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Margaret Windsor Iman
(Told by the Pioneers, Reminiscences of pioneer life
in Washington, Vol. 1 (undated) .. (also includes segments of unedited
version by Donald A. Brow, Historian, Skamania County Historical Society)
 My
maiden name was Margaret Windsor. I was born in Tippecanoe
County, Indiana, in the early 40rties. My father moved to
DeKalb Couunty, Missouri, when I was about the age of eight
or nine years. My mother, who was Martha Compton, had died
and my father had married a second time to Mrs. Louisa
Short, hence we had a stepmother who ruled over us. She was
all but a kind mother to me, so I told father one day I was
going to Oregon. He laughte at me and sai, "You won't go
when the time comes." There was a company of emigrants who
were now getting ready to start west. I knew some of them
and when they came by I went out and started on my long trip
to the west. We were six months on the trip with ox teams
and it was a long and tiresome one too. On our trip, I think
I am safe in saying, I carried a little motherless babe 500
miles, whose mother had died, and when we would go from camp
to camp in search of some good, kind, motherly woman to let
it nurse no one ever refused when I presented it to them.
We landed in the Dalles in the year 1852 and came down
the river on a raft to what is known as Sheppard's Point,
where Stevenson, the county seat of Skamania County, now
stands. At the latter end of the trip I had come down with
what was then called "Mountain fever" became unconscious and
did not know anything. I was then moved down to the head of
Cascade rapids near the supposed Bridge of the Gods. Mr.
Isaac H. Bush had erected a hospital there for the benefit
of the sick and I was soon an inmate of that institution and
was placed under the care of Dr. Belford. He being a good
doctor, as well as a good, kind man, I was soon on my way to
recovery. Mr. Bush also owned a hotel and when well I went
to work for him waiting table; but while I lay sick in bed I
heard the cries of an infant babe in some part of the
building. I asked for it to be brought to me and my bidding
was granted. I took it in my arms and tried to play with it,
but was so weak and worn I could not. This was the first
babe I had in my arms after landing at the Cascades in 1852.
This little babe was C. M. Williams, who was born at the
Cascades and who was a half-brother to J. F. and J. W.
Atwell of Stevenson, Wash., and who was stopping at my house
in later years when he died in Stevenson at the age of some
sixty odd years. He always loved me as his mother. He rests
in the little cemetery above Stevenson, on the bank of the
lordly Columbia.
While I was still employed by Mr. Bush I formed the
acquaintance of Felix G. Iman, who had been sent up from
Portland to work on the construction of a steamboat called
the Cosmopolite, to ply the river between the Cascades and
the Dalles. He being a skilled workman, as well as a good
man, I married him a little later. Portland at this time had
but few houses and those were all on donation claims. We had
in all sixteen children; nine boys, of whom six are living:
T. C. Iman of Naopavine, Wash., A.C. Iman of Cstle Rock,
Wash., George Iman, L. F. Iman and C. N. Iman of Stevenson,
Wash., and John W. Iman of Cascades, Wash.;seven girls, of
whom four are dead and three living; Mrs. Flora Foster of
Stevenson, Mrs. M. L. MacKinnon of Beaverton, Ore., and Mrs.
Rosa J. Jones of Satsop, Wash. I have thirty-six
grandchildren now living and thirty-seven
great-grandchildren.
In 1854 my husband built the steamer /Wasco, owned by him
and Captain McFarland. She plied on the river between the
Cascades and The Dalles. She was the third steamer that ran
on those waters between the Cascades and the Dalles. The
iron hull propellers. Allen, the first, Mary, the second,
and the steamer Wasco the third.
 Now
the Indians were getting somewhat numerous and were much on
the warpath, so my husband sold out his interest in the
Wasco to Captain McFarland and put up a saloon at the boat
landing. There were three saloons a little later on -- one
owned by Isaac H. Bush, one by Thomas McNatt and one by my
husband. My husband did not like the saloon business, so he
sold out to Flech Murphy.
In those early fifties money was plentiful but clothing
and provisions were high. The cons ranged from the silver
half-dime to the fifty dollar slug, and I will include the
copper cent. I well recall an instance of the paper money,
those days -- the common greenback. My husband had fifteen
hundred dollars worth of them and had to let them go at
forty cents on the dollar, and in ten days time they were
full face value, and, I want to tell you, he never loved a
greenback after that. No one would sell a pound of flour or
other provisions to his neighbor, but would loan him a
quantity of it, to be returned when he would be able to
purchase.
I will relate to you a fact regarding high prices. My
husband and Mr. Sheppard, who owned the donation claim where
this little town now stands, went in together to purchase a
pound of onion seed, each to bear equally on the expense,
and when the seed arrived they were "only" eight dollars for
the pound. A fifty pound sack of flour that my husband
purchased at the Lower Cascades, as it was then called, or
rather at the end of the little portage line, cost fifty
dollars and it was carried home in the snow, the distance of
the lines being six an seven-eighths miles long.
