USA > Washington > History of Washington; the rise and progress of an American state, Vol. II > Part 22
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longing came into her bereaved heart, and she said, turning to her husband: "I would like to have the baby most of all." That settled the fate of the Sager children. The baby was sent for, and so long as the doctor and Mrs. Whit- man lived they were part of the mission household.
The Indians in the neighborhood of the mission watched the coming of the emigrant trains, year by year, with increas- ing suspicion and uneasiness. They noticed that the num- ber of white people who came was steadily increasing, and while only a few of them remained in their country, they knew that they were taking possession of the country in which other Indians had long lived undisturbed, and sus- pected that they would soon be taking theirs. They grew restless and more and more excited, and asked many ques- tions that the missionaries were not able to answer to their satisfaction. Dr. White, the subagent, had indiscreetly talked to them about what the government would do in the way of treating for their lands and paying for them with money, and blankets, and many things they much wished to have. There is some reason to believe also that Dr. Parker had said something that aroused in their minds expectations of this kind. Somehow they had got the im- pression that the government, about which they had only a very indefinite idea, was to send them an abundance of good things which were to be given to them, and not sold to them upon such hard terms as the Hudson's Bay Company exacted. The missionaries were already taking their lands and were not paying for them. They were growing rich, as it seemed to them, in horses, cattle, grain and in all manner of things, that labor could produce from the ground, while they themselves remained poor. Would all the white men who were coming, and were to come hereafter, do the same ?
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Archibald McKinlay, the chief trader, who had succeeded Pambrum at Fort Walla Walla, and who was ever Whit- man's firm friend and adviser, noticed their growing dis- content, and frequently warned him of his danger. Dr. McLoughlin also watched the situation with anxiety. He invited the doctor to visit Vancouver, and endeavored to persuade him to abandon his station, for a time at least, until it should be safer for both him and those about him to resume their work. He knew somebody had been telling the Cayuses, and other tribes east of the Columbia, that the expectations held out to them would never be realized, and feared perhaps it might be some of his own Iroquois, but Whitman knew who this mischief maker was, and was able to relieve the chief factor's mind on that account.
There was a Shawnee, or Delaware, who lived apart from the other Indians, with a Nez Perce wife, in the neighbor- hood of the Blue Mountains. How it had happened that he had strayed so far from the home of his fathers nobody knew. He had been a student for a time at Dartmouth College, and was a man of considerable intelligence and native ability, but a sullen and irreconcilable hater of white people. It was he who was telling the Cayuses and Nez Perces and other tribes, that they would some day be forced to leave their country and would never be paid for their lands. That was the way his own tribe had been treated. They once had land in abundance; now they had none. They were no longer even a tribe, but were wandering hopeless and starving among those who had robbed them. The Nez Perces, Cayuses and Walla Wallas would be robbed and dispersed in a similar way unless they did something to pro- tect themselves. The best thing to do was to kill the mis- sionaries. Whitman had seen this Indian and talked with
ARCHIBALD MCKINLAY.
This Hudson's Bay Company trader was stationed ·for a number of years at Fort Langley, and later at Fort Walla Walla, where he became the firm friend of Dr. Whitman, with whom he often counseled in regard to his treatment of the Indians. He married a daughter of Peter Skeen Ogden, and after his retire- ment from the service of the company resided at Oregon City.
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THE RISE AND PROGRESS YAJINAM CIASIHRSA
bit Yasque EllerHH hid succeeded
baant mit adt omsosd on bredy SusWs Steger Whit- at belsengos natto od mody, daimisintid Wir Going dis- beiism 9H agsingl odt to Jagmtseit ein ot bifeater. Dr. is babiesi vasqingo saithe stadigHt mon thenety. He Vancouver, aNfl endulvored to dun his station, for a time at least, wir for both him and those about him to He knew somebody had been telling Member tribes east of the Columbia, that the TAMt'ont to them would never be realized, and might be some of his own Iroquois, but w cho this mischief maker was, and was able -
Mef factor's mind on that account.
