have a site for a mission and as much ground to cultivate as was necessary to support the priests. The bishop “told them,” says Father Brouillet, “that he would not make presents to the Indians; that he would give them nothing for the land he asked; that in case they worked for him he would pay them for their work and no more.” The author just quoted was sent among the Cayuses to select a proper site, but, not finding one suitable, accepted Young Chief’s offer, a camp fully twenty-five miles from Dr. Whitman’s residence, in the midst of another tribe altogether. As one of the many traits of Christian charity which distinguishes the Catholic missionaries in every part of the world, it may be mentioned that, during the conference at the fort, one of the chiefs spoke of Dr. Whitman in very harsh terms, accusing him of dishonesty and mercenary motives. Bishop Blanchet reproved him instantly, sternly telling him that the doctor was a good man, and that he, the chief, had a bad heart to say so; and when Father Brouillet was offered, by Tilokaikt, Whitman’s own mission for Catholic purposes for nothing, he positively and peremptorily declined it. And yet Pub. Doc. No. 37 would have us believe that the Catholics coveted Whitman’s Station, and were resolved to have it at any cost. On November 27, the bishop, with his secretary and Father Brouillet, proceeded to the new station at Umatilla. On the day following, Sunday, they were visited by Whitman, and on Monday by Spaulding, who remained for supper, both these gentleman, it seems, having modified their views during the previous two months’ intercourse with the missionaries. It was on this latter day, between two and three o’clock in the afternoon, that Whitman and his companions were murdered. The
account of that horrible event, as related by Father Brouillet, who was on the ground two days after, is still highly interesting. In a letter to Colonel Gilliam, three months later, when the facts were fresh in his memory, and every resident of the neighborhood was in a position to disprove anything he might say that was false, he writes:
“Before leaving Fort Walla Walla, it had been decided that, after visiting the sick people of my mission on the Umatilla, I should go and visit those of Tilokaikt’s camp, for the purpose of baptizing the infants, and such dying adults as might desire this favor; and the doctor and Mr. Spaulding having informed me that there were many sick persons at their missions, I was confirmed in the resolution, and made preparations to go as soon as possible.
“After having finished in baptizing the infants and dying adults of my mission, I left on Tuesday, the 30th of November, late in the afternoon, for Tilokaikt’s camp, where I arrived between seven and eight o’clock in the evening. It is impossible to conceive my surprise and consternation when, upon my arrival, I learned that the Indians the day before had massacred the doctor and his wife, with the greater part of the Americans at the mission. I passed the night without scarcely closing my eyes. Early next morning I baptized three sick children, two of whom died soon after, and then hastened to the scene of death to offer to the widows and orphans all the assistance in my power. I found five or six women and over thirty children in a condition deplorable beyond description. Some had lost their husbands, and others their fathers, whom they had seen massacred before their eyes, and were expecting every moment to share the same fate. The sight of those persons caused me to shed tears, which, however, I was obliged to conceal, for I was, the greater part of the day, in the presence of the murderers, and closely watched by them, and, if I had shown too marked an interest in behalf of the sufferers, it would only have endangered their lives and mine; these, therefore, entreated me to be on my guard. After the first few
words that could be exchanged under the circumstances, I inquired after the victims, and was told that they were yet unburied. Joseph Stainfield, a Frenchman, who was in the service of Dr. Whitman, and had been spared by the Indians, was engaged in washing the corpses, but, being alone, he was unable to bury them. I resolved to go and assist him, so as to render to those unfortunate victims the last service in my power to offer them.”
