are perhaps to-day as fine specimens of
civilized Indians as can be found in the United States. From the year
1836, when Dr. and Mrs. Spalding took charge of them, they have never
raised an arm or showed enmity against white people. One little
faction led by a minor chief, at one time joined a war party, which,
however, was not countenanced by the tribe. At the time of the great
massacre, when Dr. and Mrs. Spalding were also expecting death, the
Nez Perces rallied around them, and five hundred of their bravest
warriors escorted them to civilization and safety, braving the scorn
and enmity of hostile tribes. To-day they are Christian people, have
five flourishing Presbyterian churches, good schools, and productive
farms. Every fourth of July all the churches unite in "a yearly
meeting," raise American flags, hear speeches and sermons, and
patriotic songs. In the fine two-volume history and biography of his
father, General Stevens, who was the first governor of Washington
Territory, Captain Hazard Stevens pays a noble tribute to the work of
the early missionaries and the Nez Perces. He specifies as many as
three occasions when all the other tribes were on the war-path, the
Nez Perces stood loyal, and saved the lives of the governor and his
party. True, we cannot, in view of the facts, have much to say of the
Cayuse, but they were not all bad. It was related by those who
visited the Cayuse in their reservation, to which they were banished
after the massacre, that "fourteen years after, old Istikus, every
Sunday morning went to the door of his tent and rang the old sacred
mission bell, and invited all to come to prayers." How little or how
much of Christianity was planted in Indian souls by the pioneer
missionaries of Oregon eternity alone will reveal.
But we venture the assertion that the American Board and Christian
people, in view of the good we know of the Indians such as I have
recited, and the overwhelmingly invaluable services of Dr. Whitman to
Christianity and the nation, no wiser expenditure was ever made by
that great organization.
There is not a blight nor a blur upon the lives of the messengers of
salvation who answered the Indian's call for "The White Man's Book of
Heaven." They sacrificed ease and comfort and home and friends that
they might brighten Indian life and point the way to the life to
come. The strange thing about it all is, that the great multitude
even of intelligent, Christian people have either never heard of or
forgot to do them honor.
We must now turn for a brief retrospect of pioneer history relating
to early Oregon. The author begs his young readers not to shun the
chapter. It is important, for it is the key that unlocks the brave
story to follow, of "Whitman's ride." It is good history to know, for
it shows the stepping-stones of the nation's greatest progress.