The thought of fostering care seems to have remained with this "survivor" since her days with the Whitmans.

Forgiving innocent ones for the atrocious acts of their kindred upon her own brothers, Mrs. Delaney became a benefactor of the Indians. Before the apportionment of their lands the Coeur d'Alene squaws and children suffered great hardships. To them the Farmington hotel kitchen was a haven of warmth and plenty. They started home cheered and fed with bundles of food to tie on their ponies. The Delaney living room is the only place I have seen Indian women and girls light hearted and chatty. They loved to linger to sing for their hostess. Mrs. Delaney's hospitality extended to clergymen of all creeds. Her's has been a life of hard but generous service. "Not to be ministered unto but to minister" seems to have been the life motto of this woman reared in the wilds.

In 1881 General and Mrs. T. R. Tannatt came to the Northwest when the latter began a search for historical data; she sought pioneers and recorded their statements for comparison, in an effort to obtain truth. Opportunity gave her acquaintance with Mr. Gray, author of History of Oregon, Rev. Cushing Eels, the Spalding family, several survivors of the Whitman massacre, and pioneer army and railway officers from whom she gleaned information which later assisted her in writing the booklet, "Indian Battles of the Inland Empire in 1858," published by the D. A. R.

In 1887 she stopped at the Farmington hotel owned by Mrs. Delaney, and continued an acquaintance with her until 1920. She said Mrs. Delaney's account of the massacre never varied, and in discussion of points of difference with other survivors Mrs. Delaney's clear description and logical reasoning invariably convinced the others that she must be correct, while her clear remembrance of subsequent events, known to them both for more than three decades, strengthened Mrs. Tannatt's belief in the accuracy of her earlier impressions.

Mrs. Tannatt often urged this witness of the heartrending tragedy to publish her recollections, and had the pleasure of reading the manuscript for this narrative which she said contained the most comprehensive and truthful description of the Whitman massacre she had seen. She consented to write the Foreword, but before doing so was summoned by her Heavenly Father.

MIRIAM TANNATT MERRIAM.

Seven A SURVIVOR'S RECOLLECTIONS
of the
WHITMAN MASSACRE
by
MATILDA J. SAGER DELANEY

In the spring of 1844 we started to make the journey across the plains with ox teams. I was born in 1839, October 16th, near St. Joseph, Mo., which was a very small town on the extreme frontier, right on the Missouri River, with just a few houses. My father's name was Henry Sager. He moved from Virginia to Ohio, then to Indiana and from there to Missouri. My mother's name was Naomi Carney-Sager. In the month of April, 1844, my father got the Oregon fever and we started West for the Oregon Territory. Our teams were oxen and for the start we went to Independence, the rendezvous where the companies were made up to come across the plains. There were six children then—one was born on the journey, making seven in all.

The men of the company organized in a military manner, having their captain and other officers, for they were going through the Indian country and guards had to be put out for the protection of the travellers and to herd the stock. The immigration of '43 was piloted through by Dr. Whitman and ours was the second immigration across the mountains. The road was only a trail and was all Indian territory at that time, from the Missouri River to the Rocky Mountains. We had to ferry streams, sometimes with canoes fastened together and the wagons put on them; and the Indians rowed us across the rivers in some places. The mountains were steep and sometimes we had to unyoke our cattle and drive them down, letting the wagons down by ropes. The Captain of our company was named William Shaw. There were vast herds of buffalo on the plains and wandering bands of Indians. We had to guard the cattle at night by taking turns. After we started across the plains we traveled slowly; and one day in getting out of the wagon my oldest sister caught her dress and her leg was broken by the wheel running over it. There was no doctor in our company, but there was a German doctor by the name of Dagan in the following company and he and my father fixed up the leg and from that time on the old doctor stayed with us and helped. My father was taken sick with the mountain fever and he finally died and was buried on the banks of the Green River in Wyoming. His last request was that Captain Shaw take charge of us and see us safe through to the Whitman station. He thought that was as far as we could go that winter. Twenty-six days later my mother died. She made the same request of Captain Shaw and called us around her and told my brothers to always stay with us and keep us together—meaning the girls of the family. Dr. Dagan came on and helped to care for us with the boys' help. When my mother died, my injured sister could walk only with the help of a crutch. Mother was wrapped in a blanket and buried by the side of the road. So the Captain and his wife looked after us and the other immigrants showed their concern for the orphans by taking an interest in us. A kind woman, Mrs. Eads, took the tiny baby and the big-hearted travelers shared their last piece of bread with us. We finally arrived at Dr. Whitman's station on the 17th day of October, 1844, seven months from the Missouri River to the Whitman station. It was a long time!