The reverend father then goes on to relate how, after comforting the women and children as well as he could, and having been told by the chief “to say to them that they need fear nothing, they shall be taken care of and well treated,” he set out toward his mission, in order to intercept Spaulding and warn him of his danger. He was accompanied by his interpreter, and closely followed by a son of the chief, who, it afterward appeared, was going to his uncle Camastilo to acquaint him of the slaughter. His meeting with Spaulding is graphic, and, if not for the hideous surroundings, would be amusing. He says:
“In a few minutes after, while they were thus engaged in smoking, I saw Mr. Spaulding coming toward me. In a moment he was at my side, taking me by the hand and asking for news. ‘Have you been to the doctor’s?’ he inquired. ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘What news?’ ‘Sad news.’ ‘Is any person dead?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Who is dead—is it one of the doctor’s children?’ (He had left two of them very sick.) ‘No,’ I replied. ‘Who, then, is dead?’ I hesitated to tell. ‘Wait a moment,’ I said, ‘I cannot tell you now.’ While Mr. Spaulding was asking me those questions, I had spoken to my interpreter, telling him to entreat the Indian in my name not to kill Mr. Spaulding, which I begged of him as a special favor, and hoped that he would not refuse it to me. I was waiting for his answer, and did not wish to relate the disaster to Mr. Spaulding before getting it, for fear he might by his manner discover to the Indian what I had told him, for
the least motion like flight would have cost him his life, and probably exposed mine also. The son of Tilokaikt, after hesitating some moments, replied that he could not take it upon himself to save Mr. Spaulding, but that he would go back and consult the other Indians, and so he started back immediately to his camp. I then availed myself of this absence to satisfy the anxiety of Mr. Spaulding. I related to him what had passed. ‘The doctor is dead,’ said I; ‘the Indians have killed him, together with his wife and eight other Americans, on Monday last, the 29th, and I have buried them before leaving to-day.’ ‘The Indians have killed the doctor—they will kill me also if I go to the camp!’ ‘I fear it very much,’ said I. ‘What, then, shall I do?’ ‘I know not. I have told you what has happened. Decide now for yourself what you had best do. I have no advice to give you in regard to that.’ ‘Why has that Indian started back?’ he inquired. ‘I begged him to spare your life,’ said I, ‘and he answered me that he could not take it upon himself to do so, but that he would go and take the advice of the other Indians about it; that is the reason why he started back.’ Mr. Spaulding seemed frightened and discouraged. ‘Is it possible! is it possible!’ he exclaimed several times. ‘They will certainly kill me.’ And he was unable to come to any decision. ‘But what could have prompted the Indians to this?’ he inquired. ‘I know not,’ said I; ‘but be quick and decide, you have no time to lose. If the Indians should resolve not to spare your life, they will be here very soon, as we are only about three miles from their camp. ‘But where shall I go?’ ‘I know not; you know the country better than I. All I know is that the Indians say the order to kill all Americans has been sent in all directions.’ Mr. Spaulding then resolved to fly. His asked me if I were willing to take charge of some loose horses he was driving before him. I told him I could not, for fear of becoming suspicious to the Indians. I told him, however, that if the interpreter was willing to take them under his charge at his own risk, he was perfectly at liberty to do so. To this the interpreter agreed. I gave Mr. Spaulding what provisions I had left, and hastened to take leave of him, wishing him with all my heart a happy escape, and promising to pray for him.... The interpreter had not left
Mr. Spaulding (after pointing out a byroad) more than twenty minutes, when he saw three armed Cayuses riding hastily toward him in pursuit of Mr. Spaulding. Upon coming up to the interpreter, they seemed much displeased that I had warned Mr. Spaulding of their intentions, and thereby furnished him an opportunity to escape.’ The priest ought to have minded his own business, and not to have interfered with ours,’ they said in an angry tone, and started immediately in pursuit of him.”[139]
This Spaulding escaped to tell the tale, and to traduce the character of the priest that saved his life at the risk of his own. At first, he was inclined to acknowledge the obligation, for in a letter to his “reverend and dear friend,” as he styles Bishop Blanchet, eight days after, he writes: “The hand of the merciful God brought me to my family after six days and nights from the time my dear friend furnished me with provisions and I escaped from the Indians.” This effort of gratitude was, however, too much for him to sustain, and, accordingly, we find published in The Oregon American (p. 13) the following choice specimen of bigotry and base ingratitude, “worse than the sin of witchcraft.” He says: