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THE EXPEDITION
OF THE DONNER PARTY
AND ITS TRAGIC FATE
THE EXPEDITION
OF THE DONNER PARTY
AND ITS TRAGIC FATE
BY
ELIZA P. DONNER HOUGHTON
ILLUSTRATED
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1911
/-
Copyright
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1911
Published November, 1911
I-* r
u. c.
JADEMY OF
DiFIG COAST
HISTORY
To
My Husband and my Children
and to
My Sister Georgia
This Book is Lovingly Dedicated
PEEFACE
OUT of the sunshine and shadows of sixty-eight
years come these personal recollections of Cali-
fornia — of the period when American civilization first
crossed its mountain heights and entered its overland
gateways.
I seem to hear the tread of many feet, the lowing of
many herds, and know they are the re-echoing sounds
of the sturdy pioneer homeseekers. Travel-stained
and weary, yet triumphant and happy, most of them
reach their various destinations, and their trying ex-
periences and valorous deeds are quietly interwoven
with the general history of the State.
Not so, however, the ** Donner Party," of which my
father was captain. Like fated trains of other epochs
whose privations, sufferings, and self-sacrifices have
added renown to colonization movements and served
as danger signals to later wayfarers, that party began
its journey with song of hope, and within the first
milestone of the promised land ended it with a prayer
for help. * * Help for the helpless in the storms of the
Sierra Nevada Mountains! "
And I, a child then, scarcely four years of age, was
too young to do more than watch and suffer with other
[viil
PREFACE
children the lesser privations of our snow-beleaguered
camp; and with them survive, because the fathers
and mothers hungered in order that the children might
live.
Scenes of loving care and tenderness were embla-
zoned on my mind. Scenes of anguish, pain, and dire
distress were branded on my brain during days, weeks,
and months of famine, — famine which reduced the
party from eighty-one souls to forty-five survivors, be-
fore the heroic relief men from the settlements could
accomplish their mission of humanity.
Who better than survivors knew the heart-rending
circumstances of life and death in those mountain
camps? Yet who can wonder that tenderest recollec-
tions and keenest heartaches silenced their quivering
lips for many years; and left opportunities for false
and sensational details to be spread by morbid collect-
ors of food for excitable brains, and for prolific his-
torians who too readily accepted exaggerated and
unauthentic versions as true statements!
Who can wonder at my indignation and grief in little
girlhood, when I was told of acts of brutality, in-
humanity, and cannibalism, attributed to those starved
parents, who in life had shared their last morsels of
food with helpless companions!
Who can wonder that I then resolved that, ** When
I grow to be a woman I shall tell the story of my party
so clearly that no one can doubt its truth "! Who
can doubt that my resolve has been ever kept fresh
in mind, by eager research for verification and by
[viiil
PREFACE
diligent commimication with older survivors, and res-
cuers sent to our relief, who answered my many ques-
tions and cleared my obscure points'?
And now, when blessed with the sunshine of peace
and happiness, I am finishing my work of filial love
and duty to my party and the State of my adoption,
who can wonder that I find on my chain of remem-
brance countless names marked, *^ forget me not ''?
Among the many to whom I became greatly indebted in
my young womanhood for valuable data and gracious
encouragement in my researches are General William
Tecumseh Sherman, General John A. Sutter, Mrs.
Ulysses S. Grant, Mrs. Jessie Benton Fremont, Hon-
orable Allen Francis, and C. F. McGlashan, author of
the ** History of the Donner Party.''
My fondest affection must ever cling to the dear,
quaint old pioneer men and women, whose hand-clasps
were warmth and cheer, and whose givings were like
milk and honey to my desolate childhood. For each
and all of them I have full measure of gratitude, often
pressed down, and now overflowing to their sons and
daughters, for, with keenest appreciation I learned
that, on June 10, 1910, the order of Native Sons of
the Golden West laid the comer stone of ** Donner
Monument," on the old emigrant trail near the beau-
tiful lake which bears the party's name. There the
Native Sons of the Golden West, aided by the Native
Daughters of the Golden West, propose to erect a
memorial to all overland California pioneers.
In a letter to me from Dr. C. W. Chapman, chair-
[ix]
PREFACE
man of that monument committee, is the following
forceful paragraph:
** The Donner Party has been selected by us as the
most typical and as the most varied and comprehen-
sive in its experiences of all the trains that made these
wonderful journeys of thousands of miles, so unique
in their daring, so brave, so worthy of the admiration
of man.''
Eliza P. Donner Houghton.
Los Angeles, California,
September, 1911,
[x]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
The Pacific Coast in 1845 — Speeches of Senator
Benton and Report of Capt. Fremont — My Father
AND HIS Family — Interest Awakened in the New
Territory — Formation op the First Emigrant
Party from Illinois to California — Preparations
for the Journey — The Start — On the Outskirts
of Civilization 1
CHAPTER II
In the Territory of Kansas — Prairie Schooners from
Santa Fe to Independence, Mo. — Life en route —
The Big Blue — Camp Government — The Blue
Rover . . .11
CHAPTER III
In the Haunts of the Pawnees — Letters of Mrs.
George Donner — Halt at Fort Bernard — Sioux
Indians at Fort Laramie 21
CHAPTER IV
Fourth of July in an Emigrant Party — Open Letter
OF Lansford Hastings — George Donner Elected
Captain of Party Bound for California — Enter-
ing THE Great Desert — Insufficient Supply of
Food — Volunteers Commissioned by my Father to
Hasten to Sutter's Fort for Relief . . . .30
[xi]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER V
Bewildering Guide Board — Soul-Trying Struggles —
First Snow — Reed-Snyder Tragedy — Hardcoop's
Fate 39
CHAPTER VI
Indian Depredations — Wolfinger's Disappearance —
Stanton Returns with Supplies Furnished by Capt.
Sutter — Donner Wagons Separated from Train
Forever — Terrible Piece op News — Forced into
Shelter at Donner Lake — Donner Camp on Prosser
Creek 54
CHAPTER VII
Snowbound — Scarcity op Food at Both Camps —
Watching for Return op McCutchen and Reed . 64
CHAPTER VIII
Another Storm — Four Deaths in Donner Camp — .,
Field Mice Used for Food — Changed Appearance
op the Starving — Sunshine — Departure of the
** Forlorn Hope '' — Watching for Relief — Impos-
sible TO Disturb the Bodies of the Dead in Donner
Camp — Arrival and Departure of First Relief
Party 68
CHAPTER IX
Sufferings of the '* Forlorn Hope " — Resort to Hu-
man Flesh — ** Camp of Death '* — Boots Crisped
AND Eaten — Deer Killed — Indian Bancheria —
The ** White Man's Home '' at Last . . .77
CHAPTER X
Relief Measures Inaugurated in California — Dis-
turbed Conditions because of Mexican War — Gen-
erous Subscriptions — Three Parties Organize —
[xii]
CONTENTS
''First Relief/^ under Racine Tucker; ''Second
Relief/' under Reed and Greenwood; and Relay
Camp under Woodworth — First Relief Party
Crosses Snow-Belt and Reaches Donner Lake . 91
CHAPTER XI
Watching for the Second Relief Party: — *' Old Nav-
ajo'' — Last Food in Camp . . . » . 100
CHAPTER XII
Arrival of Second Relief, or Reed-Greenwood Party
— Few Survivors Strong Enough to Travel —
Wife's Choice — Partings at Donner Camp — My
Two Sisters and I Deserted — Departure of Second
Relief Party 104
CHAPTER XIII
A Fateful Cabin — Mrs. Murphy Gives Motherly Com-
fort — The Great Storm — Half a Biscuit — Arri-
val OF Third Relief — * ' Where is My Boy ? " . . 109
CHAPTER XIV
The Quest of Two Fathers — Second Relief in Dis-
tress— Third Relief Organized at Woodworth 's
Relay Camp — Divides and One Half Goes to Suc-
cor Second Relief and Its Refugees ; and the Other
Half Proceeds to Donner Lake — A Last Farewell
— A Woman's Sacrifice 115
CHAPTER XV
Simon Murphy, Frances, Georgia, and I Taken from
THE Lake Cabins by the Third Relief — No Food to
Leave — Crossing the Snow — Remnant of the Sec-
ond Relief Overtaezen — Out of the Snow — Inci-
dents OF THE Journey — Johnson's Ranch — The
Sinclair Home — Sutter's Fort . . . .123
[xiii]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER XVI
Elitha and Leanna — Life at the Foet — "Watching
THE Cow Path — Return op the Fallon Party —
Keseberg Brought in by Them — Father and
Mother Did Not Come 132
CHAPTER XVII
Orphans — Keseberg and His Accusers — Sensational
Accounts op the Tragedy at Donner Lake — Prop-
erty Sold and Guardun Appointed — Kindly In-
dians— '* Grandpa '* — Marriage op Elitha . . 138
CHAPTER XVIII
* ' Grandma ' ' — Happy Visits — A New Home — Am
Persuaded to Leave It 147
CHAPTER XIX
On a Cattle Ranch Near the Cosumne River — *' Name
Billy*' — Indian Grub Feast 156
CHAPTER XX
I Return to Grandma — War Rumors at the Fort —
Lingering Hope that My Mother might be Living
— An Indian Convoy — The Brunners and Their
Home 165
CHAPTER XXI
Moral Discipline — The Historical Pueblo op Sonoma
— Sugar Plums 181
CHAPTER XXII
Gold Discovered — ** California is Ours" — Nursing
THE Sick — The U. S. Military Post — Burial of an
Officer ,.,.,-.,. 192
[xiv]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER XXIII
Reaping and Threshing — A Pioneer Funeral — The
Homeless and Wayfaring Appeal to Mrs. Brunner
— Return of the Miners — Social Gatherings —
Our Daily Routine — Stolen Pleasures — A Little
Dairymaid — My Dogskin Shoes .... 200
CHAPTER XXIV
Mexican Methods of Cultivation — First Steamship
through the Golden Gate — *' The Argonauts '* or
** Boys of *49 '* — A Letter from the States —
John Baptiste — Jakie Leaves Us — The First
American School in Sonoma 214
CHAPTER XXV
Fever Patients from the Mines — Unmarked Graves
— The Tales and Taunts That Wounded My Young
Heart . . 226
CHAPTER XXVI
Thank Offerings — Miss Doty's School — The Bond op
Kindred — In Jacket and Trousers — Chum
Charlie 232
CHAPTER XXVII
Capt, Frisbie — Wedding Festivities — The Master-
piece OF Grandma's Youth — Senora Vallejo —
Jakie 's Return — His Death — A Cherokee Indian
WHO HAD Stood by My Father's Grave 242
CHAPTER XXVIII
Elitha, Frances, and Mr. Miller Visit Us — Mrs. Brun-
ner Claims Us as Her Children — The Daguerreo-
type ....<, 251
[XV]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER XXIX
Great Smallpox Epidemic — St. Mart's Hall —
Thanksgiving Day in California. — Another Broth-
er-in-law 255
CHAPTER XXX
Ideals and Longings — The Future — Christmas . 264
CHAPTER XXXI
The Widow Stein and Little Johnnie — ** Daughters
OP A Sainted Mother " — Estrangement and Desola-
tion— A Resolution and a Vow — My People Ar-
rive AND Plan to Bear Me Away .... 269
CHAPTER XXXII
Grandma's Return — Good-bye to the Dumb Creatures
— Georgia, and I are Off for Sacramento . . 282
CHAPTER XXXIII
The Public Schools op Sacramento — A Glimpse of
Grandpa — The Rancho de los Cazadores — My
Sweetest Privilege — Letters from the Brunners 289
CHAPTER XXXIV
Tragedy in Sonoma — Christiajn Brunner in a Prison
Cell — St. Catherine's Convent at Benicia. — Ro-
mance OF Spanish California. — The Beautiful
Angel in Black — The Prayer of Dona Concepcion
Arguello Realized — Monastic Rites . . . 296
CHAPTER XXXV
The Chamberlain Family, Cousins of Daniel Webster
— Jefferson Grammar School — Further Conflict-
ing Accounts op the Donner Party — Paternal
Ancestry — S. 0. Houghton — Death Takes One of
THE Seven SuRvnriNG Donners . . . . . 305
[xvi]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER XXXVI
News op the Brunners — Letters from Grandpa . . 316
CHAPTER XXXVII
Arrival op the First Pony Express . w . . 321
CHAPTER XXXVIII
War and Rumors op War — Marruge — Sonoma Re-
visited 324
APPENDIX
I
Articles Published in The California Star — Statistics
OP the Party — Notes op Aguilla Glover — Extract
PROM Thornton — Recollections op John Baptistb
Trubode .....••.. 335
II
The Reed-Greenwood Party, or Second Reliep — Rem-
iniscences OP William G. Murphy — Concerning
Nicholas Clark and John Baptists . . . 345
III
The Report op Thomas Fallon — Deductions — State-
ment OP Edwin Bryant — Peculiar Circumstances 352
IV
Lewis Keseberg 360
Index . * . . • . , . • .373
[ xvii ]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
S. 0. Houghton Frontispiece
Eliza P. Donner Houghton vii
The Camp Attacked by Indians . . . • , 8
Our Stealthy Foes . . . . ^ • . • 9
Governor L. "W. Boggs 18
Corral Such as was Formed by Each Section for the Pro-
tection of its Cattle 19
Fort Laramie as it Appeared When Visited by the Donner
Party 26
Chimney Rock 27
John Baptiste Trubode ...*... 34
Frances Donner (Mrs. Wm. R. Wilder) . , . .35
Georgia Ann Donner (Mrs. W. A. Babcock) . . . 35
March of the Caravan . 56
United States Troops Crossing the Desert . . .57
Pass in the Sierra Nevadas of California . . .70
Camp at Donner Lake, November, 1846 . . . * 71
Bear Valley, from Emigrant Gap . * , . .78
The Trackless Mountains 79
Sutter's Fort ......... 92
Sam Brannan's Store at Sutter's Fort . , . .93
Arrival of Relief Party, February 18, 1847 . . . 106
Donner Lake « • . 107
Arrival of the Caravan at Santa Fe . • . . 118
On the Banks of the Sacramento River .... 119
Elitha Donner (Mrs. Benjamin Wilder) .... 134
[xix]
LIST OF ILLUSTEATIONS
PAGE
Leanna Donner (Mrs. John App) . . . . . 134
Mary Donner 135
George Donner, Nephew of Capt. Donner . . . . 135
Papooses in Bickooses ....... 158
Sutter's Mill, Where Marshall Discovered Gold, January
19, 1848 159
Plaza and Barracks of Sonoma 174
One of the Oldest Buildings in Sonoma .... 175
Old Mexican Carreta . . . . . . . 186
Residence of Judge A. L. Ehodes, a Typical California
House of the Better Class in 1849 . . . .187
Mission San Francisco Solano, Last of the Historic Mis-
sions of California . 194
Ruins of the Mission at Sonoma 195
Gold Rocker, Washing Pan, and Gold Borer . . . 206
Scene During the Rush to the Gold Mines from San
Francisco, in 1848 207
Post Office, Corner of Clay and Pike Streets, San Fran-
cisco, 1849 . . .218
Old City Hotel, 1846, Corner of Kearney and Clay Streets,
The First Hotel in San Francisco .... 219
Mrs. Brunner, Georgia and Eliza Donner . . . 256
S. 0. Houghton, Member of Col. J. D. Stevenson's First
Regiment of N. Y. Volunteers 257
Eliza P. Donner . . 257
Sacramento City in the Early Fifties .... 278
Front Street, Sacramento City, 1850 . . . .279
Pines of the Sierras .290
Col. J. D. Stevenson . . . . . . .291
General John A. Sutter 291
St. Catherine's Convent at Benicia, California . . 298
Chapel, St. Catherine's Convent 299
[XX]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Cross at Donner Lake 310
General Vallejo's Carriage, Built in England in 1832 . 326
General Vallejo's Old Jail 327
Alder Creek 340
Dennison's Exchange and the Parker House, San Fran-
cisco 341
View in the Grounds of the Houghton Home in San Jose 356
The Houghton Residence in San Jose, California . . 357
[xxii
NOTE ^
I WISH to express my appreciation of the courtesies
and assistance kindly extended me by the follow-
ing, in the preparation of the illustrations for this book :
Mr. Lynwood Abbott, ** Burr-Mclntosh Magazine,''
Mr. J. A. Munk, donor of the Munk Library of Ari-
zoniana to the Southwest Museum, Mr. Hector Alliot,
Curator of the Southwest Museum, the officers and
attendants of the Los Angeles Public Library, Miss
Meta C. Stofen, City Librarian, Sonoma, Cal., Miss
Elizabeth Benton Fremont, Mr. C. M. Hunt, Editor
** Grizzly Bear," the Dominican Sisters of St. Cath-
erine's Convent at Benicia, Cal., and Mrs. C. C.
Maynard.
E. P. D. H.
THE EXPEDITION OF THE
DONNER PARTY
CHAPTER I
THE PACIFIC COAST IN 1845 — SPEECHES OF SENATOR BEN-
TON AND REPORT OF CAPT. FREMONT MY FATHER AND
HIS FAMILY INTEREST AWAKENED IN THE NEW TER-
RITORY— FORMATION OF THE FIRST EMIGRANT PARTY
FROM ILLINOIS TO CALIFORNIA PREPARATIONS FOR THE
JOURNEY THE START ON THE OUTSKIRTS OP
CIVILIZATION.
PRIOR to the year 1845, that great domain lying
west of the Rocky Mountains and extending to
the Pacific Ocean was practically unknown. About that
time, however, the spirit of inquiry was awakening.
The powerful voice of Senator Thomas H. Benton was
heard, both in public address and in the halls of Con-
gress, calling attention to Oregon and California.
Captain John C. Fremont's famous topographical re-
port and maps had been accepted by Congress, and
ten thousand copies ordered to be printed and dis-
tributed to the people throughout the United States.
The commercial world was not slow to appreciate the
[1]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
value of those distant and hitherto unfrequented har-
bors. Tales of the equable climate and the marvellous
fertility of the soil spread rapidly, and it followed
that before the close of 1845, pioneers on the western
frontier of our ever expanding republic were prepar-
ing to open a wagon route to the Pacific coast.
After careful investigation and consideration, my
father, George Donner, and his elder brother, Jacob,
decided to join the westward migration, selecting Cal-
ifornia as their destination. My mother was in accord
with my father's wishes, and helped him to carry out
his plan.
At this time he was sixty-two years of age, large,
fine-looking, and in perfect health. He was of Ger-
man parentage, bom of Revolutionary stock just after
the close of the war. The spirit of adventure, with
which he was strongly imbued, had led him in his
youth from North Carolina, his native State, to the
land of Daniel Boone, thence to Indiana, to Illinois, to
Texas, and ultimately back to Illinois, while still in
manhood's prime.
By reason of his geniality and integrity, he was
widely known as '* Uncle George " in Sangamon
County, Illinois, where he had broken the virgin soil
two and a half miles from Springfield, when that place
was a small village. There he built a home, acquired
wealth, and took an active part in the development of
the country round about.
Twice had he been married, and twice bereft by
death when he met my mother, Tamsen Eustis Dozier,
[21
STUDY OF PACIFIC COAST
then a widow, wliom he married May 24, 1839. She
was a native of Newburyport, Massachusetts. She was
cultured, and had been a successful teacher and writer.
Their home became the local literary centre after she
was installed as its mistress.
My father had two sons and eight daughters when
she became his wife ; but their immediate family circle
consisted only of his aged parents, and Elitha and
Leanna, young daughters of his second marriage, un-
til July 8, 1840, when blue-eyed Frances Eustis was
born to them. On the fourth of December, 1841,
brown-eyed Georgia Ann was added to the number;
and on the eighth of March, 1843, I came into this
world.
I grew to be a healthy, self-reliant child, a staff to
my sister Georgia, who, on account of a painful acci-
dent and long illness during her first year, did not
learn to walk steadily until after I was strong enough
to help her to rise, and lead her to a sand pile near the
orchard, where we played away the bright days of two
uneventful years.
With the approaching Winter of 1845 popular inter-
est in the great territory to the west of us spread to
our community. Maps and reports were eagerly stud-
ied. The few old letters which had been received
from traders and trappers along the Pacific coast were
brought forth for general perusal. The course of the
reading society which met weekly at our home was
changed, in order that my mother might read to those
assembled the publications which had kindled in my
[3]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
father and uncle the desire to migrate to the land so
alluringly described. Prominent among these works
were " Travels Among the Rocky Mountains, Through
Oregon and California," by Lansford W. Hastings,
and also the ** Topographical Report, with Maps At-
tached," by Captain Fremont, which has been already
mentioned.
The Springfield Journal, published by Mr. Allen
Francis, appeared with glowing editorials, strongly
advocating emigration to the Pacific coast, and its col-
umns contained notices of companies forming in
Southern and Southwestern States, each striving to
be ready to join the '* Great Overland Caravan,"
scheduled to leave Independence, Missouri, for Ore-
gon, early in May, 1846.
Mr. James F. Reed, a well-known resident of Spring-
field, was among those who urged the formation of a
company to go directly from Sangamon County to Cal-
ifornia. Intense interest was manifested; and had it
not been for the widespread financial depression of
that year, a large number would have gone from that
vicinity. The great cost of equipment, however, kept
back many who desired to make the long journey.
As it was, James F. Reed, his wife and four chil-
dren, and Mrs. Keyes, the mother of Mrs. Reed; Ja-
cob Donner, his wife, and seven children ; and George
Donner, his wife, and five children; also their team-
sters and camp assistants, — thirty-two persons all
told, — constituted the first emigrant party from Illi-
nois to California. The plan was to join the Oregon
[4]
EQUIPMENT OF SETTLERS
caravan at Independence, Missouri, continue with it to
Fort Hall, and thence follow Fremont's route to the
Bay of San Francisco.
The preparations made for the journey by my par-
ents were practical. Strong, commodious emigrant
wagons were constructed especially for the purpose.
The oxen to draw them were hardy, well trained, and
rapid walkers. Three extra yoke were provided for
emergencies. Cows were selected to furnish milk on
the way. A few young beef cattle, five saddle-horses,
and a good watch-dog completed the list of live stock.
After carefully calculating the requisite amount of
provisions, father stored in his wagons a quantity that
was deemed more than sufl&cient to last until we should
reach California. Seed and implements for use on the
prospective farms in the new country also constituted
an important part of our outfit. Nor was that all.
There were bolts of cheap cotton prints, red and yel-
low flannels, bright-bordered handkerchiefs, glass
beads, necklaces, chains, brass finger rings, earrings,
pocket looking-glasses and divers other knickknacks
dear to the hearts of aborigines. These were intended
for distribution as peace offerings among the Indians.
Lastly, there were rich stores of laces, muslins, silks,
satins, velvets and like cherished fabrics, destined to
be used in exchange for Mexican land-grants in that
far land to which we were bound.
My mother was energetic in all these preparations,
but her special province was to make and otherwise
get in readiness a bountiful supply of clothing. She
V [5]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
also superintended the purchase of materials for
women's handiwork, apparatus for preserving botan-
ical specimens, water colors and oU paints, books and
school supplies ; these latter being selected for use in
the young ladies' seminary which she hoped to estab-
lish in California.
A liberal sum of money for meeting incidental ex-
penses and replenishing supplies on the journey, if
need be, was stored in the compartments of two wide
buckskin girdles, to be worn in concealment about the
person. An additional sum of ten thousand dollars,
cash, was stitched between the folds of a quilt for
safe transportation. This was a large amount for
those days, and few knew that my parents were
carrying it with them. I gained my information con-
cerning it in later years from Mr. Francis, to whom
they showed it.
To each of his grown children my father deeded a
fair share of his landed estate, reserving one hundred
and ten acres near the homestead for us five younger
children, who in course of time might choose to re-
turn to our native State.
As time went on, our preparations were frequently
interrupted by social obligations, farewell visits, din-
ners, and other merrymakings with friends and kin-
dred far and near. Thursday, April 15, 1846, was the
day fixed for our departure, and the members of our
household were at work before the rosy dawn. We
children were dressed early in our new linsey travel-
ling suits ; and as the final packing progressed, we often
[6]
FAEEWELL TO ILLINOIS HOME
peeped out of the window at the three big white cov-
ered wagons that stood in our yard.
In the first were stored the merchandise and arti-
cles not to be handled until they should reach their
destination; in the second, provisions, clothing, camp
tools, and other necessaries of camp life. The third
was our family home on wheels, with feed boxes at-
tached to the back of the wagon-bed for Fanny and
Margaret, the favorite saddle-horses, which were to
be kept ever close at hand for emergencies.
Early in the day, the first two wagons started, each
drawn by three yoke of powerful oxen, whose great
moist eyes looked as though they too had parting tears
to shed. The loose cattle quickly followed, but it was
well on toward noon before the family wagon was
ready.
Then came a pause fraught with anguish to the dear
ones gathered about the homestead to say farewell.
Each tried to be courageous, but not one was so brave
as father when he bade good-bye to his friends, to his
children, and to his children's children.
I sat beside my mother with my hand clasped in
hers, as we slowly moved away from that quaint old
house on its grassy knoll, from the orchard, the com
land, and the meadow; as we passed through the last
pair of bars, her clasp tightened, and I, glancing up,
saw tears in her eyes and sorrow in her face. I was
grieved at her pain, and in sympathy nestled closer to
her side and sat so quiet that I soon fell asleep. When
I awoke, the sun still shone, but we had encamped for
[7]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
the night on the ground where the State House of Illi-
nois now stands.
Mr. Reed and family, and my uncle Jacob and fam-
ily, with their travelling equipments and cattle, were
already settled there. Under father's direction, our
own encampment was soon accomplished. By night-
fall, the duties of the day were ended, and the mem-
bers of our party gathered around one fire to spend
a social hour.
Presently, the clatter of galloping horses was heard,
and shortly thereafter eight horsemen alighted, and
with merry greetings joined our circle. They were
part of the reading society, and had come to hold its
last reunion beside our first camp-fire. Mr. Francis
was among them, and took an inventory of the com-
pany's outfit for the benefit of the readers of The
Springfield Journal.
They piled more wood on the blazing fire, making it
a beacon light to those who were watching from afar ;
they sang songs, told tales, and for the time being
drove homesickness from our hearts. Then they rode
away in the moonlight, and our past was a sweet mem-
ory, our future a beautiful dream.
William Donner, my half-brother, came to camp
early next morning to help us to get the cattle started,
and to accompany us as far as the outskirts of
civilization.
We reached Independence, Missouri, on the eleventh
of May, with our wagons and cattle in prime condition,
and our people in the best of spirits. Our party en-
[81
OUTFITTING AT INDEPENDENCE
camped near that bustling frontier town, and were
soon a part of the busy crowds, making ready for the
great prairie on the morrow. Teams thronged the
highways ; troops of men, women, and children hurried
nervously about seeking information and replenish-
ing supplies. Jobbers on the street were crying their
wares, anxious to sell anything or everything re-
quired, from a shoestring to a complete outfit for a
four months' journey across the plains. Beads of
sweat clung to the merchants' faces as they rushed to
and fro, filling orders. Brawny blacksmiths, with
breasts bared and sleeves rolled high, hammered and
twisted red hot metal into the divers forms necessary
to repair yokes and wagons.
Good fellowship prevailed as strangers met, each
anxious to learn something of those who might by
chance become his neighbors in line.
Among the pleasant acquaintances made that day,
was Mr. J. Q. Thornton, a young attorney from
Quincy, Illinois, who, with his invalid wife, was emi-
grating to Oregon. He informed us that himself and
wife and ex-Governor Boggs and family, of Missouri,
were hourly expecting Alphonso Boone, grandson of
Daniel Boone; and that as soon as Boone and his fam-
ily should arrive from Kentucky, they would all hasten
on to join Colonel Eussell's California company, which
was already on the way, but had promised to await
them somewhere on the Kansas Eiver.
It was then believed that at least seven thousand
emigrant wagons would go West, through Independ-
[9]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
ence, that season. Obviously the journey should be
made while pasturage and water continued plentiful
along the route. Our little party at once determined
to overtake Colonel Russell and apply for admission
to his train, and for that purpose we resumed travel
early on the morning of May twelfth.
As we drove up Main Street, delayed emigrants
waved us a light-hearted good-bye, and as we ap-
proached the building of the American Tract Society,
its agent came to our wagons and put into the hand
of each child a New Testament, and gave to each adult
a Bible, and also tracts to distribute among the hea-
then in the benighted land to which we were going.
Near the outskirts of town we parted from William
Donner, took a last look at Independence, turned our
backs to the morning sun, and became pioneers indeed
to the Far West.
[101
CHAPTER II
IN THE TERKITOKY OF KANSAS PRAIRIE SCHOONERS FROM
SANTA FE TO INDEPENDENCE, MO. LIFE eU TOUte
THE BIG BLUE CAMP GOVERNMENT THE Blue
Rover,
DURING our first few days in the Territory of
Kansas we passed over g«od roads, and through
fields of May blossoms musical with the hum of bees
and the songs of birds. Some of the party rode horse-
back; others walked in advance of the train; but each
father drove his own family team. We little folk sat
in the wagons with our dolls, watching the huge white-
covered " prairie schooners " coming from Santa Fe
to Independence for merchandise. We could hear
them from afar, for the great wagons were drawn by
four or five span of travel-worn horses or mules, and
above the hames of each poor beast was an arch hung
with from three to five clear-toned bells, that jingled
merrily as their carriers moved along, guided by a
happy-go-lucky driver, usually singing or whistling a
gleeful tune. Both man and beast looked longingly
toward the town, which promised companionship and
revelry to the one, and rest and fodder to the other.
We overtook similar wagons, heavily laden with
goods bound for Santa Fe. Most of the drivers were
[11]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PARTY
shrewd; all of them civil. They were of various na-
tionalities; some comfortably clad, others in tatters,
and a few in picturesque threadbare costumes of
Spanish finery. Those hardy wayfarers gave us much
valuable information regarding the route before us,
and the Indian tribes we should encounter. We were
now averaging a distance of about two and a half miles
an hour, and encamping nights where fuel and water
could be obtained.
Early on the nineteenth of May we reached Colonel
EusselPs camp on Soldiers' Creek, a tributary of the
Kansas River. The following account of the meeting
held by the company after our arrival is from the jour-
nal of Mr. Edwin Bryant, author of ^* What I Saw in
California ":
May 19, 1846. A new census of our party was taken
this morning ; and it was found to consist of 98 fighting men,
50 women, 46 wagons, and 350 cattle. Two divisions were
made for convenience in travelling. We were joined to-day
by nine wagons from Illinois belonging to Mr. Reed and
Messrs. Donner, highly respectable and intelligent gentlemen
with interesting families. They were received into the com-
pany by a unanimous vote.
Our cattle were allowed to rest that day; and while
the men were hunting and fishing, the women spread
the family washings on the boughs and bushes of that
well-wooded stream. We children, who had been con-
fined to the wagon so many hours each day, stretched
our limbs, and scampered off on Mayday frolics. We
waded the creek, made mud pies, and gathered posies
in the narrow glades between the cottonwood, beech,
and alder trees. Colonel Russell was courteous to all ;
[12]
OEGANIZATION OF EMIGRANT TRAIN
visited the new members, and secured their cheerful
indorsement of his carefully prepared plan of travel.
He was at the head of a representative body of pio-
neers, including lawyers, journalists, teachers, stu-
dents, farmers, and day-laborers, also a minister of the
gospel, a carriage-maker, a cabinet-maker, a stone-
mason, a jeweller, a blacksmith, and women versed in
all branches of woman's work.
The government of these emigrant trains was essen-
tially democratic and characteristically American. A
captain was chosen, and all plans of action and rules
and regulations were proposed at a general assembly,
and accepted or rejected by majority vote. Conse-
quently, Colonel Russell's function was to preside
over meetings, lead the train, locate camping ground,
select crossings over fordable streams, and direct the
construction of rafts and other exDedients for trans-
portation over deep waters.
A trumpet call aroused the camp at dawn the fol-
lowing morning; by seven o'clock breakfast had been
cooked and served, and the company was in marching
order. The weather was fine, and we followed the trail
of the Kansas Indians, toward the Big Blue.
At nooning our teams stood in line on the road
chewing the cud and taking their breathing spell, while
families lunched on the grass in restful picnic style.
Suddenly a gust of wind swept by; the sky turned a
greenish gray; black clouds drifted over the face of
the sun; ominous sounds came rumbling from distant
hills, and before our effects could be collected and
[13]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
returned to cover, a terrific tliunderstorm was
upon us.
We were three hours' distance from our evening
camp-ground and our drivers had to walk and face that
buffeting storm in order to keep control of the nervous
cattle. It was still raining when we reached the knoll
where we could spend the night. Our men were tired
and drenched, some of them cross; fires were out of
the question until fuel could be cut and brought from
the edge of a swamp a mile from camp. When
brought, the green wood smoked so badly that suppers
were late and rather cheerless; still there was spirit
enough left in those stalwart hearts to start some
mirth-provoking ditty, or indulge in good-natured
raillery over the joys and comforts of pioneering.
Indians had followed our train all day, and as we
had been warned against leaving temptation within
reach, the cattle were corralled early and their guards
doubled. Happily, the night passed without alarm or
losses. The following day we were joined by ex-Gov-
ernor Boggs and companions, and lost Mr. Jordan and
friends of Jackson, Missouri, who drew their thirteen
wagons out of line, saying that their force was strong
enough to travel alone, and that Captain Russell's
company had become too large for rapid or convenient
handling.
We covered fourteen miles that day over a beautiful
rolling prairie, dotted with Indian lodges. Frequently
their owners walked or rode beside our wagons, ask-
ing for presents.
[14]
TEADE WITH THE INDIANS
Mrs. Kehi-go-wa-chuck-ee was made happy by the
gift of a dozen strings of glass beads, and the chief
also kindly accepted a few trinkets and a contribution
of tobacco, and provisions, after which he made the
company understand that for a consideration payable
in cotton prints, tobacco, salt pork, and flour, he him-
self and his trusted braves would become escort to
the train in order to protect its cattle from harm, and
its wagons from the pilfering hands of his tribesmen.
His offer was accepted, with the condition that he
should not receive any of the promised goods until the
last wagon was safe beyond his territory. This bar-
gain was faithfully kept, and when we parted from
the Indians, they proceeded to immediate and hilari-
ous enjoyment of the unwonted luxuries thus earned.
We were now in line with spring storms, which made
us victims of frequent downpours and cyclonic winds.
The roads were heavy, and the banks of streams so
steep that often the wagons had to be lowered by aid
of rope and chain. Fortunately our people were able
to take these trying situations philosophically, and
were ever ready to enjoy the novelties of intervening
hours of calm and sunshine.
The staid and elderly matrons spent most of their
time in their wagons, knitting or patching designs for
quilts. The younger ones and the girls passed theirs
in the saddle. They would scatter in groups over the
plains to investigate distant objects, then race back,
and with song and banter join husband and brother,
driving the loose cattle in the rear. The wild, free
[15]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
spirit of the plain often prompted them to invite ns
little ones to seats behind them, and away we would
canter with the breeze playing through our hair and
giving a ruddy glow to our cheeks.
Mr. Edwin Bryant, Mr. and Mrs. Thornton, and my
mother were enthusiastic searchers for botanical and
geological specimens. They delved into the ground,
turning over stones and scraping out the crevices, and
zealously penetrated the woods to gather mosses,
roots, and flowering plants. Of the rare floral speci-
mens and perishable tints, my mother made pencil and
water-color studies, having in view the book she was
preparing for publication.
On ascending the bluff overlooking the Big Blue,
early on the afternoon of the twenty-sixth of May, we
found the river booming, and the water still rising.
Driftwood and good sized logs were floating by on a
current so strong that all hope of fording it vanished
even before its depth was measured. We encamped on
the slope of the prairie, near a timber of cottonwood,
oak, beech, and sycamore trees, where a clear brook
Tushed over its stony bed to join the Big Blue. Cap-
tain Russell, with my father and other sub-leaders,
examined the river banks for marks of a ford.
By sunset the river had risen twenty inches and the
water at the ford was two hundred yards in width. A
general meeting was called to discuss the situation.
Many insisted that the company, being comfortably
settled, should wait until the waters receded; but the
majority agreeing with the Captain, voted to construct
[16]
GOVERNMENT AMONG EMIGRANTS
a raft suitable to carry everything except the live
stock, which could be forced to swim.
The assembly was also called upon to settle a dif-
ference between two members of our Oregon contin-
gent, friendly intervention having induced the
disputants to suspend hostilities until their rights
should be thus determined. The assembly, however,
instead of passing upon the matter, appointed a com-
mittee to devise a way out of the difficulty. J. Q.
Thornton's work, ** Oregon and California," has this
reference to that committee, whose work was signifi-
cant as developed by later events :
Ex-Governor Boggs, Mr. James F. Reed, Mr. George
Donner, and others, myself included, convened in a tent
according to appointment of a general assembly of the emi-
grants, with the design of preparing a system of laws for the
purpose of preserving order, etc. We proposed a few laws
without, however, believing that they would possess much
authority. Provision was made for the appointment of a
court of arbitrators to hear and decide disputes, and to try
offenders against the peace and good order of the company.
The fiercest thunderstorm that we had yet experi-
enced raged throughout that night, and had we not
been protected by the bluff on one side, and the timber
on the other, our tents would have been carried away
by the gale.
The Big Blue had become so turbulent that work
on the prospective craft was postponed, and our peo-
ple proceeded to make the most of the unexpected
holiday. Messrs. Grayson and Branham found a bee
tree, and brought several buckets of delicious honey
into camp. Mr. Bryant gathered a quantity of wild
[17]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
peas, and distributed them among the friends who
had spices to turn them into sweet pickles.
The evening was devoted to friendly intercourse,
and the camp was merry with song and melodies dear
to loved ones around the old hearthstones.
Meanwhile, Captain Russell had drawn a plan of the
craft that should be built, and had marked the cotton-
wood trees on the river bank, half a mile above camp,
that would furnish the necessary materials.
Bright and early the following morning, volunteer
boat-builders went to work with a will, and by the
close of day had felled two trees about three and a half
feet in diameter, had hollowed out the trunks, and
made of them a pair of canoes twenty-five feet in
length. In addition to this, they had also prepared
timbers for the frames to hold them parallel, and in-
sure the wagon wheels a steady place while being fer-
ried across the river.
The workers were well satisfied with their accom-
plishment. There was, however, sorrow instead of
rejoicing in camp, for Mrs. Reed's aged mother, who
had been failing for some days, died that night. At
two o'clock the next afternoon, she was buried at the
foot of a monarch oak, in a neat cottonwood cofiin,
made by men of the party, and her grave was marked
by a headstone.
The craft being finished on the morning of the
thirtieth of May, was christened Blue Rover, and
launched amid cheers of the company. Though not a
[18]
GOVERNOR L. W. BOGGS
CROSSING THE RIVER
thing of beauty, she was destined to fulfil the expecta-
tions of our worthy Captain. One set of guide-ropes
held her in place at the point of embarkation, while
swimmers on horseback carried another set of ropes
across the river and quickly made them fast. Only
one wagon at a time could cross, and great difficulty
was experienced in getting the vehicles on and off the
boat. Those working near the bank stood in water up
to their armpits, and frequently were in grave peril.
By the time the ninth wagon was safely landed, dark-
ness fell.
The only unforeseen delay that had occurred was
occasioned by an awkward slip of the third wagon
while being landed. The Blue Rover groaned under
the shock, leaned to one side and swamped one of
the canoes. However, the damage was slight and
easily repaired. The next day was Sunday; but the
work had to go on, and the Rev. Mr. Cornwall was as
ready for it as the rest of the toilers.
Much anxiety was experienced when the cattle were
forced into the water, and they had a desperate strug-
gle in crossing the current ; but they finally reached the
opposite bank without accident. Each family em-
barked in its own wagon, and the last was ferried over
in the rain at nine o'clock that night. The ropes were
then detached from the Blue Rover, and she drifted
away in the darkness.
Captain Russell had despatched matters vigorously
and tactfully, and when the labors of that day were
[19]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
completed, still had a word of cheer for the shivering,
hungry travellers, whom he led into camp one mile
west of the memorable Big Blue. Despite stiff joints
and severe colds, all were anxious to resume travel at
the usual hour next day, June the first.
[20]
CHAPTEE III
IN THE HAUNTS OF THE PAWNEES LETTEKS OP MRS.
GEOEGE DONNER HALT AT PORT BERNARD SIOUX IN-
DIANS AT PORT LARAMIE.
WE were now near the haunts of the Pawnee In-
dians, reported to be ** vicious savages and
daring thieves." Before us also stretched the sum-
mer range of the antelope, deer, elk, and buffalo. The
effort to keep out of the way of the Pawnees, and the
desire to catch sight of the big game, urged us on at
a good rate of speed, but not fast enough to keep our
belligerents on good behavior. Before night they had
not only renewed their former troubles, but come to
blows, and insulted our Captain, who had tried to sep-
arate them. How the company was relieved of them
is thus told in Mr. Bryant's Journal:
June 2, 1846, the two individuals at variance about their
oxen and wagon were emigrants to Oregon, and some
eighteen or twenty wagons now travelling with us were bound
to the same place.
It was proposed in order to relieve ourselves from con-
sequences of dispute in which we had no interest, that all
Oregon emigrants should, in respectful manner and friendly
spirit, be requested to separate themselves from the Califor-
nia, and start on in advance of us. The proposition was
unanimously carried; and the spirit in which it was made
prevented any bad feeling which otherwise might have
resulted from it. The Oregon emigrants immediately drew
their wagons from the corrals and proceeded on their way.
[21]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
The Oregon company was never so far in advance
that we could not hear from it, and on various occa-
sions, some of its members sent to us for medicines
and other necessaries.
Our fear of the Pawnees diminished as we pro- .
ceeded, and met in their haunts only friendly Indians
returning from the hunt, with ponies heavily laden I
with packs of jerked meats and dried buffalo tongues.
At least one brave in each party could make himself ;
understood by word or sign. Many could pronounce i
the one word ** hogmeat," and would show what they
had to exchange for the coveted luxury. Others also
begged for ** tobac," and sugar, and generally got a
little.
A surprising number of trappers and traders, re-
turning to the United States with their stocks of pel-
try, camped near us from time to time. They were
glad to exchange information, and kept us posted in
regard to the condition of the migrants, and the num-
ber of wagons on the road in advance. These rough-
looking fellows courteously offered to carry the
company's mail to the nearest post-office. Mr. Bryant
and my mother availed themselves of the kindness, and
sent letters to the respective journals of which they
were correspondents.
Another means of keeping in touch with travelling
parties in advance was the accounts that were fre-
quently found written on the bleaching skulls of ani-
mals, or on trunks of trees from which the bark had
been stripped, or yet again, on pieces of paper stuck
[22] j
LETTERS BY MRS. DONNER
in the clefts of sticks driven into the ground close to
the trail. Thus each company left greetings and
words of cheer to those who were following. Lost
cattle were also advertised by that means, and many
strays or convalescents were found and driven for-
ward to their owners.
Early June afforded rarest sport to lovers of the
chase, and our company was kept bountifully supplied
with choicest cuts of antelope, deer, and elk meat, also
juicy buffalo steak. By the middle of the month, how-
ever, our surroundings were less favorable. We en-
tered a region of oppressive heat. Clouds of dust
enveloped the train. Wood became scarce, and water
had to be stored in casks and carried between supply
points. We passed many dead oxen, also a number of
poor cripples that had been abandoned by their un-
feeling owners. Our people, heeding these warnings,
gave our cattle extra care, and lost but few.
Through the kindness of the Hon. Allen Francis,
U. S. Consul at Victoria, British Columbia, for a long
term of years, and in his earlier career editor of The
Springfield Journal, I have in my possession two let-
ters written by my mother for this paper. They give
a glimpse of the party en route. The interval of time
which elapsed between the date of writing and that
of publication indicates how much faster our trapper
letter-carriers must have travelled on horseback than
we had by ox train.
The following was published on the twenty-third of
July:
[23]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
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 Fort
Laramie. 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 heat surpris-
ingly. We had this morning buffalo steaks broiled upon
them that had the same flavor they would have had upon
hickory coals.
We feel no fear of Indians, our cattle graze quietly around
our encampment unmolested.
Two or three men will go hunting twenty miles from camp ;
and last night two of our men lay out in the wilderness
rather than ride their horses after 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 not needed much repair, and I can not yet
tell in what respects they could be improved. Certain it is,
they can not be too strong. Our preparations for the jour-
ney might have been in some respects bettered.
Bread has been the principal article of food in our camp.
We laid in 150 pounds of flour and 75 pounds of meat for
each individual, and I fear bread will be scarce. Meat is
abundant. Rice and beans are good articles on the road;
cornmeal, too, is acceptable. Linsey dresses are the most
suitable 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 does not feel so hot as one would suppose.
We are now four hundred and fifty miles from Independ-
ence. Our route at first was rough, and through a timbered
country, which appeared to be fertile. After striking the
prairie, we found a first-rate road, and the only 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 travelled so far
with so little difficulty. The prairie between the Blue and
the Platte rivers is beautiful beyond description. Never have
I seen so varied a country, so suitable for cultivation. Every-
[24]
LETTERS TO SPRINGFIELD JOURNAL
thing was new and pleasing; the Indians frequently come to
see us, and the chiefs of a tribe breakfasted at our tent this
morning. All are so friendly that I can not help feeling
sympathy 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 side and the ever varying mounds on the other, and
have travelled through the bottom 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, the emigrants found
grass here scarce. Our cattle are in good order, and when
proper care has been taken, none have been lost. Our milch
cows have been of great service, indeed. They have been of
more advantage than our meat. We have plenty of butter
and milk.
We are commanded by Captain Russell, an amiable man.
George Donner is himself yet. He crows in the morning and
shouts out, * ' Chain up, boys ! chain up ! ' ' with as much
authority as though he was *' something in particular."
John Denton is still with us. We find him useful in the
camp. Hiram Miller and Noah James are in good health
and doing well. We have of the best people in our company,
and some, too, that are not so good.
Buffaloes show themselves frequently.
We have found the wild tulip, the primrose, the lupine,
the eardrop, the larkspur, and creeping hollyhock, and a
beautiful flower resembling the blossom 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 hundred and twenty wagons, as far as we have
heard, on the road between here and Oregon and California.
Give our love to all inquiring friends. God bless them.
Yours truly,
Mrs. George Donner.
The following extract is part of a letter which ap-
peared in The Springfield Journal of July 30, 1846 * :
* When Mr. Francis was appointed TJ. S. Consul by President
Lincoln, he stored his files of The Springfield, Illinois, Journal, and upon
his return from Victoria, B. C, found the files almost destroyed by attic
[25]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
South Fork of the Nebraska,
Ten Miles from the Crossing,
Tuesday, June 16, 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
well acquainted with Messrs. Ide and Cadden Keyes, the
latter of whom, he says, went to California. They met
the advance Oregon caravan about 150 miles west of Fort
Laramie, and counted in all, for Oregon and California
(excepting ours), 478 wagons. There are in our company
over 40 wagons, making 518 in all; and there are said to be
yet 20 behind. To-morrow we cross the river, and, by reck-
oning, will be over 200 miles from 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
wood here, and our women and children are out now gath-
ering * * buffalo chips * ' to burn, in order to do the cooking.
These chips burn well.
Mrs. George Donner.
On the eighteenth of June, Captain Russell, who
had been stricken with bilious fever, resigned his office
of leader. My father and other subordinate officers
also resigned their positions. The assembly tendered
the retiring officials a vote of thanks for faithful serv-
ice ; and by common consent, ex-Governor Boggs moved
at the head of the train and gave it his name.
We had expected to push on to Fort Laramie with-
out stopping elsewhere, but when we reached Fort
Bernard, a small fur-trading post ten miles east of
Fort Laramie, we learned that the Sioux Indians were
gathering on Laramie Plain, preparing for war with
the Crows, and their allies, the Snakes; also that the
rodents, and my mother 's earlier contributions in verse and prose, as well
as her letters while en route to California were practically illegible.
[26]
AERIVAL AT FORT LARAMIE
emigrants already encamped there found pasturage
very short. Consequently, our train halted at this
more advantageous point, where our cattle could be
sent in charge of herders to browse along the Platte
River, and where the necessary materials could be ob-
tained to repair the great damage which had been
done to our wagon wheels by the intense heat of the
preceding weeks.
Meanwhile, Messrs. Russell and Bryant, with six
young bachelor friends, found an opportunity to fin-
ish their journey with pack animals. They exchanged
with traders from New Mexico their wagons and teams
for the requisite number of saddle-horses, mules, pack-
saddles, and other equipment, which would enable
them to reach California a month earlier than by
wagon route.
Both parties broke camp at the same hour on the
last day of June, they taking the bridle trail to the
right, and we turning to the left across the ridge to
Fort Laramie.
Not an emigrant tent was to be seen as we ap-
proached the fort, but bands of horses were grazing
on the plain, and Indians smeared with war-paint,
and armed with hunting knives, tomahawks, bows and
arrows, were moving about excitedly. They did not
appear to notice us as we drove to the entrance of the
strongly fortified walls, surrounding the buildings of
the American Fur Company, yet by the time we were
ready to depart, large crowds were standing close to
our wagons to receive the presents which our people
[27]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
had to distribute among them. Many of the squaws
and papooses were gorgeous in white doe skin suits,
gaudily trimmed with beads, and bows of bright rib-
bons. They formed a striking contrast to us, travel-
stained wayfarers in linsey dresses and sun-bonnets.
Most of the white men connected with the fort had
taken Indian wives and many little children played
around their doors.
Mr. Bourdeau, the general manager at the fort, ex-
plained to us that the emigrants who had remained
there up to the previous Saturday were on that day
advised by several of the Sioux chiefs, for whom he
acted as spokesman, ** to resume their journey before
the coming Tuesday, and to unite in strong companies,
because their people were in large force in the hills,
preparing to go out on the war-path in the country
through which the travellers had yet to pass; that
they were not pleased with the whites; that many of
their warriors were cross and sulky in anticipation of
the work before them; and that any white persons
found outside the fort upon their arrival might be
subject to robbery and other bad treatment." This
advice of the chiefs had awakened such fear in the
travellers that every camp-fire was deserted before
sunrise the ensuing morning. We, in turn, were filled
with apprehension, and immediately hurried onward
in the ruts made by the fleeing wagons of the previous
day.
Before we got out of the country of the Sioux, we
were overtaken by about three hundred mounted war-
[28]
SIOUX WAERIORS
riors. They came in stately procession, two abreast;
rode on in advance of our train; halted, and opened
ranks ; and as our wagons passed between their lines,
the warriors took from between their teeth, green
twigs, and tossed them toward us in pledge of friend-
ship, then turned and as quietly and solemnly as they
had come to us, rode toward the hills. A great sigh
of relief expressed the company's satisfaction at be-
ing again alone; still no one could feel sure that we
should escape a night attack. Our trail led up into
the hills, and we travelled late into the night, and were
again on the way by morning starlight. We heard
wolf yelps and owl hoots in the distance, but were
not approached by prowlers of any kind.
[29]
CHAPTER IV
FOURTH OF JULY IN AN EMIGRANT PARTY OPEN LETTER
OF LANSFORD HASTINGS GEORGE DONNER ELECTED
CAPTAIN OF PARTY BOUND FOR CALIFORNIA ENTERING
THE GREAT DESERT INSUFFICIENT SUPPLY OF FOOD
VOLUNTEERS COMMISSIONED BY MY FATHER TO HASTEN
TO SUTTER 'S FORT FOR RELIEF.
ON the second of July we met Mr. Bryant return-
ing to prevail on some man of our company to
take the place of Mr. Kendall of the bridle party, who
had heard such evil reports of California from return-
ing trappers that his courage had failed, and he had
deserted his companions and joined the Oregon com-
pany. Hiram Miller, who had driven one of my
father's wagons from Springfield, took advantage of
this opportunity for a faster method of travel and
left with Mr. Bryant.
The following evening we encamped near the re-
enforced bridle party, and on the morning of the
Fourth Messrs. Russell and Bryant came over to help
us to celebrate our national holiday. A salute was
fired at sunrise, and later a platform of boxes was ar-
ranged in a grove close by, and by half-past nine
o'clock every one in camp was in holiday attire, and
ready to join the procession which marched around
[30]
NEW ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA
the camp and to the adjacent grove. There, patriotic
songs were sung, the Declaration of Independence was
read, and Colonel Russell delivered an address. After
enjoying a feast prepared by the women of the com-
pany, and drinking to the health and happiness of
friends and kindred in reverent silence, with faces to-
ward the east, our guests bade us a final good-bye and
godspeed.
We had on many occasions entertained eastward-
bound rovers whose varied experiences on the Pacific
coast made them interesting talkers. Those who fa-
vored California extolled its excellence, and had scant
praise for Oregon. Those who loved Oregon de-
scribed its marvellous advantages over California, and
urged home-seekers to select it as the wiser choice;
consequently, as we neared the parting of the ways,
some of our people were in perplexity which to choose.
On the nineteenth of July we reached the Little
Sandy River and there found four distinct companies
encamped in neighborly groups, among them our
friends, the Thorntons and Rev. Mr. Cornwall. Most
of them were listed for Oregon, and were resting their
cattle preparatory to entering upon the long, dry drive
of forty miles, known as ** Greenwood's Cut-off."
There my father and others deliberated over a new
route to California.
They were led to do so by * * An Open Letter, ' ' which
had been delivered to our company on the seven-
teenth by special messenger on horseback. The letter
was written by Lansford W. Hastings, author of
[31]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
** Travel Among the Rocky Mountains, Through Or-
egon and California." It was dated and addressed,
*' At the Headwaters of the Sweetwater: To all Cal-
ifornia Emigrants now on the Road,'' and intimated
that, on account of war between Mexico and the United
States, the Government of California would probably
oppose the entrance of American emigrants to its ter-
ritory; and urged those on the way to California to
concentrate their numbers and strength, and to take
the new and better route which he had explored from
Fort Bridger, by way of the south end of Salt Lake.
It emphasized the statement that this new route was
nearly two hundred miles shorter than the old one by
way of Fort Hall and the headwaters of Ogden's
River, and that he himself would remain at Fort
Bridger to give further information, and to conduct
the emigrants through to the settlement.
The proposition seemed so feasible, that after cool
deliberation and discussion, a party was formed to
take the new route.
My father was elected captain of this company, and
from that time on it was known as the ** Donner
Party.'' It included our original Sangamon County
folks (except Mrs. Keyes and Hiram Miller), and the
following additional members: Patrick Breen, wife,
and seven children; Lewis Keseberg, wife, and two
children; Mrs. Lavina Murphy (a widow) and five
children; William Eddy, wife, and two children;
William Pike, wife, and two children ; William Foster,
wife, and child; William McCutchen, wife, and child;
[32]
DIVISION OF THE COMPANIES
Mr. Wolfinger and wife; Patrick Doland, Charles
Stanton, Samuel Shoemaker, Hardcoop,
Spitzer, Joseph Reinhart, James Smith, Walter Her-
ron, and Luke Halloran.
While we were preparing to break camp, the last
named had begged my father for a place in our wagon.
He was a stranger to our family, afflicted with con-
sjimption, too ill to make the journey on horseback,
and the family with whom he had travelled thus far
could no longer accommodate him. His forlorn condi-
tion appealed to my parents and they granted his
request.
All the companies broke camp and left the Little
Sandy on the twentieth of July. The Oregon division
with a section for California took the right-hand trail
for Fort Hall; and the Donner Party, the left-hand
trail to Fort Bridger.
After parting from us, Mr. Thornton made the fol-
lowing note in his journal:
July 20, 184:6. The C^lifornians were much elated and
in fine spirits, with the prospect of better and nearer road
to the country of their destination. Mrs. George Donner,
however, was an exception. She was gloomy, sad, and dis-
pirited in view of the fact that her husband and others
could think of leaving the old road, and confide in the state-
ment of a man of whom they knew nothing, but was prob-
ably some selfish adventurer.
Five days later the Donner Party reached Fort
Bridger, and were informed by Hastings's agent that
he had gone forward as pilot to a large emigrant train,
but had left instructions that all later arrivals should
follow his trail. Further, that they would find ** an
[33]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
abundant supply of wood, water, and pasturage along
the whole line of road, except one dry drive of thirty
miles, or forty at most ; that they would have no diffi-
cult canons to pass; and that the road was generally
smooth, level, and hard.''
At Fort Bridger, my father took as driver for one
of his wagons, John Baptiste Trubode, a sturdy young
mountaineer, the offspring of a French father — a
trapper — and a Mexican mother. John claimed to
have a knowledge of the languages and customs of va-
rious Indian tribes through whose country we should
have to pass, and urged that this knowledge might
prove helpful to the company.
The trail from the fort was all that could be de-
sired, and on the third of August, we reached the
crossing of Webber River, where it breaks through the
mountains into the canon. There we found a letter
from Hastings stuck in the cleft of a projecting stick
near the roadside. It advised all parties to encamp
and await his return for the purpose of showing them
a better way than through the canon of Webber River,
stating that he had found the road over which lie was
then piloting a train very bad, and feared other parties
might not be able to get their wagons through the
canon leading to the valley of the Great Salt Lake.
He referred, however, to another route which he de-
clared to be much better, as it avoided the canon al-
together. To prevent unnecessary delays, Messrs.
Reed, Pike, and Stanton volunteered to ride over the
new route, and, if advisable, bring Hastings back to
[34]
JOHN BAPTISTE TRUBODE
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OPENING A EOADWAY
conduct us to the open valley. After eight days Mr.
Eeed returned alone, and reported that he and his
companions overtook Hastings with his train near the
south end of Salt Lake ; that Hastings refused to leave
his train, but was finally induced to go with them to
the summit of a ridge of the Wahsatch Mountains and
from there point out as best he could, the directions
to be followed.
While exploring on the way back, Mr. Eeed had be-
come separated from Messrs. Pike and Stanton and
now feared they might be lost. He himself had lo-
cated landmarks and blazed trees and felt confident
that, by making occasional short clearings, we could
get our wagons over the new route as outlined by
Hastings. Searchers were sent ahead to look up the
missing men, and we immediately broke camp and re-
sumed travel.
The following evening we were stopped by a thicket
of quaking ash, through which it required a full day's
hard work to open a passageway. Thence our course
lay through a wilderness of rugged peaks and rock-
bound canons until a heavily obstructed gulch con-
fronted us. Believing that it would lead out to the
Utah Eiver Valley, our men again took their tools and
became roadmakers. They had toiled six days, when
W. F. Graves, wife, and eight children; J. Fosdick,
wife, and child, and John Snyder, with their teams and
cattle, overtook and joined our train. With the as-
sistance of these three fresh men, the road, eight miles
in length, was completed two days later. It carried
[35]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
us out into a pretty mountain dell, not the opening we
had expected.
Fortunately, we here met the searchers returning
with Messrs. Pike and Stanton. The latter informed
us that we must turn back over our newly made road
and cross a farther range of peaks in order to strike
the outlet to the valley. Sudden fear of being lost in
the trackless mountains almost precipitated a panic,
and it was with difficulty that my father and other
cool-headed persons kept excited families from scat-
tering rashly into greater dangers.
We retraced our way, and after five days of alter-
nate travelling and road-making, ascended a mountain
so steep that six and eight yoke of oxen were required
to draw each vehicle up the grade, and most careful
handling of the teams was necessary to keep the wag-
ons from toppling over as the straining cattle zigzaged
to the summit. Fortunately, the slope on the opposite
side was gradual and the last wagon descended to
camp before darkness obscured the way.
The following morning, we crossed the river which
flows from Utah Lake to Great Salt Lake and found
the trail of the Hastings party. We had been thirty
days in reaching that point, which we had hoped to
make in ten or twelve.
The tedious delays and high altitude wrought dis-
tressing changes in Mr. Halloran's condition, and my
father and mother watched over him with increasing
solicitude. But despite my mother's unwearying min-
istrations, death came on the fourth of September.
[36]
SUPPLIES FROM SUTTEE'S FOET
Suitable timber for a coffin could not be obtained,
so his body was wrapped in sheets and carefully en-
closed in a buffalo robe, then reverently laid to rest
in a grave on the shore of Great Salt Lake, near that
of a stranger, who had been buried bv the Hastings
party a few weeks earlier.
Mr. Halloran had appreciated the tender care be-
stowed upon him by my parents, and had told
members of our company that in the event of his death
on the way, his trunk and its contents, and his horse
and its equipments should belong to Captain Donner.
When the trunk was opened, it was found to contain
clothing, keepsakes, a Masonic emblem, and fifteen
hundred dollars in coin.
A new inventory, taken about this time, disclosed
the fact that the company's stock of supplies was in-
sufficient to carry it through to California. A call was
made for volunteers who should hasten on horseback
to Sutter's Fort, procure supplies and, returning, meet
the train en route, Mr. Stanton, who was without
family, and Mr. McCutchen, whose wife and child were
in the company, heroically responded. They were fur-
nished, with necessaries for their personal needs, and
with letters to Captain Sutter, explaining the com-
pany's situation, and petitioning for supplies which
would enable it to reach the settlement. As the
two men rode away, many anxious eyes watched them
pass out of sight, and many heartfelt prayers were
offered for their personal safety, and the success of
their mission.
[37]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
In addressing this letter to Captain Sutter, my
father followed the general example of emigrants to
California in those days, for Sutter, great-hearted and
generous, was the man to whom all turned in distress
or emergencies. He himself had emigrated to the
United States at an early age, and after a few years
spent in St. Louis, Missouri, had pushed his way west-
ward to California.
There he negotiated with the Russian Government
for its holdings on the Pacific coast, and took them
over when Russia evacuated the country. He then
established himself on the vast estates so acquired,
which, in memory of his parentage, he called New Hel-
vetia. The Mexican Government, however, soon as-
sumed his liabilities to the Russian Government, and
exercised sovereignty over the territory. Sutter's po-
sition, nevertheless, was practically that of a poten-
tate. He constructed the well-known fort near the
present site of the city of Sacramento, as protection
against Indian depredations, and it became a trading
centre and rendezvous for incoming emigrants.
[38]
CHAPTEE V
BEWILDEKING GUIDE BOAKD SOUL-TRYING STRUGGLES
FIRST SNOW REED-SNYDER TRAGEDY HARDCOOP 's
FATE.
OUR next memorable camp was in a fertile valley
where we found twenty natural wells, some
very deep and full to the brim of pure, cold water.
* * They varied from six inches to several feet in diam-
eter, the soil around the edges was dry and hard, and
as fast as water was dipped out, a new supply rose to
the surface."* Grass was plentiful and wood easily ob-
tained. Our people made much of a brief stay, for
though the weather was a little sharp, the surround-
ings were restful. Then came a long, dreary pull
over a low range of hills, which brought us to another
beautiful valley where the pasturage was abundant,
and more wells marked the site of good camping
grounds.
Close by the largest well stood a rueful spectacle,
— a bewildering guide board, flecked with bits of white
paper, showing that the notice or message which had
recently been pasted and tacked thereon had since
been stripped off in irregular bits.
In surprise and consternation, the emigrants gazed
•Thornton.
[39]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
at its blank face, then toward the dreary waste beyond.
Presently, my mother knelt before it and began
searching for fragments of paper, which she believed
crows had wantonly pecked off and dropped to the
ground.
Spurred by her zeal, others also were soon on their
knees, scratching among the grasses and sifting the
loose soil through their fingers. What they found, they
brought to her, and after the search ended she took
the guide board, laid it across her lap, and thought-
fully began fitting the ragged edges of paper together
and matching the scraps to marks on the board. The
tedious process was watched with spellbound interest
by the anxious group around her.
The writing was that of Hastings, and her patch-
work brought out the following words:
** 2 days — 2 nights — hard driving — cross — des-
ert — reach water. ' '
This would be a heavy strain on our cattle, and to
fit them for the ordeal they were granted thirty-six
hours ' indulgence near the bubbling waters, amid good
pasturage. Meanwhile, grass was cut and stored,
water casks were filled, and rations were prepared for
desert use.
We left camp on the morning of September 9, fol-
lowing dimly marked wagon-tracks courageously, and
entered upon the ** dry drive," which Hastings and
his agent at Fort Bridger had represented as being
thirty-five miles, or forty at most. Aftet two days
and two nights of continuous travel, over a waste of
[40]
DECEIVED BY A MIRAGE
alkali and sand, we were still surrounded as far as
eye could see by a region of fearful desolation. The
supply of feed for our cattle was gone, the water
casks were empty, and a pitiless sun was turning its
burning rays upon the glaring earth over which we
still had to go.
Mr. Reed now rode ahead to prospect for water,
while the rest followed with the teams. All who could
walk did so, mothers carrying their babes in their
arms, and fathers with weaklings across their shoul-
ders moved slowly as they urged the famishing cattle
forward. Suddenly an outcry of joy gave hope to
those whose courage waned. A lake of shimmering
water appeared before us in the near distance, we
could see the wavy grasses and a caravan of people
moving toward it.
** Ifmay be Hastings ! " was the eager shout. Alas,
as we advanced, the scene vanished ! A cruel mirage,
in its mysterious way, had outlined the lake and cast
our shadows near its shore.
Disappointment intensified our burning thirst, and
my good mother gave her own and other suffering
children wee lumps of sugar, moistened with a drop of
peppermint, and later put a flattened bullet in each
child ^s mouth to engage its attention and help keep the
salivary glands in action.
Then followed soul-trying hours. Oxen, footsore
and weary, stumbled under their yokes. Women,
heartsick and exhausted, could walk no farther. As a
last resort, the men hung the water pails on their
[41]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
arms, unhooked the oxen from the wagons, and by-
persuasion and force, drove them onward, leaving the
women and children to await their return. Messrs.
Eddy and Graves got their animals to water on the
night of the twelfth, and the others later. As soon
as the poor beasts were refreshed, they were brought
back with water for the suffering, and also that they
might draw the wagons on to camp. My father's
wagons were the last taken out. They reached camp
the morning of the fifteenth.
Thirty-six head of cattle were left on that desert,
some dead, some lost. Among the lost were all Mr.
Reed's herd, except an ox and a cow. His poor beasts
had become frenzied in the night, as they were being
driven toward water, and with the strength that comes
with madness, had rushed away in the darkness.
Meanwhile, Mr. Reed, unconscious of his misfortune,
was returning to his family, which he found by his
wagon, some distance in the rear. At daylight, he,
with his wife and children, on foot, overtook my Uncle
Jacob's wagons and were carried forward in them
until their own were brought up.
After hurriedly making camp, all the men turned
out to hunt the Reed cattle. In every direction they
searched, but found no clue. Those who rode onward,
however, discovered that we had reached only an oasis
in the desert, and that six miles ahead of us lay an-
other pitiless barren stretch.
Anguish and dismay now filled all hearts. Hus-
bands bowed their heads, appalled at the situation of
[42]
THE FIEST SNOW
their families. Some cursed Hastings for the false
statements in his open letter and for his broken pledge
at Fort Bridger. They cursed him also for his mis-
representation of the distance across this cruel desert,
traversing which had wrought such suffering and loss.
Mothers in tearless agony clasped their children to
their bosoms, with the old, old cry, * ' Father, Thy will,
not mine, be done."
It was plain that, try as we might, we could not get
back to Fort Bridger. We must proceed regardless of
the fearful outlook.
After earnest consultation, it was deemed best to
dig a trench and cache all Mr. Eeed's effects, except
such as could be packed into one wagon, and were es-
sential for daily use. This accomplished, Messrs.
Graves and Breen each loaned him an ox, and these in
addition to his own ox and cow yoked together, formed
his team. Upon examination, it was found that the
woodwork of all the wagons had been shrunk and
cracked by the dry atmosphere. One of Mr. Kese-
berg's and one of my father's were in such bad condi-
tion that they were abandoned, left standing near those
of Mr. Eeed, as we passed out of camp.
The first snow of the season fell as we were cross-
ing the narrow strip of land upon which we had rested
and when we encamped for the night on its boundary,
the waste before us was as cheerless, cold, and white
as the winding sheet which enfolds the dead.
At dawn we resumed our toilful march, and travelled
until four o'clock the following morning, when we
[43]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
reached an extensive valley, where grass and water
were plentiful. Several oxen had died during the
night, and it was with a caress of pity that the surviv-
ing were relieved of their yokes for the day. The next
sunrise saw us on our way over a range of hills slop-
ing down to a valley luxuriant with grass and springs
of delicious water, where antelope and mountain sheep
were grazing, and where we saw Indians who seemed
never to have met white men before. We were three
days in crossing this magnificent stretch of country,
which we called, ** Valley of Fifty Springs." In it,
several wagons and large cases of goods were cached
by our company, and secret marks were put on trees
near by, so that they could be recovered, should their
owners return for them.
While on the desert, my father's wagons had trav-
elled last in the train, in order that no one should
stray, or be left to die alone. But as soon as we
reached the mountainous country, he took the lead to
open the way. Uncle Jacob's wagons were always
close to ours, for the two brothers worked together,
one responding when the other called for help; and
with the assistance of their teamsters, they were able
to free the trail of many obstructions and prevent
unnecessary delays.
From the Valley of Fifty Springs, we' pursued a
southerly course over more hills, and through fertile
valleys, where we saw Indians in a state of nudity,
who looked at us from a distance, but never ap-
proached our wagons, nor molested any one. On the
[441
INDIANS IN CAMP
twenty-fourth of September, we turned due north and
found the tracks of wagon wheels, which guided us
to the valley of ** Mary's River," or ** Ogden's Riv-
er,'' and on the thirtieth, put us on the old emigrant
road leading from Fort Hall. This welcome landmark
inspired us with renewed trust; and the energizing
hope that Stanton and McCutchen would soon appear,
strengthened our sorely tried courage. This day was
also memorable, because it brought us a number of
Indians who must have been Fremont's guides, for
they could give information, and understand a little
English. They went into camp with us, and by word
and sign explained that we were still far from the sink
of Mary's River, but on the right trail to it.
After another long day's drive, we stopped on a
mountain-side close to a spring of cold, sweet water.
While supper was being prepared, one of the fires
crept beyond bounds, spread rapidly, and threatened
destruction to part of our train. At the critical mo-
ment two strange Indians rushed upon the scene and
rendered good service. After the fire was extin-
guished, the Indians were rewarded, and were also
given a generous meal at the tent of Mr. Graves.
Later, they settled themselves in friendly fashion be-
side his fire and were soon fast asleep. Next morning,
the Indians were gone, and had taken with them a new
shirt and a yoke of good oxen belonging to their host.
Within the week, Indians again sneaked up to camp,
and stole one of Mr. Graves's saddle-horses. These
were trials which made men swear vengeance, yet no
[45]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
one felt that it would be safe to follow the marauders.
Who could know that the train was not being stealthily
followed by cunning plunderers who would await their
chance to get away with the wagons, if left weakly
guarded?
Conditions now were such that it seemed best to
divide the train into sections and put each section un-
der a sub-leader. Our men were well equipped with
side arms, rifles, and ammunition; nevertheless, anx-
ious moments were common, as the wagons moved
slowly and singly through dense thickets, narrow de-
files, and rugged mountain gorges, one section often
being out of sight of the others, and each man realiz-
ing that there could be no concerted action in the event
of a general attack; that each must stay by his own
wagon and defend as best he could the lives committed
to his care. No one rode horseback now, except the
leaders, and those in charge of the loose cattle. When
darkness obscured the way, and after feeding-time,
each section formed its wagons into a circle to serve as
cattle corral, and night watches were keenly alert to
give a still alarm if anything unusual came within
sight or sound.
Day after day, from dawn to twilight, we moved on-
ward, never stopping, except to give the oxen the nec-
essary nooning, or to give them drink when water was
available. Gradually, the distance between sections
lengthened, and so it happened that the wagons of
my father and my uncle were two days in advance of
the others, on the eighth of October, when Mr. Reed,
[46]
CAUSE OF THE QUARREL
on horseback, overtook us. He was haggard and in
great tribulation. His lips quivered as be gave sub-
stantially the following account of circumstances
wbicb bad made bim tbe slayer of bis friend, and a
lone wanderer in tbe wilderness.
On tbe morning of October 5, when Mr. Reed's sec-
tion broke camp, be and Mr. Eddy ventured off to
bunt antelope, and were shot at a number of times by
Indians witb bows and arrows. Empty-banded and
disappointed, tbe two followed and overtook tbeir
companions about noon, at tbe foot of a steep bill
near ** Gravelly Ford,*' where tbe teams bad to be
doubled for tbe ascent. All the wagons, except Pike 's
and Reed's, and one of Graves's in charge of John
Snyder, had already been taken to the top. Snyder
was in the act of starting his team, when Milton El-
liot, driving Reed's oxen, with Eddy's in the lead, also
started. Suddenly, the Reed and Eddy cattle became
unmanageable, and in some way got mixed up with
Snyder's team. This provoked both drivers, and
fierce words passed between them. Snyder declared
that the Reed team ought to be made to drag its wagon
up without help. Then he began to beat his own cat-
tle about the head to get them out of the way.
Mr. Reed attempted to remonstrate with him for
his cruelty, at which Snyder became more enraged,
and threatened to strike both Reed and Elliot witb
his whip for interfering. Mr. Reed replied sharply
that they would settle the matter later. This, Synder
took as a threat, and retorted, ** No, we '11 settle it
[47]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE CONNER PAETY
right here," and struck Reed over the head with the
butt end of his whip, cutting an ugly scalp wound.
Mrs. Reed, who rushed between the two men for the
purpose of separating them, caught the force of the
second blow from Snyder's whip on her shoulder.
While dodging the third blow. Reed drew his hunting
knife and stabbed Snyder in the left breast. Fifteen
minutes later, John Snyder, with his head resting on
the arm of William Graves, died, and Mr. Reed stood
beside the corpse, dazed and sorrowful.
Near-by sections were immediately called into camp,
and gloom, consternation, and anger pervaded it. Mr.
Reed and family were taken to their tent some dis-
tance from the others and guarded by their friends.
Later, an assembly was convened to decide what
should be done. The majority declared the deed mur-
der, and demanded retribution. Mr. Eddy and others
pleaded extenuating circumstances and proposed that
the accused should leave the camp. After heated dis-
cussion this compromise was adopted, the assembly
voting that Mr. Reed should be banished from the
company.
Mr. Reed maintained that the deed was not prompted
by malice, that he had acted in self-defence and in de-
fence of his wife; and that he would not be driven
from his helpless, dependent family. The assembly
promised that the company would care for his family,
and limited his stay in camp. His wife, fearing the
consequence of noncompliance with the sentence,
begged him to abide by it, and to push on to the set-
[48]
MR. REED'S NARRATIVE
tlement, procure food and assistance, and return for
lier and their children. The following morning, after
participating in the funeral rites over the lamented
dead, Mr. Reed took leave of his friends and sorrow-
ing family and left the camp.
The group around my father's wagon were deeply
touched by Mr. Reed's narrative. Its members were
friends of the slain and of the slayer. Their sym-
pathies clustered around the memory of the dead, and
clung to the living. They deplored the death of a fel-
low traveller, who had manfully faced many hardships,
and was young, genial, and full of promise. They re-
gretted the act which took from the company a mem-
ber who had been prominent in its organization, had
helped to formulate its rules, and had, up to that un-
fortunate hour, been a co-worker with the other lead-
ing spirits for its best interests. It was plain that
the hardships and misfortunes of the journey had
sharpened the tempers of both men, and the vexations
of the morning had been too much for the overstrained
nerves.
Mr. Reed breakfasted at our tent, but did not con-
tinue his journey alone. Walter Her r on, one of my
father's helpers, decided to accompany him, and after
hurried preparations, they went away together, bear-
ing an urgent appeal from my father to Captain Sut-
ter for necessary teams and provisions to carry the
company through to California, also his personal
pledge in writing that he would be responsible for
the payment of the debt as soon as he should reach
[49]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
the settlement. My father believed the two men would
reach their destination long before the slowly moving
train.
Immediately after the departure of Messrs. Reed
and Herron, our wagons moved onward. Night over-
took us at a grewsome place where wood and feed were
scarce and every drop of water was browned by alkali.
There, hungry wolves howled, and there we found and
buried the bleaching bones of Mr. Salle, a member of
the Hastings train, who had been shot by Indians.
After his companions had left his grave, the savages
had returned, dug up the body, robbed it of its cloth-
ing, and left it to the wolves.
At four o'clock the following morning, October 10,
the rest of the company, having travelled all night,
drove into camp. Many were in a state of great ex-
citement, and some almost frenzied by the physical
and mental suffering they had endured. Accounts of
the Reed-Snyder tragedy differed somewhat from that
we had already heard. The majority held that the as-
sembly had been lenient with Mr. Reed and considerate
for his family; that the action taken had been largely
influenced by rules which Messrs. Reed, Donner,
Thornton, and others had suggested for the govern-
ment of Colonel Russell 's train, and that there was no
occasion for criticism, since the sentence was for the
transgression, and not for the individual.
The loss of aged Mr. Hardcoop, whose fate was
sealed soon after the death of John Synder, was the
subject of bitter contention. The old man was trav-
[50]
LOST UPON THE ROAD
elling with the Keseberg family, and, in the heavy sand,
when that family walked to lighten the load, he was
required to do likewise. The first night after leaving
Gravelly Ford, he did not come into camp with the
rest. The company, fearing something amiss, sent a
man on horseback to bring him in. He was found
five miles from camp, completely exhausted and his
feet in a terrible condition.
The following morning, he again started with Kese-
berg, and when the section had been under way only
a short time, the old man approached Mr. Eddy and
begged for a place in some other wagon, saying he was
sick and exhausted, and that Keseberg had put him
out to die. The road was still through deep, loose
sand, and Mr. Eddy told him if he would only manage
to go forward until the road should be easier on the
oxen, he himself would take him in. Hardcoop prom-
ised to try, yet the roads became so heavy that prog-
ress was yet slower and even the small children were
forced to walk, nor did any one see when Mr. Hardcoop
dropped behind.
Mr. Eddy had the first watch that night, and kept
a bright fire burning on the hillside in hopes that it
would guide the belated into camp. Milton Elliot
went on guard at midnight, and kept the fire till morn-
ing, yet neither sign nor sound of the missing came
over that desolate trail.
In vain the watchers now besought Keseberg to re-
turn for Hardcoop. Next they applied to Messrs.
Graves and Breen, who alone had saddle horses able
[51]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
to carry the helpless man, but neither of them would
risk his animals again on that perilous road. In des-
peration, Messrs. William Pike, Milton Elliot, and Wil-
liam Eddy proposed to go out afoot and carry him
in, if the wagons would wait. Messrs. Graves and
Breen, however, in language so plain and homely that
it seemed heartless, declared that it was neither the
voice of common sense, nor of humanity that asked the
wagons to wait there in the face of danger, while three
foolhardy men rushed back to look for a helpless one,
whom they had been unable to succor on the previous
day, and for whom they could make no provision in
the future, even if they should succeed then in snatch-
ing him from the jaws of death.
This exposition of undeniable facts defeated the
plans of the would-be rescuers, yet did not quiet their
consciences. When the section halted at noon, they
again begged, though in vain, for horses which might
enable them to do something for their deserted com-
panion.
My father listened thoughtfully to the accounts of
that harrowing incident, and although he realized that
death must have ended the old man's sufferings within
a few hours after he dropped by the wayside, he could
not but feel deeply the bitterness of such a fate.
Who could peer into the near future and read be-
tween its lines the greater suffering which Mr. Hard-
coop had escaped, or the trials in store for us?
We were in close range of ambushed savages, lying
in wait for spoils. While the company were hurry-
[52]
THIEVING INDIANS
ing to get into marching order, Indians stole a milch
cow and several horses belonging to Mr. Graves. Em-
boldened by success, they made a raid on our next
camp and stampeded a bunch of eighteen horned cat-
tle belonging to Mr. Wolfinger and my father and
Uncle Jacob, and also flesh-wounded several poor
beasts with arrows. These were more serious hin-
drances than we had yet experienced. Still, undaunted
by the alarming prospects before us, we immediately
resumed travel with cows under yoke in place of the
freshly injured oxen.
[531
CHAPTER VI
INDIAN DBPBEDATIONS — WOLFINGEr's DISAPPEARANCE —
STANTON RETURNS WITH SUPPLIES FURNISHED BY CAP-
TAIN SUTTER DONNER WAGONS SEPARATED FROM TRAIN
FOREVER — TERRIBLE PIECE OF NEWS — FORCED INTO
SHELTER AT DONNER LAKE — DONNER CAMP ON PROSSER
CREEK.
ALL who managed to get beyond the sink of
Ogden's River before midnight of October 12,
reached Geyser Springs without further molestation,
but the belated, who encamped at the sink were
surprised at daylight by the Indians, who, while the
herders were hurriedly taking a cup of coffee, swooped
down and killed twenty-one head of cattle. Among
the number were all of Mr. Eddy's stock, except an
ox and a cow that would not work together. Mad-
dened by his appalling situation, Eddy called for ven-
geance on his despoilers, and would have rushed to
certain death, if the breaking of the lock of his rifle
at the start had not stopped him.
Sullen and dejected, he cached the contents of his wag-
ons, and with a meagre supply of food in a pack on his
back, he and his wife, each carrying a child, set forth to fin-
ish the journey on foot. To add to their discomfort, they
saw Indians on adjacent hills dancing and gesticulating in
savage delight. In relating the above occurrence after the
[54]
DISAPPEARANCE OF MR. WOLFINGER
journey was finished, Mr. Eddy declared that no language
could portray the desolation and heartsick feeling, nor the
physical and mental torture which he and his wife experi-
enced while travelling between the sink of Ogden's River
and the Geyser Springs.*
It was during that trying week that Mr. Wolfinger
mysteriously disappeared. At the time, he and Kese-
berg, with their wagons, were at the rear of the train,
and their wives were walking in advance with other
members of the company. When camp was made,
those two wagons were not in sight, and after dark
the alarmed wives prevailed on friends to go in search
of their missing husbands. The searchers shortly
found Keseberg leisurely driving toward camp. He
assured them that Wolfinger was not far behind him,
so they returned without further search.
All night the frantic wife listened for the sound of
the coming of her husband, and so poignant was her
grief that at break of day, William Graves, Jr., and
two companions went again in search of Mr. Wol-
finger. Five or six miles from camp, they came upon
his tenantless wagon, with the oxen unhooked and feed-
ing on the trail near-by. Nothing in the wagon had
been disturbed, nor did they find any sign of struggle,
or of Indians. After a diligent search for the miss-
ing man, his wagon and team was brought to camp
and restored to Mrs. Wolfinger, and she was permitted
to believe that her husband had been murdered by In-
dians and his body carried off. Nevertheless, some
suspected Keseberg of having had a hand in his dis-
* Thornton.
[55]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PAETY
appearance, as he knew that Mr. Wolfinger carried a
large sum of money on his person.
Three days later Eeinhart and Spitzer, who had not
been missed, came into camp, and Mrs. Wolfinger was
startled to recognize her husband's gnn in their pos-
session. They explained that they were in the wagon
with Mr. Wolfinger when the Indians rushed upon
them, drove them off, killed Wolfinger and burned the
wagon. My father made a "note of this conflicting
statement to help future investigation of the case.
At Geyser Springs, the company cached valuable
goods, among them several large cases of books and
other heavy articles belonging to my father. As will
be seen later, the load in our family wagon thus light-
ened through pity for our oxen, also lessened the
severity of an accident which otherwise might have
been fatal to Georgia and me.
On the nineteenth of October, near the present site of
Wadsworth, Nevada, we met Mr. Stanton returning
from Sutter's Fort with two Indian herders driving
seven mules, laden with flour and jerked beef. Their
arrival was hailed with great joy, and after a brief
consultation with my father, Stanton and his Indians
continued toward the rear, in order to distribute first
to those most in need of provisions, also that the pack
animals might be the sooner set apart to the use of
those whose teams had given out, or had been de-
stroyed by Indians.
Mr. Stanton had left Mr. McCutchen sick at Sut-
ter's Fort. He brought information also concerning
[56]
DEATH OF MR. PIKE
Messrs. Reed and Herron, whom he had met in the
Sacramento valley. At the time of meeting, they were
quite a distance from the settlement, had been without
food three days, and Mr. Reed's horse was com-
pletely worn out. Mr. Stanton had furnished Mr.
Reed with a fresh mount, and provisions enough to
carry both men to Sutter's Fort.
In camp that night, Mr. Stanton outlined our course
to the settlement, and in compliance with my father's
earnest wish, consented to lead the train across the
Sierra Nevada Mountains. Frost in the air and snow
on the distant peaks warned us against delays; yet,
notwithstanding the need of haste, we were obliged
to rest our jaded teams. Three yoke of oxen had died
from exhaustion within a week, and several of those
remaining were not in condition to ascend the heavy
grades before them.
On the twentieth, Mr. Pike met death in his own
tent by the accidental discharge of a six-shooter in
the hands of Mr. Foster, his brother-in-law. He left
a young wife, and two small children, Naomi, three
years of age, and Catherine, a babe in arms. His loss
was keenly felt by the company, for he was highly
esteemed.
We broke camp on the twenty-second, and my father
and uncle took our wagons to the rear of the train in
order to favor our cattle, and also to be near families
whose teams might need help in getting up the moun-
tains. That day we crossed the Truckee River for
the forty-ninth and last time in eighty miles, and en-
[57]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PAETY
camped for the night at the top of a high hill, where
we received our last experience of Indian cruelty.
The perpetrator was concealed behind a willow, and
with savage vim and well trained hand, sent nineteen
arrows whizzing through the air, and each arrow
struck a different ox. Mr. Eddy caught him in the
act; and as he turned to flee, the white man's rifle ball
struck him between the shoulders and pierced his body.
With a spring into the air and an agonizing shriek, he
dropped lifeless into the bushes below. Strange, but
true, not an ox was seriously hurt I
The train took the trail early next morning, expect-
ing to cross the summit of the Sierras and reach Cal-
ifornia in less than two weeks.
The following circumstances, which parted us for-
ever from the train which father had led through so
many difficulties, were told me by my sister, Mrs.
Elitha C. Wilder, now of Bruceville, California:
Our ^ve Donner wagons, and Mrs. Wolfinger's wagon,
were a day or more behind the train, and between twelve
and sixteen miles from the spot where we later made our win-
ter camp, when an accident happened which nearly cost us
your life, and indirectly prevented our rejoining the train.
Your mother and Frances were walking on ahead; you and
Georgia were asleep in the wagon; and father was walking
beside it, down a steep hill. It had almost reached the base
of the incline when the axle to the fore wheels broke, and the
wagon tipped over on the side, tumbling its contents upon
you two children. Father and uncle, in great alarm, rushed
to your rescue. Georgia was soon hauled out safely through
the opening in the back of the wagon sheets, but you were
nowhere in sight, and father was sure you were smothering
because you did not answer his call. They worked breath-
lessly getting things out, and finally uncle came to your limp
[58]
THE TRAIN AT DONNER LAKE
form. You could not have lasted much longer, they said.
How thankful we all were that our heaviest boxes had been
cached at Geyser Springs!
Much as we felt the shock, there was little time for self-
indulgence. Never were moments of greater importance ; for
while father and uncle were hewing a new axle, two men
came from the head of the company to tell about the snow.
It was a terrible piece of news !
Those men reported that on the twenty-eighth of
that month the larger part of the train had reached a
deserted cabin near Truckee Lake (the sheet of water
now known as Donner Lake) at the foot of Fremont's
Pass in the main chain of the Sierra Nevada Moun-
tains. The following morning they had proceeded to
within three miles of the summit; but finding snow
there five feet in depth, the trail obliterated, and no
place for making camp, they were obliged to return
to the spot they had left early in the day. There, they
said, the company had assembled to discuss the next
move, and great confusion prevailed as the excited
members gave voice to their bitterest fears. Some
proposed to abandon the wagons and make the oxen
carry out the children and provisions; some wanted
to take the children and rations and start out on foot ;
and some sat brooding in dazed silence through the
long night.
The messengers further stated that on the thirtieth,
with Stanton as leader, and despite the falling sleet
and snow, the forward section of the party united in
another desperate effort to cross the summit, but en-
countered deeper drifts and greater difficulties. As
darkness crept over the whitened waste, wagons be-
[59]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PAETY
came separated and lodged in the snow ; and all had to
cling to the mountain-side until break of day, when the
train again returned to its twice abandoned camp,
having been compelled, however, to leave several of
the wagons where they had become stalled. The re-
port concluded with the statement that the men at once
began log-cutting for cabins in which the company
might have to pass the winter.
After the messengers left, and as father and Uncle
Jacob were hastening preparations for our own de-
parture, new troubles beset us. Uncle was giving the
finishing touches to the axle, when the chisel he was
using slipped from his grasp, and its keen edge struck
and made a serious wound across the back of father's
right hand which was steadying the timber. The crip-
pled hand was carefully dressed, and to quiet uncle's
fears and discomfort, father made light of the acci-
dent, declaring that they had weightier matters for
consideration than cuts and bruises. The consequences
of that accident, however, were far more wide-reaching
than could have been anticipated.
Up and up we toiled until we reached an altitude of
six thousand feet, and were within about ten miles of
our companions at the lake, when the intense cold
drove us into camp on Pressor Creek in Alder Creek
Valley, a picturesque and sheltered nook two and a
half miles in length and three-quarters of a mile in
width. But no one observed the picturesque grandeur
of the forest-covered mountains which hem it in on the
north and west; nor that eastward and southward it
[60]
A PERMANENT CAMP
looks out across plateaus to the Washoe Mountains
twenty miles away.
A piercing wind was driving storm-clouds toward
us, and those who understood their threatening aspect
realized that twenty-one persons, eight of them help-
less children, were there at the mercy of the pitiless
storm-king.
The teams were hurriedly unhooked, the tents
pitched, and the men and the women began collecting
material for more suitable quarters. Some felled
trees, some lopped off the branches, and some, with
oxen, dragged the logs into position. There was
enough building material on the ground for a good
sized foundation four logs deep, when night stopped
the work. The moon and stars came out before we
went to bed, yet the following morning the ground was
covered with snow two or three feet in depth, which
had to be shovelled from the exposed beds before their
occupants could rise.
I remember well that new day. All plans for log
cabins had to be abandoned. There was no sheltered
nook for shivering children, so father lifted Georgia
and me on to a log, and mother tucked a buffalo robe
around us, saying, *' Sit here until we have a better
place for you." There we sat snug and dry, chatting
and twisting our heads about, watching the hurrying,
anxious workers. Those not busy at the wagons were
helping the builders to construct a permanent camp.
They cleared a space under a tall pine tree and re-
set the tent a few feet south of its trunk, facing the
[61]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
sunrise. Then, following the Indian method as de-
scribed by John Baptiste, a rude semi-circular hut of
poles was added to the tent, the tree-trunk forming
part of its north wall, and its needled boughs, the
rafters and cross-pieces to the roof. The structure
was overlaid so far as possible with pieces of cloth,
old quilts, and buffalo robes, then with boughs and
branches of pine and tamarack. A hollow was scooped
in the ground near the tree for a fireplace, and an
opening in the top served as chimney and ventilator.
One opening led into the tent and another served as
an outer door.
To keep the beds off the wet earth, two rows of
short posts were driven along the sides in the tent,
and poles were laid across the tops, thus forming
racks to support the pine boughs upon which the beds
should be made. While this was being done, Elitha,
Leanna, and Mrs. Wolfinger were bringing poles and
brush with which to strengthen and sheath the tent
walls against wind and weather. Even Sister Fran-
ces looked tall and helpful as she trudged by with her
little loads.
The combination of tent and hut was designed for
my father and family and Mrs. Wolfinger. The team-
sters, Samuel Shoemaker, Joseph Reinhart, James
Smith, and John Baptiste, built their hut in Indian
wigwam fashion. Not far from us, across the stream,
braced against a log, was reared a mixed structure of
brush and tent for use of Uncle Jacob, Aunt Betsy,
and William and Solomon Hook (Aunt Betsy's sons
[62]
A HEAVY SNOWFALL
by a former husband), and their five small children,
George, Mary, Isaac, Lewis, and Samuel Donner.
Before we two could leave our perch, the snow was
falling faster and in larger flakes. It made pictures
for Georgia and me upon the branches of big and little
trees; it gathered in a ridge beside us upon the log;
it nestled in piles upon our buffalo robe; and by the
time our quarters were finished, it was veiling Uncle
Jacob's from view. Everything within was cold,
damp, and dreary, until our tired mother and elder
sisters built the fire, prepared our supper, and sent us
to bed, each with a lump of loaf sugar as comforter.
1631
CHAPTER Vn
SNOWBOUND — SCAECITY OF FOOD AT BOTH CAMPS —
WATCHING FOB EETUBN OF m'cUTCHEN AND BEED.
WHEN we awoke the following morning, little
heaps of snow lay here and there upon the
floor. No threshold could be seen, only a snow-bank
reaching up to the white plain beyond, where every
sound was muffled, and every object was blurred by
falling flakes.
Father's face was very grave. His morning caress
had all its wonted tenderness, but the merry twinkle
was gone from his eye, and the gladsome note from
his voice. For eight consecutive days, the fatal snow
fell with but few short intermissions. Eight days, in
which there was nothing to break the monotony of
torturing, inactive endurance, except the necessity of
gathering wood, keeping the fires, and cutting anew
the steps which led upward, as the snow increased in
depth. Hope well-nigh died within us.
All in camp fared alike, and all were on short ra-
tions. Three of our men became dispirited, said that
they were too weak and hungry to gather wood, and
did not care how soon death should put an end to their
miseries.
The out-of-door duties would have fallen wholly
[64]
SUFFERING OF THE ANIMALS
upon my Aunt Betsy's two sons and on John Baptiste
and on my crippled father, had the women lost their
fortitude. They, however, hid their fears from their
children, even from each other, and helped to gather
fuel, hunt cattle, and keep camp.
Axes were dull, green wood was hard to cut, and
harder to carry, whether through loose, dry snow, or
over crusts made slippery by sleet and frost. Cattle
tracks were covered over. Some of the poor creatures
had perished under bushes where they sought shelter.
A few had become bewildered and strayed ; others were
found under trees in snow pits, which they themselves
had made by walking round and round the trunks to
keep from being snowed under. These starvelings
were shot to end their sufferings, and also with the
hope that their hides and fleshless bones might save
the lives of our snow-beleaguered party. Every part
of the animals was saved for food. The locations of
the carcasses were marked so that they could be
brought piece by piece into camp ; and even the green
hides were spread against the huts to serve in case of
need.
After the storm broke, John Baptiste was sent with
a letter from my mother to the camp near the lake.
He was absent a number of days, for upon his arrival
there, he found a party of fourteen ready to start next
morning, on foot, across the summit. He joined it,
but after two days of vain effort, the party returned
to camp, and he came back to us with an answer to
the letter he had delivered.
[65]
THE EXPEDITION OP THE DONNER PAETY
We then learned that most of those at the lake were
better housed than we. Some in huts, and the rest in
three log structures, which came to be known respect-
ively as the Murphy, Graves, and Breen cabins. The
last mentioned was the relic of earlier travellers * and
had been grizzled by the storms of several winters.
Yet, despite their better accommodations, our com-
panions at the lake were harassed by fears like ours.
They too were short of supplies. The game had left
the mountains, and the fish in the lake would not bite.
Different parties, both with and without children,
had repeatedly endeavored to force their way out of
that wilderness of snow, but each in turn had become
confused, and unconsciously moved in a circle back
to camp. Several persons had become snow-blind.
Every landmark was lost, even to Stanton, who had
twice crossed the range.
All now looked to the coming of McCutchen and
Reed for deliverance. We had every reason to expect
them soon, for each had left his family with the com-
pany, and had promised to return with succor. More-
over, Stanton had brought tidings that the timely
assistance of himself and comrade had enabled Reed
to reach Sutter's Fort in safety; and that McCutchen
would have accompanied him back, had he not been
detained by illness.
Well, indeed, was it that we could not know that at
the very time we were so anxiously awaiting their
arrival, those two men, after struggling desperately
*Built by Townsend party in 1844. See McGlashan's ''History of
the Donner Party."
[66]
MOUNTAIN STOEMS
to cross the snows, were finally compelled to abandon
the attempt, bury the precious food they had striven to
bring us, and return to the settlement.
It was also well that we were unaware of their baf-
fling fears, when the vigorous efforts incited by the
memorial presented by Eeed to Commodore Stockton,
the military Governor of California, were likewise
frustrated by mountain storms.
T671
CHAPTER YIII
ANOTHEE STOBM FOUE DEATHS IN DONNEE CAMP FIELD
MICE USED FOE FOOD CHANGED APPEAEANCE OF THE
STAEVING SUNSHINE DEPAETUEE OF THE * * FOELOEN
hope'' WATCHING FOE EELIEF IMPOSSIBLE TO DIS-
TUEB THE BODIES OF THE DEAD IN DONNEE CAMP AB-
EIVAL AND DEPAETUEE OF THE FIEST EELIEF PAETY.
MEANWHILE with us in the Sierras, November
ended with four days and nights of continuous
snow, and December rushed in with a wild, shrieking
storm of wind, sleet, and rain, which ceased on the
third. The weather remained clear and cold until the
ninth, when Milton Elliot and Noah James came on
snowshoes to Donner's camp, from the lake cabins, to
ascertain if their captain was still alive, and to report
the condition of the rest of the company.
Before morning, another terrific storm came swirl-
ing and whistling down oui snowy stairway, making
fires unsafe, freezing every drop of water about the
camp, and shutting us in from the light of heaven.
Ten days later Milton Elliot alone fought his way
back to the lake camp with these tidings: ** Jacob
Douner, Samuel Shoemaker, Joseph Ehinehart, and
[68]
DEATHS IN THE COMPANY
James Smith are dead, and the others in a low
condition. ' ' *
Uncle Jacob, the first to die, was older than my
father, and had been in miserable health for years be-
fore we left Illinois. He had gained surprisingly on
the journey, yet quickly felt the influence of impending
fate, foreshadowed by the first storm at camp. His
courage failed. Complete prostration followed.
My father and mother watched with him during the
last night, and the following afternoon helped to lay
his body in a cave dug in the mountain side, beneath
the snow. That snow had scarcely resettled when
Samuel Shoemaker's life ebbed away in happy delir-
ium. He imagined himself a boy again in his father's
house and thought his mother had built a fire and set
before him the food of which he was fondest.
But when Joseph Ehinehart's end drew near, his
mind wandered, and his whitening lips confessed a
part in Mr. Wolfinger's death; and my father, listen-
ing, knew not how to comfort that troubled soul. He
could not judge whether the self -condemning words
were the promptings of a guilty conscience, or the
ravings of an unbalanced mind.
Like a tired child falling asleep, was James Smith's
death ; and Milton Elliot, who helped to bury the four
victims and then carried the distressing report to the
lake camp, little knew that he would soon be among
those later called to render a final accounting. Yet
it was even so.
•Patrick Breen's Diary.
[69]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
Our camp having been thus depleted by death, Noah
James, who had been one of my father 's drivers, from
Springfield until we passed out of the desert, now cast
his lot again with ours, and helped John Baptiste to
dig for the carcasses of the cattle. It was weary work,
for the snow was higher than the level of the guide
marks, and at times they searched day after day and
found no trace of hoof or horn. The little field mice
that had crept into camp were caught then and used
to ease the pangs of hunger. Also pieces of beef hide
were cut into strips, singed, scraped, boiled to the con-
sistency of glue, and swallowed with an effort ; for no
degree of hunger could make the saltless, sticky sub-
stance palatable. Marrowless bones which had al-
ready been boiled and scraped, were now burned and
eaten, even the bark and twigs of pine were chewed in
the vain effort to soothe the gnawings which made one
cry for bread and meat.
During the bitterest weather we little ones were
kept in bed, and my place was always in the middle
where Frances and Georgia, snuggling up close, gave
me of their warmth, and from them I learned many
things which I could neither have understood nor re-
membered had they not made them plain.
Just one happy play is impressed upon my mind.
It must have been after the first storm, for the snow
bank in front of the cabin door was not high enough
to keep out a little sunbeam that stole down the steps
and made a bright spot upon our floor. I saw it, and
sat down under it, held it on my lap, passed my hand
[70]
THE HOLIDAYS
up and down in its brightness, and found that I could
break its ray in two. In fact, we had quite a frolic.
I fancied that it moved when I did, for it warmed the
top of my head, kissed first one cheek and then the
other, and seemed to run up and down my arm. Final-
ly I gathered up a piece of it in my apron and ran to
my mother. Great was my surprise when I carefully
opened the folds and found that I had nothing to
show, and the sunbeam I had left seemed shorter.
After mother explained its nature, I watched it creep
back slowly up the steps and disappear.
Snowy Christmas brought us no **glad tidings,"
and New Year's Day no happiness. Yet, each bright
day that followed a storm was one of thanksgiving,
on which we all crept up the flight of snow steps and
huddled about on the surface in the blessed sunshine,
but with our eyes closed against its painful and blind-
ing glare.
Once my mother took me to a hole where I saw
smoke coming up, and she told me that its steps led
down to Uncle Jacob 's tent, and that we would go down
there to see Aunt Betsy and my little cousins.
I stooped low and peered into the dark depths.
Then I called to my cousins to come to me, because I
was afraid to go where they were. I had not seen
them since the day we encamped. At that time they
were chubby and playful, carrying water from the
creek to their tent in small tin pails. Now, they were
so changed in looks that I scarcely knew them, and
they stared at me as at a stranger. So I was glad
[71]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PAETY
when my mother came up and took me back to our own
tent, which seemed less dreary because I knew the
things that were in it, and the faces about me.
Father's hand became worse. The swelling and in-
flammation extending up the arm to the shoulder pro-
duced suffering which he could not conceal. Each day
that we had a fire, I watched mother sitting by his
side, with a basin of warm water upon her lap, laving
the wounded and inflamed parts very tenderly, with
a strip of frayed linen wrapped aroimd a little stick.
I remember well the look of comfort that swept over
his worn features as she laid the soothed arm back
into place.
By the middle of January the snow measured twelve
and fourteen feet in depth. Nothing could be seen of
our abode except the coils of smoke that found their
way up through the opening. There was a dearth of
water. Pressor Creek was frozen over and covered
with snow. Icicles hung from the branches of every
tree. The stock of pine cones that had been gathered
for lights was almost consumed. Wood was so scarce
that we could not have fire enough to cook our strips
of rawhide, and Georgia heard mother say that we
children had not had a dry garment on in more than a
week, and that she did not know what to do about it.
Then like a smile from God, came another sunny day
which not only warmed and dried us thoroughly but
furnished a supply of water from dripping snowbanks.
The twenty-first was also bright, and John Baptiste
went on snowshoes with messages to the lake camp.
[72]
'' THE FORLORN HOPE ''
He found its inmates in a more pitiable condition than
we were. Only one death had occurred there since
our last communication, but he saw several of the
starving who could not survive many days.
The number to consume the slender stock of food
had been lessened, however, on the sixteenth of De-
cember, some six weeks previously, by the departure
of William Eddy, Patrick Dolan, Lemuel Murphy, Wil-
liam Foster, Mrs. Sarah Foster, Jay Fosdick, Mrs.
Sarah Fosdick, Mrs. William McCutchen, Mrs. Harriet
Pike, Miss Mary Graves, Franklin Graves, Sr., C. T.
Stanton, Antonio, Lewis, and Salvador.
This party, which called itself ** The Forlorn
Hope," had a most memorable experience, as will be
shown later. In some instances husband had parted
from wife, and father from children. Three young
mothers had left their babes in the arms of grand-
mothers. It was a dire resort, a last desperate at-
tempt, in face of death, to save those dependent upon
them.
Staff in hand, they had set forth on snowshoes, each
carrying a pack containing little save a quilt and light
rations for six days' journeying. One had a rifle, am-
munition, flmt, and hatchet for camp use. William
Murphy and Charles Burger, who had originally been
of the number, gave out before the close of the first
day, and crept back to camp. The others continued
under the leadership of the intrepid Eddy and brave
Stanton.
John Baptiste remained there a short time and re-
[73]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
turned to us, saying, ** Those at the other camp be-
lieve the promised relief is close at hand ! ' *
This rekindled hope in ns, even as it had revived
courage and prolonged lives in the lake cabins, and we
prayed, as they were praying, that the relief might
come before its coming should be too late.
Oh, how we watched, hour after hour, and how often
each day John Baptiste climbed to the topmost bough
of a tall pine tree and, with straining eyes, scanned
the desolate expanse for one moving speck in the dis-
tance, for one ruffled track on the snow which should
ease our awful suspense.
Days passed. No food in camp except an unsavory
beef hide — pinching hunger called for more. Again
John Baptiste and Noah James went forth in anxious
search for marks of our buried cattle. They made ex-
cavations, then forced their hand-poles deep, deeper
into the snow, but in vain their efforts — the nail and
hook at the points brought up no sign of blood, hair,
or hide. In dread unspeakable they returned, and
said :
* * We shall go mad ; we shall die ! It is useless to
hunt for the cattle; but the dead, if they could be
reached, their bodies might keep us alive."
*' No,'' replied father and mother, speaking for
themselves. *' No, part of a hide still remains.
When it is gone we will perish, if that be the
alternative. ' '
The fact was, our dead could not have been dis-
turbed even had the attempt been made, for the many
[74]
THE RELIEF PARTY
snowfalls of winter were banked about them firm as
granite walls, and in that camp was neither imple-
ment nor arm strong enough to reach their resting-
places.
It was a long, weary waiting, on starvation rations
until the nineteenth of February. I did not see any
one coming that morning; but I remember that, sud-
denly, there was an unusual stir and excitement in the
camp. Three strangers were there, and one was talk-
ing with father. The others took packs from their
backs and measured out small quantities of flour and
jerked beef and two small biscuits for each of us.
Then they went up to fell the sheltering pine tree over
our tent for fuel; while Noah James, Mrs. Wolfinger,
my two half-sisters, and mother kept moving about
hunting for things.
Finally Elitha and Leanna came and kissed me, then
father, ^ * good-bye, ' ' and went up the steps, and out of
sight. Mother stood on the snow where she could see
all go forth. They moved in single file, — the leaders
on snowshoes, the weak stepping in the tracks made
by the strong. Leanna, the last in line, was scarcely
able to keep up. It was not until after mother came
back with Frances and Georgia that I was made to
understand that this was the long-hoped-for relief
party.
It had come and gone, and had taken Noah James,
Mrs. Wolfinger, and my two half-sisters from us ; then
had stopped at Aunt Betsy's for William Hook, her
eldest son, and my Cousin George, and all were now on
[75]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
the way to the lake cabins to join others who were able
to walk over the snow without assistance.
The rescuers, seven in number, who had followed in-
structions given them at the settlement, professed to
have no knowledge of the Forlorn Hope, except that
this first relief expedition had been outfitted by Cap-
tain Sutter and Alcalde Sinclair in response to Mr.
Eddy's appeal, and that other rescue parties were
being organized in California, and would soon come
prepared to carry out the remaining children and help-
less grown folk. By this we knew that Mr. Eddy, at
least, had succeeded in reaching the settlement.
[76]
CHAPTER IX
SUFFEKINGS OF THE * * FOKLOEN HOPE ' ' RESORT TO
HUMAN FLESH * * CAMP OF DEATH ' ' BOOTS CRISPED
AND EATEN DEER KH^LED INDIAN RaflcJieria THE
** WHITE man's home " AT LAST.
ALTHOUGH we were so meagrely informed, it is
well that my readers should, at this point, be-
come familiar with the experiences of the expedition
known as the Forlorn Hope,* and also the various
measures taken for our relief when our precarious
condition was made known to the good people of Cal-
ifornia. It will be remembered that the Forlorn Hope
was the party of fifteen which, as John Baptiste re-
ported to us, made the last unaided attempt to cross
the mountains.
Words cannot picture, nor mind conceive, more tor-
turing hardships and privations than were endured by
that little band on its way to the settlement. It left
the camp on the sixteenth of December, with scant ra-
tions for six days, hoping in that time to force its way
to Bear Valley and there find game. But the storms
*The experiences of the Donner Party, to which he refers in a foot-
note, suggested to Bret Harte the opening chapters of ** Gabriel Con-
roy'*; but he has followed the sensational accounts circulated by
the newspapers, and the survivors find his work a mere travesty of the
facts. The narrative, however, does not purport to set forth the truth,
but is confessedly imaginative.
[77]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
which had been so pitiless at the mountain camps fol-
lowed the unprotected refugees with seemingly fiend-
ish fury. After the first day from camp, its members
could no longer keep together on their marches. The
stronger broke the trail, and the rest followed to night-
camp as best they could.
On the third day, Stanton's sight failed, and he
begged piteously to be led; but, soon realizing the
heart-rending plight of his companions, he uncom-
plainingly submitted to his fate. Three successive
nights, he staggered into camp long after the others
had finished their stinted meal. Always he was shiv-
ering from cold, sometimes wet with sleet and rain.
It is recorded that at no time had the party allowed
more than an ounce of food per meal to the individual,
yet the rations gave out on the night of the twenty-
second, while they were still in a wilderness of snow-
peaks. Mr. Eddy only was better provided. In looking
over his pack that morning for the purpose of
throwing away any useless article, he unexpectedly
found a small bag containing about a half-pound of
dried bear-meat.* Fastened to the meat was a pen-
cilled note from his wife, begging him to save the hid-
den treasure until his hour of direst need, since it
might then be the means of saving his life. The note
was signed, ** Your own dear Elinor.'' With tender-
est emotion, he slipped the food back, resolving to do
the dear one's bidding, trusting that she and their
children might live until he should return for them.
*Mr. Eddy had killed the bear and dried the meat early in the
winter.
[78]
BEAR VALLEY, FEOM EMIGRANT GAP
THE TRACKLESS MOUNTAINS
SEPARATION AND HUNGER
The following morning, while the others were pre-
paring to leave camp, Stanton sat beside the smoulder-
ing fire smoking his pipe. When ready to go forth,
they asked him if he was coming, and he replied,
** Yes, I am coming soon." Those were his parting
words to his friends, and his greeting to the Angel of
Death.* He never left that fireside, and his compan-
ions were too feeble to return for him when they found
he did not come into camp.
Twenty-four hours later, the members of that hap-
less little band threw themselves upon the desolate
waste of snow to ponder the problems of life and
death; to search each the other's face for answer to
the question their lips durst not frame. Fathers who
had left their families, and mothers who had left their
babes, wanted to go back and die with them, if die they
must ; but Mr. Eddy and the Indians — those who had
crossed the range with Stanton — declared that they
would push on to the settlement. Then Mary Graves,
in whose young heart were still whisperings of hope,
courageously said:
** I, too, will go on, for to go back and hear the cries
of hunger from my little brothers and sisters is more
than I can stand. I shall go as far as I can, let the
consequences be what they may."
