A Survivor's Recollections of the Whitman Massacre

by Matilda Sager

While I was at the Cornwalls in '49, we lived right where the Indians passed by on the trail coming down the valley. The Indians were not on reserves then. When the men folks were gone the women were very afraid of the Indians. They were women of the South, reared with a certain fear of the negroes, and this fear extended to the Indians. When the Indians were in the vicinity they would have me cover up the fire and if any of the babies needed any attention, I was the one who would have to give it and rake out the coals and make a fire for the baby. We had chickens and had a stick chimney; and in a corner of the chimney was a chicken-roost. One night old Mrs. Cornwall spied what she thought was an Indian looking through the chinking of the log house. I said, "Oh, I think not, I don't hear anything." But they hurried me up to investigate and it was soon found to be the light shining on the old rooster's eyes.

The summer of '50 I attended school, as I have before said, going also the next year for three months to the same place, to the Reverend Eels. Then I did not go any more until the summer I was thirteen. Mr. Eells moved over near Hillsboro, where the Reverend Griffin had built a school building on his place and had hired Mr. Eells to come over and teach and he lived in a part of Mr. Griffin's house. He called it "Mr. Griffin's select school." I was permitted to go there and work for my board, but did not have to work very hard. Mr. Griffin had lots of cattle and Mr. Eells had one cow; when he was at home he milked it and when he was not the youngsters had to milk. Mrs. Griffin and her children had all their cows to milk. They did not wean the calves, but would turn them all in together and the big calves would have a fine time getting all the milk. One day I was milking the cow and I set the milk pail down in the corner and the old cow got at it and drank all the milk.

I had read of town pumps, but had never seen one until I went there and I did not like the taste of the water in this, but Mr. Griffin said it was sulphur water. Finally it got so strong of sulphur he concluded he had better have the well cleaned out; so someone came to clean it out and they found a side of bacon, a skunk, some squirrels and mice. After it was cleaned out, we had no more sulphur water, but I have never enjoyed the taste of sulphur water since.

We had a garden. I was very fond of cucumbers and my favorite pastime in summer after supper was to gather cucumbers, get a handful of salt and walk up the lane. When anyone asked about Matilda, someone would reply, "The last I saw of her she was walking up the lane with salt and cucumbers for company."

Some of our pastimes, evenings, were to sit together by the fireplace in Mr. Griffin's home with him as the leader in the story-telling. We would recount incidents in our lives and then make up stories and tell them; roast potatoes in the fire, rake them out with a stick when about half done and each would have a part of the refreshments of half roasted potatoes and salt. Mr. Griffin sent and got what he called a seraphine—a small cabinet organ; it opened up like a piano and was a wonder around there. At about eleven o'clock, when we were all in bed, he would go in where it was kept, open up the organ and give us some music. His favorite hymn was set to the tune of "Balerma," and the words were, "Oh, for a closer walk with God," and he would sing such songs until after midnight. In the morning he never did any work on the place. He had a saddle horse and he rode around. Mrs. Griffin and the children had to do everything. He didn't even plant the potatoes. All the new potatoes we had grew among the old potatoes that were dug and stored for the winter and I used to help Mrs. Griffin get the new potatoes out from among the old ones. I helped her to churn and in many other ways. She thought I was a pretty good girl. Mr. Griffin was very fond of entertaining their company with music. There was a man named Laughlin who once came to spend the night when it was raining. We were sitting by the fireplace. The fire did not burn very well and Mrs. Griffin came in with a little hand bellows and blew up the fire. The old man saw her coming and fancied it must be a dangerous instrument of some kind. It frightened him and he got up and made for the door. He finally saw what it was and came back and sat down. Then Mr. Griffin sat down by his organ and began playing it. That frightened the old gentleman again and in his fright he overturned his chair and got out of the door. He could not understand what was happening. So we had our fun with the organ, Mr. Laughlin and the little bellows.

Mr. Griffin liked to give advice to the young. My chum, Maria Tanner, and I were frequently given the benefit of his wisdom, but child-fashion, did not care to be "preached at." We would see him coming and would start to evade him. Sometimes we would dodge around the house, but finally he got on to our trick and would meet us and corner us and give us whole lot of advice. He thought it dreadful for young girls to be as frivolous as we were; for he called it frivolous because we went down to the woods and sang songs and laughed. That was one of my sins—to laugh. We would often lie in bed singing and laughing and Mr. Eells would call up for us to be quiet. We would be still until we thought the old man had settled down and then we would start in again. Children were not supposed to be in evidence at all in those days, and I sometimes got double doses of advice and correction. But my school days ended—when I was thirteen.

