HISTORY OF THE DONNER PARTY

A TRAGEDY OF THE SIERRA

By C. F. McGlashan

Truckee, Cal. 

 To Mrs. Elizabeth A. Keiser, One of the Pioneer Mothers of California, This Book is Respectfully Dedicated by the Author. 

Preface. 

The delirium preceding death by starvation, is full of strangephantasies. Visions of plenty, of comfort, of elegance, flit everbefore the fast-dimming eyes. The final twilight of death is a briefsemi-consciousness in which the dying one frequently repeats his weirddreams. Half rising from his snowy couch, pointing upward, one of thedeath-stricken at Donner Lake may have said, with tremulous voice:"Look! there, just above us, is a beautiful house. It is of costliestwalnut, inlaid with laurel and ebony, and is resplendent with burnishedsilver. Magnificent in all its apartments, it is furnished like apalace. It is rich with costly cushions, elegant tapestries, dazzlingmirrors; its floor is covered with Oriental carpets, its ceiling withartistic frescoings; downy cushions invite the weary to repose. It isfilled with people who are chatting, laughing, and singing, joyousand care-free. There is an abundance of warmth, and rare viands, andsparkling wines. Suspended among the storm-clouds, it is flying alongthe face of the precipice at a marvelous speed. Flying? no! it haswheels and is gliding along on a smooth, steel pathway. It is shelteredfrom the wind and snow by large beams and huge posts, which are boltedto the cliffs with heavy, iron rods. The avalanches, with their burdenof earth and rocks and crushed pines, sweep harmlessly above thisbeautiful house and its happy inmates. It is drawn by neither oxen norhorses, but by a fiery, hot-breathed monster, with iron limbs and thewsof, steel. The mountain trembles beneath his tread, and the rocks formiles re-echo his roar. "

If such a vision was related, it but indicates, prophetically, theprogress of a few years. California's history is replete withtragic, startling events. These events are the landmarks by which itsadvancement is traced. One of the most mournful of these is recorded inthis work--a work intended as a contribution, not to the literature, butto the history of the State. More thrilling than romance, more terriblethan fiction, the sufferings of the Donner Party form a bold contrast tothe joys of pleasure-seekers who to-day look down upon the lake from thewindows of silver palace cars. 

The scenes of horror and despair which transpired in the snowy Sierra inthe winter of 1846-7, need no exaggeration, no embellishment. From allthe works heretofore published, from over one thousand letters receivedfrom the survivors, from ample manuscript, and from personal interviewswith the most important actors in the tragedy, the facts have beencarefully compiled. Neither time, pains, nor expense have been spared inferreting out the truth. New and fragmentary versions of the sad storyhave appeared almost every year since the unfortunate occurrence. To forever supplant these distorted and fabulous reports--which haveusually been sensational new articles--the survivors have deemed it wiseto contribute the truth. The truth is sufficiently terrible. 

Where conflicting accounts of particular scenes or occurrences have beencontributed, every effort has been made to render them harmonious andreconcilable. With justice, with impartiality, and with strict adherenceto what appeared truthful and reliable, the book has been written. It isan honest effort--toward the truth, and as such is given to the world. 

C. F. McGlashan. 

Truckee, Cal. , June 30, 1879. 

Contents. 

 Chapter I. 

 Donner Lake A Famous Tourist Resort Building the Central Pacific California's Skating Park The Pioneers The Organization of the Donner Party Ho! for California! A Mammoth Train The Dangers by the Way False Accounts of the Sufferings Endured Complete Roll of the Company Impostors Claiming to Belong to the Party Killed by the Pawnees An Alarmed Camp Resin Indians A Mother's Death

 Chapter II. 

 Mrs. Donner's Letters Life on the Plains An Interesting Sketch The Outfit Required The Platte River Botanizing Five Hundred and Eighteen Wagons for California Burning "Buffalo Chips" The Fourth of July at Fort Laramie Indian Discipline Sioux Attempt to Purchase Mary Graves George Donner Elected Captain Letter of Stanton Dissension One Company Split up into Five The Fatal Hastings Cut-off Lowering Wagons over a Precipice The First View of Great Salt Lake

 Chapter III. 

 A Grave of Salt Members of the Mystic Tie Twenty Wells A Desolate Alkaline Waste Abandoned on the Desert A Night of Horror A Steer Maddened by Thirst The Mirage Yoking an Ox and a Cow "Cacheing" Goods The Emigrants' Silent Logic A Cry for Relief Two Heroic Volunteers A Perilous journey Letters to Captain Sutter

 Chapter IV. 

 Gravelly Ford The Character of James F. Reed Causes which Led to the Reed-Snyder Tragedy John Snyder's Popularity The Fatal Altercation Conflicting Statements of Survivors Snyder's Death A Brave Girl A Primitive Trial A Court of Final Resort Verdict of Banishment A Sad Separation George and Jacob Donner Ahead at the Time Finding Letters in Split Sticks Danger of Starvation

 Chapter V. 

 Great Hardships The Sink of the Humboldt Indians Stealing Cattle An Entire Company Compelled to Walk Abandoned to Die Wolfinger Murdered Rhinehart's Confession Arrival of C. T. Stanton A Temporary Relief A Fatal Accident The Sierra Nevada Mountains Imprisoned in Snow Struggles for Freedom A Hopeless Situation Digging for Cattle in Snow How the Breen Cabin Happened to be Built A Thrilling Sketch of a Solitary Winter Putting up Shelters The Donners Have Nothing but Tents Fishing for Trout. 

 Chapter VI. 

 Endeavors to Cross the Mountains Discouraging Failures Eddy Kills a Bear Making Snow-Shoes Who composed the "Forlorn Hope" Mary A. Graves An Irishman A Generous Act Six Days' Rations Mary Graves' Account Snow-Blind C. T. Stanton's Death "I Am Coming Soon" Sketch of Stanton's Early Life His Charity and Self-sacrifice The Diamond Breastpin Stanton's Last Poem

 Chapter VII. 

 A Wife's Devotion The Smoky Gorge Caught in a Storm Casting Lots to See Who Should Die A Hidden River The Delirium of Starvation Franklin Ward Graves His Dying Advice A Frontiersman's Plan The Camp of Death A Dread Resort A Sister's Agony The Indians Refuse to Eat Lewis and Salvador Flee for Their Lives Killing a Deer Tracks Marked by Blood Nine Days without Food

 Chapter VIII. 

 Starvation at Donner Lake Preparing Rawhide for Food Eating the Firerug Shoveling Snow off the Beds Playing they were Tea-cups of Custard A Starving Baby Pleading with Silent Eloquence Patrick Breen's Diary Jacob Donner's Death A Child's Vow A Christmas Dinner Lost on the Summits A Stump Twenty-two Feet High Seven Nursing Babes at Donner Lake A Devout Father A Dying Boy Sorrow and Suffering at the Cabins

 Chapter IX. 

 The Last Resort Two Reports of a Gun Only Temporary Relief Weary Traveling The Snow Bridges Human Tracks! An Indian Rancherie Acorn Bread Starving Five Times! Carried Six Miles Bravery of John Rhodes A Thirty-two Days' Journey Organizing the First Relief Party Alcalde Sinclair's Address Capt. R. P. Tucker's Companions. 

 Chapter X. 

 A Lost Age in California History The Change Wrought by the Discovery of Gold The Start from Johnson's Ranch A Bucking Horse A Night Ride Lost in the Mountains A Terrible Night A Flooded Camp Crossing a Mountain Torrent Mule Springs A Crazy Companion Howlings of Gray Wolves A Deer Rendezvous A Midnight Thief Frightening Indians The Diary of the First Relief Party

 Chapter XI. 

 Hardships of Reed and Herron Generosity of Captain Sutter Attempts to Cross the Mountains with Provisions Curtis' Dog Compelled to Turn Back Hostilities with Mexico Memorial to Gov. Stockton Yerba Buena's Generosity Johnson's Liberality Pitiful Scenes at Donner Lake Noble Mothers Dying rather than Eat Human Flesh A Mother's Prayer Tears of Joy Eating the Shoestrings

 Chapter XII. 

 A Wife's Devotion Tamsen Donner's Early Life The Early Settlers of Sangamon County An Incident in School Teaching and Knitting School Discipline Capt. George Donner's Appearance Parting Scenes at Alder Creek Starting over the Mountains A Baby's Death A Mason's Vow Crossing the Snow Barrier More Precious than Gold or Diamonds Elitha Donner's Kindness

 Chapter XIII. 

 Death of Ada Keseberg Denton Discovering Gold A Poem Composed while Dying The Caches of Provisions Robbed by Fishers The Sequel to the Reed-Snyder Tragedy Death from Overeating The Agony of Frozen Feet An Interrupted Prayer Stanton, after Death, Guides the Relief Party! The Second Relief Party Arrives A Solitary Indian Patty Reed and Her Father Starving Children Lying in Bed Mrs. Graves' Money still Buried at Donner Lake

 Chapter XIV. 

 Leaving Three Men in the Mountains The Emigrants Quite Helpless Bear Tracks in the Snow The Clumps of Tamarack Wounding a Bear Blood Stains upon the Snow A Weary Chase A Momentous Day Stone and Cady Leave the Sufferers A Mother Offering Five Hundred Dollars Mrs. Donner Parting from her Children "God will Take Care of You" Buried in Snow without Food or Fire Pines Uprooted by the Storm A Grave Cut in the Snow The Cub's Cave Firing at Random A Desperate Undertaking Preparing for a Hand-to-hand Battle Precipitated into the Cave Seizing the Bear Mrs. Elizabeth Donner's Death Clarke and Baptiste Attempt to Escape A Death more Cruel than Starvation

 Chapter XV. 

 A Mountain Storm Provisions Exhausted Battling the Storm Fiends Black Despair Icy Coldness A Picture of Desolation The Sleep of Death A Piteous Farewell Falling into the Fire-well Isaac Donner's Death Living upon Snow Water Excruciating Pain A Vision of Angels "Patty is Dying!" The Thumb of a Mitten A Child's Treasures The "Dolly" of the Donner Party

 Chapter XVI. 

 A Mother at Starved Camp Repeating the Litany Hoping in Despair Wasting Away The Precious Lump of Sugar "James is Dying" Restoring a Life Relentless Hunger The Silent Night Vigils The Sight of Earth Descending the Snow Pit The Flesh of the Dead Refusing to Eat The Morning Star The Mercy of God The Mutilated Forms The Dizziness of Delirium Faith Rewarded "There is Mrs. Breen. "

 Chapter XVII. 

 The Rescue California Aroused A Yerba Buena Newspaper Tidings of Woe A Cry of Distress Noble Generosity Subscriptions for the Donner Party The First and Second Reliefs Organization of the Third The Dilemma Voting to Abandon a Family The Fatal Ayes John Stark's Bravery Carrying the Starved Children A Plea for the Relief Party

 Chapter XVIII. 

 Arrival of the Third Relief The Living and the Dead Captain George Donner Dying Mrs. Murphy's Words Foster and Eddy at the Lake Tamsen Donner and Her Children A Fearful Struggle The Husband's Wishes Walking Fourteen Miles Wifely Devotion Choosing Death The Night Journey An Unparalleled Ordeal An Honored Name Three Little Waifs "And Our Parents are Dead. "

 Chapter XIX. 

 False Ideas about the Donner Party Accused of Six Murders Interviews with Lewis Keseberg His Statement An Educated German A Predestined Fate Keseberg's Lameness Slanderous Reports Covered with Snow "Loathsome, Insipid, and Disgusting" Longings toward Suicide Tamsen Donner's Death Going to Get the Treasure Suspended over a Hidden Stream "Where is Donner's Money?" Extorting a Confession

 Chapter XX. 

 Dates of the Rescues Arrival of the Fourth Relief A Scene Beggaring Description The Wealth of the Donners An Appeal to the Highest Court A Dreadful Shock Saved from a Grizzly Bear A Trial for Slander Keseberg Vindicated Two Kettles of Human Blood The Enmity of the Relief Party "Born under an Evil Star" "Stone Him! Stone Him!" Fire and Flood Keseberg's Reputation for Honesty A Prisoner in His Own House The Most Miserable of Men

 Chapter XXI. 

 Sketch of Gen. John A. Sutter The Donner Party's Benefactor The Least and Most that Earth Can Bestow The Survivors' Request His Birth and Parentage Efforts to Reach California New Helvetia A Puny Army Uninviting Isolation Ross and Bodega Unbounded Generosity Sutter's Wealth Effect of the Gold Fever Wholesale Robbery The Sobrante Decision A "Genuine and Meritorious" Grant Utter Ruin Hock Farm Gen. Sutter's Death Mrs. E. P. Houghton's Tribute

 Chapter XXII. 

 The Death List The Forty-two Who Perished Names of Those Saved Forty-eight Survivors Traversing Snow-belt Five Times Burying the Dead An Appalling Spectacle Tamsen Donner's Last Act of Devotion A Remarkable Proposal Twenty-six Present Survivors McCutchen Keseberg The Graves Family The Murphys Naming Marysville The Reeds The Breens

 Chapter XXIII. 

 The Orphan Children of George and Tamsen Donner Sutter, the Philanthropist "If Mother Would Only Come" Christian and Mary Brunner An Enchanting Home "Can't You Keep Both of Us?" Eliza Donner Crossing the Torrent Earning a Silver Dollar The Gold Excitement Getting an Education Elitha C. Donner Leanna C. Donner Frances E. Donner Georgia A. Donner Eliza P Donner

 Chapter XXIV. 

 Yerba Buena's Gift to George and Mary Donner An Alcalde's Negligence Mary Donner's Land Regranted Squatters Jump George Donner's Land A Characteristic Land Law-suit Vexatious Litigation Twice Appealed to Supreme Court, and once to United States Supreme Court A Well-taken Law Point Mutilating Records A Palpable Erasure Relics of the Donner Party Five Hundred Articles Buried Thirty-two Years Knives, Forks, Spoons Pretty Porcelain Identifying Chinaware Beads and Arrow-heads A Quaint Bridle-bit Remarkable Action of Rust A Flint-Lock Pistol A Baby's Shoe The Resting Place of the Dead Vanishing Land-marks

Chapter I. 

 Donner Lake A Famous Tourist Resort Building the Central Pacific California's Skating Park The Pioneers The Organization of the Donner Party Ho! for California! A Mammoth Train The Dangers by the Way False Accounts of the Sufferings Endured Complete Roll of the Company Impostors Claiming to Belong to the Party Killed by the Pawnees An Alarmed Camp Resin Indians A Mother's Death. 

Three miles from Truckee, Nevada County, California, lies one of thefairest and most picturesque lakes in all the Sierra. Above, and oneither side, are lofty mountains, with castellated granite crests, whilebelow, at the mouth of the lake, a grassy, meadowy valley widens out andextends almost to Truckee. The body of water is three miles long, oneand a half miles wide, and four hundred and eighty-three feet in depth. 

Tourists and picnic parties annually flock to its shores, and Bierstadthas made it the subject of one of his finest, grandest paintings. Insummer, its willowy thickets, its groves of tamarack and forests ofpine, are the favorite haunts and nesting places of the quail andgrouse. Beautiful, speckled mountain trout plentifully abound in itscrystalline waters. A rippling breeze usually wimples and dimples itslaughing surface, but in calmer moods it reflects, as in a polishedmirror, the lofty, overhanging mountains, with every stately pine, bounding rivulet; blossoming shrub, waving fern, and--high above all, on the right--the clinging, thread-like line of the snow-sheds of theCentral Pacific. When the railroad was being constructed, three thousandpeople dwelt on its shores; the surrounding forests resounded with themusic of axes and saws, and the terrific blasts exploded in the lofty, o'ershadowing cliffs, filled the canyons with reverberating thunders, and hurled huge bowlders high in the air over the lake's quiveringbosom. 

In winter it is almost as popular a pleasure resort as during thesummer. The jingling of sleighbells, and the shouts and laughter ofskating parties, can be heard almost constantly. The lake forms thegrandest skating park on the Pacific Coast. 

Yet this same Donner Lake was the scene of one of the most thrilling, heart-rending tragedies ever recorded in California history. Interwovenwith the very name of the lake are memories of a tale of destitution, loneliness, and despair, which borders on the incredible. It is a talethat has been repeated in many a miner's cabin, by many a hunter'scampfire, and in many a frontiersman's home, and everywhere it has beenlistened to with bated breath. 

The pioneers of a new country are deserving of a niche in the country'shistory. The pioneers who became martyrs to the cause of the developmentof an almost unknown land, deserve to have a place in the hearts ofits inhabitants. The far-famed Donner Party were, in a peculiar sense, pioneer martyrs of California. Before the discovery of gold, before thehighway across the continent was fairly marked out, while untold dangerslurked by the wayside, and unnumbered foes awaited the emigrants, theDonner Party started for California. None but the brave and venturesome, none but the energetic and courageous, could undertake such a journey. In 1846, comparatively few had dared attempt to cross the almostunexplored plains which lay between the Mississippi and the fair youngland called California. Hence it is that a certain grandeur, a certainheroism seems to cling about the men and women composing this party, even from the day they began their perilous journey across the plains. California, with her golden harvests, her beautiful homes, her dazzlingwealth, and her marvelous commercial facilities, may well enshrine thememory of these noble-hearted pioneers, pathfinders, martyrs. 

The States along the Mississippi were but sparsely settled in 1846, yetthe fame of the fruitfulness, the healthfulness, and the almost tropicalbeauty of the land bordering the Pacific, tempted the members ofthe Donner Party to leave their homes. These homes were situated inIllinois, Iowa, Tennessee, Missouri, and Ohio. Families from each ofthese States joined the train and participated in its terrible fate; yetthe party proper was organized in Sangamon County, Illinois, by Georgeand Jacob Donner and James F. Reed. Early in April, 1846, the party setout from Springfield, Illinois, and by the first week in May reachedIndependence, Missouri. Here the party was increased by additionalmembers, and the train comprised about one hundred persons. 

Independence was on the frontier in those days, and every care was takento have ample provisions laid in and all necessary preparations made forthe long journey. Ay, it was a long journey for many in the party!Great as was the enthusiasm and eagerness with which these noble-heartedpioneers caught up the cry of the times, "Ho! for California!" itis doubtful if presentiments of the fate to be encountered were notoccasionally entertained. The road was difficult, and in places almostunbroken; warlike Indians guarded the way, and death, in a thousandforms, hovered about their march through the great wilderness. 

In the party were aged fathers with their trusting families about them, mothers whose very lives were wrapped up in their children, men in theprime and vigor of manhood, maidens in all the sweetness and freshnessof budding womanhood, children full of glee and mirthfulness, and babesnestling on maternal breasts. Lovers there were, to whom the journey wastinged with rainbow hues of joy and happiness, and strong, manly heartswhose constant support and encouragement was the memory of dear onesleft behind in home-land. The cloud of gloom which finally settled downin a death-pall over their heads was not yet perceptible, though, as weshall soon see, its mists began to collect almost at the outset, in thedelays which marked the journey. 

The wonderment which all experience in viewing the scenery along theline of the old emigrant road was peculiarly vivid to these people. Few descriptions had been given of the route, and all was novel andunexpected. In later years the road was broadly and deeply marked, andgood camping grounds were distinctly indicated. The bleaching bones ofcattle that had perished, or the broken fragments of wagons or cast-awayarticles, were thickly strewn on either side of the highway. But in 1846the way was through almost trackless valleys waving with grass, alongrivers where few paths were visible, save those made by the feet ofbuffaloes and antelope, and over mountains and plains where little morethan the westward course of the sun guided the travelers. Trading-postswere stationed at only a few widely distant points, and rarely did theparty meet with any human beings, save wandering bands of Indians. Yetthese first days are spoken of by all of the survivors as being crownedwith peaceful enjoyment and pleasant anticipations. There were beautifulflowers by the roadside, an abundance of game in the meadows andmountains, and at night there were singing, dancing, and innocent plays. Several musical instruments, and many excellent voices, were in theparty, and the kindliest feeling and good-fellowship prevailed among themembers. 

The formation of the company known as the Donner Party was purelyaccidental. The union of so many emigrants into one train was notoccasioned by any preconcerted arrangement. Many composing the DonnerParty were not aware, at the outset, that such a tide of emigration wassweeping to California. In many instances small parties would hearof the mammoth train just ahead of them or just behind them, and byhastening their pace, or halting for a few days, joined themselves tothe party. Many were with the train during a portion of the journey, butfrom some cause or other became parted from the Donner company beforereaching Donner Lake. Soon after the train left Independence itcontained between two and three hundred wagons, and when in motion wastwo miles in length. 

With much bitterness and severity it is alleged by some of the survivorsof the dreadful tragedy that certain impostors and falsifiers claimto have been members of the Donner Party, and as such have writtenuntruthful and exaggerated accounts of the sufferings of the party. While this is unquestionably true, it is barely possible that some whoassert membership found their claim upon the fact that during a portionof the journey they were really in the Donner Party. Bearing this inmind, there is less difficulty in reconciling the conflicting statementsof different narrators. 

The members of the party proper numbered ninety, and were as follows:

George Donner, Tamsen Donner (his wife), Elitha C. Donner, Leanna C. Donner, Frances E. Donner, Georgia A. Donner and Eliza P. Donner. Thelast three were children of George and Tamsen Donner; Elitha and Leannawere children of George Donner by a former wife. 

Jacob Donner, Elizabeth Donner (his wife), Solomon Hook, William Hook, George Donner, Jr. , Mary M. Donner, Isaac Donner, Lewis Donner andSamuel Donner. Jacob Donner was a brother of George; Solomon and WilliamHook were sons of Elizabeth Donner by a former husband. 

James Frazier Reed, Margaret W. Reed (his wife), Virginia E. Reed, Martha F. (Patty) Reed, James F. Reed, Jr. , Thomas K. Reed, and Mrs. Sarah Keyes, the mother of Mrs. Reed. 

The two Donner families and the Reeds were from Springfield, Illinois. From the same place were Baylis Williams and his half-sister ElizaWilliams, John Denton, Milton Elliott, James Smith, Walter Herron andNoah James. 

From Marshall County, Illinois, came Franklin Ward Graves, ElizabethGraves (his wife), Mary A. Graves, William C. Graves, Eleanor Graves, Lovina Graves, Nancy Graves, Jonathan B. Graves, F. W. Graves, Jr. , Elizabeth Graves, Jr. , Jay Fosdick and Mrs. Sarah Fosdick (nee Graves). With this family came John Snyder. 

From Keokuk, Lee County, Iowa, came Patrick Breen, Mrs. Margaret Breen, John Breen, Edward J. Breen, Patrick Breen, Jr. , Simon P. Breen, JamesF. Breen, Peter Breen, and Isabella M. Breen. Patrick Dolan also camefrom Keokuk. 

William H. Eddy, Mrs. Eleanor Eddy, James P. Eddy, and Margaret Eddycame from Belleville, Illinois. 

From Tennessee came Mrs. Lavina Murphy, a widow, and her family, JohnLandrum Murphy, Mary M. Murphy, Lemuel B. Murphy, William G. Murphy, Simon P. Murphy, William M. Pike, Mrs. Harriet F. Pike (nee Murphy), Naomi L. Pike, and Catherine Pike. Another son-in-law of Mrs. Murphy, William M. Foster, with his wife, Mrs. Sarah A. C. Foster, and infantboy George Foster, came from St. Louis, Missouri. 

William McCutchen, Mrs. W. McCutchen, and Harriet McCutchen were fromJackson County, Missouri. 

Lewis Keseberg, Mrs. Phillipine Keseberg, Ada Keseberg, and L. Keseberg, Jr. , Mr. And Mrs. Wolfinger, Joseph Rhinehart, Augustus Spitzer, andCharles Burger, came from Germany. 

Samuel Shoemaker came from Springfield, Ohio, Charles T. Stanton fromChicago, Illinois, Luke Halloran from St. Joseph, Missouri, Mr. Hardcoopfrom Antwerp, in Belgium, Antoine from New Mexico. John Baptiste was aSpaniard, who joined the train near the Santa Fe trail, and Lewis andSalvador were two Indians, who were sent out from California by CaptainSutter. 

The Breens joined the company at Independence, Missouri, and the Gravesfamily overtook the train one hundred miles west of Fort Bridger. Eachfamily, prior to its consolidation with the train, had its individualincidents. William Trimble, who was traveling with the Graves family, was slain by the Pawnee Indians about fifty miles east of Scott's Bluff. Trimble left a wife and two or three children. The wife and some of herrelatives were so disheartened by this sad bereavement, and by the factthat many of their cattle were stolen by the Indians, that they gave upthe journey to California, and turned back to the homes whence they hadstarted. 

An amusing incident is related in the Healdsburg (Cal. ) Flag, by Mr. W. C. Graves, of Calistoga, which occurred soon after his party left St. Joseph, Missouri. It was on the fourth night out, and Mr. Graves andfour or five others were detailed to stand guard. The constant terrorof the emigrants in those days was Indians. Both the Pawnees, the Sioux, and the Snakes were warlike and powerful, and were jealous, revengeful, and merciless toward the whites. That night a fire somehow started inthe prairie grass about half a mile from camp. The west wind, blowingfierce and strong, carried the flames in great surging gusts through thetall prairie grass. A resin weed grows in bunches in this part of thecountry, generally attaining the height of four or five feet. The nightbeing very dark, these weeds could be seen standing between the fire andthe guards. As the flames swayed past the weeds, the impression was verynaturally produced upon the mind of a timid beholder that the weeds weremoving in the opposite direction. This optical illusion caused some ofthe guards to believe that the Indians had set fire to the grass, andwere moving in immense numbers between them and the fire with intent tosurround them, stampede the cattle, and massacre the entire party. Thewatcher next to Mr. Graves discovered the enemy, and rushed breathlesslyto his comrade to impart the intelligence. Scarcely had Mr. Gravesquieted him before it was evident that a general alarm had been spreadin the camp. Two other guards had seen the Indians, and the arousedcamp, armed to the teeth, marched out to give battle to the imaginaryfoe. It was a rich joke, and it was some time before those who werescared heard the last of the resin Indians. 

Only once, before reaching Salt Lake, did death invade the joyous Donnercompany. It was near the present site of Manhattan, Kansas, and Mrs. Sarah Keyes was the victim. This estimable lady was the mother of Mrs. J. F. Reed, and had reached her four score and ten years. Her aged frameand feeble health were not equal to the fatigues and exposure of thetrip, and on the thirtieth of May they laid her tenderly to rest. She was buried in a coffin carefully fashioned from the trunk of acottonwood tree, and on the brow of a beautiful knoll overlooking thevalley. A grand old oak, still standing, guards the lonely grave of thedear old mother who was spared the sight of the misery in store for herloved ones. Could those who performed the last sad rites have caught avision of the horrors awaiting the party, they would have known how goodwas the God who in mercy took her to Himself. 

Chapter II. 

 Mrs. Donner's Letters Life on the Plains An Interesting Sketch The Outfit Required The Platte River Botanizing Five Hundred and Eighteen Wagons for California Burning "Buffalo Chips" The Fourth of July at Fort Laramie Indian Discipline Sioux Attempt to Purchase Mary Graves George Donner Elected Captain Letter of Stanton Dissension One Company Split up into Five The Fatal Hastings Cut-off Lowering Wagons over the Precipice The First View of Great Salt Lake. 

Presenting, as they do, an interesting glimpse of the first portionof the journey, the following letters are here introduced. They werewritten by Mrs. Tamsen Donner, and were published in the Springfield(Illinois) Journal. Thanks for copies of these letters are due toMrs. Eliza P. Houghton of San Jose, Mrs. Donner's youngest daughter. Allusions are made in these letters to botanical researches. Mrs. Donner, C. T. Stanton, and perhaps one or two others who were prominentactors in the later history, were particularly fond of botany. Mrs. Donner made valuable collections of rare flowers and plants. Herjournal, and a full description of the contents of her botanicalportfolios, were to have been published upon her arrival in California. 

Though bearing the same date, the letters here presented were written atdifferent times. The following appeared in the Springfield Journal, July23, 1846:

Near the Junction of the North and South Platte, June 16, 1846. 

My Old Friend: We are now on the Platte, two hundred miles from FortLaramie. Our journey so far has been pleasant, the roads have been good, and food plentiful. The water for part of the way has been indifferent, but at no time have our cattle suffered for it. Wood is now very scarce, but "buffalo chips" are excellent; they kindle quickly and retain heatsurprisingly. We had this morning buffalo steaks broiled upon them thathad the same flavor they would have had upon hickory coals. 

We feel no fear of Indians, our cattle graze quietly around ourencampment unmolested. 

Two or three men will go hunting twenty miles from camp; and last nighttwo of our men lay out in the wilderness rather than ride their horsesafter a hard chase. 

Indeed, if I do not experience something far worse than I have yet done, I shall say the trouble is all in getting started. Our wagons have notneeded much repair, and I can not yet tell in what respects they couldbe improved. Certain it is, they can not be too strong. Our preparationsfor the journey might have been in some respects bettered. 

Bread has been the principal article of food in our camp. We laid in 150pounds of flour and 75 pounds of meat for each individual, and I fearbread will be scarce. Meat is abundant. Rice and beans are good articleson the road; cornmeal, too, is acceptable. Linsey dresses are the mostsuitable for children. Indeed, if I had one, it would be acceptable. There is so cool a breeze at all times on the plains that the sun doesnot feel so hot as one would suppose. 

We are now four hundred and fifty miles from Independence. Our route atfirst was rough, and through a timbered country, which appeared to befertile. After striking the prairie, we found a first-rate road, and theonly difficulty we have had, has been in crossing the creeks. In that, however, there has been no danger. 

I never could have believed we could have traveled so far with solittle difficulty. The prairie between the Blue and the Platte rivers isbeautiful beyond description. Never have I seen so varied a country, sosuitable for cultivation. Everything was new and pleasing; the Indiansfrequently come to see us, and the chiefs of a tribe breakfasted atour tent this morning. All are so friendly that I can not help feelingsympathy and friendship for them. But on one sheet what can I say?

Since we have been on the Platte, we have had the river on one sideand the ever varying mounds on the other, and have traveled through thebottom lands from one to two miles wide, with little or no timber. The soil is sandy, and last year, on account of the dry season, theemigrants found grass here scarce. Our cattle are in good order, andwhen proper care has been taken, none have been lost. Our milch cowshave been of great service, indeed. They have been of more advantagethan our meat. We have plenty of butter and milk. 

We are commanded by Captain Russell, an amiable man. George Donneris himself yet. He crows in the morning and shouts out, "Chain up, boys--chain up, " with as much authority as though he was "something inparticular. " John Denton is still with us. We find him useful in thecamp. Hiram Miller and Noah James are in good health and doing well. Wehave of the best people in our company, and some, too, that are not sogood. 

Buffaloes show themselves frequently. 

We have found the wild tulip, the primrose, the lupine, the eardrop, thelarkspur, and creeping hollyhock, and a beautiful flower resembling thebloom of the beech tree, but in bunches as large as a small sugar-loaf, and of every variety of shade, to red and green. 

I botanize, and read some, but cook "heaps" more. There are four hundredand twenty wagons, as far as we have heard, on the road between here andOregon and California. 

Give our love to all inquiring friends. God bless them. Yours, truly, Mrs. George Donner. 

The following letter was published in the journal of July 30, 1846:

South Fork of the Nebraska, Ten Miles from the Crossing, Tuesday, June16, 1846. 

Dear Friend: To-day, at nooning, there passed, going to the States, seven men from Oregon, who went out last year. One of them was wellacquainted with Messrs. Ide and Cadden Keyes, the latter of whom, hesays, went to California. They met the advance Oregon caravan about150 miles west of Fort Laramie, and counted in all, for Oregon andCalifornia (excepting ours), 478 wagons. There are in our company over40 wagons, making 518 in all, and there are said to be yet 20 behind. To-morrow we cross the river, and, by reckoning, will be over 200 milesfrom Fort Laramie, where we intend to stop and repair our wagon wheels. They are nearly all loose, and I am afraid we will have to stop sooner, if there can be found wood suitable to heat the tires. There is no woodhere, and our women and children are out now gathering "buffalo chips"to burn, in order to do the cooking. These chips burn well. 

Mrs. George Donner. 

At Fort Laramie a portion of the Donner Party celebrated the Fourth ofJuly, 1846. Arriving there on the evening of the third, they pitchedcamp somewhat earlier than usual, and prepared a grand dinner for theFourth. At the Fort were a large party of Sioux who were on the war-pathagainst the Snakes or Pawnees. The Sioux were, perhaps, the most warlikeIndian nation on the great prairies, and when dressed in their warpaint and mounted on their fleet ponies, presented a truly imposingappearance. The utmost friendliness prevailed, and there was a mutualinterchange of gifts and genial courtesies. When the Donner Partypursued their march, and had journeyed half a day from the Fort, theywere overtaken and convoyed quite a distance by about three hundredyoung warriors. The escort rode in pairs alongside the train in truemilitary fashion. Finally halting, they opened ranks; and as the wagonspassed, each warrior held in his mouth a green twig or leaf, which wassaid to be emblematic of peacefulness and good feeling. 

The train was never seriously molested by the Sioux. On one occasion, about fifty warriors on horseback surrounded a portion of the train, in which was the Graves family. While generally friendly, a few of thebaser sort persisted in attempting to steal, or take by force, trivialarticles which struck their fancy. The main body of Indians wereencamped about half a mile away, and when the annoyances became tooexasperating, W. C. Graves mounted a horse, rode to the encampment, and notified the Chief of the action of his followers. Seizing anold-fashioned single-barreled shotgun, the Chief sprang upon his horseand fairly flew over the plain toward the emigrant wagons. When withinabout a hundred yards of the train he attracted attention by givingan Indian whoop, which was so full of rage and imprecation that thestartled warriors forthwith desisted from their petty persecutions andscattered in every direction like frightened quail. One of the would-bemarauders was a little tardy in mounting his pony, and as soon as theChief got within range, the shotgun was leveled and discharged full atthe unruly subject. Three of the buckshot entered the pony's side andone grazed the warrior's leg. As if satisfied that his orders to treatthe emigrants in a friendly manner would not be again disregarded, theChief wheeled his horse about, and in the most grave and stately mannerrode back to his encampment. 

On another occasion, Mary Graves, who was a very beautiful young lady, was riding on horseback accompanied by her brother. They were a littlein the rear of the train, and a band of Sioux Indians, becoming enamoredwith the maiden, offered to purchase her. They made very handsomeoffers, but the brother not being disposed to accept, one of the Indiansseized the bridle of the girl's horse and attempted to carry her awaycaptive. Perhaps the attempt was made in half jest. At all events thebridle was promptly dropped when the brother leveled his rifle at thesavage. 

On the twentieth of July, 1846, George Donner was elected Captain of thetrain at the Little Sandy River. From that time forward it was known asthe Donner Party. 

One incident, not at all unusual to a trip across the plains, ispointedly described in a letter written by C. T. Stanton to his brother, Sidney Stanton, now of Cazenovia, New York. The incident alluded tois the unfriendliness and want of harmony so liable to exist betweendifferent companies, and between members of the same company. From oneof Mr. Stanton's letters the following extract is made:

"At noon we passed Boggs' company on the Sweetwater; a mile further upthe river, Dunlavy's; a mile further, West's; and about two miles beyondthat, was Dunbar's. We encamped about half way between the two latter. Thus, within five miles were encamped five companies. At Indian Creek, twenty miles from Independence, these five companies all constitutedone, but owing to dissensions and quarreling they became broken intofragments. Now, by accident, we all again once more meet and grasp thecordial hand; old enmities are forgot, and nothing but good feelingprevails. * * * * * The next morning we got rather a late start, owingto a difference of opinion arising in our company as to whether weshould lie by or go ahead. Those wishing to lie by were principallyyoung men who wished to have a day's hunting among the buffaloes, andthere were also a few families out of meat who wished to lay in a supplybefore they left the buffalo country. A further reason was urged thatthe cattle were nearly fagged out by hard travel, and that they wouldnot stand the journey unless we stopped and gave them rest. On the otherside it was contended that if we stopped here the other companies wouldall get ahead, the grass would all he eaten off by their thousand headof cattle, and that consequently, when we came along, our cattle wouldstarve. The go-ahead party finally ruled and we rolled out. "

As will presently be seen, the dissension existing in the company, andthe petty differences of opinion and interest, were the fundamentalcauses of the calamities which befell the Donner Party. 

When the company was near Fort Bridger, Edward Breen's leg was broken bya fall from a horse. His mother refused to permit amputation, or ratherleft the question to Edward's decision, and of course, boy-like, herefused to have the operation performed. Contrary to expectation, thebone knitted, and in a month he walked without a crutch. 

At Fort Bridger, which was at this time a mere camp or trading post, theparty heard much commendation bestowed upon a new route via Salt Lake. This route passed along the southern shore of the Lake, and rejoined theold Fort Hall emigrant road on the Humboldt. It was said to shorten thedistance three hundred miles. The new route was known as the HastingsCut-off, and was named after the famous Lansford W. Hastings, who waseven then piloting a small company over the cut-off. The large trainsdelayed for three or four days at Fort Bridger, debating as to the bestcourse to pursue. It is claimed that but for the earnest advice andsolicitation of Bridger and Vasquez, who had charge of the fort, theentire party would have continued by the accustomed route. These menhad a direct interest in the Hastings Cut-off, as they furnished theemigrants with supplies, and had employed Hastings to pilot the firstcompany over the road to Salt Lake. 

After mature deliberation, the party divided, the greater portion goingby Fort Hall and reaching California in safety. With the large train, which journeyed the old road, this narrative is no longer interested. Eighty-seven persons, however, took the Hastings Cut-off. Their namesare included in the ninety mentioned in the preceding chapter, it beingremembered that Mrs. Sarah Keyes had died, and that Lewis and Salvadorwere not yet members of the party. For several days the party traveledwithout much difficulty. They reached Weber River near the head of thewell-known Weber Canyon. At the first crossing of this river, on thethird of August, they found a letter from Hastings stuck in the splitof a stick, informing them that the road down the Weber Canyon was ina terrible condition, and that it was doubtful if the sixty-six wagonswhich L. W. Hastings was then piloting through the canyon would eversucceed in reaching the plain. In the letter, Hastings advised allemigrants to avoid the canyon road, and pursue over the mountainsa course which he faintly outlined. In order to obtain furtherinformation, and, if possible, to induce Hastings to return and act asguide, Messrs. Reed, Stanton, and Pike were sent forward to overtake theadvance company. This was accomplished after a fatiguing trip, whichso exhausted the horses of Stanton and Pike that these gentlemen wereunable to return to the Donner Party. Hastings was overtaken at a pointnear the southern end of Great Salt Lake, and came back with Reed to thefoot of the bluffs overlooking the present city of Salt Lake. Here hedeclared that he must return to the company he was piloting, and despitethe urgent entreaties of Reed, decided that it was his duty to startback the next morning. He finally consented, however, to ascend to thesummit of the Wahsatch Mountains, from which he endeavored, as best hecould, to point out the direction in which the wagons must travel fromthe head of Weber Canyon. Reed proceeded alone on the route indicated, taking notes of the country and occasionally blazing trees to assist himin retracing the course. 

Wm. G. Murphy (now of Marysville, Cal. ) says that the wagons remained inthe meadows at the head of Weber Canyon until Reed's return. They thenlearned that the train which preceded them had been compelled to travelvery slowly down the Weber River, filling in many irregular placeswith brush and dirt; that at last they had reached a place where vastperpendicular pillars of rock approached so closely on either side thatthe river had barely space to flow between, and just here the waterplunged over a precipice. To lower the wagons down this precipice hadbeen a dreadful task. 

The Donner Party unanimously decided to travel across the mountains in amore direct line toward Salt Lake. They soon found rolling highlands andsmall summit valleys on the divide between Weber River and Salt Lake. Following down one of the small streams, they found a varying, irregularcanyon, down which they passed, filling its small stream with brush androcks, crossing and recrossing it, making roads, breaking and mendingwagons, until three weeks' time had expired. The entire country washeavily covered with timber and underbrush. When the party arrived atthe outlet of this stream into Salt Lake Valley, they found it utterlyimpassable. It was exceedingly narrow, and was filled with huge rocksfrom the cliffs on either side. Almost all the oxen in the train werenecessary in drawing each wagon out of the canyon and up the steepoverhanging mountain. While in this canyon, Stanton and Pike came upto the company. These gentlemen encountered great hardships after theirhorses gave out, and were almost starved to death when they reached thetrain. 

Instead of reaching Salt Lake in a week, as had been promised, the partywere over thirty days in making the trip. No words can describe whatthey endured on this Hastings Cut-off. The terrible delay was renderingimminent the dangers which awaited them on the Sierra Nevada. At last, upon ascending the steep rugged mountain before mentioned, the visionof Great Salt Lake, and the extensive plains surrounding it, burst upontheir enraptured gaze. All were wild with joy and gratitude for theirdeliverance from the terrible struggle through which they had justpassed, and all hoped for a prosperous, peaceful journey over pleasantroads throughout the remainder of the trip to California. Alas! therewere trials in the way compared with which their recent struggles wereinsignificant. But for the fatal delay caused by the Hastings Cut-off, all would have been well, but now the summer was passed, their teamsand themselves were well-nigh exhausted, and their slender stock ofprovisions nearly consumed. 

Chapter III. 

 A Grave of Salt Members of the Mystic Tie Twenty Wells A Desolate Alkaline Waste Abandoned on the Desert A Night of Horror A Steer Maddened by Thirst The Mirage Yoking an Ox and a Cow "Cacheing" Goods The Emigrant's Silent Logic A Cry for Relief Two Heroic Volunteers A Perilous Journey Letters to Capt. Sutter. 

Near the southern shore of great Salt Lake the Donner Party encampedon the third or fourth of September, 1846. The summer had vanished, andautumn had commenced tinting, with crimson and gold, the foliage on theWahsatch Mountains. While encamped here, the party buried the secondvictim claimed by death. This time it was a poor consumptive named LukeHalloran. Without friend or kinsman, Halloran had joined the train, and was traveling to California in hopes that a change of climate mighteffect a cure. Alas! for the poor Irishman, when the leaves began tofall from the trees his spirit winged its flight to the better land. He died in the wagon of Captain George Donner, his head resting in Mrs. Tamsen Donner's lap. It was at sundown. The wagons had just halted forthe night. The train had driven up slowly, out of respect to the dyingemigrant. Looking up into Mrs. Donner's face, he said: "I die happy. "Almost while speaking, he died. In return for the many kindnesses hehad received during the journey, he left Mr. Donner such property as hepossessed, including about fifteen hundred dollars in coin. Hon. Jas. F. Breen, of South San Juan, writes: "Halloran's body was buried in a bedof almost pure salt, beside the grave of one who had perished in thepreceding train. It was said at the time that bodies thus depositedwould not decompose, on account of the preservative properties of thesalt. Soon after his burial, his trunk was opened, and Masonic papersand regalia bore witness to the fact that Mr. Halloran was a member ofthe Masonic Order. James F. Reed, Milton Elliott, and perhaps one or twoothers in the train, also belonged to the mystic tie. "

On the sixth day of September they reached a meadow in a valley called"Twenty Wells, " as there were that number of wells of various sizes, from six inches to several feet in diameter. The water in these wellsrose even with the surface of the ground, and when it was drawn out thewells soon refilled. The water was cold and pure, and peculiarly welcomeafter the saline plains and alkaline pools they had just passed. Wellssimilar to these were found during the entire journey of the followingday, and the country through which they were passing abounded inluxuriant grass. Reaching the confines of the Salt Lake Desert, whichlies southwest of the lake, they laid in, as they supposed, an amplesupply of water and grass. This desert had been represented by Bridgerand Vasquez as being only about fifty miles wide. Instead, for adistance of seventy-five miles there was neither water nor grass, buteverywhere a dreary, desolate, alkaline waste. Verily, it was

"A region of drought, where no river glides, Nor rippling brook withosiered sides; Where sedgy pool, nor bubbling fount, Nor tree, norcloud, nor misty mount Appears to refresh the aching eye, But the barrenearth and the burning sky, And the blank horizon round and round Spread, void of living sight or sound. "

When the company had been on the desert two nights and one day, Mr. Reed volunteered to go forward, and, if possible, to discover water. His hired teamsters were attending to his teams and wagons during hisabsence. At a distance of perhaps twenty miles he found the desiredwater, and hastened to return to the train. Meantime there was intensesuffering in the party. Cattle were giving out and lying down helplesslyon the burning sand, or frenzied with thirst were straying away into thedesert. Having made preparations for only fifty miles of desert, severalpersons came near perishing of thirst, and cattle were utterly powerlessto draw the heavy wagons. Reed was gone some twenty hours. During thistime his teamsters had done the wisest thing possible, unhitched theoxen and started to drive them ahead until water was reached. It wastheir intention, of course, to return and get the three wagons and thefamily, which they had necessarily abandoned on the desert. Reed passedhis teamsters during the night, and hastened to the relief of hisdeserted family. One of his teamster's horses gave out before morningand lay down, and while the man's companions were attempting to raisehim, the oxen, rendered unmanageable by their great thirst, disappearedin the desert. There were eighteen of these oxen. It is probable theyscented water, and with the instincts of their nature started outto search for it. They never were found, and Reed and his family, consisting of nine persons, were left destitute in the midst of thedesert, eight hundred miles from California. Near morning, entirelyignorant of the calamity which had befallen him in the loss of hiscattle, he reached his family. All day long they looked and waited invain for the returning teamsters. All the rest of the company had drivenahead, and the majority had reached water. Toward night the situationgrew desperate. The scanty supply of water left with the family wasalmost gone, and another day on the desert would mean death to allhe held dear. Their only way left was to set out on foot. He took hisyoungest child in his arms, and the family started to walk the twentymiles. During this dreadful night some of the younger children became soexhausted that, regardless of scoldings or encouragements, they laydown on the bleak sands. Even rest, however, seemed denied the littlesufferers, for a chilling wind began sweeping over the desert, anddespite their weariness and anguish, they were forced to move forward. At one time during the night the horror of the situation was changed tointense fright. Through the darkness came a swift-rushing animal, whichReed soon recognized as one of his young steers. It was crazed andfrenzied with thirst, and for some moments seemed bent upon dashing intothe frightened group. Finally, however, it plunged madly away intothe night, and was seen no more. Reed suspected the calamity which hadprevented the return of the teamsters, but at the moment, the imminentperil surrounding his wife and children banished all thought of worryingabout anything but their present situation. God knows what would havebecome of them had they not, soon after daylight, discovered the wagonof Jacob Donner. They were received kindly by his family, and conveyedto where the other members of the party were camped. For six or eightdays the entire company remained at this spot. Every effort was made tofind Reed's lost cattle. Almost every man in the train was out in thedesert, searching in all directions. This task was attended with bothdifficulty and danger; for when the sun shone, the atmosphere appearedto distort and magnify objects so that at the distance of a mile everystone or bush would appear the size of an ox. Several of the men camenear dying for want of water during this search. The desert miragedisclosed against the horizon, clear, distinct, and perfectly outlinedrocks, mountain peaks, and tempting lakelets. Each jagged cliff, orpointed rock, or sharply-curved hill-top, hung suspended in air asperfect and complete as if photographed on the sky. Deceived, deluded bythese mirages, in spite of their better judgment, several members of thecompany were led far out into the pathless depths of the desert. 

The outlook for Reed was gloomy enough. One cow and one ox were the onlystock he had remaining. The company were getting exceedingly impatientover the long delay, yet be it said to their honor, they encamped on thewestern verge of the desert until every hope of finding Reed's cattlewas abandoned. Finally, F. W. Graves and Patrick Breen each lent an oxto Mr. Reeds and by yoking up his remaining cow and ox, he had two yokeof cattle. "Cacheing, " or concealing such of his property on the desert, as could not be placed in one wagon, he hitched the two yoke of cattleto this wagon and proceeded on the journey. The word cache occurs sofrequently in this history that a brief definition of the interestingprocess of cacheing might not be amiss. The cache of goods or valuableswas generally made in a wagon bed, if one, as in the present instance, was to be abandoned. A square hole, say six feet in depth, was dug inthe earth, and in the bottom of this the box or wagon bed containingthe articles was placed. Sand, soil, or clay of the proper stratum wasfilled in upon this, so as to just cover the box from sight. The groundwas then tightly packed or trampled, to make it resemble, as much aspossible, the earth in its natural state. Into the remaining hole wouldbe placed such useless articles as could be spared, such as old tins, cast-off clothing, broken furniture, etc. , and upon these the earthwas thrown until the surface of the ground was again level. Theseprecautions were taken to prevent the Indians from discovering andappropriating the articles cached. It was argued that the Indians, whendigging down, would come to the useless articles, and not thinking therewas treasure further down would abandon the task. "But, " says Hon. JamesF. Breen, in speaking on this subject, "I have been told by parties whohave crossed the plains, that in no case has the Indian been deceivedby the emigrant's silent logic. " The Indians would leave nothingunderground, not even the dead bodies buried from time to time. One ofthe trains in advance of the Donner Party buried two men in one grave, and succeeding parties found each of the bodies unearthed, and werecompelled to repeat the last sad rites of burial. 

Before the Donner Party started from the Desert camp, an inventory ofthe provisions on hand was accurately taken, and an estimate was made ofthe quantity required for each family, and it was found that there wasnot enough to carry the emigrants through to California. As if to rendermore emphatic the terrible situation of the party, a storm came duringtheir last night at the camp, and in the morning the hill-tops werewhite with snow. It was a dreadful reminder of the lateness of theseason, and the bravest hearts quailed before the horrors they knew mustawait them. A solemn council was held. It was decided that some one mustleave the train, press eagerly forward to California, and obtaining asupply of provisions, return and meet the party as far back on theroute as possible. It was a difficult undertaking, and perilous in theextreme. A call was made for volunteers, and after a little reflectiontwo men offered their services. One was Wm. McCutchen, who had joinedthe train from Missouri, and the other was C. T. Stanton, of Chicago, a man who afterwards proved himself possessed of the sublimest heroism. Taking each a horse, they received the tearful, prayerful farewells ofthe doomed company, and set out upon their solitary journey. 

Would they return? If they reached the peaceful, golden valleys ofCalifornia, would they turn back to meet danger, and storms, and death, in order to bring succor to those on the dreary desert? McCutchenmight come, because he left dear ones with the train, but wouldStanton return? Stanton was young and unmarried. There were no tiesor obligations to prompt his return, save his plighted word and thedictates of honor and humanity. 

They bore letters from the Donner Party to Captain Sutter, who was incharge at Sutter's Fort. These letters were prayers for relief, andit was believed would secure assistance from the generous old Captain. Every eye followed Stanton and McCutchen until they disappeared in thewest. Soon afterward the train resumed its toilsome march. 

Chapter IV. 

 Gravelly Ford The Character of James F. Reed Causes Which Led to the Reed-Snyder Tragedy John Snyder's Popularity The Fatal Altercation Conflicting Statements of Survivors Snyder's Death A Brave Girl A Primitive Trial A Court of Final Resort Verdict of Banishment A Sad Separation George and Jacob Donner Ahead at the Time Finding Letters in Split Sticks Danger of Starvation. 

Gravelly ford, on the Humboldt River, witnessed a tragedy which greatlyagitated the company. Its results, as will be seen, materially affectedthe lives not only of the participants, but of several members of theparty during the days of horror on the mountains, by bringing reliefwhich would otherwise have been lacking. The parties to the tragedy wereJames F. Reed and John Snyder. Reed was a man who was tender, generous, heroic, and whose qualities of true nobility shone brilliantlythroughout a long life of usefulness. His name is intimately interwovenwith the history of the Donner Party, from first to last. Indeed, in theIllinois papers of 1846-7 the company was always termed the "Reed andDonner Party. " This title was justly conferred at the time, because hewas one of the leading spirits in the organization of the enterprise. Inorder to understand the tragedy which produced the death of John Snyder, and the circumstances resulting therefrom, the reader must become betteracquainted with the character of Mr. Reed. 

The following brief extract is from "Powers' Early Settlers of SangamonCounty:" "James Frazier Reed was born November 14, 1800, in CountyArmagh, Ireland. His ancestors were of noble Polish birth, who choseexile rather than submission to the Russian power, and settled in thenorth of Ireland. The family name was originally Reednoski, but inprocess of time the Polish termination of the name was dropped, and thefamily was called Reed. James F. Reed's mother's name was Frazier, whoseancestors belonged to Clan Frazier, of Scottish history. Mrs. Reed andher son, James F. , came to America when he was a youth, and settled inVirginia. He remained there until he was twenty, when he left for thelead mines of Illinois, and was engaged in mining until 1831, when hecame to Springfield, Sangamon County, Illinois. "

Among the papers of Mr. Reed is a copy of the muster roll of a companywhich enlisted in the Blackhawk war, and in this roll are the namesof Abraham Lincoln, Stephen A. Douglas, and James F. Reed. At thetermination of this war, Mr. Reed returned to Springfield, engagedin the manufacture of cabinet furniture, and amassed a considerablefortune. He was married in 1835 to Mrs. Margaret Backenstoe, whosemaiden name was Keyes. The death of his wife's mother, Mrs. Sarah Keyes, has already been mentioned as occurring on the Big Blue River, nearManhattan, Kansas. 

During the progress of the train, Mr. Reed was always a prominent, active member. Full of life and enthusiasm, fearless of danger, he wasready at all times to risk his life for the company's welfare. On thedesert, we have seen that his lonely expedition in search of water costhim his valuable oxen, and left him and his family almost destitute. 

The deplorable affair about to be narrated was only the naturaloutgrowth of the trying circumstances in which the company were placed. The reader must bear in mind that many petty causes combined to producediscord and dissension among the members of the Donner Party. Comingfrom so many different States, being of different nationalities andmodes of thought, delayed on the road much longer than was expected, rendered irritable by the difficulties encountered on the journey, annoyed by losses of stock, fearful of unknown disasters on the Sierra, and already placed on short allowances of provisions, the emigrants weredecidedly inharmonious. 

The action of the company, moreover, was doubtless influenced in agreater or less degree by Snyder's popularity. A young man, not overtwenty-three years old, he was tall, straight, and of erect, manlycarriage, and his habits of life as a frontiersman had developed himinto a muscular, athletic being. He excelled and led in all the out-doorsports most in favor with Western men, such as jumping, running, andwrestling. His manner was gentle, retired, and timid to a degree vergingon bashfulness, until roused by the influence of passion. The lion inthe man was dormant until evoked by the fiercer emotions. His complexionwas dark, but as you studied his face you could not repress thesuspicion that Nature had marked him for a blonde, and that constantexposure to the wind and sun and rain of the great plains of the Westhad wrought the color change, and the conviction was strong that thechange was an improvement on Nature. His features were cast in a mold ofgreat beauty--such beauty as we seldom look for in a man. He wasnever moody, despondent, or cast down, and at all times, and under allcircumstances, possessed the faculty of amusing himself and entertainingothers. In the evening camp, when other amusements failed, or whenanticipated troubles depressed the spirits of the travelers, it was hiscustom to remove the "hindgate" of his wagon, lay it on the ground, andthereon perform the "clog dance, " "Irish jigs, " the "pigeon wing, " andother fantastic steps. Many an evening the Donner Party were preventedfrom brooding over their troubles by the boyish antics of thelight-hearted youth. 

As stated above, the train had reached Gravelly Ford. Already themembers of the company were beginning to scan eagerly the western plainin hopes of discovering the relief which it was believed Stanton andMcCutchen would bring from Sutter's Fort. Of course there were theusual accidents and incidents peculiar to a journey across the plains. Occasionally a wagon would need repairing. Occasionally there would be abrief halt to rest and recruit the jaded cattle. The Indians had stolentwo of Mr. Graves' oxen, and a couple of days later had stolen one ofthe horses. 

In traveling, the Donner Party observed this rule: If a wagon drove inthe lead one day, it should pass back to the rear on the succeeding day. This system of alternating allowed each his turn in leading the train. On this fifth of October, 1846, F. W. Graves was ahead, Jay Fosdicksecond, John Snyder third, and the team of J. F. Reed fourth. MiltonElliott was driving Reed's team. Arriving at the foot of a steep, sandyhill, the party was obliged to "double teams, " that is, to hitch five orsix yoke of oxen to one wagon. Elliott and Snyder interchanged hot wordsover some difficulty about the oxen. Fosdick had attached his team toGraves' and had drawn Graves' wagon up the hill. Snyder, being nettledat something Elliott had said, declared that his team could pull upalone. During the excitement Snyder made use of very bad language, andwas beating his cattle over the head with his whip-stock. One accountsays that Reed's team and Snyder's became tangled. At all events, Snyderwas very much enraged. Reed had been off hunting on horseback, andarriving at this moment, remonstrated with Snyder for beating thecattle, and at the same time offered him the assistance of his team. Snyder refused the proffered aid, and used abusive language toward bothReed and Elliott. Reed attempted to calm the enraged man. Both men wereof fiery, passionate dispositions, and words began to multiply rapidly. When Reed saw that trouble was likely to occur, he said something aboutwaiting until they got up the hill and settling this matter afterwards. Snyder evidently construed this to be a threat, and with an oathreplied, "We will settle it now. " As Snyder uttered these words, he struck Reed a blow on the head with the butt-end of his heavywhip-stock. This blow was followed in rapid succession by a second, and a third. As the third stroke descended, Mrs. Reed ran between herhusband and the furious man, hoping to prevent the blow. Each time thewhip-stock descended on Reed's head it cut deep gashes. He was blindedwith the blood which streamed from his wounds, and dazed and stunned bythe terrific force of the blows. He saw the cruel whip-stock uplifted, and knew that his wife was in danger, but had only time to cry "John!John!" when down came the stroke full upon Mrs. Reed's head andshoulders. The next instant John Snyder was staggering, speechlessand death-stricken. Reed's hunting-knife had pierced his left breast, severing the first and second ribs and entering the left lung. 

No other portion of the History of the Donner Party, as contributed bythe survivors, has been so variously stated as this Reed-Snyder affair. Five members of the party, now living, claim to have been eyewitnesses. The version of two of these, Mrs. J. M. Murphy and Mrs. Frank Lewis, is the one here published. In the theory of self-defense they arecorroborated by all the early published accounts. This theory was firstadvanced in Judge J. Quinn Thornton's work in 1849, and has neverbeen disputed publicly until within the last two or three years. Duedeference to the valuable assistance rendered by Wm. G. Murphy, ofMarysville, and W. C. Graves, of Calistoga, demands mention of the factthat their accounts differ in important respects from the one givenabove. This is not surprising in view of the thirty-three years whichhave elapsed since the occurrence. The history of criminal jurisprudencejustifies the assertion that eye-witnesses of any fatal difficultydiffer materially in regard to important particulars, even when theirtestimony is taken immediately after the difficulty. It is not strange, therefore, that after the lapse of an ordinary life-time a dozendifferent versions should have been contributed by the survivorsconcerning this unfortunate tragedy. James F. Reed, after nearly aquarter of a century of active public life in California, died honoredand respected. During his life-time this incident appeared several timesin print, and was always substantially as given in this chapter. With the single exception of a series of articles contributed to theHealdsburg Flag by W. C. Graves, two or three years ago, no differentaccount has ever been published. This explanatory digression from thenarrative is deemed necessary out of respect to the two gentlemen whoconscientiously disagree with Mrs. Murphy and Mrs. Lewis. On all otherimportant subjects the survivors are harmonious or reconcilable. 

W. C. Graves, now of Calistoga, caught the dying man in his arms, and ina few minutes he was carried a little way up the hill and laid upon theground. Reed immediately regretted the act and threw the knife from him. His wife and daughters gathered about him and began to stanch the bloodthat flowed from the gashes on his head. He gently pushed them aside andwent to the assistance of the dying man. He and Snyder had always beenfirm friends, and Snyder had been most active in securing a team forReed after the latter had lost his cattle in the desert. Snyder expiredin about fifteen minutes, and Reed remained by his side until the last. Patrick Breen came up, and Snyder said, "Uncle Patrick, I am dead. " Itis not certain that he spoke again, though Reed's friends claim that hesaid to Reed, "I am to blame. "

Snyder's death fell like a thunderbolt upon the Donner Party. Camp wasimmediately pitched, the Reed family being a little removed down thehill from the main body of emigrants. Reed felt that he had onlyacted in defense of his own life and in defense of the wife he adored. Nevertheless, it was evident that trouble was brewing in the main campwhere Snyder's body was lying. 

The Reed family were in a sad situation. They commenced the journey witha more costly and complete outfit than the other emigrants, and therebyhad incurred the envy of some of their less fortunate companions. Theyhad a fine race horse and good stock, and Virginia had a beautiful ponyof her own, and was fond of accompanying her father on his horsebackexcursions. From these and other circumstances the Reeds had acquiredthe name of being "aristocratic. " Ordinarily, this is a term which wouldexcite a smile, but on this dreadful day it had its weight in inflamingthe minds of the excited emigrants. On the desert Reed had cached manyvaluable articles, but all his provisions had been distributed among hiscompanions. This, however, was forgotten in the turbulent camp, andthe destitute, desolate family could plainly catch the sound of voicesclamoring for Reed's death. 

Meantime, Virginia Reed was dressing the wounds on her father's head. Mrs. Reed was overwhelmed with grief and apprehension, and the fathercame to Virginia for assistance. This brave little woman was only twelveyears old, yet in this and all other acts of which there is a recordshe displayed a nerve and skillfulness which would have done credit toa mature woman. The cuts in Reed's scalp were wide and deep. Indeed, thescars remained to his dying day. In San Jose, long years afterwards, as James F. Reed lay dead, the gentle breeze from an open window softlylifted and caressed his gray hair, disclosing plainly the scars left bythese ugly wounds. 

Reed entertained none but the friendliest sentiments toward Snyder. Anxious to do what he could for the dead, he offered the boards of hiswagon-bed from which to make a coffin for Snyder. This offer, made withthe kindliest, most delicate feeling, was rejected by the emigrants. Atthe funeral, Reed stood sorrowfully by the grave until the last clod wasplaced above the man who had been one of his best friends. A councilwas held by the members of the company. A council to decide upon Reed'sfate. It was in the nature of a court, all-powerful, from whose decisionthere was no appeal. Breathlessly the fond wife and affectionatechildren awaited the verdict. The father was idolized by the mother andthe little ones, and was their only stay and support. 

The friendship of the Donner Party for John Snyder, the conflicting anddistorted accounts of the tragedy, and the personal enmity of certainmembers of the company toward Reed, resulted in a decree that he shouldbe banished from the train. The feeling ran so high that at one timethe end of a wagon-tongue was propped up with an ox-yoke by some of theemigrants with the intention of hanging Reed thereon, but calmer counselprevailed. 

When the announcement was communicated to Reed that he was to bebanished, he refused to comply with the decree. Conscious that he hadonly obeyed the sacred law of self-defense, he refused to accede to anunjust punishment. Then came the wife's pleadings! Long and earnestlyMrs. Reed reasoned and begged and prayed with her husband. All was of noavail until she urged him to remember the want and destitution in whichthey and the entire company were already participants. If he remainedand escaped violence at the hands of his enemies, he might neverthelesssee his children starve before his eyes, and be helpless to aid them. But if he would go forward, if he would reach California, he couldreturn with provisions, and meet them on the mountains at that pointon the route where they would be in greatest need. It was a fearfulstruggle, but finally the mother's counsels prevailed. Prior to settingout upon his gloomy journey, Mr. Reed made the company promise to carefor his family. 

At the time of the Snyder tragedy, George and Jacob Donner, with theirwagons and families, were two days in advance of the main train. WalterHerron was with them, and, when Reed came up, Herron concluded toaccompany him to California. 

It was contemplated that Reed should go out into the wilderness alone, and with neither food nor ammunition. Happily this part of the programmewas thwarted. The faithful Virginia, in company with Milton Elliott, followed Mr. Reed after he had started, and carried him his gun andammunition. The affectionate girl also managed to carry some crackers tohim, although she and all the company were even then on short allowance. 

The sad parting between Reed and his family, and the second parting withthe devoted Virginia, we pass over in silence. James F. Reed, Jr. , onlyfive years old, declared that he would go with his father, and assisthim in obtaining food during the long journey. Even the baby, only twoand a half years old, would fret and worry every time the family satdown to their meals, lest father should find nothing to eat on hisdifficult way. Every day the mother and daughters would eagerly searchfor the letter Mr. Reed was sure to leave in the top of some bush, orin a split stick by the wayside. When he succeeded in killing geese orducks, as he frequently did along the Humboldt and Truckee, he wouldscatter the feathers about his camping-ground, that his family might seethat he was supplied with food. It is hardly necessary to mention thatMrs. Reed and the children regarded the father's camping-places ashallowed ground, and as often as possible kindled their evening fires inthe same spot where his had been kindled. 

But a day came when they found no more letters, no further traces of thefather. Was he dead? Had the Indians killed him? Had he starved by theway? No one could answer, and the mother's cheek grew paler and her deareyes grew sadder and more hopeless, until Virginia and Patty both fearedthat she, too, was going to leave them. Anxious, grief-stricken, filledwith the belief that her husband was dead, poor Mrs. Reed was fastdying of a broken heart. But suddenly all her life, and energy, anddetermination were again aroused into being by a danger that wouldhave crushed a nature less noble. A danger that is the most terrible, horrible, that ever tortured human breast; a danger--that her children, her babes, must starve to death!

Chapter V. 

 Great Hardships The Sink of the Humboldt Indians Stealing Cattle An Entire Company Compelled to Walk Abandoned to Die Wolfinger Murdered Rhinehart's Confession Arrival of C. T. Stanton A Temporary Relief A Fatal Accident The Sierra Nevada Mountains Imprisoned in Snow Struggles for Freedom A Hopeless Situation Digging for Cattle in Snow How the Breen Cabin Happened to be Built A Thrilling Sketch of a Solitary Winter Putting up Shelters The Donners have Nothing but Tents Fishing for Trout. 

Starvation now stared the emigrants in the face. The shortest allowancecapable of supporting life was all that was portioned to any member ofthe company. At times, some were forced to do without food for a day ormore, until game was procured. The poor cattle were also in apitiable condition. Owing to the lateness of the season, the grass wasexceedingly scanty and of a poor quality. Frequently the water was bad, and filled with alkali and other poisonous deposits. George Donner, Jacob Donner, Wolfinger, and others, lost cattle at various points alongthe Humboldt. Mr. Breen lost a fine mare. The Indians were constantlyhovering around the doomed train, ready to steal cattle, but toocowardly to make any open hostile attack. Arrows were shot into severalof the oxen by Indians who slipped up near them during the night-time. At midnight, on the twelfth of October, the party reached the sink ofthe Humboldt. The cattle, closely guarded, were turned out to grazeand recruit their wasted strength. About dawn on the morning of thethirteenth the guard came into camp to breakfast. During the nightnothing had occurred to cause the least apprehension, and no indicationsof Indians had been observed. Imagine the consternation in camp when itwas discovered that during the temporary absence of the guard twenty-onehead of cattle had been stolen by the redskins. This left the companyin terribly destitute circumstances. All had to walk who were able. Men, women, and children were forced to travel on foot all day long, and inmany cases were compelled to carry heavy burdens in order to lessenthe loads drawn by the weary cattle. Wm. G. Murphy remembers distinctlyseeing his brother carrying a copper camp-kettle upon his head. TheGraves family, the Breens, the Donners, the Murphys, the Reeds, allwalked beside the wagons until overpowered with fatigue. The men becameexhausted much sooner, as a rule, than the women. Only the sick, thelittle children, and the utterly exhausted, were ever allowed to ride. Eddy and his wife had lost all their cattle, and each carried one oftheir children and such personal effects as they were able. Many in thetrain were without shoes, and had to travel barefooted over the wearysands, and flinty, sharp-edged stones. 

On the ninth of October a death had resulted from this necessityof having to walk. It was a case of desertion, which, under othercircumstances, would have been unpardonably heartless. An old man namedHardcoop was traveling with Keseberg. He was a cutler by trade, and hada son and daughter in the city of Antwerp, in Belgium. It is saidhe owned a farm near Cincinnati, Ohio, and intended, after visitingCalifornia to dispose of this farm, and with the proceeds return toAntwerp, for the purpose of spending his declining years with hischildren. He was a man of nearly three-score years, and the hardships ofthe journey had weakened his trembling limbs and broken down his health. Sick, feeble, helpless as he was, this old man was compelled to walkwith the others. At last, when his strength gave way, he was forced tolie down by the roadside to perish of cold and hunger. Who can picturethe agony, the horror, the dreary desolation of such a death? The poorold man walked until his feet actually burst!--walked until he sankutterly exhausted by the roadside! It was a terrible death! To see thetrain disappear in the distance; to know he was abandoned to die ofexposure and starvation; to think that the wolves would devour his fleshand gnaw his bones; to lie down on the great desert, hungry, famished, and completely prostrated by fatigue--to meet death thus is too dreadfulto contemplate. 

No one made any attempt to return and find the poor old fellow. This, however, is partially excused by the overwhelming dangers which nowthreatened the entire company. Each hour's delay rendered death in theSierra Nevada Mountains more imminent. 

About the fourteenth of October, beyond the present site of Wadsworth, another tragedy occurred. Wolfinger, who was supposed to be quitewealthy, was in the rear of the train, traveling with Keseberg. Atnightfall, neither of the Germans made his appearance. It happenedthat both their wives had walked ahead, and were with the emigrants. Considering it suspicious that the men did not arrive, and fearing someevil had befallen them, a party returned to ascertain the cause ofthe delay. Before proceeding far, however, Keseberg was met travelingleisurely along. He assured them that Wolfinger was only a littleway behind, and would be along in a few moments. Reassured by thisinformation, the party returned with Keseberg to camp and awaited thearrival of Wolfinger. The night passed, and the missing man hadnot appeared. Mrs. Wolfinger was nearly frantic. She was a tall, queenly-looking lady, of good birth and much refinement. She wasrecently from Germany, and understood but little English, yet she wasevidently a wellbred lady. Nearly all the survivors remember theelegant dresses and costly jewelry she wore during the first part of thejourney. Her grief at her husband's disappearance was so heart-rendingthat three young men at last consented to start back in the morning andendeavor to find Wolfinger. W. C. Graves, from whom this information isobtained, was one of the three who returned. Five miles back the wagonwas found standing in the road. The oxen had been unhitched, but werestill chained together, and were quietly grazing at a little distance. There were no signs of Indians, but Wolfinger was not to be found. At the time it was strongly conjectured that Keseberg had murderedWolfinger for his money, and had concealed the body. This was doubtlessunjust, for when Joseph Rhinehart was dying, some weeks later, in GeorgeDonner's tent, he confessed that he (Rhinehart) had something to dowith the murder of Wolfinger. The men hitched the oxen to the wagon, anddrove on until they overtook the emigrants, who, owing to the dangersby which they were encompassed, felt compelled to pursue their onwardjourney. The team was given to Mrs. Wolfinger, and she employed a Germanby the name of Charles Burger to drive it thereafter. Little was saidabout the affair at the time. Mrs. Wolfinger supposed the Indians hadkilled her husband. 

On the nineteenth of October, C. T. Stanton was met returning withprovisions. The company was near the present town of Wadsworth, Nevada. A great rejoicing was held over the brave man's return. McCutchenhad been severely ill, and was unable to return with Stanton. But thelatter, true to his word, recrossed the Sierra, and met the emigrants ata time when they were on the verge of starvation. He had brought sevenmules, five of which were loaded with flour and dried beef. CaptainSutter had furnished these mules and the provisions, together with twoIndian vaqueros, without the slightest compensation or security. The Indians, Lewis and Salvador, would assist in caring for thepack-animals, and would also be efficient guides. Without Stanton'said the entire party would have been lost; not a single soul would haveescaped. The provisions, though scant, were sufficient to entirely alterthe situation of affairs. Had the party pressed immediately forward, they could have passed the summits before the storms began. For somecause, however, it was concluded to rest the cattle for a few daysnear the present site of Reno, preparatory to attempting to ascendthe difficult Sierra. Three or four days' time was lost. This loss wasfatal. The storms on the mountains generally set in about Thanksgiving, or during the latter days of November. The emigrants trusted that thestorm season of 1846 would not begin earlier than usual. Alas! theterrible consequences of this mistaken trust!

After the arrival of Stanton, it was still deemed necessary to takefurther steps for the relief of the train. The generosity of CaptainSutter, as shown to Stanton, warranted them in believing that he wouldsend still further supplies to the needy emigrants. Accordingly, twobrothers-in-law, William Foster and William Pike, both brave and daringspirits, volunteered to go on ahead, cross the summits, and return withprovisions as Stanton had done. Both men had families, and both werehighly esteemed in the company. At the encampment near Reno, Nevada, while they were busily preparing to start, the two men were cleaningor loading a pistol. It was an old-fashioned "pepper-box. " It happened, while they were examining it, that wood was called for to replenishthe fire. One of the men offered to procure it, and in order to do so, handed the pistol to the other. Everybody knows that the "pepper-box"is a very uncertain weapon. Somehow, in the transfer, the pistol wasdischarged. William Pike was fatally wounded, and died in about twentyminutes. Mrs. Pike was left a widow, with two small children. Theyoungest, Catherine, was a babe of only a few months old, and Naomi wasonly three years of age. The sadness and distress occasioned by thismournful accident, cast a gloom over the entire company, and seemed anomen of the terrible fate which overshadowed the Donner Party. 

Generally, the ascent of the Sierra brought joy and gladness to wearyoverland emigrants. To the Donner Party it brought terror and dismay. The company had hardly obtained a glimpse of the mountains, ere thewinter storm clouds began to assemble their hosts around the loftiercrests. Every day the weather appeared more ominous and threatening. Thedelay at the Truckee Meadows had been brief, but every day ultimatelycost a dozen lives. On the twenty-third of October, they becamethoroughly alarmed at the angry heralds of the gathering storm, and withall haste resumed the journey. It was too late! At Prosser Creek, threemiles below Truckee, they found themselves encompassed with six inchesof snow. On the summits, the snow was from two to five feet in depth. This was October 28, 1846. Almost a month earlier than usual, the Sierrahad donned its mantle of and snow. The party were prisoners. All wasconsternation. The wildest confusion prevailed. In their eagerness, many, went far in advance of the main train. There was little concertof action or harmony of plan. All did not arrive at Donner Lake thesame day. Some wagons and families did not reach the lake until thethirty-first day of October, some never went further than Prosser Creek, while others, on the evening of the twenty-ninth, struggled through thesnow, and reached the foot of the precipitous cliffs between the summitand the upper end of the lake. Here, baffled, wearied, disheartened, they turned back to the foot of the lake. 

Several times during the days which succeeded, parties attempted tocross the mountain barrier. W. C. Graves says the old emigrant roadfollowed up Cold Stream, and so crossed the dividing ridge. Some wagonswere drawn up this old road, almost to the top of the pass, others weretaken along the north side of Donner Lake, and far up toward the summit. Some of these wagons never were returned to the lake, but were leftimbedded in the snow. These efforts to cross the Sierra were quitedesultory and irregular, and there was great lack of harmony and system. Each family or each little group of emigrants acted independently. 

At last, one day, a determined and systematic attempt was made to crossthe summit. Nearly the entire train was engaged in the work. The road, of course, was entirely obliterated by the snow. Guided only by thegeneral contour of the country, all hands pressed resolutely forward. Here, large bowlders and irregular jutting cliffs would interceptthe way; there, dizzy precipices, yawning chasms, and deep, irregularcanyons would interpose, and anon a bold, impassable mountain of rockwould rear its menacing front directly across their path. All day longthe men and animals floundered through the snow, and attempted tobreak and trample a road. Just before nightfall they reached the abruptprecipice where the present wagon-road intercepts the snow-sheds of theCentral Pacific. Here the poor mules and oxen had been utterly unable tofind a foothold on the slippery, snow-covered rocks. All that day it hadbeen raining slightly--a dismal, drizzling, discouraging rain. Most ofthe wagons had been left at the lake, and the mules and oxen had beenpacked with provisions and necessary articles. Even at this day some ofthe survivors are unable to repress a ripple of merriment as they recallthe manner in which the oxen bucked and bellowed when the unaccustomedpacks were strapped upon their backs. Stanton had stoutly insisted upontaking the mules over the mountains. Perhaps he did not wish to returnto Capt. Sutter without the property which he had borrowed. Many inthe train dissented from this proposition, and endeavored to induce theIndians, Lewis and Salvador, to leave Stanton, and guide them over thesummits. The Indians realized the imminent danger of each hour'sdelay, and would probably have yielded to the solicitations of thesedisaffected parties, had not Stanton made them believe that Capt. Sutterwould hang them if they returned to the Fort without the mules. Thisincident is mentioned to illustrate the great differences of opinion andinterest which prevailed. Never, from the moment the party encounteredthe first difficulties on the Hastings Cut-off until this fatal night inNovember, did the members of the company ever agree upon any importantproposition. This night all decided upon a plan for the morrow. Thegreat and overwhelming danger made them forget their petty animosities, and united them in one harmonious resolve. On the morrow the mules andcattle were all to be slain, and the meat was to be stored away forfuture emergency. The wagons, with their contents, were to be leftat the lake, and the entire party were to cross the summits on foot. Stanton had become perfectly satisfied that the mules could not reachthe mountain-top, and readily consented to the proposed plan. 

Returning to the lake they sought their weary couches, comforted withthe thought that tomorrow should see all the Donner Party safely overthe summit. That night a heavy snow fell at the lake. It was a night ofuntold terror! The emigrants suffered a thousand deaths. The pitilesssnow came down in large, steady masses. All understood that the stormmeant death. One of the Indians silently wrapped his blanket about himand in deepest dejection seated himself beside a tall pine. In thisposition he passed the entire night, only moving occasionally to keepfrom being covered with snow. Mrs. Reed spread down a shawl, placed herfour children, Virginia, Patty, James, and Thomas, thereon, and puttinganother shawl over them, sat by the side of her babies during all thelong hours of darkness. Every little while she was compelled to lift theupper shawl and shake off the rapidly accumulating snow. 

With slight interruptions, the storm continued several days. The mulesand oxen that had always hovered about camp were blinded and bewilderedby the storm, and straying away were literally buried alive in thedrifts. What pen can describe the horror of the position in which theemigrants found themselves! It was impossible to move through the deep, soft snow without the greatest effort. The mules were gone, and werenever found. Most of the cattle had perished, and were wholly hiddenfrom sight. The few oxen which were found were slaughtered for beef. Allwere not killed during any one day, but the emigrants gave this businesstheir immediate attention, because aside from the beef and a few slightprovisions, the entire party were completely destitute. Mrs. Breen wascompelled to attend personally to the slaughtering of their cattle, because her husband was an invalid. This family had by far the largeststock of meat. Too great praise can not be ascribed to Mrs. Breen forthe care and forethought with which she stored up this food for herchildren. The meat was simply laid away in piles, like cordwood, and bythe action of the frost was kept fresh until consumed. Mrs. Reed had nocattle to kill. She succeeded, however, in purchasing two beeves fromMr. Graves, and two from Mr. Breen, pledging herself to pay when thejourney was ended. Mr. Eddy also purchased one ox of Mr. Graves. 

The flesh of many of the cattle which strayed away, and were buriedseveral feet under the snow, was nevertheless recovered by their owners. It was soon ascertained that the cattle had endeavored to seek shelterfrom the fury of the storm by getting under the branches of the bushiesttrees. Going to these trees, the emigrants would thrust down long poleswith sharpened nails in the ends of them. By thus probing about in thesnow, the whereabouts of a number of cattle was discovered, and thebodies were speedily dug out of the drifts. 

Realizing that the winter must be passed in the mountains, the emigrantsmade such preparations as they could for shelter. One cabin was alreadyconstructed. It was located about a quarter of a mile below the foot ofthe lake. It had been built in November, 1844, by Moses Schallenberger, Joseph Foster, and Allen Montgomery. Moses Schallenberger now residesthree and a half miles from San Jose, and when recently interviewedby Mrs. S. O. Houghton, nee Eliza P. Donner, gave a very complete andinteresting account of the building of this cabin, and the sufferingsendured by his party. This cabin, known as the Breen cabin, is sointimately connected and interwoven with future chapters in theHistory of the Donner Party, that the following items, taken from Mr. Schallenberger's narration, can not prove uninteresting:

"Mr. Schallenberger's party reached Donner Lake about the middleof November, 1844, having with them a large quantity of goods forCalifornia. Their cattle being very poor, and much fatigued by thejourney, the party decided to remain here long enough to build a cabinin which to store their goods until spring. They also decided to leavesome one to look after their stores, while the main portion of the partywould push on to the settlement. Foster, Montgomery, and Schallenbergerbuilt the cabin. Two days were spent in its construction. It was builtof pine saplings, and roofed with pine brush and rawhides. It was twelveby fourteen feet, and seven or eight feet high, with a chimney in oneend, built "western style. " One opening, through which light, air, andthe occupants passed, served as a window and door. A heavy fall of snowbegan the day after the cabin was completed and continued for a numberof days. Schallenberger, who was only seventeen years old, volunteeredto remain with Foster and Montgomery. The party passed on, leaving verylittle provisions for the encamped. The flesh of one miserably poor cowwas their main dependence, yet the young men were not discouraged. Theywere accustomed to frontier life, and felt sure they could provide forthemselves. Bear and deer seemed abundant in the surrounding mountains. Time passed; the snow continued falling, until it was from ten tofifteen feet deep. The cow was more than half consumed, and the game hadbeen driven out of the mountains by the storms. 

"The sojourners in that lonely camp became alarmed at the prospect ofthe terrible fate which seemed to threaten them, and they determined tofind their way across the mountains. They started and reached the summitthe first night after leaving their camp. Here, young Schallenberger wastaken ill with severe cramps. The following day he was unable to proceedmore than a few feet without falling to the ground. It was evident tohis companions that he could go no farther. They did not like to leavehim, nor did they wish to remain where death seemed to await them. Finally Schallenberger told them if they would take him back to thecabin he would remain there and they could go on. This they did, andafter making him as comfortable as possible, they bade him good-by, and he was left alone in that mountain wild. A strong will and anunflinching determination to live through all the threatening dangers, soon raised him from his bed and nerved him to action. He found somesteel traps among the goods stored, and with them caught foxes, whichconstituted his chief or only article of food, until rescued by thereturning party, March 1, 1845. "

The Breen family moved into the Schallenberger cabin. Against the westside of this cabin, Keseberg built a sort of half shed, into which heand his family entered. The Murphys erected a cabin nearer the lake. The site of this cabin is plainly marked by a large stone about ten ortwelve feet high, one side of which rises almost perpendicularly fromthe ground. Against this perpendicular side the Murphys erected thebuilding which was to shelter them during the winter. It was about threehundred yards from the shore of Donner Lake, and near the wide marshyoutlet. The Breen and Murphy cabins were distant from each other aboutone hundred and fifty yards. The Graves family built a house close byDonner Creek, and half or three quarters of a mile further down thestream. Adjoining this, forming a double cabin, the Reeds built. TheDonner brothers, Jacob and George, together with their families, campedin Alder Creek Valley, six or seven miles from Donner Lake. They were, if possible, in a worse condition than the others, for they had onlybrush sheds and their tents to shield them from the wintry weather. Mrs. John App (Leanna C. Donner), of Jamestown, Tuolumne County, writes: "Wehad no time to build a cabin. The snow came on so suddenly that we hadbarely time to pitch our tent, and put up a brush shed, as it were, oneside of which was open. This brush shed was covered with pine boughs, and then covered with rubber coats, quilts, etc. My uncle, Jacob Donner, and family, also had a tent, and camped near us. "

Crowded in their ill-prepared dwellings, the emigrants could not feelotherwise than gloomy and despondent. The small quantity of provisionsbecame so nearly exhausted that it is correct to say they were compelledto live on meat alone, without so much as salt to give it a relish. There was an abundance of beautiful trout in the lake, but no onecould catch them. W. C. Graves tells how he went fishing two or threedifferent times, but without success. The lake was not frozen over atfirst, and fish were frequently seen; but they were too coy and wary toapproach such bait as was offered. Soon thick ice covered the water, andafter that no one attempted to fish. In fact, the entire party seemeddazed by the terrible calamity which had overtaken them. 

Chapter VI. 

 Endeavors to Cross the Mountains Discouraging Failures Eddy Kills a Bear Making SnowShoes Who Composed the "Forlorn Hope" Mary A. Graves An Irishman A Generous Act Six Days' Rations Mary Graves Account Snow-Blind C. T. Stanton's Death "I am Coming Soon" Sketch of Stanton's Early Life His Charity and Self-Sacrifice The Diamond Breastpin Stanton's Last Poem. 

All knew that death speedily awaited the entire company unless somecould cross over the mountain barrier and hasten back relief parties. Out of the list of ninety persons mentioned in the first chapter, onlyMrs. Sarah Keyes, Halloran, Snyder, Hardcoop, Wolfinger, and Pike hadperished, and only three, Messrs. Reed, Herron, and McCutchen, hadreached California. This left eighty-one persons at the mountain camps. It was resolved that at the earliest possible moment the strongest andablest of the party should endeavor to cross the summits and reach thesettlements. Accordingly, on the twelfth of November, a party of twelveor fifteen persons set out from the cabins. It was found impossible, however, to make any considerable headway in the soft, deep snow, and atmidnight they returned to the cabins. They had not succeeded in gettingmore than a mile above the head of the lake. In this party were Mr. F. W. Graves and his two daughters, Mary A. Graves, and Mrs. Sarah Fosdick. The rest, with the exception of Jay Fosdick and Wm. H. Eddy, were young, unmarried men, as, for instance, Stanton, Smith, Spitzer, Elliott, Antoine, John Baptiste, and the two Indians. It was comparatively atrifling effort, but it seemed to have the effect of utterly depressingthe hopes of several of these men. With no one in the camps dependentupon them, without any ties of relationship, or bonds of affection, these young men were be first to attempt to escape from their prisonwalls of snow. Failing in this, many of them never again rallied or madea struggle for existence. Not so, however, with those who were headsof families. A gun was owned by William Foster, and with it, on thefourteenth of November, three miles north of Truckee, near the presentAlder Creek Mill, Mr. Eddy succeeded in killing a bear. This eventinspired many hearts with courage; but, alas it was short-lived. Noother game could be found except two or three wild ducks. What werethese among eighty-one people! Mr. F. W. Graves was a native of Vermont, and his boyhood days had been spent in sight of the Green Mountains. Somewhat accustomed to snow, and to pioneer customs, Mr. Graves was theonly member of the party who understood how to construct snow-shoes. Theunsuccessful attempt made by the first party proved that no human beingcould walk upon the loose snow without some artificial assistance. Bycarefully sawing the ox-bows into strips, so as to preserve their curvedform, Mr. Graves, by means of rawhide thongs, prepared very serviceablesnow-shoes. Fourteen pair of shoes were made in this manner. It wascertain death for all to remain in camp, and yet the first attempt hadshown that it was almost equally certain death to attempt to reach thesettlements. There was not food for all, and yet the ones who undertookto cross the mountains were undoubtedly sacrificing their lives forthose who remained in camp. If some should go, those who were leftbehind might be able to preserve life until spring, or until reliefcame. The stoutest hearts quailed before the thought of battling withthe deep drifts, the storms, and the unknown dangers which lurked onthe summits. The bravest shuddered at the idea of leaving the cabinsand venturing out into the drear and dismal wilderness of snow. Yet theycould count upon their fingers the days that would elapse before theprovisions would be exhausted, and starvation would ensue, if none leftthe camps. 

Day after day, with aching hearts and throbbing brows, the poorimprisoned wretches gazed into each other's faces in blank despair. Who should be sacrificed? Who would go out and seek a grave 'neath thecrashing avalanche, the treacherous drifts, or in the dreary famishedwilderness, that those left behind might live? Who would be the forlornhope of the perishing emigrants?

Once, Messrs. Patrick Breen, Patrick Dolan, Lewis Keseberg, and W. H. Eddy, are said to have attempted to reach the summit. On anotheroccasion these same parties, with Mrs. Reed and family, Mr. Stanton andthe two Indians, made an unsuccessful attempt. Still another time, alarge party, among whom were Mrs. Murphy and the older members of herfamily, made the effort, and even succeeded in crossing the topmostridge and reaching Summit Valley, one and a half miles west of thesummit. But all these parties were forced to return to the cabins, andeach failure confirmed the belief that no living being could cross themountains. In this manner time dragged wearily along until the tenth, or, as some say, the sixteenth of December. The mere matter of the dateis of trifling importance. At all events a forlorn hope was organized. Seventeen names were enrolled as volunteers. Of these, Charles Burgerwent only a short distance, turning back weary and exhausted. Wm. G. Murphy, who is described as a most brave and resolute boy of elevenyears of age, accompanied the party as far as the head of Donner Lake. He and his brother Lemuel were without snowshoes. It was expected theywould step in the beaten tracks of those who had shoes, but this wassoon proven to be utterly impracticable. The party made snow-shoes forLemuel on the first night, out of the aparajos which had been brought byStanton from Sutter's Fort. Wm. G. Murphy saved his life by returningto the cabins. No human being could have endured the trip withoutsnow-shoes. Fifteen remained in the party, and these pressed forwardwithout so much as daring to look back to the dear ones whose livesdepended upon this terrible venture. Without forgetting William G. Murphy and Charles Burger, who started with this little band, the firstparty who crossed the Sierra will in future be termed the fifteen. Who composed this party? Mothers, whose babes would starve unless themothers went; fathers, whose wives and children would perish if thefathers did not go; children, whose aged parents could not surviveunless the children, by leaving, increased the parents' share of food. Each were included in the forlorn hope. 

It was time for some one to leave the cabins. During the days that hadelapsed, no word had been received from the Donner brothers at AlderCreek, nor from the emigrants who camped with them. Alder Creek is abranch of Prosser Creek, and the Donners encamped on the former streamabout a mile and a half above the junction. 

On the ninth of December, Milton Elliott and Noah James started back tolearn some tidings of these people. Soon after they left the camps atthe lake, a terrific storm came down from the mountains, and as nothinghad been heard from them, it was considered certain they had perished. 

About this time, starvation and exposure had so preyed upon one of thecompany, Augustus Spitzer, that one day he came reeling and staggeringinto the Breen cabin and fell prostrate and helpless upon the floor. Poor fellow, he never rallied, although by careful nursing and kindestattentions he lingered along for some weeks. The emigrants were nolonger on short allowance, they were actually starving! Oh! the horror!the dread alarm which prevailed among the company! C. T. Stanton, everbrave, courageous, lion-hearted, said, "I will bring help to thesefamishing people or lay down my life. " F. W. Graves, who was one of thenoblest men who ever breathed the breath of life, was next to volunteer. Mr. And Mrs. Graves had nine children, the youngest being only ninemonths old. Generously had they parted with the cattle which theybrought to the lake, dividing equally with those families who hadno food. Mary A. Graves and her elder sister, Mrs. Sarah Fosdick, determined to accompany their father, and as will presently be seen, their hearts failed not during trials which crushed strong men. MaryGraves was about nineteen years old. She was a very beautiful girl, of tall and slender build, and exceptionally graceful carriage. Herfeatures, in their regularity, were of classic Grecian mold. Her eyeswere dark, bright, and expressive. A fine mouth and perfect set ofteeth, added to a luxuriant growth of dark, rebelliously wavy hair, completed an almost perfect picture of lovely girlhood. Jay Fosdickresolved to share with his wife the perils of the way. Mrs. Murphyoffered to take care of the infant children of her married daughters, Mrs. Foster and Mrs. Pike, if they would join the party. The dear, goodmother argued that what the daughters would eat would keep her and thelittle ones from starving. It was nobly said, yet who can doubt butthat, with clearer vision, the mother saw that only by urging them togo, could she save her daughters' lives. With what anguish did Mrs. Harriet F. Pike enroll her name among those of the "Forlorn Hope, "and bid good-by to her little two-year-old Naomi and her nursing babe, Catherine! What bitter tears were shed by Mr. And Mrs. Foster when theykissed their beautiful baby boy farewell! Alas! though they knew it not, it was a long, long farewell. Mrs. Eddy was too feeble to attempt thejourney, and the family were so poorly provided with food that Mr. Eddywas compelled to leave her and the two little children in the cabins, and go with the party. Mrs. McCutchen also had an infant babe, and Mrs. Graves employed the same reasoning with her that Mrs. Murphy had soeffectively used with Mrs. Pike and Mrs. Foster. That these three youngmothers left their infant children, their nursing babes, with others, and started to find relief, is proof stronger than words, of thedesperate condition of the starving emigrants. The Mexican Antoine, thetwo Indians Lewis and Salvador, and an Irishman named Patrick Dolan, completed the fifteen. This Patrick Dolan deserves more than a passingword. He had owned a farm in Keokuk, Iowa, and selling it, had taken asthe price, a wagon, four oxen, and two cows. With these he joined theDonner Party, and on reaching the lake had killed his cattle and storedthem away with those killed by the Breens. Dolan was a bachelor, andabout forty years of age. He was possessed of two or three hundreddollars in coin, but instead of being miserly or selfish, wascharacterized by generous openheartedness. "When it became apparent thatthere was to be suffering and starvation" (this quotation is from themanuscript of Hon. James F. Breen), "Dolan determined to lighten theburden at the camps, and leave with the party that was to attempt thepassage of the summit, so that there should be less to consume the scantsupply of provisions. Previous to his departure, he asked my father(Patrick Breen) to attend to the wants of Reed's family, and to give ofhis (Dolan's) meat to Reed's family as long as possible. " Accordingly, Mrs. Reed and her children were taken into Breen's cabin, where, asmentioned above, Dolan's meat was stored. Was ever a more generous actrecorded? Patrick Dolan had no relative in the Donner Party, and nofriends, save those whose friendship had been formed upon the plains. With the cattle which belonged to him he could have selfishly subsisteduntil relief came, but, whole-souled Irishman that he was, he gave foodto the mothers and the children and went out into the waste of snow toperish of starvation! How many who live to-day owe their existence toPatrick Dolan's self-sacrifice! This blue-eyed, brown haired Irishmanis described as being of a jovial disposition, and inclined to lookupon the bright side of things. Remembering how he gave his life forstrangers, how readily can we appreciate Mr. Breen's tender tribute: "Hewas a favorite with children, and would romp and play with a child. " Asa token of appreciation for his kindness, Mrs. Reed gave Patrick Dolan agold watch and a Masonic emblem belonging to her husband, bidding himto keep them until he was rewarded for his generosity. The good mother'sword had a significance she wot not of. When Mrs. Reed reached Sutter'sFort she found these valuables awaiting her. They had been brought in byIndians. Patrick Dolan had kept them until his death--until the angelscame and bore him away to his reward. 

This party of fifteen had taken provisions to last only six days. At theend of this time they hoped to reach Bear Valley, so they said, but itis more than probable they dared not take more food from their dearones at the cabins. Six days' rations! This means enough of the poor, shriveled beef to allow each person, three times a day, a piece the sizeof one's two fingers. With a little coffee and a little loaf sugar, this was all. They had matches, Foster's gun, a hatchet, and each a thinblanket. With this outfit they started to cross the Sierra. No person, unaccustomed to snow-shoes, can form an idea of the difficulty which isexperienced during one's first attempt to walk with them. Their shoeswould sink deep into the loose, light snow, and it was with great effortthey made any progress. They had been at Donner Lake from forty-two toforty-six days, and on this first night of their journey had left itfour miles behind them. After a dreadful day's work they encamped, infull sight of the lake and of the cabins. This was harder for the achinghearts of the mothers than even the terrible parting from their littleones. To see the smoke of the cabins, to awake from their troubleddreams, thinking they heard the cry of their starving babes, to stiflethe maternal yearnings which prompted them to turn back and perish withtheir darlings clasped to their breasts, were trials almost unbearable. The next day they traveled six miles. They crossed the summit, and thecamps were no longer visible. They were in the solemn fastnesses of thesnow-mantled Sierra. Lonely, desolate, forsaken apparently by God andman, their situation was painfully, distressingly terrible. The snowwas, wrapped about cliff and forest and gorge. It varied in depth fromtwelve to sixty feet. 

Mrs. M. A. Clarke (Mary Graves), now of White River, Tulare County, speaking of this second day, says: "We had a very slavish day's travel, climbing the divide. Nothing of interest occurred until reaching thesummit. The scenery was too grand for me to pass without notice, thechanges being so great; walking now on loose snow, and now stepping on ahard, slick rock a number of hundred yards in length. Being a littlein the rear of the party, I had a chance to observe the company ahead, trudging along with packs on their backs. It reminded me of someNorwegian fur company among the icebergs. My shoes were ox-bows, split in two, and rawhide strings woven in, something in form of theold-fashioned, split-bottomed chairs. Our clothes were of the bloomercostume, and generally were made of flannel. Well do I remember a remarkone of the company made here, that we were about as near heaven as wecould get. We camped a little on the west side of the summit the secondnight. "

Here they gathered a few boughs, kindled a fire upon the surface of thesnow, boiled their coffee, and ate their pitiful allowance of beef; thenwrapping their toil-worn bodies in their blankets, lay down upon thesnow. As W. C. Graves remarks, it was a bed that was soft, and white, and beautiful, and yet it was a terrible bed--a bed of death. The thirdday they walked five miles. Starting almost at dawn, they struggledwearily through the deep drifts, and when the night shadows crept overcrag and pine and mountain vale, they were but five miles on theirjourney. They did not speak during the day, except when speech wasabsolutely necessary. All traveled silently, and with downcast eyes. The task was beginning to tell upon the frames of even the strongest andmost resolute. The hunger that continually gnawed at their vitals, theexcessive labor of moving the heavy, clumsy snow-shoes through the soft, yielding snow, was too much for human endurance. They could no longerkeep together and aid each other with words of hope. They struggledalong, sometimes at great distances apart. The fatigue and dazzlingsunlight rendered some of them snowblind. One of these was thenoble-hearted Stanton. On this third day he was too blind and weak tokeep up with the rest, and staggered into the camp long after the othershad finished their pitiful supper. Poor, brave, generous Stanton! Hesaid little, but in his inner heart he knew that the end of his journeywas almost at hand. 

Who was this heroic being who left the beautiful valleys of theSacramento to die for strangers? See him wearily toiling onward duringthe long hours of the fourth day. The agony and blindness of his eyeswring no cry from his lips, no murmur, no word of complaint. Withpatient courage and heroic fortitude he strives to keep pace with hiscompanions, but finds it impossible. Early in the morning he drops tothe rear, and is soon lost to sight. At night he drags his weary limbsinto camp long after his comrades are sleeping 'neath the silent stars. It must be remembered that they had been accustomed to short allowanceof food for months, while he had been used to having an abundance. Theirbodies had been schooled to endure famine, privations, and long, wearywalks. For many days before reaching the mountains, they had been usedto walking every day, in order to lighten the burdens of the perishingoxen. Fatigues which exhausted them crushed Stanton. The weather wasclear and pleasant, but the glare of the sun during the day had beenlike molten fire to their aching eyes. 

On the morning of the fifth day Stanton was sitting smoking by thesmoldering fire when the company resumed its journey. Mary Graves, whohad a tender heart for the suffering of others, went kindly up to him, and asked him if he were coming. "Yes, " he replied, "I am comingsoon. " Was he answering her, or the unseen spirits that even then werebeckoning him to the unknown world? "Yes, I am coming soon!" These werehis last words. His companions were too near death's door to return whenthey found he came not, and so he perished. He had begged them piteouslyto lead him, during the first days of his blindness, but seemingto realize that they were unable to render assistance, he ceased toimportune, and heroically met his fate. He did not blame his comrades. They were weak, exhausted, and ready to die of starvation. With foodnearly gone, strength failing, hope lost, and nothing left but the last, blind, clinging instinct of life, it was impossible that the perishingcompany should have aided the perishing Stanton. He was a hero of thehighest, noblest, grandest stamp. No words can ever express a fittingtribute to his memory. He gave his life for strangers who had not theslightest claim to the sacrifice. He left the valleys where friends, happiness, and abundance prevailed, to perish amidst chillingsnow-drifts--famished and abandoned. The act of returning to save thestarving emigrants is as full of heroic grandeur as his death is repletewith mournful desolation. 

In May, 1847, W. C. Graves, in company with a relief party, found theremains of C. T. Stanton near the spot where he had been left by hiscompanions. The wild animals had partially devoured his body, but theremains were easily identified by means of his clothing and pistols. 

The following sketch of this hero is kindly furnished by his brother, Sidney Stanton, of Cazenovia, New York:

"Charles Tyler Stanton was born at Pompey, Onondaga County, New York, March 11, 1811. He was five feet five inches in height. He had browneyes and brown hair. He possessed a robust constitution, and althoughrather slender during his youth, at the age of fifteen he became strongand hearty, and could endure as great hardships as any of his brothers. He had five brothers and four sisters, and was the seventh child. Hisgrandparents, on his father's side, were well off at the close of therevolutionary war, but sold their large farms, and took Continentalmoney in payment. Soon afterward this money became worthless, and theylost all. They were at the time living in Berkshire, Massachusetts, but soon after removed west to the county where C. T. Stanton was born. There were in his father's family fourteen children--seven sons andseven daughters. "

In his younger days Stanton was engaged as a clerk in a store. He washonest, industrious, and greatly beloved by those with whom he came incontact. His early education was limited, but during his employment asclerk he used every possible endeavor to improve his mind. During hisjourney across the plains, he was regarded as somewhat of a savant, on account of his knowledge of botany, geology, and other branches ofnatural science. His disposition was generous to a fault. He never washappier than when bestowing assistance upon needy friends. His widowedmother, for whom he entertained the most devoted affection, was kindlycared for by him until her death in 1835. After this sad event heremoved to Chicago. At Chicago he made money rapidly for a time, and hishand was ever ready to give aid to those about him. Charity and heroicself-sacrifice appear to have been his predominant characteristics. Theystand out in bold relief, not only in his early history, but during hisconnection with the Donner Party. While in the mountains he had no moneyto give, but instead he gave his strength, his energy, his love, hisall, his very life, for his companions. 

That he had a premonition of the gloomy fate which overtook him in theSierra, or at least that he fully realized the perils to which he wasexposing his life, is indicated by the following incident: When he setout from Sutter's Fort to return to the Donner train with provisions, heleft a vest with Captain Sutter. In one of the pockets of this vest wassubsequently found a package directed to the Captain with the followingmemorandum: "Captain Sutter will send the within, in the event of mydeath, to Sidney Stanton, Syracuse, New York. " The package contained adiamond breastpin. Mr. Sidney Stanton writes as follows concerning thiskeepsake:

"I will give you a short history or account of the pin which was leftfor me at Sutter's Fort, which Mr. McKinstry forwarded to me. This wasan event so peculiar at the time. He visited me here at Syracuse, whilehe was prospering in Chicago. He was on his way to New York, and wanteda sum of money, which I advanced. Before leaving he fastened this pin onthe dress of my wife, remarking that she must consider it as a presentfrom him. Nothing more was thought of this event until he again wantedmoney. Misfortune had overtaken him, and this event gave him much pain, not so much on his own account as because he could not relieve thedistress of dear friends when asked for aid. I sent him a little moremoney; I had not much to spare, and in talking the matter over with mywife, she asked, 'Why not send him the pin? It is valuable, and in timeof need he might dispose of it for his comfort. ' In saying this shetook the ground that it was left with her as a pledge, not as a gift. Itherefore handed it to my sister to send to him for this purpose. But itappears by his keeping it and sending it back in the way he did, that hedid consider it a gift, and hence he would not and did not dispose of itfor necessary things for his own comfort. This pin was the only thing ofvalue which he had at the time of his death. "

Stanton was an excellent writer. His descriptions of his travels fromChicago to the South would make a good-sized and a very interestingbook. His last composition is given below. It is an appropriate endingto this brief outline of the history of one who should be regarded asone of the noblest of California's pioneer heroes:

 "To My Mother In Heaven. "

 "Oh, how that word my soul inspires With holy, fond, and pure desires! Maternal love, how bright the flame! For wealth of worlds I'd not profane Nor idly breathe thy sacred name, My mother. "

 "Thy sainted spirit dwells on high. How oft I weep, how oft I sigh Whene'er I think of bygone time, Thy smile of love, which once was mine, That look so heavenly and divine, My mother. "

 "Thy warning voice in prayers of love, Ascending to the throne above With tones of eloquence so rife, Hath turned my thoughts from worldly strife, And cheered me through my wayward life, My mother. "

 "When death shall close my sad career, And I before my God appear There to receive His last decree My only prayer there will be Forever to remain with thee, My mother. "

Chapter VII. 

 A Wife's Devotion The Smoky Gorge Caught in a Storm Casting Lots to See Who should Die A Hidden River The Delirium of Starvation Franklin Ward Graves His Dying Advice A Frontiersman's Plan The Camp of Death A Dread Resort A Sister's Agony The Indians Refuse to Eat Lewis and Salvador Flee for Their Lives Killing a Deer Tracks Marked by Blood Nine Days without Food. 

Let no one censure Stanton's companions for abandoning their bravecomrade. In less than twenty-four hours all were without food, unless, indeed, it was Mr. Eddy, who, in his narration published by JudgeThornton, states that on the day of Stanton's death he found half apound of bear's meat which had been secreted in a little bag by hiswife. Attached to this meat was a paper, upon which his wife had writtenin pencil a note signed, "Your own dear Eleanor. " Mr. Eddy had notdiscovered this meat until the sorest hour of need, and the hopeexpressed in Mrs. Eddy's note, that it would be the means of saving hislife, was literally fulfilled. There is something extremely touching inthe thought that this devoted wife, who, as will presently be seen, was starving to death in the cabins, saved her husband's life byclandestinely concealing about his person a portion of the food whichshould have sustained herself and her infant children. 

In the account given by Mary Graves, is mentioned the following incidentin the fourth day's travel: "Observing by the way a deep gorge at theright, having the appearance of being full of smoke, I wanted very muchto go to it, but the Indians said no, that was not the way. I prevailedon the men to fire the gun, but there was no answer. Every time weneared the gorge I would halloo at the top of my voice, but we receivedno answer. "

On this day the horror of the situation was increased by thecommencement of a snow-storm. As the flakes fell thick and fast, theparty sat down in the snow utterly discouraged and heartsick. 

Mary Graves says: "What to do we did not know. We held a consultation, whether to go ahead without provisions, or go back to the cabins, wherewe must undoubtedly starve. Some of those who had children and familieswished to go back, but the two Indians said they would go on to CaptainSutter's. I told them I would go too, for to go back and hear the criesof hunger from my little brothers and sisters was more than I couldstand. I would go as far as I could, let the consequences be what theymight. "

There, in the deep, pitiless storm, surrounded on all sides by desolatewastes of snow, the idea was first advanced that life might be sustainedif some one were to perish. Since leaving the cabins, they had at notime allowed themselves more than one ounce of meat per meal, and fortwo entire days they had not tasted food. The terrible pangs of hungermust be speedily allayed or death was inevitable. Some one proposed thatlots be cast to see who should die. The terrible proposition met withopposition from Foster and others, but slips of paper were actuallyprepared by some of the men, and he who drew the longest--the fatalslip--was Patrick Dolan. Who should take Dolan's life? Who was to bethe executioner of the man who had so generously given up the food whichmight have sustained his life, and joined the forlorn hope that othersmight live? With one accord they rose to their feet and staggeredforward. As if to banish from their minds the horrid thought of takingDolan's life, they attempted to pursue their journey. 

With the greatest exertion and suffering they managed to crawl, andstagger, and flounder along until they attained a distance of two orthree miles. Here they camped, and passed a most wretched, desolatenight. The morning dawned; it was dreary, rainy, and discouraging. Thelittle party set out as usual, but were too weak and lifeless to travel. The soft snow clung to their feet in heavy lumps like snow-balls. Instead of making a fire in a new place, Mary Graves says they crawledback to the camp-fire of the night previous. Here they remained untilnight came on--a night full of horrors. The wind howled through theshrieking forests like troops of demons. The rain had continued all day, but finally changed to snow and sleet, which cut their pinched faces, and made them shiver with cold. All the forces of nature seemedto combine for their destruction. At one time during the night, inattempting to kindle a fire, the ax or hatchet which they had carriedwas lost in the loose snow. 

A huge fire was kindled at last, with the greatest difficulty, andin order to obtain more warmth, all assisted in piling fuel upon theflames. Along in the night, Mr. Foster thinks it was near midnight, theheat of the flames and the dropping coals and embers thawed the snowunderneath the fire until a deep, well-like cavity was formed aboutthe fire. Suddenly, as if to intensify the dreadful horrors of thesituation, the bottom of this well gave way, and the fire disappeared!The camp and the fire had been built over a stream of water, and thefire had melted through the overlying snow until it had fallen into thestream! Those who peered over the brink of the dark opening about whichthey were gathered, could hear, far down in the gloom, during the lullof the storm, the sound of running waters. 

If there is anything lacking in this picture of despair, it is furnishedin the groans and cries of the shivering, dying outcasts, and thedemoniacal shrieks and ravings of Patrick Dolan, who was in the deliriumwhich precedes death. It was not necessary that life should be takenby the members of the company. Death was busily at work, and before thewild winter night was ended, his ghastly victims were deaf to wind orstorm. 

When the fire disappeared, it became apparent that the entire forlornhope would perish before morning if exposed to the cold and storm. W. H. Eddy says the wind increased until it was a perfect tornado. Aboutmidnight, Antoine overcome by starvation, fatigue, and the bitter cold, ceased to breathe. Mr. F. W. Graves was dying. There was a point beyondwhich an iron nerve and a powerful constitution were unable to sustain aman. This point had been reached, and Mr. Graves was fast passing away. He was conscious, and calling his weeping, grief-stricken daughters tohis side, exhorted them to use every means in their power to prolongtheir lives. He reminded them of their mother, of their little brothersand sisters in the cabin at the lake. He reminded Mrs. Pike of her poorbabies. Unless these daughters succeeded in reaching Sutter's Fort, and were able to send back relief, all at the lake must certainly die. Instances had been cited in history, where, under less provocation, human flesh had been eaten, yet Mr. Graves well knew that his daughtershad said they would never touch the loathsome food. 

Was there not something noble and grand in the dying advice of thisfather? Was he not heroic when he counseled that all false delicacy belaid aside and that his body be sacrificed to support those that were torelieve his wife and children?

Earnestly pleading that these afflicted children rise superior to theirprejudices and natural instincts--Franklin Ward Graves died. A sublimerdeath seldom is witnessed. In the solemn darkness, in the tempestuousstorm, on the deep, frozen snow-drifts, overcome by pain and exposure, with the pangs of famine gnawing away his life, this unselfish father, with his latest breath urged that his flesh be used to prolong the livesof his companions. Truly, a soul that could prompt such utteranceshad no need, after death, for its mortal tenement--it had a betterdwelling-place on high. 

With two of their little number in the icy embraces of death, some planto obtain warmth for the living was immediately necessary. W. H. Eddyproposed a frontiersman's method. It was for all to huddle closelytogether in a circle, lie down on a blanket with their heads outward, and be covered with a second blanket. Mr. Eddy arranged his companions, spread the blanket over them, and creeping under the coverlid, completedthe circle. The wind swept the drifting snow in dense clouds over theirheads. The chilling air, already white with falling snowflakes, becamedense with the drifting masses. In a little while the devoted bandwere completely hidden from wind, or storm, or piercing cold, by adeep covering of snow. The warmth of their bodies, confined between theblankets, under the depth of snow, soon rendered them comfortablywarm. Their only precaution now was to keep from being buriedalive. Occasionally some member of the party would shake the rapidlyaccumulating snow from off their coverlid. 

They no longer were in danger of freezing. But while the elements werevainly waging fierce war above their heads, hunger was rapidly sappingthe fountains of life, and claiming them for its victims. When, for amoment, sleep would steal away their reason, in famished dreams theywould seize with their teeth the hand or arm of a companion. Thedelirium of death had attacked one or two, and the pitiful wails andcries of these death-stricken maniacs were heart-rending. The dead, thedying, the situation, were enough to drive one crazy. 

The next day was ushered in by one of the most furious storms everwitnessed on the Sierra. All the day long, drifts and the fast-fallingsnow circled above them under the force of the fierce gale. The air wasa frozen fog of swift-darting ice-lances. The fine particles of snowand sleet, hurled by maddened storm-fiends, would cut and sting so thatone's eyes could not be opened in the storm, and the rushing gale wouldhurl one prostrate on the snow. Once or twice the demented Dolan escapedfrom his companions and disappeared in the blinding storm. Each time hereturned or was caught and dragged 'neath the covering, but the fatalexposure chilled the little life remaining in his pulses. During theafternoon he ceased to shriek, or struggle, or moan. Patrick Dolan, thewarm-hearted Irishman, was starved to death. 

Mr. Eddy states, in Thornton's work, that they entered this Camp ofDeath, Friday, December 25, Christmas. According to his version theystarted from the cabins on the sixteenth day of December, with scantyrations for six days. On the twenty-second they consumed the last morselof their provisions. Not until Sunday noon, December 27, did the stormbreak away. They had been over four days without food, and two days anda half without fire. They were almost dead. 

Is there a mind so narrow, so uncharitable, that it can censure thesepoor dying people for the acts of this terrible day? With their lovedones perishing at Donner Lake, with the horror of a lingering deathstaring them in the face, can the most unfeeling heart condemn them?

Emerging from the dreary prison-house, they attempted to kindle a fire. Their matches were wet and useless. Their flint-lock gun would giveforth a spark, but without some dry material that would readily ignite, it was of no avail. 

On this morning of the twenty-seventh Eddy says that he blew up apowder-horn in an effort to strike fire under the blankets. His face andhands were much burned. Mrs. McCutchen and Mrs. Foster were also burned, but not seriously. For some time all efforts to obtain a fire provedfruitless. Their garments were drenched by the storm. Mrs. Pike had amantle that was lined with cotton. The lining of this was cut open, andthe driest portion of the cotton was exposed to the sun's rays, in thehope that it could be made to catch the spark from the flint. At lastthey were successful. A fire was kindled in a dead tree, and theflames soon leaped up to the loftiest branches. The famished, shiveringwretches gathered round the burning tree. So weak and lifeless were theythat when the great pine limbs burned off and fell crashing about them, neither man nor woman moved or attempted to escape the threateningdanger. All felt that sudden death would be welcome. They were stunnedand horrified by the dreadful alternative which it was evident they mustaccept. 

The men finally mustered up courage to approach the dead. With avertedeyes and trembling hand, pieces of flesh were severed from the inanimateforms and laid upon the coals. It was the very refinement of torture totaste such food, yet those who tasted lived. One could not eat. LemuelMurphy was past relief. A boy about thirteen years old, Lemuel wasdearly loved by his sisters, and, full of courage, had endeavored toaccompany them on the fearful journey. He was feeble when he startedfrom the cabins, and the overwhelming sufferings of the fatal trip haddestroyed his remaining strength. Starvation is agony during the firstthree days, apathy and inanition during the fourth and perhaps thefifth, and delirium from that time until the struggle ceases. When thedelirium commences, hope ends. Lemuel was delirious Sunday morning, andwhen food was placed to his lips he either could not eat or was too neardeath to revive. All day Mrs. Foster held her brother's head in her lap, and by every means in her power sought to soothe his death agonies. Thesunlight faded from the surrounding summits. Darkness slowly emergedfrom the canyons and enfolded forest and hill-slope in her silentembrace. The glittering stars appeared in the heavens, and the bright, full moon rose over the eastern mountain crests. The silence, theprofound solitude, the ever-present wastes of snow, the weird moonlight, and above all the hollow moans of the dying boy in her lap, renderedthis night the most impressive in the life of Mrs. Foster. She says shenever beholds a bright moonlight without recurring with a shudder tothis night on the Sierra. At two o'clock in the morning Lemuel Murphyceased to breathe. The warm tears and kisses of the afflicted sisterswere showered upon lips that would never more quiver with pain. 

Until the twenty-ninth of December they remained at the "Camp of Death. "Would you know more of the shuddering details? Does the truth requirethe narration of the sickening minutiae of the terrible transactions ofthese days? Human beings were never called upon to undergo more tryingordeals. Dividing into groups, the members of each family were sparedthe pain of touching their own kindred. Days and perhaps weeks ofstarvation were awaiting them in the future, and they dare not neglectto provide as best they might. Each of the four bodies was divestedof its flesh, and the flesh was dried. Although no person partook ofkindred flesh, sights were often witnessed that were blood-curdling. Mrs. Foster, as we have seen, fairly worshiped her brother Lemuel. Hashuman pen power to express the shock of horror this sister received whenshe saw her brother's heart thrust through with a stick, and broilingupon the coals? No man can record or read such an occurrence without acry of agony! What, then, did she endure who saw this cruel sight?

These are facts. They are given just as they came from the lips of Mrs. Foster, a noble woman, who would have died of horror and a broken heartbut for her starving babe, her mother, and her little brothers andsisters who were at Donner Lake. Mary Graves corroborates Mrs. Foster, and W. H. Eddy gave a similar version to Judge Thornton. 

The Indian guides, Lewis and Salvador, would not eat this revoltingfood. They built a fire away from the company, and with true Indianstoicism endured the agonies of starvation without so much as beholdingthe occurrences at the other camp-fire. 

Starved bodies possess little flesh, and starving people could carry butlight burdens through such snow-drifts. On these accounts, the provisionwhich the Almighty seemed to have provided to save their lives, lastedonly until the thirty-first On New Year's morning they ate theirmoccasins and the strings of their snow-shoes. On the night before, Lewis and Salvador caught the sound of ominous words, or perceivedglances that were filled with dreadful import, and during the darknessthey fled. 

For several days past the party had been lost. The Indians could notrecognize the country when it was hidden from thirty to fifty feet insnow. Blindly struggling forward, they gradually separated into threeparties. On the fourth, W. H. Eddy and Mary Graves were in advance withthe gun. A starved deer crossed their path and providentially was slain. Drinking its warm blood and feasting upon its flesh, this couple waitedfor the arrival of Mr. And Mrs. Foster, Mrs. McCutchen, and Mrs. Pike, who were some distance behind. Night came and passed and they did notarrive. Indeed, Foster was dying for lack of nourishment. Behind thisparty were Mr. And Mrs. Jay Fosdick. During the night, Mr. Fosdickperished, and the faithful wife, after remaining with him until morning, struggled forward and met Mrs. Foster and a companion. Mrs. Fosdickrelated the death of her husband, and upon being informed of Foster'scondition, consented that her husband's body be converted into food. Itwas done. This was the first time that women's hands had used the knife, but by the act a life was saved. Mrs. Fosdick, although dying, would nottouch the food, and but for the venison would not have lived to see thesetting of the sun. But what was one small deer among so many famishedpeople? Hide, head, feet, entrails, all were eaten. On the sixth, thelast morsel was consumed. They were now without hope. Their journeywas apparently interminable. Wearied, foot-sore, freezing at night andtortured by hunger during the day, life could not last many hours. Someone must die; else none could live and reach the long-talked-of relief. Would it be Eddy, whose wife and two children were behind? Would it beMrs. Pike, who left two babes? Mrs. McCutchen, who left one? Mr. Or Mrs. Foster, whose baby boy was at the cabin? Or would it be Mary Gravesor Mrs. Fosdick, who had left mother and family? On the night of theseventh, they lay down upon the snow without having tasted a mouthfulof food during the day. Continued famine and exhaustion had so weakenedtheir frames that they could not survive another day. Yet, on themorning of the seventh, they arose and staggered onward. Soon theyhalted and gathered about some freshly made tracks. Tracks marked byblood! Tracks that they knew had been made by Lewis and Salvador, whosebare feet were sore and bleeding from cuts and bruises inflicted by thecruel, jagged rocks, the frozen snow, and flinty ice. These Indians hadeaten nothing for nine days, and had been without fire or blankets forfour days. They could not be far ahead. 

Chapter VIII. 

 Starvation at Donner Lake Preparing Rawhide for Food Eating the Firerug Shoveling Snow off the Beds Playing they were Tea-cups of Custard A Starving Baby Pleading with Silent Eloquence Patrick Breen's Diary Jacob Donner's Death A Child's Vow A Christmas Dinner Lost on the Summits A Stump Twenty-two Feet High Seven Nursing Babes at Donner Lake A Devout Father A Dying Boy Sorrow and Suffering at the Cabins. 

How fared it with those left at Donner Lake? About the time the fifteenbegan their terrible journey, Baylis Williams starved to death. Suchfood as the rest had was freely given to him, but it did not is satisfythe demands of his nature. Quietly, uncomplainingly, he had bornethe pangs of famine, and when the company first realized his dreadfulcondition, he was in the delirium which preceded death. What words canportray the emotions of the starving emigrants, when they saw one oftheir number actually perish of hunger before their eyes! Williams diedin the Graves cabin, and was buried near the house by W. C. Graves andJohn Denton. 

All the Donner Party were starving. When the cattle were killed thehides had been spread over the cabins in lieu of shingles. These werenow taken down and eaten. All the survivors describe the method ofpreparing this miserable substitute for food. The narration by Mrs. J. M. Murphy (Virginia E. Reed), of San Jose, is among the most vivid. Shesays the green rawhides were cut into strips and laid upon the coals, orheld in the flames until the hair was completely singed off. Either sideof the piece of hide was then scraped with a knife until comparativelyclean, and was placed in a kettle and boiled until soft and pulpy. Therewas no salt, and only a little pepper, and yet this substance was allthat was between them and starvation. When cold, the boiled hidesand the water in which they were cooked, became jellied and exactlyresembled glue. The tender stomachs of many of the little childrenrevolted at this disagreeable diet, and the loathing they acquired forthe sight of this substance still exists in the minds of some of thesurvivors. To this day, Thomas K. Reed, of San Jose, who was then a tinythree-year-old, can not endure the sight of calf's-foot jelly, or ofsimilar dishes, because of its resemblance to the loathed food which wasall his mother could give him in the cabins at Donner Lake. 

William G. Murphy describes how they gathered up the old, castawaybones of the cattle-bones from which all the flesh had been previouslypicked-and boiled, and boiled, and boiled them until they actually wouldcrumble between the teeth, and were eaten. The little children, playingupon the fire-rug in his mother's cabin, used to cut off little piecesof the rug, toast them crisp upon the coals, and then eat them. In thismanner, before any one was fairly aware of the fact, the fire-rug wasentirely consumed. 

The Donner families, at Prosser Creek, were, if possible, in even asadder condition. In order to give a glimpse of the suffering endured inthese two tents, the following is quoted from a letter written by Mrs. W. A. Babcock (Georgia A. Donner, now residing at Mountain View, SantaClara County): "The families shared with one another as long as they hadanything to share. Each one's portion was very small. The hides wereboiled, and the bones were burned brown and eaten. We tried to eat adecayed buffalo robe, but it was too tough, and there was no nourishmentin it. Some of the few mice that came into camp were caught and eaten. Some days we could not keep a fire, and many times, during both days andnights, snow was shoveled from off our tent, and from around it, that wemight not be buried alive. Mother remarked one day that it had been twoweeks that our beds and the clothing upon our bodies had been wet. Twoof my sisters and myself spent some days at Keseberg's cabin. The firstmorning we were there they shoveled the snow from our bed before wecould get up. Very few can believe it possible for human beings to liveand suffer the exposure and hardships endured there. "

Oh! how long and dreary the days were to the hungry children! Even theirvery plays and pastimes were pathetic, because of their piteous silentallusion to the pangs of starvation. Mrs. Frank Lewis (Patty Reed), ofSan Jose, relates that the poor, little, famishing girls used to fillthe pretty porcelain tea-cups with freshly fallen snow, daintily dip itout with teaspoons and eat it, playing it was custard. 

Dear Mrs. Murphy had the most sacred and pitiful charge. It was the weenursing babe, Catherine Pike, whose mother had gone with the "ForlornHope, " to try, if possible, to procure relief. All there was to givethe tiny sufferer, was a little gruel made from snow water, containinga slight sprinkling of coarse flour. This flour was simply ground wheat, unbolted. Day after day the sweet little darling would lie helplesslyupon its grandmother's lap, and seem with its large, sad eyes to bepleading for nourishment. Mrs. Murphy carefully kept the little handfulof flour concealed--there was only a handful at the very beginning--lestsome of the starving children might get possession of the treasure. Each day she gave Catherine a few teaspoonfuls of the gruel. Strangelyenough, this poor little martyr did not often cry with hunger, but withtremulous, quivering mouth, and a low, subdued sob or moan, would appearto be begging for something to eat. The poor, dumb lips, if gifted withspeech, could not have uttered a prayer half so eloquent, so touching. Could the mother, Mrs. Pike, have been present, it would have broken herheart to see her patient babe dying slowly, little by little. Starvationhad dried the maternal breasts long before Mrs. Pike went away, so thatno one can censure her for leaving her baby. She could only have done asMrs. Murphy did, give it the plain, coarse gruel, and watch it die, dayby day, upon her lap. 

Up to this time, but little has been said of Patrick Breen. He was aninvalid during the winter of 1846 and '47. A man of more than ordinaryintelligence, a devout Catholic, a faithful and devoted father, his lifefurnishes a rare type of the pioneer Californian. To Mr. Breen we areindebted for the most faithful and authentic record of the days spent atthe cabins. This record is in the form of a diary, in which the eventsof the day were briefly noted in the order of their occurrence. LewisKeseberg kept a similar diary, but it was subsequently accidentallydestroyed. Mrs. Tamsen Donner kept a journal, but this, with herpaintings and botanical collections, disappeared at the fatal tent onAlder Creek. Mr. Breen's diary alone was preserved. He gave it intoCol. McKinstry's possession in the spring of 1847, and on the fourth ofSeptember of that year it was published in the Nashville (Tenn. ) Whig. A copy of the Whig of that date is furnished by Wm. G. Murphy, ofMarysville. Other papers have published garbled extracts from thisdiary, but none have been reliable. The future history of the eventswhich transpired at the cabins will be narrated in connection with thisdiary. 

It must be remembered that the lake had always been known as "TruckeeLake, " it having been named after an old Indian guide who had renderedmuch assistance to the Schallenberger party in 1844. The record appearswithout the slightest alteration. Even the orthography of the name ofthe lake is printed as it was written, "Truckey. "

The diary commences as follows:

"Truckey's Lake, November 20, 1846. "

"Came to this place on the thirty-first of last month; went into thepass; the snow so deep we were unable to find the road, and when withinthree miles from the summit, turned back to this shanty on Truckey'sLake; Stanton came up one day after we arrived here; we again took ourteams and wagons, and made another unsuccessful attempt to cross incompany with Stanton; we returned to this shanty; it continued to snowall the time. We now have killed most part of our cattle, having toremain here until next spring, and live on lean beef, without breador salt. It snowed during the space of eight days, with littleintermission, after our arrival, though now clear and pleasant, freezingat night; the snow nearly gone from the valleys. "

"November 21. Fine morning; wind northwest; twenty-two of our companyabout starting to cross the mountains this day, including Stanton andhis Indians. "

"Nov. 22. Froze last night; fine and clear to-day; no account from thoseon the mountains. "

"Nov. 23. Same weather; wind west; the expedition cross the mountainsreturned after an unsuccessful attempt. "

"Nov. 25. Cloudy; looks like the eve of a snow-storm; our mountaineersare to make another trial to-morrow, if fair; froze hard last night. "

"Nov. 26. Began to snow last evening; now rains or sleets; the party donot start to-day. "

"Nov. 27. Still snowing; now about three feet deep; wind west; killed mylast oxen to-day; gave another yoke to Foster; wood hard to be got. "

"Nov. 30. Snowing fast; looks as likely to continue as when itcommenced; no living thing without wings can get about. "

"Dec. 1. Still snowing; wind west; snow about six or seven and a halffeet deep; very difficult to get wood, and we are completely housed up;our cattle all killed but two or three, and these, with the horsesand Stanton's mules, all supposed to be lost in the snow; no hopes offinding them alive. "

"Dec. 3. Ceases snowing; cloudy all day; warm enough to thaw. "

"Dec. 5. Beautiful sunshine; thawing a little; looks delightful afterthe long storm; snow seven or eight feet deep. "

"Dec. 6. The morning fine and clear; Stanton and Graves manufacturingsnow-shoes for another mountain scrabble; no account of mules. "

"Dec. 8. Fine weather; froze hard last night; wind south-west; hard workto find wood sufficient to keep us warm or cook our beef. "

"Dec. 9. Commenced snowing about eleven o'clock; wind northwest; took inSpitzer yesterday, so weak that he can not rise without help; caused bystarvation. Some have scanty supply of beef; Stanton trying to get somefor him self and Indians; not likely to get much. "

"Dec. 10. Snowed fast all night, with heavy squalls of wind; continuesto snow; now about seven feet in depth. "

"Dec. 14. Snows faster than any previous day; Stanton and Graves, with several others, making preparations to cross the mountains onsnow-shoes; snow eight feet on a level. "

"Dec. 16. Fair and pleasant; froze hard last night; the company startedon snow-shoes to cross the mountains; wind southeast. "

"Dec. 17. Pleasant; William Murphy returned from the mountain party lastevening; Baylis Williams died night before last; Milton and Noah startedfor Donner's eight days ago; not returned yet; think they are lost inthe snow. "

"Dec. 19. Snowed last night; thawing to-day; wind northwest; a littlesingular for a thaw. "

"Dec. 20. Clear and pleasant; Mrs. Reed here; no account from Miltonyet. Charles Burger started for Donner's; turned back; unable toproceed; tough times, but not discouraged. Our hope is in God. Amen. "

"Dec. 21. Milton got back last night from Donner's camp. Sad news; JacobDonner, Samuel Shoemaker, Rhinehart, and Smith are dead; the rest ofthem in a low situation; snowed all night, with a strong southwestwind. "

Jacob Donner was the first to die at Prosser Creek. He expired whilesitting at the table in his tent, with his head bowed upon his hands, as if in deep meditation. The following terse account is from the giftedpen of Mrs. S. O. Houghton (Eliza P. Donner), of San Jose: "Jacob Donnerwas a slight man, of delicate constitution, and was in poor health whenwe left Springfield, Illinois. The trials of the journey reducedhis strength and exhausted his energy. When we reached the place ofencampment in the mountains he was discouraged and gave up in despair. Not even the needs of his family could rouse him to action. He wasutterly dejected and made no effort, but tranquilly awaited death. "

"Dec. 23. Clear to-day; Milton took some of his meat away; all well attheir camp. Began this day to read the 'Thirty Days' Prayers;' AlmightyGod, grant the requests of unworthy sinners!

"Dec. 24. Rained all night, and still continues; poor prospect for anykind of comfort, spiritual or temporal. "

As will be seen by various references throughout this diary, Mr. Breenwas a devout Catholic. During the darkest hour of trial the prayers wereregularly read. That this might be done during the long weary evenings, as well as by day, pieces of pitch pine were split and laid carefully inone corner of the cabin, which would be lighted at the fire, and wouldserve as a substitute for candles. Those of the survivors who are livingoften speak of the times when they held these sticks while Mr. Breenread the prayers. So impressive were these religious observances thatone girl, a bright, beautiful child, Virginia E. Reed, made a solemn vowthat if God would hear these prayers, and deliver her family from thedangers surrounding them, she would become a Catholic. God did save herfamily, and she kept her vow. She is to-day a fervent Catholic. 

"Dec. 25. Began to snow yesterday, snowed all night, and snows yetrapidly; extremely difficult to find wood; uttered our prayers to Godthis Christmas morning; the prospect is appalling, but we trust in Him. "

What a desolate Christmas morning that was for the snow-bound victims!All were starving. Something to eat, something to satisfy the terriblecravings of appetite, was the constant wish of all. Sometimes the wisheswere expressed aloud, but more frequently a gloomy silence prevailed. When anything was audibly wished for, it was invariably something whosesize was proportional to their hunger. They never wished for a meal, or a mouthful, but for a barrel full, a wagon load, a house full, or astorehouse full. 

On Christmas eve the children spoke in low, subdued tones, of the visitsSanta Claus used to make them in their beautiful homes, before theystarted across the plains. Now they knew that no Santa Claus could findthem in the pathless depths of snow. 

One family, the Reeds, were in a peculiarly distressing situation. Theyknew not whether the father was living or dead. No tidings had reachedthem since his letters ceased to be found by the wayside. The meat theyhad obtained from the Breen and Graves families was now gone, and onChristmas morning their breakfast was a "pot of glue, " as the boiledrawhide was termed. But Mrs. Reed, the dear, tender-hearted mother, hada surprise in store for her children this day. When the last ox had beenpurchased, Mrs. Reed had placed the frozen meat in one corner of thecabin, so that pieces could be chipped off with a knife or hatchet. Thetripe, however, she cleaned carefully and hung on the outside of thecabin, on the end of a log, close to the ground. She knew that the snowwould soon conceal this from view. She also laid away secretly, oneteacupful of white beans, about half that quantity of rice, the samemeasure of dried apples, and a piece of bacon two inches square. Sheknew that if Christmas found them alive, they would be in a terriblydestitute condition. She therefore resolved to lay these articles away, and give them to her starving children for a Christmas dinner. This wasdone. The joy and gladness of these poor little children knew no boundswhen they saw the treasures unearthed and cooking on the fire. Theywere, just this one meal, to have all they could eat! They laughed, and danced, and cried by turns. They eagerly watched the dinner asit boiled. The pork and tripe had been cut in dice like pieces. Occasionally one of these pieces would boil up to the surface of thewater for an instant, then a bean would take a peep at them fromthe boiling kettle, then a piece of apple, or a grain of rice. Theappearance of each tiny bit was hailed by the children with shoutsof glee. The mother, whose eyes were brimming with tears, watched herfamished darlings with emotions that can be imagined. It seemed too sadthat innocent children should be brought to such destitution that thevery sight of food should so affect them! When the dinner was prepared, the mother's constant injunction was, "Children, eat slowly, there isplenty for all. " When they thought of the starvation of to-morrow, theycould not repress a shade of sadness, and when the name of papa wasmentioned all burst into tears. Dear, brave papa! Was he struggling torelieve his starving family, or lying stark and dead 'neath the snows ofthe Sierra? This question was constantly uppermost in the mother's mind. 

"Dec. 27. Cleared off yesterday, and continues clear; snow nine feetdeep; wood growing scarce; a tree, when felled, sinks into the snow, andis hard to be got at. "

"Dec. 30. Fine clear morning; froze hard last night. Charles Burger diedlast evening about 10 o'clock. "

"Dec. 31. Last of the year. May we, with the help of God, spend thecoming year better than we have the past, which we propose to do ifit is the will of the Almighty to deliver us from our present dreadfulsituation. Amen. Morning fair, but cloudy; wind east by south; lookslike another snow-storm. Snow-storms are dreadful to us. The snow atpresent is very deep. "

"Jan. 1, 1847. We pray the God of mercy to deliver us from our presentcalamity, if it be His holy will. Commenced snowing last night, andsnows a little yet. Provisions getting very scanty; dug up a hide fromunder the snow yesterday; have not commenced on it yet. "

"Jan. 3. Fair during the day, freezing at night. Mrs. Reed talks ofcrossing the mountains with her children. "

"Jan. 4. Fine morning; looks like spring. Mrs. Reed and Virginia, MiltonElliott, and Eliza Williams started a short time ago with the hope ofcrossing the mountains; left the children here. It was difficult forMrs. Reed to part with them. "

This expedition was only one of many that the emigrants attempted. Thesuffering that was endured at these times was indescribable. The broken, volcanic nature of the summits rendered it extremely difficult to keepfrom getting lost. The white, snowy cliffs were everywhere the same. This party became bewildered and lost near the beautiful Lake Angeline, which is close to the present "Summit Station" of the Central Pacific. Had they attempted to proceed, all would undoubtedly have perished. 

Within half a mile of the wagon road which now extends from Donner Laketo the Summit are places where rocks and cliffs are mingled in wildestconfusion. Even in summertime it is difficult to find one's way amongthe broken, distorted mountain tops. In the mighty upheaval whichproduced the Sierra Nevada, these vast mounds or mountains of frowninggranite were grouped into weird, fantastic labyrinths. Time has wroughtlittle effect upon their hold precipitous sides, and made slightimpress upon their lofty and almost inaccessible crests. Between thesefragmentary mountains, in shapely, symmetrical bowls which have beendelved by the fingers of the water nymphs and Undines, lie beautifullakelets. Angeline is but one of a dozen which sparkle like a chainof gems between Donner Lake and the snowy, overhanging peaks of MountStanford. The clefts and fissures of the towering granite cliffs arefilled, in summer, with dainty ferns, clinging mosses, and the loveliestof mountain wild flowers, and the rims of the lakelets are bordered withgrasses, shrubbery, and a wealth of wild blossoms. But in winter thisregion exhibits the very grandeur of desolation. No verdure is visiblesave the dwarfed and shattered pines whose crushed branches mark thepath of the rushing avalanche. The furious winds in their wild sporttoss and tumble the snow-drifts here and there, baring the sterilepeaks, and heaping the white masses a hundred feet deep into chasm andgorge. The pure, clear lakes, as if in very fear, hide their faces fromthe turbulent elements in mantles of ice. The sun is darkened by denseclouds, and the icy, shivering, shrieking stormfiends hold undisturbedtheir ghastly revels. On every side are lofty battlements of rock, whose trembling burden of snow seems ever ready to slide from its glassyfoundations of ice, and entomb the bewildered traveler. 

Into this interminable maze of rocks and cliffs and frozen lakelets, the little party wandered. Elliott had a compass, but it soon provedworthless, and only added to their perplexed and uncertain state ofmind. They were out five days. Virginia's feet became so badly frozenthat she could not walk. This occurrence saved the party. Reluctantlythey turned back toward the cabins, convinced that it was madness toattempt to go forward. They reached shelter just as one of the mostterrible storms of all that dreadful winter broke over their heads. Hadthey delayed their return a few hours, the path they made in ascendingthe mountains, and by means of which they retraced their steps, wouldhave been concealed, and death would have been certain. 

"Jan. 6. Eliza came back yesterday evening from the mountains, unable toproceed; the others kept ahead. "

"Jan. 8. Mrs. Reed and the others came back; could not find their wayon the other side of the mountains. They have nothing but hides to liveon. "

"Jan. 10. Began to snow last night; still continues; windwest-north-west. "

"Jan. 13. Snowing fast; snow higher than the shanty; it must be thirteenfeet deep. Can not get wood this morning; it is a dreadful sight for usto look upon. "

One of the stumps near the Graves-Reed cabin, cut while the snow was atits deepest, was found, by actual measurement, to be twenty-two feet inheight. Part of this stump is standing to-day. 

"Jan. 14. Cleared off yesterday. The sun, shining brilliantly, renovatesour spirits. Praise be to the God of heaven. "

"Jan. 15. Clear to-day again. Mrs. Murphy blind; Landrum not able toget wood; has but one ax between him and Keseberg. It looks like anotherstorm; expecting some account from Sutter's soon. "

"Jan. 17. Eliza Williams came here this morning; Landrum crazy lastnight; provisions scarce; hides our main subsistence. May the Almightysend us help. "

"Jan. 21. Fine morning; John Baptiste and Mr. Denton came this morningwith Eliza; she will not eat hides. Mrs. --sent her back to live or dieon them. "

The blanks which occasionally occur were in the original diary. Thedelicacy which prompted Patrick Breen to omit these names can not failto be appreciated. What, if there was sometimes a shade of selfishness, or an act of harshness? What if some families had more than theirdestitute neighbors? The best provided had little. All were in realitystrangely generous. All divided with their afflicted companions. TheReeds had almost nothing to eat when they arrived at the cabins, yetthis family is the only one which reached the settlements without someone member having to partake of human flesh. 

"Jan. 22. Began to snow after sunrise; likely to continue; wind north. "

"Jan. 23. Blew hard and snowed all night; the most severe storm we haveexperienced this winter; wind west. "

"Jan. 26. Cleared up yesterday; to-day fine and pleasant: wind south; inhopes we are done with snow-storms. Those who went to Sutter's not yetreturned; provisions getting scant; people growing weak, living on asmall allowance of hides. "

"Jan. 27. Commenced snowing yesterday; still continues to-day. LewisKeseberg, Jr. , died three days ago; food growing scarce; don't have fireenough to cook our hides. "

"Jan. 30. Fair and pleasant; wind west; thawing in the sun. John andEdward Breen went to Graves' this morning. Mrs. --seized on Mrs. Ñ 'sgoods until they would be paid; they also took the hides which herselfand family subsisted upon. She regained two pieces only, the balancethey have taken. You may judge from this what our fare is in camp. Thereis nothing to be had by hunting, yet perhaps there soon will be. "

"Jan. 31. The sun does not shine out brilliant this morning; froze hardlast night; wind northwest. Landrum Murphy died last night about teno'clock; Mrs. Reed went to Graves' this morning to look after goods. "

Landrum Murphy was a large and somewhat overgrown young man. The hidesand burnt bones did not contain sufficient nourishment to keep himalive. For some hours before he died, he lay in a semi-delirious state, breathing heavily and seemingly in little or no pain. Mrs. Murphy wentto the Breen camp, and asked Mrs. Breen for a piece of meat to save herstarving boy. Mrs. Breen gave her the meat, but it was too late, Landrumcould not eat. Finally he sank into a gentle slumber. His breathing grewless and less distinct, and ere they were fairly aware of it life wasextinct. 

"Feb. 4. Snowed hard until twelve o'clock last night; many uneasy forfear we shall all perish with hunger; we have but little meat left, andonly three hides; Mrs. Reed has nothing but one hide, and that is onGraves' house; Milton lives there, and likely will keep that. Eddy'schild died last night. "

"Feb. 5. It snowed faster last night and to-day than it has done thiswinter before; still continues without intermission; wind south-west. Murphy's folks and Keseberg say they can not eat hides. I wish we hadenough of them. Mrs. Eddy is very weak. "

"Feb. 7. Ceased to snow at last; to-day it is quite pleasant. McCutchen's child died on the second of this month. "

This child died and was buried in the Graves cabin. Mr. W. C. Graveshelped dig the grave near one side of the cabin, and laid the little oneto rest. One of the most heart-rending features of this Donner tragedyis the number of infants that suffered. Mrs. Breen, Pike, Foster, McCutchen, Eddy, Keseberg, and Graves each had nursing babes when thefatal camp was pitched at Donner Lake. 

"Feb. 8. Fine, clear morning. Spitzer died last night, and we will buryhim in the snow; Mrs. Eddy died on the night of the seventh. "

"Feb. 9. Mrs. Pike's child all but dead; Milton is at Murphy's, notable to get out of bed; Mrs. Eddy and child were buried to-day; windsouth-east. "

Feb. 10. Beautiful morning; thawing in the sun; Milton Elliott died lastnight at Murphy's cabin, and Mrs. Reed went there this morning to seeabout his effects. John Denton trying to borrow meat for Graves; hadnone to give; they had nothing but hides; all are entirely out of meat, but a little we have; our hides are nearly all eat up, but with God'shelp spring will soon smile upon us. "

"Feb. 12. Warm, thawy morning. "

"Feb. 14. Fine morning, but cold. Buried Milton in the snow; John Dentonnot well. "

"Feb. 15. Morning cloudy until nine o'clock, then cleared off warm. Mrs. ---- refused to give Mrs. ---- any hides. Put Sutter's pack hides on hershanty, and would not let her have them. "

"Feb. 16. Commenced to rain last evening, and turned to snow during thenight, and continued until morning; weather changeable, sunshine andthen light showers of hail, and wind at times. We all feel unwell. Thesnow is not getting much less at present. "

Chapter IX. 

 The Last Resort Two Reports of a Gun Only Temporary Relief Weary Traveling The Snow Bridges Human Tracks! An Indian Rancherie Acorn Bread Starving Five Times! Carried Six Miles Bravery of John Rhodes A Thirty-two Days Journey Organizing the First Relief Party Alcalde Sinclair's Address Captain R. P. Tucker's Companions. 

It is recorded of Lewis and Salvador that they came willingly tothe relief of the emigrants. Two of Sutter's best trained vaqueros, faithful, honest, reliable, they seemed rather proud when chosen toassist Stanton in driving the mules laden with provisions for thestarving train. Now they were dying! Horrified at the sight of humanbeings eating the flesh of their comrades, they withdrew from thewhites at the "Camp of Death. " After that they always camped apart, but continued to act as guides until they became certain that their ownlives were in danger. Then they fled. Starving, exhausted, with frozenand bleeding feet, the poor wretches dragged their weary bodies onwarduntil they reached a little streamlet, and here they lay down to die. Nine days, with no other food than they could find in the snow, was toomuch even for their hardy natures. They were unable to move when thefamished "Seven" passed. Yes, passed! for the starving emigrants went onby the poor fellows, unable to deprive them of the little spark of lifeleft in their wasted bodies. Traveling was now slow work for the dyingwhites. They only went about two hundred yards. In a few more hours, perhaps that very night, they would die of starvation. Already theterrible phantasies of delirium were beginning to dance before theirsunken eyes. Ere the Indians would cease breathing some of the Sevenwould be past relief. There were two men and five women. William Fostercould see that his wife--the woman who was all the world to him--wasfast yielding to the deadly grasp of the fiends of starvation. Forthe sake of his life she had stifled the most sacred instincts of herwomanly nature, and procured him food from Fosdick's body. Should he seeher die the most terrible of deaths without attempting to rescue her?Reader, put yourself in this man's place. Brave, generous, heroic, fullof lion-like nobility, William Foster could not stoop to a base action. Contemplate his position! Lying there prostrate upon the snow was Mrs. Pike, the woman whom, accidentally, he had rendered a widow. Her babeswere dying in the cabins. His own boy was at the cabins. His comrades, his wife, were in the last stages of starvation. He, also, was dying. Eddy had not nerve enough, the women could not, and William Fostermust-what! Was it murder? No! Every law book, every precept of thathigher law, self-preservation, every dictate of right, reason orhumanity, demanded the deed. The Indians were past all hope of aid. Theycould not lift their heads from their pillow of snow. It was not simplyjustifiable--it was duty; it was a necessity. 

He told them, when he got back, that he was compelled to take theirlives. They did not moan or struggle, or appear to regret that theirlingering pain was to cease. The five women and Eddy heard two reportsof a gun. 

The "Forlorn Hope" might yet save those who were dying at Donner Lake. 

Even this relief was but temporary. Taking the wasted flesh from thebones, drying it, and staggering forward, the little band speedilyrealized that they were not yet saved. It was food for only a few days. Then they again felt their strength failing. Once more they endured theexcruciating torments which precede starvation. 

In the very complete account of this trip, which is kindly furnished byMary Graves, are many interesting particulars concerning the sufferingof these days. "Our only chance for camp-fire for the night, " she says, "was to hunt a dead tree of some description, and set fire to it. Thehemlock being the best and generally much the largest timber, it was ourcustom to select the driest we could find without leaving our course. When the fire would reach the top of the tree, the falling limbs wouldfall all around us and bury themselves in the snow, but we heeded themnot. Sometimes the falling, blazing limbs would brush our clothes, butthey never hit us; that would have been too lucky a hit. We would sitor lie on the snow, and rest our weary frames. We would sleep, only todream of something nice to eat, and awake again to disappointment. Suchwas our sad fate! Even the reindeer's wretched lot was not worse! 'Hisdinner and his bed were snow, and supper he had not. ' Our fare was thesame! We would strike fire by means of the flintlock gun which we hadwith us. This had to be carried by turns, as it was considered the onlyhope left in case we might find game which we could kill. We traveledover a ridge of mountains, and then descended a deep canyon, where onecould scarcely see the bottom. Down, down we would go, or rather slide, for it is very slavish work going down hill, and in many cases we werecompelled to slide on our shoes as sleds. On reaching the bottom wewould plunge into the snow, so that it was difficult getting out, withthe shoes tied to our feet, our packs lashed to our backs, and ourselveshead and ears under the snow. But we managed to get out some way, andone by one reached the bottom of the canyon. When this was accomplishedwe had to ascend a hill as steep as the one we had descended. We woulddrive the toes of our shoes into the loose snow, to make a sort of step, and one by one, as if ascending stair-steps, we climbed up. It took usan entire day to reach the top of the mountain. Each time we attainedthe summit of a mountain, we hoped we should be able to see somethinglike a valley, but each time came disappointment, for far ahead wasalways another and higher mountain. We found some springs, or, as wecalled them, wells, from five to twenty feet under ground, as you mightsay, for they were under the snow on which we walked. The water was sowarm that it melted the snow, and from some of these springs were largestreams of running water. We crossed numbers of these streams on bridgesof snow, which would sometimes form upon a blade of grass hanging overthe water; and from so small a foundation would grow a bridge fromten to twenty-five feet high, and from a foot and a half to three feetacross the top. It would make you dizzy to look down at the water, andit was with much difficulty we could place our clumsy ox-bow snow-shoesone ahead of the other without falling. Our feet had been frozen andthawed so many times that they were bleeding and sore. When we stoppedat night we would take off our shoes, which by this time were so badlyrotted by constant wetting in snow, that there was very little left ofthem. In the morning we would push our shoes on, bruising and numbingthe feet so badly that they would ache and ache with walking and thecold, until night would come again. Oh! the pain! It seemed to make thepangs of hunger more excruciating. "

Thus the party traveled on day after day, until absolute starvationagain stared them in the face. The snow had gradually grown less deep, until finally it disappeared or lay only in patches. Their strength waswell-nigh exhausted, when one day Mary Graves says: "Some one calledout, 'Here are tracks!' Some one asked, 'What kind of tracks human?''Yes, human!' Can any one imagine the joy these footprints gave us? Weran as fast as our strength would carry us. "

Turning a chaparral point, they came in full view of an Indianrancherie. The uncivilized savages were amazed. Never had they seen suchforlorn, wretched, pitiable human beings, as the tattered, disheveled, skeleton creatures who stood stretching out their arms for assistance. At first, they all ran and hid, but soon they returned to the aid ofthese dying wretches. It is said that the Indian women and childrencried, and wailed with grief at the affecting spectacle of starved menand women. Such food as they had was speedily offered. It was breadmade of acorns. This was eagerly eaten. It was at least a substitute forfood. Every person in the rancherie, from the toddling papooses to theaged chief, endeavored to aid them. 

After what had recently happened, could anything be more touching thanthese acts of kindness of the Indians?

After briefly resting, they pressed forward. The Indians accompanied andeven led them, and constantly supplied them with food. With food? No, it was not such food as their weakened, debilitated systems craved. Theacorn bread was not sufficient to sustain lives already so attenuated byrepeated starvations. All that the starved experience in the way of painand torture before they die, had been experienced by these people atleast four different times. To their horror, they now discovered thatdespite the acorn bread, they must die of hunger and exhaustion afifth and last time. So sick and weak did they become, that they werecompelled to lie down and rest every hundred yards. Finally, after beingwith the Indians seven days, they lay down, and felt that they nevershould have strength to take another step. Before them, in all itsbeauty and loveliness, spread the broad valley of the Sacramento. Behindthem were the ever-pleading faces of their starving dear ones. Yetneither hope nor affection could give them further strength. They weredying in full view of the long-desired haven of rest. 

One of the number was hardly so near death's door as his companions. Itwas W. H. Eddy. As a last resort, their, faithful allies, the Indians, took him upon either side, and fairly carried him along. His feet moved, but they were frozen, and blistered, and cracked, and bleeding. Leftalone, he would have fallen helplessly to the earth. It was as terriblea journey as ever mortal man performed. How far he traveled, he knewnot. During the last six miles his path was marked by blood-stains fromhis swollen feet. 

By making abridgments from valuable manuscript contributed by George W. Tucker, of Calistoga, this narrative may be appropriately continued. Mr. Tucker's father and relatives had reached Johnson's Ranch on thetwenty-fifth of October, 1846. They had been with the Donner Partyuntil Fort Bridger was reached, and then took the Fort Hall road. Their journey had been full of dangers and difficulties, and reachingJohnson's Ranch, the first settlement on the west side of the Sierra, they determined to remain during the winter. 

One evening, about the last of January, Mr. Tucker says a man was seencoming down Bear River, accompanied by an Indian. His haggard, forlornlook showed he was in great distress. When he reached us, he said he wasof the Donner Party. He told briefly how the train had been caught inthe snow east of the mountains, and was unable to get back or forward. He told how the fifteen had started, and that six beside himself werestill alive. That the six were back in the mountains, almost starved. R. P. Tucker and three other men started at once with provisions, theIndian acting as guide. They reached them, fifteen miles back, some timeduring the night, and brought them in the next day. The names of theseven were W. H. Eddy, William Foster, Mrs. S. A. C. Foster, Mrs. H. F. Pike, Mrs. William McCutchen, Mrs. Sarah Fosdick, and Mary Graves. Ithad been thirty-two days since they left Donner Lake!

At Johnson's Ranch there were only three or four families of pooremigrants. Nothing could be done toward relieving those at Donner Lakeuntil help could arrive from Sutter's Fort. A rainy winter had floodedBear River, and rendered the Sacramento plains a vast quagmire. Yet oneman volunteered to go to Sacramento with the tale of horror, and get menand provisions. This man was John Rhodes. Lashing two pine logs togetherwith rawhides, and forming a raft, John Rhodes was ferried over BearRiver. Taking his shoes in his hands, and rolling his pants up above hisknees, he started on foot through water that frequently was from one tothree feet deep. Some time during the night he reached the Fort. 

A train in the mountains! Men, women, and children starving! It wasenough to make one's blood curdle to think of it! Captain Sutter, generous old soul, and Alcalde Sinclair, who lived at Norris' Ranch twoand a half miles from the Fort, offered provisions, and five or six menvolunteered to carry them over the mountains. In about a week, six men, fully provided with supplies, reached Johnson's Ranch. Meantime theTuckers and their neighbors had slaughtered five or six fat cattle, andhad dried or "jerked" the meat. The country was scoured for horses andmules, and for saddles and pack-saddles, but at last, in ten or twelvedays, they were ready to start. Alcalde Sinclair had come up from theFort, and when all were ready to begin their march, he made them athrilling little address. They were, he said, starting out upon ahazardous journey. Nothing could justify them in attempting so perilousan undertaking except the obligations due to their suffering fellow-men. He urged them to do all in their power, without sacrificing their lives, to save the perishing emigrants from starvation and death. He thenappointed Reasin P. Tucker, the father of our informant, captain of thecompany. With a pencil he carefully wrote down the name of each man inthe relief party. The names were John Rhodes, Daniel Rhodes, AquillaGlover, R. S. Mootrey, Joseph Foster, Edward Coffeemire, M. D. Ritchie, James Curtis, William H. Eddy, William Coon, R. P. Tucker, George W. Tucker, and Adolph Brueheim. Thus the first relief party started. 

Chapter X. 

 A Lost Age in California History The Change Wrought by the Discovery of Gold The Start from Johnson's Ranch A Bucking Horse A Night Ride Lost in the Mountains A Terrible Night A Flooded Camp Crossing a Mountain Torrent Mule Springs A Crazy Companion Howlings of Gray Wolves A Deer Rendezvous A Midnight Thief Frightening Indians The Diary of the First Relief Party. 

California, at this time, was sparsely settled, and it was a fearfulundertaking to cross the snowy mountains to the relief of thestorm-bound emigrants. A better idea of the difficulties to beencountered by the various relief parties can not be presented thanby quoting from the manuscript of George W. Tucker. This gentlemanwas sixteen years old at the time of the occurrences narrated, and hisaccount is vouched for as perfectly truthful and reliable. This sketch, like the remainder of this book, treats of an epoch in Californiahistory which has been almost forgotten. The scene of his adventures islaid in a region familiar to thousands of miners and early Californians. Along the route over which he passed with so much difficulty, scores ofmining camps sprung up soon after the discovery of gold, and everyflat, ravine, and hill-slope echoed to pick, and shovel, and pan, andto voices of legions of men. Truly, his narration relates to a lost, analmost unremembered era in the history of the famous mining counties, Placer and Nevada. In speaking of the first relief party, he says:

"We mounted our horses and started. The ground was very soft amongthe foothills, but we got along very well for two or three miles afterleaving Johnson's ranch. Finally, one of our packhorses broke throughthe crust, and down he went to his sides in the mud. He floundered andplunged until the pack turned underneath his body. He then came out ofthe mud, bucking and kicking; and he bucked and kicked, and kicked andbucked, till he cleared himself of the pack, pack-saddle and all, andaway he went back to the ranch. We gathered up the pack, put it upon thehorse Eddy was riding, and the party traveled on. Eddy and myself wereto go back to the ranch, catch the horse, and returning, overtake them. We failed to find the horse that day, but the next morning an Indian goton my horse, and, about nine o'clock, succeeded in finding the missinganimal. My horse, however, was pretty well run down when he got back. Eddy and myself started about ten o'clock. We had to travel in one daywhat the company had traveled in two days. About the time we started itcommenced clouding up, and we saw we were going to have a storm. We wenton until about one o'clock, when my horse gave out. It commenced rainingand was very cold. Eddy said he would ride on and overtake the company, if possible, and have them stop. He did not overtake them until aboutdark, after they had camped. 

"My horse could only go in a slow walk, so I walked and led him to keepfrom freezing. The rain continued to increase in volume, and by dark itwas coming down in torrents. It was very cold. The little stream beganto rise, but I waded through, though sometimes it came up to my armpits. It was very dark, but I kept going on in hopes I would come in sight ofthe camp-fire. But the darkness increased, and it was very difficult tofind the road. I would get down on my knees and feel for the road withmy hands. Finally, about nine o'clock, it became so dark that I couldnot see a tree until I would run against it, and I was almost exhausteddragging my horse after me. I had lost the road several times, but foundit by feeling for the wagon-ruts. At last I came to where the road madea short turn around the point of a hill, and I went straight ahead untilI got forty or fifty yards from the road. I crawled around for some timeon my knees, but could not find it. I knew if the storm was raging inthe morning as it was then, if I got very far from the road, I could nottell which was east, west, north, or south, I might get lost and perishbefore the storm ceased, so I concluded to stay right there untilmorning. I had no blanket, and nothing on me but a very light coat andpair of pants. I tied my horse to a little pine tree, and sitting down, leaned against the tree. The rain came down in sheets. The wind blew, and the old pine trees clashed their limbs together. It seemed to methat a second deluge had come. I would get so cold that I would get upand walk around for a while. It seemed to me I should surely freeze. Toward morning I began to get numb, and felt more comfortable, but thatwas the longest and hardest night I ever experienced. 

"In the morning, when it became light enough so that I could see two orthree rods, I got up, but my legs were so numb that I could not walk. Irolled around until I got up a circulation, and could stand on myfeet. Leaving my horse tied to the tree, I found the road, went about ahundred yards around the point of a hill, and saw the camp-fire up in alittle flat about a quarter of a mile from where I had spent the night. Going up to camp, I found the men all standing around a fire they hadmade, where two large pines had fallen across each other. They had laiddown pine bark and pieces of wood to keep them out of the water. Theyhad stood up all night. The water was running two or three inches deepall through the camp. When I got to the fire, and began to get warm, mylegs and arms began to swell so that I could hardly move or get my handsto my face. 

"It never ceased raining all that day nor the next night, and we wereobliged to stand around the fire. Everything we had was wet. They hadstacked up our dried beef and flour in a pile, and put the saddles andpack saddles over it as well as they could, but still it got more orless wet. The third morning it stopped raining about daylight, and thesun came out clear and warm. We made scaffolds and spread our meat allout, hung up our blankets and clothing on lines, and by keeping up firesand with the help of the sun, we managed to get everything dry by night. The next morning we packed up and started on until we came to a littlevalley, where we found some grass for our horses. We stayed there thatnight. The next day we got to Steep Hollow Creek, one of the branchesof Bear River. This stream was not more than a hundred feet wide, but itwas about twenty feet deep, and the current was very swift. We felled alarge pine tree across it, but the center swayed down so that the waterran over it about a foot deep. We tied ropes together and stretched themacross to make a kind of hand railing, and succeeded in carrying overall our things. We undertook to make our horses swim the creek, andfinally forced two of them into the stream, but as soon as they struckthe current they were carried down faster than we could run. One of themat last reached the bank and got ashore, but the other went down underthe tree we had cut, and the first we saw of him he came up about twentyyards below, heels upward. He finally struck a drift about a hundredyards below, and we succeeded in getting him out almost drowned. We thentied ropes together, part of the men went over, and tying a rope to eachhorse, those on one side would force him into the water, and the otherswould draw him across. We lost a half day at this place. That night weclimbed a high mountain, and came to snow. Camped that night without anyfeed for our horses. The next day, about noon, we reached Mule Springs. The snow was from three to four feet deep, and it was impossible to goany farther with the horses. Unpacking the animals, Joe Varro and Wm. Eddy started back with them to Johnson's Ranch. The rest of us wentto work and built a brush tent in which to keep our provisions. We setforks into the ground, laid poles across, and covered them with cedarboughs. We finished them that evening, and the next morning ten ofthe men fixed up their packs, consisting of dried beef and flour, andstarted on foot, each one carrying about seventy-five pounds. They leftBilly Coon and myself to watch the provisions until they returned. Ihave never been in that country since, but I think Mule Springs is onthe opposite side of Bear River from Dutch Flat. 

"After the men had all gone, I amused myself the first day by gettingwood and cutting cedar limbs to finish our camp with. My companion, Billy Coon, was partially insane, and was no company at all. He wouldget up in the morning, eat his food, and then lie down and sleep fortwo or three hours. He would only talk when he was spoken to; and all heknew was to sleep and eat. I got very lonesome, and would sit forhours thinking of our situation. Sixty miles from any human habitation!Surrounded with wild Indians and wild beasts! Then, when I would lookaway at the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra, and think that my fatherand the rest of the men where there, toiling under the heavy loads whichthey carried, I became still more gloomy. When night would come, thebig gray wolves that had collected on the mountains facing to the south, where the snow had melted off, would set up their howlings. This, withthe dismal sound of the wind roaring through the tall pine trees, wasalmost unendurable. To this day, when I am in pine timber, and hear thewind sighing through the tree-tops, I always think of the Donner Partyand of those lonely days in the mountains. 

"The third day after the men left I became so lonesome that I tookthe gun and went down in the direction in which I had heard the wolveshowling. When I got down out of the snow, I found the deer had collectedthere by the hundreds. I killed two deer; went up and got Billy Coon, and we carried them up to camp. We hung one on each corner of our brushtent, not more than six feet from our bed, and not more than four feetfrom the fire. Next morning one of the deer was gone! I supposed theIndians had found us out and stolen it; but when I looked for tracks Ifound the thief had been a California lion. I tracked him two or threehundred yards, but he had walked off with the deer so easily, I thoughthe might keep it. That afternoon I went down to kill another deer, butwhen I reached a point from which I could see down to the river, I sawthe smoke of an Indian camp. I was afraid to shoot for fear the Indianswould hear the gun, and finding out we were there, would come up andgive us trouble. I started back, and when in sight of camp I sat downon a log to rest. While sitting there I saw three Indians coming upthe hill. I sat still to see what they would do. They came up to withinsight of the camp, and all crawled up behind a large sugar-pine tree, and sat there watching the camp. I did not like their movements, sothought I would give them a scare. I leveled the old gun at the tree, about six feet above their heads, and fired away. They got away fromthere faster than they came, and I never saw them afterwards. "

"On the fifth day after the men left, three of them came back to thecamp. They informed me they had been three days in traveling from MuleSprings to Bear Valley, a distance of twelve miles. These three hadfound it impossible to stand the journey, but the other seven hadstarted on from Bear Valley. It was thought they could never get over toTruckee Lake, for the snow was so soft it was impossible to carry theirheavy loads through from ten to thirty feet of it. "

M. D. Ritchie and R. P. Tucker kept a diary of the journey of the firstrelief party, which, thanks to Patty Reed, now Mrs. Frank Lewis, isbefore us. It is brief, concise, pointed, and completes the narration ofMr. George W. Tucker. Mr. Ritchie's diary reads:

"Feb. 5, 1847. First day traveled ten miles. Bad roads; often miringdown horses and mules. On the sixth and seventh traveled fifteenmiles. Road continued bad; commenced raining before we got to camp, andcontinued to rain all that day and night very severe. Lay by here on theeighth to dry our provisions and clothing. "

"Feb. 9. Traveled fifteen miles. Swam the animals over one creek, andcarried the provisions over on a log. "

"Feb. 10. Traveled four miles; came to the snow; continued about fourmiles further. Animals floundering in snow, and camped at the MuleSprings. "

"Feb. 11. Mr. Eddy started back with the animals; left William Coon andGeorge Tucker to guard what provisions were left in camp; the other tenmen, each taking about fifty pounds, except Mr. Curtis, who took abouttwenty-five pounds. Traveled on through the snow, having a very severeday's travel over mountains, making about six miles. Camped on BearRiver, near a cluster of large pines. "

"Feb. 12. Moved camp about two miles, and stopped to make snow-shoes;tried them on and found them of no benefit; cast them away. "

"Feb. 13. Made Bear Valley. Upon digging for Curtis' wagon, found thesnow ten feet deep, and the provisions destroyed by the bears. Rain andsnow fell on us all night. "

By Curtis' wagon is meant a cache made by Reed and McCutchen, which willbe described in the next chapter. 

"Feb. 14. Fine weather. "

From this time forward, the journal was kept by Reasin P. Tucker. 

"Feb. 15. Fine day. Three of our men decline going any further--W. D. Ritchie, A. Brueheim, and James Curtis. Only seven men being left, the party was somewhat discouraged. We consulted together, and underexisting circumstances I took it upon myself to insure every man whopersevered to the end, five dollars per day from the time they enteredthe snow. We determined to go ahead, and camped to-night on Yuba River, after traveling fifteen miles. "

"Feb. 16. Traveling very bad, and snowing. Made but five miles, andcamped in snow fifteen feet deep. "

"Feb. 17. Traveled five miles. "

"Feb. 18. Traveled eight miles, and camped on the head of the Yuba; onthe pass we suppose the snow to be thirty feet deep. "

The "pass" was the Summit. Relief was close at hand. Would it find theemigrants?

Chapter XI. 

 Hardships of Reed and Herron Generosity of Captain Sutter Attempts to Cross the Mountains with Provisions Curtis' Dog Compelled to Turn Back Hostilities with Mexico Memorial to Gov. Stockton Yerba Buena's Generosity Johnson's Liberality Pitiful Scenes at Donner Lake Noble Mothers Dying rather than Eat Human Flesh A Mother's Prayer Tears of Joy Eating the Shoestrings. 

James F. Reed encountered the most disheartening trials after leavingthe Donner Party. He and Walter Herron were reduced to the utmost vergeof starvation while on the Sierra Nevada. At one time they discoveredfive beans in the road, one after the other, and at another time theyate of the rancid tallow which was found in a tar bucket under an oldwagon. 

Mr. Reed has told the rest in an article contributed by him to the RuralPress. It explains so well the difficulties of getting relief to theemigrants, that it is copied:

"When I arrived at Captain Sutter's, making known my situation to him, asking if he would furnish me horses and saddles to bring the women andchildren out of the mountains (I expected to meet them at the head ofBear Valley by the time I could return there), he at once complied withthe request, also saying that he would do everything possible for meand the company. On the evening of my arrival at the Captain's, I foundMessrs. Bryant, Lippencott, Grayson, and Jacobs, some of the earlyvoyagers in the Russel Company, they having left that company at FortLaramie, most of them coming on horseback. 

"During the evening a meeting was held, in which I participated, adopting a memorial to the commander of Sutter's Fort, to raise one ormore companies of volunteers, to proceed to Los Angeles, we being atwar with Mexico at this time. The companies were to be officered by thepetitioners. Being requested to take command of one of the companies, I declined, stating that it would be necessary for the captain to staywith the company; also that I had to return to the mountains for theemigrants, but that I would take a lieutenancy. This was agreed to, and I was on my return to the emigrants to enlist all the men I couldbetween there and Bear Valley. On my way up I enlisted twelve orthirteen. 

"The second night after my arrival at Captain Sutter's, we had a lightrain; next morning we could see snow on the mountains. The Captainstated that it was low down and heavy for the first fall of the season. The next day I started on my return with what horses and saddles CaptainSutter had to spare. He furnished us all the flour needed, and a hindquarter of beef, giving us an order for more horses and saddles atMr. Cordway's, near where Marysville is located. In the mean time, Mr. McCutchen joined us, he being prevented from returning with Mr. Stantonon account of sickness. After leaving Mr. Johnson's ranch we had thirtyhorses, one mule, and two Indians to help drive. 

"Nothing happened until the evening before reaching the head of BearValley, when there commenced a heavy rain and sleet, continuing allnight. We drove on until a late hour before halting. We secured theflour and horses, the rain preventing us from kindling a fire. Nextmorning, proceeding up the valley to where we were to take the mountain, we found a tent containing a Mr. Curtis and wife. They hailed us asangels sent for their delivery, stating that they would have perishedhad it not been for our arrival. Mrs. Curtis stated that they had killedtheir dog, and at the time of our arrival had the last piece in theDutch oven baking. We told them not to be alarmed about anything to eat, for we had plenty, both of flour and beef, and that they were welcometo all they needed. Our appetites were rather keen, not having eatenanything from the morning previous. Mr. Curtis remarked that in theoven was a piece of the dog and we could have it. Raising the lid of theoven, we found the dog well baked, and having a fine savory smell. I cutout a rib, smelling and tasting, found it to be good, and handed it overto McCutchen, who, after smelling it some time, tasted it and pronouncedit very good dog. We partook of Curtis' dog. Mrs. Curtis immediatelycommenced making bread, and in a short time had supper for all. 

"At the lower end of the valley, where we entered, the snow was eighteeninches in depth, and when we arrived at the tent, it was two feet. Curtis stated that his oxen had taken the back track, and that he hadfollowed them by the trail through the snow. In the morning, beforeleaving, Mrs. Curtis got us to promise to take them into the settlementwhen on our return with the women and children. Before leaving, we gavethem flour and beef sufficient to keep them until our return, expectingto do so in a few days. "

"We started, following the trail made by the oxen, and camped a numberof miles up the mountain. In the night, hearing some of the horses goingdown the trail, we went to where the Indians had lain down, and foundthem gone. McCutchen mounted his horse and rode down to Curtis'camp, and found that the Indians had been there, stopped and warmedthemselves, and then started down the valley. He returned to camp aboutthe middle of the night. 

"Next morning we started, still on the trail of the oxen, butunfortunately, the trail turned off to the left from our direction. Weproceeded on, the snow deepening rapidly, our horses struggling to getthrough; we pushed them on until they would rear upon their hind feet tobreast the snow, and when they would alight they would sink in it untilnothing was seen of them but the nose and a portion of the head. Here wefound that it was utterly impossible to proceed further with the horses. Leaving them, we proceeded further on foot, thinking that we could getin to the people, but found that impossible, the snow being soft anddeep. "

"I may here state that neither of us knew anything about snow-shoes, having always lived in a country where they never were used. "

"With sorrowful hearts, we arrived that night at the camp of Mr. Curtis, telling them to make their arrangements for leaving with us in themorning. Securing our flour in the wagon of Mr. Curtis, so that we couldget it on our return, we packed one horse with articles belonging toMr. And Mrs. Curtis, and started down the valley to where the snow waslight, and where there was considerable underbrush, so that our famishedanimals could browse, they not having eaten anything for several days. "

"After packing Mr. Curtis' horse for him the next morning, we started;in a short time, Mr. And Mrs. Curtis proceeded ahead, leaving thepack-horse behind for us to drive, instead of his leading him; wehaving our hands full in driving the loose ones, they scattering in alldirections. The pack turned on the horse. Mr. Curtis was requested toreturn and help repack and lead his horse, but he paid no attentionto us. We stood this for some time; finally, McCutchen became angry, started after him, determined to bring him back; when he got with himhe paid no attention to McCutchen's request to return; Mac becoming moreexasperated, hit him several times over the shoulders with his riatta. This brought him to his senses. He said that if Mac would not kill him, he would come back and take care of the pack animal, and he did. "

"As soon as we arrived at Captain Sutter's, I made a statement of allthe circumstances attending our attempt to get into the mountains. Hewas no way surprised at our defeat. I also gave the Captain the numberof head of cattle the company had when I left them. He made an estimate, and stated that if the emigrants would kill the cattle, and place themeat in the snow for preservation, there was no fear of starvationuntil relief could reach them. He further stated that there were noable-bodied men in that vicinity, all having gone down the country withand after Fremont to fight the Mexicans. He advised me to proceed toYerba Buena, now San Francisco, and make my case known to the navalofficer in command. "

"I left Captain Sutter's, by the way of San Jose, for San Francisco, being unable to come by water. When I arrived at San Jose, I foundthe San Francisco side of the bay was occupied by the Mexicans. HereI remained, and was attached to a company of volunteers, commanded byCaptain Webber, until after the fight at Santa Clara. "

"The road now being clear, I proceeded to San Francisco with a petitionfrom some of the prominent citizens of San Jose, asking the commander ofthe navy to grant aid to enable me to return to the mountains. "

It is proper, perhaps, to interrupt the narrative in the Rural Pressfor the purpose of introducing the memorial referred to by Mr. Reed. Thecopy of the original document was recently found among his papers by hisdaughter, Patty Reed. 

"To his Excellency, R. F. Stockton, Governor and Commander-in-Chief, by sea and land, of the United States Territory of California: We, theundersigned citizens and residents of the Territory of California, begleave respectfully to present to your Excellency the following memorial, viz. : That, whereas, the last detachment of emigrants from the UnitedStates to California have been unable, from unavoidable causes, toreach the frontier settlements, and are now in the California mountains, seventy-five or one hundred miles east from the Sacramento Valley, surrounded by snow, most probably twenty feet deep, and being abouteighty souls in number, a large proportion of whom are women andchildren, who must shortly be in a famishing condition from scarcityof provisions, therefore, the undersigned most earnestly beseech yourExcellency to take into consideration the propriety of fitting out anexpedition to proceed on snowshoes immediately to the relief of thesufferers. Your memorialists beg leave to subscribe themselves, veryrespectfully, yours, etc. "

"January, 1847. "

The article in the Rural Press continues: "Arriving at San Francisco, Ipresented my petition to Commodore Hull, also making a statement of thecondition of the people in the mountains as far as I knew, the number ofthem, and what would be needed in provisions and help to get them out. He made an estimate of the expense, and said that he would do anythingwithin reason to further the object, but was afraid that the departmentat Washington would not sustain him if he made the general outfit. Hissympathy was that of a man and a gentleman. 

"I also conferred with several of the citizens of Yerba Buena; theiradvice was not to trouble the Commodore further; that they would call ameeting of the citizens and see what could be done. At the meeting, thesituation of the people was made known, and committees were appointed tocollect money. Over a thousand dollars was raised in the town, and thesailors of the fleet gave over three hundred dollars. At the meeting, Midshipman Woodworth volunteered to go into the mountains. CommodoreHull gave me authority to raise as many men, with horses, as would berequired. The citizens purchased all the supplies necessary for theoutfit, and placed them on board the schooner, for Hardy's Ranch, mouthof Feather River. Midshipman Woodworth took charge of the schooner, andwas the financial agent of the government. "

"I left in a boat for Napa by way of Sonoma, to procure men and horses, and when I arrived at Mr. Gordon's, on Cache Creek, I had all the menand horses needed. From here I proceeded to the mouth of Feather Riverfor the purpose of meeting Mr. Woodworth with the provisions. When wereached the river the boat had not arrived. The water was very high inthe river, the tule lands being overflowed. From here I sent a man toa point on the Sacramento River opposite Sutter's Fort, to obtaininformation of the boat with our provisions; he returned and reportedthe arrival of the boat at the Fort. "

"Before leaving Yerba Buena, news came of a party of fifteen personshaving started from the emigrant encampment, and only seven getting toJohnson's. I was here placed in a quandary--no boat to take us acrossthe river, and no provisions for our party to take into the mountains. We camped a short distance back from the river, where we killed a numberof elk for the purpose of using the skins in covering a skeleton boat. Early next morning we started for the river, and to our delight saw asmall schooner, belonging to Perry McCan, which had arrived during thenight. We immediately crossed, McCutchen and myself, to the oppositebank of the river. I directed the men to cross and follow us toJohnson's Ranch. We arrived there early that day. Making known oursituation, he drove his cattle up to the house, saying, 'There are thecattle, take as many as you need. ' We shot down five head, staid up allnight, and with the help of Mr. Johnson and his Indians, by the time themen arrived the next morning, we had the meat fire-dried and ready to beplaced in bags. Mr. Johnson had a party of Indians making flour by handmills, they making, during the night, nearly two hundred pounds. "

"We packed up immediately and started. After reaching the snow, the meatand flour was divided into suitable packs for us to carry, we leavingthe horses here. At Johnson's I learned that a relief party had passedin a few days previous, being sent by Captain Sutter and Mr. Sinclair. "

This was the party commanded by Captain Reasin P. Tucker, whose journeyover the mountains as far as the summit was described in the lastchapter. Reed was faithful and energetic in endeavoring to recross themountains. Mr. McCutchen, also, did all in his power to reach the wifeand baby he left behind. The snow belt is about four times as wide onthe west side of the summit as it is on the east side. It was almostimpossible for relief parties to cross the mountains. Captain Tucker'sparty was composed of men of great nerve and hardihood, yet, as will beseen, the trip was almost as much as their lives were worth. 

On the morning of the nineteenth of February, 1847, the relief party ofCaptain R. P. Tucker began the descent of the gorge leading to DonnerLake. 

Let us glance ahead at the picture soon to be unfolded to their gaze. The mid-winter snows had almost concealed the cabins. The inmates livedsubterranean lives. Steps cut in the icy snow led up from the doorwaysto the surface. Deep despair had settled upon all hearts. The deadwere lying all around, some even unburied, and nearly all with only acovering of snow. So weak and powerless had the emigrants become, thatit was hardly possible for them to lift the dead bodies up the stepsout of the cabins. All were reduced to mere skeletons. They had livedon pieces of rawhide, or on old, castaway bones, which were boiled orburned until capable of being eaten. They were so reduced that it seemedas if only a dry, shriveled skin covered their emaciated frames. Theeyes were sunken deep in their sockets, and had a fierce, ghastly, demoniacal look. The faces were haggard, woe-begone, and sepulchral. One seldom heard the sound of a voice, and when heard, it was weak, tremulous, pitiful. Sometimes a child would moan and sob for a mouthfulof food, and the poor, helpless mothers, with breaking hearts, wouldhave to soothe them, as best they could, with kind words and tendercaresses. Food, there was none. Oh! what words can fitly frame a tributefor those noble mothers! When strong men gave up, and passively awaitedthe delirium of death, the mothers were actively administering to thewants of the dying, and striving to cheer and comfort the living. Marblemonuments never bore more heroic names than those of Margaret W. Reed, Lavina Murphy, Elizabeth Graves, Margaret Breen, Tamsen Donner, andElizabeth Donner. Their charity, fortitude, and self-sacrifice failednot in the darkest hour. Death came so often now, that little noticewas taken of his approach, save by these mothers. A dreadful want ofconsciousness precedes starvation. The actual death is not so terrible. The delirious would rave of feasts, and rich viands, and bountifulstores of food. As the shadows of death more closely enveloped the poorcreatures, the mutterings grew unintelligible, and were interrupted, now and then, by startled cries of frenzy, which gradually grew fainter, until the victims finally slumbered. From this slumber there was noawakening. The breathing became feebler and more irregular, and finallyceased. It was not so terrible to the unconscious dying, as to theweeping mother who watched by the sufferer's side. 

It was always dark and gloomy enough in the snow-covered cabins, but during the fierce, wild storms, the desolation became almostunendurable. The rushing gale, the furious storm, the lashing ofstorm-rent pine boughs, or the crash of giant trees overthrown by thehurricane, filled the souls of the imprisoned emigrants with namelessdread. Sometimes the silent darkness of the night would shudder withthe howl of the great gray wolves which in those days infested themountains. Too well did they know that these gaunt beasts were howlingfor the bodies of the living as well as of the dead. 

Wood grew plentifully at short distances from the cabins, but for theseweak, starving creatures to obtain it was a herculean task. To go outwhen the storms were raging, would be almost impossible for a well, strong man. To struggle through the deep, loose drifts, reachingfrequently to the waist, required, at any time, fearful exertion. Thenumb, fleshless fingers could hardly guide, or even wield the ax. Nearthe site of the Breen cabin, to-day, stands a silent witness of thealmost superhuman exertions that were made to procure fuel. On theside of a pine tree are old seams and gashes, which, by their irregularposition, were evidently made by hands too weak to cut down a tree. Hundreds of blows, however, were struck, and the marks of the ax-bladeextend up and down the side of the tree for a foot and a half. Barkseared with age has partly covered portions of the cuts, but in oneplace the incision is some inches deep. At the foot of this pine wasfound a short, decayed ax-handle, and a broad-bladed, old-fashionedax-head. The mute story of these witnesses is unmistakable. The poorstarved being who undertook the task, never succeeded. 

Trees felled, frequently buried themselves out of sight in the loosesnow, or at best, only the uppermost branches could be obtained. Withoutfire, without food, without proper shelter from the dampness occasionedby the melting snows, in the bitter, biting wintry weather, the men, women, and children were huddled together, the living and the dead. WhenMilton Elliott died, there were no men to assist in removing thebody from the deep pit. Mrs. Reed and her daughter, Virginia, bravelyundertook the task. Tugging, pushing, lifting as best they could, thecorpse was raised up the icy steps. He died in the Murphy cabin by therock. A few days before he died, he crawled over to the Breen cabin, where were Mrs. Reed and her children. For years he had been one of themembers of this family, he worked for Mr. Reed in the mill and furnitureestablishment owned by the latter in Jamestown, Illinois. He drove thesame yoke of oxen, "Bully" and "George, " who were the wheel-oxen ofReed's family team on the plains. When Mr. Reed proposed crossing theplains, his wife and children refused to go, unless Milt. Could beinduced to drive. He was a kind, careful man, and after Mr. Reed hadbeen driven away from the company, Elliott always provided for them asbest he was able. Now that he was going to die, he wanted to see"Ma" and the children once more. "Ma" was the term he always usedin addressing Mrs. Reed. None realized better than he the sorrowfulposition in which she was placed by having no husband upon whom to leanin this time of great need. Poor Elliott! he knew that he was starving!starving! "Ma, I am not going to starve to death, I am going to eat ofthe bodies of the dead. " This is what he told Mrs. Reed, yet whenhe attempted to do so, his heart revolted at the thought. Mrs. Reedaccompanied him a portion of the way back to the Murphy cabin, andbefore leaving him, knelt on the snow and prayed as only a mother can, that the Good Father would help them in this hour of distress. It was astarving Christian mother praying that relief might come to her starvingchildren, and especially to this, her starving boy. From the graniterocks, the solemn forests, and the snow-mantled mountains of DonnerLake, a more fervent prayer never ascended heavenward. Could Elliotthave heard, in his dying moments, that this prayer was soon to beanswered, so far as Mrs. Reed and her little ones were concerned, hewould have welcomed death joyfully. 

