Part 5

In time the people tired of his preaching, so a committee was appointed to call upon him and tell him that no one cared to listen to him longer; but he was not to be deterred and when the regular day for service came, he was on hand again to preach. The boys decided they would get rid of him for good. A man by the name of George Horner had collected five hundred pieces of Chinese money. He went to the store keeper who had the only safe in town and told him that he had five hundred dollars which he wanted to deposit in his safe. The old man took it and put it safely away. On the appointed day for church services, George had this money distributed among the boys and they all attended church, well prepared for the collection. The church was full and the minister's face beamed with delight to see so large an audience. There were a few men in the place who had been church members in their Eastern homes. Some had been exhorters in these churches and when the minister was fervently praying, outpourings of the spirit, "God grant it" and "Amens" came from all parts of the church and one could well imagine that they were in one of the old time Methodist revival meetings.

The minister seemed to sense that there was something unusual in the air and hurriedly brought his discourse to a close; but the boys were determined that the collection must not be overlooked, so two of them passed the hat among the congregation and the Chinese money soon filled the hats. The minister closed without the usual benediction and made for the door, where the collection was handed to him. When he saw what it was, he made a hasty retreat to the barn where his team was and ordered it ready. When he got into the buggy, he found that some one had not forgotten to put in a few decks of cards and several bottles of whiskey. He drove away and was not seen again for a number of years.

The town was not to be abandoned by the clergy altogether, however, so another minister came. It always fell to me to entertain the traveling ministers and this one was sent to my house. He told me he saw the need of work in the community and he thought we should have a church. He asked me what I thought of the outlook. I told him about the other minister and his collection and he laughed heartily. He preached that evening and left the next morning. That ended the religious effort in our town for a long time.

The ministers did not have all the mishaps, however. A man named Thomas owned the Eagle grist mall in the Rogue River valley, Oregon. In 1856 he surveyed and built the toll road across the Siskiyou mountains. He also owned and operated a salt works down the Klamath river. On one of his trips he had in addition to his load of salt a barrel of whisky and a grindstone. It was late in the evening when he reached the Klamath ferry and the ferryman told him not to try to cross Cottonwood creek as it was high and dangerous. The tailings from the placers formed ridges and holes that were dangerous in high water. He cautioned him to stay in a house of his close to the crossing until morning, when it would be safe to cross. He replied, "I will cross so quick that my salt won't get wet." Fortunately, he had picked up a traveler on the road and was giving him a lift to his destination. They attempted the crossing of the creek and when they overturned in mid-creek this man succeeded in cutting the horses loose and they all managed to swim ashore. Then they went on to their camp, returning in the morning to see what they had left. The wagon and the grindstone were there buried in the clay, but the salt and whisky had vanished.

The winter of '62 was very severe and all the stock in the whole country perished. Mr. Hazlett owned five hundred head of cattle in the fall and in the spring had about five left. He had to go back in March to be operated on again for cancer. He was quite a while in recovering. I went down in June to see him and he returned with me, but lived only until the next spring. He left me with five children and I had to build a house to shelter them. I traded a cow for some lumber and some of my friends helped me. The house was not finished inside. I used to take in washing, which was the only thing to be done. Goods were very high during the Civil war. The orchard had begun to bear and quite a lot of gooseberries had set on. One year we had three hundred pounds of them. I managed to care for my children and in '67 I married Mr. Fultz, my first husband's partner. We lived there twenty-seven years. I had six daughters. We at last sold out and came up into Washington to live and settled in the town of Farmington, going into the hotel business. Some of my girls were grown and lived with me. We bought a livery business, then Mr. Fultz started a furniture business and finally took on undertaking. Mr. Fultz lived but a year after coming to Farmington and I was left with four businesses on my hands. All the responsibility rested on me. One daughter died. With the help of the girls, the house was enlarged to three stories. After three years one of the girls married, a year after another, and then another. I had one daughter in California; my youngest was with me. Six years after Mr. Fultz died I married Mr. Delaney. We still had the hotel. Then I became crippled with rheumatism and was given up to die, but finally recovered, though told I would never walk again. I laid helpless and drawn up for five months, with life dispaired of; but my children came to me, one from California, one from Lewiston, Idaho, a son and daughter living in the house and another in town. They all did everything possible and cared for me continually. My doctor was faithful and the neighbors were kind to come and do everything they could for me. The Chinaman cook brewed good herbs and steamed my limbs and straightened them out and some of the Coeur d'Alene squaws said they prayed for me. Another friend furnished me a lot of Medical Lake salts, which he thought was good for all ailments. After five months I was carried out in a chair and placed in the sunshine; then came gradually returning strength and little by little, with the aid of crutches, I walked and with continual effort and perseverance I at last recovered the use of my limbs. With my sister, who came to visit me, I went to visit Perrin Whitman, our old friend.

