# Whitman's ride through savage lands, with sketches of Indian life/Chapter 5

CHAPTER V
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."
   "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:
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.
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.
​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
"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.