I went back to the Gieger farm where I washed, did housework, sewed and cared for the children. Sometimes if there had been a good deal of trouble in the church, the man I lived with (Mr. Gieger) would not allow me to go to the Grove to church. But we had a meeting at Mr. Walker's home and Mr. Walker preached. Sometimes in the winter it was so lonely and cold that it would be three or four months until we could go out to church. We looked forward to the campmeetings in June. We had an old mud oven outside to bake in. The people got together and furnished provisions; some would bring meat, some potatoes and some materials for bread. I went with Mrs. Gieger's folks. One old lady said she went to campmeetings because she got to see all the old neighbors; and I think they were pretty nearly our only salvation from entire stagnation. Sometimes we would go fifty miles to a camp. One of the tricks of the boys was to shave the tails of the horses; another was to throw tom cats with their tails tied together in the crowd at the mourner's bench. This would stop the praying for awhile.

We always picked berries in the spring and summer. There was not much tame fruit—a few seedling apples. The only way we travelled was on horseback. The first printing press that was brought to Oregon was stored in Mr. Griffin's house. We used to go to the old press and try to sort out the type. Mrs. Griffin had a sister, Rachel Smith; the Griffins arranged a match between her and the Rev. Henry Spalding and she came out from Boston to marry him. We were invited to the wedding, which occurred in a schoolhouse used for a church, and the "infare" was arranged to be held at Mrs. Griffin's the next day. I had never been to a wedding and I had a great desire to go; so I went to the wedding in preference to going to the infare, since I had my choice. Mr. Griffin performed the ceremony. Mr. Spalding preached the sermon and Mr. Griffin played the organ and sang. The bride was attired in a white dress and a long, thin scarf with purple stripes in the ends and fringe and she had on a rough straw bonnet. Mrs. Griffin called it "Rachel's Dunstable bonnet." When they were ready for the ceremony, Mr. Spalding stepped forward and Mrs. Griffin placed her sister by his side, putting Miss Smith's hand in his; they stood there a little while and Mr. Griffin said the words that made them man and wife. That was my first wedding.

My next experience at a wedding was when I was chosen to be the bridesmaid. I was to wear a thin blue dress and I went to the place where the wedding was to occur, carrying my dress. Our dressing room was to stand on the bed with curtains around it. The bride was dressed first and then I dressed myself. We knew of another bride who was coming and we waited to get the white ribbon bows for the bride to wear in her hair and the white ribbons to wear around her wrists. The men were all standing outside the house, as the table was set for dinner—the cooking was done at the fireplace—and there was not room in the small house for them. Finally when the bride was ready the best man came in. His name was John Kane. I discovered he had about half of his coat sleeve ripped out, but in spite of torn coat, the ceremony proceeded and then we sat down and had the wedding dinner. The Rev. Walker performed the ceremony. Among other goodies which we had on the table were glasses of syrup. There was something a little bit white in it and I found that it was pie-dough cut out with a thimble and baked and dropped in it for an ornament. The next day the bride and groom and myself were to take a trip. The best man's sweetheart got very jealous of me because I acted as bridesmaid with her intended husband as best man. Engaged couples at that time were supposed to look only at each other. There were two couples besides the bride and groom, who took a horseback trip to Scroggin's valley; we went about fifteen miles, I should judge, and ate dinner with a brother of the groom. They had not been married very long and were starting in housekeeping. We went on to Mr. Tanner's and spent the night, leaving the bride and groom at his brother's. Our trip covered about fifty miles.

The next thing that came into my life, of any importance, was meeting my first husband. In the fall of '52 Mr. Gieger had two brothers come from Michigan and they spent the winter with him and in the spring went to the mines in Southern Oregon, then on the northern California, where they mined a while and then started a store. There were the two Grieger boys and associated with them were the two Hazlett brothers and Mat Fultz. Someone was always coming down with pack animals to get supplies, as they had to be packed out from Portland or Scotsburg. This summer Everett Gieger[**PP Grieger, Geiger?] came and one of the Hazletts came with him and spent the summer, returning in the fall with supplies. One morning I was sweeping the floor and was around with the children. About ten or eleven o'clock a man came to the door. He had long hair down over his shoulders; he wanted know if this was where Mr. Gieger lived. I was barefooted and not in trim to see visitors, but the stranger said "Everett Gieger would be along the next day; that he had stopped to visit someone and he had come on ahead." They spent the summer there. During the summer, they made up a party—Mr. Gieger and his wife, her sister and myself, and a man by the name of Mr. Blank, made a trip over to Tillamook Bay. We went up to the head of the Yamhill valley, that is now the Siletz Reserve. We crossed the mountains on just a thread of a heavily timbered trail and were the second party of women that had crossed the mountains. We were two days going over the mountain to come down into the valley of Tillamook and on down to what is known as Traskville. A man by the name of Trask lived there and made butter and took it to Portland to sell.