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.

Mr. Hall was seen struggling with a single Indian for a gun which had missd fire—he wrenchd it from the Indian and rushd to the bushes wounded in the face, and during the afternoon and night found his way to Walla-walla, 25 miles distant. It appears from Mr. Osborn’s statement, that Mr. Hall remaind at Walla-walla during Tuesday, determind not to leave, but hearing the women and children were slaughterd, in despair he consented to be put over the river at night, and started for the lower country.

This corresponds with the statement which the Indians said was given to them at the fort, and reachd my place by a Nez Perce, the next Monday, the day before I arrivd at home. I know it has been publishd that he could not be persuaded to remain. But is it natural to suppose a man would willingly leave a fort well armd and defended, and expose himself for three hundred miles through a country swarming with savages who murderd his countrymen, and from whose hands he had barely escapd? Mr. Hall never reachd the settlements. Indian report says he was murderd by the Indians in the vicinity of John Day’s river. Another report says he was drownd in the Columbia river while attempting to pass a rapid in a canoe. The three men at the beef found themselves suddenly in the midst of a storm of balls and flaming powder, dischargd from a forest of muskets and pistols at their very bosoms. All three were wounded, but neither of them fell. They fled each as he could see an opening through the crowds. Mr. Kimble with a broken arm rushd into the doctor’s house and chamber as stated above. Mr. Camfield ran by the blacksmith shop, seizd his youngest child and calld to his family to follow him. They ran into the mansion, and he rushd into the chamber, and from a small window had a clear view of the awful scene without. Mr. Saunders was about being cut down. Mr. Hoffman was yet falling and rising and struggling with overpowering numbers, in the midst of clowds of burning powder, the roar of guns, the clash of war-clubs, and the screams and yells of the savages. He had first taken the direction of the mill, defending himself with a single knife. The crowd was now making toward the house and he in the midst, when two horsemen having finishd their work at some other point, with tomahawks streaming with blood rushd upon him, and he fell, literally cut to pieces. He was cut open through the back, and his heart and liver taken out and found by his side on the ground, by my daughter, two days after, who replacd them and sewd a sheet around the body before it was, with the others, taken to the pit.

Neither of the Catholics were in any way molested. Jo Lewis was one with the murderers. Finley’s lodge was near the mill, where the murderers held frequent councils during the massacre. Jo Stanfield was told by Telaukait to put his property by itself, that the Indians might know what was his and not molest it. He was seen to pass among the Indians as tho’ nothing was going on. He told three of the women, two of whose husbands were slain, that he knew the murder was going to take place before he went after the beef, as appears from their testimony before Judge Wheeler. He told the widow Hayse that day, if she would become his wife the Indians would not molest her.

When the massacre commencd, the two sons of Mr. Manson, and David, the doctor’s half-breed Spanish boy some nine years old, were separated from the other school children, and taken to Finley’s lodge, whence they were taken to Fort Walla-walla. The selecting of David from the other children in the doctor’s family, was a nice distinction, and could not have happend by chance. Two other half-breed children were left, but their fathers were Americans. David’s father was a Catholic, but his mother was an Indian woman, who when her child was young, had cast it into a pit and left it to die. The doctor learning the fact, went to the place, took out the child and adopted it as his own, had educated and bestowd much labor and care upon the child, and he had become a promising boy. His father before his death had bound him to the doctor. I am sorry to say the boy is retaind at Walla-walla, probably by the priests, notwithstanding my remonstrance. As well might any other of the doctor’s children have been retaind.

Mr. Camfield remaind in the chamber till some time after dark, when the Indians became quiet. He furnishd himself with a buffalo robe and some provisions and bid farewell to his family, not daring to hope that they might ever again meet in this world. He could be of no service to them by remaining and exposing his life, which would be taken the moment one of the murderers should discover him.

