We Who Survived -14 - Trip to Sheridan - part 2

“I understand that it was your father who wrote to Mrs. Whitman's relatives, telling them about the massacre. Do you have a copy of that letter?” I asked Eliza.

“Yes, I do, and he had several copies made so they could be sent to the various church leaders. Would you like to see it?”

“Oh, that would be very interesting,” I said.

So Eliza went to her room and came back with the letter, and gave it to me to read. She allowed me to copy out as much of it as I thought I might be able to use in my book. I have not copied the
various descriptions of the massacre itself, except where it seemed appropriate.

Through the wonderful interposition of God in delivering me from the hand of the murderer, it has become my painful duty to apprise you of the death of your beloved daughter, Narcissa, and her worthy and appreciated husband, your honored son-in-law, Dr. Whitman, both my own entirely devoted, ever faithful and eminently useful associates in the work of Christ. They were inhumanly butchered by their own, up to the last moment, beloved Indians, for whom their warm Christian hearts had prayed for eleven years, and their unwearied hands had administered to their every want in sickness and in distress, and had bestowed unnumbered blessings; who claimed to be, and were considered, in a high state of civilization and Christianity. Some of them were members of our church; others candidates for admission; some of them adherents of the Catholic church - all praying Indians. They were, doubtless, urged on to the dreadful deed by foreign influences, which we have felt coming in upon us like a devastating flood for the last three or four years; and we have begged the authors, with tears in our eyes, to desist, not so much on account of our own lives and property, but for the sake of those coming, and the safety of those already in the country.
But the authors thought none would be injured by the hated missionaries-the devoted heretics, and the work of hell was urged on, and has ended, not only in the death of three missionaries, the ruin
of our mission, but in a bloody war with the settlements, which may end in the massacre of every family.

God alone can save us. I must refer you to the Herald for my views as to the direct and remote
causes which have conspired to bring about the terrible calamity. I cannot write all to every one, having a large family to care for; Mrs. Spalding is suffering from the dreadful exposure during the flight and since we have been this country-destitute of almost every thing, no dwelling place as yet,
food and raiment to be found, many, many afflicted friends to be informed, my own soul bleeding from many wounds; my dear sister, Narcissa, with whom I have grown up as a child of the same family, with whom I have labored so long and so intimately in the work of teaching the Indians, and my beloved Dr. Whitman, with whom I have for so many years knelt in praying, taking sweet counsel, have been murdered, and their bones scattered upon the plains - the labors and hopes of many years in an hour at an end, the house of the Lord to the amount of thousands of dollars, in the hands of the robbers, a once large and happy family reduced to a few helpless children, made
orphans a second time, to be separated and compelled to find homes among strangers; our fears for our dear brothers Walker and Eells of the most alarming character; our infant settlements involved in a bloody war with hostile Indians and on the brink of ruin-all, all, chill my blood and fetter my hands.

As soon as Mrs. Spalding heard of my probable death and the captivity of Eliza, she sent two Indians (Nez Percés) to effect her deliverance, if possible. The murderers refused to give her up until they knew whether I was alive, as I had escaped their hands, and whether the Americans would come up to avenge the death of their countrymen. Should the Americans show themselves, every woman and child should be butchered. She had given up her father as dead, but her mother was alive and up to this hour she hoped to reach her bosom, but now this hope went out and she began to pine. Besides, she was the only one left who understood the language, and was called up
at all hours of the night and kept out for hours in the cold and wet, with almost no clothing left by the hand of the robbers, to interpret for whites and Indians, till she was not able to stand upon her feet,
and they beset her lying upon the floor-bed she had none-till her voice failed from weakness.

I had reached home before the Indians who went for her returned, and shared with my wife the
anguish of seeing the Indians return without her child. Had she been dead, we could have given her
up; but to have a living child a captive in the hands of Indians whose hands were stained with the blood of our slain friends, and not able to deliver her, was the sharpest dagger that ever entered my
soul. Suffice to say, we found our daughter at Fort Walla Walla with the ransomed captives, too weak to stand, a mere skeleton, her mind as much injured as her health. Through the astonishing goodness of God she has regained her health and strength, and her mind has resumed its usual tone.

For some time previous to the massacre the measles, followed by the dysentery, had been raging in the country. The doctor's hands were more than full among the Indians; three and sometimes five died in a day. Dear sister Whitman seemed ready to sink under the immense weight of labor and care. But like an angel of mercy, she continued to administer with her ever-ready hand to the
wants of all. Late and early, night and day, she was by the bed of the sick, the dying, and the afflicted. During the week, I enjoyed several precious seasons with her. She was the same devoted servant of the Lord she was when we enjoyed like precious seasons in our beloved Prattsburg many years ago, ready to live or die for the name of the the Lord Jesus Christ.

She now went into the chamber with Mrs. Hayes, Miss Bewley, Catherine, and the sick children. They remained till near night. In the meantime the doors and windows were broken in and the Indians entered and commenced plundering, but they feared to go into the chamber. They called for sister Whitman and brother Rodgers to come down and promised they should not be hurt. This promise was often repeated, and they came down. Your dear Narcissa, faint with the loss of blood, was carried on a settee to the door by brother Rodgers and Miss Bewley. Every corner of the room was crowded with Indians having their guns ready to fire. The children had been brought down and huddled together to be shot. Eliza was one. Here they had stood for a long time surrounded by guns pointing at their breasts. She often hear the cry "Shall we shoot?" and her blood became cold, she says, and she fell upon the floor. But now the order was given, "Do not shoot the children," as the settee passed through the children over the bleeding, dying body of John. Fatal moment! The settee
advanced about its length from the door, when the guns were discharged from without and within, the powder actually burning the faces of the children. Brother Rodgers raised his hand and cried, "my
God," and fell upon his face, pierced with many balls. But he fell not alone. An equal number of deadly weapons were leveled at the settee and, oh! that this discharge had been deadly. But oh! Father of Mercy, so it seemed good in thy sight. She groaned, she lingered. The settee was rudely upset.-Oh, what have I done? Can the aged mother read and live? Think of Jesus in the hands of the cruel Jews. I thought to withhold the worse facts, but then they would go to you from other sources, and the uncertainty would be worse than the reality. Pardon me, if I have erred.

Yours in deep water of affliction,

H.H. Spalding.
 

As I was in this area anyway, I thought it would be interesting to drop in on the Manson family who I heard lived in the town of Champoeg, half way between Salem and Oregon City on the Willamette. I had sent a letter to that address, but haven't received a reply, so I am not exactly an invited guest. The two half breed boys were at the mission to attend school, but after the massacre, were taken to Fort Walla Walla so were not involved in the captivity, and I never met them, other than on the very first days when we arrived off the trail.

When I arrived in Champoeg, I was directed to the home of Steven Manson, one of the two brothers who had been at the Whitman mission school at the time of the massacre. I also learned that his
father, Donald, had died the previous January. Apparently the new head of the farm was a younger son, also called Donald, who was about 40, and Steven helped out at the farm. Another brother, James, who suffered from consumption was also there, but I didn't meet him. I was told that John Manson, the person who had been referred to in Mrs. Saunders letter, who I really wished to speak with, lives in British Columbia. However, his sister, Anna Ogden, who it turns out is married to Peter Ogden's son was there, and she had a few words with me.

I would guess her age to be about 35. But she is of magnificent physique, being about five feet eight inches tall, straight as an arrow and well proportioned, but at the same time of that peculiarly supple mold and movement that so distinguishes the French creoles. Her hair is jet black, and long and wavy and very thick; her eyebrows heavy and black, and her features, though strong and marked, refined and very intelligent. Her speech was remarkably clear, every word being distinctly pronounced, with rather an English or Scotch accent, and in a full rich voice of rather low key. During
our conversation her features lit up noticeably, and though she spoke deliberately she had no hesitation, never pausing to think of a word or construction. She entertained me in the old house, which she told me had been built by her father, Donald Manson.

“I wonder if John ever mentioned anything about his experiences during the Whitman Massacre,” I asked her.

"He had a close call with death but somehow in the confusion, he was smuggled upstairs and a trap door closed behind him. When he was found a few hours later, he threatened the power of revenge of the Hudson's Bay Company should anyone lay a hand on him. No one did and he was saved.

“He was a tough kid  - like our father. This sparing of a Company man (in this case two boys) prompted some Americans to believe that the Hudson's Bay Company had had a hand in
the massacre.”

“Did he later get a position with them?” I asked.

“Later in 1854, John began his service with them. He is not exactly the model of meekness and in some ways emulated the somewhat tough actions of our father both verbally and physically.

“Would your brother Steven have any stories about the massacre?” I asked her.

“You can ask him yourself,” she said.

“Steven,” she shouted out the door. In came a man of remarkably handsome appearance, and seemingly a very bright intellect.

“This man who is called John Young wants to ask you some questions about the massacre.”

“I was only a boy,” he said, “attending the school at Waiilatpu at the time of the Whitman massacre, and I escaped uninjured. However, I was so shocked by the bloody occurrence that long afterwards, I would start from sleep crying out `The Indians, the Indians!'”

He then excused himself to say he had to deal with an urgent matter on the farm.

“Did you ever discuss the massacre with Peter Ogden, (pictured above)  as he was your father-in-law?” I asked Anna.

“He left a book he wrote anonymously, which has a chapter in it about the massacre. I could let you have a look through it if you wish to.”

I quickly agreed, and she went to the bookcase and withdrew a small book called Traits of American Indian Life and Character, by a Fur Trader, published in 1852, shortly before his death. I asked her if she minded if I took notes, and she said, not, so while she went to the kitchen to brew me a coffee, I copied down a few things. Most of what he wrote is just a repeating of what I have already learned, or already knew.

I thanked Mrs. Odgen for her kindness to me, and after I had my coffee, I made my way back to the train.