Shawnee, or Delaware, who lived apart from Ins, with a Nez Perce wife, in the neighbor- Blue Mountain . How it had happened that so far from the home of his fathers nobody had been a student for a time at Dartmouth was a man of considerable intelligence and but a sullen and irreconcilable heter of white he who was telling the Causes and Nez tribes, that they would some day be forced try and would never be paid for their lands. y his own tribe had been treated. They w abundance; now they had none. They wen a tribe, but were wandering hopeless ww those who had robbed them. The and Walla Wallas would be robbed and digrullar way unless they did something to pro- The best thing to do was to kill the mis- sionanWI wow had seen this Indian and talked with
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OF AN AMERICAN STATE
him. He was surprised to find him so well educated, and had been much interested in his conversation. He hoped that he had convinced him of the honorableness and fairness of his own intentions, and seemed confident that he would have no further trouble from that source. But the chief factor, knowing the Indian character better, was not less distrustful. He was unable to convince the missionary that prudence at least demanded that he should take every precaution to protect himself and his family; that he could remove to the Dalles, which the Methodist missionaries were willing to leave, and that he could carry on the work in which he was so zealously engaged quite as efficiently and far more safely there than at Waiilatpu. Whit- man did not forget this excellent advice, but unhappily he did not act upon it, and the time soon came when it was too late to do so.
The winter of 1846-7 was the most severe that the Indians on the upper Columbia had ever experienced. The cold weather began early; heavy snows fell, covering the scant supply of sagebrush and driftwood on which the Indians depended to keep up their fires, covering the dry, sweet bunch grass on which their horses and cattle depended for their subsistence, and destroying the game which still fur- nished a large part of the native food supply. Horses and cattle were frozen to death by the hundreds, and many of the Indians died in their cheerless tepees. Even the people at the mission suffered severely, and while they did not refuse food to the Indians in their neighborhood, they could not help all. The herds at the mission suffered much, but far less than those of the Indians, which, being wholly without protection, were in many cases almost anni- hilated.
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Following this calamity an event happened which should have alarmed the missionaries far more seriously than it did, yet strange to say they refused to regard it seriously. Some two years earlier a party of Indians had gone from the neighborhood of the missions to Sutter's fort in the Sacra- mento valley to buy cattle. With them had gone a son of Peo Peo Mox Mox, or Yellow Serpent, the principal chief of the Walla Wallas. He had been educated at the Metho- dist mission, where he had received the name of Elijah Hedding. He was a bright young man, and a great favorite among his tribesmen. At Fort Sutter he was shot by an American, wholly without provocation, the Indians said, and his party returned home without any cattle, and having lost many of their horses during the long journey.
When they reached home and told their story the whole Indian population became greatly excited, and plans of vari- ous kinds were laid for avenging young Elijah's death. Some were for raising a great band of two thousand warriors to go to California and exterminate the white people there. Others were for marching to the Willamette for a similar purpose. Still others proposed to kill the missionaries who were nearer at hand. Elijah had been killed by an American. He had been educated by Americans, and his American education had probably led him to his death. Let his mur- der be avenged upon any American and all Americans.
All this was quite in accord with the general Indian idea of retributive justice. The slayer first, if he could be con- veniently caught; if not his family, his tribe, or nation should pay the penalty. The missionaries well knew the conclu- sion to which their enraged neighbors would inevitably come. They had already had a practical illustration of what would happen, in case of the four Indians who had started east with
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Gray in the spring of 1837, and who had been killed by the Sioux. Their friends had valiantly threatened war on the distant Sioux at first, but had later convinced themselves that Whitman and Spalding were really the responsible parties, since their associate had enticed their friends to make this long and hopeless journey, in which they met their death, and they had from time to time, during the whole ten years that had since elapsed, demanded payment in some form both for their dead friends and their lost horses. The missionaries had made such defense of their own innocence as they could, but found none that the Indian mind could or would understand. At last they yielded so far as to pay for one of the horses,* and this concession greatly increased their danger in the present emergency.
The wrath of the Indians gradually subsided for the time being. Instead of taking some immediate action they sent one of their chiefs to the Willamette to consult with Sub Indian Agent White, and that worthy, with that singular faculty for doing the wrong thing, which he possessed, pro- posed an arrangement which postponed the difficulty but intensified it. In a long and voluble report to the Indian office in Washington he says that he promised to "write to the Governor of California, to Captain Sutter, and to our great chiefs respecting this matter," and also to establish an English manual training school for the benefit of their children.t
* Letter of Whitman to Dr. Green, Oct. 22, 1839. Copied by Mar- shall.
t "I likewise wrote them, that on condition they would defer going to California till the spring of 1847, and each chief assist me to the amount of two beaver skins, to get a good manual labor literary institution established for the English education of their sons and daughters,-a subject they feel the deepest interest in-I would use every measure to
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This promise White had no means of fulfilling and never did fulfill, and its effect upon the Indians was to create a new obligation which they expected the missionaries to pay. Whitman says of it: "He (White) went so far as to pro- mise it to the Indians in such a way as to commit this mission for its fulfillment, or to involve us in its failure."*
But the Indians did not long remain quiet, as White so credulously hoped they would. They organized a war party and dispatched it to Sutter's Fort, under command of Peo Peo Mox Mox. It was absent nearly eighteen months and met with nothing but disaster. Thirty warriors died of disease, of hunger or by accidents, and not one American was injured. The Indians had almost abandoned hope of the return of this party when, one day in July 1847, a messenger arrived with the story of its misfortunes. Paul Kane, a Canadian artist, who had been living for two years among the Indians in the United States and Canada, had just arrived at Fort Walla Walla when this messenger appeared, and accom- panied by William McBean, who had now succeeded Archibald Mckinlay in charge of the fort, went to the Indian camp, to observe how the Indians would receive the news he brought. The Indian messenger, who had arrived some time in advance of his party, was surrounded by the whole tribe, and standing by his still unbridled horse, told his mournful story, which was listened to with the intensest
get the unhappy affair adjusted; and, as a token of my regard for them would, from my private funds, give the chiefs five hundred dollars, to assist them in purchasing young cows in California. I likewise proferred, as they are so eager for it, to start the English school next fall, by giving them the services of Mr. Lee, my interpreter, for four months, commencing in November next." From White report to the Secretary of War dated April 4, 1845. Marshall MSS.
* Whitman to Dr. Greene, Oct. 26, 1845. Marshall MSS.
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interest. The recital occupied nearly three hours. Finally he began to give the names of those who had been lost, and each as it was pronounced was received with shrieks and howls, "the women loosening their hair and gesticulating in a most violent manner." When the recital ended mes- sengers were dispatched on horseback in every direction to spread the news among all the neighboring tribes.
McBean and Kane, both of whom well knew the Indian theory of vengeance, immediately became apprehensive for the safety of Whitman and his family. A horse was saddled and the artist set off for the mission at six o'clock in the evening, to warn them of their danger. He arrived about three hours later, and told the doctor what had happened. He also advised him to remove to the fort, for a while at least, but was not able to prevail upon him to do so. "He had lived so long among them and done so much for them," he said, "that he did not apprehend they would injure him."*
But Whitman had more to fear on this account than he supposed. The storm which had been so long gathering over the mission was about to burst forth, in all its savage fury.
The emigration in 1847 was larger than that of any pre- vious year, amounting to four thousand, according to some estimates, and even to five thousand according to others. The largest in any preceding year had been in 1845, when the number is supposed to have been three thousand. The breaking out of the Mexican war reduced the number in 1846 to one thousand three hundred and fifty. The Indians watched these large trains, all coming toward the west and none returning, with scowling faces. There seemed to be
* Wanderings of an Artist in North America, by Paul Kane, p. 281.