W. F. Graves, her father, would not let his daughter
proceed alone, and finally all decided to make a final,
supreme effort. Yet — think of it — they were with-
out one morsel of food !
*His body was found there later by the First Eelief Party.
[79]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath as the sug-
gestion was made that, * * were one to die, the rest
might live. ' ' Then the suggestion was made that lots
be cast, and whoever drew the longest slip should be
the sacrifice. Mr. Eddy endorsed the plan. Despite
opposition from Mr. Foster and others, the slips of
paper were prepared, and great-hearted Patrick Dolan
drew the fatal slip. Patrick Dolan, who had come
away from camp that his famishing friends might pro-
long their lives by means of the small stock of food
which he had to leave! Harm a hair of that good
man's head? Not a soul of that starving band would
do it.
Mr. Eddy then proposed that they resume their
journey as best they could until death should claim a
victim. All acquiesced. Slowly rising to their feet,
they managed to stagger and to crawl forward about
three miles to a tree which furnished fuel for their
Christmas fire. It was kindled with great difficulty,
for in cutting the boughs, the hatchet blade flew off
the handle and for a time was lost in deep snow.
Meanwhile, every puff of wind was laden with kill-
ing frost, and in sight of that glowing fire, Antonio
froze to death. Mr. Graves, who was also breathing
heavily, when told by Mr. Eddy that he was dying,
replied that he did not care. He, however, called his
daughters, Mrs. Fosdick and Mary Graves, to him,
and by his parting injunctions, showed that he was
still able to realize keenly the dangers that beset them.
Remembering how their faces had paled at the sug-
[801
DELIRIUM OF THE SUFFERING
gestion of using human flesh for food, he admonished
them to put aside the natural repugnance which stood
between them and the possibility of life. He com-
manded them to banish sentiment and instinctive
loathing, and think only of their starving mother,
brothers, and sisters whom they had left in camp, and
avail themselves of every means in their power to res-
cue them. He begged that his body be used to sustain
the famishing, and bidding each farewell, his spirit
left its bruised and worn tenement before half the
troubles of the night were passed.
About ten o 'clock, pelting hail, followed by snow on
the wings of a tornado, swept every spark of fire
from those shivering mortals, whose voices now min-
gled with the shrieking wind, calling to heaven for re-
lief. Mr. Eddy, knowing that all would freeze to
death in the darkness if allowed to remain exposed,
succeeded after many efforts in getting them close to-
gether between their blankets where the snow covered
them.
With the early morning, Patrick Dolan became de-
lirious and left camp. He was brought back with dif-
ficulty and forcibly kept under cover until late in the
day, when he sank into a stupor, whence he passed
quietly into that sleep which knows no waking.
The crucial hour had come. Food lay before the
starving, yet every eye turned from it and every hand
dropped irresolute.
Another night of agony passed, during which Lem-
uel Murphy became delirious and called long and loud
[81]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
for food; but the cold was so intense that it kept all
under their blankets until four o'clock in the after-
noon, when Mr. Eddy succeeded in getting a fire in
the trunk of a large pine tree. Whereupon, his com-
panions, instead of seeking food, crept forth and broke
off low branches, put them down before the fire and
laid their attenuated forms upon them. The flames
leaped up the trunk, and burned off dead boughs so
that they dropped on the snow about them, but the
unfortunates were too weak and too indifferent to
fear the burning brands.
Mr. Eddy now fed his waning strength on shreds of
his concealed bear meat, hoping that he might survive
to save the giver. The rest in camp could scarcely
walk, by the twenty-eighth, and their sensations of
hunger were deminishing. This condition forebode
delirium and death, unless stayed by the only means at
hand. It was in very truth a pitiful alternative
offered to the sufferers.
With sickening anguish the first morsels were pre-
pared and given to Lemuel Murphy, but for him they
were too late. Not one touched flesh of kindred body.
Nor was there need of restraining hand, or warning
voice to gauge the small quantity which safety pre-
scribed to break the fast of the starving. Death would
have been preferable to that awful meal, had relent-
less fate not said : * * Take, eat that ye may live. Eat,
lest ye go mad and leave your work undone ! ' '
All but the Indians obeyed the mandate, and were
strengthened and reconciled to prepare the remaining
[82]
'' CAMP OF DEATH ''
flesh to sustain them a few days longer on their
journey.
Hitherto, the wanderers had been guided partly by
the fitful sun, partly by Lewis and Salvador, the In-
dians who had come with Stanton from Sutter's Fort.
In the morning, however, when they were ready to
leave that spot, which was thereafter known as the
* * Camp of Death, ' ' Salvador, who could speak a little
English, insisted that he and Lewis were lost, and,
therefore, unable to guide them farther.
Nevertheless, the party at once set out and travelled
instinctively until evening. The following morning
they wrapped pieces of blanket around their cracked
and swollen feet and again struggled onward until
late in the afternoon, when they encamped upon a
high ridge. There they saw beyond, in the distance,
a wide plain which they believed to be the Sacramento
Valley.
This imaginary glimpse of distant lowland gave
them a peaceful sleep. The entire day of December
31 was spent in crossing a canon, and every footstep
left its trace of blood in the snow.
When they next encamped, Mr. Eddy saw that poor
Jay Fosdick was failing, and he begged him to sum-
mon up all his courage and energy in order to reach
the promised land, now so near. They were again
without food; and William Foster, whose mind had
become unbalanced by the long fast, was ready to
kill Mrs. McCutchen or Miss Graves. Mr. Eddy eon-
fronted and intimidated the crazed sufferer, who next
[83]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
threatened the Indian guides, and would have carried
out his threat then, had Mr. Eddy not secretly warned
them against danger and urged them to flee. But
nothing could save the Indians from Foster's insane
passion later, when he found them on the trail in an
unconscious and dying condition.
January 1, 1847, was, to the little band of eight,
a day of less distressing trials; its members resumed
travel early, braced by unswerving will-power. They
stopped at midday and revived strength by eating the
toasted strings of their snowshoes. Mr. Eddy also
ate his worn out moccasins, and all felt a renewal of
hope upon seeing before them an easier grade which
led to night-camp where the snow was only six feet in
depth. Soothed by a milder temperature, they re-
sumed their march earlier next morning and descended
to where the snow was but three feet deep. There
they built their camp-fire and slightly crisped the
leather of a pair of old boots and a pair of shoes which
constituted their evening meal, and was the last of
their effects available as food.
An extraordinary effort on the third day of the new
year brought them to bare ground between patches of
snow. They were still astray among the western foot-
hills of the Sierras, and sat by a fire under an oak
tree all night, enduring hunger that was almost
maddening.
Jay Fosdick was sinking rapidly, and Mr. Eddy re-
solved to take the gun and steal away from camp at
dawn. But his conscience smote him, and he finally
[84]
THANKFULNESS FOR FOOD
gave the others a hint of his intention of going in
search of game, and of not returning unless success-
ful. Not a moving creature nor a creeping thing had
crossed the trail on their journey thither; but the
open country before them, and minor marks well
known to hunters, had caught Mr. Eddy's eye and
strengthened his determination. Mrs. Pike, in dread
and fear of the result, threw her arms about Mr.
Eddy's neck and implored him not to leave them, and
the others mingled their entreaties and protestations
with hers. In silence he took his gun to go alone.
Then Mary Graves declared that she would keep up
with him, and without heeding further opposition the
two set out. A short distance from camp they stop-
ped at a place where a deer had recently lain.
With a thrill of emotion too intense for words, with
a prayer in his heart too fervent for utterance, Mr.
Eddy turned his tearful eyes toward Mary and saw
her weeping like a child. A moment later, that man
and that woman who had once said that they knew
not how to pray, were kneeling beside that newly
found track pleading in broken accents to the Giver
of all life, for a manifestation of His power to save
their starving band. Long restrained tears were still
streaming down the cheeks of both, and soothing their
anxious hearts as they arose to go in pursuit of the
deer. J. Q. Thornton says:
They had not proceeded far before they saw a large
buck about eighty yards distant. Mr. Eddy raised his rifle
and for some time tried to bring it to bear upon the deer,
[85]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
but such was his extreme weakness that he could not. He
breathed a little, changed his manner of holding the gun,
and made another effort. Again his weakness prevented him
from being able to hold upon it. He heard a low, suppressed
sobbing behind him, and, turning around, saw Mary Graves
weeping and in great agitation, her head bowed, and her
hands upon her face. Alarmed lest she should cause the
deer to run, Mr. Eddy begged her to be quiet, which she was,
after exclaiming, ** Oh, I am afraid you will not kill it.'*
He brought the gun to his face the third time, and ele-
vated the muzzle above the deer, let it descend until he saw
the animal through the sight, when the rifle cracked. Mary
immediately wept aloud, exclaiming, * ' Oh, merciful God, you
have missed it! '' Mr. Eddy assured her that he had not;
that the rifle was upon it the moment of firing; and that, in
addition to this, the animal had dropped its tail between
its legs, which this animal always does when wounded.
His belief was speedily confirmed. The deer ran a short
distance, then fell, and the two eager watchers hastened to
it as fast as their weakened condition would allow. Mr.
Eddy cut the throat of the expiring beast with his pocket-
knife, and he and his companion knelt down and drank the
warm blood that flowed from the wound.
The excitement of getting that blessed food, and the
strength it imparted, produced a helpful reaction, and
enabled them to sit down in peace to rest a while, be-
fore attempting to roll their treasure to the tree near-
by, where they built a fire and prepared the entrails.
Mr. Eddy fired several shots after dark, so that the
others might know that he had not abandoned them.
Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Foster, Mrs. McCutchen, and
Mrs. Pike had moved forward and made their camp
half-way between Mr. Eddy's new one and that of the
previous night. Mr. Fosdick, however, being too
weak to rise, remained at the first camp. His devoted
[86]
THE SEVEN SURVIVORS
wife pillowed his head upon her lap, and prayed that
death would call them away together. Mr. Thornton
continues :
The sufferer had heard the crack of Mr. Eddy's rifle at
the time he killed the deer, and said, feebly, ** There! Eddy
has killed a deer! Now, if I can only get to him I shall
live!"
But in the stillness of that cold, dark night. Jay
Fosdick's spirit fled alone. His wife wrapped their
only blanket about his body, and lay down on the
ground beside him, hoping to freeze to death. The
morning dawned bright, the sun came out, and the
lone widow rose, kissed the face of her dead, and, with
a small bundle in her hand, started to join Mr. Eddy.
She passed a hunger-crazed man on the way from the
middle camp, going to hers, and her heart grew sick,
for she knew that her loved one's body would not be
spared for burial rites.
She found Mr. Eddy drying his deer meat before the
fire, and later saw him divide it so that each of his
companions in the camps should have an equal share.
The seven survivors, each with his portion of ven-
ison, resumed travel on the sixth and continued in the
foothills a number of days, crawling up the ascents,
sliding down the steeps; often harassed by fears of
becoming lost near the goal, yet unaware that they
were astray.
The venison had been consumed. Hope had almost
died in the heart of the bravest, when at the close of
day on the tenth of January, twenty-five days from the
[87]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
date of leaving Donner Lake, they saw an Indian vil-
lage at the edge of a thicket they were approaching.
As the sufferers staggered forward, the Indians were
overwhelmed at sight of their misery. The warriors
gazed in stolid silence. The squaws wrung their
hands and wept alond. The larger children hid them-
selves, and the little ones clung to their mothers in
fear. The first sense of horror having passed, those
dusky mothers fed the unfortunates. Some brought
them unground acorns to eat, while others mixed the
meal into cakes and offered them as fast as they could
cook them on the heated stones. All except Mr. Eddy
were strengthened by the food. It sickened him, and
he resorted to green grass boiled in water.
The following morning the chief sent his runners to
other rancherias, en route to the settlement, telling his
people of the distress of the pale-faces who were com-
ing toward them, and who would need food. When
the Forlorn Hope was ready to move on, the chief led
the way, and an Indian walked on either side of each
sufferer supporting and helping the unsteady feet. At
each rancheria the party was put in charge of a new
leader and fresh supporters.
On the seventeenth, the chief with much difficulty
procured, for Mr. Eddy, a gill of pine nuts which the
latter found so nutritious that the following morning,
on resuming travel, he was able to walk without sup-
port. They had proceeded less than a mile when his
companions sank to the ground completely imnerved.
They had suddenly given up and were willing to die.
[88]
DESPERATE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE
The Indians appeared greatly perplexed, and Mr.
Eddy shook with sickening fear. Was his great effort
to come to naught? Should his wi^e and babes die
while he stood guard over those who would no longer
help themselves? No, he would push ahead and see
what he yet could do!
The old chief sent an Indian with him as a guide and
support. Relieved of the sight and personal responsi-
bility of his enfeebled companions, Mr. Eddy felt a
renewal of strength and determination. He pressed
onward, scarcely heeding his dusky guide. At the end
of five miles they met another Indian, and Mr. Eddy,
now conscious that his feet were giving out, promised
the stranger tobacco, if he would go with them and
help to lead him to the ** white man's house."
And so that long, desperate struggle for life, and
for the sake of loved ones, ended an hour before sun-
set, when Mr. Eddy, leaning heavily upon the Indians,
halted before the door of Colonel M. D. Richey's home,
thirty-five miles from Sutter's Fort.
The first to meet him was the daughter of the house,
whom he asked for bread. Thornton says :
She looked at him, burst out crying, and took hold of
him to assist him into the room. He was immediately placed
in bed, in which he lay unable to turn his body during four
days. In a very short time he had food brought to him by
Mrs. Richey, who sobbed as she fed the miserable and fright-
ful being before her. Shortly, Harriet, the daughter, had
carried the news from house to house in the neighborhood,
and horses were running at full speed from place to place
until all preparations v^ere made for taking relief to those
whom Mr. Eddy had left in the morning.
[89]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PAETY
William Johnson, John Howell, John Rhodes, Mr. Keiser,
Mr. Sagur, Racine Tucker, and Joseph Varro assembled
at Mr. Richey's immediately. The females collected the
bread they had, with tea, sugar, and coffee, amounting to as
much as four men could carry. Howell, Rhodes, Sagur, and
Tucker started at once, on foot, with the Indians as guides,
and arrived at camp, between fifteen and eighteen miles dis-
tant, at midnight.
Mr. Eddy had warned the outgoing party against
giving the sufferers as much food as they might want,
but, on seeing them, the tender-hearted men could not
deny their tearful begging for ** more." One of the
relief was kept busy until dawn preparing food which
the rest gave to the enfeebled emigrants. This over-
dose of kindness made its victims temporarily very ill,
but caused no lasting harm.
Early on the morning of January 18, Messrs.
Eichey, Johnson, Varro, and Keiser, equipped with
horses and other necessaries, hurried away to bring in
the refugees, together with their comrades who had
gone on before. By ten o'clock that night the whole
of the Forlorn Hope were safe in the homes of their
benefactors. Mr. Eichey declared that he and his
party had retraced Mr. Eddy's track six miles, by the
blood from his feet ; and that they could not have be-
lieved that he had travelled that eighteen miles, if they
themselves had not passed over the ground in going
to his discouraged companions.
190]
CHAPTER X
BELIEF MEASURES INAUGURATED IN CALIFORNIA DIS-
TURBED CONDITIONS BECAUSE OF MEXICAN WAR GEN-
EROUS SUBSCRIPTIONS THREE PARTIES ORGANIZE
* * FIRST RELIEF, ' ' UNDER RACINE TUCKER ; * * SECOND RE-
LIEF,'' UNDER REED AND GREENWOOD; AND RELAY CAMP
UNDER WOODWORTH FIRST RELIEF PARTY CROSSES SNOW-
BELT AND REACHES DONNER LAKE.
THE kindness and sympathy shown Mr. Eddy by
the good people in the neighborhood of the
Richey and Johnson ranches encouraged his efforts in
behalf of his fellow-sufferers in the mountains. While
the early sunlight of January 19 was flooding his room
with cheer and warmth, he dictated a letter to Mr.
John Sinclair, Alcalde of the Upper District of Cali-
fornia, living near Sutter's Fort, in which he stated
as briefly as possible the conditions and perils sur-
rounding the snow-bound travellers, and begged him
to use every means in his power toward their im-
mediate rescue.
Bear River was running high, and the plain between
it and Sutter's Fort seemed a vast quagmire, but John
Rhodes volunteered to deliver the letter. He was
ferried over the river on a raft formed of two logs
lashed together with strips of rawhide. Then he
[911
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
rolled his trousers above the knee and with his shoes
in his hand, started on his mission. He saw no white
faces until he reached Sinclair's, where the letter
created a painful interest and won ready promises of
help.
It was dark when he reached Sutter's Fort, never-
theless from house to house he spread the startling
report : ^ * Men, women, and little children are snow-
bound in the Sierras, and starving to death ! ' '
Captain Kerns in charge at the Fort, pledged his aid,
and influence to the cause of relief. Captain Sutter,
who had already twice sent supplies, first by Stanton
and again by McCutchen and Reed, in their unsuccess-
ful attempt to cross the mountains, at once agreed to
cooperate with Alcalde Sinclair.
While Captain Kerns at Sutter's Fort was sending
messengers to different points, and Mrs. Sinclair was
collecting clothing to replace the tattered garments of
the members of the Forlorn Hope, her husband
despatched an open letter to the people of San Fran-
cisco, describing the arrival of the survivors of the
Forlorn Hope, and the heart-rending condition
of those remaining in the mountains. He urged im-
mediate action, and offered his services for individual
work, or to cooperate with Government relief, or any
parties that might be preparing to go out with Messrs.
Reed and McCutchen, who were known to be endeav-
oring to raise a second expedition.
The letter was taken to the City Hotel in San Fran-
cisco, and read aloud in the dining-room. Its contents
[92]
DISTURBED CONDITION IN CALIFORNIA
aroused all the tender emotions known to human na-
ture. Some of the listeners had parted from members
of the Donner Party at the Little Sandy, when its
prospects appeared so bright, and the misfortunes
which had since befallen the party seemed incredible.
Women left the room sobbing, and men called those
passing, in from the street, to join the knots of earnest
talkers. All were ready and willing to do; but, alas,
the obstacles which had prevented Mr. Reed getting
men for the mountain work still remained to be
overcome.
Existing war between Mexico and the United States
was keeping California in a disturbed condition. Most
of the able-bodied male emigrants had enlisted under
Captain Fremont as soon as they reached the country,
and were still on duty in the southern part of the prov-
ince; and the non-enlisted were deemed necessary for
the protection of the colonies of American women and
children encamped on the soil of the enemy. More-
over, all felt that each man who should attempt to
cross the snow belt would do so at the peril of his life.
Mr. Reed, who in the late Autumn had sent petitions
to the Military Governor and to Lieutenant Washing-
ton A. Bartlett of the United States Navy, Alcalde of
the town and district of San Francisco, but as yet had
obtained nothing, now appeared before each in person,
and was promised assistance. Captain Mervine of the
United States Navy, and Mr. Richardson, United
States Collector, each subscribed fifty dollars to the
cause on his own account.
[931
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
As a result of these appeals, Alcalde Bartlett called
a public meeting; and so intense was the feeling that
Mr. Dunleary, ** the first speaker, had scarcely taken
his seat on the platform, when the people rushed to
the chairman's table from all parts of the house with
their hands full of silver dollars," and could hardly
be induced to stay their generosity until the meeting
was organized.
A treasurer and two committees were appointed;
the one to solicit subscriptions, and the other to pur-
chase supplies. The Alcalde was requested to act with
both committees. Seven hundred dollars was sub-
scribed before the meeting adjourned. Seven hundred
dollars, in an isolated Spanish province, among newly
arrived immigrants, was a princely sum to gather.
Messrs. Ward and Smith, in addition to a generous
subscription, offered their launch Dice mi Nana,
to transport the expedition to Feather River, and Mr.
John Fuller volunteered to pilot the launch.
It was decided to fit out an expedition, under charge
of Past Midshipman Woodworth, who had tendered
his services for the purpose, he to act under instruc-
tions of the Military Governor and cooperate with the
committee aiding Reed.
Soon thereafter '* Old Trapper Greenwood *' ap-
peared in San Francisco, asking for assistance in fit-
ting out a following to go to the mountains with
himself and McCutchen, Mr. George Yount and others
in and around Sonoma and Napa having recommended
him as leader. Donations of horses, mules, beef, and
[94]
CEOSSING THE SIEREAS
flour had already been sent to his camp in Napa Val-
ley. Furthermore, Lieut. William L. Maury, U. S. N.,
Commander at the port; Don Mariano G. Vallejo, Ex-
Commandante-General of California; Mr. George
Yount, and others subscribed the sum of five hundred
dollars in specie toward outfitting Greenwood and the
men he should select to cross the mountains.
Greenwood urged that he should have ten or twelve
men on whom he could rely after reaching deep snow.
These, he said, he could secure if he had the ready
money to make advances and to procure the necessary
warm clothing and blankets. He had crossed the Si-
erras before, when the snow lay deep on the summit,
and now proposed to drive over horses and kill them
at the camps as provisions for the sufferers. If this
scheme should fail, he and his sons with others
would get food to the camp on snowshoes. Thornton
says:
The Governor-General of California, after due form,
and trusting to the generosity and humanity of the Govern-
ment which he represented, appropriated four hundred dol-
lars on Government account toward outfitting this relief
party. Furthermore, in compliance with an application from
Alcalde Bartlett (for the committee). Captain Mervine, of
the U. S. frigate Savannah, furnished from the ship's stores
ten days' full rations for ten men. The crews of the Savan-
nah and the sloop Warren, and the marines in garrison
at San Francisco, increased the relief fund to thirteen
hundred dollars. Messrs. Melius and Howard tendered their
launch to carry the party up the bay to Sonoma, and Cap-
tain Sutter proffered his launch Sacramento for river use.
It was now settled that the ** Reed-Greenwood party "
should go to Johnson's ranch by way of Sonoma and Napa,
and Woodworth with his men and supplies, including cloth-
[95]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
ing for the destitute, should go by boat to Sutter 's Landing ;
there procure pack animals, buy beef cattle, and hurry on
to the snow-belt; establish a relay camp, slaughter the cattle,
and render all possible aid toward the immediate rescue of
the snow-bound.
Meanwhile, before Alcalde Sinclair ^s letter had time
to reach San Francisco, he and Captain Sutter began
outfitting the men destined to become the *' First Re-
lief." Aguilla Glover and R. S. Moutrey volunteered
their services, declaring their willingness to undertake
the hazardous journey for the sake of the lives they
might save.
To hasten recruits for service. Captain Sutter and
Alcalde Sinclair promised that in case the Govern-
ment should fail to grant the sum, they themselves
would become responsible for the payment of three
dollars per day to each man who would get food
through to the snow-bound camps. Accordingly,
Aguilla Glover and R. S. Moutrey, driving pack ani-
mals well laden with warm clothing, blankets, and food
supplies, left the Fort at sunrise on the morning of
February the first, and on the third reached Johnson's
ranch, where they joined Messrs. Tucker, Johnson,
Richey and others, who, being anxious to assist in the
good work, had killed, and were fire-drying, beef to
take up the mountains. Here two days were spent
making pack-saddles, driving in horses, and getting
supplies in shape. Indians were kept at the handmill
grinding wheat. Part of the flour was sacked, and part
converted into bread by the women in the vicinity.
On the morning of the fifth of February, Alcalde
[96]
<< THE FIRST RELIEF PARTY ''
Sinclair rode to Johnson's ranch, and all things being
ready, he appointed Racine Tucker Captain of the
company, and in touching words commended the heroic
work of its members, and bade them godspeed on their
errand of mercy. When ready to mount, he shook
hands with each man, and recorded the names in a
note-book as follows:
Racine Tucker, Aguilla Glover, R. S. Moutrey, John
Rhodes, Daniel Rhodes, Edward Coffemeir, D. Richey, James
Curtis, WiUiam Eddy,* WilHam Coon, George Tucker,
Adolph Brenheim, and John Foster.*
This party is generally known as the ** First Re-
lief.'* Their route to the snow-belt lay through sec-
tions of country which had become so soft and oozy
that the horses often sank in mire, flank deep ; and the
streams were so swollen that progress was alarmingly
slow. On the second day they were driven into camp
early by heavy rains which drenched clothing, blan-
kets, and even the provisions carefully stored under
the saddles and leather saddle-covers. This caused a
delay of thirty-six hours, for everything had to be
sun or fire dried before the party could resume travel.
Upon reaching Mule Springs, the party found the
snow from three to four feet deep, and, contrary to
expectations, saw that it would be impossible to pro-
ceed farther with the horses. Mr. Eddy was now ill
of fever, and unfit to continue the climb; whereupon
his companions promised to bring out his loved ones
if he would return with Joe Varro, whom Mr. Johnson
*0f the Forlorn Hope.
[97]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
had sent along to bring the pack animals home after
they should cease to be of use.
At Mule Springs, the party built a brush storehouse
for the extra supplies and appointed George Tucker
and William Coon camp-keepers. Then they prepared
packs containing jerked beef, flour, and bread, each
weighing between forty and seventy-five pounds, ac-
cording to the temperament and strength of the re-
spective carriers. The following morning ten men
started on their toilsome march to Bear Valley, where
they arrived on the thirteenth, and at once began
searching for the abandoned wagon and provisions
which Reed and McCutchen had cached the previous
Autumn, after their fruitless attempt to scale the
mountains. The wagon was found under snow ten
feet in depth; but its supplies had been destroyed by
wild beasts. Warned by this catastrophe, the First
Relief decided to preserve its supplies for the return
trip by hanging them in parcels from ropes tied to the
boughs of trees.
The ten kept together courageously until the fif-
teenth; then Mr. M. D. Richey, James Curtis, and
Adolph Brenheim gave up and turned back. Mr.
Tucker, fearing that others might become disheartened
and do likewise, guaranteed each man who would per-
severe to the end, five dollars per diem, dating from
the time the party entered the snow. The remaining
seven pushed ahead, and on the eighteenth, encamped
on the summit overlooking the lake, where the snow
was said to be forty feet in depth.
[98]
AFFECTED BY ALTITUDE
The following morning Agnilla Glover and Daniel
Rhodes were so oppressed by the altitude that their
companions had to relieve them of their packs and
help them on to the cabins, which, as chronicled in a
previous chapter, the party reached on the nineteenth
of February, 1847.
[99]
CHAPTER XI
WATCHING FOR THE SECOND RELIEF PARTY —
AJO '' LAST FOOD IN CAMP.
AFTER the departure of the First Relief we who
were left in the mountains began to watch and
pray for the coming of the Second Relief, as we had
before watched and prayed for the coming of the
First.
.Sixteen-year-old John Baptiste was disappointed
and in ill humor when Messrs. Tucker and Rhodes in-
sisted that he, being the only able-bodied man in the
Donner camp, should stay and cut wood for the en-
feebled, until the arrival of other rescuers. The little
half-breed was a sturdy fellow, but he was starving
too, and thought that he should be allowed to save
himself.
After he had had a talk with father, however, and
the first company of refugees had gone, he became
reconciled to his lot, and served us faithfully. He
would take us little ones up to exercise upon the snow,
saying that we should learn to keep our feet on the
slick, frozen surface, as well as to wade through slush
and loose drifts.
Frequently, when at work and lonesome, he would
call Georgia and me up to keep him company, and when
[100]
BEAE TRACKS IN CAMP
the weather was frosty, he would bring ** Old Nav-
ajo/' his long Indian blanket, and roll her in it from
one end, and me from the other, until we would come
together in the middle, like the folds of a paper of
pins, with a face peeping above each fold. Then he
would set us upon the stump of the pine tree while he
chopped the trunk and boughs for fuel. He told us
that he had promised father to stay until we children
should be taken from camp, also that his home was to
be with our family forever. One of his amusements
was to rake the coals together nights, then cover them
with ashes, and put the large camp kettle over the pile
for a drum, so that we could spread our hands around
it, ** to get just a little warm before going to bed."
For the time, he lived at Aunt Betsy's tent, because
Solomon Hook was snow-blind and demented, and at
times restless and difficult to control. The poor boy,
some weeks earlier, had set out alone to reach the set-
tlement, and after an absence of forty-eight hours was
found close to camp, blind, and with his mind unbal-
anced. He, like other wanderers on that desolate
waste, had become bewildered, and, unconsciously,
circled back near to the starting-point.
Aunt Betsy came often to our tent, and mother fre-
quently went to hers, and they knelt together and
asked for strength to bear their burdens. Once, when
mother came back, she reported to father that she had
discovered bear tracks quite close to camp, and was
solicitous that the beast be secured, as its flesh might
sustain us until rescued.
[101]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
As father grew weaker, we children spent more time
upon the snow above camp. Often, after his womid
was dressed and he fell into a quiet slumber, our ever-
busy, thoughtful mother would come to us and sit on
the tree trunk. Sometimes she brought paper and
wrote; sometimes she sketched the mountains and the
tall tree-tops, which now looked like small trees grow-
ing up through the snow. And often, while knitting or
sewing, she held us spell-bound with wondrous tales of
* * Joseph in Egypt, " of * * Daniel m the den of lions, ' '
of ** Elijah healing the widow's son,'' of dear little
Samuel, who said, ** Speak Lord, for Thy servant
heareth," and of the tender, loving Master, who took
young children in his arms and blessed them.
With me sitting on her lap, and Frances and Georgia
at either side, she referred to father's illness and
lonely condition, and said that when the next ** Re-
lief ' ' came, we little ones might be taken to the settle-
ment, without either parent, but, God willing, both
would follow later. Who could be braver or tenderer
than she, as she prepared us to go forth with strangers
and live without her? While she, without medicine,
without lights, would remain and care for our suffer-
ing father, in hunger and in cold, and without her little
girls to kiss good-morning and good-night. She
taught us how to gain friends among those whom we
should meet, and what to answer when asked whose
children we were.
Often her eyes gazed wistfully to westward, where
sky and mountains seemed to meet, and she told us
[102]
PRECIOUS STORE OF FOOD
that beyond those snowy peaks lay California, our
land of food and safety, our promised land of happi-
ness, where God would care for us. Oh, it was pain-
fully quiet some days in those great mountains, and
lonesome upon the snow. The pines had a whispering
homesick murmur, and we children had lost all inclina-
tion to play.
The last food which I remember seeing in our camp
before the arrival of the Second Relief was a thin
mould of tallow, which mother had tried out of the
trimmings of the jerked beef brought us by the First
Relief. She had let it harden in a pan, and after all
other rations had given out, she cut daily from it three
small white squares for each of us, and we nibbled off
the four comers very slowly, and then around and
around the edges of the precious pieces until they be-
came too small for us to hold between our fingers.
[103]
CHAPTEE XII
ARKIVAl. OF SECOND RELIEF, OR REED-GREENWOOD PARTY
FEW SURVIVORS STRONG ENOUGH TO TRAVEL WIFe's
CHOICE PARTINGS AT DONNER CAMP MY TWO SIS-
TERS AND I DESERTED DEPARTURE OF SECOND RELIEF
PARTY.
IT was the first of March, about ten days after the
arrival of the First Relief, before James Reed and
William McCutchen succeeded in reaching the party
they had left long months before. They, together with
Brit Greenwood, Hiram Miller, Joseph Jondro,
Charles Stone, John Turner, Matthew Dofar, Charles
Cady, and Nicholas Clark constituted the Second
Relief.
They reported having met the First Relief with
eighteen refugees at the head of Bear Valley, three
having died en route from the cabins. Among the sur-
vivors Mr. Reed found his wife, his daughter Virginia,
and his son James F. Reed, Jr. He learned there from
his anxious wife that their two younger children, Mar-
tha J. and Thomas K. Reed, had also left the cabin
with her, but had soon given out and been carried back
and left at the mountain camp by Messrs. Glover and
Moutrey, who then retraced their steps and rejoined
the party.
[104]
EEED-GREENWOOD PARTY
Consequently this Reed-Greenwood party, realizing
that this was no time for tarrying, had hurried on to
the lake cabins, where Mr. Reed had the happiness of
finding his children still alive. There he and five com-
panions encamped upon the snow and fed and soothed
the unfortunates. Two members continued on to Aunt
Betsy's abode, and Messrs. Cady and Clark came to
ours.
This Relief had followed the example of its prede-
cessor in leaving supplies at marked caches along the
trail for the return trip. Therefore, it reached camp
with a frugal amount for distribution. The first ra-
tions were doled out with careful hand, lest harm
should come to the famishing through overeating, still,
the rescuers administered sufficient to satisfy the fierc-
est cravings and to give strength for the prospective
journey.
While crossing Alder Creek Valley to our tent that
first afternoon, Messrs. Cady and Clark had seen fresh
tracks of a bear and cubs, and in the evening the lat-
ter took one of our guns and went in pursuit of the
game which would have been a godsend to us. It was
dark when he returned and told my mother that he had
wounded the old bear near the camp, but that she
had escaped with her young through the pines into a
clump of tamarack, and that he would be able to fol-
low her in the morning by 'the blood-stains on the snow.
Meanwhile, the two men who had come to Aunt Bet-
sy's with food thought it best not to tell her that her
son William had died en route to the settlement with
[105]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
the First Relief. They selected from among her chil-
dren in camp, Solomon, Mary, and Isaac, as able to
follow a leader to the lake cabins, and thence to go
with the outgoing Second Relief, across the mountains.
Hopefully, that mother kissed her three children good-
bye, and then wistfully watched them depart with their
rescuers on snowshoes. She herself was strong
enough to make the journey, but remained because
there was no one to help to carry out her two young-
est children.
Thirty-one of the company were still in the camps
when this party arrived, nearly all of them children,
unable to travel without assistance, and the adults
were too feeble to give much aid to the little ones
upon the snow. Consequently, when my father learned
that the Second Relief comprised only ten men, he
felt that he himself would never reach the settlement.
He was willing to be left alone, and entreated mother
to leave him and try to save herself and us children.
He reminded her that his life was almost spent, that
she could do little for him were she to remain, and
that in caring for us children she would be carrying
on his work.
She who had to choose between the sacred duties of
wife and mother, thought not of self. She looked first
at her helpless little children, then into the face of her
suffering and helpless husband, and tenderly, unhes-
itatingly, announced her determination to remain and
care for him until both should be rescued, or death
should part them.
[106]
PEEPARATION FOR JOURNEY
Perplexities and heartaches multiplied with the
morning hours of the following day. Mr. Clark, being
anxious to provide more food, started early to hunt
the wounded bear. He had not been gone long, when
Mr. Stone arrived from the lake cabins and told Mr.
Cady that the other members of the Relief had be-
come alarmed at gathering storm clouds, and had re-
solved to select at once the ablest among the emigrants
and hasten with them across the summit, and to leave
Clark, Cady, and himself to cut the necessary fuel for
the camps, and otherwise assist the sufferers until the
Third Relief should reach them.
Cady and Stone, without waiting to inform Clark,
promptly decided upon their course of action. They
knew the scarcity of provisions in camp, the condition
of the trail over the mountains, the probability of
long, fierce March storms, and other obstacles which
might delay future promised relief, and, terror-
stricken, determined to rejoin their party, regardless
of opposition, and return to the settlement.
Mother, fearing that we children might not survive
another storm in camp, begged Messrs. Cady and
Stone to take us with them, offering them five hundred
dollars in coin, to deliver us to Elitha and Leanna at
Sutter 's Fort. The agreement was made, and she col-
lected a few keepsakes and other light articles, which
she wished us to have, and which the men seemed more
than willing to carry out of the mountains. Then, lov-
ingly, she combed our hair and helped us to dress
quickly for the journey. When we were ready, except
[107]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PAETY
cloak and hood, slie led ns to the bedside, and we took
leave of father. The men helped us np the steps and
stood us up on the snow. She came, put on our cloaks
and hoods, saying, as if talking to herself, ** I may
never see you again, but God will take care of you.'*
Frances was six years and eight months old and
could trudge along quite bravely, but Georgia, who
was little more than five, and I, lacking a week of four
years, could not do well on the heavy trail, and we
were soon taken up and carried. After travelling
some distance, the men left us sitting on a blanket
upon the snow, and went ahead a short distance where
they stopped and talked earnestly with many gesticula-
tions. We watched them, trembling lest they leave us
there to freeze. Then Frances said,
** Don't feel afraid. If they go off and leave us, I
can lead you back to mother by our foot tracks on the
snow. ' '
After a seemingly long time, they returned, picked
us up and took us on to one of the lake cabins, where
without a parting word, they left us.
The Second Eelief Party, of which these men were
members, left camp on the third of March. They took
with them seventeen refugees — the Breen and Graves
families, Solomon Hook, Isaac and Mary Donner, and
Martha and Thomas, Mr. Eeed's two youngest
children.
[108]
CHAPTER XIII
A FATEFUL CABIN MES. MUEPHY GIVES MOTHEELY COM-
FOET THE GEEAT STOEM HALF A BISCUIT — AEEIVAL
OF THIED EELIEF — ^' WHEEE IS MY BOY? "
HOW can I describe that fateful cabin, which was
dark as night to us who had come in from the
glare of day? We heard no word of greeting and met
no sign of welcome, but were given a dreary resting-
place near the foot of the steps, just inside the open
doorway, with a bed of branches to lie upon, and a
blanket to cover us. After we had been there a short
time, we could distinguish persons on other beds of
branches, and a man with bushy hair reclining beside
a smouldering fire.
Soon a child began to cry, ^* Give me some bread.
Oh, give me some meat! '^
Then another took up the same pitiful wail. It con-
tinued so long that I wept in sympathy, and fastened
my arms tightly around my sister Frances' neck and
hid my eyes against her shoulder. Still I heard that
hungry cry, until a husky voice shouted,
** Be quiet, you crying children, or I '11 shoot you."
But the silence was again and again broken by that
heart-rending plea, and again and again were the
voices hushed by the same terrifying threat. And we
[1091
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
three, fresh from our loving mother's embrace, be-
lieved the awful menace no vain threat.
We were cold, and too frightened to feel hungry,
nor were we offered food that night, but next morn-
ing Mr. Eeed 's little daughter Mattie appeared carry-
ing in her apron a number of newly baked biscuits
which her father had just taken from the hot ashes of
his camp fire. Joyfully she handed one to each in-
mate of the cabin, then departed to join those ready
to set forth on the journey to the settlement. Few can
know how delicious those biscuits tasted, and how
carefully we caught each dropping crumb. The place
seemed drearier after their giver left us, yet we were
glad that her father was taking her to her mother in
California.
Soon the great storm which had been lowering broke
upon us. We were not exposed to its fury as were
those who had just gone from us, but we knew when it
came, for snow drifted down upon our bed and had to
be scraped off before we could rise. We were not al-
lowed near the fire and spent most of our time on our
bed of branches.
Dear, kind Mrs. Murphy, who for months had taken
care of her own son Simon, and her grandson George
Foster, and little James Eddy, gave us a share of her
motherly attention, and tried to feed and comfort us.
Affliction and famine, however, had well nigh sapped
her strength and by the time those plaintive voices
ceased to cry for bread and meat, her willing hands
were too weakened to do much for us.
[110]
FRIGHTENED CHILDfiJEN
I remember being awakened while there by two little
arms clasped suddenly and tightly about me, and I
heard Frances say,
** No, she shall not go with you. You want to kill
her!"
Near us stood Keseberg, the man with the bushy
hair. In limping past our sleeping place, he had
stopped and said something about taking me away
with him, which so frightened my sisters that they be-
lieved my life in danger, and would not let me move
beyond their reach while we remained in that dun-
geon. We spoke in whispers, suffered as much as the
starving children in Joseph ^s time, and were more
afraid than Daniel in the den of lions.
How long the storm had lasted, we did not know, nor
how many days we had been there. We were forlorn
as children can possibly be, when Simon Murphy, who
was older than Frances, climbed to his usual ** look
out " on the snow above the cabin to see if any help
were coming. He returned to us, stammering in his
eagerness :
** I seen — a woman — on snow shoes — coming
from the other camp ! She 's a little woman — like
Mrs. Donner. She is not looking this way — and may
pass! "
Hardly had he spoken her name, before we had
gathered around him and were imploring him to hurry
back and call our mother. We were too excited to fol-
low him up the steps.
She came to us quickly, with all the tenderness and
[1111
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PARTY
courage needed to lessen our troubles and soften our
fears. Oh, how glad we were to see her, and how
thankful she appeared to be with us once more I We
heard it in her voice and saw it in her face ; and when
we begged her not to leave us, she could not answer,
but clasped us closer to her bosom, kissed us anew for
father's sake, then told how the storm had distressed
them. Often had they hoped that we had reached the
cabins too late to join the Relief — then in grieving
anguish felt that we had, and might not live to cross
the summit.
She had watched the fall of snow, and measured its
depth; had seen it drift between the two camps mak-
ing the way so treacherous that no one had dared to
cross it until the day before her own coming ; then she
induced Mr. Clark to try to ascertain if Messrs. Cady
and Stone had really got us to the cabins in time to go
with the Second Relief.
We did not see Mr. Clark, but he had peered in,
taken observations, and returned by nightfall and de-
scribed to her our condition.
John Baptiste had promised to care for father in
her absence. She left our tent in the morning as
early as she could see the way. She must have stayed
with us over night, for I went to sleep in her arms, and
they were still around me when I awoke ; and it seemed
like a new day, for we had time for many cherished
talks. She veiled from us the ghastliness of death,
telling us Aunt Betsy and both our little cousins had
gone to heaven. She said Lewis had been first to go,
[112]
THE PRECIOUS HALF-BISCUIT
and his mother had soon followed ; that she herself had
carried little Sammie from his sick mother's tent to
ours the very day we three were taken away; and in
order to keep him warm while the storm raged, she
had laid him close to father's side, and that he had
stayed with them until ** day before yesterday."
I asked her if Sammie had cried for bread. She re-
plied, *^ No, he was not hungry, for your mother saved
two of those little biscuits which the relief party
brought, and every day she soaked a tiny piece in
water and fed him all he would eat, and there is still
half a biscuit left. ' '
How big that half -biscuit seemed to me! I won-
dered why she had not brought at least a part of it
to us. While she was talking with Mrs. Murphy, I
could not get it out of my mind. I could see that
broken half -biscuit, with its ragged edges, and knew
that if I had a piece, I would nibble off the rough
points first. The longer I waited, the more I wanted
it. Finally, I slipped my arm around mother's neck,
drew her face close to mine and whispered,
** What are you going to do with the half -biscuit you
saved? "
** I am keeping it for your sick father," she an-
swered, drawing me closer to her side, laying her com-
forting cheek against mine, letting my arm keep its
place, and my fingers stroke her hair.
The two women were still talking in subdued tones,
pouring the oil of sympathy into each others' gaping
wounds. Neither heard the sound of feet on the snow
[113]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PAETY
above ; neither knew that the Third Eelief Party was
at hand, until Mr. Eddy and Mr. Foster came down the
steps, and each asked anxiously of Mrs. Murphy,
'* Where is my boy? "
Each received the same sorrowful answer —
'* Dead.''
[Ill]
CHAPTER XIV
THE QUEST OF TWO FATHEKS SECOND BELIEF IN DISTRESS
THIRD RELIEF ORGANIZED AT WOODWORTH's RELAY
CAMP DIVIDES AND ONE HALF GOES TO SUCCOR SECOND
RELIEF AND ITS REFUGEES; AND THE OTHER HALF PRO-
CEEDS TO DONNER LAKE A LAST FAREWELL A WOM-
AN'S SACRIFICE.
IT will be remembered that Mr. Eddy, being ill, was
dropped out of the First Relief at Mule Springs
in February, and sent back to Johnson's Ranch to
await the return of this party, which had promised to
bring out his family. Who can realize his distress
when it returned with eighteen refugees, and informed
him that his wife and little Maggie had perished be-
fore it reached the camps, and that it had been obliged
to leave his baby there in care of Mrs. Murphy?
Disappointed and aggrieved, the afflicted father im-
mediately set out on horseback, hoping that he would
meet his child on the trail in charge of the Second Re-
lief, which it seemed reasonable to expect would follow
closely in the footsteps of the first. He was accom-
panied by Mr. Foster, of the Forlorn Hope, who had
been forced to leave his own little son at the camp in
charge of Mrs. Murphy, its grandmother.
On the evening of the second day, the two reached
[115]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
Woodwortli's camp, established as a relay station pur-
suant to the general plan of rescue originally adopted.
They found the midshipman in snug quarters with sev-
eral men to do his bidding. He explained that the lack
of competent guides had prevented his venturing
among the snow peaks. Whereupon, Mr. Eddy earn-
estly assured him that the trail of those who had al-
ready gone up outlined the way.
After much deliberation, Woodworth and his men
agreed to start out next morning for the mountain
camps, but tried to dissuade Mr. Eddy from accom-
panying them on account of his apparent depleted con-
dition. Nevertheless both he and Mr. Foster remained
firm, and with the party, left the relay camp, crossed
the low foothills and encamped for the night on the
Yuba River.
At dusk, Woodworth was surprised by the arrival of
two forlorn-looking individuals, whom he recognized
as members of the Reed-Greenwood Relief, which had
gone up the mountain late in February and was over-
due. The two implored food for themselves, also for
their seven companions and three refugees, a mile back
on the trail, unable to come farther.
When somewhat refreshed, they were able to go
more into detail, and the following explanation of their
plight was elicited:
** One of our men, Clark, is at Conner's Camp, and
the other nine of us left the cabins near the lake on
the third of March, with seventeen of the starving
emigrants. The storm caught us as we crossed the
[116]
STARVED CAMP
summit, and ten miles below, drove us into camp. It
got so bad and lasted so long that our provisions gave
out, and we almost froze to death cutting wood. We
all worked at keeping the fires until we were com-
pletely exhausted, then seeing no prospects of help
coming to us, we left, and made our way down here,
bringing Eeed's two children and Solomon Hook, who
said he could and would walk. The other fourteen
that we brought over the summit are up there at what
we call Starved Camp. Some are dead, the rest with-
out food.''
Woodworth and two followers went at once with
provisions to the near-by sufferers, and later brought
them down to camp.
Messrs. Reed and Greenwood stated that every
available means had been tried by them to get the
seventeen unfortunates well over the summit before
the great storm reached its height. They said the
physical condition of the refugees was such, from the
very start, that no persuasion, nor warnings, nor
threats could quicken their feeble steps. All but three
of the number were children, with their hands and
feet more or less frozen. Worse still, the caches on
which the party had relied for sustenance had been
robbed by wild animals, and the severity of the storm
had forced all into camp, with nothing more than a
breastwork of brush to shelter them. Mrs. Elisabeth
Graves died the first night, leaving to the party the
hopeless task of caring for her emaciated babe in arms,
and her three other children between the ages of nine
[117]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
and five years. Soon, however, the five-year-old fol-
lowed his mother, and the number of starving was
again lessened on the third night when Isaac Donner
went to sleep beside his sister and did not waken. The
storm had continued so furiously that it was impossible
to bury the dead. Days and nights were spent in
steadfast struggling against the threatening inev-
itable, before the party gave up; and Greenwood and
Reed, taking the two Reed children and also Solomon
Hook, who walked, started down the mountain, hoping
to save their own lives and perhaps get fresh men to
complete the pitiful work which they had been forced
to abandon.
When Messrs. Reed and Greenwood closed their ac-
count of the terrible physical and mental strain their
party had undergone, ** Mr. Woodworth asked his
own men of the relay camp, if they would go with him
to rescue those unfortunates at * Starved Camp,' and
received an answer in the negative. ' ' *
The following morning there was an earnest con-
sultation, and so hazardous seemed the trail and the
work to be done that for a time all except Eddy and
Foster refused to go farther. Finally, John Stark
stepped forward, saying,
^* Gentlemen, I am ready to go and do what I can
for those sufferers, without promise of pay.''
By guaranteeing three dollars per day to any man
who would get supplies to the mountain camps, and
fifty dollars in addition to each man who should carry
*Extract from Thornton's work.
[118]
, ^Kai.
/ s. ^^1
jjf&i^SmH^ JBi^^^^B
^B 1'
B^B^^L;^*^ 'iisif^^QRH
'^'''" "^__._^:3?JK
'/it . i«M^3
■m
((
THE THIED RELIEF PARTY
a helpless child, not his own, back to the settlement,
Mr. Eddy * secured the services of Hiram Miller, who
had just come down with the Second Relief; and Mr.
Foster hired, on the same terms, Mr. Thompson from
the relay camp. Mr. Woodworth offered like induce-
ments, on Government account, to the rest of his men,
and before the morning was far advanced, with William
H. Eddy acting as leader, William Foster, Hiram Mil-
ler, Mr. Thompson, John Stark, Howard Oakley, and
Charles Stone (who had left us little ones at the lake
camp) shouldered their packs and began the ascent.
Meanwhile how fared it at Starved Camp 1 Mr. and
Mrs. Breen being left there with their own five suffer-
ing children and the four other poor, moaning little
waifs, were tortured by situations too heart-rending
for description, too pitiful to seem true. Suffice it to
relate that Mrs. Breen shared with baby Graves the
last lump of loaf sugar and the last drops of tea, of
that which she had denied herself and had hoarded for
her own babe. When this was gone, with quivering
lips .she and her husband repeated the litany and
prayed for strength to meet the ordeal, — then, turn-
ing to the unburied dead, they resorted to the only
means left to save the nine helpless little ones.
When Mr. Eddy and party reached them, they found
much suffering from cold and crying for ** something
to eat," but not the wail which precedes delirium and
death.
This Third Relief Party settled for the night upon
*Thornton saw Eddy pay Hiram Miller the promised fifty dollars
after the Third Eelief reacLed the settlement.
[119]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
the snow near these refugees, who had twice been in
the shadow of doom ; and after giving them food and
fire, Mr. Eddy divided his force into two sections.
Messrs. Stark, Oakley, and Stone were to remain there
and nurture the refugees a few hours longer, then
carry the small children, and conduct those able to
walk to Mule Springs, while Eddy and three compan-
ions should hasten on to the cabins across the summit.*
Section Two, spurred on by paternal solicitude, re-
sumed travel at four o'clock the following morning,
and crossed the summit soon after sunrise. The
nearer they approached camp, the more anxious
Messrs. Eddy and Foster became to reach the children
they hoped to find alive. Finally, they rushed ahead,
as we have seen, to the Murphy cabin. Alas ! only dis-
appointment met them there.
Even after Mrs. Murphy had repeated her pitiful
answer, * * Dead, ' ' the afflicted fathers stood dazed and
silent, as if waiting for the loved ones to return.
Mr. Eddy was the first to recover sufficiently for ac-
tion. Presently Simon Murphy and we three little
girls were standing on the snow under a clear blue sky,
and saw Hiram Miller and Mr. Thompson coming to-
ward camp.
The change was so sudden it was difficult to under-
stand what had happened. How could we realize that
we had passed out of that loathsome cabin, never to
return ; or that Mrs. Murphy, too ill to leave her bed,
and Keseberg, too lame to walk, by reason of a deep
*See McGlashan's ** History of the Dormer Party.*'
[120]
NAERATIYE OF COLONEL THORNTON
cleft in his heel, made by an axe, would have to stay
alone in that abode of wretchedness ?
Nor could we know our mother's anguish, as she
stepped aside to arrange with Mr. Eddy for our de-
parture. She had told us at our own camp why she
would remain. She had parted from us there and put
us in charge of men who had risked much and come
far to do a heroic deed. Later she had found us,
abandoned by them, in time of direst need, and in
danger of an awful death, and had warmed and cheered
us back to hope and confidence. Now, she was about
to confide us to the care of a party whose leader swore
either to save us or die with us on the trail. "We lis-
tened to the sound of her voice, felt her good-bye
kisses, and watched her hasten away to father, over
the snow, through the pines, and out of sight, and
knew that we must not follow. But the influence of
her last caress, last yearning look of love and abiding
faith will go with us through life.
The ordeal through which she passed is thus told by
Colonel Thornton, after a personal interview with Mr.
Eddy:
Mrs. George Donner was able to travel. But her hus-
band was in a helpless condition, and she would not consent
to leave him while he survived. She expressed her solemn
and unalterable purpose, which no danger or peril could
change, to remain and perform for him the last sad office of
duty and affection. She manifested, however, the greatest
solicitude for her children, and informed Mr. Eddy that she
had fifteen hundred dollars in silver, all of which she would
give him, if he would save the lives of the children.
He informed her that he would not carry out one hun-
dred dollars of all she had, but that he would save her chil-
[121]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
dren or die in the effort. The party had no provisions to
leave for the sustenance of these unhappy, unfortunate
beings.
After remaining about two hours, Mr. Eddy informed
Mrs. Donner that he was constrained by force of circum-
stances to depart. It was certain that George Donner would
never rise from the miserable bed upon which he had lain
down, worn by toil and wasted by famine.
A woman was probably never before placed in circum-
stances of greater or more peculiar trial; but her duty and
affection as a wife triumphed over all her instincts of reason.
The parting scene between parent and children is repre-
sented as being one that will never be forgotten, so long as
life remains or memory performs its functions.
My own emotions will not permit me to attempt a
description which language, indeed, has not power to delin-
eate. It is sufficient to say that it was affecting beyond meas-
ure ; and that the last words uttered by Mrs. Donner in tears
and sobs to Mr. Eddy were, ** Oh, save, save my children! ''
[122]
CHAPTER XV
SIMON MUBPHY, FKANCES, GEOKGIA, AND I TAKEN FKOM THE
LAKE CABINS BY THE THIBD BELIEF NO FOOD TO LEAVE
CEOSSING THE SNOW BEMNANT OF THE SECOND BE-
LIEF OVEBTAKEN OUT OF THE SNOW INCIDENTS OF
THE JOUBNEY JOHNSON 's BANCH THE SINCLAIB
HOME SUTTEB's FOBT.
WHEN we left the lake cabin, we still wore the
clothing we had on when we came from our
tent with Messrs. Cady and Stone. Georgia and I
were clad in quilted petticoats, linsey dresses, woollen
stockings, and well-worn shoes. Our cloaks were of a
twilled material, garnet, with a white thread inter-
woven, and we had knitted hoods to match. Frances'
clothing was as warm; instead of cloak, however, she
wore a shawl, and her hood was blue. Her shoes had
been eaten by our starving dog before he disappeared,
and as all others were buried out of reach, mother had
substituted a pair of her own in their stead.
Mr. Foster took charge of Simon Murphy, his wife's
brother, and Messrs. Eddy and Miller carried Georgia
and me. Mr. Eddy always called Georgia ^^ my
girl," and she found great favor in his eyes, because in
size and looks she reminded him of his little daughter
who had perished in that storm-bound camp.
[123]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
Our first stop was on tlie mountain-side overlooking
the lake, where we were given a light meal of bread
and meat and a drink of water. When we reached the
head of the lake, we overtook Nicholas Clark and John
Baptiste who had deserted father in his tent and were
hurrying toward the settlement. Our coming was a
surprise to them, yet they were glad to join our party.
After our evening allowance of food we were stowed
snugly between blankets in a snow trench near the
summit of the Sierras, but were so hungry that we
could hardly get to sleep, even after being told that
more food would do us harm.
Early next morning we were again on the trail. I
could not walk at all, and Georgia only a short distance
at a time. So treacherous was the way that our res-
cuers often stumbled into unseen pits, struggled among
snow drifts, and climbed icy ridges where to slip or fall
might mean death in the yawning depth below.
Near the close of this most trying day, Hiram M.
Miller put me down, saying wearily, ** I am tired of
carrying you. If you will walk to that dark thing on
the mountain-side ahead of us, you shall have a nice
lump of loaf sugar with your supper."