Mrs. Whitman wanted to keep the girls, but she did not care for the boys. Dr. Dagan went on the Willamette valley and left us there. Doctor Whitman finally concluded he would keep the whole seven of us and took us in charge. We lived there three years. I might say something of the home incidents. The first thing Mrs. Whitman did was to cut our hair, wash and scrub us, as we were very much in need of a cleaning up; then she gave us something to eat and the bread seemed very dark to us—it was unbolted flour. Mrs. Eads, who had been caring for my baby sister, five months old, arrived three days later and then Mrs. Whitman took the motherless little one in charge and she grew to be a fine baby. Everything was so different from what we had been used to. The Whitmans were New England people and we were taken into their home and they began the routine of teaching and disciplining us in the old Puritan way of raising and training children—very different to the way of the plains. They hired a teacher and the immigrant families all had the privilege of sending their children to this school during the winter months. We had a church and Sunday school every Sabbath and we had our family worship every morning and evening. We had certain things to do at a certain hour. We never had anything but corn meal mush and milk for our suppers and they were very particular in our being very regular in all our habits of eating and sleeping.

When the spring came all the immigrants left and went on down to the Willamette valley—the families who had wintered at the Mission leaving the Sager children behind with the big-hearted Dr. and Mrs. Whitman. We had our different kinds of work to do. We had to plant all the gardens and raise vegetables for the immigrants who came in for supplies. We got up early in the morning and we each had our piece of garden to weed and tend. We had to wipe the dishes and mop the floors. We had verses of scripture to learn each morning which we had to repeat at the family worship. The seven verses would be our Sunday school lesson. We took turns in giving our passages of Scripture. Everything was done in routine. Sometimes we had to walk in the afternoon. Mrs. Whitman would go with us; we would gather specimens and she would teach us botany. During the summer when the Indians went to the buffalo grounds, we were alone and we looked forward to the coming of the immigrants as one of the great events of our life. Sometimes in the summer we went bathing in the river. We would get the Indian girls to teach us to swim. Once, Missionary and Mrs. Eels came down from Walker's Prairie, having with them a girl by the name of Emma Hobson, and the latter went in bathing with us children; she could not swim and the current swept her down the river. She caught on an overhanging bush and an Indian took her out of the river and put a blanket around her. Mrs. Eels gave the alarm. We always called that "Emma's place." We cut water melons in two and strung them together and would play for hours with those water melon boats, having a great deal of enjoyment. Still, discipline was strict and when we were told to do a thing, no matter what, we went.

Once a month we had a missionary meeting and we would sing missionary hymns and the Whitmans would read extracts from missionary papers. They took the Sandwich Island paper, the editor being the Rev. Damon. There was a man at the Mission by the name of O'Kelley; he was an Irishman, and he went with the Doctor who had to go out and give the Indians a lesson in farming. They took all we girls in a wagon and this man O'Kelley drove. Dr. Whitman showed the Indians how to cultivate their little patches. There was not very much cultivation about anything, however. O'Kelley was to cook the dinner. He had a big chunk of beef to boil and he told us he would give us a big dinner—would give us some "drap" dumplings; so we became very curious to know what "drap" dumplings were. No doubt they were "drap" dumplings, because they went to the bottom of the kettle and staid there until we fished them out. We put in the day there. Returning, my brother took me on his horse and some of the others rode in the wagon. We had riding mares and they had colts. When we came to the Walla Walla River the colts began floating down stream and we had an awful time, but I hung on. I had on an old sunbonnet, but I lost it. We finally got safely home.

