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CHAPTER IV.
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TRAGEDY OF WHITMANS' MISSION
"Who will respond to go beyond the Rocky Mountains and carry the Book of Heaven?"
This was the startling question asked by President Fisk, of Wilbraham College. It was an editorial inquiry published in the Christian Advocate in March, 1833. Yet this ringing call for spiritual assistance was not initiative on the part of President Fisk. A Macedonian cry had been voiced by four Flathead Indians, of the tribe of Nez Perces, or Pierced-noses. They had come down to St. Louis from the headwaters of the Columbia, the Snake, Lewis or Clarke's rivers, far to westward of the Rocky Mountains. They were strangers in a strange land; almost as singular in dress, speech and accoutrements to the citizens of St. Louis as would be visitors to us from the planet Mars. Yet in their distant teepees among the western foothills of the Rockies, these four chiefs had heard of the "White Man's Book" from eager, pushing, tireless and resourceful pioneers who had followed the trail made by Lewis and Clarke. Alone and unassisted by government appropriation, they had followed the same course down the Missouri and the Father of Waters three thousand
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miles to St. Louis. This was in 1832. The peculiar mission of these Indians was the opening act of the Whitman tragedy. Mr. Barrows says: "The massacre ran riot through eight days, and Dr. Marcus Whitman and wife, of the American Board, and thirteen or more associates, were savagely killed on the 29th of November, 1847, and days following. It was the bloody baptism of Oregon, by the like of which the most of the American states have come to form the union."
At the period of the arrival of these four Nez Perce chiefs Indians were not an uncommon sight in St. Louis. At certain seasons the suburbs of the city were fringed with teepees and wickiups. So, at first, but little attention was paid to them, otherwise than to note their strange dress and unknown dialect. It is not difficult to gather how they had learned of the White Man's Book. Their own rude eloquence addressed to General William Clarke at parting conveys this information. After a long time passed in the city, after two of them had gone to the happy hunting ground, the survivors made their desires known, and it appears their request was, perforce, denied. Translation of the Bible into an Indian dialect is not the work of a few days or months. The two remaining Indians decided to return home; their mission a failure. The pathos of their complaint is in the spirit, if not the words, of one of the chiefs in his farewell speech to General Clarke:
"I come to you over a trail of many moons from the setting sun. You were the friend of my fathers who have all gone the long way. I come with one eye partly opened, for more light for my people who sit in darkness. I go back with both eyes closed. How can I go back blind to my blind people? I made my way to you with strong arms, through many enemies and strange lands, that I might carry back much to them. I go back with both arms broken and empty. The two fathers who came with us — the braves of many winters and wars — we leave here by your great waters and wigwam. They were tired in many moons and their moccasins wore out. My people sent me to get the White Man's Book of Heaven. You took me to where you allow your women to dance, as we do not ours, and the Book was not there. You took me to where they worshipped the great spirit with candles, and the Book was not there. You shewed me the images of good spirits and pictures of the good land beyond, but the Book was not among them to tell us the way. I am going back the long, sad trail to my people of the dark land. You make my feet heavy with burdens of gifts, and my moccasins will grow old in carrying them, but the Book is not among them. When I tell my poor, blind people, after one more snow, in the big council, that I did not bring the Book, no word will be spoken by our old men or by our young braves. One by one they will rise up and go out in silence. My people will die in darkness, and they will go on the long path to the other hunting grounds. No white man will go with them and no White Man's Book to make the way plain. I have no more words."
Of this utter failure to secure a copy of the Bible, Mr. Barrows says, pertinently:
"In what was then a Roman Catholic city it was not easy to do this, and officers only were met. It has not been the policy or practice of that church to give the Bible to the people, whether Christian or pagan. They have not thought it wise or right. Probably no Christian enterprises in all the centuries have shown more self-sacrificing heroism, foreseen suffering and intense religious devotion than the laborers of that church, from 1520, to give its type of Christianity to the natives of North America. But it was oral, ceremonial and pictorial. In the best of their judgment, and in the depths of their convictions, they did not think it best to reduce native tongues to written languages and the Scriptures to the vernacular of any tribe."