My position in the blanket had been so cramped that
my limbs were stiff and the jostling of the march had
made my body ache. I looked toward the object to
which he pointed. It seemed a long way off; yet I
wanted the sugar so much that I agreed to walk. The
wind was sharp. I shivered, and at times could hardly
lift my feet; often I stumbled and would have fallen
[124]
CHILDREN ON THE MARCH
had lie not held my hand tightly, as he half led, half
drew me onward. I did my part, however, in glad ex-
pectation of the promised bit of sweetness. The sun
had set before we reached our landmark, which was a
felled and blackened tree, selected to furnish fuel for
our night fire. When we children were given our
evening allowance of food, I asked for my lump of
sugar, and cried bitterly on being harshly told there
was none for me. Too disappointed and fretted to
care for anything else, I sobbed myself to sleep.
Nor did I waken happy next morning. I had not
forgotten the broken promise, and was lonesome for
mother. When Mr. Miller told me that I should walk
that day as far as Frances and Georgia did, I refused
to go forward, and cried to go back. The result was
that he used rough means before I promised to be good
and do as he commanded. His act made my sister
Frances rush to my defence, and also, touched a chord
in the fatherly natures of the other two men, who sum-
marily brought about a more comfortable state of
affairs.
When we proceeded on our journey, I was again
carried by Mr. Miller in a blanket on his back as young
children are carried by Indians on long journeys. My
head above the blanket folds bobbed uncomfortably at
every lurch. The trail led up and down and around
snow peaks, and under overhanging banks that seemed
ready to give way and crush us.
At one turn our rescuers stopped, picked up a bun-
dle, and carefully noted the fresh human foot prints in
[125]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
the snow which indicated that a number of persons
were moving in advance. By our fire that night, Mr^
Eddy opened the bundle that we had found upon the
snow, and to the surprise of all, Frances at once rec-
ognized in it the three silk dresses, silver spoons, small
keepsakes, and articles of children's clothing which
mother had intrusted to the care of Messrs. Cady and
Stone.
The spoons and smaller articles were now stowed
away in the pockets of our rescuers for safekeeping
on the journey; and while we little girls dressed our-
selves in the fresh underwear, and watched our dis-
carded garments disappear in the fire, the dresses,
which mother had planned should come to us later in
life, were remodelled for immediate use.
Mr. Thompson pulled out the same sharp pocket-
knife, coarse black thread, and big-eyed needle, which
he had used the previous evening, while making
Frances a pair of moccasins out of his own gauntlet
gloves. With the help of Mr. Eddy, he then ripped
out the sleeves, cut off the waists about an inch above
the skirt gathers, cut slits in the skirts for arm-holes,
and tacked in the sleeves. Then, with mother's wish
in mind, they put the dove-colored silk on Frances, the
light brown on Georgia, and the dark coffee-brown on
me. Pleats and laps in the skirt bands were necessary
to fit them to our necks. Strings were tied around our
waists, and the skirts tacked up until they were of
walking length. These ample robes served for cloaks
as well as dresses for we could easily draw our hands
[126]
CAMP AT THE YUBA RIVER
back through the sleeves and keep our arms warm be-
neath the folds. Thus comfortably clad, we began an-
other day's journey.
Before noon we overtook and passed Messrs. Oakley,
Stone, and Stark, having in charge the following ref-
ugees from Starved Camp : Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Breen
and their five children; Mary Donner, Jonathan
Graves, Nancy Graves, and baby Graves. Messrs.
Oakley and Stone were in advance, the former carry-
ing Mary Donner over his shoulder; and the latter
baby Graves in his arms. Great-hearted John Stark
had the care of all the rest. He was broad-shouldered
and powerful, and would stride ahead with two weak-
lings at a time, deposit them on the trail and go back
for others who could not keep up. These were the
remnant of the hopeful seventeen who had started out
on the third of March with the Second Relief, and with
whom mother had hoped we children would cross the
mountains.
It was after dark when our own little party en-
camped at the crossing of the Yuba River. The fol-
lowing morning Lieutenant Woodworth and attendants
were found near-by. He commended the work done
by the Third Relief; yet, to Mr. Eddy's dismay, he de-
clared that he would not go to the rescue of those who
were still in the mountains, because the warmer
weather was melting the snow so rapidly that the lives
of his men would be endangered should he attempt to
lead them up the trail which we had just followed
down. He gave our party rations, and said that he
[127]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PART^
would at once proceed to Johnson's Ranch and from
there send to Mule Springs the requisite number of
horses to carry to the settlement the persons now on
the trail.
Our party did not resume travel until ten o'clock
that morning; nevertheless, we crossed the snow line
and made our next camp at Mule Springs. There we
caught the first breath of springtide, touched the warm,
dry earth, and saw green fields far beyond the foot of
that cold, cruel mountain range. Our rescuers ex-
claimed joyfully, ** Thank God, we are at last out of.
the snow, and you shall soon see Elitha and Leanna,
and have all you want to eat."
Our allowance of food had been gradually increased
and our improved condition bore evidence of the good
care and kind treatment we had received. We re-
mained several days at Mule Springs, and were com-
paratively happy until the arrival of the unfortunates
from Starved Camp, who stretched forth their gaunt
hands and piteously begged for food which would have
caused death had it been given to them in sufficient
quantities to satisfy their cravings.
When I went among them I found my little cousin
Mary sitting on a blanket near Mr. Oakley, who had
carried her thither, and who was gently trying to en-
gage her thoughts. Her wan face was wet with tears,
and her hands were clasped around her knee as she
rocked from side to side in great pain. A large woollen
stocking covered her swollen leg and frozen foot which
had become numb and fallen into the fire one night at
[1281
AT JOHNSON'S RANCH
Starved Camp and been badly maimed before she
awakened to feel the pain. I wanted to speak to her,
but when I saw how lonesome and ill she looked, some-
thing like pain choked off my words.
Her brother Isaac had died at that awful camp and
she herself would not have lived had Mr. Oakley not
been so good to her. He was now comforting her with
the assurance that he would have the foot cared for by
a doctor as soon as they should reach the settlement;
and she, believing him, was trying to be brave and
patient.
We all resumed travel on horseback and reached
Johnson's Ranch about the same hour in the day. As
we approached, the little colony of emigrants which
had settled in the neighborhood the previous Autumn
crowded in and about the two-roomed adobe house
which Mr. Johnson had kindly set apart as a stopping
place for the several relief parties on their way to
and from the mountains. All were anxious to see
the sufferers for whose rescue they had helped to pro-
vide.
Survivors of the Forlorn Hope and of the First Re-
lief were also there awaiting the arrival of expected
loved ones. There Simon Murphy, who came with us,
met his sisters and brother; Mary Graves took from
the arms of Charles Stone, her slowly dying baby sis-
ter; she received from the hands of John Stark her
brother Jonathan and her sister Nancy, and heard of
the death of her mother and of her brother Franklin
at Starved Camp. That house of welcome became a
[129]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
house of mourning when Messrs. Eddy and Foster re-
peated the names of those who had perished in the
snows. The scenes were so heart-rending that I
slipped out of doors and sat in the sunshine waiting
for Frances and Georgia, and thinking of her who had
intrusted us to the care of God.
Before our short stay at the Johnson Ranch ended,
we little girls had a peculiar experience. While stand-
ing in a doorway, the door closed with a bang upon two
of my fingers. My piercing cry brought several per-
sons to the spot, and one among them sat down and
soothed me in a motherly way. After I was myself
again, she examined the dress into which Messrs.
Thompson and Eddy had stitched so much good-will,
and she said:
** Let me take off this clumsy thing, and give you a
little blue dress with white flowers on it. ^ * She made
the change, and after she had fastened it in the back
she got a needle and white thread and bade me stand
closer to her so that she might sew up the tear which
exposed my knees. She asked why I looked so hard
at her sewing, and I replied,
** My mother always makes little stitches when she
sews my dresses. ' '
No amount of pulling down of the sleeves or
straightening out of the skirt could conceal the fact
that I was too large for the garment. As I was leav-
ing her, I heard her say to a companion, ' * That is just
as good for her, and this will make two for my little
girl.'' Later in the day Frances and Georgia parted
[130]
ARRIVAL AT SUTTER'S FORT
with their silks and looked as forlorn as I in calico
substitutes.
Oh, the balm and beauty of that early morning when
Messrs. Eddy, Thompson, and Miller took us on horse-
back down the Sacramento Valley. Under the leafy
trees and over the budding blossoms we rode. Not
rapidly, but steadily, we neared our journey's end.
Toward night, when the birds had stopped their sing-
ing and were hiding themselves among bush and bough,
we reached the home of Mr. and Mrs. John Sinclair on
the American River, thirty-five miles from Johnson's
Ranch and only two and a half from Sutter 's Fort.
That hospitable house was over-crowded with earlier
arrivals, but as it was too late for us to cross the river,
sympathetic Mrs. Sinclair said that she would find a
place for us. Having no bed to offer, she loosened
the rag-carpet from one corner of the room, had fresh
straw put on the floor, and after supper, tucked us
away on it, drawing the carpet over us in place of
quilts.
We had bread and milk for supper that night, and
the same good food next day. In the afternoon we
were taken across the river in an Indian canoe. Then
we followed the winding path through the tules to Sut-
ter's Fort, where we were given over to our half-sisters
by those heroic men who had kept their pledge to our
mother and saved our lives.
[131]
CHAPTER XVI
ELITHA AND LEANNA LIFE AT THE FOET WATCHING
THE COW PATH EETUBN OF THE FALLON PARTY
KESEBERG BROUGHT IN BY THEM FATHER AND MOTHER
DID NOT COME.
THE room in which Elitha and Leanna were stay-
ing when we arrived at Sutter 's Fort was part of
a long, low, single-story adobe building outside the for-
tification walls, and like others that were occupied by
belated travellers, was the barest and crudest struc-
ture imaginable. It had an earthen floor, a thatched
roof, a batten door, and an opening in the rear wall
to serve as window.
We little ones were oblivious of discomfort, how-
ever. The tenderness with which we were received,
and the bewildering sense of safety that we felt,
blinded us even to the anguish and fear which crept
over our two sisters, when they saw us come to them
alone. How they suffered I learned many years later
from Elitha, who said, in referring to those pitiful
experiences :
After Sister Leanna and I reached the Fort with the
First Relief, we were put in different families to await our
parents; but as soon as the Second Relief was expected, we
[132]
EEPORT AT FORT
went to housekeeping, gathered wood, and had everything
ready. No one came. Then we waited and watched anxiously
for the Third Relief, and it was a sad sight to see you
three and no more.
I went in, kindled the fire, and gave you supper. I had
a bed of shavings hemmed in with poles for father and
mother. They did not come. We five lay down upon it,
and Sister Leanna and I talked long after you three were
asleep, wondering what we should do. You had no clothes,
except those you wore, so the next day I got a little cotton
stuff and commenced making you some. Sister Leanna did
the cooking and looked after you, which took all her time.
The United States Army officer at the Fort had left orders
at Captain Sutter's store, that we should be furnished with
the necessaries of life, and that was how we were able to get
the food and few things we had when you arrived.
Messrs. Eddy and Thompson did not tell my sisters
that they had no expectation of father's getting
through, and considered mother's chance very slight,
but went directly to the Fort to report to Colonel
McKinstry and to Mr. Kerns what their party had ac-
complished, and to inform them that Lieutenant Wood-
worth was about to break camp and return to the
settlement instead of trying to get relief to the four
unfortunates still at the mountain camp.
Very soon thereafter, a messenger on horseback
from the Fort delivered a letter to Lieutenant Wood-
worth, and a fourth party was organized, * * consisting
of John Stark, John Rhodes, E Coffeymier, John Del,
Daniel Tucker, Wm. Foster, and Wm. Graves. But
this party proceeded no farther than Bear Valley on
account of the rapidly melting snows.'' *
The return of the party after its fruitless efforts
•Thornton.
[133]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
was not made known to Elitha and Leanna ; nor were
they aware that Thomas Fallon, with six companions,
had set out for the mountain camps on the tenth of
April.
Neither fear nor misgivings troubled us little ones
the morning we started out, hand in hand, to explore
our new surroundings. We had rested, been washed,
combed, and fed, and we believed that father and
mother would soon come to us. Everything was beau-
tiful to our eyes. We did not care if * ' the houses did
look as if they were made of dry dirt and hadn't any-
thing but holes for windows.'' We watched the
mothers sitting on the door sills or on chairs near them
laughing as they talked and sewed, and it seemed good
to see the little children at play and hear them singing
their dolls to sleep.
The big gate to the adobe wall around Captain Sut-
ter's home was open, and we could look in and see
many white-washed huts built against the back and
side walls, and a flag waving from a pole in front of the
large house, which stood in the middle of the ground.
Cannons like those we had seen at Fort Laramie were
also peeping out of holes in these walls, and an Indian
soldier and a white soldier were marching to and fro,
each holding a gun against his shoulder, and it point-
ing straight up in the air.
Often we looked at each other and exclaimed, * * How
good to be here instead of up in the snow." It was
bard to go back to the house when sisters called us.
[134]
o
o
Q
<
DEEDS OF KINDNESS
I do not remember the looks or the taste of anything
they gave us to eat. We were so eager to stay out in
the sunshine. Before long, we went to that dreary,
bare room only to sleep. Many of the women at the
Fort were kind to us ; gave us bread from their scant
loaves not only because we were destitute, but because
they had grateful recollection of those whose name we
bore.
Once a tall, freckle-faced boy, with very red hair,
edged up to where I was watching others at play, and
whispered :
** See here, little gal, you run get that little tin cup
of yourn, and when you see me come out of Mrs. Wim-
mer's house with the milk pail on my arm, you go
round yonder to the tother side of the cow-pen, where
you '11 find a hole big enough to put the cup through.
Then you can watch me milk it full of the nicest milk
you ever tasted. You needn't say nothing to no-
body about it. I give your little sister some last time,
and I want to do the same for you. I hain't got no
mother neither, and I know how it is."
When I got there he took the cup and, as he sat down
under old Bossy, smilingly asked if I liked lots of
foam. I told him I did. He milked a faster, stronger
stream, then handed me the cup, full as he could carry
it, and a white cap of foam stood above its rim. I
tasted it and told him it was too good to drink fast,
but he watched me until it was all gone. Then, say-
ing he didn't want thanks, he hurried me back to the
[135]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
children. I never saw that boy again, but have ever
been grateful for his act of pure kindness.
Every day or two a horse all white with lather and
dripping with sweat would rush by, and the Indian or
white man on his back would guide him straight to
Captain Kerns' quarters, where he would hand out
papers and letters. The women and children would
flock thither to see if it meant news for them. Often
they were disappointed and talked a great deal about
the tediousness of the Mexican War and the delays of
Captain Fremont's company. They wanted the war
to end, and their men folk back so that they could
move and get to farming before it should be too late to
grow garden truck for family use.
While they thus anxiously awaited the return of
their soldiers, we kept watch of the cow-path by which
we had reached the Fort; for Elitha had told us that
we might * * pretty soon see the relief coming. ' ' She
did not say, ** with father and mother " ; but we did,
and she replied, ** I hope so."
We were very proud of the new clothes she had
made us ; but the first time she washed and hung them
out to dry, they were stolen, and we were again des-
titute. Sister Elitha thought perhaps strange Indians
took them.
In May, the Fallon party arrived with horses laden
with many packs of goods, but their only refugee was
Lewis Keseberg, from the cabin near the lake.
It was evening, and some one came to our door,
[136]
LOSS OF FATHER AND MOTHER
spoke to Elitha and Leanna in low tones and went
away. My sisters turned, put their arms about ns and
wept bitterly. Then, gently, compassionately, the
cruel, desolating truth was told. Ah, how could we be-
lieve it? No anxious watching, no weary waiting
would ever bring father and mother to us again I
[137]
CHAPTEE XVII
OKPHANS KESEBERG AND HIS ACCUSERS SENSATIONAL
ACCOUNTS OF THE TRAGEDY AT DONNER LAKE PROP-
ERTY SOLD AND GUARDIAN APPOINTED KINDLY INDIANS
** GRANDPA '' MARRIAGE OF ELITHA.
THE report of our affiliction spread rapidly, and
the well-meaning, tender-hearted women at the
Fort came to condole and weep with us, and made their
children weep also by urging, ' ' Now, do say something
comforting to these poor little girls, who were frozen
and starved up in the mountains, and are now orphans
in a strange land, without any home or any one to care
for them."
Such ordeals were too overwhelming. I would rush
off alone among the wild flowers to get away from the
torturing sympathy. Even there, I met those who
would look at me with great serious eyes, shake their
heads, and mournfully say, ** You poor little mite, how
much better it would be if you had died in the moun-
tains with your dear mother, instead of being left
alone to struggle in this wicked world ! ' '
This would but increase my distress, for I did not
want to be dead and buried up there under the cold,
deep snow, and I knew that mother did not want me
to be there either. Had she not sent me away to save
[138]
CHARGES AGAINST KESEBERG
me, and asked God, our Heavenly Father, to take care
of me?
Intense excitement and indignation prevailed at the
Fort after Captain Fallon and other members of his
party gave their account of the conditions found at the
mountain camps, and of interviews had with Keseberg,
whom they now called, ** cannibal, robber, and mur-
derer. ' ' The wretched man was accused by this party,
not only of having needlessly partaken of human flesh,
and of having appropriated coin and other property
which should have come to us orphaned children, but
also of having wantonly taken the life of Mrs. Murphy
and of my mother.
Some declared him crazy, others called him a mon-
ster. Keseberg denied these charges and repeatedly
accused Fallon and his party of making false state-
ments. He sadly acknowledged that he had used hu-
man flesh to keep himself from starving, but swore
that he was guiltless of taking human life. He stated
that Mrs. Murphy had died of starvation soon after the
departure of the '* Third Relief," and that my mother
had watched by father's bedside until he died. After
preparing his body for burial, she had started out on
the trail to go to her children. In attempting to cross
the distance from her camp to his, she had strayed and
wandered about far into the night, and finally reached
his cabin wet, shivering, and grief-stricken, yet de-
termined to push onward. She had brought nothing
with her, but told him where to find money to take to
her children in the event of her not reaching them.
[1391
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
He stated that he offered her food, which she refused.
He then attempted to persuade her to wait until morn-
ing, and while they were talking, she sank upon the
floor completely exhausted, and he covered her with
blankets and made a fire to warm her. In the morning
he found her cold in death.
Keseberg's vehement and steadfast denial of the
crimes of which he stood accused saved him from per-
sonal violence, but not from suspicion and ill-will. Wo-
men shunned him, and children stoned him as he
walked about the fort. The California Star printed in
full the account of the Fallon party, and blood-curdling
editorials increased public sentiment against Keseberg,
stamping him with the mark of Cain, and closing the
door of every home against him.*
Elitha and Leanna tried to keep us little ones in
ignorance of the report that our father's body was
mutilated, also of what was said about the alleged mur-
der of our mother. Still we did hear fragments of
conversations which greatly disturbed us, and our
sisters found it difficult to answer some of our
questions.
Meanwhile, more disappointments for us were brew-
ing at the fort. Fallon's party demanded an imme-
diate settlement of its claim. It had gone up the
mountains under promise that its members should
have not only a per diem as rescuers, but also one
half of all the property that they might bring to the
settlement, and they had brought valuable packs from
*See Appendix for account of the Fallon party, quoted from Thorn-
ton's work.
[140];
PROVISION FOE DONNER CHILDREN
the camps of the Donners. Captain Fallon also had
two hundred and twenty-five dollars in gold coin
taken from concealment on Keseberg's person, and
two hundred and seventy-five dollars additional taken
from a cache that Keseberg had disclosed after the
Captain had partially strangled him, and otherwise
brutally treated him, to extort information of hidden
treasure.
Keseberg did not deny that this money belonged to
the Donners, but asserted that it was his intention and
desire to take it to the Donner children himself as he
had promised their mother.
Eventually, it was agreed that the Donner prop-
erties should be sold at auction, and that ** one half
of the proceeds should be handed over to Captain Fal-
lon to satisfy the claims of his party, and the other
half should be put into the hands of a guardian for the
support of the Donner children." Hiram Miller was
appointed guardian by Alcalde Sinclair.
Notwithstanding these plans for our well-being, un-
accountable delays followed, making our situation
daily more trying.
Elitha was not yet fifteen years of age, and Leanna
was two years younger. They had not fully recovered
from the effects of their long privations and physical
sufferings in the mountains; and the loss of parents
and means of support placed upon them responsibil-
ities greater than they could carry, no matter how
bravely they strove to meet the situation. ** How can
we provide for ourselves and these little sisters? ''
[141]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
was a question which haunted them by night and per-
plexed them by day.
They had no way of communicating with our friends
in Eastern States, and the women at the Fort could ill
afford to provide longer for us, since their bread win-
ners were still with Fremont, and their own supplies
were limited. Finally, my two eldest sisters were
given employment by different families in exchange
for food, which they shared with us ; but it was often
insufficient, and we little ones drifted along forlornly.
Sometimes home was where night overtook us.
Often, we trudged to the rancheria beyond the pond,
made by the adobe-moulders who had built the houses
and wall surrounding the fort. There the Indian
mothers were good to us. They gave us shreds of
smoked fish and dried acorns to eat; lowered from
their backs the queer little baby-beds, called ** bick-
coses," and made the chubby faces in them laugh for
our amusement. They also let us pet the dogs that
perked up their ears and wagged their tails as our own
Uno used to do when he wanted to frolic. Sometimes
they stroked our hair and rubbed the locks between
their fingers, then felt their own as if to note the differ-
ence. They seemed sorry because we could not under-
stand their speech.
The pond also, with its banks of flowers, winding
path, and dimpling waters, had charms for us until one
day's experience drove us from it forever. "We three
were playing near it when a joyous Indian girl with a
bundle of clothes on her head ran down the bank to the
[142]
EESCUE BY INDIAN GIEL
water's edge. We, following, watched her drop her
bundle near a board that sloped from a rock into na-
ture's tub, then kneel upon the upper end and souse
the clothes merrily up and down in the clear water.
She lathered them with a freshly gathered soap-root
and cleansed them according to the ways of the Span-
ish mission teachers. As she tied the wet garments in
a bundle and turned to carry them to the drying
ground, Frances espied some loose yellow poppies
floating near the end of the board and lay down upon
it for the purpose of catching them.
Georgia and I saw her lean over and stretch out her
hand as far as she could reach ; saw the poppies drift
just beyond her finger tips ; saw her lean a little far-
ther, then slip, head first, into the deep water. Such
shrieks as terrified children give, brought the Indian
girl quickly to our aid. Like a flash, she tossed the
bundle from her head, sprang into the water, snatched
Frances as she rose to the surface, and restored her to
us without a word. Before we had recovered suffi-
ciently to speak, she was gone.
Not a soul was in sight when we started toward the
Fort, all unconscious of what the inevitable * * is to be "
was weaving into our lives.
We were too young to keep track of time by calen-
dar, but counted it by happenings. Some were marked
with tears, some with smiles, and some stole unawares
upon us, just as on that bright June evening, when we
did not find our sisters, and aimlessly followed others
to the little shop where a friendly-appearing elderly
[1431
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
man was cutting slices of meat and handing them to
customers. We did not know his name, nor did we
realize that he was selling the meat he handed out,
only that we wanted some. So, after all the others had
gone, we addressed him, asking,
** Grandpa, please give us a little piece of meat."
He looked at us, and inquired whose children we
were, and where we lived. Upon learning, he turned
about, lifted a liver from a wooden peg and cut for
each, a generous slice.
On our way out, a neighbor intercepted us and said
that we should sleep at her house that night and see
our sisters in the morning. She also gave us permis-
sion to cook our pieces of liver over her bed of live
coals. Frances offered to cook them all on her stick,
but Georgia and I insisted that it would be fun for each
to broil her own. I, being the smallest child, was given
the shortest stick, and allowed to stand nearest the
fire. Soon the three slices were sizzling and browning
from the ends of three willow rods, and smelled so
good that we could hardly wait for them to be done.
Presently, however, the heat began to bum my cheeks
and also the hand that held the stick. The more I wig-
gled about, the hotter the fire seemed, and it ended in
Frances having to fish my piece of liver from among
the coals, burned in patches, curled over bits of dying
embers, and pretty well covered with ashes, but she
knew how to scrape them away, and my supper was
not spoiled.
Our neighbor gave us breakfast next morning and
[144]
A WEDDING AT THE FORT
spruced us up a bit, then led us to the house where a
number of persons had gathered, most of them sitting
at table laughing and talking, and among them, Elitha
and Leanna. Upon our entrance, the merriment
ceased and all eyes were turned inquiringly toward us.
Some one pointed to him who sat beside our eldest
sister and gayly said, *' Look at your new brother."
Another asked, ** How do you like him? " We gazed
around in silent amazement until a third continued
teasingly, ** She is no longer Elitha Donner, but Mrs.
Perry McCoon. You have lost your sister, for her
husband will take her away with him.'' ** Lost your
sister! " Those harrowing words stirred our pent feel-
ings to anguish so keen that he who had uttered them
in sport was 'touched with pity by the pain they caused.
Tears came also to the child- wife's eyes as she
clasped her arms about us soothingly, assuring us that
she was still our sister, and would care for us. Never-
theless, she and her husband slipped away soon on
horseback, and we were told that we were to stay at
our neighbor's until they returned for us.
This marriage, which was solemnized by Alcalde
John Sinclair on the fourth of June, 1847, was ap-
proved by the people at the Fort. Children were anx-
ious to play with us because we had * * a married sister
and a new brother." Women hurried through noon
chores to meet outside, and some in their eagerness
forgot to roll down their sleeves before they began to
talk. One triumphantly repeated to each newcomer
the motherly advice which she gave the young couple
[1451
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
when she ** first noticed his affection for that sorrow-
ing girl, who is too pretty to be in this new country
without a protector." They also recalled how Perry
McCoon's launch had brought supplies up the river for
the Second Relief to take over the mountains ; and how
finally, he himself had carried to the bereaved daugh-
ter the last accounts from Donner Camp.
Then the speakers wondered how soon Elitha would
be back. Would she take us three to live with her on
that cattle ranch twenty-five miles by bridle trail from
the Fort? And would peace and happiness come to
us there!
[146]
CHAPTEE XVIII
HAPPY VISITS A NEW HOME AM PEE-
SUADED TO LEAVE IT.
WE were still without Elitha, when np the road
and toward the Fort came a stout little old wo-
man in brown. On one arm she carried a basket, and
from the hand of the other hung a small covered tin
pail. Her apron was almost as long as her dress
skirt, which reached below her ankles, yet was short
enough to show brown stockings above her low shoes.
Two ends of the bright kerchief which covered her
neck and crossed her bosom were pinned on opposite
sides at the waist-line. A brown quilted hood of the
same shade and material as her dress and apron con-
cealed all but the white lace frill of a ** grandma cap,*'
which fastened under her chin with a bow. Her dark
hair drawn down plain to each temple was coiled there
into tiny wheels, and a brass pin stuck through cross-
wise to hold each coil in place. Her bright, speak-
ing eyes, more brown than gray, gave charm to a face
which might have been pretty had disease not marred
it in youth.
As she drew near, her wonderful eyes looked into
our faces and won from our lips a timid * * Good morn-
ing, grandma.''
That title, which we had been taught to use when
[147]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
speaking to the aged, was new and sweet to her, who
had never been blessed with child. She set the basket
on the ground, put the pail beside it, and caressed us
in a cheery way, then let us peep in and see what she
had brought especially for us. How did it happen?
That is something we were to learn later. Such lux-
uries,— eggs, bread, butter, cheese, and milk in the
dear little tin pail!
Seeing how thin and hungry we looked she gave each
a piece of buttered bread before going with us to our
neighbor's house, where she left the food, with in-
structions, in broken English, that it was for us three
little girls who had called her ** grandma," and that
we must not be given too much at a time.
When next grandma came she took puny Georgia
home with her, and left me hugging the promise that I
also should have a visit, if I would await my turn
patiently.
Who can picture my delight when Georgia got back
and told me of all she had seen! Cows, horses, pigs,
and chickens, but most thrilling of all was about the
cross old sheep, which would not let her pass if she
did not carry a big stick in sight. Still, I should not
have been so eager to go, nor so gleeful on the way,
had I known that the ** good-bye '' kiss I gave my sis-
ter Frances at parting that day, would be the last kiss
in five long years.
Grandma was as happy as I. She could understand
English better than she could speak it, and in answer-
ing my questions, explained largely by signs. *• Cour-
[148]
AT CHRISTIAN BRUNNER'S HOME
age," her gray poodle, left deep footprints in the dust,
as he trotted ahead over the well-known road, and I
felt an increasing affection for him upon learning that
he, too, had crossed the plains in an emigrant wagon
and had reached the Fort at about the same time I had
reached the snow. He was so small that I imagined
he must have been a wee baby dog when he started,
and that he was not yet half grown. My surprise
and admiration quickened beyond expression when
grandma assured me that he could do many tricks, un-
derstood French and German, and was learning
English.
Then she laughed, and explained that he was thus
accomplished because she and Christian Brunner, her
husband, and Jacob, her brother-in-law, had come from
a place far away across lands and big waters where
most of the people spoke both French and German
and that they had always talked to Courage in one
or the other of these languages.
As soon as we got into the house she opened the
back door and called * * Jacob ! ' ' Then turning, she
took a small cup of rennet clabber from the shelf,
poured a little cream over it, put a spoon in it, and set
it on the table before me. While I was eating, a pleas-
ant elderly man came in and by nods, motions, and
words, partly English and partly something else, con-
vinced me that he liked little girls, and was glad to
see me. Then of a sudden, he clasped his hands about
my waist and tossed me in the air as father did be-
fore his hand was hurt, and when he wanted to startle
[149]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
me, and then hear me laugh. This act, which brought
back loving memories, made Jacob seem nearer to me ;
nearer still when he told me I must not call him any-
thing but Jakie.
Everything about the house was as Georgia had de-
scribed. Even the big stick she had used to keep the
old sheep from butting her over was behind the door
where she had left it.
When Christian Brunner got home from the Fort,
grandma had supper nearly ready, and he and I were
friends the instant we looked into each other's face;
for he was ** grandpa " who had given us the liver the
evening we did not find our sisters. He had gone
home that night and said : ** Mary, at the Fort are three
hungry little orphan girls. Take them something as
soon as you can. One child is fair, two are dark. You
will know them by the way they speak to you."
Grandpa had now hastened home to hold me on his
lap and to hear me say that I was glad to be at his
house and intended to help grandma all I could for be-
ing so good as to bring me there. After I told how we
had cooked the liver and how good it tasted, he wiped
his eyes and said: ** Mine child, when you little ones
thanked me for that liver, it made me not so much your
friend as when you called me * grandpa.' "
As time went on, grandma declared that I helped
her a great deal because I kept her chip-box full,
shooed the hens out of the house, brought in the eggs,
and drove the little chicks to bed, nights. I don't rec-
ollect that I was ever tired or sleepy, yet I know that
[150]
NOT A '' CRY-BABY " CHILD
the night must have sped, between the time of my last
nod at the funny shadow picture of a rabbit which
Jakie made hop across the wall behind the lighted
candle, and Courage's barking near my pillow, which
grandma said meant, ** Good-morning, little girl! "
It was after one of these reminders of a new day
that I saw Leanna. I don't know when or how she
came, but I missed Frances and Georgia the more be-
cause I wanted them to share our comforts. Never-
theless a strange feeling of uneasiness crept over me
as I noticed, later, that grandpa lingered and that the
three spoke long in their own tongue, and glanced
often toward me.
Finally grandpa and Jakie went off in the wagon
and grandma also disappeared, but soon returned,
dressed for a trip to the Fort, and explained that she
had heard that Georgia was sick and she would take
me back and bring her in my place. I had known from
the beginning that I was to stay only a little while, yet
I was woefully disturbed at having my enjoyment so
abruptly terminated. My first impulse was to cry,
but somehow, the influence of her who under the sough-
ing pines of the Sierras had told me that ' * friends do
not come quickly to a cry-baby child " gave me cour-
age, and I looked up into the dear old face before me
and with the earnestness of an anxious child asked,
'* Grandma, why can't you keep two of us? "
She looked at me, hesitated, then replied, '* I will
see." She kissed away my fears and rode off on old
Lisa. I did not know that she would ride farther than
[151]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
the fort and imagined she had gone on horseback so
that she might the easier bring back my little sister.
Leanna washed the dishes and did the other work
before she joined me in watching for grandma's re-
turn. At last she came in sight and I ran up the road
craning my neck to see if Georgia were really behind
on old Lisa's back, and when I saw her pinched face
aglow with smiles that were all for me, I had but one
wish, and that was to get my arms around her.
One chair was large enough to hold us both when we
got into the house, and the big clock on the wall with
long weights reaching almost to the floor and red roses
painted around its white face, did not tick long be-
fore we were deaf to its sound, telling each other about
the doings of the day.
She knew more than I, who listened intently as she
excitedly went on:
** Me and Frances started to find you this morning,
but we wasn't far when we met Jacob in the wagon,
and he stopped and asked us where we was going. We
told him. Then he told us to get in by him. But he
did n't come this way, just drove down to the river and
some men lifted us out and set us in a boat and com-
menced to paddle across the water. I knew that
wasn't the way, and I cried and cried as loud as I
could cry, and told them I wanted to go to my little
sister Eliza, and that I 'd tip the boat over if they did
not take me back ; and one man said, * It 's too bad !
It ain't right to part the two littlest ones.* And they
told me if I 'd sit still and stop crying they would
[152]
SEPAEATION OF THE CHILDREN
bring me back with them by and by, and that I should
come to you. And I minded.
* * Then they taked us to that house where we sleeped
under the carpet the night we didn't get to the Fort.
Don't you remember? Well, lots of people was there
and talked about us and about father and mother, and
waited for grandma to come. Pretty soon grandma
come, and everybody talked, and talked. And grandma
told them she was sorry for us, and would take you
and me if she could keep Leanna to help her do the
work. When I was coming away with grandma,
Frances cried like everything. She said she wanted to
see you, and told the people mother said we should al-
ways stay together. But they wouldn't let her come.
They Ve gived her to somebody else, and now she is
their little girl."
We both felt sorry for Frances, and wished we could
know where she was and what she was doing.
While we were talking, grandma kept busily at work,
and sometimes she wiped her face with the comer of
her apron, yet we did not think of her as listening, nor
of watching us, nor would we ever have known it, had
we not learned it later from her own lips, as she told
others the circumstances which had brought us into
her life.
Some days later Georgia and I were playing in the
back yard when Leanna appeared at the door and
called out in quick, jubilant tones: ** Children, run
around to the front and see who has come! "
True enough, hitched to a stake near the front door
[153]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PARTY
was a bay horse with white spots on his body and a
white stripe down his face, and tied to the pommel
of his saddle was another horse with a side saddle on
its back. It did not take us long to get into the house
where we found Elitha and our new brother, who had
come to arrange about taking us away with them.
While Elitha was talking to grandma and Leanna,
Georgia stood listening, but I sat on my new brother 's
knee and heard all about his beautiful spotted horse
and a colt of the same colors.
Elitha could not persuade Leanna or Georgia to go
with her, nor was I inclined to do so when she and
grandma first urged me. But I began to yield as the
former told me she was lonesome ; wanted at least one
little sister to live with her, and that if I would be that
one, I should have a new dress and a doll with a face.
Then my new brother settled the matter by saying:
* ' Listen to me. If you '11 go, you shall have the pinto
colt that I told you about, a little side saddle of your
own, and whenever you feel like it, you can get on it
and ride down to see all the folks. '^ The prospects
were so alluring that I went at once with Leanna, who
was to get me ready for the journey.
Leanna did not share my enthusiasm. She said I
was a foolish little thing, and declared I would get
lonesome on such a big place so far away; that the
colt would kick me if I tried to go near it, and that
no one ever made saddles for colts. She was not so
gentle as usual when she combed my hair and gave
my face a right hard scrubbing with a cloth and whey,
[154]
GOING TO A NEW HOME
which grandma bade her use, ** because it makes the
skin so nice and soft.''
Notwithstanding these discouragements, I took my
clothes, which were tied up in a colored handkerchief,
kissed them all good-bye, and rode away sitting behind
my new brother on the spotted horse, really believing
that I should be back in a few days on a visit.
155
CHAPTEE XIX
ON" A CATTLE RANCH NEAB THE COSUMNE EIVER
BILLY ' ' INDIAN GRUB FEAST.
WE left the Fort and grandma 's lionse far behind,
and still rode on and on. The day was warm,
the wild flowers were gone, and the plain was yellow
with ripening oats which rustled noisily as we passed
through, crowding and bumping their neighborly heads
together. Yet it was not a lonesome way, for we
passed elk, antelope, and deer feeding, with pretty
little fawns standing close to their mothers' sides.
There were also sleek fat cattle resting under the shade
of live oak trees, and great birds that soared around
overhead casting their shadows on the ground. As
we neared the river, smaller birds of brighter colors
could be heard and seen in the trees along the banks
where the water flowed between, clear and cold.
All these things my sister pointed out to me as we
passed onward. It was almost dark before we came in
sight of the adobe ranch house. We were met on the
road by a pack of Indian dogs, whose fierce looks and
savage yelping made me tremble, until I got into the
house where they could not follow.
The first weeks of my stay on the ranch passed
quickly. Elitha and I were together most of the time.
[1561
AN INDIAN PLAYMATE
She made my new dress and a doll which was perfec-
tion in my eyes, though its face was crooked, and its
pencilled hair was more like pothooks than curls. I
did not see much of her husband, because in the morn-
ings he rode away early to direct his Indian cattle-
herders at the rodeos, or to oversee other ranch work,
and I was often asleep when he returned nights.
The pinto colt he had promised me was, as Leanna
had said, ** big enough to kick, but too small to ride,''
and I at once realized that my anticipated visits could
not be made as planned.
Occasionally, men came on horseback to stay a day
or two, and before the summer was over, a young
couple with a small baby moved into one part of our
house. We called them Mr. and Mrs. Packwood and
Baby Packwood. The mother and child were company
for my sister, while the husbands talked continually
of ranches, cattle, hides, and tallow, so I was free to
roam around by myself.
In one of my wanderings I met a sprightly little
Indian lad, whose face was almost as white as my
own. He was clad in a blue and white shirt that
reached below his knees. Several strings of beads
were around his neck, and a small bow and arrow in
his hand. We stopped and looked at each other ; were
pleased, yet shy about moving onward or speaking. I,
being the larger, finally asked,
** What 's your name? ''
To my great delight, he answered, ** Name, Billy.''
While we were slowly getting accustomed to each
[157]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY,
other, a good-natured elderly squaw passed. Slie
wore a tattered petticoat, and buttons, pieces of shell,
and beads of bird bones dangled from a string around
her neck. A band of buckskin covered her forehead
and was attached to strips of rawhide, which held in
place the water-tight basket hanging down her back.
Billy now left me for her, and I followed the two to
that part of our yard where the tall ash-hopper stood,
which ever after was like a story book to me.
The squaw set the basket on the ground, reached up,
and carefully lifted from a board laid across the top
of the hopper, several pans of clabbered milk, which
she poured into the basket. Instead of putting the
pans back, she tilted them up against the hopper,
squatted down in front and with her slim forefinger,
scraped down the sides and bottom of each pan so
that she and Billy could scoop up and convey to their
mouths, by means of their three crooked fingers, all
that had not gone into the basket. Then she licked her
improvised spoon clean and dry; turned her back to
her burden; replaced the band on her forehead; and
with the help of her stick, slowly raised herself to her
feet and quietly walked away, Billy after her.
Next day I was on watch early. My kind friend, the
choreman, let me go with him when he carried the lye
from the hopper to the soap fat barrel. Then he put
more ashes on the hopper and set the pans of milk in
place for the evening call of Billy and his companion.
He pointed out the rancheria by the river where the
Indian herders lived with others of their tribe, among
[158]
PAPOOSES IN BICKOOSES
SUTTER'S MILL, WHEEE MARSHALL DISCOVERED GOLD,
JANUARY 19, 1848
THE TALES OF MR. CHOREMAN
them, Billy and his mother. He also informed me that
the squaws took turns in coming for the milk, and that
Billy came as often as he got the chance ; that he was
a nice little fellow, who had learned a few English
words from his white papa, who had gone off and left
him.
Billy and I might never have played together as we
did, if my brother-in-law had not taken his wife to
San Francisco and left me in the care of Mr. and Mrs.
Packwood. Their chief aim in life was to please their
baby. She was a dear little thing when awake, but
the house had to be kept very still while she slept, and
they would raise a hand and say, * * Hu-sh ! " as they
left me, and together tip-toed to the cradle to watch
her smile in her sleep. I had their assurance that
they would like to let me hold her if her little bones
were not so soft that I might break them.
They were never unkind or cross to me. I had
plenty to eat, and clean clothes to wear, but they did
not seem to realize how I yearned for some one to
love. So I went to Mr. Choreman. He told me about
the antelope that raced across the ranch before I was
up; of the elk, deer, bear, and buffalo he had shot in
his day; and of beaver, otter, and other animals that
he had trapped along the rivers. Entranced with his
tales I became as excited as he, while listening to the
dangers he had escaped.
One day he showed me a little chair which I declared
was the cunningest thing I had ever seen. It had a
high, straight back, just like those in the house, only
■[1591
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY,
that it was smaller. The seat was made of strips of
rawhide woven in and out so that it looked like patch-
work squares. He let me sit on it and say how beau-
tiful it was, before telling me that he had made it all
for me. I was so delighted that I jumped up, clasped
it in my arms and looked at him in silent admiration.
I do not believe that he could understand how rich
and grateful I felt, although he shook his head saying,
** You are not a bit happier than I was while making
it for you, nor can you know how much good it does me
to have you around."
Gradually, Billy spent more time near the ranch
house, and learned many of my kind of words, and I
picked up some of his. Before long, he discovered
that he could climb up on the hopper, and then he
helped me up. But I could not crook my fingers into
as good a spoon as he did his, and he got more milk
out of the pan than I.
We did not think any one saw us, yet the next time
we climbed up, we found two old spoons stuck in a
crack, in plain sight. After we got through using
them, I wiped them on my dress skirt and put them
back. Later, I met Mr. Choreman, who told me that
he had put the spoons there because I was too nice a
little girl to eat as Billy did, or to dip out of the same
pan. I was ashamed and promised not to do so again,
nor to climb up there with him.
As time passed, I watched wistfully for my sister 's
return, and thought a great deal about the folks at
grandma's. I tried to remember all that had hap-
[160]
A MEETING AND A PARTING
pened while I was there, and felt sure they were
waiting for me to pay the promised visit. A great
longing often made me rush out behind a large tree
near the river, where no one could see or hear me feel
sorry for myself, and where I would wonder if God
was taking care of the others and did not know where
I lived.
I still feel the wondrous thrill, and bid my throb-
bing heart beat slower, when I recall the joy that
tingled through every part of my being on that evening
when, unexpectedly, Leanna and Georgia came to the
door. Yet, so short-lived was that joy that the event
has always seemed more like a disquieting dream than
a reality ; for they came at night and were gone in the
morning, and left me sorrowing.
A few months ago, I wrote to Georgia (now Mrs.
Babcock), who lives in the State of Washington, for
her recollections of that brief reunion, and she replied :
Before we went to Sonoma with Grandma Brunner in the
Fall of 1847, Leanna and I paid you a visit. We reached
your home at dusk. Mr. McCoon and Elitha were not there.
We were so glad to meet, but our visit was too short. You
and I were given a cup of bread and milk and sent to bed.
Leanna ate with the grown folks, who, upon learning that
we had only come to say good-bye, told her we must for your
sake get away before you awoke next morning. We arose
and got started early, but had only gone a short distance
when we heard your pitiful cry, begging us to take you with
us. Leanna hid her face in her apron, while a man caught
you and carried you back. I think she cried all the way
home. It was so hard to part from you.
Mr. Packwood carried me into the house, and both
he and his wife felt sorry for me. My head ached and
[1611
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PARTY
the tears would come as often as any one looked at me.
Mrs. Packwood wet a piece of brown paper, laid it on
my forehead, and bade me lie on my bed until I should
feel better. I could not eat or play, and even Mr.
Choreman's bright stories had lost their charm.
** Come look, see squaw, papoose ! Me go, you go? "
exclaimed Billy excitedly one soft gray morning after
I had regained my spirits. I turned in the direction
he pointed and saw quite a number of squaws trudg-
ing across an open flat with babies in bickooses, and
larger children scampering along at various paces,
most of them carrying baskets.
With Mrs. Packwood 's permission, Billy and I sped
away to join the line. I had never been granted such
a privilege before, and had no idea what it all meant.
As we approached the edge of the marsh, the
squaws walked more slowly, with their eyes fixed upon
the ground. Every other moment some of them would
be down, digging in the earth with forefinger or a little
stick, and I soon learned they were gathering bulbs
about a quarter of an inch in thickness and as large
around as the smaller end of a woman's thimble. I
had seen the plants growing near the pond at the fort,
but now the bulbs were ripe, and were being gathered
for winter use. In accordance with the tribal custom,
not a bulb was eaten during harvest time. They grew
so far apart and were so small that it took a long while
to make a fair showing in the baskets.
When no more bulbs could be found, the baskets
were put on the ground in groups, and the mothers
[162]
THE " GRUB FEAST
79
carefully leaned their bickooses against them in such
positions that the wide awake papooses could look out
from under their shades and smile and sputter at each
other in quaint Indian baby-talk; and the sleeping
could sleep on imdisturbed.
That done, the squaws built a roaring fire, and one
of them untied a bundle of hardwood sticks which she
had brought for the purpose, and stuck them around
under the fuel in touch with the hottest parts of the
burning mass. When the ends glowed like long-lasting
coals, the waiting crowd snatched them from their bed
and rushed into the low thicket which grew in the
marsh. I followed with my fire-brand, but, not knowing
what to do with it, simply watched the Indians stick
theirs into the bushes, sometimes high up, sometimes
low down. I saw them dodge about, and heard their
shouts of warning and their peals of laughter. Then
myriads of hornets came buzzing and swarming about.
This frightened me so that I ran back to where the
brown babies were cooing in safety.
Empty-handed, but happy, they at length returned,
and though I could not understand anything they were
saying, their looks and actions betokened what a good
time they had had.
Years later, I described the scene to Elitha, who
assured me that I had been highly favored by those
Indians for they had permitted me to witness their
annual ** Grub Feast.'' The Piutes always use burn-
ing fagots to drive hornets and other stinging insects
from their nests, and they also use heat in opening
[163]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
the comb cells so that they can easily remove the
larvaB, which they eat without further preparation.
With the first cold snaps of winter, my feet felt the
effect of former frost bites, and I was obliged to spend
most of my time within doors. Fortunately Baby
Packwood had grown to be quite a frolicsome child.
She was fond of me, and her bones had hardened so
that there was no longer danger of my breaking them
when I lifted her or held her on my lap. Her mother
had also discovered that I was anxious to be helpful,
pleased when given something to do, and proud when
my work was praised.
I was quite satisfied with my surroundings, when,
unexpectedly, Mr. McCoon brought my sister back, and
once more we had happy times together.
[164]
CHAPTEE XX
I BETUBN TO GEANDMA WAB BUMOES AT THE FOBT —
LINGEBING HOPE THAT MY MOTHEB MIGHT BE LIVING
AN INDIAN CONVOY THE BBUNNEBS AND THEIB HOME.
THE Spring of 1848 was at hand when my brother-
in-law said to me, * * Grandma Brnnner wants you
to come back to her; and if you would like to go, I'll
take you to the Fort, as soon as the weather changes,
and leave you with the people who are getting ready
to move north and are willing to take you with them
to Sonoma, where grandma now lives. ' '
The storm was not over, but the day was promising,
when my bundle of clothes was again on the pommel
of the saddle, and I ready to begin my journey. I was
so excited that I could hardly get around to say good-
bye to those who had gathered to see me off. We re-
turned by the same route that we had followed out on
that warm June day, but everything seemed different.
The catkins on the willows were forming and the
plain was green with young grass.
As we neared the Fort we passed a large camp of
fine-looking Indians who, I was told, were the friendly
Walla-Wallas, that came every spring to trade ponies,
and otter, and beaver-skins with Captain Sutter for
provisions, blankets, beads, gun caps, shot, and powder.
[165]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
A large emigrant wagon stood near tlie adobe honse
where my new brother-in-law drew rein. Before dis-
mounting, he reached back, took me by the arm and
carefully supported me as I slid from the horse to the
ground. I was so stiff that I could hardly stand, but
he led me to the door where we were welcomed by a
good-natured woman, to whom he said,
** Well, Mrs. Lennox, you see I We brought the lit-
tle girl. I don't think she '11 be much trouble, unless
she talks you to death. ' '
Then he told her that I had, during the ride, asked
him more questions than a man six times his size could
answer. But she laughed, and ** 'lowed " that I
could n't match either of her three boys in asking ques-
tions, and then informed him that she did not ** cal-
culate on making the move until the roads be dryer and
the weather settled. '^ She promised, however, that
I should have good care until I could be handed over to
the Brunners. After a few words with her in private
Perry McCoon bade me good-bye, and passed out of
my life forever.
I was now again with emigrants who had crossed
the plains in 1846, but who had followed the Fort Hall
route and so escaped the misfortunes that befell the
Donner Party.
Supper over, Mrs. Lennox made me a bed on the
floor in the far comer of the room. I must have fallen
asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow, for I re-
member nothing more until I was awakened by voices,
and saw the candle still burning and Mrs. Lennox and
[166]
TEERIFYING TALES
two men and a woman sitting near the table. The man
speaking had a shrill voice, and his words were so ter-
rifying that I shook all over ; my hair felt as though it
were trying to pull itself out by its roots ; a cold sweat
dampened my clothes. I was afraid to move or to
turn my eyes. Listening, I tried to remember how
many Indians he was talking about. I knew it must
be a great many, for it was such a long word. After
they went away and the house was dark, I still seemed
to see his excited manner and to hear him say :
** Mrs. Lennox, we 've got to get out of here right
away, for I heard tell at the store before I come up
that there 's bound to be an Injun outbreak. Them
savages from Sonora are already on their way up,
and they 11 kill and scalp every man, woman, and
child they can ketch, and there 's nothing to keep them
from ketching us, if we stay at this here little fort any
longer. ' '
I lay awake a long while. I did not dare call out be-
cause I imagined some of those Indians might have got
ahead of the rest and be sneaking up to our house at
that very moment. I wondered where I could hide if
they should climb through the window, and I felt that
Georgia would never know what had become of me,
if they should kill and scalp me.
As soon as Mrs. Lennox stirred in the morning, I
ran to her and had a good cry. She threatened all
sorts of things for the man who had caused me such
torture, and declared that he believed everything he
heard. He did not seem to remember how many hun-
[167]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
dred miles away Sonora was, nor how many loaded
cannon there were at the Fort. I felt better satisfied,
however, when she told me that she had made up her
mind to start for Sonoma the next day.
After breakfast her younger boys wanted to see the
Walla- Wallas, and took me along. A cold breath from
the Sierra Nevadas made me look up and shiver. Soon
Captains Sutter and Kern passed us, the former on his
favorite white horse, and the latter on a dark bay. I
was delighted to catch a glimpse of those two good
friends, but they did not know it. They had been to
see the Indian ponies, and before we got to the big
gate, they had gone in and the Walla- Wallas were
forming in line on both sides of the road between the
gate and the front of the store.
Only two Indians at a time were allowed to enter the
building, and as they were slow in making their trades,
we had a good chance to see them all. The men, the
boys, and most of the women were dressed in fringed
buckskin suits and their hands and faces were painted
red, as the Sioux warriors of Fort Laramie painted
their cheeks.
The Lennox boys took greatest interest in the little
fellows with the bows and arrows, but I could not keep
my eyes from the young princess, who stood beside her
father, the chief. She was all shimmering with beads.
They formed flowers on her moccasins; fringed the
outer seams of her doeskin trousers and the hem of
her tunic; formed a stripe around her arm holes and
her belt; glittered on a band which held in place the
[168]
KINDNESS OF MRS. GRAYSON
eagle plume in her hair; dangled from her ears; and
encircled her neck and arms. Yet she did not seem
to wear one too many. She looked so winsome and
picturesque that I have never forgotten the laughing,
pretty picture.
We started back over ground where my little sisters
and I had wandered the previous Spring. The people
whom I remembered had since gone to other settle-
ments, and strangers lived in the old huts. I could
not help looking in as we passed, for I still felt that
mother might not be dead. She might have come
down the mountain alone and perhaps I could find her.
The boys, not knowing why I lagged behind, tried to
hurry me along ; and finally left me to go home by my-
self. This, not from unkindness, but rather love of
teasing, and also oblivion of the vain hope I cherished.
Mrs. Lennox let me dry the dishes for her after
the noon meal, then sent me to visit the neighbor in the
next house, while she should stow her things in the
wagon and get ready for the journey. I loved this
lady * in the next house as soon as she spoke to me,
and I was delighted with her baby, who reached out his
little arms to have me take him, and raised his head
for me to kiss his lips. While he slept, his mother
sewed and talked with me. She had known my par-
ents on the plains, and now let me sit at her feet, giv-
ing me her workbox, that I might look at its bobbins of
different-colored thread and the pretty needle-book.
When I told her that the things looked a little like
*Mrs. Andrew J. Grayson, wife of the well-known •ornithologist,
frequently referred to as the *' Audubon of the West.*'
[1691
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
mother's and that sometimes mother let me take the
tiniest bit of her wax, she gave me permission to take
a tiny taste of that which I held in my hand to see if
it was like that which I remembered.
Only she, the baby, and I sat down to tea, yet she
said that she was glad she had company, for baby's
papa was away with Captain Fremont, and she was
lonesome.
After I learned that she would have to stay until
he came back, I was troubled, and told what I had
heard in the night. She assured me that those in
charge of the Fort heard every day all that was going
on for miles and miles around, and that if they should
learn that fighting Indians were coming, they would
take all the white people and the good Indians into the
fort, and then shoot the bad ones with the cannon that
peeped through its embrasures.
The dainty meal and her motherly talk kept me a
happy child until I heard the footsteps of the Lennox
boys. I knew they were coming for me, and that I
should have to sleep in that dark room where I had
been so afraid. Quickly slipping from my chair, under
the table, and hiding behind my new friend's dress
gkirt, I begged her not to let them know where I was,
and please, to let me stay with her all night. I listened
as she sent the boys back to tell their mother that she
would keep me until morning, adding that she would
step in and explain matters after she put her baby to
bed. Before I went to sleep she heard me say my
prayers and kissed me good-night.
[170]
ENCAMPED BY THE EIVER
When I awoke next morning, I was not in her house,
but in Mrs. Lennox's wagon, on the way to Sonoma.
The distance between the Fort and Sonoma was only
about eighty miles, yet the heavy roads and the fre-
quent showers kept us on the journey more than a
week. It was still drizzling when we reached the town
and Mrs. Lennox learned where the Brunners lived.
I had been told that they would be looking for me,
and I expected to go to them at once.
As we approached the west bank of the creek, which
winds south past the town, we could see the branches
on the trees in grandma's dooryard swaying. Yet we
could not reach there, because a heavy mountain storm
had turned a torrent into the creek channel, washed
away the foot bridge, and overflowed the low land.
Disappointed, we encamped on high ground to wait for
the waters to recede.