As time wore wearily on, another and more severe trial awaited Mrs. Reed. Her daughter Virginia was dying. The innutritious rawhide was notsufficient to sustain life in the poor, famished body of the delicatechild. Indeed, toward the last, her system became so debilitated thatshe found it impossible to eat the loathsome, glue-like preparationwhich formed their only food. Silently she had endured her sufferings, until she was at the very portals of death. This beautiful girl was agreat favorite of Mrs. Breen's. Oftentimes during the days of horrorand despair, this good Irish mother had managed, unobserved, to slip anextra piece of meat or morsel of food to Virginia. Mrs. Breen was thefirst to discover that the mark of death was visible upon the girl'sbrow. In order to break the news to Mrs. Reed, without giving those inthe cabin a shock which might prove fatal, Mrs. Breen asked the motherup out of the cabin on the crisp, white snow. 

It was the evening of the nineteenth of February, 1847. The sun wassetting, and his rays, in long, lance-like lines, sifted through thedarkening forests. Far to the eastward, the summits of the Washoemountains lay bathed in golden sunlight, while the deep gorges at theirfeet were purpling into night. The gentle breeze which crept over thebosom of the ice-bound lake, softly wafted from the tree-tops a muffleddirge for the dying girl. Ere another day dawned over the expanse ofsnow, her spirit would pass to a haven of peace where the demons offamine could never enter. 

In the desolate cabin, all was silence. Living under the snow, passingan underground life, as it were, seldom visiting each other, or leavingthe cabins, these poor prisoners learned to listen rather than look forrelief. During the first days they watched hour after hour the upper endof the lake where the "fifteen" had disappeared. With aching eyes andweary hearts, they always turned back to their subterranean abodesdisappointed. Hope finally deserted the strongest hearts. The bravemothers had constantly encouraged the despondent by speaking of thepromised relief, yet this was prompted more by the necessities of thesituation than from any belief that help would arrive. It was humannature, however, to glance toward the towering summits whenever theyascended to the surface of the snow, and to listen at all times for anunfamiliar sound or footstep. So delicate became their sense of hearing, that every noise of the wind, every visitor's tread, every sound thatordinarily occurred above their heads, was known and instantly detected. 

On this evening, as the two women were sobbing despairingly upon thesnow, the silence of the twilight was broken by a shout from near DonnerLake! In an instant every person forgot weakness and infirmity, andclambered up the stairway! It was a strange voice, and in the distancethe discovered strange forms approaching. The Reed and the Breenchildren thought, at first, that it was a band of Indians, but PatrickBreen, the good old father, soon declared that the strangers were whitemen. Captain Tucker and his men had found the wide expanse of snowcovering forest and lake, and had shouted to attract attention, if anyof the emigrants yet survived. Oh! what joy! There were tears in othereyes than those of the little children. The strong men of the reliefparty sat down on the snow and wept with the rest. It is related of oneor two mothers, and can readily be believed, that their first act was tofall upon their knees, and with faces turned to God, to pour out theirgratitude to Him for having brought assistance to their dying children. Virginia Reed did not die. 

Captain Reasin P. Tucker, who had been acquainted with the Graves familyon the plains before the Donner Party took the Hastings Cut-off, wasanxious to meet them. They lived in the lower cabin, half a mile furtherdown Donner Creek. When he came close enough to observe the smokeissuing from the hole in the snow which marked their abode, he shouted, as he had done at the upper cabins. The effect was as electrical asin the former instance. All came up to the surface, and the sameunrestrained gladness was manifested by the famished prisoners. Famishedthey were. Mrs. Graves is especially praised by the survivors for herunstinted charity. Instead of selfishly hoarding her stores and feedingonly her own children, she was generous to a fault, and no person everasked at her door for food who did not receive as good as she and herlittle ones had to eat. 

Dear Mrs. Graves! How earnestly she asked about her husband anddaughters! Did all reach the valley? Captain Tucker felt his heartrise in his throat. How could he tell this weak, starved woman of theterrible fate which had be fallen her husband and her son-in-law! Hecould not! He answered with assumed cheerfulness in the affirmative. So, too, they deceived Mrs. Murphy regarding her dear boy Lemuel. Itwas best. Had the dreadful truth been told, not one of all this companywould ever have had courage to attempt the dangerous journey. 

Little sleep was there in the Donner cabins that night. The relief partywere to start back in a couple of days, and such as were strong enoughwere to accompany them. Mrs. Graves had four little children, and toldher son William C. Graves that he must remain with her to cut wood tokeep the little ones from freezing. But William was anxious to go andhelp send back provisions to his mother. So earnestly did he work duringthe next two days, that he had two cords of wood piled up near thecabin. This was to last until he could return. His task was lessdifficult because this cabin was built in a dense grove of tamarack. 

Food had been given in small quantities to the sufferers. Many of thesnow-bound prisoners were so near death's door that a hearty meal wouldhave proven fatal. The remnant of provisions brought by the relief partywas carefully guarded lest some of the famished wretches should obtainmore than was allotted them. This was rendered easier from the factthat the members of the relief party were unable to endure the scenesof misery and destitution in the cabins, and so camped outside upon thesnow. So hungry were the poor people that some of them ate the stringsof the snowshoes which part of the relief company had brought along. 

On the twentieth of February, John Rhodes, R. S. Mootry, and R. P. Tucker visited the Donner tents on Alder Creek, seven miles from thecabins. Only one ox-hide remained to these destitute beings. Here, aswell as at the cabins, the all-important question was, who should gowith the relief party and who remain. In each family there were littlechildren who could not go unless carried. Few of the Donner Party hadmore than enough strength to travel unencumbered across the deep snows. Should a storm occur on, the mountains, it was doubtful if even themembers of the relief party could escape death. It was hopefully urgedthat other relief parties would soon arrive from California, and thatthese would bring over those who remained. In determining who should goand who stay, examples of heroism and devotion were furnished whichwere never surpassed in the history of man. Could their visionhave penetrated the veil which interposed between them and the sadoccurrences about to ensue, they would have known that almost everyfamily, whose members separated, was bidding good-by to some memberforever. 

Chapter XII. 

 A Wife's Devotion Tamsen Donner's Early Life The Early Settlers of Sangamon County An Incident in School Teaching and Knitting School Discipline Captain George Donner's Appearance Parting Scenes at Alder Creek Starting over the Mountains A Baby's Death A Mason's Vow Crossing the Snow Barrier More Precious than Gold or Diamonds Elitha Donner's Kindness. 

Mrs. Tamsen Donner was well and comparatively strong, and could easilyhave crossed the mountains in safety with this party. Her husband, however, was suffering from a serious swelling on one of his hands. Sometime before reaching the mountains he had accidentally hurt this handwhile handling a wagon. After encamping at Alder Creek he was anxious toassist in the arrangements and preparations for winter, and while thusworking the old wound reopened. Taking cold in the hand, it becamegreatly swollen and inflamed, and he was rendered entirely helpless. Mrs. Donner was urged to go with the relief party, but resolutelydetermined to heed the promptings of wifely devotion and remain by herhusband. 

No one will ever read the history of the Donner Party without greatlyloving and reverencing the character of this faithful wife. The saddest, most tear-stained page of the tragedy, relates to her life and deathin the mountains. A better acquaintance with the Donner family, andespecially with Mrs. Tamsen Donner, can not fail to be desirable in viewof succeeding chapters. Thanks to Mr. Allen Francis, the present UnitedStates Consul at Victoria, British Columbia, very complete, authentic, and interesting information upon this subject has been furnished. Mr. Francis was publisher of the Springfield (Illinois) Journal in 1846, anda warm personal friend of the family. 

The Donners were among the first settlers of Sangamon County, Ill. Theywere North Carolinians, immigrants to Kentucky in 1818, subsequently tothe State of Indiana, and from thence to what was known as the SangamonCountry, in the year 1828. 

George Donner, at the time of leaving Springfield, Ill. , was a large, fine-looking man, fully six feet in height, with merry black eyes, and the blackest of hair, lined with an occasional silver thread. He possessed a cheerful disposition, an easy temperament, industrioushabits, sound judgment, and much general information. By his associatesand neighbors he was called "Uncle George. " To him they went forinstructions relating to the management of their farms, and usuallythey returned feeling they had been properly advised. Twice had deathbequeathed him a group of motherless children, and Tamsen was his thirdwife. 

Her parents, William and Tamsen Eustis, were respected and well to doresidents of Newburyport, Mass. , where she was born in November, 1801. Her love of books made her a student at an early age; almost as soonas the baby-dimples left her cheeks, she sought the school-room, whichafforded her great enjoyment. Her mother's death occurred before sheattained her seventh year, and for a time her childish hopes and desireswere overshadowed with sadness by this, her first real sorrow. But thesympathy of friends soothed her grief, and her thirst for knowledge ledher back to the schoolroom, where she pursued her studies with greatereagerness than before. 

Her father married again, and little Tamsen's life was rendered happierby this event; for in her step-mother she found a friend who tenderlydirected her thoughts and encouraged her work. At fifteen years of ageshe finished the course of study, and her proficiency in mathematics, geometry, philosophy, etc. , called forth the highest praise of herteachers and learned friends. She, like many daughters of New England, felt that talents are intrusted to be used, and that each life iscreated for some definite purpose. She therefore resolved to devoteherself to the instruction of the young, and after teaching atNewburyport for a short time, she accepted a call to fill a vacancy inthe academy at Elizabeth City, N. C. , where she continued an earnest andappreciated teacher for a number of years. She became a fluent Frenchscholar while at that institution, and her leisure hours were devotedto the fine arts. Her paintings and drawings were much admired for theircorrectness in outline, subdued coloring, and delicacy in shading. 

In Elizabeth City she met Mr. Dozier, a young man of education andgood family, and they were married. He was not a man of means, but herforethought enabled them to live comfortably. For a few brief years sheenjoyed all the happiness which wedded bliss and maternal love couldconfer, then death came, and in a few short weeks her husband and twobabes were snatched from her arms. In her desolation and bereavement shethought of her old home, and longed for the sympathy of her childhood'sfriends. She returned to Newburyport, where she spent three years inretirement and rest. In 1836, she received a letter from her brother inIllinois, urging her to come to his afflicted household, and teach hismotherless children. She remained with them one winter, but her fieldof action had been too wide to permit her to settle quietly on a farm. Besides, she had heard much of the manner in which country schools wereconducted, and became desirous of testing her ability in controlling andteaching such a school. She obtained one in Auburn, and soon became thefriend of her pupils. All agreed that Mrs. Dozier was a faithful teacheruntil the following little incident occurred. The worthy Board of SchoolTrustees heard that Mrs. Dozier was in the habit of knitting duringschool hours. "Surely, she could not knit and instruct her pupilsproperly; therefore, she must either give up her knitting or herschool. " When Mrs. Dozier heard their resolution, she smiled, and said:"Before those gentlemen deny my ability to impart knowledge and workwith my fingers at the same time, I would like them to visit my school, and judge me by the result of their observation. "

A knock at the school-room door, a week later, startled the children, and a committee of trustees entered. Mrs. Dozier received them in themost ladylike manner, and after they were seated, she called eachclass at its appointed time. The recitations were heard, and lessonsexplained, yet no one seemed disturbed by the faint, but regular, clickof knitting needles. For hours those gentlemen sat in silence, deeplyinterested in all that transpired. When the time for closing schoolarrived, the teacher invited the trustees to address her pupils, after which she dismissed school, thanked her visitor for their kindattention, and went home without learning their opinion. 

The next morning she was informed that the Board of Trustees had metthe previous evening, and after hearing the report of the visitingcommittee, had unanimously agreed that Mrs. Dozier might continue herschool and her knitting also. This little triumph was much enjoyed byher friends. 

The following year she was urged to take the school on Sugar Creek, where the children were older and further advanced than those atAuburn. Her connection with this school marked a new era for many of itsattendants. Mr. J. Miller used to relate an incident which occurred afew days after she took charge of those unruly boys who had been in thehabit of managing the teacher and school to suit themselves. "I willnever forget, " said Mr. Miller, "how Mrs. Dozier took her place at thetable that morning, tapped for order, and in a kind, but firm, tonesaid: 'Young gentlemen and young ladies, as a teacher only, I can notcriticise the propriety of your writing notes to each other when out ofschool; but as your teacher, with full authority in school, I desireand request you neither to write nor send notes to any one during schoolhours. I was surprised at your conduct yesterday, and should my wish bedisregarded in the future, will be obliged to chastise the offender. 'She called the first class, and school began in earnest. I looked at herquiet face and diminutive form, and thought how easy it would be for meto pick up two or three such little bodies as she, and set them outsideof the door! I wrote a note and threw it to the pupil in front of me, just to try Mrs. Dozier. When the recitation was finished, shestepped to the side of her table, and looked at me with such a grievedexpression on her face, then said: 'Mr. Miller, I regret that my eldestscholar should be the first to violate my rule. Please step forward. ' Iquailed beneath her eye. I marched up to where she stood. The stillnessof that room was oppressive. I held out my hand at the demand of thatlittle woman, and took the punishment I deserved, and returned to myseat deeply humiliated, but fully determined to behave myself in thefuture, and make the other boys do likewise. Well, she had no moretrouble while she was our teacher. Her pluck had won our admiration, andher quiet dignity held our respect, and we soon ceased wondering atthe ease with which she overturned our plans and made us eager to adopthers; for no teacher ever taught on Sugar Creek who won the affectionsor ruled pupils more easily or happily than she. We were expected tocome right up to the mark; but if we got into trouble, she was alwaysready to help us out, and could do it in the quietest way imaginable. "

She taught several young men the art of surveying, and had a wonderfulfaculty of interesting her pupils in the study of botany. She soughtby creek and over plain for specimens with which to illustrate theirlessons. It was while engaged in this place that Mrs. Dozier metGeorge Donner, who at that time resided about two and a half miles fromSpringfield field. Their acquaintance resulted in marriage. Her pupilsalways called her their "little teacher, " for she was but five feet inheight, and her usual weight ninety-six pounds. She had grayish-blueeyes, brown hair, and a face full of character and intelligence. She wasgifted with fine conversational powers, and was an excellent reader. Hervoice would hold in perfect silence, for hours, the circle of neighborsand friends who would assemble during the long winter evenings to hearher read. Even those who did not fail to criticise her ignorance of farmand dairy work, were often charmed by her voice and absence of display;for while her dress was always of rich material, it was remarkable forits Quaker simplicity. 

Mr. Francis says: "Mrs. George Donner was a perfect type of an easternlady, kind, sociable, and exemplary, ever ready to assist neighbors, and even the stranger in distress. Whenever she could spare time, shewielded a ready pen on various topics. She frequently contributed gemsin prose and poetry to the columns of the journal, that awakened aninterest among its readers to know their author. Herself and husbandwere faithful members of the German Prairie Christian Church, situateda little north of their residence. Here they lived happily, and highlyrespected by all who knew them, until the spring of 1846, when theystarted for California. "

Having said this much of the Donners, and especially of the noble womanwho refused to leave her suffering husband, let us glance at the partingscenes at Alder Creek. It had been determined that the two eldestdaughters of George Donner should accompany Captain Tucker's party. George Donner, Jr. , and William Hook, two of Jacob Donner's Sons, Mrs. Wolfinger, and Noah James were also to join the company. This made sixfrom the Donner tents. Mrs. Elizabeth Donner was quite able to havecrossed the mountains, but preferred to remain with her two littlechildren, Lewis and Samuel, until another and larger relief party shouldarrive. These two boys were not large enough to walk, Mrs. Donner wasnot strong enough to carry them, and the members of Captain Tucker'sparty had already agreed to take as many little ones as they couldcarry. 

Leanna C. Donner, now Mrs. John App, of Jamestown, Tuolumne County, Cal. , gives a vivid description of the trip from George Donner's tentto the cabins at Donner Lake Miss Rebecca E. App, acting as her mother'samanuensis, writes:

"Mother says: Never shall I forget the day when my sister Elitha andmyself left our tent. Elitha was strong and in good health, while I wasso poor and emaciated that I could scarcely walk. All we took with uswere the clothes on our backs and one thin blanket, fastened witha string around our necks, answering the purpose of a shawl in theday-time, and which was all we had to cover us at night. We startedearly in the morning, and many a good cry I had before we reached thecabins, a distance of about eight miles. Many a time I sat down in thesnow to die, and would have perished there if my sister had not urged meon, saying, 'The cabins are just over the hill. ' Passing over the hill, and not seeing the cabins, I would give up, again sit down and haveanother cry, but my sister continued to help and encourage me until Isaw the smoke rising from the cabins; then I took courage, and movedalong as fast as I could. When we reached the Graves cabin it was allI could do to step down the snow-steps into the cabin. Such pain andmisery as I endured that day is beyond description. "

In Patrick Breen's diary are found the following entries, which alludeto Captain Tucker's relief party:

"Feb. 19. Froze hard last night. Seven men arrived from Californiayesterday with provisions, but left the greater part on the way. To-dayit is clear and warm for this region; some of the men have gone toDonner's camp; they will start back on Monday. "

"Feb. 22. The Californians started this morning, twenty-three in number, some in a very weak state. Mrs. Keseberg started with them, and leftKeseberg here, unable to go. Buried Pike's child this morning in thesnow; died two days ago. "

Poor little Catherine Pike lingered until this time! It will beremembered that this little nursing babe had nothing to eat excepta little coarse flour mixed in snow water. Its mother crossed themountains with the "Forlorn Hope, " and from the sixteenth of Decemberto the twentieth of February it lived upon the miserable gruel madefrom unbolted flour. How it makes the heart ache to think of this littlesufferer, wasting away, moaning with hunger, and sobbing for somethingto eat. The teaspoonful of snow water would contain only a few particlesof the flour, yet how eagerly the dying child would reach for thepitiful food. The tiny hands grew thinner, the sad, pleading eyes sankdeeper in their fleshless sockets, the face became hollow, and thewee voice became fainter, yet, day after day, little Catherine Pikecontinued to breathe, up to the very arrival of the relief party. 

Patrick Breen says twenty-three started across the mountains. Theirnames were: Mrs. Margaret W. Reed and her children--Virginia E. Reed, Patty Reed, Thomas Reed, and James F. Reed, Jr. ; Elitha C. Donner, Leanna C. Donner, Wm. Hook, and George Donner, Jr. ; Wm. G. Murphy, MaryM. Murphy, and Naomi L. Pike; Wm. C. Graves, Eleanor Graves, and LovinaGraves; Mrs. Phillipine Keseberg, and Ada Keseberg; Edward J. And SimonP. Breen, Eliza Williams, John Denton, Noah James, and Mrs. Wolfinger. 

In starting from the camps at Donner Lake, Mrs. Keseberg's child andNaomi L. Pike were carried by the relief party. In a beautiful letterreceived from Naomi L. Pike (now Mrs. Schenck, of the Dalles, Oregon), she says: "I owe my life to the kind heart of John Rhodes, whosesympathies were aroused for my mother. He felt that she was deservingof some relic of all she had left behind when she started with the firstparty in search of relief, and he carried me to her in a blanket. " Wehave before spoken of this noble man's bravery in bearing the news ofthe condition of the "Forlorn Hope" and of the Donner Party to Sutter'sFort. Here we find him again exhibiting the nobility of his nature bysaving this little girl from starvation by carrying her on his back overforty miles of wintry snow. 

Before the party had proceeded two miles, a most sad occurrence tookplace. It became evident that Patty and Thomas Reed were unable tostand the fatigue of the journey. Already they exhibited signs of greatweakness and weariness, and it was not safe to allow them to proceed. Mr. Aquila Glover informed Mrs. Reed that it was necessary that thesetwo children go back. Who can portray the emotions of this fond mother?What power of language can indicate the struggle which took place in theminds of this stricken family? Mr. Glover promised to return as soon ashe arrived at Bear Valley, and himself bring Patty and Thomas over themountains. This promise, however, was but a slight consolation for theagonized mother or weeping children, until finally a hopeful thoughtoccurred to Mrs. Reed. She turned suddenly to Mr. Glover, and asked, "Are you a Mason?" He replied, "I am. " "Do you promise me, " she said, "upon the word of a Mason, that when you arrive at Bear Valley, you willcome back and get my children?" Mr. Glover made the promise, andthe children were by him taken back to the cabins. The mother hadremembered, in this gloomiest moment of life, that the father of herlittle ones was a Mason, and that he deeply reverenced the order. If herchildren must be left behind in the terrible snows, she would trust thepromise of this Mason to return and save them. It was a beautiful trustin a secret order by a Mason's wife in deep distress. 

Rebecca E. App, writing for her mother, gives a vivid description ofthis journey across the summits, from which is taken the following briefextract:

"It was a bright Sunday morning when we left the cabins. Some were ingood health, while others were so poor and emaciated that they couldscarcely walk. I was one of the weakest in the party, and not one in thetrain thought I would get to the top of the first hill. We were a sadspectacle to look upon as we left the cabins. We marched along in singlefile, the leader wearing snow-shoes, and the others following after, allstepping in the leader's tracks. I think my sister and myself were aboutthe rear of the train, as the strongest were put in front. My sisterElitha and I were alone with strangers, as it were, having neitherfather, mother, nor brothers, to give us a helping hand or a word ofcourage to cheer us onward. We were placed on short allowance of foodfrom the start, and each day this allowance was cut shorter and shorter, until we received each for our evening and morning meal two small piecesof jerked beef, about the size of the index finger of the hand. Finally, the last ration was issued in the evening. This was intended for thatevening and the next morning, but I was so famished I could not resistthe temptation to eat all I had--the two meals at one time. Nextmorning, of course, I had nothing for breakfast. Now occurred anincident which I shall never forget. While I sat looking at the otherseating their morsels of meat, which were more precious than gold ordiamonds, my sister saw my distress, and divided her piece with me. Howlong we went without food after that, I do not know. I think we werenear the first station. "

Chapter XIII. 

 Death of Ada Keseberg Denton Discovering Gold A Poem Composed While Dying The Caches of Provisions Robbed by Fishers The Sequel to the Reed-Snyder Tragedy Death from Over-eating The Agony of Frozen Feet An Interrupted Prayer Stanton, after Death, Guides the Relief Party The Second Relief Party Arrives A Solitary Indian Patty Reed and her Father Starving Children Lying in Bed Mrs. Graves' Money Still Buried at Donner Lake. 

Peasin P. Tucker's relief party had twenty-one emigrants with them afterPatty and Thomas Reed returned to the desolate cabins. On the eveningof the first day, one of the twenty-one died. It was the baby child ofLewis Keseberg. The mother had fairly worshiped her girl. They buriedthe little one in the snow. It was all they could do for the pallidform of the starved little girl. Mrs. Keseberg was heart-broken overher baby's death. At the very outset she had offered everything shepossessed--twenty-five dollars and a gold watch-to any one who wouldcarry her child over the mountains. After the starved band resumed theirweary march next morning, it is doubtful if many thought of the nichehollowed out of the white snow, or of the pulseless heart laid therein. Death had become fearfully common, and his victims were little heededby the perishing company. The young German mother, however, wasinconsolable. Her only boy had starved to death at the cabins, and nowshe was childless. 

The next day the company reached Summit Valley. An incident of thisday's travel illustrates the exhausted condition of the members ofthe Donner Party. John Denton, an Englishman, was missed when camp waspitched, and John Rhodes returned and found him fast asleep upon thesnow. He had become so weary that he yielded to a slumber that wouldsoon have proven fatal. With much labor and exertion he was aroused andbrought to camp. Denton appreciated the kindness, but at the same timedeclared that it would be impossible for him to travel another day. Sure enough, after journeying a little way on the following morning, hisstrength utterly gave way. His companions built a fire for him, gave himsuch food as they were able, and at his earnest request continued theirsorrowful march. If another relief came soon, he would, perhaps, berescued. Denton was well educated and of good family, was a gunsmith bytrade, and was skilled in metals. It is related, that while in theReed cabin, he discovered in the earth, ashes, and burnt stones in thefireplace, some small pieces of yellowish metal, which he declared tobe gold. These he made into a small lump, which he carefully preserveduntil he left the lake, and it was doubtless lost on the mountains athis death. This was in the spring of 1847, before the discovery of goldin California. The strange little metallic lump was exhibited to severalwho are yet living, and who think there is reason for believing it wasreally gold. A few years before the construction of the Central Pacific, Knoxville, about ten miles south of Donner Lake, and Elizabethtown, somesix miles from Truckee, were famous mining camps. Gold never has beenfound on the very shore of Donner Lake, but should the discovery bemade, and especially should gold be found in the rocks or earth near theReed cabin, there would be reason to believe that this poor unfortunateman was in reality the first discoverer of the precious metal inCalifornia. Left alone in the snow-mantled forests of the Sierra, whatwere this man's emotions? In the California Star of 1847, a bound volumeof which is in the State Library in Sacramento, appears the followingpoem. The second relief party found it written on the leaf of amemorandum book by the side of Denton's lifeless body. The pencil withwhich it was written lay also by the side of the unfortunate man. Erethe lethargy of death stole away his senses, John Denton's thoughts hadbeen of his boyhood's beautiful home in merry England. These thoughtswere woven into verse. Are they not strangely pathetic and beautiful?Judge Thornton, in 1849, published them with the following prefatorywords: "When the circumstances are considered in connection with thecalamities in which the unhappy Denton was involved, the whole compassof American and English poetry may be challenged to furnish a moreexquisitely beautiful, a more touching and pathetic piece. Simple andintimate to the last degree, yet coming from the heart, it goes to theheart. Its lines are the last plaintive notes which wintry winds havewakened from an Lolian harp, the strings of which rude hands havesundered. Bring before your mind the picture of an amiable young man whohas wandered far from the paternal roof, is stricken by famine, and leftby his almost equally unhappy companions to perish among the terriblesnows of the great Sierra Nevada. He knows that his last, most solemnhour is near. Reason still maintains her empire, and memory, faithfulto the last, performs her functions. On every side extends a boundlesswaste of trackless snow. He reclines against a bank of it, to rise nomore, and busy memory brings before him a thousand images of past beautyand pleasure, and of scenes he will never revisit. A mother's imagepresents itself to his mind, tender recollections crowd upon his heart, and the scenes of his boyhood and youth pass in review before him withan unwonted vividness. The hymns of praise and thanksgiving that inharmony swelled from the domestic circle around the family altar areremembered, and soothe the sorrows of the dying man, and finally, justbefore he expires, he writes:"

 "Oh! after many roving years, How sweet it is to come Back to the dwelling-place of youth, Our first and dearest home; To turn away our wearied eyes From proud ambition's towers, And wander in those summer fields, The scenes of boyhood's hours. "

 "But I am changed since last I gazed Upon that tranquil scene, And sat beneath the old witch elm That shades the village green; And watched my boat upon the brook It was a regal galley And sighed not for a joy on earth, Beyond the happy valley. "

 "I wish I could once more recall That bright and blissful joy, And summon to my weary heart-- The feelings of a boy. But now on scenes of past delight I look, and feel no pleasure, As misers on the bed of death Gaze coldly on their treasure. "

When Captain Tucker's relief party were going to Donner Lake, they lefta portion of their provisions in Summit Valley, tied up in a tree. Theyhad found these provisions difficult to carry, and besides, it wasbest to have something provided for their return, in case the famishedemigrants ate all they carried over the summit. It was indeed true thatall was eaten which they carried over. All the scanty allowances were, one after another, consumed. When the relief party, and those they wererescuing, reached the place where the provisions had been cached, theywere in great need of the reserve store which they expected to find. To their horror and dismay, they found that wild animals had gnawed theropes by which the cache had been suspended, and had destroyed everyvestige of these provisions! Death stared them in the face, and thestrongest men trembled at the prospect. 

Here comes the sequel to the Reed-Snyder tragedy. Had it not been forReed's banishment, there is every reason to believe that these peoplewould have died for want of food. It will be remembered, however, thatthe relief party organized by Reed was only a few days behind CaptainTucker's. On the twenty-seventh of February, just as the horror anddespair of their dreadful situation began to be realized, Tucker, andthose with him, were relieved by the second relief party. 

In order to better understand these events, let us return and followthe motions of Reed and the members of the second relief party. In thearticle quoted in a former chapter from the Rural Press, Reed tracedtheir progress as far as Johnson's ranch. Patty Reed (Mrs. Frank Lewis)has in her possession the original diary kept by her father during thisjourney. This diary shows that on the very morning Capt. Tucker, and thecompany with him, left Donner Lake to return to the valleys, Reed andthe second relief party started from Johnson's ranch to go to DonnerLake. All that subsequently occurred, is briefly and pointedly narratedin the diary. 

"February 22, 1847. All last night I kept fire under the beef which Ihad drying on the scaffolds, and Johnson's Indians were grinding flourin a small hand-mill. By sunrise this morning I had about two hundredpounds of beef dried and placed in bags. We packed our horses andstarted with our supplies. Including the meat Greenwood had dried, wehad seven hundred pounds of flour, and five beeves. Mr. Greenwood hadthree men, including himself. Traveled this day about ten miles. "

"Feb. 23. Left camp early this morning, and pushed ahead, but campedearly on account of grass. To-morrow we will reach the snow. "

"Feb. 24. Encamped at Mule Springs this evening. Made arrangementsto take to the snow in the morning, having left in camp our saddles, bridles, etc. "

"Feb. 25. Started with eleven horses and mules lightly packed, eachhaving about eighty pounds. Traveled two miles, and left one mule andhis pack. Made to-day, with hard labor for the horses, in the snow, about six miles. Our start was late. "

"Feb. 26. Left our encampment, Cady thinking the snow would bear thehorses. Proceeded two hundred yards with difficulty, when we werecompelled to unpack the horses and take the provisions on our backs. Usually the men had kept in the best of spirits, but here, for a fewmoments, there was silence. When the packs were ready to be strung upontheir backs, however, the hilarity and good feeling again commenced. Made the head of Bear Valley, a distance of fifteen miles. We met inthe valley, about three miles below the camp, Messrs. Glover and Rhodes, belonging to the party that went to the lake. They informed me they hadstarted with twenty-one persons, two of whom had died, John Denton, ofSpringfield, Ill. , and a child of Mr. And Mrs. Keseberg. Mr. Glover senttwo men back to the party with fresh provisions. They are in a starvingcondition, and all have nearly given out. I have lightened our packswith a sufficient quantity of provisions to do the people when theyshall arrive at this place. 

"Feb. 27. I sent back two men to our camp of night before last, to bringforward provisions. They will return to-morrow. I also left one man toprepare for the people who were expected today. Left camp on a fine, hard snow, and proceeded about four miles, when we met the poor, unfortunate, starved people. As I met them scattered along thesnowtrail, I distributed some bread that I had baked last night. I gavein small quantities to each. Here I met my wife and two of my littlechildren. Two of my children are still in the mountains. I can notdescribe the deathlike look all these people had. 'Bread!' 'Bread!''Bread!' 'Bread!' was the begging cry of every child and grown person. Igave all I dared to them, and set out for the scene of desolation atthe lake. I am now camped within twenty-five miles of the place, whichI hope to reach by traveling to-night and tomorrow. We had to camp earlythis evening, on account of the softness of the snow, the men sinking into their waists, The party who passed us to-day were overjoyed when wetold them there was plenty of provision at camp. I made a cache, to-day, after we had traveled about twelve miles, and encamped three milesfurther eastward, on the Yuba. Snow about fifteen feet deep. "

The meeting between Reed and his family can better be imagined thandescribed. For months they had been separated. While the father wasbattling with fate in endeavoring to reach California and return withassistance, the mother had been using every exertion to obtain food forher starving children. Now they met in the mountains, in the deep snows, amid pathless forests, at a time when the mother and children, and allwith them, were out of provisions and ready to perish. 

Meantime, the first relief; with their little company, now reduced tonineteen, passed forward toward the settlements. At Bear Valley, anothercache of provisions had been made, and this was found unmolested. Camping at this place, the utmost precaution was taken to prevent thepoor starved people from overeating. After a sufficient quantity of foodhad been distributed, the remainder of the provisions was hung up in atree. Of course, the small portion distributed to each did not satisfythe cravings of hunger. Some time during the night, Wm. Hook quietlycrept to the tree, climbed up to the food, and ate until his hunger wasappeased. Poor boy, it was a fatal act. Toward morning it was discoveredthat he was dying. All that the company could do to relieve hissufferings was done, but it was of no avail. Finding that the poor boywas past relief; most of the emigrants moved on toward the settlements. Wm. G. Murphy's feet had been badly frozen, and he was suffering suchexcruciating agony that he could not travel and keep up with the others. At his request, his sister Mary had cut his shoes open, in order to getthem off; and his feet thereupon swelled up as if they had been scalded. Because he could not walk, the company left him with William Hook. Acamp-keeper also remained. This boy's death is thus described by Mr. Murphy, who writes:

"William Hook went out on the snow and rested on his knees and elbows. The camp-keeper called to him to come in. He then told me to make himcome into camp. I went and put my hand on him, speaking his name, andhe fell over, being already dead. He did not die in great agony, as isusually alleged. No groan, nor signs of dying, were manifested to us. The camp-keeper and myself took the biscuits and jerked beef from hispockets, and buried him just barely under the ground, near a tree whichhad been fired, and from around which the snow had melted. " Those whowere in the company thought Wm. G. Murphy could not possibly walk, butwhen all had gone, and Hook was dead, and no alternative remained but towalk or die, he did walk. It took him two days to go barefooted over thesnow to Mule Springs, a journey which the others had made in one day. The agony which he endured during that trip can better be imagined thandescribed. Nothing but an indomitable will could have sustained himduring those two days. 

All the members of this relief party suffered greatly, and several camenear perishing. Little James F. Reed, Jr. , was too small to step in thetracks made by the older members of the party. In order to travel withthe rest he had to partly use his knees in walking. When one foot wasin a track he would place the other knee on the untrodden snow, and wasthus enabled to put his foot in the next track. John Denton was leftwith a good fire, and when last seen was reclining smoking, on a bed offreshly gathered pine boughs. He looked so comfortable that the littletimid boy James begged hard to be allowed to remain with him. Mrs. Reedhad hard work to coax him to come. Among other things, she promised thatwhen he reached California he should have a horse "all for himself, " andthat he should never have to walk any more. This promise was literallyfulfilled. James F. Reed, Jr. , since reaching California, has alwayshad a horse of his own. No matter what vicissitudes of fortune haveovertaken him, he has always kept a saddle horse. 

Sad scenes were occurring at the cabin at Donner Lake and the tentsat Alder Creek. Starvation was fast claiming its victims. The poorsufferers tried to be brave and trust God, but sometimes hope well-nighdisappeared. The evening prayers were always read in Patrick Breen'scabin, and all the inmates knelt and joined in the responses. Once whenthey were thus praying, they heard the cries of wild geese flying overthe cabin. With one accord all raised their heads and listened for amoment to the soul-inspiring sound. "Thank God, the spring is coming, "was all Patrick Breen said, and again bowing their heads, the prayer wasresumed. 

Charles L. Cady, writing from Calistoga, says that Commodore Stocktonemployed Greenwood and Turner to guide the second relief party over themountains to Donner Lake. Cady, Stone, and Clark, being young, vigorousmen, left their companions, or were sent forward by Reed, and reachedthe cabins some hours in advance of the party. At one time, near thepresent station of Summit Valley, Cady and Stone became bewildered, thought they were lost, and wanted to return. Mr. Clark, however, prevailed upon them to press forward, agreeing that if they did notcatch some glimpse of Donner Lake when they reached a certain mountaintop in the distance, he would give up and return with them. Had theyreached the mountain top they could not have seen the lake, and sowould have turned back, but while they were ascending, they came to thelifeless body of C. T. Stanton sitting upright against a tree. There wasno longer room for doubting that they were going in the right directionto reach Donner Lake. Poor Stanton! even in death he pointed out tothe relief party the way to the starving emigrants, to save whom he hadsacrificed his life. 

Reed's diary continues:

"Feb. 28. Left camp about twelve o'clock at night, but was compelled tocamp about two o'clock, the snow still being soft. Left again about fouro'clock, all hands, and made this day fourteen miles. Encamped early;snow very soft. The snow here is thirty feet deep. Three of my men, Cady, Clark, and Stone, kept on during the night to within two milesof the cabins, where they halted, and remained without fire during thenight, on account of having seen ten Indians. The boys did not have anyarms, and supposed these Indians had taken the cabins and destroyed thepeople. In the morning they started, and reached the cabins. All werealive in the houses. They gave provisions to Keseberg, Breen, Graves, and Mrs. Murphy, and the two then left for Donner's, a distance of sevenmiles, which they made by the middle of the day. "

"March 1. I came up with the remainder of my party, and told the peoplethat all who were able should start day after to-morrow. Made soup forthe infirm, washed and clothed afresh Eddy's and Foster's children, andrendered every assistance in my power. I left Mr. Stone with Keseberg'speople to cook, and to watch the eating of Mrs. Murphy, Keseberg, andthree children. "

In Patrick Breen's diary is found the following:

"Feb. 23. Froze hard last night. To-day pleasant and thawy; has theappearance of spring, all but the deep snow. Wind south-south-east. Shota dog to-day and dressed his flesh. "

"Feb. 25. To-day Mrs. Murphy says the wolves are about to dig up thedead bodies around her shanty, and the nights are too cold to watchthem, but we hear them howl. "

"Feb. 26. Hungry times in camp; plenty of hides, but the folks willnot eat them; we eat them with tolerably good appetite, thanks to theAlmighty God. Mrs. Murphy said here yesterday that she thought she wouldcommence on Milton and eat him. I do not think she has done so yet; itis distressing. The Donners told the California folks four days ago thatthey would commence on the dead people if they did not succeed that dayor the next in finding their cattle, then ten or twelve feet under thesnow, and they did not know the spot or near it; they have done it erethis. "

"Feb. 28. One solitary Indian passed by yesterday; came from the lake;had a heavy pack on his back; gave me five, or six roots resemblingonions in shape; tasted some like a sweet potato; full of tough littlefibers. "

"March 1. Ten men arrived this morning from Bear Valley, withprovisions. We are to start in two or three days, and cache our goodshere. They say the snow will remain until June. "

This closes Patrick Breen's diary. Its record has always been consideredreliable. None of the statements made in this diary have ever beencontroverted. 

The Indian spoken of refused to be interviewed. To quote the language ofMr. John Breen, "he did not seem to be at all curious as to how orwhy there was a white man alone (as it must have seemed to him) in thewilderness of snow. " The Indian was trudging along with a heavy pack onhis back. As soon as he saw Mr. Breen, he halted and warned him witha gesture not to approach. Taking from the pack a few of the fibrousroots, he laid them on the snow, still cautioning with his hand not toapproach until he was well out of reach. As soon as the Indian was gone, Mr. Breen went out and got the roots, which were very palatable. It isprobable that this was one of the band of Indians seen by Clark, Cady, and Stone. 

When Patty and Thomas Reed had been returned to the cabins by AquilaGlover, they had been received by the Breen family, where they remainedall the time until their father came. The Breen cabin was the firstone at which Mr. Reed arrived. His meeting with his daughter is thusdescribed by Mr. Eddy, in Thornton's work: "At this camp Mr. Reed sawhis daughter Patty sitting on the top of the snow with which the cabinwas covered. Patty saw her father at some distance, and immediatelystarted to run and meet him, but such was her weakness that she fell. Her father took her up, and the affectionate girl, bathed in tears, embraced and kissed him, exclaiming: 'Oh, papa! I never expected to seeyou again when the cruel people drove you out of camp. But I knew thatGod was good, and would do what was best. Is dear mamma living? Is Mr. Glover living? Did you know that he was a Mason? Oh, my dear papa, Iam so happy to see you. Masons must be good men. Is Mr. Glover the samesort of Mason we had in Springfield? He promised mamma upon the word ofa Mason that he would bring me and Tommy out of the mountains. ' Mr. Reedtold Patty that Masons were everywhere the same, and that he had met hermother and Mr. Glover, and had relieved him from his pledge, and thathe himself had come to her and little Tommy to redeem that pledge and totake out all that were able to travel. "

The greatest precaution was taken to keep the suffering emigrants fromovereating. Cady, Stone, and Clark had distributed a small portion offood to each of the famished beings. Patty Reed was intrusted with thetask of giving to each person a single biscuit. Taking the biscuitsin her apron she went in turn to each member of the company. Who shalldescribe the rejoicings that were held over those biscuits? Several ofthe survivors, in speaking of the subject, say that to their hungry eyesthese small pieces of bread assumed gigantic proportions. Never did thelargest loaves of bread look half so large. Patty Reed says that some ofthe little girls cut their portions into thin slices, so as to eat themslowly and enjoy them more completely. 

The names of the members of this second relief party were James F. Reed, Charles Cady, Charles Stone, Nicholas Clark, Joseph Jondro, MathewDofar, John Turner, Hiram Miller, Wm. McCutchen, and Brit. Greenwood. A portion of the party went to the Donner tents, and the remainderassisted the emigrants in preparing to start over the mountains. Thedistress and suffering at each camp was extreme. Even after the childrenhad received as much food as was prudent, it is said they would stretchout their little arms and with cries and tears beg for something toeat. Mrs. Murphy informed Mr. Reed that some of the children had beenconfined to their beds for fourteen days. It was clearly to be seen thatvery few of the sufferers could cross the Sierra without being almostcarried. They were too weak and helpless to walk. The threateningappearance of the weather and the short supply of provisions urged theparty to hasten their departure, and it was quickly decided who shouldgo, and who remain. Those who started from Donner Lake on the thirdof March with Mr. Reed and his party were Patrick Breen, Mrs. MargaretBreen, John Breen, Patrick Breen, Jr. , James F. Breen, Peter Breen, andIsabella M. Breen, Patty Reed and Thomas Reed, Isaac Donner and MaryM. Donner, Solomon Hook, Mrs. Elizabeth Graves, Nancy Graves, JonathanGraves, Franklin Graves, and Elizabeth Graves, Jr. Many of the youngermembers of this party had to be carried. All were very much weakened andemaciated, and it was evident that the journey over the mountains wouldbe slow and painful. In case a storm should occur on the summits, it wasfearfully apparent that the trip would be exceedingly perilous. 

Reed's party encamped the first night near the upper end of Donner Lake. They had scarcely traveled three miles. Upon starting from the Gravescabin, Mrs. Graves had taken with her a considerable sum of money. Thismoney, Mr. McCutchen says, had been ingeniously concealed in auger holesbored in cleats nailed to the bed of the wagon. These cleats, as W. C. Graves informs us, were ostensibly placed in the wagon-bed to support atable carried in the back part of the wagon. On the under side of thesecleats, however, were the auger-holes, carefully filled with coin. Thesum is variously stated at from three to five hundred dollars. At thecamping-ground, near the upper end of Donner Lake, one of the reliefparty jokingly proposed to another to play a game of euchre to see whoshould have Mrs. Graves' money. The next morning, Mrs. Graves remainedbehind when the party started, and concealed her money. All that isknown is, that she buried it behind a large rock on the north side ofDonner Lake. So far as is known, this money has never been recovered, but still lies hidden where it was placed by Mrs. Graves. 

Chapter XIV. 

 Leaving Three Men in the Mountains The Emigrants Quite Helpless Bear Tracks in the Snow The Clumps of Tamarack Wounding a Bear Bloodstains upon the Snow A Weary Chase A Momentous Day Stone and Cady Leave the Sufferers A Mother Offering Five Hundred Dollars Mrs. Donner Parting from her Children "God will Take Care of You" Buried in the Snow, without Food or Fire Pines Uprooted by the Storm A Grave Cut in the Snow The Cub's Cave Firing at Random A Desperate Undertaking Preparing for a Hand-to-Hand Battle Precipitated into the Cave Seizing the Bear Mrs. Elizabeth Donner's Death Clark and Baptiste Attempt to Escape A Death more Cruel than Starvation. 

Before Reed's party started to return, a consultation was held, and itwas decided that Clark, Cady, and Stone should remain at the mountaincamps. It was intended that these men should attend to procuringwood, and perform such other acts as would assist the almost helplesssufferers. It was thought that a third relief party could be sent out ina few days to get all the emigrants who remained. 

Nicholas Clark, who now resides in Honey Lake Valley, Lassen County, California, says that as he and Cady were going to the Donner tents, they saw the fresh tracks of a bear and cub crossing the road. In thosedays, there were several little clumps of tamarack along Alder Creek, just below the Donner tents, and as the tracks led towards these, Mr. Clark procured a gun and started for an evening's hunt among thetamaracks. He found the bear and her cub within sight of the tents, andsucceeded in severely wounding the old bear. She was a black bear, ofmedium size. For a long distance, over the snow and through the forests, Clark followed the wounded animal and her cub. The approach of darknessat last warned him to desist, and returning to the tents, he passed thenight. Early next morning, Clark again set out in pursuit of the bear, following her readily by the blood-stains upon the snow. It was anotherwindy, cloudy, threatening day, and there was every indication that asevere storm was approaching. Eagerly intent upon securing his game, Mr. Clark gave little heed to weather, or time, or distance. The enduranceof the wounded animal was too great, however, and late in the afternoonhe realized that it was necessary for him to give up the weary chase, and retrace his steps. He arrived at the tents hungry, tired, andfootsore, long after dark. 

That day, however, had been a momentous one at the Donner tents. Stonehad come over early in the morning, and he and Cady concluded that itwas sheer madness for them to remain in the mountains. That a terriblestorm was fast coming on, could not be doubted. The provisions werealmost exhausted, and if they remained, it would only be to perish withthe poor emigrants. They therefore concluded to attempt to follow andovertake Reed and his companions. 