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But the eloquence of this speech had fallen on appreciative ears. A young clerk in General Clarke's office, who had heard the sad plaint of the chief, wrote to George Catlin, in Pittsburgh, historian and painter, an account of the scene. Thereafter events moved rapidly; the seed was sown and the harvest was about to be fulfilled. One Indian only lived to return to his people, without the Book, but it cannot be said that his mission was a failure. The editorial appeal of President Fisk produced results. Measures were at once taken by the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, and the Methodist Board of Missions to send missionaries to Oregon. Revs. Jason and David Lee were pioneers in this scriptural crusade. They went under appointment of the Methodist Board. They were followed the next year by Revs. Samuel Parker and Marcus Whitman, M. D., sent by the American Board of Commissioners. In the summer of 1835 the latter arrived at the American rendezvous on Green river. Accompanied by a body of Nez Perces, from which people the four chiefs had gone to St. Louis, Rev. Mr. Parker went to Walla Walla and on to Vancouver. And with him he carried the "Book." Dr. Whitman returned to the states the same fall, married Narcissa Prentice, and organized an outfit with which he returned, with his bride, to Oregon, arriving at Walla Walla in September, 1836.
The question as to whether or no Dr. Whitman "saved Oregon to the United States" will remain forever a question of casuistry. Events might have shaped themselves as they subsequently did, had Whitman not made his long midwinter ride to Washington, D. C. to lay his facts and fears before the president. Everything might have resulted in the retention by the United States of all of Oregon south of the 49th parallel, had no warning cry come from the far northwest, a culverin shot announcing the attempt of England to seize the country, not only by force of majority colonization, but through artifices of the Hudson's Bay Company. At a dinner in Waiilatpu, attended by Dr. Whitman, news was received that a colony of English, one hundred and forty strong, were then near Fort Colville, three-hundred and fifty miles up the Columbia. A young priest leaped to his feet, threw his cap into the air and cried: "Hurrah for Oregon! America is too late and we have got the country!"
This is but one of the many significant signs witnessed by Whitman. He was a man of foresight: he had seen and realized the wealth, position and future possibilities of Oregon as had no other American at that period. And he rode on to Washington and told his story. It will be read in the preceding chapter that not until he had done so did the American congress act. Of the personality of Dr. Whitman one who knew him contributes the following picture:
"Marcus Whitman once seen, and in our family circle, telling of his one business — he had but one — was a man not to be forgotten by the writer. He was of medium height, more compact than spare, a stout shoulder, and large head not much above it, covered with stiff, iron gray hair, while his face carried all the moustache and whiskers that four months had been able to put on it. He carried himself awkwardly, though perhaps courteously enough for trappers, Indians, mules and grizzlies, his principal company for six years. He seemed built as a man for whom more stock had been furnished than worked in symmetrically and gracefully. There was nothing peculiarly quick in his motion or speech, and no trace of a fanatic; but under control of a thorough knowledge of his business, and with deep, ardent convictions about it, he was a profound enthusiast. A willful resolution and a tenacious earnestness would impress you as making the man."
Sordid motives have been attributed to Dr. Whitman's efforts in behalf of Oregon. One writer has assumed that his sole object was to
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secure continuance of his little mission at Waiilatpu. But there is abundance of evidence that his ideas were of broader scope than this. Let it be noted that efforts to depreciate Whitman suddenly ceased as late as 1891. That year there was found in the archives of Washington, D. C, a letter from him proposing a bill for a line of forts from the Kansas river to the Willamette. In the Walla Walla Union-Journal of August 15, 1891, the letter was first published. It has been reproduced in Dr. O. W. Nixon's work, "How Marcus Whitman Saved Oregon:"
To the Hon. James W. Porter, Secretary of War: Sir: — In compliance with the request you did me the honor to make last winter while at Washington, I herewith transmit to you the synopsis of a bill, which, if it could be adopted, would, according to my experience and observation, prove highly conducive to the best interests of the United States generally; to Oregon, where I have resided for more than seven years as a missionary, and to the Indian tribes that inhabit the intermediate country.
The government will doubtless for the first time be apprised through you, and by means of this communication, of the immense migration of families to Oregon, which has taken place this year. I have, since our interview, been instrumental in piloting across the route described, in the accompanying bill, and which is the only eligible wagon road, no less than ——— families, consisting of one thousand persons of both sexes, with their wagons, amounting in all to one hundred and twenty-six; six hundred and ninety-four oxen and seven hundred and seventy-three loose cattle.