Toward evening, Jakie gathering his cows on the op-
posite side, noticed our emigrant wagon, and oxen, and
as he drew nearer recognized Mrs. Lennox. Both sig-
nalled from where they stood, and soon he descried
me, anxious to go to him. He, also, was disappointed
at the enforced delay, and returned often to cheer us,
and to note the height of the water. It seemed to me
that we had been there days and days, when a Mission
Indian on a gray pony happened to come our way,
and upon learning what was wanted, signalled that
he would carry me over for a Mexican silver dollar.
Jakie immediately drew the coin from his pocket and
held it between thumb and forefinger, high above his
\ 171 1
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
head in the sunshine, to show the native that his price
would be paid.
Quickly the Indian dismounted, looked his pony over
carefully, cinched the blanket on tighter, led him to the
water's edge, and turned to me. I shuddered, and
when all was ready, drew near the deep flowing current
tremblingly, yet did not hesitate; for my loved ones
were beyond, and to reach them I was willing to
venture.
The Indian mounted and I was placed behind him.
By sign, he warned me not to loosen my hold, lest I,
like the passing branches, should become the water's
prey. With my arms clasped tightly about his dusky
form, and his elbows clamped over them, we entered
the stream. I saw the water surge up around us, felt
it splash over me! Oh, how cold it was! I held my
breath as we reached the deepest part, and in dread
clung closer to the form before me. We were going
down stream, drifting past where Jakie stood! How
could I know that we were heading for the safe slope
up the bank where we landed?
The Indian took his dollar with a grunt of satis-
faction, and Jakie bade me wave to the friends I had
left behind, as he put me on old Lisa's back and hur-
ried off to grandma, Leanna, and Georgia, waiting at
the gate to welcome me home.
Georgia had a number of patches of calico and other
trinkets which she had collected for me, and offered
them as soon as we had exchanged greetings, then
eagerly conducted me about the place.
[172]
THE BRUNNER FAMILY
Grandma was more energetic and busier than at the
Fort, and I could only talk with her as she worked, but
there was so much to see and hear that before night-
fall my feet were heavy and my brain was weary.
However, a good sleep under the roof of those whom I
loved was all the tonic I needed to prepare me for a
fair start in the new career, and grandma 's assurance,
*^ This be your home so long as you be good," filled
me with such gladness that, childlike, I promised to
be good always and to do everything that should be
required of me.
Most of the emigrants in and around the Pueblo of
Sonoma were Americans from the western frontiers of
the United States. They had reached the province in
the Summer or early Autumn of 1846, and for safety
had settled near this United States Army post. Here
they had bought land and made homes within neigh-
boring distance of each other and begun life anew in
simple, happy, pioneer fashion. The Brunners were
a different type. They had immigrated from Switzer-
land and settled in New Orleans, Louisiana, when
young, and by toil and economy had saved the snug
sum of money which they brought to invest in Cal-
ifornia enterprises.
They could speak and read French and German, and
had some knowledge of figures. Being skilled in the
preparation of all the delicacies of the meat market,
and the products of the dairy, they had brought across
the plains the necessary equipment for both branches
of business, and had already established a butcher shop
[173]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
in the town and a dairy on the farm, less than a mile
from it.
Jakie was busy and useful at both places, but
grandpa was owner of the shop, and grandma of the
dairy. Her hand had the cunning of the Swiss cheese-
maker, and the deftness of the artist in butter mould-
ing. She was also an experienced cook, and had many
household commodities usually unknown to pioneer
homes. They were thus eminently fitted for life in a
crude new settlement, and occupied an important place
in the community.
A public road cut their land into two unequal parts.
The cattle corrals and sheds were grouped on one side
of the road, and the family accommodations on the
other. Three magnificent oaks and a weird, blackened
tree-trunk added picturesqueness to the ground upon
which the log cabin and outbuildings stood. The trim
live oak shaded the adobe milk-room and smoke-house,
while the grand old white oak spread its far-reaching
boughs over the curbed well and front dooryard.
The log cabin was a substantial three-roomed struc-
ture. Its two outer doors opened with latch strings
and were sawed across just above the middle, so that
the lower sections might be kept closed against the
straying pigs and fowls, while the upper part remained
open to help the windows opposite give light and ven-
tilation. The east end formed the ample store-room
with shelves for many stages of ripening cheese. The
west end served as sleeping apartment for all except
Jakie. The large middle room was set apart as kitchen
[174]
THE HOUSE AND DOORYARD
and general living room. Against its wall were braced
the dear old clock and conveniences for holding dishes,
and the few keepsakes which had shared the wander-
ings of their owners on two continents.
The adobe chimney, which formed part of the parti-
tion between the living and the sleeping apartment,
gave a huge fireplace to each. From the side of the
one that cheered the living room, swung a crane
worthy of the great copper cheese kettle that hung on
its arm. In tidy rows on the chimney shelf stood bot-
tles and boxes of medicine, two small brass kettles, and
six bright candlesticks with hoods, trays, and snuffers
to match. On the wide hearth beneath were ranged
the old-fashioned three-legged iron pots, dominated by
the large round one, used as a bake oven. Hovering
over the fire sat the iron tea-kettle, with its slender
throat and pointed lips, now warmed to song by the
blazing logs, now rattling its lid with increasing fervor.
A long table with rough redwood benches around it,
a few straight-backed chairs against the wall, and
Jakie's half -concealed bed, in the far comer, consti-
tuted the visible furnishings of this memorable room,
which was so spick and span in German order and
cleanliness, that even its clay floor had to be sprinkled
in regular spots and rings before being swept.
It was under the great oaks that most of the morn-
ing work was done. There the pails and pans were
washed and sunned, the meats chopped, the sausage
made, head-cheese moulded, ham and bacon salted,
and the lard tried out over the out-door fires. Among
[175]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
those busy scenes, Georgia and I spent many happy
hours, and learned some of our hardest lessons ; for to
us were assigned regular tasks, and we were also ex-
pected to do the countless little errands which save
steps to grown people, and are supposed not to tire the
feet of children.
Grandma, stimulated by the success of her mixing
and moulding, and elated by the profit she saw in it,
was often too happy and bustling to remember how
young we were, or that we got tired, or had worries
of our own to bear.
Our small troubles, however, were soon forgotten,
when we could slip away for a while to the lovely
playhouse which Leanna had secretly made for us in
an excavation in the back yard. There we forgot work,
used our own language, and played we were like other
children ; for we owned the beautiful cupboard dug in
the wall, and the pieces of Delft and broken glass set
in rows upon the shelves, also the furniture, made of
stumps and blocks of wood, and the two bottles stand-
ing behind the brush barricade to act as sentries in case
of danger during our absence.
One stolen visit to that playhouse led me into such
disgrace, that grandma did not speak to me the rest of
the day, and told Jakie all about it.
In the evening, when no one else was near, he called
me to him. I obeyed with downcast head. Putting
his hand under my chin, and turning my face up, he
made me look straight into his eyes, as he asked,
** Who broke dat glass cup vat grandma left on die
[176]
JAKIE TEACHES A LESSON
dinner table full of milk, and telled you watch it bis
Hendrik come to his dinner, or bis she be done mit her
nap? ''
I tried to turn my eyes down, but he would not let
me, and I faltered, * ^ The chicken knocked it off, — but
he left the door open so it could get in. ' '
Then, he raised his other hand, shook his finger, and
in awe-inspiring tone continued: ** Yes, I be sure die
chicken do dat, but vot for you tell grandma dat Hein-
rick do dat ? Der debil makes peoples tell lies, and den
he ketch sie for his fire, und he vill ketch you, if you do
dat some more. Gott, who you mutter telled you 'bout,
will not love you. I will not love you, if you do dat
some more. I be sorry for you, because I tought you
vas His little girl, and mine little girl."
Jakie must have spent much time in collecting so
many English words, and they were effective, for be-
fore he got through repeating them to me, I was as
heart-sore and penitent as a child could be.
After he had forgiven me, he sent me to grandma,
later to acknowledge my wrong to Hendrik, and before
I slept, I had to tell God what a bad child I had been,
and ask Him to make me good.
I had promised to be very careful and to try never
to tell another lie, and I had been unhappy enough to
want to keep the promise. But, alas, my sympathy for
Jakie led me into more trouble, and it must have been
on Sunday too, for he was not working, but sitting
reverently under the tree with his elbows upon a table,
and his cheeks resting in the hollows of his hands. Be-
[177]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
fore him lay the Holy Scriptures from which he was
slowly reading aloud in solemn tones.
Georgia and I standing a short distance from him,
listened very intently. Not hearing a single English
word, and not understanding many of the German, I
became deeply concerned and turning to her asked,
* * Are n 't you awful sorry for poor Jakie ? There he
is, reading to God in German, and God can't under-
stand him. I 'm afraid Jakie won't go to heaven when
he dies.'*
My wise little sister turned upon me indignantly, as-
suring me that * * God sees everybody and understands
everybody's talk." To prove the truth of her state-
ment, she rushed to the kitchen and appealed to
grandma, who not only confirmed Georgia's words, but
asked me what right I had to believe that God was
American only, and could not understand good German
people when they read and spoke to Him? She wanted
to know if I was not ashamed to think that they, who
had loved me, and been kind to me would not go to
Heaven as well as I who had come to them a beggar?
Then she sent me away by myself to think of my many
sins ; and I, weeping, accepted banishment from Geor-
gia, lest she should learn wickedness from me.
Georgia was greatly disturbed on my account, be-
cause she believed I had wilfully misrepresented God,
and that He might not forgive me. When Jakie
learned what had happened, he declared that I had
spoken like a child, and needed instruction more than
punishment. So for the purpose of broadening my re-
[178]
KEEPSAKES FROM MOTHER
ligious views, and keeping before me the fact that
** God can do all things and knows all languages,"
igrandma taught me the Lord's Prayer in French and
German, and heard me repeat it each night in both
languages, after I had said it as taught me by my
mother.
It was about this time, that Leanna confided to me
that she was homesick for Elitha, and she would go to
her very soon. She said that I must not object when
the time came, for she loved her own sister just as
much as I did mine, and was as anxious to go to Elitha
as I had been to come to Georgia. She had been plan-
ning several weeks, and knew of a family with which
she could travel to Sutter 's Fort. Later, when she col-
lected her things to go away, she left with us a pair of
beautifully knit black silk stockings, marked near the
top in fine cross-stitch in white, ** D," and under that
* * 5. " The stockings had been our mother 's. She had
knit them herself and worn them. Georgia gave one
to me and kept the other. We both felt that they were
almost too sacred to handle. They were our only
keepsakes.
Later, Georgia found a small tin box in which mother
had kept important papers. Recently, when referring
to that circumstance, Georgia said: *' Grandma for a
long time had used it for a white-sugar box, and kept
it on a shelf so high that we could see it only when she
lifted it down; and I don't think we took our eyes from
it until, it was put back. We felt that it was too valu-
able for us ever to own. One day, I found it thrown
[179]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
away. One side had become unsoldered from the ends
and the bottom also was hanging loose. With a full
heart, I grasped the treasure and put it where we could
often see it. Long afterwards, Harry Huff kindly of-
fered to repair it ; and the solder that still holds it to-
gether is also regarded as a keepsake from a dear
friend. ' '
[180]
CHAPTEE XXI
MORAL DISCIPLINE THE HISTOEICAL PUEBLO OF SONOMA
SUGAR PLUMS.
GEANDMA often declared that she loved me, and
did not want to be too severe ; but, for fear that
I had learned much wickedness from the little Indians
with whom I had played after I left her at the Fort, she
should watch me very closely herself, and also have
Georgia tell her whenever she should see me do wrong.
Consequently, for a while after I reached Sonoma, I
was frequently on the penitential bench, and was as
often punished for fancied misdoings as for real ones.
Yet, I grant that grandma was warranted in being se-
vere the day that she got back from town before I was
ready for her.
She had left us with the promise that she would
bring us something nice if we would be good children
and do certain work that she had planned. After we
had finished the task, we both became restless, won-
dered how soon she would come back, and what we
could do next to keep from being lonesome. Then I
espied on the upper shelf the cream-colored sugar bowl,
with the old-fashioned red roses and black foliage on
its cover and sides. Grandma had occasionally given
[181]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PARTY
us lumps of sugar out of it ; and I now asked Georgia
if I hadn't better get it down, so that we could each
have a lump of sugar. Hesitatingly, she said, ** No,
I am afraid you will break it." I assured her that I
would be very careful, and at once set a chair in place
and climbed up. It was quite a strain to reach the
bowl, so I lifted it down and rested it on the lower
shelf, expecting to turn and put it into Georgia 's hands.
But, somehow, before I could do this, the lid slipped
off and lay in two pieces upon the floor. Georgia cried
out reproachfully,
** There, you know I didn't want you to do it, and
now you will get a good whipping for breaking grand-
ma's best sugar bowl ! "
I replied loftily that I was not afraid, because I
would ask God to mend it for me. She did not think
He would do it, but I did. So I matched the broken
edges and put it on the chair, knelt down before it and
said ** Please " when I made my request. I touched
the pieces very carefully, and pleaded more earnestly
each time that I found them unchanged. Finally,
Georgia, watching at the door, said excitedly, ** Here
comes grandma! ''
I arose, so disappointed and chagrined that I
scarcely heard her as she entered and spoke to me. I
fully believed that He would have mended that cover
if she had remained away a little longer; nevertheless,
I was so indignant at Him for being so slow about it,
that I stood unabashed while Georgia told all that had
happened. The whipping I got did not make much im-
[1821
PUNISHMENT AND SUFFERING
pression, but the after talks and the banishment from
* ^ good company ' ' were terrible.
Later, when I was called from my hiding-place,
grandma saw that I had been very miserable, and she
insisted upon knowing what I had been thinking about.
Then I told her, reluctantly, that I had talked to God
and told Him I did not think that He was a very good
Heavenly Father, or He would not let me get into so
much trouble; that I was mad at Him, and didn't be-
lieve He knew how to mend dishes. She covered her
face with her apron and told me, sobbingly, that she
had expected me to be sorry for getting down her sugar
bowl and for breaking its cover ; that I was so bad that
I would ** surely put poor old grandma's gray hair in
her grave, who had got one foot there already and the
other on the brink.''
This increased my wretchedness, and I begged her to
live just a little longer so that I might show her that I
would be good. She agreed to give me another trial
and ended by telling me about the ** beautiful, wicked
angel who had been driven out of paradise, and spends
his time coaxing people to be bad, and then remembers
them, and after they die, takes them on his fork and
pitches them back and forth in his fire." Jakie had
told me his name and also the name of his home.
Toward evening, my head ached, and I felt so ill that
I crept close to grandma and asked sorrowfully if she
thought the devil meant to have me die that night, and
then take me to his hell. At a glance, she saw that I
suffered, and drew me to her, pillowed my head against
[183]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PARTY
her bosom and soothingly assured me that I would be
forgiven if I would make friends with God and re-
member the lesson that I had learned that day. She
told me, later, I must never say ** devil, '* or *' hell,''
because it was not nice in little girls, but that, instead,
I might use the words, * * blackman, ' ' and ^^blackman's
fires.'' At first, I did not like to say it that way, be-
cause I was afraid that the beautiful devil might think
that I was calling him nicknames and get angry with
me.
Notwithstanding my shortcomings, the Brunners
were very willing to keep me, and strove to make a
** Schweitzer child " of me, dressed me in clothes
modelled after those which grandma wore when she
was small, and by verse and legend filled my thoughts
with pictures of their Alpine country. I liked the
German language, learned it rapidly and soon could
help to translate orders. Those which pleased
grandma best were from the homes of Mr. Jacob
Leese, Captain Fitch, Major Prudon, and General Val-
lejo ; for their patronage influenced other distinguished
Spanish families at a distance to send for her excel-
lent cheese and fancy pats of butter. Yet, with equal
nicety, she filled the orders that came from the mess-
room of the officers of our own brave boys in blue,
and always tried to have a better kerchief and apron
on the evenings that officers and orderly rode out to
pay the bills.
Visitors felt more than a passing interest in lis two
little ones, for accounts of the sufferings of the Don-
[1841
OFFICERS AND SOLDIERS
ner Party had been carried to all the settlements on
the Pacific coast and had been sent in print or writ-
ings to all parts of the United States as a warning
against further emigration to California by way of
Hastings Cut-Off. Thus the name we bore awakened
sympathy for us, and in the huts of the lowly natives
as well as in the homes of the rulers of the province,
we found welcome and were greeted with words of
tenderness, which were often followed by prayers for
the repose of the souls of our precious dead.
Marked attentions were also shown us by officers
and soldiers from the post. The latter gathered in
the evenings at the Brunner home for social inter-
course. Some played cards, checkers, and dominoes,
or talked and sang about ^^des Deutschen Vaterland/'
Others reviewed happenings in our own country, re-
called battles fought and victories won. And we, sit-
ting between our foster grandparents, or beside Jakie,
listening to their thrilling tales, were, unwittingly,
crammed with crumbs of truth and fiction that made
lasting impressions upon our minds.
Nor were these odd bits of knowledge all we gained
from those soldier friends. They taught us the al-
phabet, how to spell easy words, and then to form let-
ters with pencil. They explained the meaning of fife
and drum calls which we heard during the day, and in
mischievous earnestness, declared that they, the best
fighters of Colonel Stephenson's famous regiment of
New York Volunteers, had pledged their arms and
legs to our defence, and had only come to see if we
[185]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
were worth the price they might have to, pay. Yet
they made grim faces when, all too soon, the retreat
call from the barracks sounded, and away they would
have to go on the double quick, to be at post by the
time of roll call, and in bed at sound of taps.
On those evenings when grandma visited the sick,
or went from home on errands, we children were
tucked away early in our trundle bed. There, and by
ourselves, we spoke of mother and the mountains. Not
infrequently, however, our thoughts would be recalled
to the present by loud, wailing squeak-squawk, squeak-
squawks. As the sound drew nearer and became
shriller, we would put our fingers in our ears to
muffle the dismal tones, which we knew were only the
creakings of the two wooden wheels of some Mexican
carreta, laboriously bringing passengers to town, or
perhaps a cruder one carrying hides to the embar-
cadero, or possibly supplies to adjacent ranchos. We
wondered how old people and mothers with sick chil-
dren could travel in such uncomfortable vehicles and
not become distracted by their nerve-piercing noises.
Then, like a bird-song, pleasanter scenes would steal
in upon our musings, of gay horseback parties on
their way to church feasts, or fandangos, preceded or
followed by servants in charge of pack animals laden
with luggage.
We rarely stayed awake long enough to say all we
wished about the Spanish people. Their methods of
travel, modes of dress, and fascinating manners were
sources of never-ending discussion and interest.
[186]
PUEBLO OF SONOMA
We had seen princely dons of many leagues ride by
in state ; dashing cahalleros resplendent in costumes of
satin and velvet, on their way to sing beneath the win-
dows o£ dark-eyed senoritas; and had stood close
enough to the wearers of embroidered and lace-be-
decked small clothes, to count the scallops which closed
the seams of their outer garments, and to hear the faint
tinkle of the tiny silver bells which dangled from them.
We had feasted our eyes on magnificently robed se-
noras and senoritas; caught the scent of the roses
twined in their hair, and the flash of jewels on their
persons.
Such frequent object-lessons made the names and
surroundings of those grandees easy to remember.
Some lived leagues distant, some were near neighbors
in that typical Mexican Pueblo of Sonoma, whose adobe
walls and red-tiled roofs nestled close to the foot of the
dimpled hills overlooking the valley from the north,
and whose historic and romantic associations were con-
nected with distinguished families who still called it
home.
Foremost among the men was General Mariano
Guadalupe Vallejo, by whom Sonoma was founded in
1834, upon ground which had twice been consecrated
to Mission use. First by Padre Altemera, who had,
in 1823, established there the church and mission
building of San Francisco Solano. And four years
later, after hostile Indians had destroyed the sacred
structures. Padre Fortune, under protection of Pre-
sidio Golden Gate, blessed the ashes and rebuilt the
[187]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
church and the parochial houses named last on the list
of the historic Missions of California.
The Vallejo home covered the largest plot of ground
on the north side of the plaza, and its great house had
a hospitable air, despite its lofty watchtower, be-
grimed by sentry holes, overlooking every part of the
valley.
During the period that its owner was commandante
of the northern frontier, the Vallejo home was head-
quarters for high officials of the province. But after
Commodore Sloat raised the Stars and Stripes at Mon-
terey, General Vallejo espoused the cause of the United
States, put aside much of his Spanish exclusiveness,
and opened his doors to Americans as graciously as to
friends of his own nationality.
A historic souvenir greatly prized by Americans in
town and valley was the flag pole, which in Sonoma's
infancy had been hewn from the distant mountain for-
est, and brought down on pack animals by mission In-
dians under General Vallejo 's direction. It originally
stood in the centre of the plaza, where it was planted
with sacred ceremonials, and where amid ringing
cheers of ^' Viva Mexico! '^ it first flung to the breeze
that country's symbolical banner of green, white, and
red. Through ten fitful years it loyally waved those
colors ; then followed its brief humiliation by the Bear
Flag episode, and early redemption by order of Com-
modore Sloat, who sent thither an American flag-bearer
to invest it with the Stars and Stripes. Thereafter,
a patriotic impulse suggested its removal to the parade
[188]
SONOMA MISSION
ground of the United States Army post, and as Spanish
residents looked upon it as a thornf ul reminder of lost
power they felt no regret when Uncle Sam's boys
transplanted it to new environments and made it an
American feature by adoption.
But the Mexican landmark which appealed to me
most pathetically was the quaint rustic belfry which
stood solitary in the open space in front of the Mission
buildings. Its strong columns were the trunks of trees
that looked as though they might have grown there
for the purpose of shouldering the heavy cross-beams
from which the chimes hung. Its smooth timbers had
been laboriously hewn by hand, as must be the case in
a land where there are no saw mills. The parts that
were not bound together with thongs of rawhide, were
held in place by wooden pegs. The strips of rawhide
attached to the clappers dropped low enough for me
to reach, and often tempted me to make the bells
speak.
Mission padres no longer dwelt in the buildings,
but shepherds from distant folds came monthly to ad-
minister to the needs of this consecrated flock. Then
the many bells would call the faithful to mass, and
to vespers, or chime for the wedding of favored sons
and daughters. Part of them would jingle merrily for
notable christenings; but one only would toll when
death whitened the lips of some distinguished victim;
and again, while the blessed body was being borne to
its last resting-place.
During one of my first trips to town, Jakie and I
[189]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
were standing by grandpa's shop on the east side of
the plaza, when suddenly those bells rang out clear and
sweet, and we saw the believing glide out of their
homes in every direction and wend their way to the
church. The high-bom ladies had put aside their
jewels, their gorgeous silks and satins, and donned the
simpler garb prescribed for the season of fasts and
prayer. Those to the manor bom wore the pictur-
esque rehosa of fine lace or gauzy silk, draped over the
head and about the shoulders ; while those of humbler
station made the shawl serve in place of the rehosa.
The Indian servants, who with mats and kneeling cush-
ions followed their mistresses, wore white chemises,
bright-colored petticoats, and handkerchiefs folded
three-cornerwise over the head and knotted under the
chin. The costumes of the young girls were modelled
after those of their mothers ; and the little ladies ap-
peared as demure and walked as stately as their elders.
The gentlemen also were garbed in plainer costumes
than their wont, and, for custom's sake, rode on horse-
back even the short distances which little children
walked.
The town seemed deserted, and the church filled, as
we started homeward, I skipping ahead until we
reached a shop window where I waited for Jakie and
asked him if he knew what those pretty little things
were that I saw on a shelf, in big short-necked glass
jars. Some were round and had little ** stickers " all
over them, and others looked like birds' eggs, pink,
yellow, white, and violet.
[190]
CHILDISH TREASURES
He told me the round ones were sugar plums, and
the egg-shaped had each an almond nut under its
bright crust; that they were candies that had come
from France in the ships that had brought the Span-
ish people their fine clothes ; and that they were only
for the rich, and would make poor little girls' teeth
ache, if they should eat them.
Yet, after I confided to him how mother had given
me a lump of loaf sugar each night as long as it lasted,
and how sorry we both felt when there was no more,
he led me into the shop and let me choose two of each
kind and color from the jars. "We walked faster as
I carried them home. Jakie and grandma would not
take any, but she gave Georgia and me each a sugar
plum and an egg, and saved the rest for other days
when we should be good children.
[191]
CHAPTER XXII
GOLD DISCOVEKED * * CALIFOBNIA IS OURS ' ' NURSING
THE SICK THE U. S. MILITARY POST BURIAL OF AN
OFFICER.
IN the year 1848, while the settlers and their fam-
ilies were contentedly at work developing the re-
sources of the country, the astounding cry, ** Gold
discovered! '' came through the valley like a blight,
stopping every industry in its wake.
Excited men, women, and children rushed to town
in quest of information. It was furnished by Alcalde
Boggs and General Vallejo, who had been called away
privately two weeks earlier, and had just returned in
a state of great enthusiasm, declaring that gold, ** in
dust, grains, and chunks had been discovered at Col-
oma, not more than a day's journey from Sutter's
Fort.''
** How soon can we get there? " became the all-ab-
sorbing problem of eager listeners. The only hotel-
keeper in the town sold his kettles and pans, closed his
house, and departed. Shopkeepers packed most of
their supplies for immediate shipment, and raised the
price of those left for home trade. Men and half-
grown boys hardly took time to collect a meagre out-
1192 J
'' CALIFORNIA IS OURS "
fit before they were off with shovel and pan and
** something big to hold the gold." A few families
packed their effects into emigrant wagons and de-
serted house and lands for the luring gold fields.
Crowds from San Francisco came hurrying through,
some stopping barely long enough to repeat the mad-
dening tales that had started them off to the diggings
with pick and shovel. Each new rumor increased the
exodus of gold-seekers; and by the end of the first
week in August, when the messenger arrived with the
long-hoped-for report of the ratification of the treaty
of peace, and General Mason's proclamation officially
announcing it, there were not enough men left in the
valley, outside of the barracks, to give a decent round
of cheers for the blessing of peace.
Grandpa brought the news home, ** California is
ours. There will be no more war, no more trouble,
and no more need of soldiers.''
Yet the women felt that their battles and trials had
just begun, since they had suddenly become the sole
home-keepers, with limited ways and means to provide
for the children and care for the stock and farms.
Discouragement would have rendered the burdens of
many too heavy to carry, had not ^^ work together,"
and * * help your neighbor, ' ' become the watchwords of
the day. No one was allowed to suffer through lack
of practical sympathy. From house to house, by
turns, went the strong to help the weak to bridge their
troubles. They went, not with cheering words only,
but with something in store for the empty cupboards
[193]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
and with ready hands to help to milk, wash, cook, or
sew.
Grandma was in such demand that she had little
time to rest ; for there was not a doctor nor a * * med-
icine shop ' ' in the valley, and her parcels of herbs and
knowledge of their uses had to serve for both. Nights,
she set her shoes handy, so that she could dress quickly
when summoned to the sick; and dawn of day often
marked her home-coming.
Georgia and I were led into her work early, for we
were sent with broths and appetizers to the sick on
clearings within walking distances ; and she would bid
us stay a while at different houses where we could be
helpful, but to be sure and bring careful reports from
each home we entered. Under such training, we
learned much about diseases and the care of the suf-
fering. Anon, we would find in the plain wooden
cradle, a dainty bundle of sweetness, all done up in
white, which its happy owner declared grandma had
brought her, and we felt quite repaid for our tiresome
walk if permitted to hold it a wee while and learn its
name.
We were sent together on these missions, in order
that we might help each other to remember all that
was told us; yet grandma had us take turns, and the
one whom she commissioned to make the inquiries was
expected to bring the fuller answers. Sometimes, we
played on the way and made mistakes. Then she would
mete out to us that hardest of punishments, namely,
that we were not to speak with each other until she
[194]
COMPANY C AND COMPANY H
should forgive our offence. Forgiveness usually came
before time to drive up the cows, for she knew that we
were nimbler-footed when she started us off in happy
mood.
Each cow wore a bell of different tone and knew her
own name ; yet it was not an easy task, even in pleas-
ant weather, to collect the various strings and get them
home on time. They mixed, and fed with neighbors'
cattle on the range, and hid themselves behind clumps
of trees and other convenient obstructions. Often
grandma would get her string in by the main trail and
have them milked before we could bring up the lag-
gards that provokingly dawdled along, nibbling stray
bunches of grass. When late on the road, we saw
coyotes sneaking out for their evening meal and heard
the far-away cry of the panther. But we were not
much afraid when it was light enough, so that imagi-
nation could not picture them creeping stealthily be-
hind us.
Our gallant Company C, officered by Captain Bart-
lett and Lieutenants Stoneman and Stone, was ordered
to another post early in August; and its departure
caused such universal regret that no one supposed
Company H, under Captain Frisbie, could fill its place.
Nevertheless, that handsome young officer soon found
his way to the good- will of the people, and when Cap-
tain Joe Hooker brought him out to visit grandma's
dairy, she, too, was greatly pleased by his soldierly
bearing. After he mentioned that he had heard of
her interest in the company which had been called
[195]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
away, and that he believed she would find Company H
equally deserving of her consideration, she readily ex-
tended to the new men the homelike privileges which
the others had enjoyed. Thus more friends came
among us.
Notable among mine was the old darkey cook at
headquarters, from whom Georgia and I tried to hide,
the first time she waddled out to our house. She
searched us out, saying:
** Now, honeys, don't yo be so scared of dis ole
Aunt Lucy, 'cos she 's done beared Captain Hooker
tell lots 'bout yos, and has come to see yos."
Her face was one great smile, and her voice was so
coaxing that she had little difficulty in gaining our
favor, the more so, as upon leaving, she called back,
** I's surely g'wine ter make dat little pie and cake
I's promised yos, so yos must n't forgit to come git it."
On one occasion, when I was sent to the post on an
errand, she had no pie or cake ; but she brought out a
primer and said thoughtfully, * * I 's g 'wine ter give yo
dis A-B-C book, 'cos I want yo should grow up like
quality folks."
Its worn leaves showed that its owner had studied
its first few pages only ; and when I replied, * * Grandma
says that I must not take everything that is offered
me," she chuckled and continued:
** Lawd, honey, yo needn't have no 'punctions
'bout takin' dis yer book, 'cos I could n't learn to read
nohow when I was a gal, and I's too ole to now. Now,
I wants yo to be nice; and yo can't, lessen yo can
[196]
MEETING WITH THE GENERAL
read and talk like de Captain done tole me yo mudder
done. ' '
I was delighted with the book, and told her so, and
hugged it all the way home ; for it had a beautiful pic-
ture near the back, showing a little girl with a sprink-
ling pot, watering her garden of stocks, sweet-williams,
and hollyhocks. Her hair was in four long curls, and
she had trimming on her dress, apron, and long pant-
alets. I was also impressed by the new words
which I had heard Aunt Lucy use, * * 'punctions, ' ' and
** quality folks." I repeated them over and over to
myself, so that I should be able to tell them to Georgia.
Our last visit to Aunt Lucy must have been prear-
ranged, for as she admitted us, she said, ** I's mighty
glad yos done come so soon, 'cos I been 'specting yos,
and mus' take yos right in to de General."
I had never seen a general, and was shy about meet-
ing one, until after she assured me that only cowards
and bad men feared him.
We walked down the corridor and entered a large
room, where an elderly gentleman in uniform sat writ-
ing at a table. Aunt Lucy stopped beside him, and
still holding each by the hand, bowed low, saying,
** General Smith, I's brung der two little Donner gals
in to see yo, sah ' ' ; then she slipped out.
He was as courteous to us as though we were grown
ladies, shook hands, asked how we felt, begged us to
be seated, and then stepped to a door and called,
" Susan! Susan! " I liked the name. A sweet voice
answered, ** Coming! "
[1971
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PAETY
Presently, a pretty dark-eyed Southern lady ap-
peared, who called us ** honeys,'' and ** dear little
girls." She sat between us, joining with her husband
in earnest inquiries about our stay in the mountains
and our home with grandma. Georgia did most of the
talking. I was satisfied just to look at them and hear
them speak. At the close of our visit, with a know-
ing look, she took us to see what Aunt Lucy had baked.
The General and she had recently come to pay a
last visit to a sick officer, who had been sent from San
Francisco with the hope that our milder climate would
prolong his life. They themselves stayed only a short
time, and their friend never left our valley. The day
he died, the flag swung lower on the staff. Soldiers
dug his grave on the hillside north of town, and
word came from army headquarters that he would be
buried on the morrow at midday, with military honors.
Georgia and I wanted to know what military honors
were, and as it came time for the funeral, we gathered
with others on the plaza, where the procession formed.
We were deeply impressed.
The emigrants uncovered and bowed their heads
reverently, but the soldiers in line, with guns reversed,
stood erect and motionless as figures in stone, while
the bier of the dead was being carried through open
ranks to the waiting caisson. The coffin was covered
with a flag, and upon it lay his chapeau, gauntlets,
sash, and sword. His boots, with their toes reversed,
hung over the saddle of a riderless horse, led behind
the caisson. The solemn tones of fife and muffled
[198]
A SOLDIER'S BURIAL
drum led the way through the town, past the old Mis-
sion bells and up the hillside. Only soldiers stood
close around the grave and heard what was read by the
officer who stood at its head, with an open book in one
hand and a drawn sword in the other. Three times
the file of soldiers fired a volley over the grave, then
the muffled drum sounded its farewell taps, and the
officers, with their men and the funeral caisson, re-
turned to their quarters in silent order.
[199]
CHAPTER XXm
KEAPING AND THRESHING A PIONEER FUNERAL. THE
HOMELESS AND WAYFARING APPEAL TO MRS. BRUNNER
RETURN OF THE MINERS SOCIAL GATHERINGS OUR
DAILY ROUTINE STOLEN PLEASURES A LITTLE DAIRY-
MAID MY DOGSKIN SHOES.
REAPING and threshing were interesting events
to us that summer. Mission Indians, scantily
clothed, came and cut the grain with long knives and
sickles, bound it in small sheaves, and stacked it in the
back yard opposite grandma's lookout window, then
encircled it with a rustic fence, leaving a wide bare
space between the stack and the fence, which they
swept clean with green branches from live oak trees.
After many days, Mexican drivers brought a band
of wild mares to help with the work. A thick layer
of unthreshed grain was pitched on to the bare space
surrounding the stack and the mares were driven
around and around upon it. From time to time, fresh
material was supplied to meet the needs of the thresh-
ers. And, at given signals from the men on'the stack,
the mares were turned out for a short rest, also in or-
der to allow the Indians a chance to throw out the
waste straw and to heap the loose grain on the win-
[ 200 1
INDIAN THEESHEES
nowing ground. So they did again and again, until
the last sheaf had been trodden under foot.
When the threshing was finished, the Indians rested ;
then prepared their fires, and feasted on the head,
feet, and offal of a bullock which grandpa had
slaughtered.
Like buzzards came the squaws and papooses to take
what was left of the food, and to claim a share from
the pile of worn-out clothes which grandma brought
out for distribution. Amid shouts of pleasure, gestic-
ulations, and all manner of begging, the distribution
began, and when it ended, our front yard looked as
though it were stocked with prize scarecrows.
One big fellow was resplendent in a battered silk
hat and a tattered army coat ; another was well dressed
in a pair of cast-off boots and one of grandma's ragged
aprons. Georgia and I tried to help to sort the things
as they should be worn, but our efforts were in vain.
Wrong hands would reach around and get the articles,
and both sexes interchanged suits with apparent satis-
faction. Grandma got quite out of patience with one
great fellow who was trying to put on a petticoat
that his squaw needed, and rushed up to him, jerked it
off, gave him a vigorous push, and had the garment on
his squaw, before he could do more than grimt. In
the end they went away caring more for the clothes
that had been given them than for the money they had
earned.
Before the summer waned, death claimed one of our
own brave women, and immigrants from far and near
[2011
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PAETY
gathered to do her honor. I do not recollect her name,
but know that she was tall and fair, and that grandma,
who had watched with her through her last hours, told
Georgia and me that when we saw the procession leave
the house, we might creep through our back fence and
reach the grave before those who should walk around
by the road. We were glad to go, for we had watched
the growth of the fresh ridge under a large oak tree,
not far from our house, and had heard a friend say
that it would be ** a heavenly resting place for the
freed sufferer."
Her family and nearest neighbors left the house
afoot, behind the wagon which carried the plain red-
wood coffin. At the cross-road several fell in line,
and at the grave was quite a gathering. A number
came in their ox wagons, others on horseback; among
them, a father afoot, leading a horse upon whose back
sat his wife with an infant in arms and a child behind
clinging to her waist ; and several old nags, freighted
with children, were led by one parent, while the other
walked alongside to see that none should lose their
balance and fall off.
No minister of the Gospel was within call, so, after
the coffin was placed upon the bars above the open
grave, and the lid removed, a friend who had crossed
the plains with the dead, offered a prayer, and all the
listeners said, '* Amen."
I might not have remembered all these things, if
Georgia and I had not watched over that grave, when
all others seemed to have forgotten it. As we brought
[202]
SALE OF AEMY STORES
brush to cover it, in order to keep the cattle from
dusting themselves in the loose earth, we- talked mat-
ters over, and felt as though that mother's grave had
been bequeathed to us. Grandma had instructed us
that the graveyard is ** God's acre," and that it is a
sin to live near and not tend it. Still, no matter how
often we chased the cattle away, they would return.
We could not make them understand that their old
resting-place had become sacred ground.
About the middle of October, 1848, the last of the
volunteers were mustered out of service, and shortly
thereafter the excess of army stores were condemned
and sold. Ex-soldiers had preference over settlers,
and could buy the goods at Government rates, plus a
small cost of transportation to the Pacific coast.
Grandma profited by the good-will of those whom she
had befriended. They stocked her store-room with
salt pork, flour, rice, coffee, sugar, ship-bread, dried
fruit, and camp condiments at a nominal figure above
what they themselves paid for them.
This was fortunate, for the hotel was still closed,
and the homeless and wayfaring appealing to grandma,
easily persuaded her to make room for them at her
table. The greater the number, the harder she worked,
and the more she expected of us. Although we rose
at dawn, and rolled our sleeves high as she rolled hers,
and like her, turned up our dress skirts and pinned
them behind under our long belt aprons, we could not
keep pace with her work.
Nevertheless, we were pleasing reminders of little
[203]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PAETY
girls whom she had known in her native village, and
she was proud of ns, and had two little white dresses
fashioned to be worn on very special occasions. After
they were finished, we also were proud, and made many
trips into the room to see how beautiful they looked
hanging against the wall under the curtain.
Marvellous accounts of the extent and richness of
the gold-diggings were now brought to town by traf-
fickers in provisions for mining-camps. This good
news inspired our home-keepers with renewed courage.
They worked faster while planning the comfort they
should enjoy after the return of the absent.
The first to come were the unfortunate, who sought
to shake off rheumatism, lung trouble, or the stubborn
low-grade fever brought on by working in the water,
sleeping on damp ground, eating poorly cooked food,
or wearing clothing insufficient to guard against the
morning and evening chill. Few had much to show
for their toil and privation; yet, not disheartened,
even in delirium, they clamored to hasten back for the
precious treasure which seemed ever beckoning them
onward.
When wind and weather drove them home, the ro-
bust came with bags of gold rolled in their snug packs.
They called each other ** lucky dogs,'' yet looked like
grimy beggars, with faces so bewhiskered, and cloth-
ing so ragged, or so wonderfully patched, that little
children cried when they drew near, and wives threw
up their hands, exclaiming, ** For the land's sake! can
it be? " Yet each home-comer found glad welcome, and
[204]
GOLD DUST AND NUGGETS
messengers were quick to spread the news, and friends
gathered to rejoice with the returned.
Now each home-cooked dish was a feast for the
camp-fed to contrast with their fare at Coloma,
Wood's Camp,* and sundry other places, where flour,
rice, ship-bread, and coffee were three dollars a pound ;
salt pork and white beans, two dollars a pound; jerked
beef, eight dollars a pound; saleratus, sixteen dollars
an ounce ; and salt, sugar, and raisins were put on the
scales to balance their weight in gold dust ; where liq-
uor was fifty cents a tablespoonful, and candles five
dollars each. It was not the prices at which they com-
plained, but at the dearth of these staples, which had
forced them home to wait until spring should again
open the road to supply-trains.
The homeless, who in the evenings found comfort
and cheer around grandma 's table, would take out their
treasure bags and boxes and pour their dust and grains
of gold in separate piles, to show the quality and quan-
tity, then pass the nuggets around that all might see
what strange figures nature had moulded in secret up
among the rocks and' ravines of the Sierras.
One Eoman Catholic claimed as his choicest prize a
perfectly shaped cross of free gold, which he had
cradled from the sands in the bed of a creek. Another
had an image of the Virgin and Child. A slight stretch
of the imagination turned many of the beautifully
fretted pieces into miniature birds and other admir-
able designs for sweetheart brooches.
*Now Jamestown.
[ 205 ]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PARTY
The exhibition over, each would scrape his hoard
back into its receptacle, blow the remaining yellow par-
ticles on to the floor so that the table should not show
stain, and then settle himself to take his part in relat-
ing amusing and thrilling incidents of life in the min-
ing camps. Not a window was closed, nor a door
locked, nor a wink of sleep lost in those days, guard-
ing bags of gold. ** Hands off " was the miners' law,
and all knew that death awaited him who should ven-
ture to break it.
Heavy purses made willing spenders, and generous
impulses were untrammelled. Nothing could be more
gratifying or touching than the respect shown by those
homeless men to the pioneer women and children.
They would walk long distances and suffer delays and
inconveniences for the privilege of passing a few hours
under home influences, and were ever ready to con-
tribute toward pleasures in which all might participate.
There were so few young girls in the community,
and their presence was so greatly desired, that in the
early winter, Georgia and I attended as welcome
guests some of the social gatherings which began at
early candle-light, and we wore the little white dresses
that were so precious in our eyes.
Before the season was half over, heavy rain was
followed by such bitter cold that all the ground and
still waters were frozen stiff. Although we were well
mufifled, and grandma warmed us up with a drink of
hot water and sweetened cream before starting us out
after the cows, the frost nipped at our feet until the
[206]
i
\4
O
c
HOUSEHOLD TASKS
old scars became so angry and painful that we could
scarcely hobble about the house. Many remedies were
tried, to no purpose, the most severe being the early
foot bath with floats of ice in the water. It chilled us
through and through, and also made grandma keep us
from the fire, lest the heat should undo the benefit ex-
pected from the cold. So, while we sat with shivering
forms and chattering teeth looking across the room at
the blazing logs under the breakfast pots and kettles,
our string of cows was coming home in care of a new
driver.
We were glad to be together, even in misery, and all
things considered, were perhaps as useful in our crip-
pled condition as before, for there was enough to keep
our hands busy while our feet rested. Grandma
thought she made our work lighter by bringing it to
us, yet she came too often for it to seem easy to us.
First, the six brass candlesticks, with hoods, snuffers,
and trays had to be brightened; and next, there were
the small brass kettles in which she boiled the milk for
coffee, to be polished inside and out. However, we did
not dread the kettles much, unless burned, for there
was always a spoon in the bottom to help to gather the
scrapings, of which we were very fond.
But when she would come with a large pan of dried
beans or peas to be picked over quickly, so that she
could get them soaked for early cooking, we would
measure its contents with critical eyes to make sure
that it was not more than we had had the previous day.
By the time we would get to the bottom of the pan, she
[207]
THE EXPEDITION pF. THE DONNEE PARTY
would be ready to put before us a discouraging pile of
iron knives, forks, and pewter spoons to scour with
wood ashes. How we did hate those old black knives
and forks! She said her sight was poor — but she
could always see when we slighted any.
The redeeming work of the day was sorting the dried
fruit for sauce or pies. We could take little nibbles as
we handled it, and knew that we should get an extra
taste when it was ready for use. And after she had
put the upper crust on the pies, she would generally
permit us to make the fancy print around the edges
with a fork, and then prick a figure in the centre to let
the steam escape while baking.
Sometimes she received a dollar apiece for these
pies ; and she had so many customers for them and for
such loaves of bread as she could spare, that she often
declared the farm was as good as a gold mine.
We were supposed not to play with dolls, conse-
quently we durst not ask any one to step around and
see how our little house in the back yard was weather-
ing the storms, nor how the beloved nine in it were
getting along. Though only bottles of different sizes,
to us they were dear children, named after great per-
sonages whom the soldiers had taught us to honor.
The most distinguished had cork stoppers for heads,
with faces marked on the sides, the rest, only wads of
paper or cloth fastened on the ends of sticks that
reached down into the bodies. A strip of cloth tied
around each neck, below the bulge, served as make-
believe arms, suitable for all ordinary purposes, and,
[ 208 ]
A BUSY LITTLE DAIRYMAID
with a little assistance, capable of saluting an officer
or waving to a comrade.
We worried because they were clothed in fragments
of cloth and paper too thin for the season; and the
very first chance we got, we slipped out and found our
darlings in a pitiable plight. Generals Washington
and Jackson, and little Van Buren were mired at the
foot of a land slide from the overhanging bank, Tay-
lor, Webster, Clay, and Benton had been knocked down
and buried almost out of sight. Martha Washington's
white shawl and the chicken plumes in her hat were
ruined; and Dandy Jim from North Carolina lay at
her feet with a broken neck!
Such a shock ! Not until we realized that everything
could be restored was our grief assuaged — that is,
everything but Dandy Jim. He was a serious loss, for
he was our only black bottle and had always been kept
to wait on Martha Washington.
We worked fast, and had accomplished so much be-
fore being called into the house that we might have
put everything in order next day, had Georgia not
waked up toward morning with a severe cold, and had
grandma not found out how she caught it. The out-
come was that our treasures were taken to the store-
room to become medicine and vinegar bottles, and we
mourned like birds robbed of their young.
New duties were opened to me as soon as I could
wear my shoes, and by the time Georgia was out again,
I was a busy little dairymaid, and quite at home in the
corrals. I had been decorated with the regulation salt
[2091
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
bag, which hung close to my left side, like a fisher-
man's basket. I owned a quart cup and could milk
with either hand, also knew how to administer the
pinch of salt which each cow expected. After a little
practice I became able to do all the * * stripping. ' ' In
some cases it amounted to not more than half a pint
from each animal. However, much or little, the strip-
pings were of importance, and were kept separate, be-
cause grandma considered them ** good as cream in
the cheese kettle. ' *
When I could sit on the one-legged stool, which
Jakie had made me, hold a pail between my knees and
milk one or more cows, without help, they both praised
my cleverness — a cleverness which fixed more outside
responsibilities upon me, and kept me from Georgia a
longer while each day. My work was hard, still I re-
mained noticeably taller and stronger than she, who
was assigned to lighter household duties. I felt that I
had no reason to complain of my tasks, because every-
body about me was busy, and the work had to be done.
If I was more helpful than my little sister, I was
also a source of greater trouble, for I wore out my
clothes faster, and they were difficult to replace, es-
pecially shoes.
There was but one shoemaker in the town, and he
was kept so busy that he took a generous measure of
children's feet and then allowed a size or more, to
guard against the shoes being too small by the time he
should get them finished.
When my little stogies began to leak, he shook his
1210]
OLD SHOES AND NEW
head thoughtfully, and declared that he had so many
orders for men's boots that he could not possibly work
for women or children until those orders were filled.
Consequently, grandma kept her eye on my shoes, and
as they got worse and worse, she became sorely per-
plexed. She would not let me go barefooted, because
she was afraid of ** snags '* and ensuing lockjaw; she
could not loan me her own, because she was saving
them for special occasions, and wearing instead the
heavy sabots she had brought from her native land.
She tried the effect of continually reminding me to
pick my way and save my shoes, which made life mis-
erable for us both. Finally she upbraided me harshly
for a playful run across the yard with Courage, and I
lost my temper, and grumbled.
* * I would rather go barefooted and get snags in my
feet than have so much bother about old shoes that are
worn out and no good anyway! '*
I was still crying when Hendrik, a roly-poly Hol-
lander, came along and asked the cause of my distress.
Grandma told him that I was out of humor, because
she was trying to keep shoes on my feet, while I was
determined to run them off. He laughed, bade me
cheer up, sang the rollicking sailor song with which
he used to drive away storms at sea, then showed me a
hole in the heel of the dogskin boots he wore, and told
me that, out of their tops, he would make me a beauti-
ful pair of shoes.
No clouds darkened my sky the morning that Hen-
drik came, wearing a pair of new cowhide boots then
[211]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
squeaked as though singing crickets were between the
heavy soles ; for he had his workbox and the dogskins
under his arm, and we took seats under the oak tree,
where he laid out his tools and went to work without
more ado.
He had brought a piece of tanned cowhide for the
soles of my shoes, an awl, a sailor's thimble, needles,
coarse thread, a ball of wax, and a sharp knife. The
hair on the inside of the boot legs was thick and
smooth, and the colors showed that one of the skins
had been taken from the body of a black and white
dog, and the other from that of a tawny brindle. As
Hendrik modelled and sewed, he told me a wondrous
tale of the great North Polar Sea, where he had gone
in a whaling vessel, and had stayed all winter among
mountains of ice and snow. There his boots had worn
out. So he had bought these skins from queer little
people there, who live in snow huts, and instead of
horses or oxen, use dogs to draw their sleds.
I liked the black and white skin better than the brin-
dle, so he cut that for the right foot, and told me
always to make it start first. And when I put the
shoes on they felt so soft and warm that I knew I could
never forget Hendrik 's generosity and kindness.
The longer I wore them the more I became attached
to them, and the better I understood the story he had
told me ; for in my musings they were not shoes, but
** Spot " and ** Brindle," live Eskimo dogs, that had
drawn families of queer little people in sleds over the
frozen sea, and had always been hungry and ready to
[212]
WAITING ON THE SHOEMAKEE
fight over their scanty meals. At times I imagined
that they wanted to race and scamper about as happy
dogs do, and I would run myself out of breath to keep
them going, and always stop with Spot in the lead.
When I needed shoestrings, I was sent to the shoe-
maker, who only glanced up and replied, ** Come to-
morrow, and I '11 have a piece of leather big enough."
The next day, he made the same answer, ** Come to-
morrow," and kept pegging away as fast as he could
on a boot sole. The third time I appeared before
him, he looked up with the ejaculation, '^ Well, I '11 be
damned, if she ain't here again!"
I was well aware that he should not have used that
evil word, yet was not alarmed, for I had heard
grandpa and others use worse, and mean no harm,
nor yet intend to be cross. So I stood quietly, and in
a trice he was up, had rushed across the shop, brought
back two round pieces of leather not larger than
cookies, and before I knew what he was about, had
turned them into good straight shoestrings. He waxed
them, and handed them to me with the remark, * * Tell
your grandma that since you had to wait so long, I
charge her only twenty-five cents for them. ' '
[213]
CHAPTER XXIV
MEXICAN METHODS OF CULTIVATION FIRST STEAMSHIP
THROUGH THE GOLDEN GATE * * THE ARGONAUTS " ' OR
** BOYS OF '49 " A LETTER FROM THE STATES JOHN
BAPTISTE JAKIE LEAVES US THE FIRST AMERICAN
SCHOOL IN SONOMA.
BY the first of Marcli, 1849, carpenters had the
frame of grandma 's fine new two-story house en-
closed, and the floors partly laid. Neighbors were
hurrying to get their fields ploughed and planted, those
without farming implements following the Mexican ^s
crude method of ploughing the ground with wooden
prongs and harrowing in the seed by dragging heavy
brush over it.
They gladly turned to any tool that would complete
the work by the time the roads to the mountains should
be passable, and the diggings clear of snow. Their ex-
pectations might have been realized sooner, if a bluff
old launch captain, with an eye to business for himself
and San Francisco, had not appeared on the scene,
shouting, ** Ahoy '' to everybody.
** I say, a steamship anchored in the Bay of San
Francisco two days ago. She 's the California,
Steamed out of New York Harbor with merchandise.
Stopped at Panama; there took aboard three hundred
[214]
I
STEAMER AT SAN FRANCISCO
and fifty waiting passengers that had cut across coun-
try — a mixture of men from all parts of the United
States, who have come to carry off the gold diggings,
root and branch! Others are coming in shiploads as
fast as they can. Now mark my words, and mark them
well: provisions is going to run mighty short, and if
this valley wants any, it had better send for them
pretty damn quick! '*
By return boat, farmers, shopkeepers, and carpen-
ters hastened to San Francisco. All were eager for
supplies from the first steamship that had entered the
Golden Gate — the first, it may be added, that most of
them, even those of a sea-going past, had ever seen.
During the absence of husbands, we little girls were
loaned separately nights to timid wives who had no
children to keep them company. Georgia went earlier
and stayed later than I, because grandma could not
spare me in the evenings until after the cows were
turned out, and she needed me in the mornings before
sunrise. Those who borrowed us made our stays so
pleasant that we felt at home in many different houses.
Once, however, I encountered danger on my early
homeward trip.
I had turned the bend in the road, could see the
smoke curling out of grandma's chimney, and knew
that every nearer house was closed. In order to avoid
attracting the attention of a suspicious-looking cow on
the road, I was running stealthily along a rail fence,
when, unexpectedly, I came upon a family of sleeping
swine, and before I was aware of danger from that
[215]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
direction was set upon and felled to the ground by a
vicious beast. Impelled, I know not how, but quick
as thought, I rolled over and over and over, and when
I opened my eyes I was on the other side of the fence,
and an angry, noisy, bristling creature was glaring at
me through the rails.
Quivering like a leaf and for a time unable to rise,
I lay upon the green earth facing the morning sky.
With strange sensations and wonderment, I tried to
think what might have happened, if I had not rolled.
What if that space between fence and ground had been
too narrow to let my body through; what if, on the
other hand, it had been wide enough for that enraged
brute to follow?
Too frightened to cry, and still trembling, I made
my way to the end of the field and climbed back over
the fence near home. Grandma was greatly startled
by my blanched face, and the rumpled and soiled con-
dition of my clothes. After I related my frightful ex-
perience, she also felt that had it not been for that
fence, I should have been torn to pieces. She ex-
plained, however, that I probably would not have been
attacked had I not startled the old mother so sud-
denly that she believed her young in danger.
When our menfolk returned from San Francisco,
they were accompanied by many excited treasure-
seekers, anxious to secure pack animals to carry their
effects to the mines. They were made welcome, and
in turn furnished us news of the outer world, and dis-
tributed worn copies of American and foreign news-
[216]
THE ARGONAUTS
papers, which our hungry-minded pioneers read and
re-read so long as the lines held together.
Those light-hearted newcomers, who danced and
gayly sang,
0 Susannah, don't you cry for me!
I 'm bound to CaHforny with a tin pan on my knee,
were the first we saw of that vast throng of gold-seek-
ers, who flocked to our shores within a twelvemonth,
and who have since become idealized in song and story
as the '' Argonauts,'' '' the Boys of '49."
They were unlike either our pioneer or our soldier
friends in style of dress and manner. Nor had they
come to build homes or develop the country. They
wanted gold to carry back to other lands. Some had
expected to find it near the Bay of San Francisco;
some, to scoop it up out of the river beds that crossed
the valleys; and others, to shovel it from ravines and
mountain-sides. When told of the difficulties before
them, their impatience grew to be off, that they might
prove to Western plodders what could be done by
Eastern pluck and muscle.
Such packing as those men did! Mother's Bible,
and wife and baby's daguerreotype not infrequently
started to the mines in the coffee pot, or in the miner's
boots, hanging across the mule's pack. The sweet-
heart's lock of hair, affectionately concealed beneath
the hat lining of its faithful wearer, caught the scent
of the old clay pipe stuck in the hat-band.