The Indians were getting more hostile and far enough
along to assure us of battle, so my husband decided he would
move up on our donation claim about a mile distant. We had
hewn logs and put up a house on what is yet known as Powder
Island slough. We had decided to stay and try to fight off
the warriors. We had carried in lots of wood and water and
cut portholes through the walls of our house, making it a
kind of fort. We afterwards abandoned this idea as there was
a large pile of shavings from the shingles that lay against
the house under the shed and on account of the underbrush
which was close to the house, this would have been an easy
mark for them and have thrown firebrands into and have
cremated us while sleeping.
While we were pondering over the situation, two hostiles
put in an appearance about one hundred and fifty yards
distant. They were huge and looking fierce and wild. A man
named Carter, who was stopping at our house, asked my
husband if he had any guns and he said "yes" and went out
and brought two.
 Mr.
Carter took one and my husband the other, each one of the
men to name the warrior he was to shoot at. Mr. Carter gave
the signal to fire after good aim had been taken, but when
the word was given my husband's gun made a "long fire" and
he did not get his game, though Mr. Carter took his man
square in the stomach. The others ran like elk, and as far
as we know, escaped unharmed.
They had fox skins filled with arrows and as they stood
with the bows on end they were almost as tall as the
warriors, who were close to six feet. Mr. Carter got the
huge bow and the arrows, so after shooting the man they
decided to cross the river to the Oregon shore.
I was sick in bed with a small baby at the time of the
massacre on March 26, 1856. In the excitement I was carried
from my bed up the river about a mile to where was supposed
to be a skiff. The skiff had been taken over to the other
side of the slough by a man named Herman, who died in the
Dalles later; so Mr. Simeon Geil, who was at our place, ran
the skiff over to where we were. As I was being carried into
the boat, it was discovered that my little boy, two years
old, had been left asleep in the bed. Mr. Geil, who was
young and good on foot, ran back and got him. So you can see
a part only of what I went through in those early days.
I think that day was the worst I ever witnessed on the
old Columbia and there have been many, taking it all in all.
I don't care to see any more of them -- the roar of the
small cannon at the blockhouse, the firing of guns; the dead
and wounded; the war cries of the warriors in their war
paint; the burning of buildings, with my house among them,
the fleeing of the people, and I being all but well; the
splashing waters and bounding skiff did not add to a speedy
recovery for me; but we landed on the Oregon shore safe and
took the steamer Mary for the Dalles.
Later, when we returned, I hardly knew the place. There
were fourteen of the Indians captured and hanged on a tree
about one mile from where we lived. Some of them, when asked
to talk, shook their heads and put the noose around their
own necks. Others laughed at those who were hanging.
There were fourteen of the Indians captured and hanged on
a tree about one mile from where we lived. (Correction: Only
nine of these Indian prisoners was executed. D.A.B.) Some of
them, when asked to talk, shook their heads and put the
noose on their own necks. Others laughed at those who were
hanging. The device of hanging was one end of a rope tied to
a limb, the other to the neck. A shiskey barrel stood on end
and one end of a rope about twenty feet in length drawn
through the bung hole of the barrel with a knot tied on the
inner end, which served to jerk the barrel from under the
condemned man. One among them was Jim Tassalo -- he insisted
he had not been in the battle. My husband, some few days
before their capture, while on his way to The Dalles, had
met Jim and told him the Indians already had been killing
the whites at the Cascades, so he turned his skiff and
sailed for the point from where he had come. He wanted those
who held him in captivity to hold him, unharmed, till Felix,
my husband, came from The Dalles and if he said he was in
the battle, he was willing to be hanged. This they refused
to do and so hanged him and asked Mr. Iman afterwards; hence
a life was taken from one for the crime he had not
committed, for my husband said; "Men, you have done wrong,
for Jim, I know was not in the battle."
There seemed to betwo tribes of the Indians. Chenoweth
was called the chief on the Washington side of the river,
and Bannaha on the Oregon side. They were not friendly --
the two chiefs -- as each wanted to rule both sides of the
river. There is some dispute as to the hanging of Chief
Chenoweth, but there need be none, for I know he was hanged
among the fourteen on a balm tree. The other chief, Bannaha,
died a natural death at what was called Greenleaf. Chenoweth
told the executo4rs they could not hang him; saying he would
yell out for help and that five hundred Indians would dome
to his rescue in just a few moments; but his yelling did no
good, for he was hanged just as easy as the rest of the
savages. After the death of Bannaha, Alex Telo, who married
the chief's daughter, called himself chief, but as far as I
know he was not recognized by any tribe as chief.
The horrors I went through during those early fifties
would be unendurable to the women of today. The Indian trail
passed close enough to my house that the stirrups of the
warriors would drag on the rough board wall all night long.