____________Your familiarity with the government's policy, duties and interests, render it unnecessary for me to more than hint at the several objects intended by the enclosed bill, and any enlargements upon the topics here suggested as inducements to its adoption, would be quite superfluous, if not impertinent. The very existence of such a system as the one above recommended suggests the utility of postoffices and mail arrangements, which it is the wish of all who now live in Oregon to have granted them, and I need only add that the contracts for this purpose will be readily taken at reasonable rates for transporting the mail across from Missouri to the mouth of the Columbia in forty days, with fresh horses at each of the contemplated posts. The ruling policy proposed, regards the Indians as the police of the country, who are to be relied upon to keep the peace, not only for themselves, but to repel lawless white men and prevent banditti, under the solitary guidance of the superintendent of the several posts, aided by a well-directed system to induce the punishment of crimes. It will only be after the failure of these means to procure the delivery or punishment of violent, lawless and savage acts of aggression, that a band or tribe should be regarded as conspirators against the peace, or punished accordingly by force of arms.
Hoping that these suggestions may meet your approbation, and conduce to the future interests of our growing country, I have the honor to be, Honorable sir, your obedient servant,
MARCUS WHITMAN.
Certainly it is reasoning from slender, unsubstantial premises to assert that the great influence exerted upon President Tyler and Secretary Webster by Whitman was founded on so slight a pretext as saving to him, personally, the humble mission at Waiilatpu. Whitman must have been a man with "an idea," larger than that to have commanded respect from the ablest statesmen of his day; to have crystallized public sentiment into a desire for the whole of Oregon; to have smelted patriotism into the heraldic proclamation of defiance to England, "Fifty-four forty or fight."
If Whitman were purely selfish, why should he have announced his intention, in 1843, of personally conducting a large train across the mountains? Security of his mission did not depend on this. On the contrary the advance of civilization, with attendant churches, would tend to do away entirely with missions to the Indians.
As we approach the melancholy close of Dr. Whitman's varied career as explorer, missionary and statesman, one can not fail to be impressed with a feeling that less devotion to a patriotic sense of duty would have conduced to his personal safety. Two antagonists were arrayed against him and his political, as well as his spiritual, plans; primarily the Hudson's Bay Company, and the Indians, indirectly influenced by the same commercial corporation. The policy of the company was to keep the country in the condition of a vast game preserve for the purpose of breeding fur-bearing animals. Naturally this pleased the Indians. It was directly in line with their mode of life. The policy
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of American colonization was symbolized by the axe and the plow; complete demolition of profitable hunting grounds. And of this latter policy Dr. Whitman was high priest and
propagandist.
Since the discovery of America Indian wars have been like
"Freedom's battle, once begun,
Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son."
In a letter written by Washington to Jay, in 1794, the first president says:
"There does not remain a doubt in the mind of any well-informed person in this country, not shut against conviction, that all the difficulties we encounter with the Indians, their hostilities, the murders of helpless women and innocent children along our frontiers, result from the conduct of the agents of Great Britain in this country."
Historical justice demands, however, that we assign the primary cause of the Whitman massacre to the entangling circumstances of the Indians on the Columbia, under two rival peoples and conflicting policies. Also the general character of the Indians as uncivilized and superstitious, must be duly considered. Before the tragedy, as since, many Americans were cruel, deceitful and aggressive in their treatment of the unsophisticated savage. Those who have philosophically watched the trend of current events in the past twenty-five years need not be told that more than one Indian outbreak can be directly traced to low cupidity and peculation among our government officials. To a certain extent this cruelty and deception had been practiced upon the Indians by lawless white men prior to the Whitman massacre. Today we can not come into court with clean hands for the purpose of accusing the English pioneers of Oregon. If their policy was one designed to check the march of western civilization, it was certainly devoid of the sometimes Satanic cruelty shown by Americans towards the Indians.
We now come to the savage details of the Whitman tragedy and the immediate cause of the outbreak. Undoubtedly this will be found to lie in the innate superstition of the savage, educated or uneducated. Following the return of Whitman from Washington, in 1843, the Indians in the vicinity of the mission at Waiilatpu were restless and insubordinate. There is evidence that at this period Whitman scented danger. He contemplated removal to The Dalles for safety, and had even gone so far as to arrange for the purchase of the Methodist Mission at that point. Two personal enemies were arrayed against him; Tamsuky, a Cayuse chief, and Joe Lewis. The latter, was a sullen, revengeful half-breed, one who had wandered to the mission, been befriended by the doctor, and secretly became the head center of a murderous plot.