Mrs. Tamsen Donner was able to have crossed the mountains with herchildren with either Tucker's or Reed's party. On account of herhusband's illness, however, she had firmly refused all entreaties, andhad resolutely determined to remain by his bedside. She was extremelyanxious, however, that her children should reach California; and HiramMiller relates that she offered five hundred dollars to any one in thesecond relief party, who would take them in safety across the mountains. When Cady and Stone decided to go, Mrs. Donner induced them to attemptthe rescue of these children, Frances, Georgia, and Eliza. They tookthe children as far the cabins at the lake, and left them. Probably theybecame aware of the impossibility of escaping the storm, and knew thatit would be sure death, for both themselves and the children, shouldthey take them any farther. In view of the terrible calamity whichbefell Reed's party on account of this storm, and the fact that Cady andStone had a terrible struggle for life, every one must justify these menin leaving the children at the cabins. The parting between the devotedmother and her little ones is thus briefly described by Georgia Donner, now Mrs. Babcock: "The men came. I listened to their talking as theymade their agreement. Then they took us, three little girls, up thestone steps, and stood us on the bank. Mother came, put on our hoods andcloaks, saying, as if she was talking more to herself than to us: 'I maynever see you again, but God will take care of you. ' After traveling afew miles, they left us on the snow, went ahead a short distance, talkedone to another, then came back, took us as far as Keseberg's cabin, andleft us. "

Mr. Cady recalls the incident of leaving the children on the snow, butsays the party saw a coyote, and were attempting to get a shot at theanimal. 

When Nicholas Clark awoke on the morning of the third day, the tentwas literally buried in freshly fallen snow. He was in what is knownas Jacob Donner's tent. Its only occupants besides himself were Mrs. Elizabeth Donner, her son Lewis, and the Spanish boy, John Baptiste. George Donner and wife were in their own tent, and with them was Mrs. Elizabeth Donner's youngest child, Samuel. Mr. Clark says he can notremember how long the storm lasted, but it seems as if it must have beenat least a week. The snow was so deep that it was impossible to procurewood, and during all those terrible days and nights there was no fire ineither of the tents. The food gave out the first day, and the dreadfulcold was rendered more intense by the pangs of hunger. Sometimes thewind would blow like a hurricane, and they could plainly hear the greatpines crashing on the mountain side above them, as the wind uprootedthem and hurled them to the ground. Sometimes the weather would seem tomoderate, and the snow would melt and trickle in under the sides of thetent, wetting their clothes and bedding, and increasing the misery oftheir situation. 

When the storm cleared away, Clark found himself starving like the rest. He had really become one of the Donner Party, and was as certain toperish as were the unfortunates about him. It would necessarily beseveral days before relief could possibly arrive, and utter despairseemed to surround them. Just as the storm was closing, Lewis Donnerdied, and the poor mother was well-nigh frantic with grief. As soon asshe could make her way to the other tent, she carried her dead babe overand laid it in Mrs. George Donner's lap. With Clark's assistance, theyfinally laid the child away in a grave cut out of the solid snow. 

In going to a tamarack grove to get some wood, Mr. Clark was surprisedto find the fresh track of the bear cub, which had recrossed Alder Creekand ascended the mountain behind the tents. It was doubtless the sameone whose mother he had wounded. The mother had probably died, and afterthe storm the cub had returned. Mr. Clark at once followed it, trackingit far up the mountain side to a cliff of rocks, and losing the trail atthe mouth of a small, dark cave. He says that all hope deserted him whenhe found that the cub had gone into the cave. He sat down upon the snowin utter despair. It was useless to return to the tents without food; hemight as well perish upon the mountain side. After reflecting for sometime upon the gloomy situation, he concluded to fire his gun into thecave, and see if the report might not frighten out the cub. He placedthe muzzle of the gun as far down into the cave as he could, and fired. When the hollow reverberation died away among the cliffs, no sounddisturbed the brooding silence. The experiment had failed. He seriouslymeditated whether he could not watch the cave day and night until thecub should be driven out by starvation. But suddenly a new idea occurredto him. Judging from the track, and from the size of the cub he hadseen, Mr. Clark concluded that it was possible he might be able to enterthe cave and kill the cub in a hand-to-hand fight. It was a desperateundertaking, but it was preferable to death from starvation. Heapproached the narrow opening, and tried again to peer into the cave andascertain its depth. As he was thus engaged the snow suddenly gave way, and he was precipitated bodily into the cave. He partly fell, partlyslid to the very bottom of the hole in the rocks. In endeavoring toregain an erect posture, his hand struck against some furry animal. Instinctively recoiling, he waited for a moment to see what it woulddo. Coming from the dazzling sunlight into the darkness, he could seenothing whatever. Presently he put out his foot and again touched theanimal. Finding that it did not move, he seized hold of it and foundthat it was the cub-dead! His random shot had pierced its brain, and ithad died without a struggle. The cave or opening in the rocks was notvery deep, and after a long time he succeeded in dragging his prize tothe surface. 

There was food in the Donner tents from this time forward. It came toolate, however, to save Mrs. Elizabeth Donner or her son Samuel. Thismother was quite able to have crossed the mountains with either of thetwo relief parties; but, as Mrs. E. P. Houghton writes: "Her little boyswere too young to walk through the deep snows, she was not able to carrythem, and the relief parties were too small to meet such emergencies. She stayed with them, hoping some way would be provided for theirrescue. Grief, hunger, and disappointed hopes crushed her spirit, and sodebilitated her that death came before the required help reached her orher children. For some days before her death she was so weak that Mrs. George Donner and the others had to feed her as if she had been a child. At last, one evening, as the sun went down, she closed her eyes andawoke no more. Her life had been sacrificed for her children. Couldwords be framed to express a more fitting tribute to her memory! Doesnot the simple story of this mother's love wreathe a chaplet of gloryabout her brow far holier than could be fashioned by human hands!"

Samuel Donner lingered but a few days longer. Despite the tenderest careand attention, he grew weaker day by day, until he slept by the side ofhis mother and brother in their snowy grave. 

All this time Mrs. Tamsen Donner was tortured with fear and dread, lesther children had perished in the dreadful storm on the summits. At lastClark yielded to her importunities, and decided to visit the cabins atDonner Lake, and see if there was any news from beyond the Sierra. Clarkfound the children at Keseberg's cabin, and witnessed such scenes ofhorror and suffering that he determined at once to attempt to reachCalifornia. Returning to Alder Creek, he told Mrs. Donner of thesituation of her children, and says he informed her that he believedtheir lives were in danger of a death more violent than starvation. He informed her of his resolution to leave the mountains, and taking aportion of the little meat that was left, he at once started upon hisjourney. John Baptiste accompanied him. 

The cub would have weighed about seventy pounds when killed; and nowthat its flesh was nearly gone, there was really very little hope forany one unless relief came speedily. In attempting to make their wayacross the mountains, Clark and Baptiste did the wisest thing possible, yet they well knew that they would perish by the way unless they metrelief. 

Mrs. Tamsen Donner did not dare to leave her husband alone during thenight, but told Clark and Baptiste that she should endeavor to make thejourney to the cabins on the following day. It was a long, weary walkover the pitiless snow, but she had before her yearning eyes not onlythe picture of her starving children, but the fear that they were indanger of a more cruel death than starvation. 

Chapter XV. 

 A Mountain Storm Provisions Exhausted Battling the Storm-Fiends Black Despair Icy Coldness A Picture of Desolation The Sleep of Death A Piteous Farewell Falling into the Firewell Isaac Donner's Death Living upon Snow-water Excruciating Pain A Vision of Angels "Patty is Dying" The Thumb of a Mitten A Child's Treasures The "Dolly" of the Donner Party. 

On the evening of the second day after leaving Donner Lake, Reed's partyand the little band of famished emigrants found themselves in a cold, bleak, uncomfortable hollow, somewhere near the lower end of SummitValley. Here the storm broke in all its fury upon the doomed company. Inaddition to the cold, sleet-like snow, a fierce, penetrating wind seemedto freeze the very marrow in their bones. The relief party had urgedthe tired, hungry, enfeebled emigrants forward at the greatest possiblespeed all day, in order to get as near the settlements as they couldbefore the storm should burst upon them. Besides, their provisions wereexhausted, and they were anxious to reach certain caches of supplieswhich they had made while going to the cabins. Fearing that the stormwould prevent the party from reaching these caches, Mr. Reed sent JosephJondro, Matthew Dofar, and Hiram Turner forward to the first cache, with instructions to get the provisions and return to the sufferingemigrants. That very night the storm came, and the three men had notbeen heard from. 

The camp was in a most inhospitable spot. Exposed to the fury ofthe wind and storm, shelterless, supperless, overwhelmed withdiscouragements, the entire party sank down exhausted upon the snow. The entire party? No! There was one man who never ceased to work. When afire had been kindled, and nearly every one had given up, this one man, unaided, continued to strive to erect some sort of shelter to protectthe defenseless women and children. Planting large pine boughs in thesnow, he banked up the snow on either side of them so as to form a wall. Hour after hour, in the darkness and raging storm, he toiled on alone, building the sheltering breastwork which was to ward off death from theparty who by this time had crept shiveringly under its protection. Butfor this shelter, all would have perished before morning. At midnightthe man was still at work. The darting snow particles seemed to cut hiseye-balls, and the glare of the fire and the great physical exhaustionunder which he was laboring, gradually rendered him blind. Like hiscompanions, he had borne a child in his arms all day over the soft, yielding snow. Like them, he was drenched to the skin, and his clothingwas frozen stiff and hard with ice. Yet he kept up the fire, builta great sheltering wall about the sufferers, and went here and thereamongst the wailing and dying. With unabated violence the stormcontinued its relentless fury. The survivors say it was the coldestnight they ever experienced. There is a limit to human endurance. Theman was getting stone-blind. Had he attempted to speak, his tongue wouldhave cloven to the roof of his mouth. His senses were chilled, blunted, dead. Sleep had stilled the plaintive cries of those about him. All wassilent save the storm. Without knowing it, this heroic man was yieldingto a sleep more powerful than that which had overcome his companions. While trying to save those who were weaker than himself, he had beenliterally freezing. Sightless, benumbed, moving half unconsciously abouthis work, he staggered, staggered, staggered, and finally sank in thesnow. All slept! As he put no more fuel upon the fire, the flames dieddown. The logs upon which the fire had rested gave way, and most of thecoals fell upon the snow. They were in almost total darkness. 

Presently some one awoke. It was Mrs. Breen, whose motherly watchfulnessprevented more than a few consecutive moments' sleep. The camp wasquickly aroused. All were nearly frozen. Hiram Miller's hands were socold and frosted that the skin on the fingers cracked open when he triedto split some kindlings. At last the fire was somehow renewed. Meantimethey had discovered their leader--he who had been working throughout thenight-lying cold, speechless, and apparently dead upon the snow. HiramMiller and Wm. McCutchen carried the man to the fire, chafed his handsand limbs, rubbed his body vigorously, and worked with him as hardas they could for two hours before he showed signs of returningconsciousness. Redoubling their exertions, they kept at work until thecold, gray morning dawned, ere the man was fully restored. Would youknow the name of this man, this hero? It was James Frazier Reed. 

From this time forward, all the toil, all the responsibility devolvedupon Wm. McCutchen and Hiram Miller. Jondro, Dofar, and Turner werecaught in the drifts ahead. The fishers or other wild animals had almostcompletely devoured the first cache of provisions, and while these menwere trying to reach the second cache, the storm imprisoned them. Theycould neither go forward nor return. Cady and Stone were between DonnerLake and Starved Camp, and were in a like helpless condition. McCutchenand Miller were the only ones able to do anything toward saving the poorcreatures who were huddled together at the miserable camp. All theother men were completely disheartened by the fearful calamity which hadovertaken them. But for the untiring exertions of these two men, deathto all would have been certain. McCutchen had on four shirts, and yet hebecame so chilled while trying to kindle the fire, that in getting warmhe burned the back out of his shirts. He only discovered the mishap bythe scorching and burning of his flesh. 

What a picture of desolation was presented to the inmates of StarvedCamp during the next three days! It stormed incessantly. One who hasnot witnessed a storm on the Sierra can not imagine the situation. Aquotation from Bret Harte's "Gabriel Conroy" will afford the best ideaof the situation:

"Snow. Everywhere. As far as the eye could reach fifty miles, lookingsouthward from the highest white peak. Filling ravines and gulches, and dropping from the walls of canyons in white shroud-like drifts, fashioning the dividing ridge into the likeness of a monstrous grave, hiding the bases of giant pines, and completely covering young treesand larches, rimming with porcelain the bowl-like edges of still, coldlakes, and undulating in motionless white billows to the edge of thedistant horizon. Snow lying everywhere on the California Sierra, andstill falling. It had been snowing in finely granulated powder, indamp, spongy flakes, in thin, feathery plumes; snowing from a leaden skysteadily, snowing fiercely, shaken out of purple-black clouds in whiteflocculent masses, or dropping in long level lines like white lancesfrom the tumbled and broken heavens. But always silently! The woods wereso choked with it, it had so cushioned and muffled the ringing rocksand echoing hills, that all sound was deadened. The strongest gust, thefiercest blast, awoke no sigh or complaint from the snow-packed, rigid files of forest. There was no cracking of bough nor crackle ofunderbrush; the overladen branches of pine and fir yielded and gave awaywithout a sound. The silence was vast, measureless, complete!"

In alluding to these terrible days, in his diary, Mr. Reed says, underdate of March 6:

"With the snow there is a perfect hurricane. In the night there is agreat crying among the children, and even with the parents there ispraying, crying, and lamentation on account of the cold and the dreadof death from hunger and the howling storm. The men up nearly all nightmaking fires. Some of the men began praying. Several of them becameblind. I could not see the light of the fire blazing before me, nor tellwhen it was burning. The light of heaven is, as it were, shut out fromus. The snow blows so thick and fast that we can not see twenty feetlooking against the wind. I dread the coming night. Three of my menonly, able to get wood. The rest have given out for the present. Itis still snowing, and very cold. So cold that the few men employedin cutting the dry trees down, have to come and, warm about every tenminutes. 'Hungry!' 'Hungry!' is the cry with the children, and nothingto give them. 'Freezing!' is the cry of the mothers who have nothing fortheir little, starving, freezing children. Night closing fast, and withit the hurricane increases. 

"Mar. 7. Thank God day has once more appeared, although darkened by thestorm. Snowing as fast as ever, and the hurricane has never ceased forten minutes at a time during one of the most dismal nights I haveever witnessed. I hope I shall never witness another such in a similarsituation. Of all the praying and crying I ever heard, nothing everequaled it. Several times I expected to see the people perish of theextreme cold. At one time our fire was nearly gone, and had it not beenfor McCutchen's exertions it would have entirely disappeared. If thefire had been lost, two thirds of the camp would have been out of theirmisery before morning; but, as God would have it, we soon had it blazingcomfortably, and the sufferings of the people became less for a time. Hope began to animate the bosoms of many, young and old, when thecheering blaze rose through the dry pine logs we had piled together. One would say, 'Thank God for the fire!' Another, 'How good it is!' Thepoor, little, half-starved, half-frozen children would say, 'I'm glad, I'm glad we have got some fire! Oh, how good it feels! It is good ourfire didn't go out!' At times the storm would burst forth with such furythat I felt alarmed for the safety of the people on account of the talltimber that surrounded us. "

Death entered the camp on the first night. He came to claim one who wasa true, faithful mother. One who merits greater praise than language canconvey. Though comparatively little has been told concerning her lifeby the survivors, doubt not that Mrs. Elizabeth Graves was one ofthe noblest of the mothers of the Donner Party. Her charity is kindlyremembered by all who have spoken her name. To her companions inmisfortune she always gave such food as she possessed; for her childrenshe now gave her life. The last morsels of food, the last grain offlour, she had placed in the mouths of her babes, though she was dyingof starvation. 

Mrs. Farnham, who talked personally with Mrs. Breen, gives the followingdescription of that terrible night:

"Mrs. Breen told me that she had her husband and five children together, lying with their feet to the fire, and their heads under shelter of thesnow breast-work. She sat by them, with only moccasins on her feet, anda blanket drawn over her shoulders and head, within which, and a shawlshe constantly wore, she nursed her poor baby on her knees. Her milk hadbeen gone several days, and the child was so emaciated and lifeless thatshe scarcely expected at any time on opening the covering to find italive. Mrs. Graves lay with her babe and three or four older childrenat the other side of the fire. The storm was very violent all night, andshe watched through it, dozing occasionally for a few minutes, and thenrousing herself to brush the snow and flying sparks from the covering ofthe sleepers. Toward morning she heard one of the young girls oppositecall to her mother to cover her. The call was repeated severaltimes impatiently, when she spoke to the child, reminding her of theexhaustion and fatigue her mother suffered in nursing and carrying thebaby, and bidding her cover herself, and let her mother rest. Presentlyshe heard the mother speak, in a quiet, unnatural tone, and she calledto one of the men near her to go and speak to her. He arose after a fewminutes and found the poor sufferer almost past speaking. He took herinfant, and after shaking the snow from her blanket, covered her aswell as might be. Shortly after, Mrs. Breen observed her to turn herselfslightly, and throw one arm feebly up, as if to go to sleep. She waiteda little while, and seeing her remain quite still, she walked around toher. She was already cold in death. Her poor starving child wailed andmoaned piteously in the arms of its young sister, but the mother's heartcould no more warm or nourish it. "

The members of the second relief party realized that they werethemselves in imminent danger of death. They were powerless to carrythe starving children over the deep, soft, treacherous snow, and it wasdoubtful if they would be able to reach the settlements unencumbered. Isaac Donner, one of the sons of Jacob and Elizabeth Donner, perishedduring one of the stormy nights. He was lying on the bed of pine boughsbetween his sister Mary and Patty Reed, and died so quietly that neitherof the sleeping girls awoke. 

The relief party determined to set out over the snow, hasten to thesettlements, and send back relief. Solomon Hook, Jacob Donner's oldestboy, insisted that he was able to walk, and therefore joined the party. Hiram Miller, an old friend of the Reed family, took little Thomas Reedin his arms, and set out with the others. Patty Reed, full of hope andcourage, refused to be carried by her father, and started on foot. 

With what emotions did the poor sufferers in Starved Camp watch theparty as it disappeared among the pines! There was no food in camp, anddeath had already selected two of their number. What a pitiable groupit was! Could a situation more desolate or deplorable be imagined? Mr. Breen, as has been heretofore mentioned, was feeble, sickly, and almostas helpless as the children. Upon Mrs. Breen devolved the care, notonly of her husband, but of all who remained in the fatal camp, for allothers were children. John Breen, their eldest son, was the strongestand most vigorous in the family, yet the following incident shows hownear he was to death's door. It must have occurred the morning therelief party left. The heat of the fire had melted a deep, round holein the snow. At the bottom of the pit was the fire. The men were able todescend the sides of this cavity, and frequently did so to attend to thefire. At one time, while William McCutchen was down by the fire, JohnBreen was sitting on the end of one of the logs on which the fire hadoriginally been kindled. Several logs had been laid side by side, andthe fire had been built in the middle of the floor thus constructed. While the central logs had burned out and let the fire descend, theouter logs remained with their ends on the firm snow. On one of theselogs John Breen was sitting. Suddenly overcome by fatigue and hunger, he fainted and dropped headlong into the fire-pit. Fortunately, Mr. McCutchen caught the falling boy, and thus saved him from a horribledeath. It was some time before the boy was fully restored toconsciousness. Mrs. Breen had a small quantity of sugar, and a littlewas placed between his clenched teeth. This seemed to revive him, and henot only survived, but is living to-day, the head of a large family, inSan Benito County. 

Mrs. Breen's younger children, Patrick, James, Peter, and the nursingbabe, Isabella, were completely helpless and dependent. Not lesshelpless were the orphan children of Mr. And Mrs. Graves. Nancy was onlyabout nine years old, and upon her devolved the task of caring forthe babe, Elizabeth. Nancy Graves is now the wife of the earnest andeloquent divine, Rev. R. W. Williamson, of Los Gatos, Santa ClaraCounty. To her lasting honor be it said, that although she was dying ofhunger in Starved Camp, yet she faithfully tended, cared for, and savedher baby sister. Aside from occasional bits of sugar, this baby and Mrs. Breen's had nothing for an entire week, save snow-water. Besides Nancyand Elizabeth, there were of the Graves children, Jonathan, aged seven, and Franklin, aged five years. Franklin soon perished. Starvation andexposure had so reduced his tiny frame, that he could not endure thesedays of continual fasting. 

Mary M. Donner, whom all mention as one of the most lovely girls inthe Donner Party, met with a cruel accident the night before the reliefparty left Starved Camp. Her feet had become frozen and insensibleto pain. Happening to lie too near the fire, one of her feet becamedreadfully burned. She suffered excruciating agony, yet evincedremarkable fortitude. She ultimately lost four toes from her left foot, on account of this sad occurrence. 

Seven of the Breens, Mary Donner, and the three children of Mr. And Mrs. Graves, made the eleven now waiting for relief at Starved Camp. Mrs. Graves, her child Franklin, and the boy, Isaac Donner, who lay stark indeath upon the snow, completed the fourteen who were left by the reliefparty. 

Meantime, how fared it with those who were pressing forward toward thesettlements? At each step they sank two or three feet into the snow. Ofcourse those who were ahead broke the path, and the others, as faras possible, stepped in their tracks. This, Patty Reed could not do, because she was too small. So determined was she, however, that despitethe extra exertion she was compelled to undergo, she would not admitbeing either cold or fatigued. Patty Reed has been mentioned as onlyeight years old. Many of the survivors speak of her, however, in muchthe same terms as John Breen, who says: "I was under the impression thatshe was older. She had a wonderful mind for one of her age. She had, I have often thought, as much sense as a grown person. " Over Patty'slarge, dark eyes, on this morning, gradually crept a film. Previousstarvation had greatly attenuated her system, and she was far too weakto endure the hardship she had undertaken. Gradually the snow-mantledforests, the forbidding mountains, the deep, dark canyon of Bear River, and even the forms of her companions, faded from view. In their steadcame a picture of such glory and brightness as seldom comes to humaneyes. It was a vision of angels and of brilliant stars. She commencedcalling her father, and those with him, and began talking about theradiant forms that hovered over her. Her wan, pale face was illuminedwith smiles, and with an ecstasy of joy she talked of the angels andstars, and of the happiness she experienced. "Why, Reed, " exclaimedMcCutchen, "Patty is dying!" And it was too true. 

For a few moments the party forgot their own sufferings and trials, andministered to the wants of the spiritual child, whose entrance intothe dark valley had been heralded by troops of white-winged angels. At Starved Camp, Reed had taken the hard, frozen sacks in which theprovisions had been carried, and by holding them to the fire had thawedout the seams, and scraped therefrom about a teaspoonful of crumbs. These he had placed in the thumb of his woolen mitten to be used in caseof emergency. Little did he suppose that the emergency would come sosoon. Warming and moistening these crumbs between his own lips, thefather placed them in his child's mouth. Meantime they had wrapped ablanket around her chilled form, and were busily chafing her hands andfeet. Her first return to consciousness was signaled by the regrets sheexpressed at having been awakened from her beautiful dream. To this dayshe cherishes the memory of that vision as the dearest, most enchantingof all her life. After this, some of the kindhearted Frenchmen in theparty took turns with Reed in carrying Patty upon their backs. 

Past-midshipman S. E. Woodworth is a name that in most publishedaccounts figures conspicuously among the relief parties organizedto rescue the Donner Party. At the time Reed and his companions weresuffering untold horrors on the mountains, and those left at StarvedCamp were perishing of starvation, Woodworth, with an abundance ofsupplies, was lying idle in camp at Bear Valley. This was the part thatSelim E. Woodworth took in the relief of the sufferers. 

The three men who had been sent forward to the caches, left the remnantof the provisions which had not been destroyed, where it could easilybe seen by Reed and his companions. Hurrying forward, they reachedWoodworth's camp, and two men, John Stark and Howard Oakley, returnedand met Reed's party. It was quite time. With frozen feet and exhaustedbodies, the members of the second relief were in a sad plight. Theyleft the settlements strong, hearty men. They returned in a half-deadcondition. Several lost some of their toes on account of having themfrozen, and one or two were crippled for life. They had been three dayson the way from Starved Camp to Woodworth's. Cady and Stone overtookReed and his companions on the second day after leaving Starved Camp. Onthe night of the third day, they arrived at Woodworth's. 

When Patty Reed reached Woodworth's and had been provided with suitablefood, an incident occurred which fully illustrates the tenderness andwomanliness of her nature. Knowing that her mother and dear oneswere safe, knowing that relief would speedily return to those on themountains, realizing that for her there was to be no more hunger, orsnow, and that she would no longer be separated from her father, herfeelings may well be imagined. In her quiet joy she was not whollyalone. Hidden away in her bosom, during all the suffering and agony ofthe journey over the mountains, were a number of childish treasures. First, there was a lock of silvery gray hair which her own hand had cutfrom the head of her Grandmother Keyes way back on the Big Blue River. Patty had always been a favorite with her grandma, and when the latterdied, Patty secured this lock of hair. She tied it up in a little pieceof old-fashioned lawn, dotted with wee blue flowers, and always carriedit in her bosom. But this was not all. She had a dainty little glasssalt-cellar, scarcely larger than the inside of a humming-bird's nest, and, what was more precious than this, a tiny, wooden doll. This dollhad been her constant companion. It had black eyes and hair, and wasindeed very pretty. At Woodworth's camp, Patty told "Dolly" all her joyand gladness, and who can not pardon the little girl for thinking herdolly looked happy as she listened?

Patty Reed is now Mrs. Frank Lewis, of San Jose, Cal. She has a pleasanthome and a beautiful family of children. Yet oftentimes the mother, thegrown-up daughters, and the younger members of the family, gather withtear-dimmed eyes about a little sacred box. In this box is the lock ofhair in the piece of lawn, the tiny salt-cellar, the much loved "Dolly, "and an old woolen mitten, in the thumb of which are yet the traces offine crumbs. 

Chapter XVI. 

 A Mother at Starved Camp Repeating the Litany Hoping in Despair Wasting Away The Precious Lump of Sugar "James is Dying" Restoring a Life Relentless Hunger The Silent Night-Vigils The Sight of Earth Descending the Snow-Pit The Flesh of the Dead Refusing to Eat The Morning Star The Mercy of God The Mutilated Forms The Dizziness of Delirium Faith Rewarded "There is Mrs. Breen!"

Very noble was the part which Mrs. Margaret Breen performed in thisDonner tragedy, and very beautifully has that part been recorded by awoman's hand. It is written so tenderly, so delicately, and with so muchreverence for the maternal love which alone sustained Mrs. Breen, thatit can hardly be improved. This account was published by its author, Mrs. Farnham, in 1849, and is made the basis of the following sketch. With alterations here and there, made for the sake of brevity, thearticle is as it was written:

There was no food in Starved Camp. There was nothing to eat save a fewseeds, tied in bits of cloth, that had been brought along by some one, and the precious lump of sugar. There were also a few teaspoonfulsof tea. They sat and lay by the fire most of the day, with what heavyhearts, who shall know! They were upon about thirty feet of snow. Thedead lay before them, a ghastlier sight in the sunshine that succeededthe storm, than when the dark clouds overhung them. They had no wordsof cheer to speak to each other, no courage or hope to share, but thosewhich pointed to a life where hunger and cold could never come, andtheir benumbed faculties were scarcely able to seize upon a consolationso remote from the thoughts and wants that absorbed their whole being. 

A situation like this will not awaken in common natures religious trust. Under such protracted suffering, the animal outgrows the spiritualin frightful disproportion. Yet the mother's sublime faith, which hadbrought her thus far through her agonies, with a heart still warm towardthose who shared them, did not fail her now. She spoke gently to oneand another; asked her husband to repeat the litany, and the childrento join her in the responses; and endeavored to fix their minds uponthe time when the relief would probably come. Nature, as unerringly asphilosophy could have done, taught her that the only hope of sustainingthose about her, was to set before them a termination to theirsufferings. 

What days and nights were those that went by while they waited! Lifewaning visibly in those about her; not a morsel of food to offer them;her own infant--and the little one that had been cherished and savedthrough all by the mother now dead-wasting hourly into the more perfectimage of death; her husband worn to a skeleton; it needed the fullestmeasure of exalted faith, of womanly tenderness and self-sacrifice, tosustain her through such a season. She watched by night as well as byday. She gathered wood to keep them warm. She boiled the handful of teaand dispensed it to them, and when she found one sunken and speechless, she broke with her teeth a morsel of the precious sugar, and put it inhis lips. She fed her babe freely on snow-water, and scanty as was thewardrobe she had, she managed to get fresh clothing next to its skin twoor three times a week. Where, one asks in wonder and reverence, didshe get the strength and courage for all this? She sat all night by herfamily, her elbows on her knees, brooding over the meek little victimthat lay there, watching those who slept, and occasionally dozing witha fearful consciousness of their terrible condition always upon her. Thesense of peril never slumbered. Many times during the night she went tothe sleepers to ascertain if they all still breathed. She put her handunder their blankets, and held it before the mouth. In this way sheassured herself that they were yet alive. But once her blood curdled tofind, on approaching her hand to the lips of one of her own children, there was no warm breath upon it. She tried to open his mouth, and foundthe jaws set. She roused her husband, "Oh! Patrick, man! arise and helpme! James is dying!" "Let him die!" said the miserable father, "he willbe better off than any of us. " She was terribly shocked by this reply. In her own expressive language, her heart stood still when she heard it. She was bewildered, and knew not where to set her weary hands to work, but she recovered in a few moments and began to chafe the breastand hands of the perishing boy. She broke a bit of sugar, and withconsiderable effort forced it between his teeth with a few drops ofsnow-water. She saw him swallow, then a slight convulsive motion stirredhis features, he stretched his limbs feebly, and in a moment more openedhis eyes and looked upon her. How fervent were her thanks to the GreatFather, whom she forgot not day or night. 

Thus she went on. The tea leaves were eaten, the seeds chewed, thesugar all dispensed. The days were bright, and compared with the nights, comfortable. Occasionally, when the sun shone, their voices were heard, though generally they sat or lay in a kind of stupor from which sheoften found it alarmingly difficult to arouse them. When the grayevening twilight drew its deepening curtain over the cold glitteringheavens and the icy waste, and when the famishing bodies had beencovered from the frost that pinched them with but little less keennessthan the unrelenting hunger, the solitude seemed to rend her very brain. Her own powers faltered. But she said her prayers over many times in thedarkness as well as the light, and always with renewed trust in Him whohad not yet forsaken her, and thus she sat out her weary watch. Afterthe turning of the night she always sat watching for the morning star, which seemed every time she saw it rise clear in the cold eastern sky, to renew the promise, "As thy day is, so shall thy strength be. "

Their fire had melted the snow to a considerable depth, and they werelying on the bank above. Thus they had less of its heat than theyneeded, and found some difficulty in getting the fuel she gatheredplaced so it would burn. One morning after she had hailed her messengerof promise, and the light had increased so as to render objects visiblein the distance, she looked as usual over the white expanse that lay tothe south-west, to see if any dark moving specks were visible upon itssurface. Only the tree-tops, which she had scanned so often as to bequite familiar with their appearance, were to be seen. With a heavyheart she brought herself back from that distant hope to consider whatwas immediately about her. The fire had sunk so far away that they hadfelt but little of its warmth the last two nights, and casting hereyes down into the snow-pit, whence it sent forth only a dull glow, shethought she saw the welcome face of beloved mother Earth. It was sucha renewing sight after their long, freezing separation from it Sheimmediately aroused her eldest son, John, and with a great deal ofdifficulty, and repeating words of cheer and encouragement, brought himto understand that she wished him to descend by one of the tree-topswhich had fallen in so as to make a sort of ladder, and see if theycould reach the naked earth, and if it were possible for them all to godown. She trembled with fear at the vacant silence in which he at firstgazed at her, but at length, after she had told him a great many times, he said "Yes, mother, " and went. 

He reached the bottom safely, and presently spoke to her. There wasnaked, dry earth under his feet; it was warm, and he wished her to comedown. She laid her baby beside some of the sleepers, and descended. Immediately she determined upon taking them all down. How good, shethought, as she descended the boughs, was the God whom she trusted. Byperseverance, by entreaty, by encouragement, and with her own aid, shegot them into this snug shelter. 

Relief came not, and as starvation crept closer and closer to himselfand those about him, Patrick Breen determined that it was his duty toemploy the means of sustaining life which God seemed to have placedbefore them. The lives of all might be saved by resorting to suchfood as others, in like circumstances, had subsisted upon. Mrs. Breen, however, declared that she would die, and see her children die, beforeher life or theirs should be preserved by such means. If ever the fathergave to the dying children, it was without her consent or knowledge. Shenever tasted, nor knew of her children partaking. Mrs. Farnham says thatwhen Patrick Breen ascended to obtain the dreadful repast, his wife, frozen with horror, hid her face in her hands, and could not look up. She was conscious of his return, and of something going on about thefire, but she could not bring herself to uncover her eyes till all hadsubsided again into silence. Her husband remarked that perhaps theywere wrong in rejecting a means of sustaining life of which others hadavailed themselves, but she put away the suggestion so fearfully thatit was never renewed, nor acted upon by any of her family. She and herchildren were now, indeed, reaching the utmost verge of life. A littlemore battle with the grim enemies that had pursued them so relentlessly, twenty-four, or at most forty-eight hours of such warfare, and all wouldbe ended. The infants still breathed, but were so wasted they could onlybe moved by raising them bodily with the hands. It seemed as if eventheir light weight would have dragged the limbs from their bodies. Occasionally, through the day, she ascended the tree to look out. Itwas an incident now, and seemed to kindle more life than when it onlyrequired a turn of the head or a glance of the eye to tell that therewas no living thing near them. She could no longer walk on the snow, butshe had still strength enough to crawl from tree to tree to gather a fewboughs, which she threw along before her to the pit, and piled them into renew the fire. The eighth day was passed. On the ninth morning sheascended to watch for her star of mercy. Clear and bright it stood overagainst her beseeching gaze, set in the light liquid blue that overflowsthe pathway of the opening day. She prayed earnestly as she gazed, forshe knew that there were but few hours of life in those dearest toher. If human aid came not that day, some eyes, that would soon lookimploringly into hers, would be closed in death before that star wouldrise again. Would she herself, with all her endurance and resistinglove, live to see it? Were they at length to perish? Great God! shouldit be permitted that they, who had been preserved through so much, should die at last so miserably?

Her eyes were dim, and her sight wavering. She could not distinguishtrees from men on the snow, but had they been near, she could have heardthem, for her ear had grown so sensitive that the slightest unaccustomednoise arrested her attention. She went below with a heavier heart thanever before. She had not a word of hope to answer the languid, inquiringcountenances that were turned to her face, and she was conscious thatit told the story of her despair. Yet she strove with some half-insanewords to suggest that somebody would surely come to them that day. Another would be too late, and the pity of men's hearts and the mercyof God would surely bring them. The pallor of death seemed already to bestealing over the sunken countenances that surrounded her, and, weak asshe was, she could remain below but a few minutes together. She feltshe could have died had she let go her resolution at any time within thelast forty-eight hours. They repeated the Litany. The responses came sofeebly that they were scarcely audible, and the protracted utterancesseemed wearisome. At last it was over, and they rested in silence. 

The sun mounted high and higher in the heavens, and when the day wasthree or four hours old she placed her trembling feet again upon theladder to look out once more. The corpses of the dead lay always beforeher as she reached the top-the mother and her son, and the littleboy, whose remains she could not even glance at since they had beenmutilated. The blanket that covered them could not shut out the horrorof the sight. 

The rays of the sun fell on her with a friendly warmth, but she couldnot look into the light that flooded the white expanse. Her eyes lackedstrength and steadiness, and she rested herself against a tree andendeavored to gather her wandering faculties in vain. The enfeebledwill could no longer hold rule over them. She had broken perceptions, fragments of visions, contradictory and mixed-former mingled with lattertimes. Recollections of plenty and rural peace came up from herclear, tranquil childhood, which seemed to have been another state ofexistence; flashes of her latter life-its comfort and abundance-gleamsof maternal pride in her children who had been growing up about her toease and independence. 

She lived through all the phases which her simple life had ever worn, in the few moments of repose after the dizzy effort of ascending; asthe thin blood left her whirling brain and returned to its shrunkenchannels, she grew more clearly conscious of the terrible present, andremembered the weary quest upon which she came. It was not the memoryof thought, it was that of love, the old tugging at the heart that hadnever relaxed long enough to say, "Now I am done; I can bear no more!"The miserable ones down there--for them her wavering life came back; atthought of them she turned her face listlessly the way it had so oftengazed. But this time something caused it to flush as if the blood, thinand cold as it was, would burst its vessels! What was it? Nothingthat she saw, for her eyes were quite dimmed by the sudden access ofexcitement! It was the sound of voices! By a superhuman effort she keptherself from falling! Was it reality or delusion? She must at leastlive to know the truth. It came again and again. She grew calmer asshe became more assured, and the first distinct words she heard utteredwere, "There is Mrs. Breen alive yet, anyhow!" Three men were advancingtoward her. She knew that now there would be no more starving. Deathwas repelled for this time from the precious little flock he had so longthreatened, and she might offer up thanksgiving unchecked by the dreadsand fears that had so long frozen her. 

Chapter XVII. 

 The Rescue California Aroused A Yerba Buena Newspaper Tidings of Woe A Cry of Distress Noble Generosity Subscriptions for the Donner Party The First and Second Reliefs Organization of the Third The Dilemma Voting to Abandon a Family The Fatal Ayes John Stark's Bravery Carrying the Starved Children A Plea for the Relief Party. 

Foster and Eddy, it will be remembered, were of the fifteen who composedthe "Forlorn Hope. " Foster was a man of strong, generous impulses, andgreat determination. His boy was at Donner Lake, and his wife's motherand brother. He hardly took time to rest and recruit his wasted strengthbefore he began organizing a party to go to their rescue. His effortswere ably seconded by W. H. Eddy, whose wife and daughter had perished, but whose boy was still alive at the cabins. 

California was thoroughly aroused over tidings which had come from themountains. It was difficult to get volunteers to undertake the journeyover the Sierra, but horses, mules, provisions, and good wages wereallowed all who would venture the perilous trip. The trouble with Mexicohad caused many of the able-bodied citizens of California to enlist inthe service. Hence it was that it was so difficult to organize reliefparties. 

The following extracts are made from the California Star, a newspaperpublished at "Yerba Buena, " as San Francisco was then called. Theydo justice to the sentiment of the people of California, and indicatesomething of the willingness of the pioneers to aid the Donner Party. From the Star of January 16, 1847, is taken the following article, whichappeared as an editorial:

"Emigrants on the Mountains. "

"It is probably not generally known to the people that there is now inthe California mountains, in a most distressing situation, a party ofemigrants from the United States, who were prevented from crossing themountains by an early, heavy fall of snow. The party consists of aboutsixty persons--men, women, and children. They were almost entirely outof provisions when they reached the foot of the mountains, and but forthe timely succor afforded them by Capt. J. A. Sutter, one of the mosthumane and liberal men in California, they must have all perished in afew days. Capt. Sutter, as soon as he ascertained their situation, sentfive mules loaded with provisions to them. A second party was dispatchedwith provisions for them, but they found the mountains impassable inconsequence of the snow. We hope that our citizens will do something forthe relief of these unfortunate people. "

From the same source, under date of February 6, 1847, is taken thefollowing:

"Public Meeting. "

"It will be recollected that in a previous number of our paper, wecalled the attention of our citizens to the situation of a company ofunfortunate emigrants now in the California mountains. For the purposeof making their situation more fully known to the people, and ofadopting measures for their relief, a public meeting was called by theHonorable Washington A. Bartlett, alcalde of the town, on Wednesdayevening last. The citizens generally attended, and in a very short timethe sum of $800 was subscribed to purchase provisions, clothing, horses, and mules to bring the emigrants in. Committees were appointed to callon those who could not attend the meeting, and there is no doubt butthat $500 or $600 more will be raised. This speaks well for YerbaBuena. "

One other extract is quoted from the Star of February 13, 1847:

"Company Left. "

"A company of twenty men left here on Sunday last for the Californiamountains, with provisions, clothing, etc. , for the suffering emigrantsnow there. The citizens of this place subscribed about $1, 500 for theirrelief, which was expended for such articles as the emigrants would bemost likely to need. Mr. Greenwood, an old mountaineer, went with thecompany as pilot. If it is possible to cross the mountains, they willget to the emigrants in time to save them. "

These three articles may aid the reader in better understanding what hasheretofore been said about the organization of the relief parties. It will be remembered that James F. Reed and William McCutchen firstprocured animals and provisions from Capt. Sutter, attempted to crossthe mountains, found the snow impassable, cached their provisions, andreturned to the valleys. Reed, as described in his letter to the RuralPress, went to San Jose, Cal. , and thence to Yerba Buena. McCutchen wentto Napa and Sonoma, and awakened such an interest that a subscription ofover $500 was subscribed for the emigrants, besides a number ofhorses and mules. Lieut. W. L. Maury and M. G. Vallejo headed thissubscription, and $500 was promised to Greenwood if he succeeded inraising a company, and in piloting them over the mountains. In orderto get men, Greenwood and McCutchen went to Yerba Buena, arriving therealmost at the same time with Reed. The above notices chronicle theevents which succeeded the announcement of their mission. The funds andsupplies contributed were placed in charge of Lieut. Woodworth. Thisparty set out immediately, and their journey has been described. Theyform the second relief party, because immediately upon the arrival ofthe seven who survived of the "Forlorn Hope, " Capt. Tucker's party hadbeen organized at Johnson's and Sutter's, and had reached Dormer Lakefirst. 

When Foster and Eddy attempted to form a relief party, they found thesame difficulty in securing volunteers which others had encountered. Itwas such a terrible undertaking, that no man cared to risk his life inthe expedition. 

Captain J. B. Hull, of the United States navy, and Commander of theNorthern District of California, furnished Foster and Eddy with horsesand provisions. Setting out from Johnson's ranch, they arrived atWoodworth's camp in the afternoon. During that very night two of Reed'smen came to the camp, and brought news that Reed and a portion of hisparty were a short distance back in the mountains. When Reed and hiscompanions were brought into camp, and it was ascertained that fourteenpeople had been left in the snow, without food, the third relief partywas at once organized. The great danger and suffering endured by thosewho had composed the first and second relief parties, prevented men fromvolunteering. On this account greater honor is due those who determinedto peril their lives to save the emigrants. Hiram Miller, although weakand exhausted with the fatigues and starvation he had just undergone inthe second relief party, joined Messrs. Foster and Eddy. These three, with Wm. Thompson, John Stark, Howard Oakley, and Charles Stone, setout from Woodworth's camp the next morning after Reed's arrival. It wasagreed that Stark, Oakley, and Stone were to remain with the sufferersat Starved Camp, supply them with food, and conduct them to Woodworth'scamp. Foster, Eddy, Thompson, and Miller were to press forward to therelief of those at Donner Lake. The three men, therefore, whose voicesreached Mrs. Breen, were Stark, Oakley, and Stone. 

When these members of the third relief party reached the deep, well-likecavity in which were the seven Breens, the three Graves children, andMary Donner, a serious question arose. None of the eleven, exceptMrs. Breen and John Breen, were able to walk. A storm appeared to begathering upon the mountains, and the supply of provisions was verylimited. The lonely situation, the weird, desolate surroundings, the appalling scenes at the camp, and above all, the danger of beingovertaken by a snow-storm, filled the minds of Oakley and Stone withterror. When it was found that nine out of the eleven people must becarried over the snow, it is hardly to be wondered at that a propositionwas made to leave a portion of the sufferers. It was proposed to takethe three Graves children and Mary Donner. These four children would bequite a sufficient burden for the three men, considering the snow overwhich they must travel. The Breens, or at least such of them as couldnot walk, were to be abandoned. This was equivalent to leaving thefather, mother, and five children, because the mother would not abandonany member of her family, and John, who alone could travel, was in asemi-lifeless condition. The members of the third relief party are saidto have taken a vote upon the question. This scene is described in themanuscript of Hon. James F. Breen: "Those who were in favor of returningto the settlements, and leaving the Breens for a future relief party(which, under the circumstances, was equivalent to the death penalty), were to answer 'aye. ' The question was put to each man by name, and asthe names were called, the dreadful 'aye' responded. John Stark's namewas the last one called, because he had, during the discussion of thequestion, strongly opposed the proposition for abandonment, and it wasnaturally supposed that when he found himself in so hopeless a minorityhe would surrender. When his name was called, he made no answer untilsome one said to him: 'Stark, won't you vote?' Stark, during all thisproceeding of calling the roll, had stood apart from his companions withbowed head and folded arms. When he was thus directly appealed to, heanswered quickly and decidedly: "No, gentlemen, I will not abandon thesepeople. I am here on a mission of mercy, and I will not half do thework. You can all go if you want to, but I shall stay by these peoplewhile they and I live. "

It was nobly said. If the Breens had been left at Starved Camp, evenuntil the return of Foster, Eddy, Miller, and Thompson from the lake, none would have ever reached the settlements. In continuation of theabove narration, the following is taken from the manuscript of JohnBreen: "Stark was finally left alone. To his great bodily strength, andunexcelled courage, myself and others owe our lives. There was probablyno other man in California at that time, who had the intelligence, determination, and what was absolutely necessary in that emergency, theimmense physical powers of John Stark. He was as strong as two ordinarymen. On his broad shoulders, he carried the provisions, most of theblankets, and most of the time some of the weaker children. In regard tothis, he would laughingly say that he could carry them all, if there wasroom on his back, because they were so light from starvation. "

By every means in his power, Stark would cheer and encourage the poorsufferers. Frequently he would carry one or two ahead a little way, putthem down, and return for the others. James F. Breen says: "I distinctlyremember that myself and Jonathan Graves were both carried by Stark, onhis back, the greater part of the journey. " Others speak similarly. 