With the opening season all available Indians of
both sexes were hired as gold-diggers, and trudged
[217]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
along behind their employers, and our town was again
reduced to a settlement of white women and children.
But what a difference in the feeling of our people I We
now heard regularly from the Bay City, and enter-
tained transients from nearly every part of the globe ;
and these would loan us books and newspapers, and
frequently store unnecessary possessions with us until
they should return from the mines.
San Francisco had a regular post office. One day
its postmaster forwarded a letter, addressed to ex-
Governor Boggs, which the latter brought out and read
to grandma. She did not, as usual, put her head out of
the window and call us, but came from the house wip-
ing her eyes, and asked if we wanted to be put in a big
ship and sent away from her and grandma and Jakie.
Greatly alarmed, we exclaimed, *' No, no, grandma,
no!"
Taking us by the hand, she led us into the house,
seated herself and drew one of us to each side, then
requested the Governor to read the letter again. We
two did not understand all it said, but enough to know
that it had been written by our own dear aunt, Eliza-
beth Poor, who wanted Governor Boggs to find her sis-
ter's three little orphaned girls and send them back
to her by ship to Massachusetts. It contained the
necessary directions for carrying out her wish.
Grandma assured the Governor that we did not
want to leave her, nor would she give us up. She said
she and her husband and Jakie had befriended us
when we were poor and useless, and that we were
[218]
OUR WELFARE ASSURED
now beginning to be helpful. Moreover, that they had
prospered greatly since we had come into their home,
and that their luck might change if they should part
from us. She further stated that she already had
riches in her own right, which we should inherit at her
death.
The Governor spoke of schools and divers matters
pertaining to our welfare, then promised to explain by
letter to Aunt Elizabeth how fortunately we were
situated.
This event created quite a flutter of excitement
among friends. Grandpa and Jakie felt just as
grandma did about keeping us. Georgia and I were
assured that in not being allowed to go across the
water, we had escaped great suffering, and, perhaps,
drowning by shipwreck. Still, we did wish that it were
possible for us to see Aunt Elizabeth, whom mother
had taught us to love, and who now wanted us to come
to her.
I told Georgia that I would learn to write as fast as
I could, and send her a letter, so she would know all
about us.
We now imagined that we were quite large girls, for
grandma usually said before going away, ** Children,
you know what there is to do and I leave everything
in your care." We did not realize that this was her
little scheme, in part, to keep us out of mischief; but
we knew that upon her return she would see, and call
attention to what was left undone.
Once, when we were at home alone and talking about
[219]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
'* endless work and aching bones/' as we had heard
grown-up folks complain of theirs, we were interrupted
by a bareback rider who did not 'Hie up " under the
live oak, but came to the shade of the white oak in
front of us at the kitchen door. After a cheery
** Howdy do " and a hand shake, he exclaimed,
" I heard at Napa that you lived here, and my pony
has made a hard run to give me this sight of you. ' '
We were surprised and delighted, for the speaker
was John Baptiste who had wintered with us in the
Sierras. We asked him to dismount, take a seat under
the tree, and let us bring him a glass of milk. He de-
clined graciously, then with a pleased expression, drew
a small brown-paper parcel from his trousers pocket
and handed it to us, leaned forward, clasped his arms
about his pony, rested his head on its neck, and smil-
ingly watched Georgia unwrap it, and two beautiful
bunches of raisins come to view, — one for each. He
would not touch a single berry, nor let us save any.
He asked us to eat them then and there so that he could
witness our enjoyment of the luxury he had provided
for this, our first meeting in the settlement.
Never had we seen raisins so large, translucent, and
delicious. They seemed far too choice for us to have,
and John was so poorly dressed and pinched in fea-
tures that we hesitated about eating them. But he
would have his way, and in simple language told us
that he wanted them to soften the recollection of the
hungry time when he came into camp empty-handed
and discouraged. Also to fulfil his assurance to our
[220]
MEMORY OF THE DEAD
mother that he would try to keep us in sight, and give
us of the best that he could procure. His last injunc-
tions were, *' Be good little girls; always remember
your mother and father; and don't forget John
Baptiste.'*
He was gone when grandma got back; and she was
very serious when told what had occurred in her ab-
sence. She rarely spoke to us of our mother, and
feared it might lessen our affection for herself, if
others kept the memory of the dead fresh in our minds.
There were many other happenings before the year
closed, that caused me to think a great deal. Grandpa
spent less time at the shop ; he bought himself a fleet-
footed horse which he named Antelope, and came home
oftener to talk to grandma about money they had
loaned Major Prudon to send to China for merchan-
dise, also about a bar-room which he was fitting up
near the butcher-shop, for a partner. Next, he bought
faithful Charlie, a large bay horse, with friendly eyes,
and long black mane and tail ; also a small blue farm
wagon in which Georgia and I were to drive about the
fields, when sent to gather loose bark and dry branches
for baking fires.
We were out for that purpose the day that we saw
grandpa ride away to the mines, but we missed seeing
Jakie steal off, with his bunch of cows. He felt too
badly to say good-bye to us.
I was almost heart-broken when I learned that he
was not coming back. He had been my comforter in
most of my troubles, had taught me to ride and drive
[2211
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
the horse, shown me the wood duck's nest in the hollow
of our white oak tree, and the orioles' pretty home
swinging from a twig in the live oak, also where the
big white-faced owls lived. He had helped me to gather
wild flowers, made me whistles from branches cut from
the pussy willows, and had yodeled for me as joyfully
as for loved ones in his Alpine home. Everything that
he had said and done meant a great deal more to me
now, and kept him in mind, as I went about alone, or
with grandma, doing the things that had been his to
do. She now moulded her cheeses in smaller forms,
and we had fewer cows to milk.
When the season for collecting and drying herbs
came, Georgia and I had opportunity to be together
considerably. It was after we had picked the first dry-
ing of sage and were pricking our fingers on the saf-
fron pods, that grandma, in passing, with her apron
full of Castilian rose petals, stopped and announced
that if we would promise to work well, and gather the
sage leaves and saffron tufts as often as necessary,
she would let us go to a ** real school '' which was
about to open in town.
Oh, dear! to go to school, to have books and slate
and pencil! "What more could be wished? Yes, we
would get up earlier, work faster before time to go,
and hurry home after lessons were over. And I would
carry the book Aunt Lucy had given me. It was all
arranged, and grandma went to town to buy slates,
pencils, speller, and a stick of wine-colored ribbon to
tie up our hair.
[222]
AMEEICAN SCHOOL IN SONOMA
When the anticipated hour came, there were great
I preparations that we might be neat and clean and
ready on time. Our hair was parted in four equal
divisions ; the front braids, tied with ribbon, formed a
U at the back of the neck; and we wore new calico
dresses and sunbonnets, and carried lunch for two in
a curious little basket, which grandma must have
brought with her from Switzerland. Joyfully we
started forth to the first American school opened in
Sonoma.
Alas I it was not what our anticipations had pictured.
The schoolroom was a dreary adobe, containing two
rows of benches so high that, when seated, we could
barely touch the earthen floor with our toes. The
schoolmaster told us that we must hold our slates on
our laps, and our open books in the right hand, and
not look at the pictures, but study all the time, and not
speak, even to each other, without permission. His
face was so severe, his eyes so keen, and his voice so
sharp that I was afraid of him.
He had a chair with a back to it, and a table to hold
his books ; yet he spent most of his time walking about
with a narrow strap of rawhide in his hand, and was
ever finding some one whose book drooped, or who
was whispering; and the stinging bite of that strap
would call the erring to order.
The Misses Boggs, Lewis, Smith, and Bone were
pretty young ladies, and brought their own chairs and
a table to sit around; and when they whispered, the
master never saw them ; and when they missed in les-
[223]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
sons, he did n't keep them in, nor make them stand on
the floor.
I learned my lessons well enough, but grandma was
terribly shocked because I got strapped nearly every
day. But then, I sat between Georgia and the other
little girls in our row, and had to deliver messages
from those on both sides of me, as well as to whisper
a little on my own account. Finally, grandma declared
that if I got a whipping next day, she would give me
a second one after reaching home. So I started in the
morning with the intention of being the best girl in
school; but we had hardly settled in line for our
first lesson, when Georgia whispered behind her book,
** Eliza, seel Mary Jane Johnson has got my nice
French card, with the double queens on it, and I can't
get it. '^
Forgotten were my good resolutions. I leaned out
of line, and whispered louder than I meant, ** Mary
Jane Johnson, that is my sister's card, and you must
give it back to her. ' '
She saw the master watching, but I did not, until
he called me to hold out my hand. For once, I begged,
** Please excuse me; I won't do it again." But he
wouldn't, and I felt greatly humiliated, because I
knew the large girls had heard me and were smiling.
After recess, a new boy arrived, little Willie Mc-
Cracken, whom we had seen on the plains, and known
at Sutter's Fort, and he knew us as soon as he reached
his seat and looked around. In a short time, I nudged
Georgia, and asked her if I had n't better roll him the
[2241
THE SCHOOL BEOKEN UP
little knot of dried apples that grandma had put in
the basket for my lunch. She said, yes, if I wanted
to. So I wiggled the basket from under the seat with
my foot, and soon thereafter, my bit of hospitality
was on its way to the friend I was glad to see again.
Instead of his getting it, however, the master stepped
down and picked it up, with the hand that did n't have
the strap in it. So, instead of being the best, I was
the worst child in school, for not one had ever before
received two strappings in a forenoon.
It must have been our bad day, for Georgia felt her
very first bite from the strap that afternoon, and on
the way home volunteered not to tell on me, if grandma
did not ask. Yet grandma did, the first thing. And
when Georgia reluctantly said, ** Yes," grandma
looked at me and shook her head despairingly; but
when I announced that I had already had two strap-
pings, and Georgia one, she burst out laughing, and
said she thought I had had enough for one day.
A few weeks later, the large boys drove the master
out of school on account of his cruelty to a little fellow
who had played truant.
In that dingy schoolroom, Georgia and I later at-
tended the first Protestant Sunday school and church
service held in Sonoma.
[225]
CHAPTER XXV
FEVEB PATIENTS FEOM THE MINES — UNMAEKED GRAVES —
THE TALES AND TAUNTS THAT WOUNDED MY YOUNG
HEABT.
A SHORT experience in the mines cured grandpa's
** mining fever," but increased his rheumatism.
The accounts he brought of sufferings he had witnessed
in the camps prepared us for the approaching au-
tumn's work, when many of the happy fellows who
had started to the gold-fields in vigorous health and
with great expectations returned haggard, sick, and
out of luck.
Then was noble work done by the pioneer women.
No door was closed against the needy. However small
the house might be, its inmates had some comfort to
offer the stranger. Many came to grandma, saying
they had places to sleep but begging that she would
give them food and medicine until they should be able
to proceed to San Francisco.
Weary mortals dragged their aching limbs to the
benches under her white oak tree, dropped upon them,
with blankets still across their shoulders, declaring
they could not go another rod. Often, she turned her
face aside and murmured, " God help the poor wan-
derers "; but to them she would say encouragingly,
[226]
CARING FOR FEVER PATIENTS
* * You be not very sick, you will soon be rested. There
be straw in the stack that we will bring for your bed,
and me end the children will let you not go hungry."
Ere long, beds had to be made on the floor of the un-
finished house. More were needed, and they were
spread under the great white oak.
On a block beside each fever patient stood a tin cup,
which Georgia and I were charged to keep full of cold
water, and it was pitiful to see the eyes of the sick
watch the cooling stream we poured. Our patients
eagerly grasped the cup with unsteady hands, so that
part of its contents did not reach the parched lips.
Often, we heard the fervid prayer, * * God bless the wo-
men of this land, and bless the children too ! ' '
Soon we learned to detect signs of improvement,
and were rejoiced when the convalescents smiled and
asked for more to eat. Grandma carried most of the
food to them and sent us later for the empty dishes.
Of the many who came to us that season, there was
but one who never proceeded on his way. He was a
young German, fair of face, but terribly wasted by
disease. His gentle, boyish manner at once made him
a favorite, and we not only gave him our best care, but
when a physician drifted into town, grandma sent for
him and followed his directions. I remember well the
day that John seemed almost convalescent, relished
his breakfast, wanted to talk a while, and before we
left him, had us bring him a basin of warm water and
his beflowered carpet bag, from which he took a change
of clothing and his shaving outfit.
[227]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PARTY
Wlien we saw him later, his hair was smoothly
combed; he looked neat and felt encouraged, and was
sure that he should soon be up and doing for himself.
At nightfall, grandma bade us wipe the dishes quickly
as possible, at which Georgia proposed a race to see
whether she could wash fast enough to keep us busy,
and we got into a frolicsome mood, which grandma
put an end to with the sobering remark :
* * Oh, be not so worldly-minded. John ist very bad
to-night. I be in a hurry to go back to him, and you
must hold the candle."
We passed out into the clear cold starlight, with the
burning candle sheltered by a milk pan, and picked
cur way between the lumber to the unfinished room
where John lay. I was the last to enter, and saw
grandma hurriedly give the candle to Georgia, drop
upon her knees beside the bed, touch his forehead, lift
his hand, and call him by name. The damp of death
was on his brow, the organs of speech had lost their
power. One long upward look, a slight quivering of
the muscles of the face, and we were alone with the
dead. I was so awed that I could scarcely move, but
grandma wept over him, as she prepared his body for
burial.
The next afternoon, we three and grandpa and a few
friends followed him to his final resting-place. After
he was gone, grandma remembered that she did not
know his name in full, the land of his birth, nor the
address of his people. Expecting his recovery, she
had not troubled him with questions, and the few
[ 228 ]
TALES OF THE DONNER PAETY
trinkets in his carpet bag yielded no identifying clue.
So lie lies in a nameless grave, like countless other
youth of that period.
We had patients of every type, those who were ap-
preciative and grateful, and those who rebelled against
confinement, and swore at the pain which kept sleep
from their eyes, and hurled their things about regard-
less of consequences. The most trying were the
chronic grumblers, who did not know what they
wanted, nor what they ought to have, and adopted
the moody refrain:
But the happy times are over,
IVe only grief and pain,
For I shall never, never see
Susannah dear again.
The entrance of Georgia and myself would occa-
sionally turn their thoughts into homeward channels,
and make them reminiscent of their little children and
loved ones **back in the States." Then, again, our
coming would set them to talking about our early dis-
aster and such horrible recounts of happenings in the
snow-bound camps that we would rush away, and poor
Georgia would have distressing crying spells over
what we had heard.
At first no tears dimmed my eyes, for I felt, with
keen indignation, that those wounding tales were false ;
but there came hours of suffering for me later, when
an unsympathetic soldier, nicknamed ** Picayune But-
ler," engaged me in conversation and set me to
thinking.
[229]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
He was a great big man with eyes piercing as a
hawk's, and lips so thin that they looked like red lines
on his face, parting and snapping together as he re-
peated the horrible things he had read in The Calif or-
nia Star. He insisted that the Donner Party was re-
sponsible for its own misfortune; that parents killed
their babies and ate their bodies to keep themselves
alive ; cut off the heads of companions and called them
good soup bones ; and were as thievish as sneaking In-
dians, even stealing the strings from the snowshoes of
those who had come to their rescue. He maintained
that Keseberg had murdered my mother and mutilated
my dead father's body; and that he himself felt that
the miserable wretches brought from starvation were
not worth the price it had cost to save them.
Too young, too ignorant, and too distressed to dis-
prove the accusations or resent his individual viewe,
I could only take refuge behind what I had heard and
seen in camp, and declare, '* I know it is not true;
they were good people, and loved their babies, and
were sorry for everybody."
How could I believe his cruel words? While I had
come from the mountains remembering most clearly
the sufferings from cold, hunger, thirst, and pitiful
surroundings, I had also brought from there a child's
mental picture of tenderest sympathies and bravest
self-denials, evinced by the snowbound in my father's
camp, and of Mrs. Murphy's earnest effort to soothe
and care for us three little sisters after we had been
deserted at the lake cabins by Cady and Stone; also
[ 230 ]
STORY OF THE DONNER PARTY
her motherly watchfulness over Jimmie Eddy, Georgia
Foster, and her own son Simon, and of Mr. Eddy's
constant solicitude for our safety on the journey over
the mountains to Sutter's Fort. Vain, however, my
efforts to speak in behalf of either the dead or the ab-
sent; every attempt was met by the ready assertion,
** You can't prove anything; you were not old enough
to remember or understand what happened."
Oh, how I longed to be grown, to have opportunities
to talk with those of the party who were considered
old enough to remember facts, and would answer the
questions I wanted to ask; and how firmly I resolved
that when I grew to be a woman I would tell the story
of my party so clearly that no one could doubt its
truth!
[231]
CHAPTER XXVI
THANK OFFEEINGS MISS DOTY 's SCHOOL THE BOND OF
KINDBED IN JACKET AND TKOUSEKS CHUM CHAELIE.
GRANDMA had a fixed price for table board, but
would not take pay for medicines, nor for at-
tendance on the sick; consequently, many of her
patients, after reaching San Francisco, sent thank-
offerings of articles useful and pleasing to her. Thus,
also, Sister Georgia and I came into possession of
pretty calico, Swiss, and delaine dresses, and shoes
that filled our hearts with pride, for they were of Mor-
occo leather, a red and a green pair for each. We had
seen finely dressed Spanish children wear such shoes,
but never supposed that we should be so favored.
After the first dresses were finished, there came a
Sunday when I was allowed to go to the Mission
Church with Kitty Purcell, the baker's little daughter,
and I felt wonderfully fine in my pink calico frock,
flecked with a bird's-eye of white, a sunbonnet to
match, and green shoes.
The brilliantly lighted altar, decked with flowers,
the priests in gorgeous vestments, the acolyte with the
swinging censer, and the intoned service in foreign
tongue, were bewildering to me. My eyes wandered
from the clergy to the benches upon which sat the rich
[232]
PRECIOUS GIFTS
and the great, then back to the poor, among whom I
was kneeling. Each humble worshipper had spread
a bright-bordered handkerchief upon the bare floor as
a kneeling mat. I observed the striking effect, then
recollecting my shoes, put my hand back and drew
up the hem of my dress, that my two green beauties
might be seen by the children behind me. No seven-
year-old child ever enjoyed finery more than I did
those little shoes.
Gifts which grandma considered quite unsuitable
came one day in two neat wooden boxes about thirty
inches in length, and eight in width and depth. They
were addressed to us individually, but in grandma's
care. When she removed the cover and a layer of
cotton batting from Georgia's, a beautiful French
lady-doll was revealed, exquisitely dressed, with a
spray of flowers in her hair, and another that looped
one side of her lovely pink skirt sufficiently high to
display an elaborately trimmed petticoat. She was so
fine in lace and ribbons, yes, even watch and chain,
that grandma was loath to let us touch her, and in-
sisted she should be handled in the box.
My gift was a pretty young Swiss matron in holiday
attire, really more picturesque, and quite as costly as
Georgia's, but lacking that daintiness which made the
lady-doll untouchable. I had her to hug and look at
only a few moments ; then both boxes with their prec-
ious contents were put away for safe keeping, and
brought forth only on state occasions, for the inspec-
tion of special visitors.
[233]
THE EXPEDITION OP THE DONNEE PARTY
Grandma did not want any nonsense put into our
heads. She wished us to be practical, and often quoted
maxims to the effect that, ** As the twig is bent, the
tree 's inclined " ; ** All work is ennobling if well
done " ; <* Much book-learning for girls is not condu-
cive to happiness or success ' ' ; and * * The highest aim
of a girl should be honesty, chastity, and industry. ' '
Still, she was so pleased when I could write a little
with ink and quill, that she dictated several letters to
Jakie, who was in the dairy business near Stockton;
and in an unguarded moment she agreed that I should
attend Miss Doty's school. Then she hesitated. She
wished to treat us exactly alike, yet could not spare
both at the same time. Finally, as a way out of the
difficulty, she decided that we should attend school al-
ternate months, during the summer; and that my sis-
ter, being the elder, should begin the course.
It seemed to me that Georgia's month at school
would never end. My own sped faster than I wished.
Miss Doty helped me with my lessons during part of
the noon hour, and encouragingly said, ** Be patient,
keep trying, and you will gain your reward. ' '
While still her pupil, I wrote my long-planned letter
to Aunt Elizabeth. Georgia helped to compose it, and
when finished, we carried it to our friend, the post-
master. He banteringly held it in his hand, until we
told its contents and begged that it go to Aunt Eliza-
beth as fast as possible. He must have seen that it
was incorrectly addressed, yet he readily promised
that if an answer should come addressed to ** Miss
[234]
BREAKING FAMILY TIES
Georgia Ann Donner," or to ** Miss Eliza Poor Don-
ner/' he would carefully save it for us.
After many fruitless trips to the post-office, we were
one day handed a letter for grandma. It was not from
our aunt, however, but from our sister Elitha, and
bore the sad news that her husband, while on the
range, had been thrown from his horse, and lived but
a few moments after she reached him. She also stated
that her little daughter Elisabeth and her sister Le-
anna were with her on the ranch, and that she was anx-
ious to learn how Georgia and I were getting on.
By advice of short-sighted friends, grandma sent
a very formal reply to the letter, and told us that she
did not want Elitha to write again. Moreover, that
we, in gratitude for what she had done for us, should
take her name and call her ^^ mother."
This endeavor to destroy personal identity and fam-
ily connection, met with pathetic opposition. Of our
own accord, we had called her grandma. But
** mother " — that name was sacred to her who had
taught our infant lips to give it utterance ! We would
bestow it on no other.
Under no circumstance was there difficulty in find-
ing some one ready to advise or help to plan our
duties. With the best of intentions? Yes, but often,
oh, how trying to us, poor little waifs of misfortune I
One, like a thorn in the flesh, was apportioned to
me at the approach of the Winter of 1849 and 1850.
We needed more help in the dairy, but could get no
one except Mr. Marsh, who lived in bachelor quarters
[ 235 1
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PAETY
half a mile south on the creek bank. He drove in the
bunch of cows found in the mornings grazing on their
homeward way, but was too old to follow after those
on the range. Moreover, he did not know how to milk.
Grandma, therefore, was obliged to give up going after
the cows herself. She hesitated about sending us
alone, for of late many stragglers had been seen cross-
ing the valley, and also Indians loitering about. Fur-
thermore, Georgia was again coughing badly.
At a loss what to do, she discussed the situation
with a neighbor, who after reflection asked,
<< Why not dress Eliza in boy's clothes and put her
on old Charlie? ''
Grandma threw up her hands at the bare sugges-
tion. It was scandalous, improper! Why, she had
even taught me to shun the boys of the village. How-
ever, she felt differently later in the day when she
called me to her. But in vain was coaxing, in vain was
scolding, I refused positively to don boy's clothing.
Then she told in strictest confidence that Georgia
was very frail, would probably die young, certainly
would not reach twenty-five; and I ought not to hes-
itate at what would make her life easier. Still, if I
had no regard for my sister's comfort, she would be
compelled to send us together afoot after the cows,
and the exposure might be very bad for Georgia.
This was enough. I would wear the hated clothes and
my little sister should never learn from me the se-
riousness of her condition, lest it should hasten her
death.
[236]
DOING A BOY^S TASK
My suit of brown twill, red flannel shirt, boots, and
sou'wester, with ear muffs attached, were ready for
me before the heaviest winter storm. The jacket and
trousers were modelled for a boy of nine, instead of
a girl not yet eight, but grandma assured me that be-
ing all wool, the rain would soon shrink them to my
size, also that the boots, which were too wide in the
heel and hurt my toes, would shape themselves to my
feet and prevent the old frost bites from returning.
I was very unhappy while she helped me to dress,
and pinned up my braids, and hid them under my
storm hat; and I was absolutely wretched when she
kissed me and said,
** It would be hard to find a prettier little boy than
you are.''
After again admonishing me to let no one on the
range know I was a girl, and to answer all questions
civilly and ride on quickly after my string of cows,
she promised that if I helped her thus through the
short days of the rainy season, she would give back
my *^ girl clothes " in the Spring, and never again
ask me to wear others.
She led me to where Charlie was tied to a tree. I
stepped on to a block, from there to a stump, put
my foot into the stirrup, and clumsily raised myself
into the seat of an old dragoon saddle. My eyes were
too full of tears to see, but grandma put the reins in
my hand and started me away. Away where? To
drive up the cows? Yes, — and into wider fields of
thought than she recked.
[ 237 ]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
After I got beyond our road, I stopped Charlie, and
made him turn his face toward mine, and told him all
that had happened, and just how I felt. The good old
horse seemed to understand, for no friend could be
more faithful than Charlie thenceforth proved to me.
He learned to separate our cows from the many-
strange ones on the plain; to move faster when it
rained ; to choose the crossings that were safe ; and to
avoid the branches that might scrape me from his
back. Grandma was pleased to learn that drivers on
the range, when inquiring about strays, addressed me
as ** Bubble.'' My humiliation, however, was so great
that, though Georgia and I were room-mates, and had
secret day meetings, I never went near her when
others were by.
She was allowed to play oftener with neighbors'
children, and occasionally spent a week or more with
Mrs. Bergwald, helping her to care for her little
daughter. While away, she learned fine needlework,
had fewer crying spells, and was more contented than
at home with grandma.
This happiness in her life added much to mine, and
it came to pass that the duty which had seemed such
a bitter task, became a pleasure. As the days length-
ened, chum Charlie and I kept earlier hours, and crept
closer to the heart of nature. We read the signs of
the day in the dawn tints; watched the coyotes and
other night prowlers slink back to their lairs; saw
where the various birds went to housekeeping, and
how they cared for their young; knew them also by
[238]
AGAIN IN '' GIRL CLOTHES ''
their call and song. We could show where Johnnie-
jump-ups and baby-blne-eyes grew thickest ; where the
cream cups were largest; and where the wild forget-
me-nots blossomed. We explored each nook and corner
for miles around, and felt that everything that God
had made and man had not put his mark upon was ours.
The aged boughs heaped by the wind in wild con-
fusion about the maimed and storm-beaten tree-trunks
seemed to assume fantastic shapes and expressions
as we approached from different directions, or viewed
them under light and shadow of changing weather.
Gnarled and twisted, they became elves and goblins,
and the huge piles of storm wreckage were trans-
formed into weird old ruins and deserted castles like
those which grandma had described to me in legends
of the Rhine. At twilight I was often afraid to pass,
lest giants and ghosts should show themselves be-
tween uncanny arches. Then all that was needed was
a low cluck to Charlie, and oif he would start on a
run past imaginary dangers.
It was late in the Spring when grandma gave back
my * * girl clothes ' ' and wearily told me she had hired
a boy to drive in the cows, and a man to help to milk ;
and that Georgia was to look after the house, and I to
take her own place in the corrals, because she was sick
and would have to be cupped and bled before she could
be better.
Grandpa came home early next day and everything
was ready for the treatment immediately after the
noon meal. Grandma looked so grave, and gave so
[239]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
many instructions about household and dairy matters,
that Georgia and I feared that we might lose her. I
verily believe we would have slipped away during the
operation, had grandpa not commanded us to stay
near, as he might need assistance. In dread we
watched every movement, saw what made grandma's
face pale, and where the sore spots were. Indeed our
sympathies were so strained, our fingers fumbled awk-
wardly as we adjusted the covers about her weakened
form.
As soon as her illness became known, neighbors
came from far and near to help with the dairy work
or nursing; and keen was their disappointment when
she replied, ** I thank you for your kind offers, but
the children are handy and know my ways."
Regularly she asked me about the cows, and if the
goats had been milked, the eggs gathered, and the
pigs fed. She remembered and planned the work, but
did not regain strength as rapidly as she wished ; nor
did she resume her place in the corrals, even after she
was up and around, but had a way of coming unex-
pectedly to see if her instructions were being carried
out.
One day she became quite angry on finding me talk-
ing with a stranger. He was well dressed and spoke
like a gentleman, touched his hat as she drew near
and remarked, ** This little girl tells me she is an
orphan, and that you have been very kind to hSr."
Grandma was uncivil in her reply, and he went away.
Then she warned me, ** Beware of wolves in sheep's
[240]
FEIENDLY GEEETINGS
clothing, ' ' and insisted that no man wearing such fine
clothes and having such soft hands could earn an hon-
est living. I did not repeat what he had told me of his
little daughter, who lived in a beautiful home in New
York, and was about my age, and had no sister; and
his wish that I were there with her. I could not un-
derstand what harm there was in his questions or my
answers. Did I not remind him of his own little
girl? And had I not heard lonely miners tell of times
when they gladly would have walked ten miles to shake
hands and talk a few moments with a child?
[241]
CHAPTEE XXVII
CAPT. FKISBIE WEDDING FESTIVITIES THE MASTERPIECE
OF grandma's youth SENORA VALLEJO
TURN HIS DEATH A CHEROKEE INDIAN WHO HAD
CAPTAIN FEISBIE spent much time in Sonoma
after Company H was disbanded, and observing
ones remarked that the attraction was Miss Fannie
Vallejo. Yet, not until 1851 did the General consent
to part with his first-born daughter. Weeks before
the marriage day, friends began arriving at the bride 's
home, and large orders came to grandma for dairy
supplies.
She anticipated the coming event with interest and
pleasure, because the prolonged and brilliant festivities
would afford her an opportunity to display her fancy
and talent in butter modelling. For the work, she did
not charge, but simply weighed the butter for the de-
signs and put it into crocks standing in cold water
in the adobe store-house where, in the evenings, after
candle-light, we three gathered.
Her implements were a circular hardwood board,
a paddle, a set of small, well pointed sticks, a thin-
bladed knife, and squares of white muslin of various
degrees of fineness. She talked and modelled, and
[242]
THE PRAISE OF NAPOLEON
we listening watched the fascinating process ; saw her
take the plastic substance, fashion a duck with duck-
lings on a pond, a lamb curled up asleep, and a
couched lion with shaggy head resting upon his fore-
paws. We watched her press beads of proper size
and color into the eye sockets ; skilfully finish the base
upon which each figure lay ; then twist a lump of butter
into a square of fine muslin, and deftly squeeze, until
it crinkled through the meshes in form of fleece for
the lamb's coat, then use a different mesh to produce
the strands for the lion's mane and the tuft for the
end of his tail.
In exuberant delight we exclaimed, ** Oh, grandma,
how did you learn to make such wonderful things? "
** I did not learn, it is a gift," she replied.
Then she spoke of her modelling in childhood, and
her subsequent masterpiece, which had won the com-
mendation of Napoleon and Empress Josephine.
At that auspicious time, she was but eighteen years
of age, and second cook in the principal tavern of
Neuchatel, Switzerland. Georgia and I sat entranced,
as with animated words and gestures she pictured the
appearance of the buglers and heralds who came
weeks in advance to announce the date on which the
Emperor and Empress would arrive in that town and
dine at the tavern ; then the excitement and enthusias-
tic preparations which followed. She described the
consultations between the Herr Wirth and the Frau
Wirthin and their maids; and how, finally, Marie's
butter-piece for the christening feast of the child of
[243]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
the Herr Graf was remembered; and she, the lowly
second cook, was told that a corner in the cellar would
be set apart for her especial nse, and that she should
have her evenings to devote to the work, and three
groschen (seven and a half cents) added to her week's
wages, if she would produce a fitting centrepiece for
the Emperor's table.
Five consecutive nights, she designed and modelled
until the watchman's midnight cry drove her from
work, and at three o'clock in the morning of the sixth
day, she finished. And what a centrepiece it was!
It required the careful handling of no less than three
persons to get it in place on the table, where the Em-
peror might see at a glance the groups of figures along
the splendid highway, which was spanned by arches
and terminated with a magnificently wrought gate-
way, surmounted by His Majesty's coat of arms.
We scarcely winked as we listened to the rest of the
happenings on that memorable day. She recounted
how she had dropped everything at the sound of
martial music and from the tiny open space at the
window caught glimpses of the passing pageant —
of the royal coaches, of the maids of honor, of Jo-
sephine in gorgeous attire, of the snow-white poodle
snuggled close in the Empress 's arms. Then she told
how she heard a heavy thud by the kitchen fire, which
made her rush back, only to discover that the head
cook had fallen to the floor in a faint!
She gave the quick call which brought the Fran
"Wirthin to the scene of confusion, where in mute
[244]
THE EMBARRASSMENT OF MARIE
agony, she looked from servant to servant, until, with
hands clasped, and eyes full of tears, she implored,
'* Marie, take the higher place for the day, and with
God's help, make no mistake.''
Then she went on to say that while the dinner was
being served, the Emperor admired the butter-piece,
and on hearing that it was the work of a young maid-
servant in the house, commanded that she be brought
in to receive commendation of himself and the Em-
press. Again the Frau Wirthin rushed to the kitchen
in great excitement, and — knowing that Marie's face
was red from heat of the fire, that she was nervous
from added responsibilities, and not dressed for pres-
entation— cried with quivering lips:
* * Ah, Marie ! the butter-piece is so grand, it brings
us into trouble. The great Emperor asks to see thee,
and thou must come! "
She told how poor, red-faced, bewildered Marie
dropped her ladle and stared at the speaker, then
rolled down her sleeves while the Frau Wirthin tied
her own best white apron around her waist, at the
same time instructing her in the manner in which she
must hold her dress at the sides, between thumb and
forefinger, and spread the skirt wide, in making a low,
reverential bow. But Marie was so upset that she real-
ized only that her heart was beating like a trip-hammer,
and her form shaking like an aspen leaf, while being led
before those august personages. Yet, after it was all
over, she was informed that the Emperor and Em-
press had spoken kindly to her, and that she, herself,
12451
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
had made her bow and backed out of the room ad-
mirably for one in her position, and ought to feel that
the great honor conferred upon her had covered with
glory all the ills and embarrassments she had suffered.
To impress us more fully with the importance of
that event, grandma had Georgia and me stand up on
our cellar floor and learn to make that deferential bow,
she by turns, taking the parts of the Frau Wirthin,
the Emperor, and the Empress.
She now finished her modelling with a dainty cen-
trepiece for the bride's table, and let me go with her
when she carried it to the Vallejo mansion. It gave
great satisfaction; and while the family and guests
were admiring it, Seiiora Vallejo took me by the hand,
saying in her own musical tongue, '' Come, little
daughter, and play while you wait. ' '
She led me to a room that had pictures on the walls,
and left me surrounded by toys. But I could not
play. My eyes wandered about until they became riv-
eted on one comer of the room, where stood a child's
crib which looked like gold. Its head and foot boards
were embellished with figures of angels ; and a canopy
of lace like a fleecy cloud hovered over them. The
bed was white, but the pillows were covered with pink
silk and encased in slips of linen lawn, exquisite with
rare needlework. I touched it before I left the room,
wondering what the little girl dreamed in that beauti-
ful bed ; and on the way home, grandma and I discussed
all these things.
The linen pillow-slips were as fine as those Senorita
[246]
THE RETURN OF JAKIE
Isabella Fitch showed me, when she gave me the few
highly prized lessons in simple drawn-work; and her
cousin, Sehorita Leese, had taught me hemming.
These young ladies were related to the Vallejos and
also lived in large houses facing the plaza, and were
always kind to Georgia and me. In fact, some of my
sweetest memories of Sonoma are associated with
these three Spanish homes. Their people never asked
unfeeling questions, nor repeated harrowing tales ; and
I did not learn until I was grown that they had been
among the large contributors to the fund for the relief
of our party.
I have a faint recollection of listening to the chimes
of the wedding bells, and later, of hearing that Cap-
tain Frisbie had taken his bride away ; but that is all,
for about that time dear old Jakie returned to us in
ill health, and our thoughts and care turned to him.
He was so feeble and wasted that grandma sent for the
French physician who had recently come among us.
Even he said that he feared that Jakie had stayed
away too long. After months of treatment, the doctor
shook his head saying: ** I have done my best with
the medicines at hand. The only thing that remains
to be tried is a tea steeped from the nettle root. That
may give relief."
As soon as we could get ready after the doctor ut-
tered those words, Georgia and I, equipped with hoe,
large knife, and basket were on our way to the Sonoma
River. We had a full two miles and a half to walk,
but did not mind that, because we were going for some-
[ 247 ]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
thing that might take Jakie's pains away. Georgia
was to press down the nettle stems with a stick, while
I cut them off and hoed up the roots.
The plants towered luxuriantly above our heads,
making the task extremely painful. No sooner would
I commence operations than the branches, slipping
from under the stick, would brush Georgia 's face, and
strike my hands and arms with stinging force, and by
the time we had secured the required number of roots,
we were covered with fiery welts. We took oif our
shoes and stockings, waded into the stream and bathed
our faces, hands, and arms, then rested and ate the
lunch we had brought with us.
As we turned homeward, we observed several In-
dians approaching by the bushy path, the one in front
staggering, and his squaw behind, making frantic mo-
tions to us to hurry over the snake fence near-by.
This we did as speedily as possible, and succeeded none
too soon; for as we reached the ground on the safe
side, he stopped us, and angrily demanded the con-
tents of our basket. We opened it, and when he saw
what it contained he stamped his wabbling foot and
motioned us to be oif . We obeyed with alacrity, for it
was our first experience with a drunken Indian, and
greatly alarmed us.
The tea may have eased Jakie 's pain, but it did not
accomplish what we had hoped. One morning late in
Summer, he asked' grandpa to bring a lawyer and wit-
nesses so that he could make his will. This request
made us all move about very quietly and feel very
[248]
THE CHEROKEE WOMAN'S TALE
serious. After the lawyer went away, grandma told
US that Jakie had willed ns each fifty dollars in gold,
and the rest of his property to grandpa and herself.
A few weeks later, when the sap ceased flowing to the
branches of the trees, and the yellow leaves were fall-
ing, we laid Jakie beside other friends in the oak
grove within sight of our house.
Grandma put on deep mourning, but Georgia and I
had only black sunbonnets, which we wore with heart-
felt grief. The following Spring grandpa had the
grave enclosed with a white paling; and we children
planted Castilian rose bushes at the head and foot of
the mound, and carried water to them from the house,
and in time their branches met and the grave was a
bed of fragrant blossoms.
One day as I was returning from it with my empty
pail, a tidy, black-eyed woman came up to me and said,
*^ I 'm a Cherokee Indian, the wife of one of the
three drovers that sold the Brunners them long-homed
cattle that was delivered the other day. I know who
you are, and if you '11 sit on that log by me, I '11 tell
you something."
We took the seats shaded by the fence and she con-
tinued with unmistakable pride: ** I can read and
write quite a little, and me and the men belong to the
same tribe. We drove our band of cattle across the
plains and over the Sierras, and have sold them for
more than we expected to get. We are going back
the same road, but first I wanted to see you little girls.
I heard lots about your father's party, and how you
[249]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
all suffered in the mountains, and that no one seems
to remember what became of his body. Now, child,
I tell the truth. I stood by your father ^s grave and
read his name writ on the headboard, and come to
tell you that he was buried in a long grave near his
own camp in the mountains. I 'm glad at seeing you,
but am going away, wishing you wasn't so cut off
from your own people.''
So earnest was she, that I believed what she told
me, and was sorry that I could not answer all her
questions. We parted as most people did in those
days, feeling that the meeting was good, and the part-
ing might be forever.
[250]
CHAPTER XXVIII
ELITHA, FBANCES, AND MK. MILLER VISIT US MRS. BRUN-
NER CLAIMS US AS HER CHILDREN THE DAGUERREO-
TYPE.
THE Spring-tide of 1852 was bewitchingly beauti-
ful; hills and plain were covered with wild
flowers in countless shapes and hues. They were so
friendly that they sprang up in dainty clusters close
to the house doors, or wherever an inch of ground
would give them foothold.
They seemed to call to me, and I looked into their
bright faces, threw myself among them, and hugged
as many as my arms could encircle, then laid my ear
close to the ground to catch the low sound of moving
leaf and stem, or of the mysterious ticking in the
earth, which foretells the coming of later plants.
Sometimes in my ecstasy, I would shut my eyes and lie
still for a while, then open them inquiringly, to as-
sure myself that all my favorites were around me
still, and that it was not all a day-dream.
This lovely season mellowed into the Summer which
brought a most unexpected letter from our sister
Frances, who had been living all these years with the
family of Mr. James F. Reed, in San Jose. Childlike,
she wrote:
[2511
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
I am happy, but there has not been a day since I left
Sutter's Fort that I haven't thought of my little sisters and
wanted to see them. Hiram Miller, our guardian, says he
will take me to see you soon, and Elitha is going too.
After the first few days of wondering, grandma
rarely mentioned our prospective visitors, nor did she
show Georgia or me the letter she herself had re-
ceived from Elitha, but we re-read ours until we knew
it by heart, and were filled with delightful anticipa-
tions. "We imagined that our blue-eyed sister with the
golden curls would look as she did when we parted,
and recalled many things that we had said and done
together at the Fort.
I asked grandma what ^' guardian *' meant, and
after she explained, I was not pleased with mine, and
dreaded his coming, for I had not forgotten how Mr.
Miller had promised me a lump of sugar that night in
the Sierras, and then did not have it for me after I
had walked the required distance; nor could I quite
forgive the severe punishment he administered next
morning because I refused to go forward and cried to
return to mother when he told me that I must walk as
far as Georgia and Frances did that day.
Autumn was well advanced before the lumbering pld
passenger coach brought our long-expected guests from
the emharcadero, and after the excitement of the meet-
ing was over, I stealthily scanned each face and figure.
Mr. Miller's stocky form in coarse, dark clothes, his
cold gray eyes, uneven locks, stubby beard, and teeth
and lips browned by tobacco, chewing, were not un-
[252]
OUR GUARDIAN, MR. MILLER
familiar; but he looked less tired, more patient, and
was a kindlier spoken man than I had remembered.
Elitha, well dressed, tall, slender, and regular of
feature, had the complexion and sparkling black eyes
which mark the handsome brunette. I was more sur-
prised than disappointed, however, to see that the girl
of twelve, who slipped one arm around Georgia and
the other around me in a long, loving embrace, had
nothing about her that resembled our little sister
Frances, except her blue eyes and motherly touch.
The week of their visit was joyous indeed. Many
courtesies were extended by friends with whom we
had travelled from time to time on the plains. One
never-to-be-forgotten afternoon was spent with the
Boggs family at their beautiful home amid orchard
and vineyard near the foothills.
On Sunday, the bell of the South Methodist Church
called us to service. In those days, the men occupied
the benches on one side of the building, and the women
and children on the other; and I noticed that several
of the young men found difficulty in keeping their eyes
from straying in our direction, and after service, more
than one came to inquire after grandma's health.
Mr. Miller passed so little time in our company that
I remember only his arrival and his one serious talk
with grandma, when he asked her the amount due her
on account of the trouble and expense we two children
had been since she had taken us in charge. She told
him significantly that there was nothing to pay, be-
cause we were her children, and that she was abun-
[253]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
dantly able to take care of us. In proof, she handed
him a daguerreotype taken the previous year.
It pictured herself comfortably seated, and one of
us standing at either side with an elbow resting upon
her shoulder, and a chubby face leaning against the
uplifted hand. She was arrayed in her best cap, hand-
some embroidered black satin dress and apron, lace
sleeve ruifs, kerchief, watch and chain. We were
twin-like in lace-trimmed dresses of light blue dimity,
striped with a tan-colored vine, blue sashes and hair
ribbons ; and each held a bunch of flowers in her hand.
It was a costly trinket, in a case inlaid with pink roses,
in mother of pearl, and she was very proud of it.
Grandma's answer to Mr. Miller was a death-knell
to Elitha's hopes and plans in our behalf. Her little
daughter had been dead more than a year. Sister
Leanna had recently married and gone to a home of
her own, and the previous week the place made vacant
by the marriage had been given to Frances, with the
ready approval of Hiram Miller and Mr. and Mrs.
Reed. She had now come to Sonoma hoping that if
Mr.. Miller should pay grandma for the care we had
been to her, she would consent to give us up in order
that we four sisters might be reunited in one home.
Elitha now foresaw that such a suggestion would
not only result in failure, but arouse grandma's an-
tagonism, and cut off future communication between
us.
[254]
CHAPTER XXIX
GREAT SMALLPOX EPIDEMIC ST.
THANKSGIVING DAY IN CALIFOENIA ANOTHER BROTH-
ER-IN-LAW.
MRS. BRUNNER has become too childish to
have the responsibility of young girls/*
had been frequently remarked before Elitha's visit;
and after her departure, the same friends expressed
regret that she had not taken us away with her.
These whispered comments, which did not improve
our situation, suddenly ceased, for the smallpox made
its appearance in Sonoma, and helpers were needed to
care for the afflicted. Grandma had had the disease
in infancy and could go among the patients without
fear. In fact, she had such confidence in her method
of treating it, that she would not have Georgia and me
vaccinated while the epidemic prevailed, insisting that
if we should take the disease she could nurse us
through it without disfigurement, and we would thence-
forth be immune. She did not expose us during what
she termed the *' catching-stage,'' but after that had
passed, she called us to share her work and become
familiar with its details, and taught us how to brew the
teas, make the ointments, and apply them.
I do not remember a death among her patients, and
[ 255 ]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
only two who were badly disfigured. One was our
pretty Miss Sallie Lewis, who had the dread disease in
confluent form. Grandma was called hurriedly in the
night, because the afflicted girl, in delirium, had loos-
ened the straps which held her upon her bed, and while
her attendant was out of the room had rushed from
the house into the rain, and was not found until after
she had become thoroughly drenched. Grandma had
never before treated such serious conditions, yet strove
heroically, and helped to restore Miss Sallie to health,
but could not keep the cruel imprints from her face.
The other was our arch-enemy, Castle, who seemed
so near death that one night as grandma was peering
into the darkness for signal lights from the homes of
the sick, she exclaimed impulsively, ** Hark, children!
there goes the Catholic bell. Count its strokes. Castle
is a Catholic, and was very low when I saw him to-
day." Together we slowly counted the knells until
she stopped us, saying, *^ It 's for somebody else;
Castle is not so old.''
She was right. Later he came to us to recuperate,
and was the most exacting and profane man we ever
waited on. He conceived a special grudge against
Georgia, whom he had caught slyly laughing when she
first observed the change in his appearance. Yet
months previous, he had laid the foundation for her
mirth.
He was then a handsome, rugged fellow, and par-
ticularly proud of the shape of his nose. Frequently
had he twitted my sensitive sister about her little nose,
[ 256 ]
MRS. BRUNNER, GEORGIA AND ELIZA DONNER
s
QO,
GEANDMA BRUNNER
and had once made her very angry in the presence of
others, by offering to tell her a story, then continuing :
* * God and the devil take turns in shaping noses. Now,
look at mine, large and finely shaped. This is God's
work ; but when yours was growing, it was the devil 's
turn, and he shaped that little dab on your face and
called it a nose."
Georgia fled, and cried in anger over this indignity,
declaring that she hated Castle and would not be sorry
if something should happen to spoil his fine nose. So
when he came to us from the sick-room, soured and
crestfallen because disease had deeply pitted and
seamed that feature which had formerly been his
pride, she laughingly whispered, ^* Well, I don't care,
my nose could never look like his, even if I had the
smallpox, for there is not so much of it to spoil."
Our dislike of the man became intense; and later,
Avhen we discovered that he was to be bartender at
grandpa 's bar, and board at our house, we held an in-
dignation meeting in the back yard. This was more
satisfaction to Georgia than to me, for she had the
pleasure of declaring that if grandma took that man
to board, she would be a Schweitzer child no longer,
she would stop speaking German, make her clothes like
American children's; and that she knew her friend
Mrs. Bergwald would give her a home, if grandma
should send her away.
Here the meeting was suddenly interrupted by the
discovery that grandma was standing behind us. We
did not know how long she had been there nor how
[257]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
much slie had overheard, nor which she meant to strike
with the switch she had in her hand. However, we
were sitting close together and my left arm felt the
sting, and it aroused in me the spirit of rebellion. I
felt that I had outgrown such correction, nor had I de-
served it ; and I told her that she should never, never
strike me again. Then I walked to the house alone.
A few moments later Georgia came up to our room,
and found me dressing myself with greatest care. In
amazement she asked, ** Eliza, where are you going? "
and was dumbfounded when I answered, ** To find an-
other home for us.''
In the lower hall I encountered grandma, whose an-
ger had cooled, and she asked the question Georgia
had. I raised my sleeve, showed the welt on my arm,
and replied, ** I am going to see if I can't find a home
where they will treat me kindly."
Poor grandma was conscience-stricken, drew me into
her own room, and did not let me leave it until after
she had soothed my hurts and we had become friends
again.
Georgia went to Mrs. Bergwald's, and remained
quite a while. When she came back speaking English,
and insisting that she was an American, grandma be-
came very angry, and threatened to send her away
among strangers; then hesitated, as if realizing how
fully Georgia belonged to me and I to her, and that we
would cling together whatever might happen. In her
perplexity, she besought Mrs. Bergwald's advice.
Now, Mrs. Bergwald was a native of Stockholm, a
[258]
DR. VER MEHR^S SCHOOL
lady of rare culture,. and used the French language in
conversing with grandma. She spoke feelingly of my
little sister, said that she was companionable, willing,
and helpful ; anxious to learn the nicer ways of work,
and ladylike accomplishments. She could see no harm
in Georgia wishing to remain an American, since to
love one's own people and country was natural.
Thereafter grandma changed her methods. She
gave us our dolls to look at, and keep among our pos-
sessions, likewise most of our keepsakes. She also un-
locked her carefully tended parlor and we three spent
pleasant evenings there. Sometimes she would let
us bring her, from under the sofa, her gorgeous prints,
illustrating ** Wilhelm Tell,'' and would repeat the
text relating to the scenes as we examined each picture
with eager interest.
We were also allowed to go to Sunday school
oftener, and later, she sent me part of the term to the
select school for girls recently established by Dr. Ver
Mehr, an Episcopalian clergyman. In fact, my tuition
was expected to offset the school's milk bill, yet that
did not lessen my enthusiasm. I was eager for knowl-
edge. I also expected to meet familiar faces in that
great building, which had been the home of Mr. Jacob
Leese. But upon entering I saw only finely dressed
young ladies from other parts of the State promenad-
ing in the halls, and small girls flitting about in the
yard like bright-winged butterflies. Some had received
letters from home and were calling out the news;
others were engaged in games that were strange to me.
[ 259 ]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
The bell rang, I followed to the recitation hall, and was
assigned a seat below the rest, because I was the only
small Sonoma girl yet enrolled.
I made several life-long friends at that institute;
still it was easy to see that ** St. Mary's Hall '' was
established for pupils who had been reared in the lap
of wealth and ease; not for those whose hands were
rough like mine. Nor was there a class for me. I
seemed to be between grades, and had the discourage-
ment of trying to keep up with girls older and farther
advanced.
My educational advantages in Sonoma closed with
my half term at St. Mary's Hall, grandma believing
that I had gone to school long enough to be able to fin-
ish my studies without teachers.
Georgia was more fortunate. When Miss Hutchin-
son opened ** The Young Ladies' Seminary " in the
Fall, grandma decided to lend it a helping hand by
sending her a term as a day scholar. My delighted
sister was soon in touch with a crowd of other little
girls, and brought home many of their bright sayings
for my edification.
One evening she rushed into the house bubbling
over with excitement and joyously proclaimed: ** Oh,
Eliza, Miss Hutchinson is going to give a great dinner
to her pupils on Thanksgiving Day; and I am to go,
and you also, as her guest."
Grandma was pleased that I was invited, and de-
clared that she would send a liberal donation of milk
and cheese as a mark of appreciation.
[ 260 ]
THANKSGIVING DAY FEASTS
I caught much of Georgia's spirit of delight, for I
had a vivid recollection of the grand dinner given in
commemoration of our very first legally appointed
Thanksgiving Day in California; I had only to close
my eyes, and in thought would reappear the longest
and most bountifully spread table I had ever seen.
Turkey, chicken, and wild duck, at the ends; a whole
roasted pig in the centre, and more than enough deli-
cious accompaniments to cover the spaces between.
Then the grown folk dining first, and the flock of hun-
gry children coming later ; the speaking, laughing, and
clapping of hands, with which the old home customs
were introduced in the new land.
There, I wore a dark calico dress and sunbonnet,
both made by poor Mrs. McCutchen of the Donner
Party, who had to take in sewing for a livelihood ; but
to the Seminary, I should wear grandpa 's gift, a costly
alpaca, changeable in the sunlight to soft mingling
bluish and greenish colors of the peacock. Its wide
skirt reached to my shoetops, and the gathers to its
full waist were gauged to a sharp peak in front. A
wide open V from the shoulder down to the peak dis-
played an embroidered white Swiss chemisette. The
sleeves, small at the wrist, were trimmed with folds of
the material and a quilling of white lace at the hand.
On the all-important morning, grandma was anxious
that I should look well; and after she had looped my
braids with bows of blue ribbon and fastened my dress,
she brought forth my dainty bonnet, her own gift.
Deft fingers had shirred the pale-blue silk over a frame
[261]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
which had been cut down from ladies' size, arranged
an exquisite spray of Marechal Niel rosebuds and foli-
age on the outside, and quilled a soft white ruching
around the face, which emphasized the Frenchy style
and finish so pleasing to grandma.
Did I look old fashioned? Yes, for grandma said,
* * Thou art like a picture I saw somewhere long ago. ' '
Then she continued brightly, * * Here are thy mits, and
thy little embroidered handkerchief folded in a square.
Carry it carefully so it won't get mussed before the
company see it, and come not back late for milking. ' '
The Seminary playground was so noisy with chatter
and screams of joy, that it was impossible to remem-
ber all the games we played ; and later the dining-room
and its offerings were so surprising and so beautifully
decorated that the sight nearly deprived me of my
appetite.
** Mumps. Bite a pickle and see if it ain't so! " ex-
claimed a neighbor to whom Georgia was showing her
painful and swollen face. True enough, the least taste
of anything sour produced the tell-tale shock. But the
most aggravating feature of the illness was that it
developed the week that sister Elitha and Mr. Benja-
min W. Wilder were married in Sacramento ; and when
they reached Sonoma on their wedding tour, we could
not visit with them, because neither had had the
disease.
They canie to our house, and we had a hurried little
talk with a closed window between us, and were f avor-
[262]
BENJAMIN W. WILDER
ably impressed by our tall ** Brother Ben/' who had
very blue eyes and soft brown hair. He was the second
of the three Wilder brothers, who had been among the
early gold-seekers, and tried roughing it in the mines.
Though a native of Ehode Island, and of Puritan an-
cestry, he was quite Western in appearance.
Though not a wealthy man, he had a competency,
for he and his elder brother were owners of an undi-
vided half of Ranchos de los Cazadores (three leagues
of land in Sacramento Valley), which was well stocked
with homed cattle and good horses. He was also in-
terested in a stage line running between Sacramento
and the gold regions. He encouraged Elitha in her
wish to make us members of their household, and the
home they had to offer us was convenient to public
schools ; yet for obvious reasons they were now silent
on the subject.
[263]
CHAPTEE XXX
IDEALS AND LONGINGS THE FUTUKE CHRISTMAS.
AT the time of which I now speak, I was in my elev-
enth year, but older in feeling and thought. I
had ideals and wanted to live up to them, and my way
was blocked by difficulties. Often, in the cowyard, I
would say to the dumb creatures before me,
** I shall milk you dry, and be kind to you as long
as I stay; but I shall not always be here doing this
kind of work."