The summer of '46 the Doctor went down into the Willamette valley and while he was down there my sister and I drove the cows off in the morning to pasture and while we were roaming along we looked for different kinds of herbs that the Indians eat; we got hold of something and started to eat it. I told sister it was poison, but she said if the Indians could eat it, it was all right. I ate some of it, became very ill, but managed to get home, falling just outside the door. They carried me in and found I had been eating wild parsnip and was very sick. Life was dispaired of and Mrs. Whitman sent a messenger to the Willamette valley to bring the Doctor home. He came on horseback as fast as he could, finding me somewhat better. I was able to go around the house, feebly. Everyone was eager to see the Doctor, but he hardly looked to the right or left, coming quickly to me, took me up in his arms and then went out and gave them all a greeting. He seemed to be so anxious about me. I always remember that.

Once in a while we would have a picnic. Mrs. Whitman would fix up some food and we would go picnicing in the woods and do different things to employ our time. It was a lonesome place away back there, shut in the hills.

In the spring of '46 we hitched up the wagon and thought we would go with Mrs. Spalding and one of the Walker boys on a trip. We went where the city of Walla Walla now stands. There were just four lone cabins there; they had large fireplaces and big stick chimneys. We only took provisions for the day. We turned the oxen out to graze and when we were ready to go home they could not be found. My brother went to to look for them, but being unable to find them, we had to stay there all night. We had a few blankets, for we always took some with us even on a short trip. When it came time to go to bed we had our prayers. Mrs. Whitman had taught us to memorize Scripture and the children took turns in repeating the verses, "Let not your hearts be troubled." We had songs and prayers and then laid down and went to sleep. The next day we found a large fish in the creek and we had some of it for dinner. My brother came and took us home and we called what is now known as Walla Walla, the "Log City."

Some eight years ago I was in the city of Walla Walla and standing in the door of a drug store, looked down the main street. As I looked down the street where the creek makes a turn and where there are many bushes of alder and willow, I saw what I saw in '46. There were some cabins down in there and I said to the proprietor, a friend of mine, "It seems to me it looks familiar."

"Well," he said, "you are right. It is supposed they were put there for trapping and quarters by the Hudson's Bay men, but it is not certain."In '46 all this Northwest territory was jointly occupied by English and Americans and it was not settled. Dr. Whitman and Mr. Spalding with their wives were the first homeseekers to cross the Rockies and it was just a string of Hudson's Bay posts all the way. Aside from the four missionary stations there were no other American settlements, save in the Willamette valley. Vancouver, Washington, was a Hudson's Bay post then.

We used to go to the Indian lodges sometimes. Doctor would talk to them about the Bible and on a few occasions we were invited to a feast where they ate with big horn spoons. Once a year the Indians went to the buffalo hunting grounds and came back with jerked or dried meat which we enjoyed very much. They also gathered huckleberries in the Blue Mountains and we bought and dried large quantities of berries for our own use. The Doctor had quite large fields of corn and the crows were very troublesome; so we children had to go up and down the rows ringing bells to scare them away. That was one of the things that kept us busy. He had a large family and the immigrants came there for supplies. He had to make use of a primitive custom in saving his crops; the grain was harvested by sickles and tramped out by the horses and winnowed. He had a mill out of which came the unbolted flour; we never had white flour. There were some sheep and some beef cattle. Dr. Whitman always sent the immigrants on to the Willamette valley as fast as he could; but many were obliged to remain at the Mission on account of their oxen having given out and he had to feed from fifty to seventy-five persons during the winter months. One of the jobs that I disliked in the fall was when he pulled up the white beans and every child was given a tin cup and told to pick up these beans with their hands. Every bean had to be saved.

We also had hogs. We raised a few, but never ate the pork, reserving that for the immigrants. The Doctor furnished them with meat, flour and vegetables through the winter and what work there was to be done they helped with, though there was little to be done at that season of the year; looking after the stock that was turned out and getting up a little firewood was about all that they could do for the Doctor.

I can never forget the Sunday services and the Sunday school held in the Whitman home. The first time I ever heard the song "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing"; it was sung by an old Baptist believer at the Whitman house.