In the spring of 1843, when Dr. Whitman returned to his Mission, he brought with him his nephew, Perrin B. Whitman, a motherless boy of thirteen years. Perrin learned the different Indian languages very readily and at an early date helped the Rev. H. H. Spalding to translate the three gospels into the Nez Perce tongue. He also helped to print them on the first printing press brought to Oregon. In the month of September, 1847, he was sent by his uncle to The Dalles to learn the Wascopean Indian language, as Dr. Whitman had bargained for the Methodist Station at that place and intended to move his family and belongings there the following spring. The Doctor also hired a man named Hindman to go there with his family and take charge of the place, as he had left most of his supplies at that point. Four days after the massacre, an Indian came to the house and told them that another Indian had been at their camp and told them that Dr. Whitman's wife and all the men at the Mission had been killed and the other women and children taken captive. Mr. Hindman was so alarmed for the safety of his family that he hired an Indian with his canoe to take him to Fort Vancouver for help. He had not been gone long when four Cayuse Indians came to the house and wanted Perrin to let them in. With Perrin was Mrs. Hindman, her fourteen-months-old baby and a young girl of sixteen years of age named Mary Warren.

At the approach of the Indians Mrs. Hindman sank into a chair with her babe in her arms. She was speechless and helpless. Perrin stood at the door and talked from the inside. He afterward said that if he ever talked Walla Walla, he did that day. Miss Warren stood at the other door with uplifted ax and vowed she would kill the first Indian who attempted to enter. They tried in every way to induce Perrin to come outside, but he refused to go. They finally left and Perrin said that Miss Warren was the bravest woman he ever knew. She never showed any sign of fear throughout the trying ordeal. He also said that he was satisfied that the Indians came with the intention of killing all of them. In a few days Mr. Hindman returned with help and they moved to Oregon City.

Perrin clerked in Allen McKinley's store during the winter and in the spring went as interpreter with a company of Volunteers to seek out and punish the perpetrators of the massacre. After the Volunteers returned, he married Priscilla Parker, a daughter of Sam Parker of Salem, Oregon, and took up a farm near Salem. He and his family lived there until the United States military authorities went to Fort Lapwai. As they wished to make a treaty with the Indians, they needed an interpreter. The Indians refused to talk until they had Whitman to interpret for them. They were told by the military authorities that they would write for him, but the Indians said, "No. Send a man for him." One day as he was ploughing in his fields a man came and gave him a note, ordering him to come at once to Lapwai to act as interpreter. (He afterwards told me that "this was the only time he was ever taken on a bench warrant.") He put his team in the barn and left at once for Lapwai.

He spent many years among the Nez Perce Indians as government interpreter, teacher and missionary and no one man ever exerted such an influence for good over them as Perrin Whitman. Their confidence in him was unbounded and his word always accepted as the gospel truth. They knew him and loved him and would never sign a treaty or take any important step without his advice.