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no end to the number of these white people. They already seemed to be as numerous as the Indians, and yet they came in greater numbers than ever. None of them offered to pay for their lands. They took wood and water, as the mission- aries had been doing for years, and would pay nothing for them, though payment was often demanded. Worse than all they were bringing new diseases, which the Indian had never known before, and their children were dying. Among these new diseases was the measles, which, under the Indian treatment, was followed by a fearful mortality .* During the terrible winter of 1846-7 and the summer following, this disease was very prevalent among all the tribes east of the Columbia, and many died, particularly the children. Dr. Whitman, as usual, went everywhere among the sick and was unremitting in his attentions to them, although he well knew that every time a child died a new enemy would be created. Of course he could not save all. Many were al- ready in the throes of death when he first knew their need of his attentions. It was daily, almost hourly, becoming more dangerous, both for him and his wife and all about them, to remain in the country, and still he kept on, doing, as he thought, not only a doctor's but a missionary's duty, until the end came.
Among the emigrants who came in 1847 were several families, some members of which were so ill that they were obliged to stop for some time at the mission. Some of them
* The favorite Indian treatment for nearly all diseases was first to sweat the patient in a hot bath, and then plunge him into cold water. A sweat house was made by digging a shallow pit and then covering it with skins, or anything that would help to confine vapor. The bottom of the pit was covered with hot stones over which water was sprinkled, and the patient was then thrust into it, covered up and kept in it as long as he could endure the heat, or remain without suffocation, and when taken out was plunged in the nearest stream. Sometimes this
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OF AN AMERICAN STATE
intended to winter there. In November the mission family consisted of seventy-six people, a majority of whom were children.
Among the laborers were two half-breeds named Joe Stansfield and Joe Lewis. The latter was one of those rene- gade outcasts who were so troublesome to the emigrants, and who were at heart more savage than the Indians them- selves. Lewis had come to the station with one of the trains of that year, and his condition was so forlorn and pitiable that Dr. Whitman had given him employment, although disliking and distrusting him. This renegade soon began to repay his benefactor by poisoning the minds of the Indians against him. Strychnine had been used at Waiilatpu and some of the missions, for years past, to poison the wolves, and the Indians knew its deadly effect. They had lost some of their dogs by it. It appears also that the doctor had put a strong drug of some sort in some of his watermelons, and that the Indians who had been stealing them had been made sick in consequence. Lewis seized upon these circum- stances to make the Indians believe he was poisoning them. He claimed to have overheard the doctor and his wife talk- ing about poison and its use, and that it was to be used more freely, so that they might more quickly get possession of the Indians' lands, their horses and other property.
Both the doctor and Mrs. Whitman seem to have been aware of the mischief this renegade was making; at least they strongly suspected it. And yet they did not turn him out. It would probably have done no good to do so, since he would be quite able to make himself at home among the
process was repeated, if the patient could endure it. Nearly every Indian village in Oregon at one time was provided with one or more of these sweat pits or houses.
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Indians, as he did for a time after the massacre, and would be even more troublesome there than at the mission.
The doctor in no way remitted his attentions to the sick because of these libels, or because he saw that every time an Indian died under his treatment, a new cause of grievance was added to the already large number that filled their savage imaginations. He was helping many; those who died were few, and their cases were already desperate before his atten- tions had been asked for them. There were some who still believed in him, and he still believed in himself, and above all in an overruling Providence. He would not withhold his good offices, because the ignorant doubted, and the savage threatened.
On Saturday, the 27th of November, he rode twenty-five miles to visit the sick at Umatilla. Spalding had come over from Lapwai, on his way to visit that tribe, and had brought his ten-year-old daughter with him,* who was to remain with Mrs. Whitman for some time.
Both Whitman and Spalding appear to have been more concerned, at that time, about the presence of the Catholic missionaries in their vicinity than about the threatening conduct of the Indians. Priests had been visiting the neigh- borhood with some regularity since 1839, but had not re- mained there. Father A. M. A. Blanchet, brother of the archbishop, had now been made bishop of Walla Walla, and together with Father J. B. A. Brouillet, his vicar general, had arrived at Umatilla, and were arranging to begin stations at other places. Mr. Spalding had written several long letters to the general secretary during the past summer, filled with descriptions of the demoralization that prevailed at his own and the other stations. The Indians no longer
* She was the second white child born in Oregon.
HOME OF DR. WHITMAN.
