Same subject continud.

The Utilla is about 20 miles from Waiilatpu, prairie country, as is the whole of the middle district of Oregon, with the exception of one or two mountains, at intervals of one and two hundred miles.

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.

As the doctor returnd from the grave, great numbers of Indians were observd gathering about the station, but an ox had been killd, and was being dressd, and was supposd to be the cause, as the Indians on such occasions, always collect in great numbers, and often from a distance.

Joseph Stanfield had brought in the ox from the plains,—which had been shot by Francis. Messrs. Kimble, Camfield, and Hoffman, were dressing the beef between the two houses. Mr. Saunders was in the school which he had just calld in for the afternoon. Mr. Marsh was grinding at the mill. Mr. Gillan was upon his tutor’s bench, in the large adobie house, calld the mansion, a short distance from the dwelling of the doctor,—Mr. Hull was at work, laying a floor to a room adjoining the doctor’s house. Mr. Rogers was in the garden. Mr. Osborn and family were in the Indian room adjoining the doctors seting room. Young Mr. Sails was sick in the family of Mr. Camfield, who were living in the blacksmith’s shop. Young Mr. Bewley was sick in the doctor’s house. John Sager was sitting in the kitchen, but partially recoverd from the measles.—The doctor and his lady, with their three sick children and a sick child of Mr. Osborn, and Mrs. Osborn, were sitting in the dining or sitting room. Several Indians came to the middle door, and requested the Doctor to come into the kitchen. He did so, shutting the door after him, and taking the Bible in which he was reading, and which I believe is now in the hands of one who escapd, and having upon it the marks of blood.—Edward sat down by his side, and was earnestly soliciting medicines, while Tamahas, an Indian calld the murderer, came behind him, and drawing a pipe-tomahawk from under his blanket, struck the doctor in the back of the head. The first blow only stunnd him, and his head fell upon his breast, but a second, which followd instantly upon the top of his head, brought him senseless but not lifeless upon the floor. John, rising up, attempted to draw a pistol. The Indians before him, rushd to the door, crying out, “he will shoot us,” but those behind, seizd his arm, and he was thrown upon the floor. At the same instant, he receivd several shots from every direction, while a number with tomahawks and knives, rushd upon him, and cut him terribly to pieces. His throat was cut, and a woollen tippet stuck into it. Still he lingerd. In the struggle, two Indians were wounded, one in the foot, and one in the hand, by each other.

As soon as the tumult commencd, Mrs. Whitman, overhearing, and judging the cause, commencd in agony, to stamp upon the floor, and wring her hands crying out, “oh the Indians! the Indians! that Jo has done it all!”

Mrs. Osborn stepd into her room with her child, and in a short time, Mr. Osborn and family were secreted under the floor.

Without coming into the other rooms, the Indians left the kitchen, doubtless to aid in the dreadful work without. At this moment, Mrs. Hayse ran in from the Mansion, and with her assistance, Mrs. Whitman drew her dying husband into the dining room, and placing his mangled, bleeding head upon a pillow, and did all her frightful situation would allow, to stay the blood, and revive her husband, but to no purpose—the dreadful work was done. To every question that was put to him, he would simply reply “no,” in a low whisper.

Probably after he receivd the first blow, he was not sensible of his situation. About this time, Mr. Kimble, from the beef, ran into the room through the kitchen, and rushd up stairs with a broken arm hanging by his side. He was followd immediately by Mr. Rogers, who in addition to a broken arm, was tomahawkd in the side of the head, and coverd with blood. He assisted Mrs. Whitman, in making fast all the doors, and in removing the sick children up stairs. Jo Lewis was seen several times approaching one of the windows with a gun, but when Mrs. W. would ask, “Jo, what do you want?” he would flee away.

By this time, the scene without had reachd the summit of its fury. The screams of the fleeing, fainting women and children—the groans and struggles of the failing, dying victims—the roar of the musketry—the clash of war clubs,—the whistling of balls—the clouds of burning powder,—the furious riding and rushing of naked, painted Indians,—the unearthly yells of infuriated savages, self-maddend, like tigers, by the smell of human blood,—all, all, require other language, and other ears than those of civilized beings! My blood chills as I write. But I am amazd at the self possession of dear Mrs. Whitman. In the midst of the terrible scene, she leaves not the room of her pale, gasping husband. Two Americans were overpowerd by crowds of savages, and hewd down by her window. It attractted her attention but for a moment—but this afforded an opportunity for a young Indian, who had always been particularly favord by Mrs. Whitman, to level his gun. His victim receivd the ball through the window in her right breast, and fell, uttering a single groan. In a few moments, she revivd, rose and went to the settee, kneeld in prayer. She was heard to pray for her dear children, now to be left orphans a second time, and that her aged father and mother might be sustaind under the terrible shock, which the news of her fate must occasion.

Soon after this, faint and bleeding, she was helpd into the chamber, where were now collected Mrs. Whitman, Mrs. Kimble, Mr. Rogers, all wounded and fainting with the loss of blood—Mr. Hayse, Mrs. Bewley, Catharine Sager, 13 years of age, and the three sick children.

They had scarcely gaind this temporary retreat, when the crash of the windows and doors, the deafening war whoop took the last hope from their fainting bosoms.

The under rooms were plunderd of all their property, the furniture dashd to pieces, and cast out. Jo Lewis was seen among the foremost to dash in the windows and bring out the goods. Here a deed was perpetrated, that exhibits the deep treachery and malignity of the Indian character—

Telaukaikt came into the room, where the doctor lay yet breathing, and with his hatchet, deliberately chopd his face terribly to pieces, but still left him alive.

Telaukaikt was a principal chief, had ever receivd markd favors from the doctor. A store house was then about being completed for him by the doctor. For several years he had exhibited a good christian character, and was on probation for admission into the church. But such was the return for untold favors, and such the end of his religion. A few days before, it will be recollected, he had given a piece of land to the priests, to commence a mission station within 4 miles of the Dr.’s house and told the Bishop they were going to get rid of the Doctor—according to Capt. McKay’s statement. The same hatchet or some other, cut several deep gashes in the face of John, while he was yet living.

About this time, Jo Lewis went up into the school room and sought out the children, who were hid in the upper loft, and brought them into the kitchen to be shot.