After an interval of thirty-eight years, during which time I had not seen him, I journeyed to Lewiston by stage for the purpose of paying him and his family a visit. The stage driver was Felix Warren, an old friend of mine. On our way there, Mr. Warren said, "You must stay with my wife and me tonight, for I know as soon as Whitman knows you are in town, we will see no more of you." I said, "Very well." So we went to his house. We had been there only a short time when a lady came in. As we were introduced she said, "Why, you are father's old friend." She went to the door and called her son and told him to run to Grandpa's and "tell him his friend is here." He came over on a run and when he looked at me he said, "Matilda, where did you get your hair dyed?" (My hair had not yet turned grey.)

I replied, "What is the matter with you, that you don't dye yours?" His hair and whiskers were almost white. We went to his house at once. He would not even let me eat supper with my friends, the Warrens. We talked over old times until two o'clock in the morning. Next morning early we continued our reminiscences. My visit will always be a pleasant memory.

When the Northern Pacific railroad was building across the Nez Perce reservation the Indians refused to negotiate until their friend Perrin Whitman was sent for to explain things to them. Again when the Commissioners called for Volunteers to go among the different factions to get their consent to the building of the road, not an Indian offered his services until the Commissioners said, "Of course, you understand that Whitman goes along." Then there were plenty of volunteers. They said of him, "Whitman can ride all day and all night without sleep and he never talks with a crooked tongue." It was a severely hard trip in the storm and sleet that comes in the spring in that country; the roads were rough and the nights cold. Not long after this experience he was stricken with slow paralysis and was confined to his bed most of the time for six years before his death. When Perrin Whitman passed on to his reward, a civilizing influence that helped to make the great Northwest safe for the white man went out. He was all that an honest man should be. As I have said before, sister and I went to visit him after my long and severe illness. A short time after we reached there, a long distance message told me that the town had burned and I had lost everything. Since then I have never been able to do anything, but have been cared for by my children. They have looked after me and I have had a good home and the comforts of life. Once, only, I went back to visit the old California home. Found a few there whom I had known and received a hearty welcome; many had passed over the long trail to the better land. Once I went to Baltimore, Md., to visit my daughter, and on that trip I came to realize the changes that my lifetime had experienced. On the vast plains, where years before my childish eyes had seen vast herds of buffalo roaming at will and where all was Indian territory from the Missouri river to the Rocky mountains, where the immigrant's wagon had toiled slowly and painfully along, with the menace of privation and death a constant attendant, railroads had thrust their slender bands of steel; large cities had been built and prosperous farms dotted the land. Surely a magician must travel with me, constantly waving a magic wand before my surprised eyes!

On the fiftieth anniversary of the Whitman massacre, through the courtesy of the O.-W. R. & N. R. R. Co., all the survivors were given transportation to go to the exercises attendant upon the erection of a monument to the memory of Dr. Whitman and his fellow martyrs. When the mound was leveled the workmen, to their surprise, found many bones. These bones were classified by Dr. Bingham and others. I went to the home of Dr. Penrose to assist in identifying them. A skeleton of a foot in a part of a leather boot, we felt sure belonged to Mr. Kimball, as he was the only man at the Mission who wore such boots.

The skull of a white woman was, of course, that of Mrs. Whitman. It showed large eye-sockets. Mrs. Whitman had large light blue eyes. Dr. Whitman had a strong face, his massive chin turning up a little. A man's skull showed two tomahawk cuts. I asked Dr. Penrose to hold the skull, which was in two parts, together; and as I went back in memory and imagined the skull clothed with flesh, I felt it was Dr. Whitman's. Both his and Mrs. Whitman's had been cut in two parts with a saw--an old trick of the Indians upon some victims. The teeth in the skull which I felt was that of Dr. Whitman, were intact and some of the lower back ones were filled with gold. Perrin Whitman had told me that when he had gone with the volunteers to the Mission the spring after the massacre, he had picked up a skull among others which he then claimed was that of his uncle. He said he recognized it by the gold fillings in the back teeth, as when coming West in 1843 he went with his uncle to a dentist in St. Louis, Mo., and that was the first time he ever saw gold-leaf, which was used in his uncle's teeth. It was the first dental work he had ever seen done and he was very much interested and it made a deep impression upon his mind. The skull with the unusually large nose orifice, we felt sure was that of Mr. Hoffman as he was the only man in the settlement having a very large nose. A very thick skull, we felt, resembled Mr. Gillam, the tailor. The skull of an old man, we decided, was that of the miller, Mr. Marsh. The thigh-bone of a boy about fifteen years of age, we were sure belonged to my brother, Frank, as he was the youngest killed. It was considered remarkable that the bones were so well preserved after the lapse of half a century.

In 1916 I attended the reunion of the Oregon Pioneer Society and that of the Indian Volunteers at Portland. A gathering of 1600 persons gathered in the City Auditorium. It was a most interesting meeting to me and kept my mind constantly occupied with past experiences. Perhaps the thing that brought by-gone times most vividly to my mind was the trip for the pioneers up the Columbia Highway in autos furnished by the city. As I looked out across the broad river from the height of the _Vista House_, dedicated to the pioneers of Oregon, the beautifully finished roadway, with its wonderful curves, solid masonry, gentle grades, faded from before my eyes and again I saw a little party of forlorn and homeless refugees rowing down that same river in the old-fashioned, flat-bottomed bateaux, thankful to be alive, but always hurrying to put more and more miles of water between them and the tragic place called Waiilatpu. The chill of those misty winter days again crept to my heart and I clearly recalled the childish awe that filled my soul as I noticed the girth and height of the forest trees on either side of the murky, greenish water that swept on past them with a strong current, leaving sand-bar after sand-bar a gleam of tawny color against their masses of dark green foliage; and I thought of a moment when we saw a little cluster of five log houses and knew that we could see Portland. Then as I looked toward the magnificent city of today, with its homes, churches, schools, its parks and business places, I felt that I must be waking from a _Rip Van Winkle_ sleep and the magic of the moment almost overcame me. This thought I carried away with me. Surely if the way of the pioneer is hard and beset with dangers, at least the long years bring at last the realization that life, patiently and hopefully lived, brings its own sense of having been part and parcel of the onward move to better things--not for self alone, but for others.

Transcriber's note:

The following corrections have been made:

Foreword: "Coeurd 'Alene" changed to Coeur d'Alene;

p. 10 "we would go picnicing in" picnicing changed to picnicking;

p. 18 "children haven't had any dinner," 'and" single quotation mark before and removed;

p. 19 "realized whatt it meant" whatt changed to what;

p. 20 "the woman watned" watned changed to wanted;

p. 25 "repent the argreement" argreement changed to agreement;

p. 26 "we got to Vancauver" Vancauver changed to Vancouver;

p. 30: "it go so strong of sulphur" go changed to got;

p. 33 "rtip to Scroggin's valley" rtip changed to trip; "meeing my first husband" meeing changed to meeting;

p. 35 "baked it her own stove" changed to baked it in her own stove; "rought and rugged" rought changed to rough; "Rev. Walker performer the ceremony" performer changed to performed;

p. 36 "bugler rode down to our" buglar changed to bugler;

p. 38 "wood-choppers,b ut little" moved space before b; "winter of '61-61" '61-61 changed to '60-61;

p. 39 "stuck in it the muzzle" changed to stuck it in the muzzle;

p. 42 "his Mission, be brought" be changed to he; "family and belingings" belingings changed to belongings; "steamed by limbs" by changed to my; "with life dispared of" dispared changed to dispaired; "and perseverance I at last" perseverence changed to perseverance;

p. 44 "Whitman kiows you" kiows changed to knows; "old Colifornia home" Colifornia changed to California; "we continued our reminiscences" reminiscenses changed to reminiscences;

p. 45 "some of the lower black ones" black changed to back;

p. 46 "with past exteriences" exteriences changed to experiences.

Everything else has been retained as printed, i.e. inconsistent spelling like Geiger/Gieger/Grieger, Waiilatpu/Waillatpu, Eels/Eells.