As yet none of the male children and none of the women but Mrs. Whitman had been killd, and the chief Telaukaikt had said they should not be injurd. True there was but a faint hope that Mr. C. could escape from the Indian country to a place of safety. But the most hazardous undertaking is cheerfully espousd when life is at stake. Mr. C. took the direction of my place, although a perfect stranger to the country and the route. He went some four miles and secreted himself in the brush to await a horse which Stanfield was to bring to him the next morning if he could do it unobservd. He remaind secreted most of the day (Tuesday)—saw Indians pass near and heard several guns in the direction of the station, and of course had the most intense fears for the women and children.

As I was expected from the Utilla that day, he supposd that I had very probably fallen. But the victims were Mr. Kimble and the young Mr. Young,—the latter had come down from the saw-mill with lumber and was to return immediately with provisions for the families. He had arrivd within half a mile of the house, when the Indians met and shot him about 2 P. M.—about the time the priest arrivd in the camp. The team was turnd loose except one ox which attempted to hook and was shot.

Mr. Kimble remaind in the chamber through the night, suffering the most excruciating pain from his broken arm, still more distress of soul from the cries and moaning of the 3 sick children, not having it in his power to relieve their sufferings.

In the morning he resolvd to procure water for the dying children. He made his way to the bank of the stream, where he was discoverd by an Indian and shot at. He fell as if dead, remaind a short time and then secreted himself in the brush. While lying on the bank, a friendly Indian made known the fact to his wife, but advisd her not to go to him as it would discover him to the murderers. How intense must have been her feelings.

About sundown Mr. Kimble left his retreat with the apparent intention of going in to his family. He reachd the corner of the garden fence some five rods from his door, where he was shot by Frank Askaloom, who afterwards took his daughter, the amiable Miss Kimble, for a wife. He claimd her as a right for having killd her father, of which he would often speak, to her with the air and appearance of one who had done her an invaluable favor.

Who can attempt to measure the deep horror and anguish of soul, of a young woman in such hands! May kind Heaven prevent a like affliction to any of his sinful children. Her bitter weeping whenever the Indian spoke of killing her father had the effect only to induce him to propose to exchange her to another Indian who held another of the captive young women as a wife.

Why Mr. Kimble did not attempt to make his escape on Monday night, or why, after having livd out the day on Tuesday, he did not remain in his retreat till dark and then escape, is not known. He was heard to say on Monday night, “It matters but little when we die if we are but prepard.” Perhaps the pain of his arm took away the strength of resolution. Perhaps he chose rather to die in the bosom of his family, than to make the uncertain attempt to save his life, which could only be a living death while wife and children remaind captives in the hands of the murderers, the sport of their beastly passions, the victims of their cruelty. For a stranger to reach my place one hundred and twenty miles, traveling nights, there was no reasonable hope, and if he could, he might end the nights of travel and pain and days of watching and hunger only to mingle his own with the dead bodies of the slain of that station—for what mind could divine where the work of superstition would end, which had no power to fear, and many inducements to go forward?

The Dalls were equally hopeless for like reasons.

Fort Walla-walla could afford a safe retreat, but unfortunately it was in the hands of Papists, for whom Mr. K. had the strongest fears as he expresd himself to me the week before his death—for no other reason can we account for his not fleeing to that fort Monday night. Had he done so, it is not probable the fate of poor Mr. Hall would have stood alone upon the page of history, to teach our children that Romanism is in practice what it is in theory, UNCHANGEABLE.

No horse arriving, Mr. Camfield left his hiding-place, and wound his way up the narrow skirt of brush till he came to what he supposd to be the trail to my place, about dark. In a country cut up with trails, Providence directed his feet to the right one, which he pursued that night and the next day, when Wednesday night found him in the deep valley of the Taka-nan, where he slept.

Thursday he followd the fresh tracks of cattle, which brought him at night to the brink of Snake River bluffs, some miles below the regular route.

Friday morning he came to the river, and having no fear from the Nez Perces, he calld to their camp on the opposite side and was crossd over. The Indian driving the cattle conducted Mr. C. to my house upon one of his horses, for which he requird his buffalo robe. That night they staid in a camp on the Clear Water, nine miles below my house.