The trail was pretty much hidden by the wild rose bushes and
buck thrust and other small vegetation as well. Many times I
have witnessed this when all alone at night, while my
husband would be out late on some kind of business and would
be detained. I tell you it was all but pleasant during those
olden days of the early fifties.
After the war was over and the Indians were getting
somewhat friendly with the whites, they would often
congratulate my husband and tell him he was the Boston Chief
and Bannaha the Indian Chief, and if a dispute arose among
them they would call on him to settle it for them, and in
nine cases out of ten, they were willing to abide by his
decision. He had learned to understand their language and
could speak it fairly well and I afterwards learned to speak
it pretty well, but can't speak much of it now. It
disappeared, as did the red man also.
I will relate a comical occurrence, as well as a painful
one, that took place between my husband and the Jim I have
mentioned who was hanged. My husband owed him fifty cents
and he lived on the Oregon side of the river, here my
husband and I had gone for a visit at the Chipman home.
After I was there for a day or two I took sick and my
husband had brought home for me a pint of whiskey to use as
medicine. The Chipman house is the section house at Cascade
Locks today, and was built in 1855, if memory serves me
right, and a pretty good house today.
It happened that Jim heard we were there and came to get
the money, and as he entered the house, he spied the pint of
whiskey and my husband offered him the money. He said, "No,
give me the whiskey and keep the money." My husband said:
"No. Jim, I can't for it is unlawful to sell and Indian
whiskey and I have got it for medicine." Whereupon the
Indian became very angry, saying, "I will go and get my gun
and kill you if you don't give me the whiskey." My husband
said: "Go and get it if you like. I am not afraid and will
take a chance with you." He ran out of the house and jumped
on his cayuse; ran to Mr. Chipman's fence, threw it down and
regardless of his field of oats, ran through it, threw the
fence down on the other side and ran out. He had not been
gone but a few minutes till Mr. Chipman called Mr. Iman to
dinner and it so happened that my husband was facing the
door. They had no more than got seated when in ran the
copper colored Jim, gun in hand and ready for action. He
spoke in English: "I am going to kill you; I told you I
would." But my husband, who was a fast man and afraid of
nothing, sprang from the table, tore the gun from him,
walked to the door facing the river and fired both barrels
and threw it fifty feet away, breaking it so that it did not
look much like a gun. Then he grabbed the unlucky Jim, who
towered above him, and before anyone could pull him loose he
had beat the copper colored man most unmercifully and threw
him out of the house. At last he was able to drag himself to
his wigwam. After two or three days had passed, Jim sent for
my husband to come and see him and continued to send for him
for about ten days. So on Monday morning Jim sent for Mr.
Iman and Mr. Chipman said "Felix, I would go and see what he
wants, but don't go without being armed." So my husband put
Mr. Chipman's six-shooter in his pocket and went blue. He
entered the house saying: "Jim, I have heard you want to see
me; now what do you want?" "I don't want any more trouble,"
said Jim. "But you have made me blind, and I don't think I
will ever see again, and I want you to pay me for it. If I
am blind my wife and children will starve to death, so pay
me." My husband said: "Jim, you made your own trouble and I
will only pay you the same kind of pay if you care for it."
Not long afterwards Jim was up and around and the first
place he went for was our house. My husband gave him the
fifty cents and they often talked about it and laughed. Jim
worked for my husband hoeing potatoes many times.
Another instance that took place between another Indian and my husband
was at the time he started to build the steamer Wasco. He had
gone one day in a skiff across to the Oregon side near the locks
to get a large crook he had hewn out to be used as a bow-stem
for the steamer Wasco. It was pretty large and also heavy and
it's shape made it pretty long. Some way he got it into the
small boat with the aid of Mr. Chipman, or perhaps someone else
and proceeded toward the Washington side. He made his way to
what is called the chute, where N. Fields once lived. He then
had to tumble out of the skiff, as the boat had grounded on
the bottom and he could not land. So he tugged at it and lifted
every pound that was in him but it stood upon the two points
he could no push it over. Perhaps one more pound would have
overbalanced it an turned it out on dry land. An Indian now
appeared opon the sand and walked right up in front of the crook
as my husband held it upon the two ends. He was in arms length
of it and my husband said: Pull it over - in the Indian's own
tongue. He replied to Mr. Iman: "How much will you pay me?"
My husband got angry at this -- let the heavy missile fall back
into the water and ran out after him down the river past a local
place and down through the lands to the mouth of the creek,
a distance of about a mile and a half. He gained the time on
the dark man when he came to the bank which was perhaps twenty
feet above water, and as the Indian sprang from the bank to
the flat on the other side, my husband bested the jump to the
other shore by a good foot. This ended the race, and the Indian
won as my husband did not continue it. Both were tired by the
long chase. I'm under the impression that it was lucky for the
Indian that he was caught! |
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