The night was dark, and the rain and wind beat furiously upon us. But our interview was sweet. We little thought it was to be our last. With feelings of deepest emotion, we calld to mind, that eleven years before, we crossd this trail the day before we reachd Walla-walla, the end of our seven months’ journey from New York. We little thought the journey of life was so soon to close. We calld to mind the high hopes and thrilling interests which had been awakend during the year that followd—of our successful labors, and the constant devotedness of the Indians to improvement. True, we rememberd the months of deep solicitude we had had, occasiond by the increasing, menacing demands of the Indians for pay for their water, their wood, their air, their lands. But much of this had passd away, and the Cayuse, as to efforts for improvement, and menacing the station, were in a far more encouraging condition than ever before.
But the principal topic of conversation during that dark night was the danger that threatend from another source. The little cloud, as a man’s hand, which had been hanging for some years in the distant horizon, now assumd a darker and more alarming appearance. The Papal Bishop and his priests seemd determind to crowd themselves upon us, and without consultation.
We felt that the present sickness among the Indians afforded the Catholics a favorable opportunity to excite the Indians to drive us from the country. And all the movements seemd to indicate that this would soon be attempted if not executed. Besides, we are informd by their own writers, that the oath of every priest requires him to oppose, to persecute and to ruinate every heretic, and every other power, but the Papal power, to the utmost of his ability. But my worthy brother replied, “in God we put our trust,” and repeated “if I am to fall by Roman Catholic influence, I believe my death will do as much good to Oregon as my life can.”
We arrivd late at the lodge of Stickas, thoroughly wet. In coming down the hill to the lodge, my horse fell and rolld partly over me, which causd severe pains in the head, and one leg, through the night and the next day. We spread down our blankets by a good fire in the lodge, and lay till morning.
28—Sabbath. Stackas, after family worship, prepard for us a good breakfast of potatoes, squash, fresh beef, and wheatbread of his wife’s make. My departed brother observd how gratifying to notice the advancement of this people—their present abundant means for comfortable living, compard with their wretchedness and starvation, when we arrivd among them ten years ago.
I was particularly struck with the stillness and the order that prevaild in the lodge, and through the village, during the Sabbath.
The Dr. was immediately sent for, and after breakfast, he went over the river, to visit the sick, in the villages of Tawitwai, Pa-hat-ko-ko, (Five crows, Yumhawalis, (Growling bear.) At the hour appointed, the Indians were collected, and I explaind to them the way of salvation.
About 4 o’clock, the Dr. returnd much fatigued, but said the sickness in his family, made it his duty to return home—said he had taken tea with the Bishop and two of his priests, who had arrivd from Walla-walla, the night before, and were occupying a house belonging to Tawitwai, (young chief,) built for him some years ago, by Mr. Pambran—said he had invited the Bishop and his priests to visit him, which they promisd to do in a short time. The doctor was much pleasd with the idea—hoping that we might come to some understanding and bring it before the people, to say who should be their missionaries.—I consented to remain, visit the sick and dying, and preach to the people a few days, then take my daughter and return home. Mr. Rogers expected to return home with us, to give his undivided attention to the native language. My dear brother bade me good evening, and left about sundown, although he greatly needed sleep and rest. My eyes saw him for the last time, as he passd at good speed over the hill, in the distance—to fall with his dear companion, at their post of duty.
What follows, I have receivd from the children, widows and others, who escapd the bloody massacre. I have taken every precaution, and made extensive inquiries, and believe the statement can be relied on.
Our devoted friend reachd home at 12 at night, and after examining the sick, took some rest. In the morning, he was at his work, administering to the sick, in the families of the whites and the Indians. That night or morning, an Indian died. The doctor as usual, had a coffin and winding sheet prepard, and assisted the friends in burying. He observd, on returning to the house, that but two or three attended at the grave.