Eliza says her blood became cold, and she could not stand, but leand over upon the sink, covering her face with her apron that she might not see them shoot her.
Oh what pen can depict the feelings of these lambs? From this place, they were removd out of the door, by the side of the Indian room, just before Mrs. Whitman was brought out to be shot.
Immediately on breaking into the house, the Indians calld to Mrs. Whitman and Mr. Rogers to come down, but on reciving no answer, Tamtsaky started to go up stairs, but discovering the end of an old gun, which was laid over the head of the stairs, he desisted, and enterd into conversation with those above. He urgd them to come down, assuring them that no one should be hurt. Mrs. Whitman told him she was shot—and had not strength to come down, besides, she feard they would kill her. Tamtsaky expressd much sorrow that she was wounded, and promisd that no one should be hurt, if they wo’d come down. Mrs. W. replied, “if you are my friend, come up and see me.” He objected, saying there were Americans hid in the chamber, with arms to kill him. Mr. Rogers, standing at the head of the stairs, assured him there were none, and very soon, he went up stairs, and remaind some time, apparently sympathizing with the sufferers, addressing them in the softest words, assuring them that he was heartily sorry for what had taken place, and advisd and urgd Mrs. Whitman to go down and be taken over to the other house, where the families were, and left them by assuring them that they should not be hurt if they would go down, intimating that the young men would destroy the house that night. About this time, the cry was heard, “we will now burn,” “we will now burn.”
There was no alternative. A terrible death by fire, in which all the children and the sick in the house, would be involvd, or that Mrs. Whitman and Mr. Rogers should throw themselves upon the promise of Tamtsaky. They chose the latter, as every one would, and our dear, devoted sister, leaning upon the arm of our dear brother Rogers, both faint with the loss of blood, stepd forth from the chamber, to be——! Oh,—my pen, speak not till forcd to name the awful deed!
Mrs. Hayse followd to assist Mrs. Whitman, who on reaching the lower room was laid upon a settee close by her yet dying husband. But oh how changd! that belovd face, the home of her earthly felicity, she had a short time before washd with her tears, and left it white with the paleness of death, now horribly cut to pieces, the upper part hanging over the chin, but gasping for breath. The sight was too much and she calld for air. Our dear brother was not seen to breathe after this, altho’ he might have lingerd some time, as darkness soon set in. The settee was borne by Mr. Rogers and Mrs. Hayse out of the sitting-room, through the kitchen, over the mangld body of John, through crowds of Indians and out of the door towards the Indian room where the children were collected. Just as the settee passd out of the door, the word was given by the chief not to shoot the children.