Measles became epidemic among the Indians during the summer of 1847, introduced among the Cayuse tribe by immigrants. It was Indian medical practice to treat all fevers by placing the patient in a sweat-house, followed by a bath in ice-cold water. Under such ignorant ministrations many of the patients, of course, expired. They died, too, under the medical attendance of Dr. Whitman, whose utmost vigilance could not save his patients from the sweat-house and the fatal douche. It was at this critical period that the treacherous Lewis circulated reports that the doctor was poisoning instead of healing his patients. Lewis affirmed that he had overheard Whitman and Spalding plotting to obtain possession of the country. It was finally decided by some of the influential chiefs of the tribe to demand of Dr. Whitman a test case of his professional skill. An Indian woman afflicted with the measles was given in his charge. The terrible alternative, secretly decided upon, was this: Should the woman recover, all would be peace; should she die the Indians were to kill all the missionaries.
Of this direful plot Whitman was apprised by Istikus, a Umatilla friend. The doctor
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treated the story with levity. Not so Mrs. Whitman. With the sensitive intuition of woman, she fully comprehended the dread significance of Istikus' story, and, though intrepid by nature, the heroine of a dangerous pioneer journey across the continent, she became alarmed, and was in tears for the first time since the death of her child eight years before. Dr. Whitman reassured her the best he could, and renewed his promise to move down the river. It was too late. On the fatal 29th of November, 1847, great numbers of Tamsuky's adherents were in the vicinity of Waiilatpu. Their sinister presence added to the alarm of Mrs. Whitman. Survivors of the massacre said that the hills were black with Indians looking down upon the scene. About one o'clock in the afternoon of the 29th, while Dr. Whitman was reading, a number of Indians entered his room, and, having attracted his attention, one of them, said to have been Tamchas, buried his hatchet in the head of his benefactor. Another savage, Telaukait, one who had received nothing but kindness, beat the face to a pulp. Bloody work, thus began, was speedily followed with relentless brutality. None of the white men, scattered and unsuspecting, could offer adequate assistance. They were quickly shot down with the exception of such as were remote. Five men escaped. After incredible suffering they finally reached a place of safety. Mrs. Whitman was the only woman who suffered death. Other women were outraged, and children, boys and girls, held in captivity several days . William McBean, the Hudson's Bay Company's agent, at Fort Walla Walla, refused to harbor Mr. Hall, who had escaped as far as the fort, and he subsequently perished. A courier was dispatched by McBean to Vancouver, but this man did not even warn the people at The Dalles of danger. Happily they were unmolested. So soon as James Douglas, then chief factor in the place of Dr. Whitman, heard of the massacre, he sent Peter Skeen Ogden, with a force, to rescue the survivors. Osrden exhibited a commendable zeal and efficiency, and by the expenditure of several hundred dollars, ransomed forty-seven women and children.
Following are the names of the victims of this outbreak; the people slaughtered during the eight days of murderous riot: Marcus Whitman, Narcissa Whitman, John Sager, Francis Sager, Crockett Brewley, Isaac Gillen, James Young and Rogers, Kimball, Sales, Marsh, Saunders, Hoffman and Hall. Afterwards there was found on the site of the massacre a lock of long, fair hair, which was, undoubtedly taken from the head of Mrs. Whitman. Among the relics of this tragedy, in Whitman College, it is now preserved. An account of the escape of Mr. Osborne was published a number of years ago. It is a graphic description of the horrors of the event, and from it we take the following extracts:
As the guns fired and the yells commenced I leaned my head upon the bed and committed myself and family to my maker. My wife removed the loose floor. I dropped under the floor with my sick family in their night clothes, taking only two woolen sheets, a piece of bread and some cold mush, and pulled the floor over us. In five minutes the room was full of Indians, but they did not discover us. The roar of guns, the yells of the savages, and the crash of clubs and knives, and the groans of the dying continued until dark. We distinctly heard the dying groans of Mrs. Whitman, Mr. Rogers and Francis, till they died away one after the other. We heard the last words of Mr. Rogers in a slow voice, calling, "Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly."
Soon after this I removed the floor and we went out. We saw the white face of Francis by the door. It was warm, as we laid our hand upon it, but he was dead. I carried my two youngest children, who were sick, and my wife held on to my clothes in her great weakness. We had all been sick with measles. Two infants had died. She had not left her bed for six weeks till that day, when she stood up a few minutes. The naked, painted Indians were dancing a scalp dance around a large fire at a little distance. There seemed no hope for us and we knew not which way to go, but bent our steps toward Fort Walla Walla. A dense, cold fog shut out every star and the darkness was complete. We could see no trail and not even the hand before the face. We had to feel out the trail with our feet. My wife almost fainted, but staggered along. Mill Creek, which we had to wade, was high with late rains and came up to the waist. My wife in her great weakness came night washing down, but held to my clothes.
