Memoirs of the West : the Spaldings

Contents

I. Foreword

II. The Miracle of the Nez Perces

III. Reminiscences of Eliza Spalding Warren

Foreword

I HAVE been collecting material for years in regard to the early pioneer life of my parents, and at the urgent request of many of my friends I have gotten the material into book form. I have used magazine and newspaper clippings, giving credit when I have known to whom it is due. I have used quota¬ tion marks to show that the material is not mine, where, in some instances, I have not known to whom to give credit. The news¬ paper and magazine articles are given with the premission of the publishers. I have given very little of the Spalding family his¬ tory, as that is already before the public in book form. The his¬ tory of the Nez Perces Indian is also omitted for the same reason.

If there are views given in the following pages that disagree with yours, believe your own but allow others the same privi¬ lege. I did not omit the allegations against a small number of Catholics. I could not, in justice to the dead. Right or wrong, Drs. Whitman and Spalding believed that the Indians were in¬ cited by the Catholic priests who lived near the Whitman mis¬ sion, and there were many others who believed the same thing.

The Catholics are the pioneer church ; they have done much for the progress of Christianity and their history is full of the records of the brave deeds of sacrifice, daring and chivalry. So far as religious history goes, there is as much blood on Pro¬ testant hands as there is on Catholic hands ; both have done great good and both have, at times, done great wrong, but never has each acted as a unit in wrong doing. In such instances, the cases have been isolated and deplored.

Life is long and full of trials that bring out our strength and weakness, and now as I write to you while the closing shadows gather around me, I have this to say to you, Catholic or Pro¬ testant though you be, Christianity started at the foot of the Cross that bore Jesus of Nazareth. It spread out over the earth in many a diverse line and many of its paths lie far apart, yet, dear friends, I know that these lines draw again together as they near the gates of Paradise, and enter into eternal life as one. Believing the above, I offer no apology for the words that follow. M,y parents did much, gave much, and have a right to be heard in the land they helped reclaim. Greater proof of earnestness has no man than that he is willing to lay down his life in a cause.

Believing that we will meet with understanding in the new country across the last Great Divide, I bid you greeting and God-speed.

ELIZA SPALDING WARREN,

Walla Walla, Washington.

December 1st, 1916.

Chapter II. The Miracle Of The Nez Perces

The Transformation of Once Powerful Savage Warriors Into a Law-Abiding, Industrious, Christian People.

By Rev. A. M. McClain, Spokane, Washington.

Written for the August , 1912, Number of “The Missionary Review of the World.”

ALONG the Clearwater River in Idaho and its tributaries, may be found the remnant of the once powerful tribe of Nez Perces (pronounced Na-per-cy) Indians. The “pierced nose.” Why the name should have been attached to them is not cer¬ tainly known, for they did not practice wearing ornaments in the nose more than other tribes. Their own name for the tribe is Chopunish. At present the people number about 1,700, hav¬ ing been decimated by wars, small pox, measles, and the worst of all their enemies, tuberculosis, from several times as many.

They dwell in comfortable houses on their allotments, till the soil, and care for their flocks and herds. Some have hundreds of head of horses and cattle. Others have wheat ranches of 500 to 800 acres. The great majority are respectable, law-abiding citizens. But best of all, more than one-fourth of the entire population are Christians and members of their six Pres¬ byterian churches. This is after only three-quarters of a cen¬ tury of missionary effort.

Many theories have been advanced to account for the exist¬ ence of the American Indian, but the Nez Perces have a legend of their origin, interesting in itself, but of greater interest be* cause it throws light on their former religious belief.

Sixty-five miles up the Clearwater River from Lewiston, Idaho, is the Kamiah Valley, one of the most beautiful spots of the Pacific Northwest. Instead of the precipitous canyon through which the river plunges along most of its course, here is an open valley three or four miles in width by seven or eight in length, hemmed in by mountains 1,500 to 2,000 feet high.

These walls rise by benches, one above another, like the steps of a giant’s stairway. Clumps of fir and pine ornament the sides.

Breaking away on the west is the great Nez Perces Prairie, a great stretch of tableland, now famous for the immense crops of grain produced, while to the east is the vast Bitterroot Forest Reserve. The Kamiah climate is delightfully mild, and in the early spring the genial sun woos the myriads of wild flowers, while great numbers of birds of all kinds congregate before mating and going to their summer homes. In this charming nook centers much of legend, history and religion of the people.

Near the center of this fertile valley rises a cone-shaped mound of basaltic rock, some 75 feet high, known as “The Heart.” Centuries ago, before there were any people, a huge monster made his way from the great ocean to that point. He was so great that he filled the entire valley. Everything was being destroyed, animals and vegetation. The coyote was wiser than the other animals. The foe was his friend. Calling the fox, he suggested that they combine their efforts to destroy the mon¬ ster. The coyote always carried five sharp flints, and, entering the creature’s mouth while he was taking food, began cutting at his heart. The mound of rock is the point of the heart cut off.

After the monster had been killed, the coyote and fox de¬ cided to divide the remains and make people, so from the feet they made the Blackfoot Indians and sent them off to South Idaho. From the great head they made the Flatheads, and sent them over into Montana, and so on, till all the parts were used, and all parts of the earth peopled. The fox said, “We have sent people to all parts of the earth, and there is nothing left from which to make more people for this most beautiful spot of all. The coyote, lifting his paws still dripping with the best heart’s blood of the creature shook them, and from the drops of blood there sprang up the Nez Perces, the noblest of all the Indian tribes.

The: First White: Visitors.

It was September 20, 1805. The Nez Perces were in their autumn camp in the Weippe gathering the winter supply of ber¬ ries and camas root. Some boys came breathlessly into camp and told a strange story of a party of men whom they had seen, pale-faced men, men with glass eyes and hair on their faces. The writer heard the story in 1900 from an old, old woman who has since died, who claimed to have been present as a child.

The braves decided to ambush the party and kill them. Wat-ku-ese lay dying in her tepee. Overhearing the talk, she asked more about it, and said, “No, no, do< not do so. They are the Su-i-yap-po (white people) of whom I have told you. Be kind to them and they will teach you many things.”

Wat-ku-ese had been taken captive when a little girl, passed from one tribe to another until she finally fell among white people, who were kind to her. While still a young woman, wasted with disease, she took her babe on her back and started on the long trail toward the setting sun, to die among her own people. With her own hands she made a grave for the little one in the Flathead country. Pressing on, with sorrowing heart, not knowing that a kind, overruling Providence was guiding her weary footsteps, she became the unconscious deliverer of Lewis and Clarke and their companions, as they came over the Lolo Trail.

The: Four in St. Louis.

On their return journey in the spring of 1806, Lewis and Clarke spent a month at Kamiah. Whether the Nez Perces first learned of God and the Bible from them, or from the Hjudson Bay traders, or from some Catholic priest, will never be cer¬ tainly known. However, the mission of the four Nez Perces who went to St. Louis in 1831 for the “White Man’s Book of Heaven” is so well authenticated that there can be no reasonable doubt as to the object of their visit. Many attempts have re¬ cently been made to discredit the story of that heroic journey, but having talked with relatives and acquaintances of all four of the men, the writer is convinced that the embassage was sent to “seek the Light,” and that all four were Nez Perces, although many writers have referred to them as Flatheads.

Miss Kate McBeth in her admirable book, “The Nez Perces Since Lewis and Clark,” (Revelle), page 30, gives their names: (1) Tep-ya-lalrna-jeh-nin (Speaking Eagle), who died in St. Louis; (2) Ka-ou-pu (Man of the Morning), who also died in or near St. Louis; (3) Ta-wis-sis-sim-nim (No Horns on His Head), who died on the return journey, and (4) Hi-youts-han

(Rabbit-skin Leggings), the only survivor of the expedition, although he never resided among his people again.

This Macedonian Call from Oregon by these four Nez Perces braves was headed by the church, and in 1835 the Methodist Episcopal Church sent out Dr. Jason Lee and Daniel Lee, who came West and located in the Willamette Valley. The same year the American Board of Missions sent out Rev. Samuel Parker, a Presbyterian minister, and Marcus Whitman, M. D., a Presbyterian “Ruling Elder.” They were met by a band of the Nez Perces over in the “Buffalo Country” east of the Rocky Mountains, whither they had gone year after year to meet the coming teachers with “The White Man’s Book from Heaven.”

After gathering what information they could from the In¬ dians, Dr. Whitman returned to New York to secure recruits. The worshipers in the little church in the home town were fairly startled one Sabbath morning that autumn to see the intrepid doctor, whom they supposed to be across the continent, walk into their service, clad in traveling garb and accompanied by two Nez Perces boys. It is said that his old mother spoke right out in the meeting and said, “It’s just like Marcus.”

A Wedding Journey.

There were some consultations with the Board of Missions. Rev. Henry Hi. Spalding and his bride were intercepted on their way to do missionary work among the Osage Indians, and per¬ suaded to go to Oregon. Dr. Whitman returned to his home and there was a hurried wedding, when Narcissa Prentis became Mrs. Whitman. In February of 1836, Dr. Whitman and Rev. Henry Spalding, with their brides, together with Mr. William H. Gray, set out on what has been called “the longest wedding journey on record.

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It was not until November 29, 1836, that the Spaldings were “at home” in their tent at the foot of Thunder Hill, in the Lapwai Valley, Idaho, Dr. and Mrs. Whitman and Mr. Gray having located at Wai-il-lat-pu, about six miles from the present city of Walla Walla, Washington.

When Dr. Whitman left the Nez Perces in the Buffalo Coun¬ try in the summer of 1833, he told them to meet him there the next season. As the missionary party were celebrating Inde¬ pendence Day crossing the Great Divide they were greeted by a company of Nez Perces. A large number of them, men, women and children, had made a long journey on horseback to meet their teachers, who were coming with “The White Book from Heaven.” From the moment of that meeting friendship was sealed between the Nez Perces and the missionaries. From the Great Divide to Wai-il-lat-pu and Fapwai they were not without a Nez Perces escort.

The advance guard of a Christian civilization had reached the Pacific slope. Two refined American women had crossed the Rocky Mountains six years before Fremont gained renown for himself as “Pathfinder.” It was not to better their condition that the missionaries came, for they left good, comfortable homes. It was no desire for wealth that enticed them, for they sought not wealth. It was not the allurements of gold, for they were ignorant of the existence of gold in the very hills that afterward produced millions of it. They had the love of Christ in their hearts, and they came solely to bear a message of Him to others.

Those were years pregnant with heroic self-sacrifice. They were to make their homes where the first tree had not been felled to build it. They must wrest a living from the soil when the ax had not yet been laid to the first tree toward clearing the soil. They must live among a people of whose language they knew not one syllable, and not one word of which had been reduced to writing. All of this must be endured in such isola¬ tion as is scarcely possible on the face of the earth today.

In a few weeks a log house 18x48 feet was built. Prepara¬ tions were made to raise some provisions the following season. Ground was put under cultivation and crops of potatoes and wheat were grown. The raising of wheat called for the erec¬ tion of a grist mill. Burrs were made from native stone, and water from the Lapwai Creek furnished power to turn them. The old mill race may still be seen. Mr. Spalding foresaw that with the coming of the white man, game and fish, upon which the Indians chiefly subsisted, would become scarce, so he encour¬ aged them to engage in agricultural pursuits. They profited by their instruction, and many a white prospector or settler in later years has been thankful that he could buy beef, grain and vege¬ tables from them.

The: First Church and Printing Press.

It might seem from the foregoing that the missionary had foisaken his calling and become a farmer. Not so. These things were only necessary incidentals. While he was teaching the Indians to work with their hands, he also instructed them in the truths of the Gospel. In one report of the earlier years he said the congregations at the religious services numbered from two to eight hundred. He has left the record of the organiza¬ tion of a Presbyterian church in the autumn of 1838, two years after their arrival. He was pastor and Dr. Marcus Whitman was ruling elder. This church still exists in the Lapwai Indian Presbyterian Church, of which Rev. Mark Arthur, a full-blooded Nez Perces, is the efficient pastor. This has been truly “a mother of churches/’ There are today six Presbyterian churches among the Nez Perces, all ministered to by native pastors. Workers have gone out from these churches to a score or more of other tribes to tell the story of love. This Lapwai Church was the vanguard of Presbyterianism on the Pacific slope, with at present 764 churches, having a membership of over 78,000. The Pacific Coast now boasts the largest church denomination, the First Presbyterian, of Seattle, Washington.

Mrs. Spalding taught the Indians, her school sometimes num¬ bering more than 200. They came flocking around her in crowds; men, women and children. From early morning till late at night her house was thronged. Women came in to see how she dressed herself; eager eyes observed the preparation of the meals ; they watched her wash and dress her baby ; they followed her about as she swept the floors or made the beds. Thus it was one continual strain.

At first all their lessons were printed and illustrated by hand, for Mrs. Spalding could draw. It was a great day for the Lap¬ wai Mission when a printing outfit was unloaded from the pack animals, given by the native church at Honolulu. “Upon this, the first printing press west of the Rocky Mountains, the typesetting, press work and binding done by the missionary’s own hands, were printed a few school-books, the native code of laws, a small collection of hymns, and the Gospel of Matthew.”

ii

Saved From Massacre.

The work continued without interruption till November 29, 1847, the eleventh anniversary of the arrival at Lapwai. On that fateful day, with the suddenness of a bolt from the clear sky, the murderous tomahawk of the Cayuse Indians fell, annihilating the mission at Wai-il-lat'pu. Dr. and Mrs. Whitman, with twelve of their associates were murdered, and it was designed that the Spaldings should share the same fate, but they were protected by their faithful Nez Perces friends. However, they were obliged to flee from the country. Mrs. Spalding never recovered from the shock and hardship of that ordeal, and four years later went to her heavenly home.

And was the mission to be counted a failure? No; a thou¬ sand times, no. The labors of those eleven years have been summed up thus: “The Indians were settled in homes; their crops of grain were 20,000 to 30,000 bushels a year; the cows brought by the missionaries had multiplied into numerous herds ; the sheep given by the Sandwich Islanders had grown into flocks. In the school which Mrs. Spalding taught there had been 500 pupils. A church of a hundred members had been gathered. The language had been reduced to writing. A patri¬ archal government had been established. They had adopted a code of laws. The Sabbath was observed. The people had been brought from the darkness of heathenism into liberty in Jesus Christ.”

If we paused here in the sketch it would be a great record. But there is more. For twenty-four years Mr. Spalding was de¬ prived of the privilege of returning as a missionary to his be¬ loved people, but he never lost his interest in them. Finally a change in the government policy permitted his return. In 1871 he went back to resume the work so abruptly terminated by the Whitman massacre. Stooped with age and broken in health, he returned amid the great rejoicing of the people.

They had neither forgotten him nor his message. He found them still observing the Sabbath and keeping up their family worship. A new generation had grown up in the meantime, but they had been instructed by their parents in the methods of wor¬ ship.

The: Gre:at Re:vivai,.

During the remaining three years of Mr. Spalding’s life there was one continual harvest of souls. For years the Nez Perces had celebrated the Fourth of July by a great camp-meeting lasting several weeks, and held near the Lewis and Clarke camp¬ ing ground at Kamiah. To this camp came renegade Indians from many other tribes. The meetings were a mixture of horse¬ racing, gambling, trading wives, heathen ceremonies and Chris¬ tian worship. More and more the evil was in the ascendancy until in the summer of 1870 four young men of Yakima Metho¬ dist band came into the camp and conducted the religious serv¬ ices. The Spirit of the Lord so used these messengers that many of the people forsook their heathen ways and renewed their allegiance to Christ. Such was the condition when their old missionary returned to encourage their faith. Churches were built at Kamiah and Lapwai. During these three years Mr. Spalding baptized 694 Nez Perces, and nearly 300 among the Spokanes and Umatillas, making nearly 1,000 in all.

On the third of August, 1874, the sturdy old pioneer passed to his reward, and the remains were tenderly laid to rest by the sorrowing people who venerated him as a father. The people meet Sabbath after Sabbath and sing the hymns translated by him, and read from the Gospel of Matthew printed by their teacher and friend. His name is spoken with reverence and his life is held in blest memory.

Near the confluence of the Lapwai Creek and the Clearwater River, in a clump of locust trees, there stands a modest marble slab bearing the following inscription:

REV. HENRY HARMON SPALDING Born at Bath, N. Y.

Died Among His People at Lapwai, I. T.

Aged 70 years, 8 months and 7 days.

Grave of Dr. Spalding at Fort Lapwai, Idaho

Chapter III. Reminiscences Of Eliza Spalding Warren

Early Life: in the: Clearwater Settlement.

THE REV. HENRY HARMON and Eliza Hart Spalding were my parents, and in company with Dr. Whitman and his wife, came to this country, which was Oregon territory at that time, in 1836, as missionaries to the Indians.

Dr. Whitman and his wife stopped near Walla Walla and made their home among the Cayuse Indians, while my parents went on to the Lapwai country and settled on the banks of the Clear Water among the Nez Perces. Father erected a small, substantial log house and there I was born, November 15th,

My memory reaches back to the autumn I was five years old. I remember distinctly my childhood home — the little log cabin on the banks of the clear, rippling stream, the hills, as they rose, soft in outline, glowing in tints of brown and yellow, on either side of the beautiful, green wooded river valley. I recall the little garden where we raised in abundance, luscious vegetables of all varieties, the little orchard (see father’s letter) that was just bearing, and the grave, stately Indians, as they would come and go on their visits to father and mother. Hardly a day passed without their coming to us on an errand or friendly visit.

I have a vivid memory picture of the Indians as they gathered on the Sabbath day to hear father tell the story of the Man of Galilee. An Indian who could speak both the English and his own language would interpret the sermons, or lessons, perhaps I should call them. (Father and mother both readily learned the Nez Perce language and I could speak it well by the time I was old enough to talk my own language.)

They would all sit flat on the floor, men, women and chil¬ dren. I distinctly remember with what good behavior and close attention they would listen through the services. I also remem¬ ber them as they appeared in the school. Mother taught the younger, and father was in charge of the older ones. They were earnest, painstaking students and many times there would

H

be as many as two hundred of them to be instructed. I remem¬ ber that some of them often came back in the evening for sev¬ eral hours of special help. Mother taught several of the girls to do housework and to card, weave and spin. They were all delighted and learned readily. They seemed to really enjoy doing all kinds of domestic work. Father taught the men how to cultivate and raise their crops of hay and grain, and how to care for their garden patches.

Let me tell you how the Indians harvested their wheat. It was cut with a small hand sickle and bound in bundles. The Indians would carry these bundles on their backs to corrals in which there were a number of wild horses. They would toss the wheat sheaves over into the corrals and then drive the horses round and round until the wheat berries were all tramped out; then when a wind came it would blow away the straw and chaff, and the Indians gathered up and cleaned the grain.

Father had a small grist mill near the house and the Indians brought their wheat to him to be ground, finding the grist mill a great improvement over their crude pestles and mortars.

I do not remember ever seeing father and mother out of patience, or even discouraged, with the Indians. They wished to treat them in such a way that the Indians would have full confidence in them and their work, and realize that it was all being done for their good. I refer you to mother’s diary for her views on this matter.