Regarding this brave man, Dr. J. C. Leonard has contributed muchvaluable information, from which is selected the following:

"John Stark was born in 1817, in Wayne County, Indiana. His father, William Stark, came from Virginia, and was one of the first settlers ofKentucky, arriving there about the same time as Daniel Boone. He marrieda cousin of Daniel Boone, and they had a family of eight children. T. J. Stark, the oldest son, now lives at French Corral, Nevada County, California. John Stark, the younger brother, started from MonmouthCounty, Illinois, in the spring of 1846, but taking the Fort Hall road, reached California in safety. He was a powerfully built man, weighingtwo hundred and twenty pounds. He was sheriff of Napa County for sixyears, and in 1852 represented that county in the State Legislature. He died near Calistoga, in 1875, of heart disease. His death wasinstantaneous, and occurred while pitching hay from a wagon. He was thefather of eleven children, six of whom, with his wife, are now living. "

Each one of the persons who were taken from Starved Camp by this man andhis two companions, reached Sutter's Fort in safety. James F. Breen hadhis feet badly frozen, and afterwards burned while at the camp. No onehad any hope that they could be saved, and when the party reached thefort, a doctor was sought to amputate them. None could be found, andkind nature effected a cure which a physician would have pronouncedimpossible. 

In concluding this chapter, it is quite appropriate to quote thefollowing, written by J. F. Breen: "No one can attach blame to thosewho voted to leave part of the emigrants. It was a desperate case. Theiridea was to save as many as possible, and they honestly believed that byattempting to save all, all would be lost. But this consideration--andthe further one that Stark was an entire stranger to every one in thecamps, not bound to them by any tie of blood or kindred, nor havingany hope of reward, except the grand consciousness of doing a nobleact--makes his conduct shine more lustrously in the eyes of every personwho admires nature's true and only nobility. "

Chapter XVIII. 

 Arrival of the Third Relief The Living and the Dead Captain George Donner Dying Mrs. Murphy's Words Foster and Eddy at the Lake Tamsen Donner and her Children A Fearful Struggle The Husband's Wishes Walking Fourteen Miles Wifely Devotion Choosing Death The Night Journey An Unparalleled Ordeal An Honored Name Three Little Waifs "And Our Parents are Dead. "

Eddy, Foster, Thompson, and Miller passed Nicholas Clark and JohnBaptiste near the head of Donner Lake. These starving fugitives hadjourneyed thus far in their desperate effort to cross the mountains. Of all those encamped at Alder Creek the sole survivors now were GeorgeDonner, the captain of the Donner Party, and his faithful wife, TamsenDonner. Under the snowdrifts which covered the valley, lay Jacob Donner, Elizabeth Donner, Lewis Donner, Samuel Donner, Samuel Shoemaker, JosephRhinehart, and James Smith. One more was soon to be added to the number. It was the man whose name had been given to the company; the only onewho died of a lingering, painful disease. The injury of George Donner'shand had grown into a feverish, virulent ulceration, which must havepartaken of the nature of erysipelas. At all events, mortificationhad set in, and when the third relief party arrived it had reached hisshoulder. In a few hours at most he must die. 

Foster's party found that much suffering had occurred at Donner Lakeduring the tearful days which elapsed between Reed's departure and theirown arrival. Mrs. Lavina Murphy had charge of her son, Simon Murphy, her grandchild, George Foster, of the child James Eddy, and of the threelittle Donner girls, Frances, Georgia, and Eliza. All dwelt in thesame cabin, and with them was Lewis Keseberg. Foster and Eddy foundall there, save their own children. They were both dead. Keseberg hasgenerally been accused of the murder of little George Foster. ExceptMrs. Murphy, the oldest of those who were with Keseberg was only nineyears of age. All that the children know is that Keseberg took the childto bed with him one night, and that it was dead next morning. One ofthe little ones who survived--one whose memory has proven exceedinglytruthful upon all points wherein her evidence could be possiblysubstantiated--and who is now Mrs. Georgia A. Babcock--gives the mildestversion of this sad affair which has ever appeared in print. She deniesthe story, so often reiterated, that Keseberg took the child to bedwith him and ate it up before morning; but writes the following: "In themorning the child was dead. Mrs. Murphy took it, sat down near the bedwhere my sister and myself were lying, laid the little one on her lap, and made remarks to other persons, accusing Keseberg of killing it. After a while he came, took it from her, and hung it up in sight, insidethe cabin, on the wall. "

Foster, Eddy, Thompson, and Miller remained but a little while at themountain camp. During this time Mr. Foster had no opportunity to talkwith Mrs. Murphy save in Keseberg's presence. Afterwards, when thechildren told him of the suspicions expressed in their presence byMrs. Murphy, Foster deeply regretted that he had not sought a privateinterview with her, for the purpose of learning the reasons for herbelief. 

In the morning the relief party was to start back to the settlements. Eddy was to carry Georgia Donner; Thompson, Frances Donner; Miller, Eliza Donner; and Foster was to carry Simon Murphy. John Baptisteand Nicholas Clark remained at the head of Donner Lake, and were toaccompany the party. This left Mr. And Mrs. Donner at Alder Creek, andKeseberg and Mrs. Murphy at the cabins. Mrs. Murphy had cared for herchildren and her grandchildren, and ministered to the wants of thosearound her, until she was sick, exhausted, and utterly helpless. Shecould not walk. She could scarcely rise from her bed. With all thetenderness of a son, Mr. Foster gave her such provisions as he couldleave, procured her wood, and did whatever he was able to do to renderher comfortable. He also promised to return speedily, and with suchassistance that he could carry her over the summits to her children. 

The very afternoon that the third relief party reached the cabins, SimonMurphy discovered a woman wandering about in the snow as if lost. Itproved to be Mrs. Tamsen Donner. She had wearily traveled over the deepsnows from Alder Creek, as narrated in a previous chapter, to see herchildren, and, if necessary, to protect their lives. Oh! the joy and thepain of the meeting of those little ones and their mother. As they woundtheir arms about her neck, kissed her lips, laughed in her eyes, andtwined their fingers in her hair, what a struggle must have been takingplace in her soul. As the pleading, upturned faces of her babies beggedher not to leave them, her very heart-strings must have been rent withagony. Well may the voice quiver or the hand tremble that attempts toportray the anguish of this mother during that farewell interview. Fromthe very first moment, her resolution to return to her husband remainedunshaken. The members of the relief party entreated her to go with her, children and save her own life. They urged that there could only be afew hours of life left in George Donner. This was so true that she onceventured the request that they remain until she could return to AlderCreek, and see if he were yet alive. The gathering storm-clouds, whichhad hovered over the summit for days, compelled them to refuse thisrequest. An hour's delay might be fatal to all. 

George Donner knew that he was dying, and had frequently urged his wifeto leave him, cross the mountains, and take care of her children. Asshe held her darlings in her arms, it required no prophetic vision todisclose pictures of sadness, of lonely childhood, of longing girlhood, of pillows wet with tears, if these three little waifs were left towander friendless in California. She never expressed a belief that shewould see that land of promise beyond the Sierra. Often had her calm, earnest voice told them of the future which awaited them, and so far aspossible had she prepared them to meet that future without the counselor sympathy of father or mother. 

The night-shadows, creeping through the shivering pines, warned her ofthe long, dreary way over which her tired feet must pass ere shereached her dying husband's side. She is said to have appeared strangelycomposed. The struggle was silent. The poor, bleeding heart brought nota single moan to the lips. It was a choice between life, hope, and herclinging babes, or a lonely vigil by a dying husband, and an unknown, shroudless death in the wintry mountains. Her husband was sixty-three;he was well stricken in years, and his life was fast ebbing away. If shereturned through the frosty night-winds, over the crisp, freezingsnow, she would travel fourteen miles that day. The strong, healthy mencomposing the relief parties frequently could travel but five or sixmiles in a day. If she made the journey, and found her husband was dead, she could have no hope of returning on the morrow. She had suffered toolong from hunger and privation to hope to be able to return and overtakethe relief party. It was certain life or certain death. On the sideof the former was maternal love; on the side of the latter, wifelydevotion. The whole wide range of history can not produce a parallelexample of adherence to duty, and to the dictates of conjugal fidelity. With quick, convulsive pressure of her little ones to her heart; with ahasty, soul-throbbing kiss upon the lips of each; with a prayer that wasstifled with a sob of agony, Tamsen Donner hurried away to her husband. Through the gathering darkness, past the shadowy sentinels of theforest, they watched with tearful eyes her retreating form. As if shedared not trust another sight of the little faces--as if to escape thepitiful wail of her darlings--she ran straight forward until out ofsight and hearing. She never once looked back. 

There are mental struggles which so absorb the being and soul thatphysical terrors or tortures are unnoticed. Tamsen Donner's mind waspassing through such an ordeal. The fires of Moloch, the dreadfulsuttee, were sacrifices which long religious education sanctioned, and in which the devotees perished amidst the plaudits of admiringmultitudes. This woman had chosen a death of solitude, of hunger, ofbitter cold, of pain-racked exhaustion, and was actuated by only thepure principles of wifely love. Already the death-damp was gathering onGeorge Donner's brow. At the utmost, she could hope to do no more thansmooth the pillow of the dying, tenderly clasp the fast-chilling hand, press farewell kisses upon the whitening lips, and finally close thedear, tired eyes. For this, only this, she was yielding life, theworld, and her darling babes. Fitted by culture and refinement to bean ornament to society, qualified by education to rear her daughters tolives of honor and usefulness, how it must have wrung her heart to allowher little ones to go unprotected into a wilderness of strangers. Butshe could not leave her husband to die alone. Rather solitude, betterdeath, than desert the father of her children. O, Land of the Sunset!let the memory of this wife's devotion be ever enshrined in the heartsof your faithful daughters! In tablets thus pure, engrave the name ofTamsen Donner. 

When the June sunshine gladdened the Sacramento Valley, three littlebarefooted girls walked here and there among the houses and tentsof Sutter's Fort. They were scantily clothed, and one carried a thinblanket. At night they said their prayers, lay down in whatever tentthey happened to be, and, folding the blanket about them, fell asleep ineach other's arms. When they were hungry, they asked food of whomsoeverthey met. If any one inquired who they were, they answered as theirmother had taught them: "We are the children of Mr. And Mrs. GeorgeDonner. " But they added something they had learned since. It was, "Andour parents are dead. "

Chapter XIX. 

 False Ideas about the Donner Party Accused of Six Murders Interviews with Lewis Keseberg His Statement An Educated German A Predestined Fate Keseberg's Lameness Slanderous Reports Covered with Snow "Loathsome, Insipid, and Disgusting" Longings toward Suicide Tamsen Donner's Death Going to Get the Treasure Suspended over a Hidden Stream "Where is Donner's Money?" Extorting a Confession. 

Keseberg is one of the leading characters in the Donner Party. Usually, his part in the tragedy has been considered the entire story. Comparatively few people have understood that any except this one manate human flesh, or was a witness of any scene of horror. He has beenloathed, execrated, abhorred as a cannibal, a murderer, and a heartlessfiend. In the various published sketches which have from time to timebeen given to the world, Lewis Keseberg has been charged with no lessthan six murders. His cannibalism has been denounced as arising fromchoice, as growing out of a depraved and perverted appetite, insteadof being the result of necessity. On the fourth of April, 1879, this strange man granted an interview to the author, and in this andsucceeding interviews he reluctantly made a statement which was reducedto writing. "What is the use, " he would urge, "of my making a statement?People incline to believe the most horrible reports concerning a man, and they will not credit what I say in my own defense. My conscienceis clear. I am an old man, and am calmly awaiting my death. God is myjudge, and it long ago ceased to trouble me that people shunned andslandered me. "

Keseberg is six feet in height, is well proportioned, and weighs fromone hundred and seventy-five to one hundred and eighty pounds. He isactive, vigorous, and of an erect, manly carriage, despite his years andhis many afflictions. He has clear blue eyes, regular features, lighthair and beard, a distinct, rapid mode of enunciation, a loud voice, anda somewhat excited manner of speech. In conversing he looks one squarelyand steadily in the eye, and appears like an honest, intelligent German. He speaks and writes German, French, Spanish, and English, and hisselection of words proves him a scholar. His face generally wears adetermined, almost fierce expression, but one is impressed with thethought that this appearance is caused by his habitually standing on thedefensive as against his fellow-men. Since he has never before had anopportunity of speaking in his own defense, it is perhaps fitting thathis statement should be given in his own language:

"My name is Lewis Keseberg. I was born in the city of Berleburg, Province of Westphalia, in the Kingdom of Prussia, on the twenty-secondof May, 1814. I am therefore almost sixty-three years of age. I wasmarried June 22, 1842, came to the United States May 22, 1844, andemigrated to California in 1846 with the Donner Party. I never havemade a statement concerning my connection with that Party to any oneconnected with the press. It is with the utmost horror that I revertto the scenes of suffering and unutterable misery endured during thatjourney. I have always endeavored to put away from me all thoughts orrecollections of those terrible events. Time is the best physician, andwould, I trusted, heal the wounds produced by those days of torture; yetmy mind to-day recoils with undiminished horror as I endeavor to speakof this dreadful subject. Heretofore I have never attempted to refutethe villainous slanders which have been circulated and published aboutme. I feel it my duty to make this statement, however, because I amconvinced of your willingness to do justice to all who were concernedin that dreadful affair, and heretofore I have been treated with grossinjustice. 

"If I believe in God Almighty having anything to do with the affairs ofmen, I believe that the misfortune which overtook the Donner Party, andthe terrible part I was compelled to take in the great tragedy, werepredestined. On the Hastings Cut-off we were twenty-eight days in goingtwenty-one miles. Difficulty and disaster hovered about us from the timewe entered upon this cut-off. "

"One day, while we were traveling on Goose Creek, we saw so many wildgeese that I took my shotgun and went hunting. Ordinarily I am notsuperstitious, but on this morning I felt an overwhelming sense ofimpending calamity. I mentioned my premonitions to Mrs. Murphy beforestarting on the hunt. Becoming excited with the sport, and eagerlywatching the game, I stepped down a steep bank. Some willows had beenburned off, and the short, sharp stubs were sticking up just where Istepped. I had on buckskin moccasins, and one of these stubs ran intothe ball of my foot, between the bones and the toes. From this time, until we arrived at Donner Lake, I was unable to walk, or even to putmy foot to the ground. The foot became greatly swollen and inflamed, andwas exceedingly painful. One day, at Donner Lake, one of my companions, at my earnest request, lanced my foot on the top. It discharged freely, and some days afterwards, in washing it, I found a hard substanceprotruding from the wound, and obtaining a pair of forceps, succeeded inextracting a piece of the willow stub, one and a half inches in length. It had literally worked up through my foot. I mention this particularly, because I have been frequently accused of remaining at the Donner cabinsfrom selfish or sinister motives, when in fact I was utterly unable tojoin the relief parties. "

It is proper to mention, in corroboration of Keseberg's statementregarding his lameness, that several of the survivors remembered, and had related the circumstance prior to the interview. It is awell-authenticated fact that he was very lame, and could not walk, yet, as a specimen of the abuse which has been heaped upon the man, a quotation is introduced from Thornton's "Oregon and California. " Inspeaking of the departure of Foster and Eddy, Thornton says: "Therewere in camp Mrs. Murphy, Mr. And Mrs. Gorge Donner, and Keseberg--thelatter, it was believed, having far more strength to travel than otherswho had arrived in the settlements. But he would not travel, for thereason, as was suspected, that he wished to remain behind for thepurpose of obtaining the property and money of the dead. " Keseberg'sstatement continues:

"When we reached the lake, we lost our road, and owing to the depth ofthe snow on the mountains; were compelled to abandon our wagons, andpack our goods upon oxen. The cattle, unused to such burdens, causedgreat delay by 'bucking' and wallowing in the snow. There was also muchconfusion as to what articles should be taken and what abandoned. Onewanted a box of tobacco carried along; another, a bale of calico, andsome thing and some another. But for this delay we would have passed thesummit and pressed forward to California. Owing to my lameness, I wasplaced on horseback, and my foot was tied up to the saddle in a sort ofsling. Near evening we were close to the top of the dividing ridge. Itwas cold and chilly, and everybody was tired with the severe exertionsof the day. Some of the emigrants sat down to rest, and declared theycould go no further. I begged them for God's sake to get over the ridgebefore halting. Some one, however, set fire to a pitchy pine tree, andthe flames soon ascended to its topmost branches. The women and childrengathered about this fire to warm themselves. Meantime the oxen wererubbing off their packs against the trees. The weather looked verythreatening, and I exhorted them to go on until the summit was reached. I foresaw the danger plainly and unmistakably. Only the strongest men, however, could go ahead and break the road, and it would have taken adetermined man to induce the party to leave the fire. Had I been well, and been able to push ahead over the ridge, some, if not all, would havefollowed. As it was, all lay down on the snow, and from exhaustion weresoon asleep. In the night, I felt something impeding my breath. A heavyweight seemed to be resting upon me. Springing up to a sitting posture, I found myself covered with freshly-fallen snow. The camp, the cattle, my companions, had all disappeared. All I could see was snow everywhere. I shouted at the top of my voice. Suddenly, here and there, all aboutme, heads popped up through the snow. The scene was not unlike what onemight imagine at the resurrection, when people rise up out of the earth. The terror amounted to a panic. The mules were lost, the cattle strayedaway, and our further progress rendered impossible. The rest youprobably know. We returned to the lake, and prepared, as best we could, for the winter. I was unable to build a cabin, because of my lameness, and so erected a sort of brush shed against one side of Breen's cabin. 

"When Reed's relief party left the cabins, Mr. Reed left me a halfteacupful of flour, and about half a pound of jerked beef. It was allhe could give. Mrs. Murphy, who was left with me, because too weak andemaciated to walk, had no larger portion. Reed had no animosity towardme. He found me too weak to move. He washed me, combed my hair, andtreated me kindly. Indeed, he had no cause to do otherwise. Some of myportion of the flour brought by Stanton from Sutter's Fort I gaveto Reed's children, and thus saved their lives. When he left me, hepromised to return in two weeks and carry me over the mountains. Whenthis party left, I was not able to stand, much less to walk. "

"A heavy storm came on in a few days after the last relief party left. Mrs. George Donner had remained with her sick husband in their camp, sixor seven miles away. Mrs. Murphy lived about a week after we were leftalone. When my provisions gave out, I remained four days before I couldtaste human flesh. There was no other resort--it was that or death. My wife and child had gone on with the first relief party. I knew notwhether they were living or dead. They were penniless and friendlessin a strange land. For their sakes I must live, if not for my own. Mrs. Murphy was too weak to revive. The flesh of starved beings containslittle nutriment. It is like feeding straw to horses. I can not describethe unutterable repugnance with which I tasted the first mouthful offlesh. There is an instinct in our nature that revolts at the thought oftouching, much less eating, a corpse. It makes my blood curdle to thinkof it! It has been told that I boasted of my shame--said that Ienjoyed this horrid food, and that I remarked that human flesh was morepalatable than California beef. This is a falsehood. It is a horrible, revolting falsehood. This food was never otherwise than loathsome, insipid, and disgusting. For nearly two months I was alone in thatdismal cabin. No one knows what occurred but myself--no living beingever before was told of the occurrences. Life was a burden. The horrorsof one day succeeded those of the preceding. Five of my companions haddied in my cabin, and their stark and ghastly bodies lay there day andnight, seemingly gazing at me with their glazed and staring eyes. I wastoo weak to move them had I tried. The relief parties had not removedthem. These parties had been too hurried, too horror-stricken at thesight, too fearful lest an hour's delay might cause them to sharethe same fate. I endured a thousand deaths. To have one's sufferingprolonged inch by inch, to be deserted, forsaken, hopeless; to seethat loathsome food ever before my eyes, was almost too much for humanendurance. I am conversant with four different languages. I speak andwrite them with equal fluency; yet in all four I do not find wordsenough to express the horror I experienced during those two months, orwhat I still feel when memory reverts to the scene. Suicide would havebeen a relief, a happiness, a godsend! Many a time I had the muzzle ofmy pistol in my mouth and my finger on the trigger, but the faces of myhelpless, dependent wife and child would rise up before me, and my handwould fall powerless. I was not the cause of my misfortunes, and GodAlmighty had provided only this one horrible way for me to subsist. "

Did you boil the flesh?

"Yes! But to go into details--to relate the minutiae--is too agonizing!I can not do it! Imagination can supply these. The necessary mutilationof the bodies of those who had been my friends, rendered the ghastlinessof my situation more frightful. When I could crawl about and my lamefoot was partially recovered, I was chopping some wood one day and theax glanced and cut off my heel. The piece of flesh grew back in time, but not in its former position, and my foot is maimed to this day. 

"A man, before he judges me, should be placed in a similar situation;but if he were, it is a thousand to one he would perish. A constitutionof steel alone could endure the deprivation and misery. At this time Iwas living in the log-cabin with the fireplace. One night I was awakenedby a scratching sound over my head. I started up in terror, and listenedintently for the noise to be repeated. It came again. It was the wolvestrying to get into the cabin to eat me and the dead bodies. "

"At midnight, one cold, bitter night, Mrs. George Donner came to mydoor. It was about two weeks after Reed had gone, and my lonelinesswas beginning to be unendurable. I was most happy to her the sound of ahuman voice. Her coming was like that of an angel from heaven. But shehad not come to bear me company. Her husband had died in her arms. Shehad remained by his side until death came, and then had laid him out andhurried away. He died at nightfall, and she had traveled over the snowalone to my cabin. She was going, alone, across the mountains. She wasgoing to start without food or guide. She kept saying, 'My children! Imust see my children!' She feared he would not survive, and told me shehad some money in her tent. It was too heavy for her to carry. Shesaid, 'Mr. Keseberg, I confide this to your care. ' She made me promisesacredly that I would get the money and take it to her children incase she perished and I survived. She declared she would start over themountains in the morning. She said, 'I am bound to go to my children. 'She seemed very cold, and her clothes were like ice. I think she had gotin the creek in coming. She said she was very hungry, but refused theonly food I could offer. She had never eaten the loathsome flesh. Shefinally lay down, and I spread a feather-bed and some blankets over her. In the morning she was dead. I think the hunger, the mental suffering, and the icy chill of the preceding night, caused her death. I have oftenbeen accused of taking her life. Before my God, I swear this is untrue!Do you think a man would be such a miscreant, such a damnable fiend, such a caricature on humanity, as to kill this lone woman? There wereplenty of corpses lying around. He would only add one more corpse to themany!"

"Oh! the days and weeks of horror which I passed in that camp! I had nohope of help or of being rescued, until I saw the green grass coming upby the spring on the hillside, and the wild geese coming to nibble it. The birds were coming back to their breeding grounds, and I felt that Icould kill them for food. I had plenty of guns and ammunition in camp. I also had plenty of tobacco and a good meerschaum pipe, and almost theonly solace I enjoyed was smoking. In my weak condition it took me twoor three hours every day to get sufficient wood to keep my fire going. "

"Some time after Mrs. Donner's death, I thought I had gained sufficientstrength to redeem the pledge I had made her before her death. Istarted to go to the camps at Alder Creek to get the money. I had a verydifficult journey. The wagons of the Donners were loaded with tobacco, powder, caps, shoes, school-books, and dry-goods. This stock was veryvaluable, and had it reached California, would have been a fortune tothe Donners. I searched carefully among the bales and bundles of goods, and found five-hundred and thirty-one dollars. Part of this sum wassilver, part gold. The silver I buried at the foot of a pine tree, alittle way from the camp. One of the lower branches of another treereached down close to the ground, and appeared to point to the spot. I put the gold in my pocket, and started to return to my cabin. I hadspent one night at the Donner tents. On my return I became lost. When itwas nearly dark, in crossing a little flat, the snow suddenly gave wayunder my feet, and I sank down almost to my armpits. By means of thecrust on top of the snow, I kept myself suspended by throwing out myarms. A stream of water flowed underneath the place over which I hadbeen walking, and the snow had melted on the underside until it was notstrong enough to support my weight. I could not touch bottom with myfeet, and so could form no idea of the depth of the stream. By long andcareful exertion I managed to draw myself backward and up on the snow. I then went around on the hillside, and continued my journey. At last, just at dark, completely exhausted and almost dead, I came in sightof the Graves cabin. I shall never forget my joy at sight of thatlog-cabin. I felt that I was no longer lost, and would at least haveshelter. Some time after dark I reached my own cabin. My clothes werewet by getting in the creek, and the night was so cold that my garmentswere frozen into sheets of ice. I was so weary, and chilled, and numbed, that I did not build up a fire, or attempt to get anything to eat, butrolled myself up in the bed-clothes and tried to get warm. Nearly allnight I lay there shivering with cold; and when I finally slept, I sleptvery soundly. I did not wake up until quite late the next morning. Tomy utter astonishment my camp was in the most inexplicable confusion. Mytrunks were broken open, and their contents were scattered everywhere. Everything about the cabin was torn up and thrown about the floor. My wife's jewelry, my cloak, my pistol and ammunition were missing. Isupposed Indians had robbed my camp during my absence. Suddenly I wasstartled by the sound of human voices. I hurried up to the surface ofthe snow, and saw white men coming toward the cabin. I was overwhelmedwith joy and gratitude at the prospect of my deliverance. I had sufferedso much, and for so long a time, that I could scarcely believe mysenses. Imagine my astonishment upon their arrival to be greeted, notwith a 'good morning' or a kind word, but with the gruff, insolentdemand, 'Where is Donner's money?'"

"I told them they ought to give me something to eat, and that I wouldtalk with them afterwards, but no, they insisted that I should tell themabout Donner's money. I asked them who they were, and where they camefrom, but they replied by threatening to kill me if I did not give upthe money. They threatened to hang or shoot me, and at last I told themI had promised Mrs. Donner that I would carry her money to her children, and I proposed to do so, unless shown some authority by which they hada better claim. This so exasperated them, that they acted as though theywere going to kill me. I offered to let them bind me as a prisoner, andtake me before the alcalde at Sutter's Fort, and I promised that I wouldthen tell all I knew about the money. They would listen to nothing, however, and finally I told them where they would find the silverburied, and gave them the gold. After I had done this, they showed me adocument from Alcalde Sinclair, by which they were to receive a certainproportion of all moneys and property which they rescued. "

The men spoken of by Keseberg, were the fourth relief party. Their nameswere, Captain Fallon, William M. Foster, John Rhodes, J. Foster, R. P. Tucker, E. Coffeemire, and--Keyser. William M. Foster had recrossedthe mountains the second time, hoping to rescue his wife's mother, Mrs. Murphy. Alas! he found only her mutilated remains. 

Chapter XX. 

 Dates of the Rescues Arrival of the Fourth Relief A Scene Beggaring Description The Wealth of the Donners An Appeal to the Highest Court A Dreadful Shock Saved from a Grizzly Bear A Trial for Slander Keseberg Vindicated Two Kettles of Human Blood The Enmity of the Relief Party "Born under an Evil Star" "Stone Him! Stone Him!" Fire and Flood Keseberg's Reputation for Honesty A Prisoner in his own House The Most Miserable of Men

December 16, 1846, the fifteen composing the "Forlorn Hope, " left DonnerLake. January 17, 1847, as they reached Johnson's ranch; and February5th Capt. Tucker's party started to the assistance of the emigrants. This first relief arrived February 19th at the cabins; the secondrelief, or Reed's party, arrived March 1st; the third, or Foster's, about the middle of March; and the fourth, or Fallon's, on theseventeenth of April. Upon the arrival of Capt. Fallon's company, thesight presented at the cabins beggars all description. Capt. R. P. Tucker, now of Goleta, Santa Barbara County, Cal. , endeavors, in hiscorrespondence, to give a slight idea of the scene. Human bodies, terribly mutilated, legs, arms, skulls, and portions of remains, werescattered in every direction and strewn about the camp. Mr. Foster foundMrs. Murphy's body with one of her limbs sawed off, the saw still lyingby her remains. It was such scenes as these which gave this party theirfirst abhorrence for Keseberg. The man was nowhere to be seen, but afresh track was discovered in the snow leading away from the cabinstoward the Dormer tents. The party pressed forward to Alder Creek. Captain Tucker writes: "The dead bodies lay moldering around, being allthat was left to tell the tale of sorrow. On my first trip we had cutdown a large pine tree, and laid the goods of the Donners on this treeto dry in the sun. These goods lay there yet, with the exception ofthose which Reed's party had taken away. "

George Donner was wealthy. His wealth consisted not merely of goods, asmany claim, but of a large amount of coin. Hiram Miller, of the reliefparties, is authority for the statement that Mr. Donner owned a quartersection of land within the present city limits of Chicago. This landwas sold for ten thousand dollars, shortly before Mr. Donner started forCalifornia. Mr. Allen Francis, who has been mentioned as the very bestauthority concerning this, family, camped with them on the eveningof their first night's journey out of Springfield, Illinois, saw Mr. Donner's money, and thinks there was ten thousand dollars. Mrs. F. E. Bond, of Elk Grove, Sacramento County, California, does not rememberthe exact amount, but knows that Mr. Donner started with a great deal ofgold, because she helped make the belts in which it was to be carried incrossing the plains. The relief parties always understood there was atDonner's camp a large sum of money, estimated at from six to fourteenthousand dollars. It is not disputed that Halloran left about fifteenhundred dollars to this family. Yet Capt. Fallon's party could find nomoney. It was clear to their minds that some one had robbed the Donnertents. 

Remaining over night, thoroughly searching in every place where thesupposed money could be concealed, this party returned to Donner Lake. On their way they found the same mysterious track, also returning to thecabins. They probably discovered Keseberg in about the manner described. It is plain to be seen that they regarded him as the murderer of Mrs. Donner. In forcing him to tell what he had done with the money, they, too, claim to have choked him, to have put a rope around his neck, and to have threatened to hang him. On the other hand, if Keseberg'sstatement be accepted as truth, it is easy to understand why he refusedto surrender the money to men who treated him from the outset as amurderer and a robber. 

Let the God to whom Lewis Keseberg appeals be his judge. It is not thepart of this book to condemn or acquit him. Most of the fourth reliefparty have already gone before the bar at which Keseberg asks tobe tried. Capt. Tucker is about the only available witness, and histestimony is far more lenient than the rumors and falsehoods usuallypublished. 

If Keseberg be guilty of any or of all crimes, it will presently be seenthat the most revengeful being on earth could not ask that another dropbe added to his cup of bitterness. His statement continues:

"These men treated me with the greatest unkindness. Mr. Tucker was theonly one who took my part or befriended me. When they started overthe mountains, each man carried two bales of goods. They had silks, calicoes, and delames from the Donners, and other articles of greatvalue. Each man would carry one bundle a little way, lay it down, andcome back and get the other bundle. In this way they passed over thesnow three times. I could not keep up with them because I was so weak, but managed to come up to their camp every night. One day I was draggingmyself slowly along behind the party, when I came to a place which hadevidently been used as a camping-ground by some of the previous parties. Feeling very tired, I thought it would be a good place to make somecoffee. Kindling a fire, I filled my coffee-pot with fresh snow and satwaiting for it to melt and get hot. Happening to cast my eyes carelesslyaround, I discovered a little piece of calico protruding from the snow. Half thoughtlessly, half out of idle curiosity, I caught hold of thecloth, and finding it did not come readily, I gave it a strong pull. Ihad in my hands the body of my dead child Ada! She had been buried inthe snow, which, melting down, had disclosed a portion of her clothing. I thought I should go frantic! It was the first intimation I had of herdeath, and it came with such a shock!"

"Just as we were getting out of the snow, I happened to be sitting incamp alone one afternoon. The men were hunting, or attending to theirgoods. I was congratulating myself upon my escape from the mountains, when I was startled by a snuffling, growling noise, and looking up, Isaw a large grizzly bear only a few feet away. I knew I was too weak toattempt to escape, and so remained where I sat, expecting every momenthe would devour me. Suddenly there was the report of a gun, and the bearfell dead. Mr. Foster had discovered the animal, and slipping up closeto camp, had killed it. "

When the party arrived at Sutter's Fort, they took no pains to concealtheir feelings toward Keseberg. Some of the men openly accused him ofMrs. Donner's murder. Keseberg, at the suggestion of Captain Sutter, brought action against Captain Fallon, Ned Coffeemire, and the others, for slander. The case was tried before Alcalde Sinclair, and the jurygave Keseberg a verdict of one dollar damages. The old alcalderecords are not in existence, but some of the survivors remember thecircumstance, and Mrs. Samuel Kyburz, now of Clarksville, El DoradoCounty, was a witness at the trial. If Keseberg was able to vindicatehimself in an action for slander against the evidence of all theparty, it is clear that such evidence was not adduced as has frequentlyappeared in books. For instance, in Captain Fallon's report of thistrip, he alleges that "in the cabin with Keseberg were found two kettlesof human blood, in all supposed to be over one gallon. " Had this beenproven, no jury would have found for Keseberg. Fresh blood could nothave been obtained from starved bodies, and had the blood been found, Keseberg would have been adjudged a murderer. 

Speaking upon this point, Keseberg denies the assertion that any bloodwas discovered, calls attention to the length of time Mrs. Donner hadbeen dead, to the readiness with which blood coagulates, and adds thatnot a witness testified to such a circumstance at the trial. Whyshould Keseberg murder Mrs. Donner? If he wanted her money, it wasonly necessary to allow her to go out into the mountains alone, withoutprovisions, without any one to point out the way, and perish in thetrackless snows. She could not carry any considerable portion of hermoney with her, and he, had only to go back to Alder Creek and securethe treasure. He bears witness that she never tasted human flesh; thatshe would not partake of the food he offered; how reasonable, then, thestory of her death. The fourth relief party expected to find a vast sumof money. One half was to be given them for their trouble. They regardedthe man Keseberg as the murderer of George Foster, because of thereports given by the little children brought out by the third relief. The father of this child was with both the third and fourth reliefs. Arriving at the cabins, they were amazed and horrified at the dreadfulsights. Hastening to the tents, they found no money. Their idea thatKeseberg was a thief was confirmed by his disgorging the money whenthreatened with death. There was much reason for their hatred of the manwho crossed the mountains with them, and this was intensified by theirbeing brought before Alcalde Sinclair and proven slanderers. Out ofthis hatred has grown reports which time has magnified into the hideousfalsehoods which greet the ear from all directions. Keseberg may beresponsible for the death of Hardcoop, but urges in his defense that allwere walking, even to the women and the children. He says Hardcoop wasnot missed until evening, and that it was supposed the old manwould catch up with the train during the night. The terrible dangerssurrounding the company, the extreme lateness of the season, theweakness of the oxen, and the constant fear of lurking, hostileIndians, prevented him or any one else from going back. Keseberg may beresponsible for the death of Wolfinger, of George Foster, of James Eddy, of Mrs. Murphy, and of Mrs. Tamsen Donner, but the most careful searcherfor evidence can not find the slightest trace of proofs. In his ownmournful language, he comes near the truth when he says:

"I have been born under an evil star! Fate, misfortune, bad luck, compelled me to remain at Donner Lake. If God would decree that I shouldagain pass through such an ordeal, I could not do otherwise than I did. My conscience is free from reproach. Yet that camp has been the oneburden of my life. Wherever I have gone, people have cried, 'Stone him!stone him!' Even the little children in the streets have mocked me andthrown stones at me as I passed. Only a man conscious of his innocence, and clear in the sight of God, would not have succumbed to the terriblethings which have been said of me--would not have committed suicide!Mortification, disgrace, disaster, and unheard-of misfortune havefollowed and overwhelmed me. I often think that the Almighty has singledme out, among all the men on the face of the earth, in order to see howmuch hardship, suffering, and misery a human being can bear!"

"Soon after my arrival at the Fort, I took charge of the schoonerSacramento, and conveyed wheat from Sacramento to San Francisco, inpayment of Capt. Sutter's purchase of the Russian possessions. I workedseven months for Sutter; but, although he was kind to me, I did not getmy money. I then went to Sonoma, and worked about the same length oftime for Gen. Vallejo. I had a good position and good prospects, butleft for the gold mines. Soon afterward I was taken sick, and foreight months was an invalid. I then went to Sutter's Fort and started aboarding-house. I made money rapidly. After a time I built a house southof the Fort, which cost ten thousand dollars. In 1851 I purchased theLady Adams hotel, in Sacramento. It was a valuable property, and Ifinally sold it at auction for a large sum of money. This money wasto be paid the next day. The deeds had already passed. That night theterrible fire of 1852 occurred, and not only swept away the hotel, butruined the purchaser, so that I could not collect one cent. I wentback to Sutter's Fort and started the Phoenix Brewery. I succeeded, andacquired considerable property. I finally sold out for fifty thousanddollars. I had concluded to take this money, go back to Germany, andlive quietly the rest of my days. The purchaser went to San Francisco todraw the money. The sale was effected eight days before the great floodof 1861-2. The flood came, and I lost everything. "

Thus, throughout his entire career, have business reverses followedLewis Keseberg. Several times he has been wealthy and honorablysituated. At one time he was a partner of Sam. Brannan, in a mammothdistillery at Calistoga; and Mr. Brannan is one among many who speak inhighest terms of his honesty, integrity, and business capacity. On thethirtieth of January, 1877, Phillipine Keseberg, his faithful wife, died. This was the severest loss of all, as will presently be seen. 

Eleven children were born to them, and four are now living. One ofthese, Lillie, now lives in Sacramento with her husband. Another, Paulina, a widow, resides in San Rafael. Bertha and Augusta live withthe father at Brighton, Sacramento County. Both these children arehopelessly idiotic. Bertha is twenty-six years of age, and has neveruttered an intelligible word. Augusta is fifteen years old, weighstwo hundred and five pounds, and possesses only slight traces ofintelligence. Teething spasms, occurring when they were about two yearsold, is the cause of their idiocy. Both are subject to frequent andviolent spasms or epileptic fits. They need constant care and attention. Should Bertha's hand fall into the fire, she has not sufficientintelligence to withdraw it from the flames. Both are helpless aschildren. The State provides for insane, but not for idiots. Kesebergsays a bill setting aside a ward in the State Asylum for his twochildren, passed the Legislature, but received a pocket veto by theGovernor. Sacramento County gives them eighteen dollars a month. Theirhelplessness and violence render it impossible to keep any nurse incharge of them longer than a few days. Keseberg is very poor. He hasemployment for perhaps three months during the year. While his wifelived, she took care of these children; but now he has personally towatch over them and provide for their necessities. While at work, heis compelled to keep them locked in a room in the same building. Theyscream so loudly while going into the spasms that he can not dwell nearother people. He therefore lives isolated, in a plain little house backof his brewery. Here he lives, the saddest, loneliest, most pitiablecreature on the face of the earth. He traces all his misfortunes to thatcabin on Donner Lake, and it is little wonder that he says: "I beg ofyou, insert in your book a fervent prayer to Almighty God that He willforever prevent the recurrence of a similar scene of horror. "

Chapter XXI. 

 Sketch of Gen. John A. Sutter The Donner Party's Benefactor The Least and Most that Earth can Bestow The Survivors' Request His Birth and Parentage Efforts to Reach California New Helvetia A Puny Army Uninviting Isolation Ross and Bodega Unbounded Generosity Sutter's Wealth Effect of the Gold Fever Wholesale Robbery The Sobrante Decision A "Genuine and Meritorious" Grant Utter Ruin Hock Farm Gen. Sutter's Death Mrs. E. P. Houghton's Tribute. 

Zealous in sending supplies and relief to the suffering Donner Party, earnest in providing shelter, clothing, and food to all who wererescued, Captain John A. Sutter merits more than a passing mention inthis history. From the arrival of Stanton at Sutter's Fort with thetidings that a destitute emigrant train was en route for Californiauntil the return of the fourth relief party with Lewis Keseberg, CaptainSutter's time, wealth, and influence were enlisted in behalf of theparty. Actuated only by motives of benevolence and humanity, he gaveStanton and the various relief parties full and free access to whateverhe possessed, whether of money, provisions, clothing, mules, cattle, or guides. With all due deference to the generosity of Yerba Buena'scitizens, and to the heroic endeavors of the noble men who risked theirlives in rescuing the starving emigrants, it is but just and right thatthis warm-hearted philanthropist should be accorded the honor of beingfirst among the benefactors of the Donner Party. His kindness did notcease with the arrival of the half-starved survivors at Sutter's Fort, but continued until all had found places of employment, and means ofsubsistence. Pitiful and unworthy is the reward which history canbestow upon such a noble character, yet since he never received anyremuneration for his efforts and sacrifices, the reward of a noble nameis the least and the most that earth can now bestow. In view of hisgood deeds, the survivors of the Donner Party have almost unanimouslyrequested that a brief biographical sketch of the man be inserted inthese pages. 

At midnight on the twenty-eighth of February (or first of March), 1803, John A. Sutter was born in the city of Baden. He was of Swiss parentage, and his father and mother, were of the Canton Berne. Educated in Baden, we find him at the age of thirty a captain in the French army. Filledwith enthusiasm, energy, and love of adventure, his eyes turned towardAmerica as his "land of promise, " and in July, 1834, he arrived in NewYork. Again breaking away from the restraints of civilized life, he soonmade his way to the then almost unknown regions west of the Mississippi. For some years he lived near St. Charles, in Missouri. At one time heentertained the idea of establishing a Swiss colony at this point, and was only prevented by the sinking of his vessel of supplies in theMississippi River. During this time he accompanied an exploring partyinto the sultry, sand-covered wastes of New Mexico. Here he met huntersand trappers from California, and listened to tales of its beauty, fertility, and grandeur which awoke irresistible longings in his breast. In March, 1838, with Captain Tripp, of the American Fur Company, hetraveled westward as far as the Rocky Mountains, and thence journeyingwith a small party of trappers, finally reached Fort Vancouver. Findingno land route to California, he embarked in a vessel belonging tothe Hudson Bay Company, which was ready for a voyage to the SandwichIslands. From Honolulu he thought there would be little difficultyin finding passage in a trading vessel for the Coast of California. Disappointed in this, he remained at the Islands some months, andfinally shipped as supercargo of a ship bound for Sitka. In returning, the vessel entered the Bay of San Francisco, but was not allowed toland, and Monterey was reached before Sutter was permitted to set footupon California soil. From Governor Alvarado he obtained the rightof settling in the Sacramento Valley. After exploring the Sacramento, Feather, and American Rivers, finally, on the sixteenth of August, 1839, he landed near the present site of Sacramento City, and determined topermanently locate. Soon afterward he began the construction of thefamous Sutter's Fort. He took possession of the surrounding country, naming it New Helvetia. One of the first difficulties to be overcome wasthe hostility of the Indian tribes who inhabited the Sacramento and SanJoaquin valleys. Kindness and humane treatment were generally sufficientto cause these Indians to become his allies, yet in more than oneinstance he was obliged to resort to arms. Considering the size of hisarmy, there is a sort of grim heroism in the fact that he successfullywaged at times a defensive and at times an aggressive warfare. Hisentire army was composed of six white men, who had been collected fromdifferent parts of the world, and eight Kanakas. 

Dunbar, in describing Sutter's situation, says: "This portion of upperCalifornia, though fair to look upon, was peculiarly solitary anduninviting in its isolation and remoteness from civilization. There wasnot even one of those cattle ranches, which dotted the coast at longintervals, nearer to Sutter's locality than Suisun and Martinez, belowthe mouth of the Sacramento. The Indians of the Sacramento were knownas 'Diggers. ' The efforts of the Jesuit Fathers, so extensive on thiscontinent, and so beneficial to the wild Indians wherever missions wereestablished among them, never reached the wretched aborigines of theSacramento country. The valley of the Sacramento had not yet become thepathway of emigrants from the East, and no civilized human being livedin this primitive and solitary region, or roamed over it, if we except afew trappers of the Hudson Bay Company. "

Out of this solitude and isolation, Sutter, as if with a magician'swand, brought forth wealth and evolved for himself a veritable littlekingdom. Near the close of the year 1839, eight white men joined hiscolony, and in 1840 his numbers were increased by five others. Aboutthis time the Mokelumne Indians became troublesome, and were conquered. Other tribes were forced into submission, and Sutter was practicallymonarch of the Sacramento and San Joaquin. The old pioneers speak withpride of the wonderful power he exerted over these Indians, teachingthem the arts of civilization, forming them into military companies, drilling them in the use of firearms, teaching them to till the soil, and making them familiar with the rudiments of husbandry. The vast herdsof cattle which in process of time he acquired, were tended and herdedprincipally by these Indians, and the cannon which ultimately came intohis possession were mounted upon the Fort, and in many instances weremanned by these aborigines. Hides were sent to Yerba Buena, a tradein furs and supplies was established with the Hudson Bay Company, and considerable attention was given to mechanical and agriculturalpursuits. 

In 1841, Sutter obtained grants from Governor Alvarado of the elevenleagues of land comprised in his New Helvetia, and soon afterwardsnegotiated a purchase of the Russian possessions known as "Ross andBodega. " By this purchase, Sutter acquired vast real and personalproperty, the latter including two thousand cattle, one thousandhorses, fifty mules, and two thousand five hundred sheep. In 1845 Sutteracquired from Gov. Manuel Micheltorena the grant of the famous Sobrante, which comprised the surplus lands over the first eleven leagues includedwithin the survey accompanying the Alvarado grant. 