In the fall of '45 a family named Johnson came, who had a young daughter eighteen or nineteen years of age and Mrs. Whitman hired her to help with the family work; she also studied and the Doctor and his wife taught her all they could. The Doctor also treated her mother, who was paralyzed. This woman's husband would carry his wife in his arms to the evening meetings, place her in a chair and then all would join in "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing." The daughter, Miss Johnson, instead of going into the valley with her family went to Lapwai and worked for Mrs. Spalding, and was there at the time of the Massacre. Mrs. Whitman used to go to Fort Walla Walla to make little visits. Sometimes she took one child and sometimes another and once she took me. It was a great treat to be allowed to go so far as Fort Walla Walla, right on the Columbia River. When the boats came in sight of the Fort, they were saluted by the firing of a cannon. I was frightened. I had never before heard a cannon and I held on to Mrs. Whitman. She told me to have no fear for they were only firing to salute the boats.

Once they sent me to the river for water and I became badly frightened. I raced to the house and tried to tell how this queer animal acted and how I felt; they thought it was some wild animal and my brother went down with his gun, to find it was only a huge toad. Mrs. Whitman taught us the love of flowers. We each had a flower garden, which we had to weed and care for. She had my brothers take a tin case and gather flowers as they would ride over the country and on their return would press them. She taught us a great deal about things of that kind and instilled in us a love of the beautiful. That kept our minds busy and cultivated a feeling of reverence for Nature.

An artist named Kane was sent out by the English government. He took pictures of the Mission. We children were cleaning up the yard and varying labor by trying to balance the rake on our fingers. Mrs. Whitman reproved us, saying she did not want that in the picture. It was customary to ask individuals what church denomination they belonged to and one day we discovered a man sitting outside the kitchen door; sister Elizabeth asked him about his church. He said he was a Methodist. She came in and told us, "There's a Methodist out there." As we had never seen a Methodist, we looked at him in wonder; but soon found he was not different from other men, and making up our minds he was not dangerous, went and talked with him.

One year Mrs. Whitman took a trip to visit the Eels and Walker Mission, taking my sister with her that time. She tried to take us on these little trips to break the monotony and let us see something besides our home life. We didn't have any shoes in those days—we went barefooted. In the winter we had moccasins, but they were not much protection. Shoes were not to be had in that part of the world. Our dresses for winter were made of what was called "baize-cloth," purchased from the Hudson's Bay Company. For summer, our dresses were made of a material much resembling the hickory shirting so much used at that time. We did not have a very big assortment of clothing; and we wore sunbonnets. Wash-day was a great day; it meant a very early rising, though the boys did most of the washing. When it came ironing day, all the youngsters had to iron. Mrs. Whitman taught us according to our years, to do all kinds of housework. We used to hire the Indians to dig our potatoes. They dug them with camas sticks. They were good at stealing the best of them, and good at stealing other people's water melons.

I can see in memory that there was a great deal of wild rye grass on the surrounding plains. Waillatpu means "rye grass." Droves of Indian horses would come through there. The grass was so tall I could just see their manes and tails. The land is now under cultivation. The wolves were very plentiful and one winter—'45–6—they became so poor and starved they would come right up to the door hunting for food. The Walla Walla River froze over, so that holes had to be cut in the ice for the sheep to obtain water. Some of the sheep fell in. One day we came down from the school for our dinner and in the kitchen the Doctor had five sheep, warming them up. He had rescued them from the water, but Mrs. Whitman was very indignant that he had turned the kitchen into a sheep pen.

In November of 1847 many immigrants had gathered at the Mission, intending to winter there. Measles had broken out among them and many of the Indians had also become victims of this disease and the Doctor was very busy attending them all. On the 27th of the month, Mr. Spalding, who had come to the Whitman mission on business, went with Dr. Whitman to visit the sick at Umatilla and to remain over night. The Doctor was very worried because there were so many sick at his Mission, having ten of his own family down and Mrs. Whitman much alarmed about the children. Some of them were very low—especially my sister Louise and Helen Marr Meek. Leaving Mr. Spalding at Umatilla, the Doctor started for home, meeting Frank Sager on the way, who had been sent by Mrs. Whitman to ask him to return at once because of the critical condition of some of the family. After reaching home, he told the boys to go to bed and he would sit up and look after the sick. So all went upstairs to bed and to sleep, little dreaming of the march of events that would blot out splendidly useful lives on the morrow and leave the girls of the Sager family again without protectors.