"On April 30, 1854, I was married to a man named G. W. T. Allen and lived with him on Whidby Island seven years, during which time four children were born. We finally agreed to disagree. Only one of our children by my first husband is living. She is Mrs. L. L. Andrews of Tacoma, Washington. He is in the banking business. On July 7, 1863, I was married to my present husband, McLain Chambers. We have lived in Washington ever since. We have had nine children. Our oldest, a son, I. M. Chambers, lives on a farm near Roy, Wash. Others are married and live at Roy, Yelm and Stampede. We have two little boys at home. Have lost three within the last three years. We live a mile and a half southeast of Roy, Wash. "I have lived here through all the hostilities of the war. Dr. Tolmie sent wagons to haul us to the fort for safety. My present husband was a volunteer and came through with a company of scouts, very hungry. They were so hungry that when they saw my mother take a pan of biscuits from the stove, one of them saying, 'Excuse me, but we are almost starved,' grabbed the biscuits from the pan, eating like a hungry dog. "I suppose you have heard of the murder of Col. I. N. Ebey of Whidby Island? He was beheaded by the Northern or Fort Simpson Indians and his family and George Corliss and his wife made their escape from the house by climbing out of the windows, leaving even their clothes and bushwhacking it until morning. I was on Whidby Island about seven miles from where he was killed, that same night, alone with my little girl, now Mrs. Andrews. When one of our neighbors called at the gate and said, 'Colonel Ebey was beheaded last night,' I said 'Captain Barrington, it cannot be, as I have been staying here so close by alone without being disturbed.' Shortly after the Indians came armed, and one of them came up to me, shaking a large knife in his hand saying, 'Iskum mika tenas and klatawa copa stick or we will kill you.' I said to him, 'I don't understand; come and go to the field where my husband and an Indian boy are,' but they refused to go and left me soon. I started for the field with my child, and the further I went the more scared I got until when I reached my husband, I cried like a child. He ran to the house and sent a message to the agent on the reservation, but they skipped out of his reach, and never bothered me again, but I truly suffered as though I were sick, although I stayed alone with a boy eight or nine years old." "A BOY OF SEVEN WHO CAME TO SHOW HIS FATHER THE WAY." In the same columns with the preceding sketch appeared R. A. Bundy's story of his juvenile adventures: