Immediately on breaking into the house, the Indians calld to Mrs. Whitman and Mr. Rogers to come down, but on reciving no answer, Tamtsaky started to go up stairs, but discovering the end of an old gun, which was laid over the head of the stairs, he desisted, and enterd into conversation with those above. He urgd them to come down, assuring them that no one should be hurt. Mrs. Whitman told him she was shot—and had not strength to come down, besides, she feard they would kill her. Tamtsaky expressd much sorrow that she was wounded, and promisd that no one should be hurt, if they wo’d come down. Mrs. W. replied, “if you are my friend, come up and see me.” He objected, saying there were Americans hid in the chamber, with arms to kill him. Mr. Rogers, standing at the head of the stairs, assured him there were none, and very soon, he went up stairs, and remaind some time, apparently sympathizing with the sufferers, addressing them in the softest words, assuring them that he was heartily sorry for what had taken place, and advisd and urgd Mrs. Whitman to go down and be taken over to the other house, where the families were, and left them by assuring them that they should not be hurt if they would go down, intimating that the young men would destroy the house that night. About this time, the cry was heard, “we will now burn,” “we will now burn.”
There was no alternative. A terrible death by fire, in which all the children and the sick in the house, would be involvd, or that Mrs. Whitman and Mr. Rogers should throw themselves upon the promise of Tamtsaky. They chose the latter, as every one would, and our dear, devoted sister, leaning upon the arm of our dear brother Rogers, both faint with the loss of blood, stepd forth from the chamber, to be——! Oh,—my pen, speak not till forcd to name the awful deed!
Mrs. Hayse followd to assist Mrs. Whitman, who on reaching the lower room was laid upon a settee close by her yet dying husband. But oh how changd! that belovd face, the home of her earthly felicity, she had a short time before washd with her tears, and left it white with the paleness of death, now horribly cut to pieces, the upper part hanging over the chin, but gasping for breath. The sight was too much and she calld for air. Our dear brother was not seen to breathe after this, altho’ he might have lingerd some time, as darkness soon set in. The settee was borne by Mr. Rogers and Mrs. Hayse out of the sitting-room, through the kitchen, over the mangld body of John, through crowds of Indians and out of the door towards the Indian room where the children were collected. Just as the settee passd out of the door, the word was given by the chief not to shoot the children.
At this moment Mr. Rogers, discovering their treachery, had only time to drop the settee, and raising his hands, exclaimd, “Oh my God,” when a volley of guns were fird from within and without the house, a part at sister Whitman and a part at brother Rogers, and he fell upon his face, piercd with many balls. Sister Whitman was shot in several places, lying upon the settee. Balls flew in every direction, striking the walls by the sides of the children. My daughter says the guns were so near her head that the flashes burnt her hair, and the burning powder mingled with human gore seemd ready to suffocate them. But there was no escape.
At this moment an Indian seizd Francis by the head, and dragd him a few steps from the children, where Jo Lewis, drawing a pistol, cried out “you bad boy,” and dischargd the contents into the lower part of his throat, and laid him bleeding at the feet of the other children, who expected every moment to mingle their bodies in the mud and blood with their groaning, dying mother and brothers.
The scene that follows beggars description and hurls us back amid the darkest days of Indian atrocity and savage cruelty. A savage seizd the blanket upon which the suffering Mrs. Whitman lay, and hurld her groaning and struggling into the mud. The brutal hand that gave her the first wound through the window, now seizd her by the hair of the head, crying out “you bad woman,” gave her several blows in the face with his whip, amid the deafning yells, the shouts and the dancing of crowds of women and children and men, who seemd to vie with each other in pouring the greatest possible amount of suffering and pain into the bosoms of their dying victims. Some attempted to force their horses over the bodies, while others with whips or clubs seemd to take fiendish delight in beating their faces every time they struggld or groand.
The night came on and removd the savage demons from this scene of torturing, to the house where the captive women and children were collecting to become for weeks the sport of their brutal passions, the victims of their savage cruelties. But these bleeding, suffering lambs of Christ, although piercd with many balls and horribly beaten, lingerd on till in the night. Their dying groans were distinctly heard by Mrs. Osborn. The voice of Mrs. Whitman and Francis died away about the same time, soon after dark. But Mr. Rogers continud longer, his voice becoming fainter. His last words were, “come Lord Jesus, come quickly.” Soon after this, Mr. Osborn and family left the Indian room, and passd on partly over the body of Francis which appeard to be lifeless. And it is hopd that very soon after their voices ceasd, these victims of savage cruelties found themselves at rest sweetly in the bosom of the Saviour, their labors, their fears, their pains ended, and their joys, unending joys, begun.
Mr. Kimble with the three sick children, also Catharine and I believe Miss Bewley, continud in the chamber through the night. Catharine tore up a sheet and bound up the broken arm of Mr. Kimble. After Francis was shot, and while the multitude were engagd in feasting their fiendish passions on the dying agonies of Mr. Rogers, Mrs. Whitman and Francis, Ups, Moolpool, (Walla-walla Indians in the employ of the doctor,) collected the other children in the buttery and attempted to comfort them. About dark they were taken over to the Mansion.
The first firing commencd at half-past one. Brother Rogers and sister Whitman left the chamber about sundown.
It appears the attack was simultaneous upon the different points. Mr. Gillan was shot upon his bench, the ball entering his breast and coming out at his back. He was assisted by Mrs. Saunders into another room, and expird about midnight. Mr. Marsh was shot at the mill, ran a little distance in the direction of the doctor’s house, and fell. Mr. Saunders, hearing the guns, rushd to the door of the school-room, where he was seizd by several Indians who threw him upon the ground amid a shower of balls and tomahawks. Being a very active man, he gaind his feet and ran in the direction of his house, and although he was thrown down several times and doubtless receivd many wounds, he gaind the end of the field near the mansion some twenty rods from the school-room, when overpowerd by numbers, he fell to rise no more.