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I braced myself with a stick, holding a child in one arm. I had to cross five times for the children. The water was icy cold and the air freezing some. Staggering along about two miles Mrs. Osborne fainted and could go no further, and we hid ourselves in the brush of the Walla Walla river, not far below the lodges of Tamsuky, a chief who was very active at the commencement of the butchery. We were thoroughly wet, and the cold, fog-like snow was about us. The cold mud was partially frozen as we crawled, feeling our way into the dark brush. We could see nothing the darkness was so extreme. I spread one wet sheet down on the frozen ground; wife and children crouched upon it. I covered the other over them. I thought they must soon perish
as they were shaking and their teeth rattling with cold. I kneeled down and commended us to our Maker. The day finally dawned and I could see Indians riding furiously up and down the trail. Sometimes they would come close to the brush and our blood would warm and the shaking would stop from fear for a moment. The day seemed a week. I expected every moment my wife would breathe her last. Tuesday night we felt our way to the trail and staggered along to Sutucks Nima (Dog Creek), which we waded as we did the other
creek, and kept on about two miles, when my wife fainted and could go no farther. Crawled into the brush and frozen mud to shake and suffer on from hunger and cold, and without sleep. The children, too, wet and cold, called incessantly for food, but the shock of groans and yells at first so frightened them that they did not speak loud. Wednesday night wife was too weak to stand. I took our second child and started for Walla Walla; had to wade the Touchet; stopped frequently in the brush from weakness; had not recovered from measles. Heard a horseman pass and re pass as I lay concealed in the willows. Have since learned it was Mr. Spalding. Reached Fort Walla Walla after daylight; begged Mr. McBean for horses to go to my family, for food, blankets and clothing to take to them, and to take care of my child till I could bring my family in should I live to find them alive. Mr. McBean told me I could not bring my family to his fort. Mr. Hall came in on Monday night, but he could not have an American in his fort, and he had him put over the Columbia river; that he could not let me have horses or anything for my wife or children, and I must go on to Umatilla. I insisted on bringing my family to the fort, but he refused; said he would not let us in. I next begged the priest to show pity, as my wife and children must perish and the Indians, undoubtedly, kill me, but with no success. There were many priests at the fort. Mr. McBean gave me breakfast but I saved most of it for my family. Providentially Mr. Stanley, an artist, came in from Colville, and narrowly escaped the Indians by telling them he was "Alain," H. B., meaning that his name was Alain and that he was a Hudson's Bay Company employee. He let me have his two horses, some food he had left from Revs. Ellis' and Walker's mission; also a cap, a pair of socks, a shirt and handkerchief, and Mr. McBean furnished an Indian who proved most faithful, and Thursday night we started back, taking my child, but with a sad heart that I could not find mercy at the hands of God. The Indian guided me in the thick darkness to where I supposed I had left my dear wife and children. We could see nothing and dared not call aloud. Daylight came and I was exposed to Indians, but we continued to search till I was about to give up in despair, when the Indian discovered one of the twigs I had broken as a guide in coming out to the trail. Following this he soon found my wife and children still alive. I distributed what little food and clothing I had and we started for the Umatilla, the guide leading the way to a ford.
Mr. Osborne and family went to Williamette Valley where they lived many years, as honored members of the community, though Mrs. Osborne never entirely regained her health from the dreadful experiences incident to the massacre and escape.
The most ingenious casuistry will fail to palliate the heartlessness of Mr. McBean. At the present day when charity, chivalry, nay, self-sacrifice to aid the suffering meet with heartiest approval from nearly all civilized nations, it is difficult to conceive of such base motives as appear to have actuated him. That he reflected the baser qualities of the Hudson's Bay Company's policy, no one can reasonably deny. It seemed necessary to him to show the Indians that so far from reproving their conduct the representative of the company was in sympathy, if not in actual collusion with the savage conspirators. McBean's attitude on this occasion stands forth as one of the darkest chapters in the history of the Hudson's Bay Company's "joint occupancy" with Americans of the territory of Oregon.