To the best of my recollections, mother was never frightened enough to lose control of herself but once and then the incident was enough to shake even her nerves of steel. One day, when a number of Indians brought wheat to the grist mill, some of the young bucks took a notion that they could run the mill much better than the old gentleman father had placed in charge, and they used Indian methods of getting him out of the way — that is, they knocked him down and rolled him out of the way, and one of their number had taken his place and was proceeding to run the mill when father appeared on the scene and began in¬ vestigating matters. The Indian most responsible for the in¬ surgency father took by the hair of his head and led him out and away, when suddenly he stopped and, turning on father, knocked him down and choked him severely. I see and hear mother now as she ran screaming to help father, but the other Indians had already interfered and one of them said to her, later: “Do you not know that we would not let him hurt Mr. Spalding?”

The thought has come to me many times of how utterly we were at the mercy of the Indians. We lived in the midst of them, miles from any white settlers. Father often had need to be gone on errands of several days’ duration and mother and we children were alone in the wilderness with the Indians. I never knew her to show the slightest uneasiness.

At a time when mother was brought very low with severe ill¬ ness and all hopes were given up for her recovery, one of the old Indian chiefs came to see her. He sat by her bedside and, taking her hand, talked about the good work she had done for the Indians and told her how they would miss her if she were taken away. He said, “Oh, that I could be taken in your stead, since I am old and my usefulness done, and that you could be spared to teach my people.”

[Here I will speak of something which occurred many years later, after the country was being settled and Lewiston was quite a place. I will tell the story as it was told to me by a minister who was present at the time the incident took place. At a meeting of the Presbyterian Synod of Washington, held in First Church in Lewiston, Idaho, October 3rd, 1897, one evening the meeting was taken in charge by the Indians. (Lewiston is near Lapwai Mis¬ sion where my father and mother did their wonderful work.) Four of the Nez Perce Indians, ministers, made remarks. Rev. Moses Minteith said, in part, — “My people were heathen and practiced all kinds of bad and evil superstitions. They had only heard a strange and improbable story of the white man’s God, but at last a man came out of the East with the Book. That man was Spalding. He came as the morning sun over the mountains, and he found much darkness in the hearts of my people as is found where there is no sun. Oh, he was a great blessing to my people, bringing light and knowledge of Jesus Christ, like sun¬ shine to make happy the hearts of poor Indians. Our hearts will always be glad when we think of him and his wife and the kind friends who sent them to us. He brought salvation and a new life out of the East, just as did the Christ Child who was born to bring light into the world. It was like the shining of the Star of Bethlehem to the Red Men when Spalding and Whitman came. Now our eyes are opened and our hearts are glad. Now i6 we have our churches and schools like the white man. We have our white brethren here and our white brethren in the far away East because they sent us the Gospel. We pray that all hearts may find the light and be happy/’

At this same meeting addresses were made by Rev. Mc¬ Arthur and Rev. Robert Parsons, Indian ministers, each making reference to Dr. Spalding’s work among the Indians, and each paying tribute to the Doctor and his wife.]

A Trip to the Whitman Mission.

When I was 9 years of age, my parents sent me to Dr. Whitman’s Mission to attend school. My only associates were Indian children and I was learning their ways and their lan¬ guage to the detriment of my own. Each winter a number of immigrant families would wait over at the mission, resuming their journey towards the West in the spring.

Most of these families were bound for the Willamette Val¬ ley. True to their desire to educate their children, they would establish a school as soon as there were enough children in the winter settlement to allow them to do so.

The distance from our home to the mission was 120 miles. As father was too busy with the fall work to accompany me, they sent Matilda, an Indian woman who assisted mother in the house very often, to take me to the Whitman Mission.

One beautiful autumn day we started blithely out on Indian ponies, our supplies loaded on a pack horse. We traveled three days and made three camps at night. Each camp was in a lonely place, not a soul near us. We could hear the yelping chorus of the coyotes, and the howling of the big gray wolves. We ate together and shared the same bed, and I remember today, with the respect due this sturdy Indian woman, how careful she was to hold the family prayers. She has long since joined her fathers, but Matilda, the faithful, will be remembered with gratitude as long as memory remains with the children of Henry Harmon Spalding.