Waiilatpu (pronounced Waielatpoo) the home of Dr. Whitman, was on the south bank of Walla Walla River, about six miles below the present city of Walla Walla. It was occupied by Dr. Whitman and his family for eleven years, and was finally the scene of the massacre on November 29, 1847.
. RISE AND PROGRESS
MVAMTIHW IO HO IMOH
to smort ert (oogtsleis W, bearonong) forthe massyeteligWd would slisW/ slisW to wnisd dude sdt no asw nsmtidW .Ta slIsW to vtro troesiq sat woled antiat xte fubalssong aid bas nemtil' Id vd beignon eswriting dos the sick
TABI leccous on Saw that
w treatment, a new cause of grievance July large number that filled their savage How helping many; those who died were al inu um was dready desperate before his atten- w ka Amen inked Ihr them. There were some who al Mand mo huevo, And he still believed in himself, and Mums all in an werruling Providence. He would not -hold Un gol offices, because the ignorant doubted, and the savage threatened.
On Saturday, the 27th of November, he rode twenty-five miles to visit the sick at Umatilla. Spalding had come over from Lapwai, on his way to visit that tribe, and had Wmuyle his ten-year-old daughter with him,* who was to Tymåde with Mr. Whitman for some time.
But Wingnan and Spalding appear to have been more sil ar that time, about the presence of the Catholic in their vicinity than about the threatening the Indians Priests had been vinning the neigh- is mine regularity since late, but had not re- Ar Father A. M. A Maohet, brother of the chp, had now been made bohop of Walla Walla, they wwwh Father J. B. A Brouillet, his vicar general, and a Umatilla, and word arranging to begin stations Mr. Spalding had written several long Iron w dw woeral secretary during the past summer, Ano end diprions of the demoralization that prevailed U dur rei and the other stations. The Indians no longer --- ch born in Oregon.
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OF AN AMERICAN STATE
attended school nor respected the church. They had broken the windows in all the principal buildings, destroyed his mill race and his irrigating ditches, thrown down his fences and sometimes mutilated his cattle. The services they had once attended with so much interest they now scoffed at, saying that they did them no good .* Whitman, Eells and Walker had also complained that their Indians were losing interest, and returning openly to their old habits of gambling and sorcery. Spalding had attributed all this to the influence of the priests. The others had disclosed no belief or suspi- cion of this kind, though Whitman had more than once expressed a fear that the Romish influence would undo all that they had done. So much had been said on this subject in their letters, that the "Missionary Herald" for July 1848, in an editorial introduction to Spalding's letter giving an account of the massacre, said: "While there is no reason to suppose that the Romanists have had any direct agency in the massacre of Mr. and Mrs. Whitman, it is at least possible that they have said or done that which has had an unforeseen and undesigned connection with this melancholy event."
Dr. Whitman remained at Umatilla until the afternoon of Sunday, the 28th. Father Brouillet says that the bishop and himself invited him to dine with them but he declined, because he was anxious to reach home as early as possible. As he was about leaving Sticcas (or Isticcas, as the name is sometimes given), an Indian who had long been devotedly attached to him, cautiously informed him of the terrible stories that Joe Lewis was circulating among the Indians. He did not believe them, himself, he said, but others did, and many were threatening to have vengeance for their lost
* Spalding's letters of February 3, April 2, and August 3, 1847, copied by Marshall from the files in the secretary's office in Boston.
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relatives, whom they now believed had been secretly poisoned.
For the first time Dr. Whitman seems to have been really alarmed. He mounted his horse and rode as rapidly as possible to the mission, arriving there about 10 o'clock. He found Mrs. Whitman watching by the bedside of little Helen Mar Meek, who was very sick, and they feared she would die, but soon after the doctor arrived she rallied, and seemed much better. The two Sager boys were watching with other sick people in the large hospital room, and after sending them to bed, Mr. and Mrs. Whitman sat down by the stove, and he told her the alarming story that Sticcas had related to him. Catherine Sager, who was one of the sick ones, heard them talking together very earnestly for some time, and finally Mrs. Whitman retired to her own room, the doctor saying he would watch until morning. He never slept again until he entered upon that long sleep that wakes no more in this world forever.
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