If further proof were wanted of the apparent understanding between the Indians and the company the case of the artist who gave his name as "Alain," representing himself as connected with the interests of the Hudson's Bay Company is before us. Refusal of assistance to Mr. Osborne by the priests at Fort Walla Walla is readily understood. Their tenure of spiritual office was dependent on the company.
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Their heartless action was not based on theological antagonism. No difference of creed entered into the matter. They were guided simply by personal interest; they were but another form of the abject creatures to which the Hudson's Bay Company sought to reduce all their dependents. But in the annals of American history there is no more pathetic recital than the story of Osborne's and Hall's rejection at the English fort to which they had fled for shelter. A less distressing case of a few weeks later is presented in the following extract from some reminiscences of Mrs. Catherine Pringle, formerly of Colfax. Mrs. Pringle was one of the Sager children, adopted by Doctor and Mrs. Whitman. The story of the "Christmas dinner" which follows was given by her to the Commoner, of Colfax, in 1893:
The Christmas of 1847 was celebrated in the midst of an Indian village where the American families who kept the day were hostages, whose lives were in constant danger. There is something tragically humorous about that Christmas, and I laugh when I think of some things that I cried over on that day.
When the survivors moved to the Indian village a set of guards was placed over us, and those guards were vagabond savages, in whose charge nobody was safe. Many times we thought our final hour had come. They ordered us around like slaves, and kept us busy cooking for them. Whenever we made a dish they compelled us to eat of it first, for fear there was poison in it. They kept up a din and noise that deprived us of peace by day and sleep at night. Some days before Christmas we complained to the chief of the village who was supposed to be a little generous in our regard, and he gave us a guard of good Indians under command of one whom we knew as "Beardy." The latter had been friendly to Dr. Whitman; he had taken no part in the massacre, and it was claimed that it was through his intercession that our lives were spared.
We hailed the coming of Beardy as a providential thing, and so, when the holiday dawned, the elder folks resolved to make the children as happy as the means at hand would allow. Mrs. Sanders had brought across the plains with her some white flour and some dried peaches, and these had been brought to our abode in William Gray's mission. White flour was a luxury and so were dried peaches then. Mrs. Sanders made white bread on Christmas morning, and then she made peach pie. Beardy had been so kind to us that we had to invite him to our Christmas dinner. We had ever so many pies, it seemed, and Beardy thought he had tasted nothing so good in all his life. He sat in one corner of the kitchen and crammed piece after piece of that dried pie into his mouth. We were determined that he should have all the pie he wanted, even if some of us went hungry, because Beardy was a friend on whose fidelity probably our lives depended.
And so we had our Christmas festival, and we sang songs and thanked heaven that we were still alive. After dinner, and about an hour after Beardy went away, we were thrown into alarm by a series of mad yells and we heard Indian cries of "Kill them! Tomahawk them!" A band of savages started to attack the Gray residence, and we saw them from the windows. Our time had come and some of us began to pray. The day that opened with fair promises was about to close in despair. To our amazement and horror the Indian band was led by Beardy himself, the Indian we counted on to police us in just such emergencies. He was clamoring for the death of all the white women. Fortune favored us at this critical juncture for just as the Indians were entering the house messengers arrived from Fort Walla Walla. The messengers knew Beardy well, and they advanced on him and inquired the reason for his wild language.
Me poisoned !" cried Beardy, "Me Killed. White squaw poisoned me. Me always white man's friend, now me enemy. White squaw must die."
That would be a liberal translation of the Indian words. Then followed a colloquy between Beardy and the messengers, and from the language used we learned that Beardy had suffered from an overdose o' American pie, and not knowing about the pains that lie in wait after intemperate indulgence even in pie, he rushed to the conclusion that he had been poisoned. It required a long time for the messengers to convince Beardy that they were innocent of any intention to cause him pain, but that he was simply suffering from the effects of inordinate indulgence in an indigestible luxury. The messengers talked Beardy into a reasonable frame of mind; he called off his horde of savages and peace once more spread her wings over the William Gray mission. We were all happy that night — happy that Mrs. Saundres' pie had not been the means of a wholesale slaughter of white families on Christmas day.
The messengers I speak of brought good news from the fort. Succor was at hand, and on December 29th we were moved to the fort and started down the river to The Dalles, January 3, 1848. The Christmas of the year 1847, as it was celebrated in this territory, offers something of a contrast to the yuletide merriment in all the churches and homes today.
We have described the Whitman Mission, Whitman's mid-winter journey, his work for Oregon and the massacre. It remains to speak of the Cayuse war which followed as a natural sequence.
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