As early as 1844 a great tide of emigration began flowing from theEastern States toward California, a tide which, after the discovery ofgold, became a deluge. Sutter's Fort became the great terminal point ofemigration, and was far-famed for the generosity and open-heartednessof its owner. Relief and assistance were rendered so frequently and soabundantly to distressed emigrants, and aid and succor were so oftensent over the Sierra to feeble or disabled trains, that Sutter's charityand generosity became proverbial. In the sunny hillslopes and smilingvalleys, amidst the graceful groves and pleasant vineyards of thisGolden State, it would be difficult to find localities where pioneershave not taught their children to love and bless the memory of the greatbenefactor of the pioneer days, John A. Sutter. With his commandingpresence, his smiling face, his wealth, his power, and his liberality, he came to be regarded in those days as a very king among men. What hedid for the Donner Party is but an instance of his unvarying kindnesstoward the needy and distressed. During this time he rendered importantservices to the United States, and notably in 1841, to the exploringexpedition of Admiral Wilkes. The Peacock, a vessel belonging to theexpedition, was lost on the Columbia bar, and a part of the expeditionforces, sent overland in consequence, reached Sutter's Fort ina condition of extreme distress, and were relieved with princelyhospitality. Later on he gave equally needed and equally generous reliefto Colonel Fremont and his exploring party. When the war with Mexicocame on, his aid and sympathy enabled Fremont to form a battalion fromamong those in Sutter's employ, and General Sherman's testimony is, "that to him (Sutter) more than any single person are we indebted forthe conquest of California with all its treasures. "

In 1848, when gold was discovered at Sutter's Mill, near Coloma, quotingagain from Dunbar: "We find that Captain Sutter was the undisputedpossessor of almost boundless tracts of land, including the formerRussian possessions of Ross and Bodega, and the site of the present cityof Sacramento. He had performed all the conditions of his land grants, built his fort, and completed many costly improvements. At an expense oftwenty-five thousand dollars he had cut a millrace three miles long, and nearly finished a new flouring mill. He had expended ten thousanddollars in the erection of a saw-mill near Coloma; one thousand acres ofvirgin soil were laid down to wheat, promising a yield of forty thousandbushels, and extensive preparations had been made for other crops. Heowned eight thousand cattle, two thousand horses and mules, two thousandsheep, and one thousand swine. He was the military commander of thedistrict, Indian agent of the territory, and Alcalde by appointment ofCommodore Stockton. Respected and honored by all, he was the great manof the country. "

Subsequently he was a member of the Constitutional Convention atMonterey, and was appointed Major General of militia. Would that thesketch of his life might end here; but, alas! there is a sad, sadclosing to the chapter. This can not be told more briefly and eloquentlythan in the language of the writer already mentioned:

"As soon as the discovery of gold was known, he was immediately desertedby all his mechanics and laborers, white, Kanaka, and Indian. The millswere abandoned, and became a dead loss. Labor could not be hired toplant, to mature the crops, or reap and gather the grain that ripened. "

"At an early period subsequent to the discovery, an immense emigrationfrom overland poured into the Sacramento Valley, making Sutter'sdomains their camping-ground, without the least regard for the rights ofproperty. They occupied his cultivated fields, and squatted all overhis available lands, saying these were the unappropriated domain of theUnited States, to which they had as good a right as any one. They stoleand drove off his horses and mules, and exchanged or sold them in otherparts of the country; they butchered his cattle, sheep, and hogs, andsold the meat. One party of five men, during the flood of 1849-50, whenthe cattle were surrounded by water, near the Sacramento river, killedand sold $60, 000 worth of these--as it was estimated and left for theStates. By the first of January, 1852, the so-called settlers, underpretense of pre-emption claims, had appropriated all Sutter's landscapable of settlement or appropriation, and had stolen all of hishorses, mules, cattle, sheep, and hogs, except a small portion used andsold by himself. "

"There was no law to prevent this stupendous robbery; but when lawwas established, then came lawyers with it to advocate the squatters'pretensions, although there were none from any part of Christendom whohad not heard of Sutter's grants, the peaceful and just possession ofwhich he had enjoyed for ten years, and his improvements were visible toall. "

"Sutter's efforts to maintain his rights, and save even enough of hisproperty to give him an economical, comfortable living, constitute a sadhistory, one that would of itself fill a volume of painful interest. Inthese efforts he became involved in continuous and expensive litigation, which was not terminated till the final decision of the Supreme Courtin 1858-59, a period of ten years. When the United States Court of LandCommissioners was organized in California, Sutter's grants came up indue course for confirmation. These were the grant of eleven leagues, known as New Helvetia, and the grant of twenty-two leagues, known as theSobrante. The land commissioners found these grants perfect. Not a flawor defect could be discovered in either of them, and they were confirmedby the board, under the provisions of the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. "

"The squatter interest then appealed to the United States DistrictCourt for the Northern District of California. This court confirmed thedecision of the land commissioners. Extraordinary as it may appear, thesquatter interest then appealed both cases to the Supreme Court of theUnited States at Washington, and still more extraordinary to relate, that court, though it confirmed the eleven-league grant, decided that ofthe Sobrante--twenty-two leagues--in favor of the squatters. The courtacknowledged that the grant was a "genuine and meritorious" one, andthen decided in favor of the squatter interest on purely technicalgrounds. "

"Sutter's ruin was complete, and its method may be thus stated: He hadbeen subjected to a very great outlay of money in the maintenance of histitle, the occupancy and the improvement of the grant of New Helvetia. From a mass of interesting documents which I have been permitted toexamine, I obtained the following statement relative to the expensesincurred on that grant:

 Expenses in money, and services which formed the original consideration of the grant $50, 000 Surveys and taxes on the same 50, 000 Cost of litigation extending through ten years, including fees to eminent counsel, witness fees, traveling expenses, etc. 125, 000 Amount paid out to make good the covenants of deeds upon the grant, over and above what was received from sales 100, 000 ======== $325, 000

"In addition, General Sutter had given titles to much of the Sobrantegrant, under deeds of general warranty, which, after the decision of thesupreme court of the United States in favor of the squatter interest, Sutter was obliged to make good, at an immense sacrifice, out of the NewHelvetia grant; so that the confirmation of his title to this grantwas comparatively of little advantage to him. Thus Sutter lost all hislanded estate. "

"But amid the wreck and ruin that came upon him in cumulative degree, from year to year, Sutter managed to save, for a period, what is knownas Hock farm, a very extensive and valuable estate on the Feather River. This estate he proposed to secure as a resting-place in his old age, andfor the separate benefit of his wife and children, whom he had broughtfrom Switzerland in 1852, having been separated from them eighteenyears. Sutter's titles being generally discredited, his vast flocks andherds having dwindled to a few head, and his resources being all gone, he was no longer able to hire labor to work the farm; and as a finalcatastrophe, the farm mansion was totally destroyed by fire in 1865, andwith it all General Sutter's valuable records of his pioneer life. Asdifficulties augmented, Hock farm became incumbered with mortgages, andultimately it was swallowed up in the general ruin. "

For some years he received a small allowance from the State ofCalifornia; but after a time this appropriation expired, and was neverthereafter renewed. The later years of the pioneer's life were passedat Litiz, Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and his time was devoted toendeavoring to obtain from Congress an appropriation of $50, 000, ascompensation for the expenditures he made for the relief of the earlysettlers of California. His death occurred at Washington, D. C. , onthe eighteenth day of June, 1880, and his remains were laid at rest inLitiz, Pennsylvania. The termination of this grand, heroic life, undercircumstances of abject poverty and destitution, forms as strange andmournful a story as can be found in the annals of the present age. 

In concluding this chapter, it may not be inappropriate to quote froma private letter written by Mrs. S. O. Houghton, nee Eliza P. Donner, immediately after the General's death. It aptly illustrates the feelingentertained toward him by the members of the Donner Party. Writing fromSan Jose, she says:

"I have been sad, oh! so sad, since tidings flashed across the continenttelling the friends of General Sutter to mourn his loss. In tender andloving thought I have followed the remains to his home, have stood byhis bier, touched his icy brow, and brushed back his snowy locks, andstill it is hard for me to realize that he is dead; that he who in mychildhood became my ideal of all that is generous, noble, and good; hewho has ever awakened the warmest gratitude of my nature, is to be laidaway in a distant land! But I must not yield to this mood longer. God has only harvested the ripe and golden grain. Nor has He left uscomfortless, for recollection, memory's faithful messenger, will bringfrom her treasury records of deeds so noble, that the name of GeneralSutter will be stamped in the hearts of all people, so long asCalifornia has a history. Yes, his name will be written in letters ofsunlight on Sierra's snowy mountain sides, will be traced on the claspsof gold which rivet the rocks of our State, and will be arched intransparent characters over the gate which guards our western tide. Allwho see this land of the sunset will read, and know, and love the nameof John A. Sutter, who fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and comfortedthe sorrowing children of California's pioneer days. "

Chapter XXII. 

 The Death List The Forty-two Who Perished Names of Those Saved Forty-eight Survivors Traversing Snow-Belt Five Times Burying the Dead An Appalling Spectacle Tamsen Donner's Last Act of Devotion A Remarkable Proposal Twenty-six Present Survivors McCutchen Keseberg The Graves Family The Murphys Naming Marysville The Reeds The Breens

With the arrival of the emigrants at places of safety, this historyproperly closes. The members of the Donner Party were actively andintimately associated with all the early pioneer history of the State. The life of almost every one would furnish foundation for a mostinteresting biographical sketch. Ninety names were mentioned in thefirst chapter. Of these, forty-two perished. Mrs. Sarah Keyes, Halloran, John Snyder, Hardcoop, Wolfinger and William M. Pike did not liveto reach the mountain camps. The first victim of starvation, BaylisWilliams, died in the Reed cabin. About this time Jacob Donner, SamuelShoemaker, Joseph Rhinehart and James Smith perished at Alder Creek. Thefive deaths last mentioned occurred within one week, about the middleof December. During the journey of the "Forlorn Hope, " the fifteen werereduced to seven by the deaths of C. T. Stanton, F. W. Graves, Antoine, Patrick Dolan, Lemuel Murphy, Jay Fosdick, Lewis, and Salvador. Meantime, enrolled on the death-list at Donner Lake, were the names ofCharles Burger, Lewis Keseberg, Jr. , John Landrum Murphy, Margaret Eddy, Harriet McCutchen, Augustus Spitzer, Mrs. Eleanor Eddy, Milton Elliott, and Catherine Pike. 

During the journey of the first relief party Ada Keseberg, John Denton, and William Hook perished, and with the second relief party died Mrs. Elizabeth Graves, Isaac Donner, and F. W. Graves, Jr. About this time, at the tents, died Lewis Donner, Mrs. Elizabeth Donner, and SamuelDonner, George Foster and James Eddy. No deaths occurred in the partyof the third relief; and no names are to be added to the fatal list saveMrs. Lavina Murphy, George Donner, and Mrs. Tamsen Donner. 

Out, of the Donner Party, forty-eight survived. Walter Herron reachedCalifornia with James F. Reed, and did not return. Of the "ForlornHope, " Mary A. Graves, Mrs. Sarah Fosdick, Mrs. Amanda M. McCutchen, Mrs. Harriet F. Pike, Mrs. S. A. C. Foster, William M. Foster, and W. H. Eddy lived. The two last mentioned returned and again braved the dangerswhich encompassed the emigrants. The first relief party rescued Mrs. Margaret W. Reed, Virginia E. Reed and James F. Reed, Jr. , Elitha C. Donner, Leanna C. Donner, George Donner, Jr. , Wm. G. Murphy, Mary M. Murphy, Naomi L. Pike, W. C. Graves, Eleanor Graves, Lovina Graves, Mrs. Phillipine Keseberg, Edward J. Breen, Simon P. Breen, Eliza Williams, Noah James, and Mrs. Wolfinger. 

The second relief succeeded in reaching the settlements with onlySolomon Hook, Patty Reed, and Thomas K. Reed. With this party were itsCaptain, James F. Reed, and William McCutchen. Those who were brought toStarved Camp by the second relief, and saved by a portion of the thirdrelief, were Patrick Breen, Mrs. Margaret Breen, John Breen, PatrickBreen, Jr. , James F. Breen, Peter Breen, Isabella M. Breen, NancyGraves, Jonathan Graves, Elizabeth Graves, and Mary M. Donner. Theremainder of the third relief rescued Simon P. Murphy, Frances E. Donner, Georgia A. Donner, Eliza P. Donner, and John Baptiste. W. H. Eddy remained in the valleys after making this journey. Wm. M. Fostertraversed the snow-belt no less than five times--once with the "ForlornHope, " twice with the third relief, and twice with the fourth. Thefourth relief rescued Lewis Keseberg. 

General Kearney visited the cabins at Donner Lake on the twenty-secondof June, 1847. Edwin Bryant, the author of "What I Saw in California, "was with General Kearney, and says: "A halt was ordered for the purposeof collecting and interring the remains. Near the principal cabins Isaw two bodies entire, with the exception that the abdomens had been cutopen and the entrails extracted. Their flesh had been either wastedby famine or evaporated by exposure to the dry atmosphere, and theypresented the appearance of mummies. Strewn around the cabins weredislocated and broken skulls (in some instances sawed asunder with care, for the purpose of extracting the brains), human skeletons, in short, inevery variety of mutilation. A more revolting and appalling spectacleI never witnessed. The remains were, by an order of General Kearney, collected and buried under the superintendence of Major Swords. Theywere interred in a pit which had been dug in the center of one of thecabins for a cache. These melancholy duties to the dead being performed, the cabins, by order of Major Swords, were fired, and with everythingsurrounding them connected with this horrid and melancholy tragedy wereconsumed. The body of George Donner was found at his camp, about eightor ten miles distant, wrapped in a sheet. He was buried by a party ofmen detailed for that purpose. "

To carefully lay out her husband's body, and tenderly enfold it in awinding-sheet, was the last act of devotion to her husband which wasperformed by Tamsen Donner. 

With varying incidents and episodes, the immigrants all reached Sutter'sFort. One very attractive young lady received a proposal of marriagewhile doing her best to manage the rebellious mule on which she wasriding. The would-be lover pleaded his case well, considering theadverse circumstances, but the young lady gave not her consent. 

Twenty-six, and possibly twenty-eight, out of the forty-eight survivors, are living to-day. Noah James is believed to be alive, and JohnBaptiste was living only a short time since, at Ukiah, Mendocino County, California. Besides these two, there are twenty-six whose residencesare known. William McCutchen, who came from Jackson County, Missouri, is hale and strong, and is a highly-respected resident of San Jose, California. Mr. McCutchen is a native of Nashville, Tennessee, was aboutthirty years old at the time of the disaster, and has a clear, correctrecollection of all that transpired. Lewis Keseberg's history hasbeen pretty fully outlined in his statement. He resides in Brighton, Sacramento County, California. 

In May, 1847, Mary A. Graves married Edward Pile. He was murdered bya Spaniard in 1848, and this Spaniard was the first person hanged inCalifornia under the laws of the United States. In 1851 or 1852 Mrs. Pile married J. T. Clarke. Their children are: Robert F. , born in 1852, who is married and living at White River, Tulare County Cal. ; Mattie, born in 1854, and now the wife of P. Bequette, Jr. , of Visalia: JamesThomas, born in 1857; an infant, who died soon after birth; Belle, bornin 1860, and died in 1871; Alexander R. , born in 1865, and Daniel M. , born in 1872. Mrs. M. A. Clarke's address is White River, Tulare County, California. 

Eleanor Graves married William McDonnell about the first of September, 1849. Their children are: Ann, born September, 1850; Charles, born in1852; Mary, born in 1855, married to Lester Green, January 2, 1878, and now living on the Sacramento River, about seventeen miles below thecity; Lillie, born April 14, 1857, died in February, 1873; Franklin, born in 1860, died in March, 1873; Henry, born July, 1864; Eleanor, bornJuly, 1868; Leslie, born October, 1872, died March, 1873; Louisa, bornin 1878. Mrs. Eleanor McDonnell and family reside in Knights Valley, Sonoma County. Their address is Calistoga, California. 

Lovina Graves married John Cyrus June 5, 1856. Their children are: HenryE. , born April 12, 1859; James W. , born February 16, 1861; Mary A. , bornApril 26, 1863; Sarah Grace, born December 11, 1866; and Rachel E. , bornJanuary 27, 1873. Their address is Calistoga. 

Nancy Graves married Rev. R. W. Williamson in 1855. Their eldest, George, is an artist in Virginia City; Emily is teaching school inKnights Valley; Kate, Frederick, and Lydia Pearl are residing with theirparents at Los Gatos, Santa Clara County, Cal. 

William C. Graves is a blacksmith, living at Calistoga. He visitedTruckee this spring, examined the sites of the different cabins, and hasrendered most valuable assistance in the preparation of this history. 

The Murphys have always been well and favorably known in the bestsociety of California. Mrs. Harriet F. Pike was married at Sutter'sFort, in 1847, by Alcalde Sinclair, to M. C. Nye. Prior to the discoveryof gold, they lived about three miles above Marysville, which, at thistime, bore the name of Nye's Ranch. Mrs. Nye died in 1872, at Dalles, Oregon, and her remains were brought to Marysville and laid in thecity cemetery. Naomi L. Pike was married, in 1865, to Dr. Mitchell, ofMarysville, moved to Oregon, became a widow, and is now the wife of JohnL. Schenck. Her address is, The Dalles, Wasco County, Oregon. 

Mary M. Murphy was married, in 1848, to C. Covillaud, then of Nye'sRanch, Cal. In 1850 the city of Marysville was laid out, and was namedin honor of Mrs. Mary Covillaud. After lives of distinguished honor, Mr. And Mrs. Covillaud died, but there are now living five of theirchildren. Mary Ellen is married to a prominent stock dealer, of Dalles, Oregon; Charles J. , a very bright and promising young man, is in the lawoffice of his uncle, William G. Murphy; William P. , Frank M. , and NaomiS. , are all living at Dalles, Oregon. William G. Murphy resided atMarysville until 1849, when he went east to receive an education. Hegraduated with high honors at the State University of Missouri. He wasmarried in Tennessee, returned to the Pacific Coast in 1858, and in 1863was duly admitted a member of the bar of the Supreme Court of Nevada. Heresided and practiced his profession at Virginia City until in the fallof 1866, when he returned to Marysville, Cal. He now holds the positionof City Attorney, and has an excellent and remunerative practice. He hasa beautiful and charming home, and his family consists of himself, his wife, and seven children. His eldest, Lulie T. , was born in theTerritory of Nevada, and his second child, Kate Nye, was born inNevada subsequent to its admission as a State. William G. , Jr. , CharlesMitchell, Ernest, Harriet F. , and Leander B. Were born in Marysville. 

Simon P. Murphy went back to Tennessee, and married at his old home. He served in the Union army. He died in 1873, leaving a wife and fivechildren. 

William M. Foster gave his name to Foster's Bar, on the Yuba River. Hedied in 1874, of cancer. Of the children of Mr. And Mrs. Foster, thereare now living, Alice, born in 1848; Georgia, born in 1850; Will, bornin 1852; Minnie, born in 1855; and Hattie, born in 1858. Mrs. S. A. C. Foster has been residing in San Francisco, but her present address is, care of her brother, Wm. G. Murphy, Marysville. 

Mr. And Mrs. Reed settled with their family in San Jose, California. Mrs. Margaret Reed died on the twenty-fifth of November, 1861, and herhusband, James F. Reed, on the twenty-fourth of July, 1874. They areburied side by side, their coffins touching. Mrs. Reed died with herentire family gathered about her bedside, and few death-bed scenes everrecorded were more peaceful. As she entered the dark waters, all abouther seemed suddenly bright. She spoke of the light, and asked that thewindows be darkened. The curtains were arranged by those about her, buta moment afterward she said, "Never mind; I see you can not shut out thebright light which I see. " Looking up at the faces of her husband andchildren, she said very slowly, "I expect, when I die, I will die thisway, just as if I was going to sleep. Wouldn't it be a blessing if Idid?" The last words were uttered just as the soul took its flight. Thomas K. Reed and James F. Reed, Jr. , reside in San Jose, Cal. Thelatter was married March 16, 1879, to Sarah Adams. Virginia E. Reed wasmarried on the twenty-sixth of January, 1850, to J. M. Murphy. Theirchildren's names are, Mary M. , Lloyd M. , Mattie H. , John M. , VirginiaB. , J. Ada, Dan James, Annie Mabel, and T. Stanley. Lloyd, Mattie, andMabel are sleeping in Oak Hill Cemetery, at San Jose, Cal. Mary wasmarried to P. McAran, June 28, 1869. Mr. McAran is one of the directorsof the Hibernia Bank, and resides in San Francisco. John M. Murphy, Jr. , was married April 1, 1880, to Miss Hattie E. Watkins. Martha J. (Patty)Reed was married at Santa Cruz, Cal. , December 25, 1856, to Mr. FrankLewis. They had eight children: Kate, born October 6, 1857; Margaret B. , born June 6, 1860; Frank, born March 22, 1862; Mattie J. , born April 6, 1864; James Frazier, born August 31, 1866; a babe, born May 30, 1868, who died in infancy; Carrie E. , born September 15, 1870; and Susan A. , born December 31, 1873. Mr. Lewis died June 18, 1876. Mrs. Lewis and herchildren reside at San Jose. 

Wm. H. Eddy married Mrs. F. Alfred, at Gilroy, California, in July, 1848. They had three children: Eleanor P. , James P. , and Alonzo H. Eleanor married S. B. Anderson, in 1871, and resides in San Jose. Jamesmarried in 1875, and with his wife and two children resides in San Jose. Alonzo is a physician in Monument, Colorado. In 1854, Mr. And Mrs. Eddyseparated, and in 1856 he married Miss A. M. Pardee, of St. Louis. Mr. Eddy died December 24, 1859, at, Petaluma, California. 

Patrick Breen removed with his family from Sutter's Fort early in 1848, and permanently settled at the Mission of San Juan Bautista, in SanBenito County, California. Mr. Breen, lived to see all his children growto maturity and become happily established in life. On the twenty-firstof December, 1868, he peacefully closed his eyes to this world, surrounded by every member of his family, all of whom he preceded to thetomb. 

All the surviving members of the Breen family are still residing at ornear San Juan. John Breen married in 1852. His family, consisting of hiswife and ten children, are all living. His children's names are:Lillie M. , Edward P. , John J. , Thomas F. , Adelaide A. , Kate, Isabelle, Gertrude, Charlotte, and Ellen A. Breen. Edward J. Breen married, in1858. His wife died in 1862; leaving the following children: Eugene T. , Edward J. , and John Roger. Patrick Breen, Jr. , married in 1865; his wifeis living, and their children are Mary, William, Peter, Eugene. Simon P. Breen married in 1867; his wife is living; their children are Geneva andMary. James F. Breen, the present Superior Judge of San Benito County, married in 1870; his wife is living; their only surviving children areMargaret and Grace. Peter Breen died, unmarried, on July 3, 1870, byaccidental death. Isabella M. Breen was married in 1869, to ThomasMcMahon, and with her husband resides at Hollister, San Benito County. William M. Breen, whose portrait appears in the group of the Breenfamily, was born in San Juan in 1848, and was not of the Donner Party. He married in 1874, leaving a widow, and one child, Mary. 

Margaret Breen, the heroic woman, devoted wife, and faithful mother, had the satisfaction of living to see her infant family, for whosepreservation she had struggled so hard and wrought so ceaselessly, growto manhood and womanhood. In prosperity, as in adversity, she was evergood, kind, courageous, and "affable to the congregation of the Lord. "She was always, self-reliant, and equal to the most trying emergencies;and yet, at all times, she had a deep and abiding faith in God, andfirmly relied on the mercy and goodness of Him to whom she prayed soardently and confidently in the heavy hours of her tribulation. The hopeof her later years was that she might not be required to witness thedeath of any of her children; but it was willed differently, as two ofthem preceded her to the grave. April 13, 1874, ripe in years, lovedby the poor, honored and respected by all for her virtues and herwell-spent life, she quietly and peacefully passed from the midst of hersorrowing family to the other and better shore. 

The following lines from the pen of Miss Marcella A. Fitzgerald, thegifted poetess of Notre Dame Convent, San Jose, were published in theSan Francisco Monitor, at the time of Mrs. Breen's death:

 In Memoriam. 

 Mrs. Margaret Breen. 

 The spring's soft light, its tender, dreamy beauty Veils all the land around us, and the dome Of the blue skies is ringing with the music Of birds that come to seek their summer home. 

 But one whose heart this beauty often gladdened No more shall see the fragrant flowers expand; For her no more of earth--but fairer portion Is hers, the beauty of the Better Land;

 The beauty of that land to which with yearning Her true heart turned in faith and trust each day The land whose hope a glorious bow of promise Illumed her path across life's desert way. 

 A loving wife; a fond, devoted mother; A friend who reckoned friendship not a name; A woman who with, gentle influence brightened The hearts of all who to her presence came. 

 A halo of good deeds her life surrounded; Her crown of years was bright with deeds of love; Hers was a gift of charity whose merits A golden treasure waiteth her above. 

 Out of the wealth the Master gave unto her She clothed the needy and the hungry fed; The poor will mourn a true friend taken from them Above her will the orphan's tear be shed. 

 The orphan's prayer, a prayer of power unbounded. In grateful accents shall for her ascend, And strength and consolation for her children Down from the Savior's pitying heart descend;

 For over death the Christian's faith doth triumph-- The crown of victory shines above the Cross; Hers is the fadeless joy and ours the sorrow-- Hers is the gain and ours the bitter loss. 

 And while the hearts of kindred ache in sadness, And gloom rests on her once fair home to-day, As a true friend who mourns a loved one taken, This simple wreath upon her grave I lay. 

Chapter XXIII. 

 The Orphan Children of George and Tamsen Donner Sutter, the Philanthropist "If Mother would Only Come!" Christian and Mary Brunner An Enchanting Home "Can't You Keep Both of Us?" Eliza Donner Crossing the Torrent Earning a Silver Dollar The Gold Excitement Getting an Education Elitha C. Donner, Leanna C. Donner, Frances E. Donner, Georgia A. Donner, Eliza P. Donner. 

Unusual interest attaches to the three little orphan children mentionedin a preceding chapter. Frances, Georgia, and Eliza Donner reachedSutter's Fort in April, 1847. Here they met their two elder sisters, who, in charge of the first relief party, had arrived at the Fort a fewweeks earlier. The three little girls were pitiable-looking objects asthey gathered around the blazing fire, answering and asking questionsrespecting what had taken place since they parted with their sisters attheir mountain cabins. 

Among the first to stretch forth a helping hand to clothe the needychildren was that noble philanthropist, Capt. John A. Sutter. Othernewly-found friends gave food from their scanty supplies, and thechildren would have been comfortable for a time, had not some pilferinghand taken all that had been given them. They were again obliged to askfor food of those whom they thought would give. As the weather becamewarmer it had a cheering influence over them. They forgot their wishfor heavier clothing; but oftener repeated the more heartfelt one--"Ifmother would only come!"

Those who have suffered bereavement under similar circumstances canunderstand how fully these little girls realized their situation whenthey were told that their mother was dead. 

Not long after it became known that their parents were dead, Georgia andEliza enlisted the sympathies of a kindhearted Swiss couple, Christianand Mary Brunner, who lived a short distance from the Fort. Mrs. Brunnerbrought them bread, butter, eggs, and cheese, with the kind remark tothose in whose hands she placed the articles: "These are for the littlegirls who called me grandma; but don't give them too much at a time. " Afew days later, upon inquiring of them how they liked what she brought, grandma was told they had not had anything, and was so surprised thatshe decided to take Georgia home with her for a week. Georgia was moredelicate than her younger sister. Eliza was promised that she should betreated as kindly upon Georgia's return. The week passed, and Georgiareturned, looking stronger. She told such wonderful stories about themany cows! lots of chickens! two sheep that would not let her passunless she carried a big stick in sight! about the kindness grandma, grandpa, and Jacob, his brother, had shown to her, that it seemed toEliza the time would never come when she and grandma were to start tothat enchanting home! Such a week of pleasure! Who but that little girlcould describe it! Grandma's bread and milk gave strength to her limbsand color to her cheeks. She chased the chickens, and drove the cows;she brought chips for grandma, rode the horse for Jacob, and sat upongrandpa's knee so cheerfully, that they began to feel as if she belongedto them. But her week had come to an end! Grandma, all dressed for awalk to the Fort, sought the little girl, who was busy at play, andsaid: "Come, Eliza, I hear that Georgia is sick, and I am going to takeyou back, and bring her in your place. " The sweet little girl lookedvery grave for a moment, then glancing up with her large black eyes intothat dear old face, she took courage, and asked, with the earnestness ofan anxious child: "Grandma, can't you keep both of us?"

This simple question provided a home for both until after Hiram Millerwas appointed their guardian. He was intrusted with their money, obtained from Keseberg and from other sources. The little sisters werethen again separated. Frances had found a home in Mrs. Reed's family. Georgia was to go with grandpa, who was about to remove to Sonoma. Eliza went to her eldest sister, who was now married and living on theCosumnes River. Here she remained until winter. Then, hearing that Mr. Brunner's family and Georgia desired her return, she became so homesickthat her sister consented to her going to them. Fortunately, they heardof two families who were to move to Sonoma in a very short time, andEliza was placed in their charge. This journey was marked with manyincidents which seemed marvelous to her child-mind. The one whichimpressed itself most forcibly occurred upon their arrival at the bankof the Sonoma River. She was told that Jacob would meet her here andtake her to grandma's, and was delighted that her journey was so nearlyover. Imagine her disappointment at finding the recent rains had raisedthe river until a torrent flowed between her and her anxious friends. For days Jacob sought the slowly-decreasing flood and called acrossthe rushing stream to cheer the eager child. Finally, an Indian, whounderstood Jacob's wish, offered to carry her safely over for a silverdollar. Never did silver look brighter than that which Jacob heldbetween his fingers, above his head, that sunny morning, to satisfy theIndian that his price would be paid when he and his charge reached theother bank. 

What a picture this scene presents to the mind! There is the Indianleading his gray pony to the river's side! He examines him carefully, and puts the blanket on more securely! He waits for the approachingchild. How small she is--not five years old! How she trembles withdread as the swift current meets her eye! Yet she is anxious to go. Onepleading look in the Indian's face, and she is ready. He mounts; sheis placed behind him; her little arms are stretched tightly around hisdusky form! He presses his elbows to his sides to made her more secure, and, by signs, warns her against loosening her grasp, or she, like thepassing branches, will be the water's prey! They enter the stream. Ohhow cold the water is! They reach the middle; her grasp is tighter, andshe holds her breath with fear, for they are drifting with the currentpast where Jacob stands! But joy comes at last. They have crossed theriver. There stands the pony, shaking the water from his sides. TheIndian takes his dollar with a grunt of satisfaction, and Jacob catchesup the little girl, mounts his horse, and hurries off to grandpa's, where grandma, Leanna, and Georgia are waiting to give her a warmwelcome. 

Months passed pleasantly, but gradually changes occurred. The war withMexico ended, and gold was discovered. All the men who were able to go, hurried off to the mines to make a fortune. The little girls gave uptheir plays, for grandma was not able to do all the work, and grandpaand Jacob were away. They spent seven years with Mr. And Mrs. Brunner, They were kindly treated, but their education was neglected. In 1854, their eldest sister, Elitha, and her husband, came to Sonoma, andoffered them a home and an opportunity of attending school. This kindoffer was accepted. For six years Eliza remained in Sacramento, inthe family of her sister, Elitha. To her she was indebted for theopportunity she enjoyed of attending, for one year, with her sisterFrances and afterwards Georgia, St. Catherine's Academy, at Benicia, andthe public schools of Sacramento. 

Elitha C. Donner married Perry McCoon, who was subsequently killed by arunaway horse. On the eighth of December, 1853, Mrs. McCoon was marriedto Benj. W. Wilder. They reside on the Cosumnes River, a few miles fromElk Grove, Sacramento County, Cal. , and have six children. Leanna C. Donner was married September 26, 1852, to John App. They now reside inJamestown, Tuolumne County, Cal. , and their family consists of RebeccaE. , born February 9, 1854; John Q. , born January 19, 1864; and Lucy E. , born August 12, 1868, who reside with their parents. 

Frances E. Donner was married November 24, 1858, to William R. Wilder, and now resides at Point of Timber, Contra Costa County, Cal. Theirchildren are: Harriet, born August 24, 1859; James William, born May 30, 1863; Frances Lillian, born July 17, 1867; Asaph, born May 7, 1870;and Susan Tamsen, born September 3, 1878. Georgia A. Donner was marriedNovember 4, 1863, to W. A. Babcock. Their family consists of Henry A. , born August 23, 1864; Frank B. , born June 29, 1866; and Edith M. , bornAugust 24, 1868. Their address is Mountain View, Santa Clara County, Cal. 

Eliza P. Donner, on the tenth of October, 1861, was married to ShermanO. Houghton. Mr. Houghton was born in New York City, April 10, 1828, served in the Mexican war, was Mayor of San Jose in 1855 and 1856, represented California in the Forty-second and Forty-third Congress, and is at present a prominent member of the San Jose bar. Mr. And Mrs. Houghton have six children. The youngest living was born in Washington, D. C. , at which city his family resided during the four years he servedas member of Congress. Their children are: Eliza P. , Sherman O. , ClaraH. , Charles D. , Francis J. , and Stanley W. Their youngest born, HerbertS. , died March 18, 1878, aged twenty months. Mary M. Donner, daughter ofJacob Donner, was adopted into the family of Mr. James F. Reed, in 1848. She continued a member of this family until her marriage with Hon. S. O. Houghton, of San Jose, August 23, 1859. June 21, 1860, Mrs. Mary M. Houghton died, leaving an infant daughter, Mary M. , who is now a younglady, and a member of the family of Mr. And Mrs. Houghton. 

George Donner, Jr. , son of Jacob Donner, married Miss Margaret J. Watson, June 8, 1862. Their children now living are: Mary E. , Corn J. , George W. , John C. , Betty L. , and Frank M. Albert, their eldest, diedin 1869, and an infant son died in 1875. George Donner, Jr. , died atSebastopol, February 17, 1874. Mrs. Donner now lives with her childrenon their farm near Sebastopol, Sonoma County, California. 

Chapter XXIV. 

 Yerba Buena's Gift to George and Mary Donner An Alcalde's Negligence Mary Donner's Land Regranted Squatters Jump George Donner's Land A Characteristic Land Law Suit Vexatious Litigation Twice Appealed to Supreme Court, and Once to United States Supreme Court A Well taken Law Point Mutilating Records A Palpable Erasure Relics of the Donner Party Five Hundred Articles Buried Thirty-two Years Knives, Forks, Spoons Pretty Porcelain Identifying Chinaware Beads and Arrow-heads A Quaint Bridle Bit Remarkable Action of Rust A Flintlock Pistol A Baby's Shoe The Resting Place of the Dead Vanishing Landmarks. 

Yerba Buena's citizens, shortly after the arrival of George and MaryDonner, contributed a fund for the purpose of purchasing for each ofthem a town lot. It happened that these lots were being then distributedamong the residents of the town. Upon the petition of James F. Reed, a grant was made to George Donner of one hundred vara lot numberthirty-nine, and the adjoining lot, number thirty-eight, was granted toMary. The price of each lot was thirty-two dollars, and both were paidfor out of the fund. The grants were both entered of record by theAlcalde, George Hyde. The grant made to George was signed by theAlcalde, but that made to Mary was, through inadvertence, not signed. Asuccessor of Hyde, as Alcalde, regranted the lot of Mary Donner to oneWard, who discovered the omission of the Alcalde's name to her grant. This omission caused her to lose the lot. In 1851, a number of personssquatted on the lot of George Donner, and in 1854 brought suit againsthim in the United States Circuit Court to quiet their title. This suitwas subsequently abandoned under the belief that George Donner was dead. In 1856, a suit was instituted by George Donner, through his guardian, to recover possession of the lot. Down to the spring of 1860, but littleprogress had been made toward recovering the possession of the lot fromthe squatters. The attorneys who had thus far conducted the litigationon behalf of George Donner, were greatly embarrassed because of theirinability to fully prove the delivery of the grant to him, or to someone for him, the courts of the State having, from the first, litigationconcerning similar grants, laid down and adhered to the rule that suchgrants did not take effect unless the original grant was delivered tothe grantee. Such proof was therefore deemed indispensable. 

After such proofs upon this point as were accessible had been made, the proceedings had ceased, and for several months there had been noprospect of any further progress being made. During this time, oneYonti, who had undertaken to recover possession of the lot at his ownexpense for a share of it, had the management of the case, and hademployed an attorney to conduct the litigation. Yontz became unable, pecuniarily, to proceed further with the case, and informed Donnerof the fact, whereupon the latter induced his brother-in-law, S. O. Houghton, to attempt to prosecute his claim to some final result. Mr. Houghton applied to the court to be substituted as attorney in the case, but resistance was made by the attorney of Yontz, and the applicationwas denied. Houghton then applied to the Supreme Court for a writ ofmandate to compel the judge of the court before which the suit waspending, to order his substitution as attorney of record for Donner. This writ was granted by the Supreme Court, and in January, 1861, Mr. Houghton became the attorney of record. This suit had been broughtby Green McMahon, who had been appointed Donner's guardian for thatpurpose, and after a full examination of the case, Mr. Houghtondismissed it, and immediately commenced another in the name of GeorgeDonner, who was then of age. In the following year, February, 1862, itwas brought to trial before a jury, and after a contest which lasted tendays, a verdict was rendered in favor of Donner. 

The squatters appealed to the Supreme Court of the State where theverdict of the jury was set aside, a new trial ordered, and the casesent back for that purpose. This new trial was procured by means of anamendment of the law, regulating trials by jury in civil cases. This amendment was passed by the Legislature, at the instance of thesquatters, after the verdict had been rendered. A new trial was had in1864, before a jury, and resulted in another verdict for Donner. Thefirst trial had attracted much attention, and was frequently mentionedin the newspapers of San Francisco, and thus several persons who werepresent when the grant was made had their attention called to thecontroversy, and to the difficulty encountered in proving a delivery ofthe grant. They communicated to Donner the fact that it was deliveredfor him to William McDonald, the man with whom he lived at the time. They also narrated the circumstances attending the delivery of thegrant. This information, however, came too late for the purposes of thetrial. Prior to the second trial, the written testimony of all thesewitnesses was procured and in readiness for use when required, but itwas never required. Mr. Houghton and the attorneys whom he had calledupon to aid in the case, determined to rest its decision upon anotherground. They concluded to insist that, as it was a grant issuing fromthe government through its instrument, the Alcalde, who was investedwith authority for the purpose, no delivery of the grant was necessary, and that none was possible, as the entry on the record book of theAlcalde was the original, it bearing his official signature and being apublic record of his official act. This was a bold attack upon the rulewhich the courts had long established to the contrary. After a fullargument of the question at the second trial, the court sustainedthe view of the law taken by Mr. Houghton and his associates, and, onappeal, the decision was sustained by the Supreme Court of the State, and subsequently affirmed by the Supreme Court of the United States, before which the question was carried by writ of error. 

Donner's attorneys adopted this course because, at the first trial, thesquatters had produced the copy of the grant which had actuallybeen issued and delivered. This they had obtained possession of andmutilated, and then had surreptitiously placed it in the office of theCounty Clerk of San Francisco, who was the custodian of the records ofthe office of the Alcaldes of San Francisco. Their purpose was to makeit appear that it had never been signed or issued by the Alcalde, buthad been transferred with the other papers and records of that officeto the office of the County Clerk. This document was written on paperhaving the same watermarks as numerous other grants to other persons, admitted to be genuine, made about the same time as the grant to Donner. The body of this instrument was in the handwriting of the then clerk ofthe Alcalde, and the certificate that the Alcalde's fees had beenpaid bore the genuine signature of the clerk. There was, however, nosignature or name where the signature of the Alcalde should have been;but there was, instead, a plain, palpable erasure, easily seen byholding the paper to the light. 

George Donner lived to see his property become very valuable, but thevexatious litigation above described was not terminated until after hisdeath. Meantime, however, he sold his interest, receiving therefor aconsiderable sum of money. 

In conclusion it may be proper to speak of the many interesting relicswhich have recently been found under the former sites of the cabinsof the Donner Party. When the last relief party left Donner Lake, allarticles of minor value were left scattered here and there about thefloors and dooryards. Soon afterward the tide of emigrant travel turnedprincipally to other routes, and the Donner Lake road was comparativelydeserted. Years passed, and the loose soil, the windblown dust, thegrass and fallen leaves covered the articles from sight. It was twentyyears before men began to search for the sites of the cabins, and tocarry away little mementos of the mournful place. Nothing at this timeremained in sight save a few charred logs, and a few score of tall, unsightly stumps. Even the old pioneers had great difficulty in pointingout the location of more than one or two of the cabins. After thepreparation of this history began, the author induced several of thesurvivors to visit Donner Lake, and to assist in definitely determiningthe location and boundaries of the cabins. Digging in the earth whichthirty-two years ago formed the cabin floors, the most interestingrelics were found. A collection of over five hundred of these articlesis in the author's possession. There are spoons which are bent andrust-eaten, some of which are partially without bowls, and somedestitute of handles, the missing portions being vaguely shadowed in therust-stained earth in which they were imbedded. Knives there are whoseblades are mere skeleton outlines of what they formerly were, and whichin some instances appear to be only thin scales of rust. The tines ofthe forks are sometimes pretty well preserved, sometimes almost entirelyworn away by the action of rust. 

Among the relics found at the Breen cabin are numerous pieces of oldporcelain, and chinaware. These fragments are readily distinguishedby painted flowers, or unique designs enameled in red, blue, or purplecolors upon the pure white ground-surface of the china-ware. This wareis celebrated for the durability of its glaze or enamel, which can notbe scratched with a knife, and is not acted upon by vegetable acids. Therelics unearthed were found at a depth of from one to six inches beneaththe ground which formed the floor. A fragment of this ware, togetherwith an old-fashioned gun-flint, was sent to Hon. James F. Breen, whowrote in reply:

"The relics, piece of chinaware and gun-flint, are highly appreciated. The chinaware was at once recognized by my brother. In fact, there isone piece of the china set (a cream pitcher) still in the possession ofmy brother. The piece sent is recognizable by the decoration figures, which correspond exactly with those on the pitcher. "

There is less of the "ghastly" and "horrible" among the relics thus fardiscovered than would be supposed. There are many, like the beads andarrow-heads, which were evidently treasured by members of the party asrelics or curiosities collected while crossing the plains. There arepieces of looking-glass which reflected the sunken, starved featuresof the emigrants. Among the porcelain are pieces of pretty cups andsaucers, and dainty, expensive plates, which in those days were greatlyprized. Bits of glassware, such as tumblers, vials, and dishes, arequite numerous. Bolts, nails, screws, nuts, chains, and portions of thewagon irons, are almost unrecognizable on account of the rust. The nailsare wrought, and some of them look as if they might have been hammeredout by the emigrants. One of these nails is so firmly imbedded in rustalongside a screw, that the two are inseparable. Metallic buttons arefound well preserved, a sewing awl is quite plainly distinguishable, andan old-fashioned, quaint-looking bridle-bit retains much of its originalform. Some of the more delicate and perishable articles present thesomewhat remarkable appearance of having increased in size by theaccumulations of rust and earth in which they are encased. This isespecially the case with a darning-needle, which has increased itscircumference in places nearly one half, while in other places it iseaten away until only a mere filament of steel remains. The sharp pointof a curved sewing-awl has grown with rust until it is larger than thebody of the awl. Several fish-hooks have been found, all more or lessrust eaten. A brass pistol, single barreled, apparently a century old, was found under the Graves cabin, and near it was an old flint-lock. In the corner of the fire-place of the Reed cabin were found severalbullets and number two shot. Gun-flints, ready for use or in a crudeform, were found in each of the cabins. 

W. C. Graves visited the site of his father's cabin on the twenty-firstof April, 1879, and many articles were dug up in his presence which hereadily recognized. A large number of the leading citizens of Truckeewere present, and assisted in searching for the relics. Among otherthings was a cooper's inshave, which belonged to his father, who was acooper by trade. An iron wagon hammer was also immediately recognizedas having been used in their wagon. A small tin box, whose close-fittingcover was hermetically sealed with rust, was found, and while it wasbeing examined, one of the gentlemen, Mr. Frank Rabel, tapped it lightlywith his knife-handle. The side of the box crushed as easily as if ithad been an egg-shell. The wonderful fact connected with this relic, however, is that Mr. Graves said, before the box was crushed, that hismother kept oil of hemlock in this box, and that upon examination adistinct odor of oil of hemlock was found remaining in the box. 

A whetstone, or what might more properly be called an oil-stone, wasdiscovered at the Breen cabin. On this stone were the initials "J. F. R. , " which had evidently been cut into its surface with a knife-blade. Mrs. V. E. Murphy and Mrs. Frank Lewis, the daughters of James F. Reed, at once remembered this whetstone as having belonged to their father, and fully identified it upon examination. 

A great many pins have been found, most of which are the old-fashionedround-headed ones. A strange feature in regard to these pins isthat although bright and clean, they crumble and break at almost theslightest touch. The metal of which they are made appears to be entirelydecomposed. One of the most touching relics, in view of the sad, sadhistory, is the sole of an infant's shoe. The tiny babe who wore theshoe was probably among the number who perished of starvation. 

The big rock against which the Murphy cabin stood is half hidden bywillows and by fallen tamaracks, whose branches are interlaced so as toform a perfect net-work above the place where the cabin stood. Under thefloor of this cabin the remains of the poor victims are supposed to havebeen buried. Nature appears to have made every effort to conceal thespot. In addition to the bushes and the fallen trees there is a rankgrowth of marsh grass, whose rootlets extend far down in the soil, andfirmly resist either shovel or spade. Until very late in the summerthis mournful spot is still further protected by being inundated by thewaters of Donner Creek. It is hardly necessary to remark that no relicshave ever been found under the site of the Murphy cabin. The tall stumpswhich surround this rock, and the site of the Graves and Reed cabin, andwhich are particularly numerous around the site of the Donner tents atAlder Creek, are of themselves remarkable relics. Many of them were cutby persons who stood on the top of very deep snow. They are frequentlyten, fifteen, and twenty feet in height. Time and the action of theelements have caused them to decay until, in some instances, a child'shand might cause them to totter and fall. In a few years more they allwill have disappeared.