These feelings had been growing since the beginning
of grandpa's partnership in that bar-room. Neither
he nor grandma saw harm in the business. They re-
garded it as a convenient place where men could meet
and spend a social evening, and where strangers might
feel at home. Yet, who could say that harm did not
emanate from that bar? I could not but wish that
grandpa had no interest in it. I did not want to blame
him, for he was kind by nature, and had been more
than benefactor to Georgia and me.
Fond recollection was ever bringing to mind joys
he had woven into our early childhood. Especially
tender and precious thoughts were associated with that
night long ago when he hurried home to inspect a
daguerreotype that had just been taken. Grandma
[2641
GRANDPA BRUNNER
handed it to him with the complaisant remark, '* Mine
and Georgia's sind fine; but Eliza's shows that she for-
got herself and ist watching how the thing ist being
made.''
Grandpa looked at it in silence, observing that
grandma's likeness was natural, and Georgia's per-
fect, in fact, pretty as could be ; while I, not being tall
enough to rest my elbow comfortably upon grandma's
shoulder, stood awkwardly with my flowers drooping
and eyes turned, intently watching in the direction of
the operator. Regretfully, I explained:
** Grandpa, mine was best two times, for Georgia
moved in the first one, and grandma in the next, and
the pictureman said after each, * We must try again. '
And he would have tried yet again, for me, but the sun
was low, and grandma said she was sorry but this
would have to do."
Lovingly, he then drew me to his side, saying,
** Never mind, mein Schatz (my treasure); let
grandma and Georgia keep this, and when that picture-
man comes back, grandpa will sit for his picture, and
thou shalt stand at his knee. He '11 buy thee a long
gold chain to wear around thy neck, and thou shalt be
dressed all in white and look like an angel."
Being younger than grandma, and more fond of
amusements, he had taken us to many entertainments ;
notably, Odd Fellows' picnics and dinners, where he
wore the little white linen apron, which we thought
would be cute for our dolls. He often reminded
grandma that she should teach us to speak the high
[265]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
German, so that we might appear well among gentle-
folk ; and my cherished keepsakes included two wee gold
dollars and a fifty-cent piece of the same bright metal,
which he had given me after fortunate saxes from the
herds. But dearest of all is remembrance of the
evening long ago when he befriended us at Sutter's
Fort.
Still, not even those tender recollections could longer
hold in check my resentment against the influences
and associations which were filtering through that bar-
room, and robbing me of companions and privileges
that I valued. More than once had I determined to
run away, and then desisted, knowing that I should
leave two lonely old people grieving over my seeming
ingratitude. This question of duty to self and to those
who had befriended me haunted my working hours,
went with me to church and Sunday school, and troub-
led my mind when I was supposed to be asleep.
Strange, indeed, would it have seemed to me, could
I then have known that before my thirtieth year, I
should be welcomed in the home of the military chief
of our nation. Strange, also, that the young Lieuten-
ant, William Tecumseh Sherman, who when visiting in
Sonoma, came with his fellow-officers to the Brunner
farm, should have attained that dignity. Equally im-
possible would it have been then to conceive that in
so short a time, I, a happy mother and the wife of a
Congressional Representative, should be a guest at
the brilliant receptions of the foreign diplomats and
at the Executive Mansion in the city of Washington.
[266]
PLANNING TO RUN AWAY
Is it any wonder that in later years when my mind re-
verted to those days, I almost questioned my identity !
Georgia's return from Mrs. Bergwald's before
Christmas gave me a chance to talk matters over with
her, and we decided that we must leave our present
surroundings. Yet, how to get away, and when, puz-
zled us. Our only hope of escape seemed to be to slip
off together some moonlight night.
** But,*' my sister remarked gravely, *' we can't do
it before Christmas! You forget the white flannel
skirt that I am embroidering for grandma, the pillow-
slips that you are hemstitching and trimming with lace
for her; and the beautiful white shirt that you have
for grandpa."
She was sure that not to stay and give them as we
had planned, would be as bad as breaking a promise.
So, we took out our work and hid ourselves to sew a
while.
I My undertaking was not so large or elaborate as
hers, and when I finished, she still had quite a piece to
do, and was out of floss. She had pin-pricked from an
embroidered silk shawl on to strips of white paper,
the outline of a vine representing foliage, buds, and
blossoms; then basted the paper in place around the
skirt. The colors were shaded green and pink. Unable
to get the floss for the blossoms, she had bought nar-
row pink silk braid and outlined each rose and bud,
then embroidered the foliage in green. Some might
have thought it a trifle gaudy, but to me it seemed
beautiful, and I was proud of her handiwork.
[267]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
I washed, starched, and ironed the pillow-slips while
grandma was from home, and they did look well, for
I had taken great pains in doing my work. Several
days before the appointed time, grandma, in great
good humor, showed us the dresses she had been hiding
from us ; and then and there, like three children unable
to keep their secrets longer, we exchanged gifts, and
were as pleased as if we had waited until Christmas
morning.
[ 268 ]
CHAPTER XXXI
.E JOHNl
ESTEANGEMENT AND DESOLA-
TION — A KESOLUTION AND A VOW MY PEOPLE ARRIVE
AND PLAN TO BEAR ME AWAY.
ON the first of September, 1855, a widow, whom I
shall call Stein, and her little son Johnnie, came
to visit grandma. She considered herself a friend by
reason of the fact that she and her five children had
been hospitably entertained in our home two years
earlier, upon their arrival in California. For grandpa
in particular she professed a high regard, because her
husband had been his bartender, and as such had
earned money enough to bring his family from Eu-
rope, and also to pay for the farm which had come to
her at his death.
Mother and son felt quite at home, and in humor to
enjoy their self-appointed stay of two weeks. Despite
her restless eye and sinister smile, she could be affable ;
and although, at first, I felt an indescribable misgiving
in her presence, it wore away, and I often amused
Johnnie while she and grandma talked.
As if to hasten events, Mrs. Bergwald had sent for
Georgia almost at the beginning of the visit of the
Steins; and after her departure, Mrs. Stein insisted
[269]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PARTY
on helping me with the chores, and then on my sitting
with her during grandma's busiest hour.
She seemed deeply interested in California's early
history, and when I would stop talking, she would ply
me with questions. So I told her how poor everybody
was before the discovery of gold ; how mothers would
send their boys to grandma's early morning fire for
live coals, because they had no matches or tinder
boxes ; how neighbors brought their coffee and spices
to grind in her mills ; how the women gathered in the
afternoons under her great oak tree, to talk, sew, and
eagerly listen to the reading of extracts from letters
and papers that had come from friends away back in
the States. I told her how, in case of sickness, one
neighbor would slip over and cook the family break-
fast for the sick woman, others would drop in
later, wash the dishes, and put the house in order ; and
so by turns and shares, the washing, ironing, and
mending would be done, and by the time the sick
woman would be up and around, she would have no
neglected work to discourage her. Also we talked of
how flags were used for day signals and lights by
night, in calls for help.
Our last talk was on Saturday morning between
work. She questioned me in regard to the amount,
and location of the property of the Brunners, then
wanted to hear all about my sisters in Sacramento,
and wondered that we did not go to live with them.
I explained that Elitha had written us several times
asking us to come, but, knowing that grandma would
[270]
A READY LISTENER
be displeased, we had not read her those parts of the
letters, lest she forbid our correspondence entirely.
I added that we were very sorry that she could not
like those who were dear to us.
Finally, having exhausted information on several
subjects, Mrs. Stein gave me a searching glance, and
after a marked silence, continued: ** I don't wonder
that you love grandpa and grandma as much as you
tell me, and it is a pity about these other things that
aren't pleasant. Don't you think it would be better
for you to live with your sister, and grandma could
have some real German children to live here? She is
old, and can't help liking her own kind of people best."
I did not have an unkind thought in mind, yet I did
confess that I should like to live well and grow up to
be like my mother. In thoughtless chatter I continued,
that more nice people came to visit grandma and to
talk with us before the town filled with strangers, and
before Americans lived in the good old Spanish houses,
and before the new churches and homes were built.
She led me to speak of mother, then wondered at my
vivid recollections, since I had parted from her so
young. She was very attentive as I told how Georgia
and I spoke of her when we were by ourselves, and
that friends did not let us forget her. I even cited a
recent instance, when the teacher had invited us, and
two other young girls, to go to the Vallejo pear or-
chard for all the fruit we wished to eat, and when he
offered the money in payment, the old Spanish gentle-
man in charge said, *' Pay for three."
[271]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
** But we are five/' said the teacher.
Then the Don blessed himself with the sign of the
cross, and pointing to Georgia and me, replied,
** Those two are daughters of a sainted mother, and
are always welcome ! ' '
At noon grandma told me that she and the Steins
would be ready to go down town immediately after
dinner, and that I must wash the dishes and finish bak-
ing the bread in the round oven. We parted in best of
humor, and I went to work. The dishes and bread re-
ceived first attention. Then I scrubbed the brick floor
in the milk-house; swept the store-room and front
yard ; gathered the eggs , fed the chickens, and rebuilt
the fire for supper. I fancied grandma would be
pleased with all I had accomplished, and laughed to
myself as I saw the three coming home leaning close
to each other in earnest conversation.
To my surprise, the Steins went directly to their
own room ; and grandma did not speak, but closed her
eyes as she passed me. That was her way, and I knew
that it would be useless to ask what had offended her.
So I took my milk pails, and, wondering, went to the
cow corrals. I could not imagine what had happened,
yet felt hurt and uncomfortable.
Returning with the milk, I saw Johnnie playing by
the tree, too near the horse's feet, and warned him.
As he moved, grandma stepped forward and stood in
front of me, her face white with rage. I set my buck-
ets down and standing between them listened as she
said in German:
[272]
^ CHARGED WITH INGRATITUDE
** Oh, false one, thou didst not think this morning
that I would so soon find thee out. Thou wast not
smart enough to see that my friend, Mrs. Stein, was
studying thee, so that she could let me know what kind
of children I had around me. And thou, like a snake
in the grass, hast been sticking out thy tongue behind
my back. Thou pretendest that thou art not staying
here to get my money and property, yet thou couldst
tell her all I had. Thou wouldst not read all in the
letters from thy fine sisters! Thou wouldst rather
stay here until I die and then be rich and spend it with
them!"
She stopped as if to catch her breath, and I could
only answer, ** Grandma, I have not done what thou
sayesf
She continued: ** I have invited people to come here
this night, and thou shalt stand before them and listen
while I tell what I have done for thee, and how thou
hast thanked me. Now, go, finish thy work, eat thy
supper, and come when I call thee."
I heard her call, but don't know how I got into the
room, nor before how many I stood. I know that my
head throbbed and my feet almost refused to support
my body, as I listened to grandma, who in forceful
language declared that she had taken me, a starveling,
and reared me until I was almost as tall as she herself ;
that she had loved and trusted me, and taught me
everything I knew, and that I had that day blackened
the home that had sheltered me, wounded the hand that
had fed me, and proved myself unworthy the love that
[273]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
had been showered upon me. Mrs. Stein helped her
through an account of our morning chat, misconstru-
ing all that had passed between us.
I remained silent until the latter had announced that
almost the first thing that she had noticed was that
we children were of a selfish, jealous disposition, and
that Georgia was very cross when her little Johnnie
came home wearing a hat that grandpa had bought
him. Then I turned upon her saying, ** Mrs. Stein,
you forget that Georgia has not seen that hat. You
know that grandma bought it after Georgia went
away. ' '
She sprang toward me, then turned to grandma, and
asked if she was going to let an underling insult a
guest in her house.
I did not wait for the reply. I fled out into the dark
and made my way to the weird old tree-trunk in the
back yard. Thence, I could see the lights from the
windows, and at times hear the sound of voices. There,
I could stand in the starlight and look up to the heav-
ens. I had been there before, but never in such a heart-
sick and forlorn condition. I was too overwrought to
think, yet had to do something to ease the tension. I
moved around and looked toward Jakie^s grave, then
returned to the side of the tree-trunk which had es-
caped the ravages of fire, and ran my finger up and
down, feeling the holes which the red-headed wood-
pecker had bored and filled with acorns.
A flutter in the air aroused me. It was the old white-
faced owl leaving the hollow in the live oak for the
[274]
PLANS FOR THE FUTURE
night's hunt. I faced about and saw her mate fly after
her. Then in the stillness that followed, I stretched
both arms toward heaven and cried aloud, ** 0 God,
I 'm all alone ; take care of me ! ' '
The spell was broken. I grew calmer and began to
think and to plan. I pictured Georgia asleep in a
pretty house two miles away, wondered how I could
get word to her and what she would say when told that
we would go away together from Sonoma, and not
take anything that grandpa or grandma had given us.
I remembered that of the fund which we had started
by hemming new, and washing soiled handkerchiefs
for the miners, there still remained in her trunk seven
dollars and eighty-five cents, and in mine seven dollars
and fifty cents. If this was not enough to take us to
Sacramento, we might get a chance as Sister Leanna
had, to work our way.
I was still leaning against the tree-trunk when the
moon began to peep over the eastern mountains, and
I vowed by its rising that before it came up in its full,
Georgia and I should be in Sacramento.
I heard grandma's call from the door, which she
opened and quickly closed, and I knew by experience
that I should find a lighted candle on the table, and
that no one would be in the room to say good-night.
I slept little, but when I arose in the morning I was no
longer trouble tossed. I knew what I would say to
grandma if she should give me the chance.
Grandpa, who had come home very late, did not
know what had happened, and he and I breakfasted
[275] .
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
with the men, and grandma and the Steins came after
we left the room. No one offered to help me that
morning, still I got through my duties before grandma
called me to her. She seemed more hurt than angry,
and began by saying :
** On account of thy bad conduct, Mrs. Stein is go-
ing to shorten her stay. She is going to leave on Tues-
day, and wants me to go with her. She says that she
has kept back the worst things that thou hast told
about me, but will tell them to me on the road. ' '
Trembling with indignation, I exclaimed, ^* Oh,
grandma, thou hast always told us that it is wrong to
speak of the faults of a guest in the house, but what
dost thou think of one who hath done what Mrs. Stein
hath done ? I did say some of the things she told thee,
but I did not say them in that way. I didn't give
them that meaning. I didn't utter one unkind word
against thee or grandpa. I have not been false to thee.
To prove it, I promise to stay and take care of every-
thing while thou goest and hearest what more she hath
to tell, but after the home-coming, I leave. Nothing
that thou canst say will make me change my mind. I
am thankful for the home I have had, but will not be
a burden to thee longer. I came to thee poor, and I
will go away poor."
The Brunner conveyance was at the door on Tues-
day morning when grandma and her guest came out to
begin their journey. Grandpa helped grandma and
the widow on to the back seat. While he was putting
Johnnie in front with the driver, I stepped close to the
[ 276 ]
IN CHAEGE OF THE DAIEY
vehicle, and extended my hand to grandma, saying,
** Good-bye, don't worry about the dairy while thou
art gone, for everything will be attended to until thy
return; but remember — then I go."
On the way back to the house grandpa asked why I
did not treat the widow more friendly, and I answered,
** Because I don't believe in her." To my surprise,
he replied, '' I don't either, but grandma is like a little
child in her hands."
I felt that I ought to tell him I should soon go away,
but I had never gone to him with home troubles, and
knew that it would not be right to speak of them in
grandma's absence; so he quietly went to his duties
and I to mine. Yet I could not help wondering how
grandma could leave me in full charge of her posses-
sions if she believed the stories that had been told her.
I felt so sure that the guilty one would be found out
that it made me light-hearted.
Mrs. Blake came and spent the night with me, and
the following morning helped to get the breakfast and
talked over the cleaning that I wished to do before
grandma's return on the coming Saturday morning.
But
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform,
and unseen hands were shaping a different course for
me ! I had the milk skimmed, and a long row of clean
pans in the sunshine before time to hurry the dinner
for grandpa and the three men. I was tired, for I had
carried most of the milk to the pig troughs after hav-
[211]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
ing finished work which grandma and I had always
done together ; so I sat down under the tree to rest and
meditate.
My thoughts followed the travellers with many
questions, and the wish that I might hear what Mrs.
Stein had to say. I might have overstayed my time,
if the flock of goats had not come up and smelled my
hands, nibbled at the hem of my apron, and tried to
chew the cape of my sun-bonnet. I sprang up and
with a shout and clap of my hands, scattered them, and
entered the log kitchen, reclosing the lower section of
the divided door, to keep them from following me
within.
I prepared the dinner, and if it lacked the flavor of
grandma ^s cooking, those who ate it did not tell me.
Grandpa lingered a moment to bestow a meed of praise
on my work, then went off to the back corral to slaugh-
ter a beef for the shop. I began clearing the table,
and was turning from it with a vegetable dish in each
hand when I caught sight of the shadow of a tall silk
hat in the open space above the closed half door. Then
the hat and its wearer appeared.
Leaning over the edge of the door, he gazed at me
standing there as if I were nailed to the floor. I was
speechless with amazement, and it seemed a long while
before he remarked lightly, ** You don't seem to know
me.''
** Yes, yon are Mr. Wilder, my brother-in-law," I
stammered. '' Where is Elitha? "
He informed me that she and their little daughter
[ 278 ]
MEETING WITH ELITHA
were at the hotel in town, where they had arrived about
noon, and that she wanted Georgia and me to be
prompt in coming to her at four o^cloek. I told him
that we could not do so, because Georgia was at Mrs.
Bergwald's, grandma on a journey beyond Bodego,
and I at home in charge of the work.
In surprise he listened, then asked, * * But are n 't
you at all anxious to see your sister and little niece ? ' '
Most earnestly, I replied that I was. Nevertheless,
as grandma was away, I could not leave the place until
after the day^s work was done. Then I enumerated
what was before me. He agreed that there was quite
enough to keep me busy, yet insisted that I ought to
keep the appointment for four o'clock. After his de-
parture, I rushed out to grandpa, told him who had
come and gone, and what had passed between us. He
too, regretted the situation, but promised that I should
spend the evening at the hotel.
I fairly flew about my work that afternoon, and my
brain was as active as my hands and feet. I was cer-
tain that brother and sister had come for us, and the
absorbing query was, ^* How did they happen to arrive
at this particular time? " I also feared there was
more trouble before me, and remembered my promise
to grandma with twinges of regret.
At half -past four, I was feeding the hens in the yard,
and, looking up, saw a strange carriage approaching.
Instantly, I guessed who was in it, and was at the
gate before it stopped. Elitha greeted me kindly, but
not cordially. She asked why I had not come as re-
[279]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PARTY
quested, and then said, '* Go, bring the silver thimble
Frances left here, and the coral necklace I gave yon. ' '
In my nervous haste I could not find the thimble,
but carried out the necklace. She next bade me take
the seat beside her, thus disclosing her intention of
carrying me on, picking up Georgia and proceeding to
Sacramento. She was annoyed by my answer and dis-
appointed in what she termed my lack of pride. Call-
ing my attention to my peculiar style of dress and
surroundings, to my stooped shoulders and callous
hands, she bade me think twice before I refused the
comfortable home she had to offer.
When assured that I would gladly go on Saturday,
but was unwilling to leave in grandma's absence, she
did not urge further, simply inquired the way to
Georgia, and left me.
I was nursing my disappointment and watching the
disappearing carriage, when Mr. Knipp, the brewer,
with his load of empty kegs drew up, and asked what
I was thinking about so hard. It was a relief to see
his jolly, good-natured face, and I told him briefly that
our people were in town and wished to take us home
with them. He got down from his wagon to say
confidentially:
*' Thou must not leave grandpa and grandma, be-
cause the old man is always kind to thee, and though
she may sometimes wag a sharp tongue, she means
well. Be patient, by-and-by thou wilt have a nice prop-
erty, the country will have more people for hire, and
thou wilt not have so hard to work."
[280]
FRIENDLY ADVICE
When I told him that I did not want the property,
and that there were other things I did care for, he con-
tinued persuasively:
*^' Women need not so much learning from books.
Grandma would not know how to scold so grandly if
she remembered not so many fine words from ^ Wil-
helm Tell ' and the other books that she knoweth by
heart. ' ' And he climbed back and drove off, believing
that he had done me a good turn.
To my great satisfaction, Georgia arrived about
dark, saying that Benjamin had brought her and would
call for us later to spend the evening with them. When
we reached the hotel, Elitha received us affectionately,
and did not refer to the disappointments of the after-
noon. The time was given up to talk about plans for
our future, and that night when we two crept into bed,
I felt that I had been eased of a heavy burden, for
Benjamin was willing to await grandma's return.
He also told us that early next morning he would
go to Santa Eosa, the county seat, and apply to be
made our guardian in place of Hiram Miller, and
would also satisfy any claim grandma might have to
us, or against us, adding that we need not take any-
thing away with us, except our keepsakes.
[281]
CHAPTER XXXII
grandma's return — GOOD-BYE TO THE DUMB CREATURES
GEORGIA AND I ARE OFF FOB SACRAMENTO.
MEANWHILE, grandma and her friends had
reached Bodego and spent the night there. She
had not learned anything more terrible that I had said
about her, and at breakfast told Mrs. Stein that she
had had a dream foreboding trouble, and would not
continue the journey to the Stein home. The widow
coaxed and insisted that she go the few remaining
miles to see her children. Then she waxed indignant
and let slip the fact that she considered it an outrage
that American, instead of European bom children
should inherit the Brunner property, and that she had
hoped that grandma would select two of her daughters
to fill the places from which Georgia and I should be
expelled.
Grandma took a different view of the matter, and
started homeward immediately after breakfast.
That very afternoon, on the Santa Rosa road, whom
should she pass but our brother Ben. They recognized
each other, but were too astonished to speak. Grandma
ordered her driver to whip up, saying that she had
just seen the red-whiskered imp of darkness who had
troubled her sleep, and she must get to town as fast as
possible.
[ 282 ]
FAEE WELL TO THE FARM
She stopped first at the butcher shop. Before
grandpa could express surprise at her unexpected re-
turn, she showered him with questions in regard to
happenings at home, and being informed, took him to
task for having permitted us to visit our people at the
hotel. He innocently remarked that he knew of no
reason why we should not see our relatives; that
Georgia was spending the day with them ; and that we
both had his permission to go again in the evening.
In conclusion he said that I had been a faithful, hard
working little housekeeper, and she would find every-
thing in order at home.
Grandma arrived at home before sunset, too excited
to be interested in dairy matters. She told me all
about her trip, even to the name she had called my
brother-in-law, adding that she knew he was ** not
red- whiskered, but he was next door to it.'* Later,
when he came, she did not receive him pleasantly, nor
would she let us go to Elitha. Brusquely, she de-
manded to know if I had written to him to come for
us, and would not believe him when he assured her
that neither he nor our sisters had received letter or
message from us in months.
After his departure, I could see that she was no
longer angry, and I dreaded the ensuing day, which
was destined to be my last on that farm.
It came with a rosy dawn, and I was up to meet it,
and to say good-bye to the many dumb creatures that
I had cared for. The tension I was under lent me
strength to work faster than usual. When the break-
[283]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PARTY
fast call sounded, I had finished in the corrals, and was
busy in the hen houses, having taken care to keep out
of grandpa's sight; for I knew how he would miss me,
and I did not want to say the parting words. After
he and the men were gone, grandma came, and watched
me finish my task, then said kindly,
' ' Come, Eliza, and eat thy breakfast. ' '
I looked up and replied,
** Grandma, I ate my last meal in thy house last
night. Dost thou not remember, I told thee that I
would take care of everything until thy return, and
then would not be a burden to thee longer^ I have
kept my word, and am going away this morning."
* * Thou are mine, and canst not go ; but if thou wilt
not eat, come and help me with the dishes," she re-
plied nervously.
I had planned to slip off and change my dress before
meeting her, but now, after a breath of hesitation, I
went to dry the dishes, hoping that our talk would
soon be over. I knew it would be hard for both of us,
for dear, childish grandma was ready to forgive and
forget what she termed our little troubles. I, how-
ever, smarting under the wrong and injustice that
had been done me, felt she had nothing to forgive, and
that matters between us had reached the breaking-
point.
She was still insisting on her right to keep me, when
a slight sound caused us both to turn, and meeting
Georgia's anxious, listening gaze, grandma appealed
to her, saying,
[284]
PREPARING FOR DEPARTURE
** Thou hast heard thy sister's talk, but thou hast
not been in this fuss, and surely wilt not leave me ? ' '
** Yes, I am going with Eliza,'' was the prompt an-
swer, which had no sooner left her lips, than grandma
resorted to her last expedient : she ordered us both to
our room, and forbade us to leave it until she should
hear from grandpa.
What message she sent him by the milker we never
learned. Georgia, being already dressed for the jour-
ney, and her trunk containing most of her possessions
being at Mrs. Bergwald's, had nothing to do but await
results.
I quickly changed my working suit for a better one,
which had been given me by a German friend from
San Francisco. Then I laid out my treasured keep-
sakes. In my nervous energy, nothing was forgotten.
I took pains that my clothes against the wall should
hang in straight rows, that the folded ones should lie
in neat piles in my pretty Chinese trunk, and that the
bunch of artificial flowers which I had always kept for
a top centre mark, should be exactly in the middle;
finally, that the gray gauze veil used as a fancy cover-
ing of the whole should be smoothly tucked in around
the clothing. This done, I gave a parting glance at
the dainty effect, dropped the cover, snapped the queer
little brass padlock in place, put the key on the table,
and covered the trunk so that its embossed figures of
birds and flowers should be protected from harm.
tVe had not remembered to tell Elitha about the hun-
dred dollars which Jakie had willed us, so decided to
[ 285 ]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
let grandma keep it to cover some of the expense we
had been to her, also not to ask for our little trinkets
stored in her closet.
With the bundle containing my keepsakes, I now sat
down by Georgia and listened with bated breath to the
sound of grandma's approaching footsteps. She en-
tered and hastily began,
** Grandpa says, if you want to go, and your people
are here to take you, we have no right to keep you ; but
that I am not to part with you bad friends. So I came
to shake hands and say good-bye. But I don't forgive
you for going away, and I never want to see you or
hear from you again! ''
She did not ask to see what we were taking away,
nor did her good-bye seem like parting.
The fear that something might yet arise to prevent
our reaching brother and sister impelled us to run the
greater part of the distance to the hotel, and in less
than an hour thereafter, we were in the carriage with
them on the way to Mrs. Bergwald's, prior to taking
the road to Sacramento.
OE at last, without a soul in the town knowing it!
Georgia, who had neither said nor done anything to
anger grandma, was easier in mind and more comfort-
able in body, than I, who, fasting, had borne the trials
of the morning. I could conceal the cause, but not the
faint and ill feeling which oppressed me during the
morning drive and continued until I had had something
to eat at the wayside inn, and a rest, while the horses
were enjoying their nooning.
[ 286 ]
THE SACRAMENTO RIVER
I had also been too miserable to feel any interest in
what occurred at Mrs. Bergwald's after we stopped to
let Georgia get her keepsakes. But when the day's
travel was over, and we were comfortably housed for
the night, Georgia and I left our brother and sister to
their happy hour with their child, and sat close to-
gether on the outer doorsteps to review the events of
the day. Our world during that solemn hour was cir-
cumscribed, reaching back only to the busy scenes of
the morning, and forward to the little home that should
open to us on the morrow.
When we resumed travel, we did not follow the pio-
neers' trail, once marked by hoof of deer, elk, and
antelope, nor the winding way of the Spanish cabel-
lero, but took the short route which the eager trades-
man and miner had hewn and tramped into shape.
On reaching the ferry across the Sacramento River,
I gazed at the surrounding country in silent amaze-
ment. Seven and a half years with their marvellous
influx of brawn and brain, and their output of gold,
had indeed changed every familiar scene, except the
snow-capped Sierras, wrapped in their misty cloak of
autumnal blue. The broad, deep river had given up
both its crystal floods and the wild, free song which
had accompanied it to the sea, and become a turbid
waterway, encumbered with busy craft bringing daily
supplies to countless homes, and carrying afar the long
hidden wealth of ages.
The tule flat between the water front and Sutter's
Fort had become a bustling city. The streets running
[287]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
north and south were numbered from first to twenty-
eighth, and those east and west lettered from A to Z,
and thriving, light-hearted throngs were pursuing
their various occupations upon ground which had once
seemed like a Noah's ark to me. Yes, this was the
very spot where with wondering eyes I had watched
nature's untamed herds winding through the reedy
paths to the river bank, to quench their morning and
evening thirst.
As we crossed from J Street to K, brother remarked,
** Our journey will end on this street; which of you
girls will pick out the house before we come to it ? "
Elitha would not help us, but smiled, when, after
several guesses, I said that I wished it to be a white
house with brownish steps and a dark door with a
white knob. Hence, great was my satisfaction when
near the southeast corner of Eighteenth and K streets,
we halted in front of a cottage of that description ; and
it was regarded as a lucky omen for me, that my first
wish amid new scenes should be realized.
The meeting with Sister Frances and the novelty of
the new situation kept up a pleasurable excitement un-
til bed-time. Then in the stillness of the night, in the
darkness of the new chamber, came the recollection
that at about that hour one week ago, I, sorrowing and
alone, had stood by a weird old tree-trunk in Sonoma,
and vowed by the rising moon that before it should
come up again in its full, Georgia and I would be in
Sacramento. I did not sleep until I had thanked the
good Father for sending help to me in my time of need.
[288]
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS OF SACRAMENTO A GLIMPSE OP
: GRANDPA THE RANCHO DE LOS CAZADORES MY
SWEETEST PRIVILEGE LETTERS FROM THE BRUNNERS.
IT is needless to say that we were grateful for our
new home, and tried to express our appreciation
in words and by sharing the household duties, and by
helping to make the neat clothing provided for us.
The first Monday in October was a veritable red-
letter day. Aglow with bright anticipations, we hur-
ried off to public school with Frances. Not since our
short attendance at the pioneer school in Sonoma had
Georgia and I been schoolmates, and never before had
we three sisters started out together with books in
hand; nor did our expectations overreach the sum of
happiness which the day had in store for us.
The supposition that grandpa and grandma had
passed out of our lives was soon disproved; for as I
was crossing our back yard on the Saturday of that first
week of school, I happened to look toward Seventeenth
Street, and saw a string of wagons bringing exhibits
from the fair grounds. Beside the driver of a truck
carrying a closed cage marked, ** Buffalo," stood
grandpa. He had risen from his seat, leaned back
against the front of the cage, folded his arms and was
[289]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
looking at me. My long black braids bad been cut off,
and my style of dress cbanged, still be bad recognized
me. I fled into tbe bouse, and told Elitba wbat I bad
seen. Sbe, too, was somewbat disquieted, and replied
musingly,
**Tbe old gentleman is lonely, and may bave come
to take you girls back witb bim. ' '
His presence in Sacramento so soon after our reacb-
ing tbere did seem significant, because be bad bougbt
tbat buffalo in 1851, before sbe was weaned from tbe
emigrant cow tbat bad suckled and led ber in from tbe
great buffalo range, and be bad never before tbougbt
of exbibiting ber.
Tbe following afternoon, as we were returning from
Sunday scbool, a band suddenly reacbed out of tbe
crowd on J Street and toucbed Georgia's sboulder,
tben stopped me. A startled backward glance rested
on Castle, our old enemy, wbo said,
** Come. Grandpa is in town, and wants to see
you.'' We sbook our beads. Tben be looked at Fran-
ces, saying, ** All of you, come and see tbe large seal
and otber tbings at tbe fair."
But sbe replied, empbatically, ** We bave not per-
mission," and grasping a band of eacb, burried us
bomeward. For days tbereafter, we were on tbe alert
guarding against wbat we feared might bappen.
Our alarm over, life moved along smootbly. Elitba
admonisbed us to forget tbe past, and prepare for tbe
future. Sbe forbade Georgia and me to use tbe Ger-
man language in speaking witb eacb otber, giving as
[ 290 ]
;gr„i)-i Ly l.yiuvooil Aljbolt.
PINES OF THE SIERRAS
RANCHO DE LOS CAZADORES
a reason that we should take Frances into our confi-
dence and thoughts as closely as we took one another.
I was never a morbid child, and the days that I did
not find a sunbeam in life, I was apt to hunt for a
rainbow. But there, in sight of the Sierras, the feel-
ing again haunted me that perhaps my mother did not
die, but had strayed from the trail and later reached
the settlement and could not find us. Each middle-
aged woman that I saw ahead of me on the street
would thrill me with expectation, and I would quicken
my steps in order to get a view of her face. When I
gave up this illusion, I still prayed that Keseberg
would send for me some day, and let me know her end,
and give me a last message. I wanted his call to me
to be voluntary, so that I might know that his words
were true. These hopes and prayers were sacred,
even from Georgia.
On the twenty-fourth of March, 1856, brother Ben
took us all to pioneer quarters on Rancho de los Caz-
adores, where their growing interests required the
personal attention of the three brothers. There we
became familiar with the pleasures, and also the in-
conveniences and hardships of life on a cattle ranch.
We were twenty miles from town, church, and school ;
ten miles from the post office; and close scrutiny far
and wide disclosed but one house in range. Our sup-
ply of books was meagre, and for knowledge of current
events, we relied on The Sacramento Union, and on the
friends who came to enjoy the cattleman's hospitality.
My sweetest privilege was an occasional visit to
[291]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
cousin Frances Bond, my mother's niece, who, with
her husband and child, had settled on a farm about
twelve miles from us. She also had grown up a moth-
erless girl, but had spent a part of her young lady-
hood at our home in Illinois. She had helped my
mother to prepare for our long journey and would
have crossed the plains with us had her father granted
her wish. She was particularly fond of us ** three
little ones ' ' whom she had caressed in babyhood. She
related many pleasing incidents connected with those
days, and spoke feelingly, yet guardedly, of our ex-
periences in the mountains. Like Elitha, she hoped
we would forget them, and as she watched me cheer-
fully adapting myself to new surroundings, she imag-
ined that time and circumstances were dimming the
past from my memory.
She did not understand me. I was light-hearted
because I was old enough to appreciate the blessings
that had come to me ; old enough to look ahead and see
the pure, intelligent womanhood opening to me; and
trustful enough to believe that my expectations in life
would be realized. So I gathered counsel and com-
fort from the lips of that sympathetic cousin, and loved
her word pictures of the home where I was born.
Nor could change of circumstances wean my grate-
ful thoughts from Grandpa and Grandma Brunner.
At times, I seemed to listen for the sound of his voice,
and to hear hers so near and clear that in the night,
I often started up out of sleep in answer to her dream
calls. Finally I determined to disregard her parting
[292]
A LETTER FROM GRANDMA
words, and write her. Georgia was sure that I would
get a severe answer, but Elitha's ready permission
made the letter easier to write. Weeks elapsed with-
out a reply, and I had about given up looking for it,
when late in August, William, the youngest Wilder
brother, saddled his horse, and upon mounting, called
out,
*' I 'm off to Sacramento, Eliza, to bring you that
long-expected letter. It was misdirected, and is ad-
vertised in The Sacramento Union's list of uncalled-
for mail.''
He left me in a speculative mood, wondering if it
was from grandma; which of her many friends had
written it for her; and if it was severe, as predicted
by Georgia. Great was my delight when the letter
was handed me, and I opened it and read :
Sonoma, July 5, 1856
To Miss Eliza P. Donner:
Casador Rancho, Consumne River
NEAR Sacramento City.
Dear Eliza:
Your letter of the fifteenth of June came duly to hand,
giving me great satisfaction in regard to your health, as well
as keeping me and grandfather in good memory.
I have perused the contents of your letter with great inter-
est. I am glad to learn that you enjoy a country life. We
have sold lately twelve cows, and are milking fifteen at pres-
ent. You want to know how Flower is coming on: had you
not better come and see for yourself? Hard feelings or ill
will we have none against you; and why should I not for-
give little troubles that are past and gone by?
I know that you saw grandfather in Sacramento; he saw
you and knew you well too. Why did you not go and speak
to him?
The roses you planted on Jacob's grave are growing beau-
[ 293 ]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
tifully, and our garden looks well. Grandfather and myself
enjoy good health, and we wish you the same for all time to
come. We give you our love, and remain,
In parental aifection,
Mary and Christian Brunner.
(Give our love also to Georgia.)
Georgia was as much gratified by the contents of
the letter as I, and we each sent an immediate answer,
addressed to grandpa and grandma, expressing onr
appreciation of their forgiving words, regret for
trouble and annoyances we had caused them, thanks
for their past kindness, and the hope that they would
write to us again when convenient. We referred to
our contentment in our new home, and avoided any
words which they might construe as a wish to return.
There was no long waiting for the second letter,
nor mistake in address. It was dated just three days
prior to the first anniversary of our leaving Sonoma,
and here speaks for itself :
Sonoma, Sept. 11, 1856
Georgia and Eliza Donner.
My dear Children:
Your two letters dated August thirty-first reached us in due
season.
We were glad to hear from you, and it is our wish that
you do well. Whenever you are disposed to come to us again
our doors shall be open to you, and we will rejoice to see you.
We are glad to see that you acknowledge your errors, for
it shows good hearts, and the right kind of principles; for
you should always remember that in showing respect to old
age you are doing yourself honor, and those who know you
will respect you. All your cows are doing well.
I am inclined to think that the last letter we wrote you,
you did not get. We mention this to show you that we always
write to you.
Your mother desires to know if you have forgotten the
[294]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
time when she used to have you sleep with her, each in one
arm, showing the great love and care she had for you; she
remembers, and can't forget.
Your grandfather informs you that he still keeps the
butcher shop, and bar-room, and that scarcely a day passes
without his thinking of you. He still feels very bad that
you did not, before going away, come to him and say *' Good-
bye, grandfather. ' ' He forgives you, however, and hopes you
will come and see him. When you get this letter you must
write. Yours affectionately.
Christian Brunner,
Mary Brunner.
Letters following the foregoing assured us that
grandma had become fully satisfied that the stories
told her by Mrs. Stein were untrue. She freely ac-
knowledged that she was miserable and forlorn with-
out us, and begged us to return to the love and trust
which awaited us at our old home. This, however,
we could not do.
Before the close of the Winter, Frances and Georgia
began preparations for boarding school in Sacramento,
and I being promised like opportunities for myself
later, wrote all about them to grandma, trusting that
this course would convince her that we were perma-
nently separated from her, and that Elitha and her
husband had definite plans for our future. I received
no response to this, but Georgia's first communication
from school contained the following paragraph :
I saw Sallie Keiberg last week, who told me that her
mother had a letter from the old lady (Grandma Brunner)
five weeks ago. A man brought it. And that the old lady
had sent us by him some jewellery, gold breast-pins, earrings,
and wristlets. He stopped at the William Tell Hotel. And
that is all they know about him and the presents.
[295]
CHAPTER XXXIV
TRAGEDY IN SONOMA CHRISTIAN BRUNNER IN A PRISON
CELL — ST. Catherine's convent at benicia — ro-
mance OF SPANISH CALIFORNIA THE BEAUTIFUL ANGEL
IN BLACK THE PRAYER OF DONA CONCEPCION ARGU-
ELLO REALIZED — MONASTIC RITES.
TIME passed. Not a word had come to me from
Sonoma in months, when Benjamin handed me
the Union, and with horror I read the headlines to
which he pointed: ** Tragedy in Sonoma. Christian
Brunner, an Old Resident, Slays His Own Nephew ! ' '
From the lurid details published, I learned that the
Brunners had asked this nephew to come to them,
and had sent him money to defray his expenses from
Switzerland to California. Upon his arrival in So-
noma, he had settled himself in the proffered home,
and at once begun a life of extravagance, at the ex-
pense of his relatives. He was repeatedly warned
against trifling with their affection, and wasting their
hard-earned riches. Then patience ceased, and he was
forbidden the house of his uncle.
Meanwhile, his aunt became seriously ill, and the
young man visited her secretly, and prevailed upon
her to give him, in the event of her death, certain
cattle and other property which stood in her name.
[296]
THE TRAGEDY
She, however, recovered health ; and he in the presence
of his uncle, insisted that she had given him the prop-
erty outright, and he wanted possession. This made
trouble between the old couple, and the wife took ref-
uge with friends in San Francisco. The night after her
departure, the husband entered his own room and found
the nephew in his bed. Thoroughly enraged, he or-
dered him up and out of his sight, and was insolently
told by the young man that he was owner of that prop-
erty and in rightful possession of the same. At this,
his uncle snatched his pistol from the table at the
bedside, and fired the fatal shot.
This almost incredible news was so harrowing that
I could scarcely think of anything, except grandpa
chained in a prison cell, grandma in hiding away from
home, and excited groups of people gathering about
the thoroughfares of Sonoma discussing the tragedy.
I was not sorry that at this time an epidemic of
measles broke out in Sacramento, and Georgia became
one of its early victims. This brought both girls back
to the ranch, and during Georgia's convalescence, we
had many serious talks about the Brunners' troubles.
We wrote to grandma, but received no answer, and
could only wait to learn what would be done with
grandpa. He was arraigned and held; but the date
set for trial was not fixed before Benjamin took
Frances and Georgia to Benicia, to enter the Septem-
ber term of St. Catherine's Convent School.
Upon Ben's return, I observed that he and Elitha
were keeping from me some mysterious but pleasur-
[297]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
able secret. It came out a few days later when Elitha
began making a black and a white uniform which
would fit no one except me. When ready to try them
on, she informed me that we would have to sew early
and late, that I might be ready to enter the convent
by the first of October, and thereby reap the benefit
of the institution's established custom — ** That when
more than two of a family become pupils the same
term, the third one shall be received free of charge
(except incidentals) with the understanding that the
family thus favored shall exert its influence toward
bringing an additional pupil into the school."
Friends who had religious prejudices advised Ben
against putting us under Catholic influence, but he re-
plied good-naturedly: " The school is excellent, the
girls are Protestants, and I am not afraid. Besides, I
have told them all the horrible and uncanny stories that
I have heard about convents, and they will not care to
meddle with anything outside of the prescribed course
of study."
He was twenty years older than I, and had such con-
servative and dignified ways, that I often stood in
awe of him. So when he let the convent gate close
behind us with a loud click and said, ** Now, you are a
goner," I scanned his face apprehensively, but seeing
nothing very alarming, silently followed him through
the massive door which was in charge of a white-
robed nun of the Dominican order.
Presently Mother Mary Superior and my two sis-
ters came to us in the reception room and my brother
r 298 1
ST. CATHERINE'S CONVENT SCHOOL
deposited the fund for my school incidentals, and
after a brief conversation, departed. The prepara-
tions in connection with my coming had been so rap-
idly carried out that I had had little time in which
to question or anticipate what my reception at the
convent might be. Now, however, Mother Mary, with
open watch in hand, stood before me, saying,
** Your sister Georgia cried twice as long as ex-
pected when she came; still I will allow you the reg-
ular five minutes."
** I don't wish to cry," was my timid response.
** But," she insisted, ^* you must shed a few en-
trance tears to — " Before she finished her sentence,
and without thinking that it would be overreaching a
stranger's privilege, I impulsively threw my arms
around her neck, laid my cheek against hers, and whis-
pered, ** Please don't make me cry."
She drew me closer to her, and her lips touched my
forehead, and she said, "' No, child, you need not."
Then she bade me go with my sisters and become ac-
quainted with my new surroundings.
I was at once made to feel that I was welcome to
every advantage and privilege accorded to Frances
and Georgia. The following Monday, soon after
breakfast, I slipped unobserved from the recreation
room and made my way to the children's dormitory,
where Sister Mary Joseph was busily engaged. I told
her that I had come to help make beds and that I hoped
she would also let me wash or wipe the silverware
used at the noon and evening meals. She would not
[ 299 ]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
accept my services until she became thoroughly satis-
fied that I had not offered them because I felt that I
was expected to do so, but because I earnestly desired
to do whatever I could in return for the educational
and cultural advantages so freely tendered me by the
convent.
By the end of the week I knew the way to parts of the
buildings not usually open to pupils. Up in the clothes
room, I found Sister Mary Frances, and on assuring
her that I only wanted occupation for part of my leis-
ure time, she let me help her to sort and distribute
the clothing of the small girls, on Saturdays. Sister
Rose let me come to her in the kitchen an hour on
Sundays, and other light tasks were assigned me at
my request.
Then did I eat the bread of independence, take a
wholesome interest in my studies, and enjoy the friends
I gained!
My seat in the refectory was between my sister
Georgia and Miss Cayitana Payne, a wealthy Spanish
girl. Near neighbors were the two Estudillo sisters,
who were prouder of their Castilian lineage than of
the princely estate which they had inherited through
it. To them I was in a measure indebted for pleasing
conversation at table. My abundant glossy black hair
and brunette type had first attracted their attention,
and suggested the probability of Spanish blood in my
veins. After they had learned otherwise, those points
of resemblance still awoke in them an unobtrusive in-
terest in my welfare. I became aware of its depth
r 300 1
SCHOOL FRIENDS
one evening in the recreation room while Georgia was
home for a month on sick leave.
I was near Miss Dolores Estudillo, and overheard
her say quietly to her sister, in Spanish, * * Magdalena,
see how care-free the young girl at my side seems to-
night. The far-away look so often in her eyes leads
me to think that our dear Lord has given her many
crosses to bear. Her hands show marks of hard work
and her clothing is inexpensive, yet she appears of
good birth and when I can throw pleasure in her way,
I mean to do if
Whereupon Miss Magdalena turned to me and asked,
** Do you live in Sacramento, Miss Donner? ''
* * No, I live on a ranch twenty miles from the city. ' '
** Do your parents like it there? ''
** I have no parents, they died when I was four
years old.''
She did not ask another question, nor did she know
that I had caught the note of sympathy in her apology
as she turned away. From that time on, she and her
coterie of young friends showed me many delicate
attentions.
While still a new pupil, I not infrequently met Sis-
ter Dominica resting at the foot of the steps after her
walk in the sunshine, and with a gracious, ** Thank
you," she would permit me to assist her up the flight
of stairs leading to her apartment. Bowed by age,
and wasted by disease, she was patiently awaiting the
final summons. I became deeply interested in her
before I learned that this wan bit of humanity was the
[301]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
once winsome daughter of Commandante Argnello, and
the heroine of a pathetic romance of Spanish Cali-
fornia's day.*
The hero was Rezano:ff, an officer of high repute,
sent by Russia in 1806 to inspect its establishment at
the port of Sitka, Alaska. Finding the colony there
in almost destitute condition, he had embarked on the
first voyage of a Russian vessel to the port of San
Francisco, California. There being no commercial
treaty between the two ports, Rezanoff made personal
appeal for help to Governor Arrillago, and later to
Commandante Arguello. After many difficulties and
delays, he succeeded in obtaining the sorely needed
supplies.
Meanwhile, the young officer frequently met in her
father's house the vivacious Dona Concepcion Argu-
ello, and Cupid soon joined their hearts with an im-
mortal chain.
After their betrothal, Rezanoff hastened back to the
destitute colony with supplies. Then he sped on to-
ward St. Petersburg, buoyant with a lover's hope of
obtaining his sovereign's sanction to his marriage, and
perhaps an appointment to Spain, which would enable
him to give his bride a distinguished position in the
country of her proud ancestors. Alas, death overtook
the lover en route across the snows of Siberia.
When Doiia Concepcion learned of her bereavement,
her lamentations were tearless, her sorrow inconsol-
able. She turned from social duties and honors, and,
•The subject of a poem by Bret Harte, and of a novel by Mrg.
Gertrude Atherton.
[302] ,
SISTER DOMINICA
clad in mourning weeds, devoted her time and means
to the poor and the afflicted, among whom she became
known and idolized as * * the beautiful angel in black. ' '
After the death of her parents, she endowed St. Cath-
erine 's Convent with her inheritance, took the vows of
the Dominican nun, and the world saw her no more.
Early in her sorrow, she had prayed that death
might come to her in the season when the snow lay
deep on Siberia's plain; and her prayer was realized,
for it was on a bleak winter morning that we pupils
gathered in silence around the breakfast table, knowing
that Sister Dominica lay upon her bier in the chapel.
The meal was nearly finished when Sister Amelda
entered, and spoke to a couple of the Spanish young
ladies, who bowed and immediately withdrew. As she
came down the line selecting other Spanish friends of
the dead, she stopped beside me long enough to say :
'* You also may go to her. You comforted her in
life, and it is fitting that you should be among those
who keep the last watch, and that your prayers mingle
with theirs."
After her burial, which was consecrated by monastic
rites, I returned to the schoolroom with reverential
memories of Sister Dominica, the once ** beautiful an-
gel in black.''
The school year closed in July, 1858, and I left the
convent with regret. The gentle, self-sacrificing con-
duct of the nuns had destroyed the effect of the prej-
udicial stories I had heard against conventual life.
The tender, ennobling influences which had surrounded
[303]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
me had been more impressive than any I had exper-
ienced during orphanhood, and I dreaded what the
noisy world might again have in store for me.
My sister Frances and William E. Wilder, who had
been betrothed for more than a year, and had kept
their secret until we three returned from the convent,
were married November 24, 1858, and soon thereafter
moved to a pleasant home of their own on a farm ad-
joining Rancho de los Cazadores. The following Jan-
uary, Georgia and I entered public school in Sacra-
mento, where we spent a year and a half in earnest
and arduous study.
[304]
CHAPTEE XXXV
THE CHAMBERLAIN FAMILY, COUSINS OF DANIEL WEBSTER
JEFFERSON GRAMMAR SCHOOL FURTHER CONFLICT-
ING ACCOUNTS OF THE DONNER PARTY PATERNAL AN-
CESTRY S. O. HOUGHTON DEATH TAKES ONE OF THE
SEVEN SURVIVING DONNERS.
OUR school home in Sacramento was with friends
who not only encouraged our desire for knowl-
edge, but made the acquirement pleasant. The head
of the house was Mr. William E. Chamberlain, cashier
of D. 0. Mills 's bank. His wife, Charlotte, was a con-
tributor to The Sacramento Union and leading maga-
zines. Their daughter, Miss Florence, taught in the
public schools; and their son, William E., Jr., was a
high-school student, preparing for Harvard.
In addition to their superior personal attainments,
Mr. and Mrs. Chamberlain, each — for they were
cousins — had the distinction of being first cousins to
Daniel Webster, and this fact also served to bring to
their home guests of note and culture. Georgia and I
were too closely occupied with lessons to venture often
beyond the school-girl precinct, but the intellectual
atmosphere which pervaded the house, and the books
to which we had access, were of inestimable advantage.
Furthermore, the tuition fees required of non-resident
[305]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
pupils entitled them to choice of district, and we for-
tunately had selected Jefferson Grammar School, No.
4, in charge of Mr. Henry A. White, one of the ablest
educators in the city.
Several resident families had also taken advantage
of this privilege, and elected to pay tuition and place
their children under his instruction, thus bringing to-
gether forty-nine energetic boys and girls to whet each
other's ambition and incite class rivalry. Among the
number were the five clever children of the Hon. Tod
Robinson ; three sons of Judge Robert Robinson ; Col-
onel Zabriskie's pretty daughter Annie; Banker
Swift's stately Margaret; General Redding 's two sons;
Dr. Oatman's son Eugene; beloved Nelly Upton,
daughter of the editor of The Sacramento Union;
Daniel Yost; Agnes Toll, the sweet singer; and Eliza
Denison, my chum.
At the end of the term, The Daily Union closed its
account of the public examination of Jefferson Gram-
mar School with the following statement : * * Among
Mr. White's pupils are two young ladies, survivors of
the terrible disaster which befell the emigration of
1846 among the snows of the California mountains."
Even this cursory reference was a matter of regret
to Georgia and me. We had entered school silent in
regard to personal history, and did not wish public at-
tention turned toward ourselves even in an indirect
way, fearing it might lead to a revival of the false and
sensational accounts of the past, and we were not
prepared to correct them, nor willing they should be
[306]
'' WHAT I SAW IN CALIFORNIA ''
spread. Pursued by these fears, we returned to the
ranch, where Elitha and her three black-eyed little
daughters welcomed our home-coming and brightened
our vacation.
Almost coincident, however, with the foregoing cir-
cumstance, Georgia came into possession of ** What I
Saw in California,'^ by Edwin Bryant; and we found
that the book did contain many facts in connection with
our party's disaster, but they were so interwoven with
wild rumors, and the false and sensational statements
quoted from The California Star, that they proved
nothing, yet gave to the untrue that appearance of
truth which is so difficult to correct.
The language employed in description seemed to
us so coarse and brutal that we could not forgive its
injustice to the living, and to the memory of the dead.
We could but feel that had simple facts been stated,
there would have been no harrowing criticism on ac-
count of long unburied corpses found in the lake
cabins. Nor would the sight of mutilated dead have
suggested that the starving survivors had become
** gloating cannibals, preying on the bodies of their
companions.'' Bare facts would have shown that the
living had become too emaciated, too weak, to dig
graves, or to lift or drag the dead up the narrow snow
steps, even had open graves awaited their coming.
Aye, more, would have shown conclusively that mutila-
tion of the bodies of those who had perished was never
from choice, never cannibalistic, but dire necessity's
last resort to ease torturing hunger, to prevent loss of
[307]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
reason, to save life. Loss of reason was more dreaded
than death by the starving protectors of the helpless.
Fair statements would also have shown that the
First Relief reached the camps with insufficient provi-
sion to meet the pressing needs of the unfortunate.
Consequently, it felt the urgency of haste to get as
many refugees as possible to Bear Valley before storms
should gather and delays defeat the purpose of its
coming; that it divided what it could conscientiously
spare among those whom it was obliged to leave, cut
wood for the fires, and endeavored to give encourage-
ment and hope to the desponding, but did not remain
long enough to remove or bury the dead.
Each succeeding party actuated by like anxieties and
precautions, departed with its charges, leaving pitiable
destitution behind; leaving mournful conditions in
camp, — conditions attributable as much to the work of
time and atmospheric agencies as to the deplorable
expedients to which the starving were again and again
reduced.
With trembling hand Georgia turned the pages, from
the sickening details of the Star * to the personal ob-
servations of Edwin Bryant, who in returning to the
United States in the Summer of 1847, crossed the
Sierra Nevadas with General Kearney and escort,
reached the lake cabins June 22, and wrote as follows :
A halt was called for the purpose of interring the re-
mains. Near the principal lake cabin I saw two bodies entire,
except the abdomens had been cut open and entrails ex-
tracted. Their flesh had been either wasted by famine or
•See Appendix for extract from The California Star.
[308]
CAPTAIN AND MRS. DONNER
evaporated by exposure to dry atmosphere, and presented
the appearance of mummies. Strewn around the cabins were
dislocated and broken skulls (in some instances sawed asun-
der with care for the purpose of extracting the brains).
Human skeletons, in short, in every variety of mutilation. A
more appalling spectacle I never witnessed. The remains
were, by order of General Kearney, collected and buried
under supervision of Major Sword. They were interred in
a pit dug in the centre of one of the cabins for a cache.
These melancholy duties to the dead being performed, the
cabins, by order of Major Sword, were fired and, with every-
thing surrounding them connected with the horrible and
melancholy tragedy, consumed.
The body of (Captain) George Donner was found in
his camp about eight miles distant. He had been carefully
laid out by his wife, and a sheet was wrapped around the
corpse. This sad office was probably the last act she per-
formed before visiting the camp of Keseberg. He was buried
by a party of men detailed for that purpose.
I knew the Donners well; their means in money and mer-
chandise which they had brought with them were abundant.
Mr. Donner was a man of about sixty, and was at the time
of leaving the United States a highly respectable citizen of
Illinois, a farmer of independent means. Mrs. Donner was
considerably younger than her husband, an energetic woman
of refined education.
After Georgia left me, I reopened the book, and pon-
dered its revelations, many of them new to us both;
and most of them I marked for later investigation.
Bryant found no human bones at Donner 's camp.
His description of that camp was all-important, prov-
ing that my father's body had not been mutilated, but
lay in his mountain hut three long months, sacred as
when left by my little mother, who had watched over
him to the pitiful end, had closed his eyes, folded his
arms across his breast, and wrapped the burial sheet
[309]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PAETY
about his precious form. There, too, was proof of his
last resting-place, just as had been told me in sight
of Jakie's grave, by the Cherokee woman in Sonoma.
The book had also a copy of Colonel McKinstrey's
letter to the General Relief Committee in San Fran-
cisco, reporting the return of the first rescuers with
refugees. In speaking of the destitution of the
unfortunates in camp, he used the following words
sympathically :
When the party arrived at camp, it was obliged to guard
the little stock of provisions it had carried over the mountains
on its back on foot, for the relief of the poor beings, as they
were in such a starving condition that they would have imme-
diately used up all the little store. They even stole the buck-
skin strings from the party's snowshoes and ate them.
I at once recognized this friendly paragraph as the
one which had had its kindness extracted, and been
abbreviated and twisted into that cruel taunt which I
had heard in my childhood from the lips of ^ * Picayune
Butler."
A careful study of Bryant's work increased my de-
sire to sift that of Thornton, for I had been told that
it not only contained the ** Fallon Diary," but
lengthier extracts from the Star, and I wanted to com-
pare and analyze those details which had been pub-
lished as ** Thrilling Events in California History."
I was unable to procure the book then, but resolved to
do so when opportunity should occur. Naturally, we
who see history made, are solicitous that it be ac-
curately recorded, especially when it vitally concerns
those near to us.
[310]
Photograph bylLynwood Abbott.
THE CROSS AT DONNER LAKE
REVELATION OF LINEAGE
Shortly before school reopened, Georgia and I spent
the day with cousin Frances E. Bond; and in relating
to her various incidents of our life, we spoke of the
embarrassment we had felt in class the day that Mr.
White asked every pupil whose ancestors had fought
in the war of the American Revolution to rise, and
Georgia and I were the only ones who remained seated.
My cousin regarded us a moment and then said;
* * Your Grandfather Eustis, although a widow 's only
son, and not yet sixteen years of age, enlisted when
the Revolutionary War began. He was a sentinel at
Old South Church, and finally, a prisoner aboard the
Count d^Estang.''
She would have stopped there, but we begged for
all she knew about our mother's people, so she con-
tinued, mingling advice with information:
** I would rather that you should not know the dif-
ference between their position in life and your own;
yet, if you must know it, the Eustis and the Wheel-
wright families, from whom you are descended, are
among the most substantial and influential of New
England. Their reputation, however, is not a prop
for you to lean on. They are on the Atlantic coast,
you on the Pacific ; so your future depends upon your
own merit and exertions."
This revelation of lineage, nevertheless, was an
added incentive to strive for higher things ; an inherit-
ance more enduring than our little tin box and black
silk stockings which had belonged to mother.
An almost indescribable joy was mine when, at a
[3111
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY;
gathering of the school children to do honor to the cit-
izens who had inaugurated the system of public in-
struction in Sacramento, I beheld on the platform
Captain John A. Sutter. Memories both painful and
grateful were evoked. It was he who had first sent
food to the starving travellers in the Sierra Nevada
Mountains. It was he who had laid his hand on my
head, when a forlorn little waif at the Fort, tenderly
saying, ** Poor little girl, I wish I could give back
what you have lost ! ' *
To me. Captain Sutter had long been the embodi-
ment of all that was good and grand; and now I
longed to touch his hand and whisper to him gratitude
too sacred for strangers' ears. But the opportunity ,
was withheld until riper years. '\
During our last term at school, Georgia 's health was
so improved that my life was more free of cares and
aglow with fairer promises. Miss Kate Robinson and
I were rivals for school honors, and I studied as I
tuever had studied before, for in the history, physiol-
ogy, and rhetoric classes, she pressed me hard. At the
close of the session the record showed a tie. Neither
of us would accept determination by lot, and we re- j
spectfully asked the Honorable Board of Education
to withhold the medal for that year.
About this time Georgia and I enjoyed a rare sur- ,
prise. On his return from business one day, Mr. ^
Chamberlain announced that a distinguished-appear-
ing young lawyer, S. 0. Houghton by name, had
stopped at the bank that afternoon, to learn our ad-
[312]
MARY DONNER
dress and say that he would call in the evening. We,
knowing that he was the husband of our ** little cou-
sin Mary,'' were anxious to meet him and to hear of
her, whom we had not seen since our journey across
the snow. He came that evening, and told us of the
cozy home in San Jose to which he had taken his young
wife, and of her wish that we visit them the coming
July or August.
Although letters had passed between us, up to this
time we had known little of Mary's girlhood life.
After we parted, in 1847, she was carried through to
San Francisco, then called Yerba Buena, where her
maimed foot was successfully treated by the surgeon
of the United States ship Portsmouth, The cit-
izens of that place purchased and presented to her the
one hundred vara lot Number 38, and the lot adjoining
to her brother George. Mr. Reed was appointed her
guardian and given charge of her apportionment of
funds realized from the sale of goods brought from
her father 's tents. She became a member of the Reed
household in San Jose, and her life must have been
cast in pleasant lines, for she always spoke of Mr. and
Mrs. Reed with filial affection. Moreover, her brother
had been industrious and prosperous, and had con-
tributed generously to her comfort and happiness.
Some weeks later, we took Mr. Houghton's report
home to Elitha. We also showed her a recent letter
from Mary, sparkling with bright anticipations — an-
ticipations never to be realized; for we girls were
hardly settled on the ranch before a letter came from
[313]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
cousin George Donner, dated Sacramento, June 20,
1860. From this we learned that he had on that day-
been summoned to the bedside of his dying sister, and
had come from his home on Putah Creek as fast as
horse could carry him, yet had failed to catch the bay
steamer; and while waiting for the next boat, was
writing to us who could best understand his state of
mind.
Next, a note from San Jose informed us that Mrs.
Mary M. Houghton died June 21, 1860, leaving a name-
sake, a daughter two weeks old, and that her brother
had reached there in time for the funeral.
Of the seven Donners who had survived the disaster,
she was the first called by death, and we deeply
mourned her loss, and grieved because another little
Mary was motherless. The following August, Mr.
Houghton made his first visit to Rancho de los Caz-
adores, and with fatherly pride, showed the likeness of
his little girl, and promised to keep us all in touch with
her by letter.
Mr. Houghton was closely identified with pioneer af-
fairs, and we had many friends in common, especially
among officers and soldiers of the Mexican War. He
had enlisted in Company A of Stevenson's Regiment
of New York Volunteers when barely eighteen years of
age; and sailed with it from his native State on the
twenty-sixth of September, 1846. After an eventful
voyage by way of Cape Horn, the good ship Loo
Choo, which bore him hither, cast anchor in the Bay
of San Francisco, March 26, 1847, about the time the
[314] ^
S. 0. HOUGHTON
Third Belief was bringing us little girls over the
mountains. His company being part of the detach-
ment ordered to Mexico under Colonel Burton, he went
at once into active service, was promoted through in-
termediate grades, and appointed lieutenant, and ad-
jutant on the staff of Colonel Burton, before his twen-
tieth year. Following an honorable discharge at the
close of the war, and a year's exciting experiences in
the gold fields, he settled in San Jose in November,
1849, then the capital city. His knowledge of the
Spanish and French languages fitting him specially
therefor, he turned his attention to legislative and mu-
nicipal matters. As clerk of the Senate Judiciary Com-
mittee of the first session of the California Legislature,
he helped to formulate statutes for enactment, they be-
ing promulgated in Spanish as well as English at that
time. During the period between 1851 and 1860 he
held several official positions, among them that of
president of the City Council ; and on his twenty-fifth
birthday he was elected Mayor of San Jose. Mean-
while he had organized the Eagle Guard, one of the
first independent military companies in the State, and
had also been successively promoted from adjutant to
ordnance officer, with the rank of lieutenant-colonel,
on Major-General Halleck's staff of the State Militia.
Moreover, he had completed the study of law in the
office of Judge W. T. Wallace, been admitted to the
bar, and was now actively engaged in the practice
of his profession.
^ [315]
CHAPTER XXXVI
KEWS OP THE BRUNNEKS LETTERS FROM GRANDPA.
MORE than two years had elapsed since we had
heard directly from Sonoma, when, on the day
before Thanksgiving, 1860, Judge Robert Robinson and
wife, of Sacramento, came to the ranch, and he, in his
pleasing way, announced that he and Mrs. Robinson
had a little story to tell, and a message to deliver,
which would explain why they had arrived unexpect-
edly to spend the national holiday with us. Then seat-
ing himself, he bowed to his wife, and listened in cor-
roborative silence while she related the following
incident :
* * Last Summer when the Judge went on his circuit,
he took the carriage, and I accompanied him on his
travels. One day we stopped for dinner at the stage
station between Sonoma and Santa Rosa. After we
had registered, the proprietor approached us, saying:
* I see you are from Sacramento, and wonder if you
know anything about a couple of young girls by the
name of Downie, who spent some time there in the
public school? ' He seemed disappointed when we re-
plied, * We know Donners, but not Downies.' * Well,'
he continued, * they are strangers to me ; but I am in-
terested in them on account of their former connection
[316]
GRANDMA BRUNNER'S CHILDREN
with an unfortunate little old German woman who fre-
quently comes in on the stage that runs between So-
noma and Santa Rosa. She carries their pictures in her
hand-bag and tells a touching story about her hap-
piness when they lived with her. ' Just then the stage
stopped before the door, and he, looking out, ex-
claimed, * Why, she is among the passengers to-day !
With your permission, I '11 bring her to you.'
** He introduced her as Mrs. Brunner, told her
where we were from, and asked her to show us the
picture of her little girls. After shaking hands with
us, she took the seat offered, and nervously drew from
her reticule a handsomely inlaid case, which she
opened and handed to us. An expression of pride and
tenderness lighted her worn features as Judge and I
at once exclaimed, pointing to one and then the other,
* Why, this is Georgia, and this, Eliza Donner. We
know them well and call them ** our girls " in Sacra-
mento ! ' "
* * She sprang from her seat, and stood with one hand
on Judge's shoulder, and the other on mine, saying
earnestly,
***Yes! You do know my children? Be they well,
and doing well? '
** We had to talk fast in order to answer all her
questions, and a number of listeners drew nearer and
were considerably affected as the poor old soul said,
* Please shake hands with me again for them, and
tell them that you talked with their old Grandma
[317]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
Brunner, that loves them now just the same as when
they was little.'
** Judge and I assured her that we would deliver
her messages in person, as soon as we should get time
to look you up. After dinner we saw her reseated in
the stage, and the black silk reticule containing the
picture was upon her lap as the stage carried her
homeward. ' '
We learned from them further that grandpa had
been convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to San
Quentin Prison for a term of eleven years, and that
grandma had been granted a divorce, and awarded
all the property, but was having great trouble be-
cause it had since become involved and was being
frittered away in litigation.
The information given by the Robinsons increased
our uneasiness for our trouble-worn friends. Since the
tragedy, Georgia and I had often spoken of them to
one another, but to no one else. We knew that few
could understand them as we did, and we refrained
from exposing them to unnecessary criticism. Anx-
ious as we were to comfort them, it was not in our
power to do more than endeavor again to reach them
by letter. The first was despatched to grandma at So-
noma, the day after the departure of our guests ; and
shortly before Christmas I posted one to grandpa. The
former was answered quickly, and so pathetically that
brother Ben offered to take us to Sonoma for a visit
in the early Spring and then to see what could be
done for grandma.
[318]
LETTERS FROM CHRISTIAN BRUNNER
The letter to grandpa did not reach him until Jan-
uary 27, 1861, but his reply left San Quentin by
Wells-Fargo Express on the twenty-eighth of January.
It was a brave letter, closing with the following
mystifying paragraph:
Though I may be confined by prison walls, I wish those
dear to me to be happy and joyous as they can, and I trust
in God to open a way for me out of here, when I can see you
all; which will make us all very happy.
Your affectionate grandfather.
Christian Brunner.
His next communication contained a thrilling sur-
prise which cleared the lurking mystery of his former
letter, and expressed such joyous appreciation of his
regained privileges that I once more quote his own
words, from the letter yellowed by age, which lies
before me.
Sonoma, March 25, 1861
Dear Eliza and Georgia:
Your kind and friendly letter reached me about ten days
ago, and I would have responded to the same right away,
but waited a few days, so that I could give you some good
news, over which you, my dear little girls, will surely rejoice,
as you take so much interest in everything which myself con-
cerns. This news is that I am free again.
Last Tuesday I received, through the influence of friends,
from the Governor of the State of California, a full pardon,
and am again in Sonoma ; and as soon as I have my business
affairs in su^h a way settled that I can leave for a week or
two, I will come up and see you. I have much to tell you
which you will better understand through a personal inter-
view than by writing.
Yours friendly,
C. Brunner
Georgia and I felt this news was almost too good to
be true. We wondered how soon he would come to see
[319]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
us; wondered also, if he and grandma had met, and
were glad that we had not taken the side of either
against the other.
** What next? '' was the pertinent question upper-
most in our minds. We found the answer in The Sac-
ramento Daily Union, early in April, under title of
'* Romance in Real Life.'' After a brief review of
the troubles of the Brunners, and reference to their
divorcement, the article announced their recent re-
marriage.
This gratifying circumstance made our long in-
tended trip to Sonoma unnecessary, especially since
the reunited couple seemed to have retained the sym-
pathy and loyalty of those who had known them in
their days of prosperity and usefulness.
[320]
CHAPTER XXXVII
AKEIVAL. OF THE FIEST PONY EXPRESS.
I HAPPENED to be in Sacramento on the thirteenth
day of April, 1861, and found the city full of ir-
repressible excitement. Men on gayly caparisoned
horses galloping hither and thither, unfurled flags, and
a general air of expectancy on eager faces everywhere
betokened an occasion of rare moment. At times hats
were swung aloft and cheers rang out tumultuously,
only to be hushed by the disappointing murmur, * * Not
yet." But an instant's quiet, and there was a mad
rush of the populace toward Sutter 's Fort ; then again
enthusiasm died, and the crowds ebbed back up J
Street, which, some eight or ten feet higher than any
other street in the city, extended straight as an arrow
from the fort to where the bay steamer lightly hugged
the water front, puffing and impatient to be off to San
Francisco.
So the anxious waiting continued until the day was
well on to its close, when suddenly, vociferous cheers
again rent the air, and this time knew no cessation.
What a din I "With leap and outcry, all faced Sutter's
Fort. That was a spectacle to be remembered.
Pony! The pony, hurrah, hurrah! We see a dark
[321]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE CONNER PARTY
speck in the distance. It grows, as up J Street it
comes. Now, the pony foams before ns; now, swift
as the wind, it is gone. It passes reception committee,
passes escort. It reaches the water front; down the
gang-plank it dashes; the band plays, the whistle
blows, the bell rings, the steamer catches the middle
of the stream and is off, leaving a trail of sparks and
smoke in the twilight, and bearing away the first
** Pony Express," memorable in history.
The baffling problem is solved; the dream of years
is realized; expeditious mail service with the East
is an accomplished fact.
No wonder the people cheered! It was a gigantic
scheme, well conceived, magnificently executed. Think
of it, a stretch of two thousand miles of mountain wild
and desert plain covered in twelve days!
How was it done? Horses were tested and riders
selected by weight and power of endurance. The lat-
ter were boys in years — Bill Cody, the youngest, said
to be only fourteen years of age. The pouch was
light, its contents were limited — but how gladly ^ve
dollars per letter was paid for those precious missives.
Every detail was carefully arranged. The first
mount left St. Joseph, Missouri, April 2 ; relay camps
were established ten miles apart, with a horse ever in
readiness for instantaneous exchange, and a fresh
rider, mounted for the next run, was waiting at each
successive hundred-mile station along the entire route.
Small wonder those pioneers were beside themselves
[322]
PONY EXPRESS
with enthusiastic excitement. The minds of many re-
verted to personal experiences with ox team, or jog-
trot of horses or mule train. Here was the Overland
Stage outdone; even the speed with which Monk
Hanks brought Horace Greeley over the mountains
was at discount.
[323]
CHAPTER XXXVIII
WAB AND BUMOBS OF WAB MABEIAGE SONOMA BE-
VISITED. \
THE Summer of 1861, now well advanced, was rife
with war and rumors of war, and f oreshadowings
of coming events. The old and the young were flushed
with patriotism, each eager to help his country 's cause.
I, remembering grandma 's training, was ready to give
my services to hospital work. Earnest as was this
desire, however, I was dissuaded from taking definite
steps in that direction by those who knew that my
slender physique and girlish appearance would defeat
my purpose before the board of appointing physicians.
Moreover, Mr. Houghton's visits and frequent letters
were changing my earlier plans for the future, and
finally led to my naming the tenth of October, 1861, as
our wedding day.
The ceremony was solemnized by the Eev. J. A.
Benton, of Sacramento. The event is also noteworthy
as being the occasion of the first reunion of the five
Donner sisters since their parting at Sutter's Fort in
June, 1847. Georgia's place was by my side, while
Elitha, Leanna, and Frances each grouped with hus-
band and children in front among friends, who had
come to witness the plighting of vows between my hero
[324]
THE WEDDING JOURNEY
and me. Not until I had donned my travelling suit,
and my little white Swiss wedding dress was being
packed, did I fully realize that the days of inseparable
companionship between Georgia and me were past.
She had long been assured that in my new home a
welcome would be ever ready for her, yet she had
thoughtfully answered, ** No, I am not needed there,
and I feel that I am needed here.'*
Nature's wedding gift to us was a week of glorious
weather, and its first five days we passed in San
Francisco, the bustling, historic city, which I knew so
well, yet had never seen before. Then we boarded
the afternoon boat up the bay, expecting to spend the
evening and following morning in Sonoma with
Grandpa and Grandma Brunner, but the vessel failed
to reach Lakeside Landing in time to connect with the
northbound coach. This mischance necessitated our
staying overnight at the only hostelry in the place.
The cry, ^* All aboard for Sonoma! '* hurried us
from the table next morning, and on reaching the
sidewalk, we learned that the proprietor of the hotel
had bespoken the two best seats in the coach for us.
I was too happy to talk until after we crossed the
Sonoma River, shaded by grand old oak, sycamore,
and laurel trees, and then onward, I was too happy to
remain silent. Before us lay the valley which brought
back memories of my childhood, and I was in a mood
to recall only the brightest, as we sped on to our des-
tination. My companion shared my delight and gave
heed to each scene I called to his attention.
[ 325 ]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
The coach stopped in front of the hotel, and we
alighted upon almost the same spot from which I
had climbed into the carriage to leave Sonoma six
years earlier. But, oh, how changed was everything !
One sweeping glance at the little town revealed the
fact that it had passed its romantic age and lost its
quickening spirit. Closed were the homes of the old
Spanish families; gone were the caballeros and the
bright-eyed senoritas; grass-grown was the highway
to the mines ; the flagstaff alone remained flushed with
its old-time dignity and importance. In subdued
mood, I stepped into the parlor until our names should
be registered. When my husband returned, I said,
** The carpet on this floor, the chairs in this room,
and the pictures on these walls were in place in
grandma's home when I left her — perhaps she is no
longer living."
He left me again to make inquiry concerning those
whom we had come to see, and ascertained that the
Brunners had remarried for the purpose of facilitating
the readjustment of their property rights, and of res-
cuing them from the hands of a scheming manager,
who, with his family, was now living on the estate, and
caring for grandma, but would not permit grandpa to
enter the house.
After sending a messenger to find grandpa, I led
the way to the open door of the old home, then slipped
aside to let my husband seek admission. He rapped.
I heard a side door open, uneven footsteps in the
hall, and him saying quietly, ^ * I think the old lady her-
[ 326 ]
EEUNITED WITH GRANDMA BRUNNER
self is coming, and you had better meet her alone. ' ' I
crossed the threshold, opened my arms, and uttered
the one word, * * Grandma I ' '
She came and rested her head against my bosom
and I folded my arms about her just as she had
enfolded me when I went to her a lonely child yearning
for love. She stirred, then drew back, looked up into
my face and asked, ^* Who be you? "
Touched by her wistful gaze, I exclaimed,
** Grandma, don't you know mel ''
^ * Be you Eliza 1 ' ' she asked, and when I had given
answer, she turned from me in deepest emotion, mur-
muring, * * No, no, it can 't be my little Eliza ! ' ' She
would have tottered away had I not supported her to
a seat in the well-remembered living room and car-
essed her until she looked up through her tears, say-
ing, ** When you smile, you be my little Eliza, but
when you look serious, I don't know you."
She inquired about Georgia, and how I came to be
there without her. Then she bade me call my hus-
band, and thanked him for bringing me to her. For-
getting all the faults and shortcomings that once had
troubled her sorely, she spoke of my busy childhood
and the place I had won in the affections of all who
knew me.
A tender impulse took her from us a moment. She
returned, saying, ^* Now, you must not feel bad when
you see what I have in the hand behind me," and
drawing it forth continued, *^ This white lace veil
which I bought at Sutter's Fort when your mother's
[327]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
things were sold at auction, is to cover my face when
I am dead ; and this picture of us three is to be buried
in the cofiSn with me. I want your husband to see how
you looked when you was little."
She appeared proudly happy; but a flame of em-
barrassment burned my cheeks, as she handed him
the picture wherein I showed to such disadvantage,
with the question, ** Now, doesn't she look lovely? '*
and heard his affirmative reply.
Upon the clock lay a broken toy which had been
mine, and in childlike ecstasy she spoke of it and of
others which she had kept ever near her. When in-
vited to go to luncheon with us, she brought first her
bonnet, next her shawl, for me to hold while she should
don her best apparel for the occasion. Instead of
going directly, she insisted on choosing the longer road
to town, that we might stop at Mrs. Lewis's to see if
she and her daughter Sallie would recognize me. Fre-
quently as we walked along, she hastened in advance,
and then faced about on the road to watch us draw
near. When we reached Mrs. Lewis's door, she
charged me not to smile, and clapped her hands when
both ladies appeared and called me by name.
As we were taking leave, an aged horseman drew
rein at the gate and dismounted, and Mrs. Lewis look-
ing up, exclaimed, ** Why, there is Mr. Brunner! "
It did not take me long to meet him part way down
the walk, nor did I shrink from the caress he gave me,
nor know how much joy and pain that meeting evoked
in him, even after he turned to Mr. Houghton saying
[ 328 ]
WELCOMED BY FRIENDS
fervently, " Do not be angry because I kiss your wife
and put my arms around her, for she is my child come
back to me. I helped raise her, and we learned her
to do all kinds of work, what is useful, and she was
my comfort child in my troubles."
My husband's reply seemed to dispel the recollec-
tions which had made the reunion distressing, and
grandpa led his horse and walked and talked with us
until we reached the turn where he bade us leave him
while he disposed of Antelope preparatory to joining
us at luncheon. Proceeding, we observed an increas-
ing crowd in front of the hotel, massed together as if
in waiting. As we drew nearer, a way was opened for
our passage, and friends and acquaintances stepped
forth, shook hands with me and desired to be intro-
duced to my husband. It was apparent that the mes-
sage which we had sent to grandpa early in the day,
stating the hour we would be at the hotel, had spread
among the people, who were now assembled for the
purpose of meeting us.
Strangers also were among them, for I heard the
whispered answer many times, ** Why, that is little
Eliza Donner, who used to live with the Brunners,
and that is Mr. Houghton, her husband — they can
only stay until two o'clock." The hotel table, usually
more than ample to accommodate its guests, was not
nearly large enough for all who followed to the din-
ing-room, so the smiling host placed another table
across the end for many who had intended to lunch
at home that day.
[329]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
Meantime, our little party was seated, with Mr.
Houghton at the head of the table, I at his right;
grandpa opposite me, and grandma at my right. She
was supremely happy, would fold her hands in her
lap and say, ** If you please,*' and ** Thank you,'' as
I served her ; and I was grateful that she claimed my
attention, for grandpa's lips were mute.
He strove for calm, endeavoring to eat that he
might the better conceal the unbidden tears which
coursed down his cheeks. Not until we reached a
secluded retreat for our farewell talk, did his emotion
express itself in words. Grasping my husband's hand
he said:
** My friend, I must leave you. I broke bread and
tasted salt with you, but I am too heartsick to visit,
or to say good-bye. You bring back my child, a bride,
and I have no home to welcome her in, no wedding
feast, or happiness to offer. I must see and talk
with her in the house of strangers, and it makes me
suffer more than I can bear ! But before I go, I want
you both to make me the promise that you will always
work together, and have but one home, one purse, one
wish in life, so that when you be old, you will not
have to walk separately like we do. You will not have
bitter thoughts and blame one another."
Here grandma interrupted meekly, ** I know I did
wrong, but I did not mean to, and I be sorry."
The pause which followed our given promise af-
forded me the opportunity to clasp their withered
hands together between mine, and gain from grandpa
[330]
THE EETURN
an earnest pledge that he would watch over and be
kind to her, who had married him when he was poor
and in ill health; who had toiled for him through the
long years of his convalescence; who had been the
power behind the throne, his best aid and counsellor,
until time had turned her back in its tide, and made
her a child again.
My husband followed him from the room to bestow
the sympathy and encouragement which a strong man
can give to a desponding one.
When the carriage was announced, which would take
us to Benicia in time to catch the Sacramento steamer
to San Francisco, I tied on grandma's bonnet, pinned
her shawl around her shoulders, and told her that we
would take her home before proceeding on our way,
but she crossed her hands in front and artlessly
whispered :
* * No ; I 'd like to stay in town a while to talk with
friends; but I thank you just the same, and shall not
forget that I am to go to you, after you be settled
in the new home, and his little daughter has learned
to call you * mother. ' "
We left her standing on the hotel piazza, smiling
and important among the friends who had waited to
see us off; but grandpa was nowhere in sight.
The steamer was at the landing when we reached
Benicia so we hurriedly embarked and found seats
upon the deck overlooking the town. As the moon-
light glistened on the white spray which encircled our
departing boat, the sound of the Angelus came softly,
[331]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
sweetly, prayerfully over the water; and I looking up
and beyond, saw the glimmering lights of Saint Cath-
erine's Convent, fitting close to scenes of my childhood,
its silver-toned bells cheering my way to long life, hon-
ors, and many blessings !
1332]
APPENDIX
Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind
exceeding small;
Though with patience He stands waiting, with exact-
ness grinds He all.
FbIEDRICH voir LOGAU.
AETicLES PUBLISHED IN The California Star — statis-
tics OP THE PARTY NOTES OF AGUILLA GLOVER EX-
TRACT FROM THORNTON — RECOLLECTIONS OF JOHN
BAPTISTE TRUBODE.
IN honor to the State that cherishes the landmark;
in justice to history which is entitled to the truth;
in sympathetic fellowship with those who survived the
disaster; and in reverent memory of those who suf-
fered and died in the snowbound camps of the Sierra
Nevadas, I refute the charges of cruelty, selfishness,
and inhumanity which have been ascribed to the
Donner Party.
In this Appendix I set forth some of the unwar-
ranted statements to which frequent reference has been
made in the foregoing pages, that they may be ex-
amined and analyzed, and their utter unreliability dem-
onstrated by comparison with established facts and
figures. These latter data, for the sake of brevity,
are in somewhat statistical form. A few further in-
cidents, which I did not learn of or understand until
long after they occurred, are also related.
The accounts of weather conditions, of scarcity of
food and fuel, also the number of deaths in the camps
before the first of March, 1847, are verified by the care-
[335]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE CONNER PARTY
fully kept ** Diary of Patrick Breen, One of the Don-
ner Party," which has recently been published by the
Academy of Pacific Coast History.
The following article, which originally appeared in
The California Star, April 10, 1847, is here quoted
from *' The Life and Days of General John A. Sutter,"
by T. J. Schoonover:
A more shocking scene cannot be imagined than was wit-
nessed by the party of men who went to the relief of the
unfortunate emigrants in the California Mountains. The
bones of those who had died and been devoured by the mis-
erable ones that still survived were around their tents and
cabins; bodies of men, women, and children with half the
flesh torn from them lay on every side. A woman sat by the
side of the body of her dead husband cutting out his tongue ;
the heart she had already taken out, broiled, and eaten. The
daughter was seen eating the father; and the mother, that
[viz. body] of her children; children, that of father and
mother. The emaciated, wild, and ghastly appearance of the
survivors added to the horror of it. Language can not
describe the awful change that a few weeks of dire suffering
had wrought in the minds of the wretched and pitiable beings.
Those who one month before would have shuddered and sick-
ened at the thought of eating human flesh, or of killing their
companions and relatives to preserve their own lives, now
looked upon the opportunity the acts afforded them of escap-
ing the most dreadful of deaths as providential interference
in their behalf.
Calculations were coldly made, as they sat around their
gloomy camp fires, for the next succeeding meals. Various
expedients were devised to prevent the dreadful crime of
murder, but they finally resolved to kill those who had least
claims to longer existence. Just at this moment some of
them died, which afforded the rest temporary relief. Some
sank into the arms of death cursing God for their miserable
fate, while the last whisperings of others were prayers and
songs of praise to the Almighty. After the first few deaths,
but the one all-absorbing thought of individual self-preserva-
[3361
MEMBERS OF DONNER PARTY
tion prevailed. The fountains of natural affection were dried
up. The chords that once vibrated with connubial, parental,
and filial affection were torn asunder, and each one seemed
resolved, without regard to the fate of others, to escape from
impending calamity.
So changed had the emigrants become that when the
rescuing party arrived with food, some of them cast it aside,
and seemed to prefer the putrid human flesh that still
remained. The day before the party arrived, one emigrant
took the body of a child about four years of age in bed with
him and devoured the whole before morning; and the next
day he ate another about the same age, before noon.
This article, one of the most harrowing to be found
in print, spread through the early mining-camps, and
has since been quoted by historians and authors as an
authentic account of scenes and conduct witnessed by
the first relief corps to Donner Lake. It has since
furnished style and suggestion for other nerve-racking
stories on the subject, causing keener mental suffering
to those vitally concerned than words can tell. Yet
it is easily proved to be nothing more or less than a
perniciously sensational newspaper production, too
utterly false, too cruelly misleading, to merit credence.
Evidently, it was written without malice, but in ignor-
ance, and by some warmly clad, well nourished person,
who did not know the humanizing effect of suffering
and sorrow, and who may not have talked with either
a survivor or a rescuer of the Donner Party.
When the Donner Party ascended the Sierra Nevadas
on the last day of October, 1846, it comprised eighty-
one souls; namely, Charles Berger,* Patrick Breen,
Margaret Breen (his wife), John Breen, Edward
*Died while in the mountain camps.
[ 337 ]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
Breen, Patrick Breen, Jr., Simon Breen, James Breen,
Peter Breen, Isabella Breen, Jacob Donner,* Eliza-
beth Donner* (his wife), William Hook,t Solomon
Hook, George Donner, Jr., Mary Donner, Isaac Don-
ner,! Lewis Donner,* Samuel Donner,* George Don-
ner, Sr.,* Tamsen Donner * (his wife), Elitha Donner,
Leanna C. Donner, Frances Eustis Donner, Georgia
Anna Donner, Eliza Poor Donner, Patrick Doland,t
John Denton,t Milton Elliot,* William Eddy, Eleanor
Eddy (his wife), Margaret Eddy,* and James Eddy,*
Jay Fosdickf and Sarah Fosdick (his wife), William
Foster, Sarah Foster (his wife) and George Foster,*
Franklin W. Graves, Sr.,t Elisabeth Graves f (his
Avife), Mary Graves, William C. Graves, Eleanor
Graves, Lovina Graves, Nancy Graves, Jonathan B.
Graves, Franklin W. Graves, Jr.,t and Elizabeth
Graves, Jr., Noah James, Lewis S. Keseberg, Philip-
pine Keseberg (his wife), Ada Keseberg f and Lewis S.
Keseberg, Jr.,* Mrs. Lovina Murphy * (a widow), John
Landrum Murphy,* Lemuel Murphy,t Mary Murphy,
William G. Murphy and Simon Murphy, Mrs. Aman-
da McCutchen and Harriet McCutchen,* Mrs. Harriet
Pike (widow), Nioma Pike and Catherine Pike,* Mrs.
Margaret Reed, Virginia Reed, Martha J. Reed, James
F. Reed, Jr., and Thomas K. Reed, Joseph Rhinehart,*
Charles Stanton,t John Baptiste Trubode, August
Spitzer,* James Smith,* Samuel Shoemaker, Bailis
Williams * and Eliza Williams (his sister), Mrs. Wool-
*I>ied while in the mountain camps.
tDied en route over the mountains to the settlements in California.
[338]
STATISTICS OF DONNER PARTY
finger (widow), Antonio (a Mexican) and Lewis and
Salvador (the two Indians sent with Stanton by Gen-
eral Sutter).
Stated in brief, the result of the disaster to the party
in the mountains was as follows :
The total number of deaths was thirty-six, as fol-
lows : fourteen in the mountains while en route to the
settlement; fourteen at camp near Donner Lake; and
eight at Conner's Camp.
The total number who reached the settlement was
forty-five ; of whom five were men, eight were women,
and thirty-two were children.
The family of James F. Reed and that of Patrick
Breen survived in unbroken numbers. The only other
family in which all the children reached the settlement
was that of Captain George Donner.
Fourteen of the eighty-one souls constituting the
Donner Party were boys and girls between the ages
of nineteen and twelve years ; twenty-six ranged from
twelve years to a year and a half; and seven were
nursing babes. There were only thirty-four adults, —
twenty-two men and twelve women.
Of the first-named group, eleven survived the dis-
aster. One youth died en route with the Forlorn
Hope ; one at the Lake Camp ; and one at Bear Valley
in charge of the First Relief.
Twenty of the second-named group also reached the
settlements. One died en route with the First Relief ;
two at Donner 's Camp (in March, 1847); two at
[339]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
Starved Camp, in charge of the Second Relief; and
one at the Lake Camp (in March).
Two of the seven babes lived, and five perished at
the Lake Camp. They hungered and slowly perished
after famine had dried the natural flow, and infant
lips had drawn blood from maternal breasts.
The first nursling's life to ebb was that of Lewis
Keseberg, Jr., on January 24, 1847.* His grief -
stricken mother could not be comforted. She hugged
his wasted form to her heart and carried it far from
camp, where she dug a grave and buried it in the snow.
Harriet McCutchen, whose mother had struggled
on with the Forlorn Hope in search of succor, breathed
her last on the second of February, while lying upon
the lap of Mrs. Graves; and the snow being deep and
hard frozen, Mrs. Graves bade her son William make
the necessary excavation near the wall within their
cabin, and they buried the body there, where the
mother should find it upon her return. Catherine Pike
died in the Murphy cabin a few hours before the ar-
rival of food from the settlement and was buried on
the morning of February 22.t
Those were the only babes that perished before re-
lief came. Does not the fact that so many young chil-
dren survived the disaster refute the charges of paren-
tal selfishness and inhumanity, and emphasize the im-
measurable self-sacrifice, love, and care that kept so
*Eeport brought by John Baptiste to Donner's Camp, after one of
his trips to the lake.
t Incident related by William C. Graves, after he reached the settle-
ment.
[3401
r -'if*" T?:^^' >^>
l%iV> W^-^r -►,;.>.
I'liotogiapli by Lynvvood Abbott.
ALDER CREEK
THE FIRST RELIEF PARTY
many of the little ones alive through that long, bitter
siege of starvation!
Mrs. Elinor Eddy, who passed away in the Murphy
cabin on the seventh of February, was the only wife
and mother called by death, in either camp, before the
arrival of the First Relief. Both Patrick Breen's
diary and William G. Murphy, then a lad of eleven
years, assert that Mrs. Eddy and little Margaret, her
only daughter, were buried in the snow near the Mur-
phy cabin on the ninth of February. Furthermore, the
Breen Diary and the death-list of the Donner Party
show that not a husband or father died at the Lake
Camp during the entire period of the party ^s impris-
onment in the mountains.*
How, then, could that First Relief, or either of the
other relief parties see — how could they even have
imagined that they saw — * * wife sitting at the side of
her husband who had just died, mutilating his body,''
or ** the daughter eating her father," or ** mother
that of her children, " or * ^ children that of father and
mother "? The same questions might be asked re-
garding the other revolting scenes pictured by the
Star.
The seven men who first braved the dangers of the
icy trail in the work of rescue came over a trackless,
rugged waste of snow, varying from ten to forty
feet in depth,t and approached the camp-site near the
*Franklin W. Graves and Jay Fosdick perished in December, 1846,
while en route to the settlement with the Forlorn Hope.
tOne of the stumps near the Breen-Graves cabin, cut for fuel while
the snow was deepest, was found by actual measurement to be twenty-
two feet in height. It is still standing.
[341]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
lake at sunset. They halloed, and up the snow steps
came those able to drag themselves to the surface.
When they descended into those cabins, they found no
cheering lights. Through the smoky atmosphere, they
saw smouldering fires, and faced conditions so ap-
palling that words forsook them ; their very souls were
racked with agonizing sympathy. There were the
famine-stricken and the perishing, almost as wasted
and helpless as those whose sufferings had ceased.
Too weak to show rejoicing, they could only beg with
quivering lips and trembling hands, ** Oh, give us
something to eat! Give us something to drink! We
are starving! ''
True, their hands were grimy, their clothing tat-
tered, and the floors were bestrewn with hair from
hides and bits of broken bullock bones ; but of connu-
bial, parental, or filial inhumanity, there were no signs.
With what deep emotion those seven heroic men con-
templated the conditions in camp may be gathered
from Mr. Aguilla Glover's own notes, published in
Thornton's work:
Feb. 19, 1847. The unhappy survivors were, in short, in
a condition most deplorable, and beyond power of language
to describe, or imagination to conceive.
The emigrants had not yet commenced eating the dead.
Many of the sufferers had been living on bullock hides for
weeks and even that sort of food was so nearly exhausted
that they were about to dig up from the snow the bodies of
their companions for the purpose of prolonging their
wretched lives.
Thornton's work contains the following statement
by a member of one of the relief corps:
[342]
JOHN BAPTISTE TRUBODE'S STORY
On the morning of February 20,* Racine Tucker, John
Rhodes, and Riley Moutrey went to the camp of George
Donner eight miles distant, taking a little jerked beef. These
sufferers (eighteen) had but one hide remaining. They had
determined that upon consuming this they would dig from
the snow the bodies of those who had died from starvation.
Mr. Donner was helpless, Mrs. Donner was weak but in good
health, and might have come to the settlement with this
party; yet she solemnly but calmly determined to remain
with her husband and perform for him the last sad offices of
affection and humanity. And this she did in full view that
she must necessarily perish by remaining behind. The three
men returned the same day with seven refugees! from Donner
Camp.
John Baptiste Trubode has distinct recollections of
the arrival and departure of Tucker *s party, and of
the amount of food left by it.
He said to me in that connection :
* * To each of us who had to stay in camp, one of the
First Relief Party measured a teacupful of flour, two
small biscuits, and thin pieces of jerked beef, each
piece as long as his first finger, and as many pieces as
he could encircle with that first finger and thumb
brought together, end to end. This was all that could
be spared, and was to last until the next party could
reach us.
'* Our outlook was dreary and often hopeless. I
don't know what I would have done sometimes with-
out the comforting talks and prayers of those two
women, your mother and Aunt Elizabeth. Then even-
*Thorntoii's dates are one day later than those in the Breen Diary.
Breen must have lost a day en route.
fThe First Eelief Corps took six, instead of seven, refugees from
Donner Camp, and set out from the lake cabins with twenty-three, in-
stead of twenty-four, refugees.
[343]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
ings after you children went to sleep, Mrs. George
Donner would read to me from the book* she wrote
in every day. If that book had been saved, every one
would know the truth of what went on in camp, and not
spread these false tales.
** I dug in the snow for the dead cattle, but found
none, and we had to go back to our saltless old bullock
hide, days before the Second Relief got to us, on the
first of March. ' '
*The journal, herbarium, manuscript, and drawings of Mrs. George
Donner were not among the goods delivered at the Fort by the Fallon
Party, and no trace of them was ever found.
T344]
II
THE KEED-GREENWOOD PARTY, OR SECOND RELIEF REM-
INISCENCES OF WILLIAM G. MURPHY CONCERNING
NICHOLAS CLARK AND JOHN BAPTISTE.
ON the third of March, 1847, the Reed-Greenwood,
or Second Relief Corps (excepting Nicholas
Clark) left camp with the following refugees : Patrick
Breen, Margaret Breen (his wife), Patrick Breen, Jr.,
Simon Breen, James Breen, Peter Breen, Isabella
Breen, Solomon Hook, Mary Donner, Isaac Donner,
Mrs. Elizabeth Graves, Nancy Graves, Jonathan B.
Graves, Franklin W. Graves, Jr., Elizabeth Graves, Jr.,
Martha J. Reed, and Thomas K. Reed. The whole
party, as has been already told, were forced into camp
about ten miles below the summit on the west side of
the Sierras, by one of the fiercest snow-storms of the
season.
All credit is due Mr. and Mrs. Breen for keeping
the nine helpless waifs left with them at Starved
Camp alive until food was brought them by members
of the Third Relief Party. Mr. Breen 's much prized
diary does not cover the experiences of that little band
in their struggle across the mountains, but concludes
two days before they started. After he and his family
succeeded in reaching the Sacramento Valley, he gave
[345]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
his diary (kept at Donner Lake) to Colonel George
McKinstiy for the purpose of assisting him in making
out his report to Captain Hall, U. S. N., Sloop of
War Warren, Commander Northern District of Cal-
ifornia.
James F. Reed of the Reed-Greenwood Party, the
second to reach the emigrants, has heen adversely
criticised from time to time, because he and six of his
men returned to Sutter's Fort in March with no more
than his own two children and Solomon Hook, a lad
of twelve years, who had said that he could and would
walk, and did.
Careful investigation, however, proves the criticism
hasty and unfair. True, Mr. Reed went over the moun-
tains with the largest and best equipped party sent
out, ten well furnished, able-bodied men. But return-
ing he left one man at camp to assist the needy
emigrants.
The seventeen refugees whom he and nine compan-
ions brought over the summit comprised three weak,
wasted adults, and fourteen emaciated yoimg children.
The prospect of getting them all to the settlement,
even under favorable circumstances, had seemed
doubtful at the beginning of the journey. Alas, one
of the heaviest snow-storms of the season overtook
them on the bleak mountain-side ten miles from the
tops of the Sierra Nevadas. It continued many days.
Food gave out, death took toll. The combined efforts
of the men could not do more than provide fuel and
keep the fires. All became exhausted. Rescuers and
[346]
SKETCH OF MRS. MURPHY
refugees might have perished there together had the
nine men not followed what seemed their only alterna-
tive. Who would not have done what Reed did 1 With
almost superhuman effort, he saved his two children.
No one felt keener regret than he over the fact that he
had been obliged to abandon at Starved Camp the
eleven refugees he had heroically endeavored to save.
In those days of affliction, it were well nigh impossi-
ble to say who was most afflicted; still, it would seem
that no greater destitution and sorrow could have been
meted to any one than fell to the lot of Mrs. Murphy at
the lake camp. The following incidents were related
by her son, William G. Murphy, in an address to a
concourse of people assembled on the shore of Donner
Lake in February, 1896:
I was a little more than eleven years of age when we all
reached these mountains, and that one-roomed shanty was
built, where so many of us lived, ate, and slept. No ! — Where
so many of us slept, starved, and died! It was constructed
for my mother and seven children (two being married) and
her three grandchildren, and William Foster, husband of
her daughter Sarah.
Early in December when the Forlorn Hope was planned,
we were almost out of provisions; and my mother took the
babes from the arms of Sarah and Harriet (Mrs. Pike) and
told them that she would care for their little ones, and they
being young might with William (Foster) and their brother
Lemuel reach the settlement and return with food. And the
four became members of that hapless band of fifteen.
Mr. Eddy being its leader, his wife and her two chil-
dren came to live with us during his absence. When my
eldest brother, on whom my mother depended, was very weak
and almost at death's door, my mother went to the Breens
and begged a little meat, just a few mouthfuls — I remember
well that little piece of meat ! My mother gave half of it to
[3471
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
my dying brother; he ate it, fell asleep with a hollow death
gurgle. When it ceased I went to him — he was dead —
starved to death in our presence. Although starving herself,
my mother said that if she had known that Landrum was
going to die she would have given him the balance of the
meat. Little Margaret Eddy lingered until February 4, and
her mother until the seventh. Their bodies lay two days and
nights longer in the room with us before we could find assist-
ance able to bury them in the snow. Some days earlier Mil-
ton Elliot, weak and wandering around, had taken up his
abode with us. We shared with him the remnant of our beef
hides. We had had a lot of that glue-making material. But
mark, it would not sustain life. Elliot soon starved to death,
and neighbors removed and interred the body in the snow
beside others.
Catherine Pike, my absent sister's baby, died on the
eighteenth of February, only a few hours before the arrival
of the First Relief. Thus the inmates of our shanty had been
reduced to my mother, my sister Mary, brother Simon, Nioma
Pike, Georgie Foster, myself, and little Jimmy Eddy.
When the rescuers decided they would carry out Nioma
Pike, and that my sister Mary and I should follow, stepping
in the tracks made by those who had snowshoes, strength
seemed to come, so that I was able to cut and carry to my
mother's shanty what appeared to me a huge pile of wood.
It was green, but it was all I could get.
We left mother there with three helpless little ones to
feed on almost nothing, yet in the hope that she might keep
them alive until the arrival of the next relief.
Many of the survivors remember that after having
again eaten food seasoned with salt, the boiled, salt-
less hides produced nausea and could not be retained
by adult or child.
I say with deep reverence that flesh of the dead was
used to sustain the living in more than one cabin near
the lake. But it was not used until after the pittance
of food left by the First Relief had long been con-
[348]
SECOND AND THIRD RELIEF PARTIES
sxuned; not until after the wolves had dug the snow
from the graves. Perhaps God sent the wolves to show
Mrs. Murphy and also Mrs. Graves where to get sus-
tenance for their dependent little ones.
Both were widows ; the one had three, and the other
four helpless children to save. Was it culpable,
or cannibalistic to seek and use the only life-saving
means left them ? Were the acts and purposes of their
unsteady hands and aching hearts less tender, less hu-
mane than those of the lauded surgeons of to-day, who
infuse human blood from living bodies into the arteries
of those whom naught else can save, or who strip skin
from bodies that feel pain, to cover wounds which
would otherwise prove fatal ?
John Baptiste Trubode and Nicholas Clark, of the
Second Relief, were the last men who saw my father
alive. In August, 1883, the latter came to my home in
San Jose.
This was our second meeting since that memor-
able morning of March 2, 1847, when he went in pur-
suit of the wounded mother bear, and was left behind
by the relief party. We spoke long and earnestly of
our experience in the mountains, and he wished me to
deny the statement frequently made that, * * Clark car-
ried a pack of plunder and a heavy shotgun from
Donner 's Camp and left a child there to die. ' ' This I
can do positively, for when the Third Relief Party
took Simon Murphy and us ** three little Donner
girls " from the mountain camp, not a living being
remained, except Mrs. Murphy and Keseberg at the
[349]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PARTY
lake camp, and my father and mother at Donner's
Camp. All were helpless except my mother.
The Spring following my interview with Nicholas
Clark, John Baptiste came to San Jose, and Mr. Mc-
Cutchen brought him to talk with me. John, always a
picturesque character, had become a hop picker in hop
season, and a fisherman the rest of the year. He could
not restrain the tears which coursed down his bronzed
cheeks as he spoke of the destitution and suffering in
the snow-bound camps; of the young unmarried men
who had been so light-hearted on the plains and brave
when first they faced the snows. His voice trembled
as he told how often they had tried to break through
the great barriers, and failed ; hunted, and found noth-
ing; fished, and caught nothing; and when rations
dwindled to strips of beef hide, their strength waned,
and death found them ready victims. He declared.
The hair and bones found around the Donner fires were
those of cattle. No human flesh was used by either Donner
family. This I know, for I was there all winter and helped
get all the wood and food we had, after starvation threatened
us. I was about sixteen years old at the time. Our four men
died early in December and were buried in excavations in
the side of the mountain. Their bodies were never disturbed.
As the snows deepened to ten and twelve feet, we lost track
of their location.
When saying good-bye, he looked at me wistfully
and exclaimed: ** Oh, little Eliza, sister mine, how I
suffered and worked to help keep you alive. Do you
think there was ever colder, stronger winds than them
that whistled and howled around our camp in the
Sierras! ''
[350]
MISFORTUNES IN THE MOUNTAINS
He returned the next day, and in his quaint, earnest
way expressed keenest regret that he and Clark had
not remained longer in camp with my father and
mother.
** I did not feel it so much at first; but after I got
married and had children of my own, I often fished
and cried, as I thought of what I done, for if we two
men had stayed, perhaps we might have saved that
little woman.''
His careworn features lightened as I bade him grieve
no more, for I realized that he was but a boy, over-
burdened with a man's responsibilities, and had done
his best, and that nobly. Then I added what I have
always believed, that no one was to blame for the mis-
fortunes which overtook us in the mountains. The
dangers and difficulties encountered by reason of tak-
ing the Hastings Cut-off had all been surmounted —
two weeks more and we should have reached our des-
tination in safety. Then came the snow! Who could
foresee that it would come earlier, fall deeper, and
linger longer, that season than for thirty years before ?
Everything that a party could do to save itself was
done by the Donner Party; and certainly everything
that a generous, sympathizing people could do to save
the snow-bound was done by the people of California.
[3511
in
THE BEPORT OF THOMAS FAI.LON DEDUCTIONS STATE-
MENT OP EDWIN BRYANT PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES.
THE following is the report of Thomas Fallon,
leader of the fourth party to the camps near
Donner Lake:
Left Johnson's on the evening of April 13, and arrived at
the lower end of Bear River Valley on the fifteenth. Hung
our saddles upon trees, and sent the horses back, to be
returned again in ten days to bring us in again. Started on
foot, with provisions for ten days and travelled to head of
the valley, and camped for the night ; snow from two to three
feet deep. Started early in the morning of April 15 and
travelled twenty-three miles. Snow ten feet deep.
April 17. Reached the cabins between twelve and one
o'clock. Expected to find some of the sufferers alive. Mrs.
Donner and Keseberg* in particular. Entered the cabins,
and a horrible scene presented itself. Human bodies terribly
mutilated, legs, arms, and skulls scattered in every direction.
One body supposed to be that of Mrs. Eddy lay near the
entrance, the limbs severed off, and a frightful gash in the
skull. The flesh was nearly consumed from the bones, and a
painful stillness pervaded the place. The supposition was,
that all were dead, when a sudden shout revived our hopes,
and we flew in the direction of the sound. Three Indians
who had been hitherto concealed, started from the ground,
fled at our approach, leaving behind their bows and arrows.
We delayed two hours in searching the cabins, during which
we were obliged to witness sights from which we would have
fain turned away, and which are too dreadful to put on
♦Should be spelled Keseberg.
[ 352 ]
REPORT OF THOMAS FALLON
record. We next started for Donner's camp, eight miles dis-
tant over the mountains. After travelling about halfway, we
came upon a track in the snow which excited our suspicion,
and we determined to pursue. It brought us to the camp
of Jacob Donner, where it had evidently left that morn-
ing. There we found property of every description, books,
calicoes, tea, coffee, shoes, percussion caps, household and
kitchen furniture, scattered in every direction, and mostly in
water. At the mouth of the tent stood a large iron kettle,
filled with human flesh cut up. It was from the body of
George Donner. The head had been split open, and the brain
extracted therefrom; and to the appearance he had not been
long dead — not over three or four days, at most. Near-by
the kettle stood a chair, and thereupon three legs of a bullock
that had been shot down in the early part of winter, and
snowed upon before it could be dressed. The meat was found
sound and good, and with the exception of a small piece out
of the shoulder, whole, untouched. "We gathered up some
property, and camped for the night.
April 18. Commenced gathering the most valuable prop-
erty, suitable for our packs; the greater portion had to be
dried. We then made them up, and camped for the
night.
April 19. This morning Foster, Rhodes, and J. Foster
started, with small packs, for the first cabins, intending from
thence to follow the trail of the person that had left the
morning previous. The other three remained behind to cache
and secure the goods necessarily left there. Knowing the
Donners had a considerable sum of money we searched dili-
gently but were unsuccessful. The party for the cabins were
unable to keep the trail of the mysterious personage, owing
to the rapid melting of the snow ; they therefore went directly
to the cabins and upon entering discovered Keseberg lying
down amid the human bones, and beside him a large pan full
of fresh liver and lights. They asked him what had become
of his companions ; whether they were alive, and what had be-
come of Mrs. Donner. He answered them by stating that they
were all dead. Mrs. Donner, he said, had, in attempting to
cross from one cabin to another, missed the trail and slept
out one night ; that she came to his camp the next night very
much fatigued. He made her a cup of coffee, placed her in
[ 353 ]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
bed, and rolled her well in the blankets; but next morning
she was dead. He ate her body and found her flesh the best
he had ever tasted. He further stated that he obtained from
her body at least four pounds of fat. No trace of her body
was found, nor of the body of Mrs. Murphy either. When
the last company left the camp, three weeks previous, Mrs.
Donner was in perfect health, though unwilling to leave her
husband there, and offered $500.00 to any person or persons
who would come out and bring them in, saying this in the
presence of Keseberg, and that she had plenty of tea and
coffee. We suspected that it was she who had taken the piece
from the shoulder of beef on the chair before mentioned. In
the cabin with Keseberg were found two kettles of human
blood, in all, supposed to be over two gallons. Rhodes asked
him where he had got the blood. He answered, ** There is
blood in dead bodies.'* They asked him numerous questions,
but he appeared embarrassed, and equivocated a great deal;
and in reply to their asking him where Mrs. Donner 's money
was, he evinced confusion, and answered that he knew
nothing about it, that she must have cached it before she
died. *' I haven't it," said he, '' nor money nor property of
any person, living or dead. ' ' They then examined his bundle,
and found silks and jewellery, which had been taken from the
camp of Donners, amounting in value to about $200.00. On
his person they discovered a brace of pistols recognized to be
those of George Donner; and while taking them from him,
discovered something concealed in his waistcoat, which on
being opened was found to be $225.00 in gold.
Before leaving the settlement, the wife of Keseberg had
told us that we would find but little money about him; the
men therefore said to him that they knew he was lying to
them, and that he was well aware of the place of concealment
of the Donners' money. He declared before Heaven he
knew nothing concerning it, and that he had not the prop-
erty of any one in his possession. They told him that to lie
to them would effect nothing; that there were others back
at the cabins who unless informed of the spot where the
treasure was hidden would not hesitate to hang him upon the
first tree. Their threats were of no avail. He still affirmed
his ignorance and innocence. Rhodes took him aside and
talked to him kindly, telling him that if he would give the
[354]
REPORT OF THOMAS FALLON
information desired, he should receive from their hands the
best of treatment, and be in every way assisted; otherwise,
the party back at Donner's Camp would, upon arrival, and
his refusal to discover to them the place where he had depos-
ited this money, immediately put him to death. It was all
to no purpose, however, and they prepared to return to us,
leaving him in charge of the packs, and assuring him of their
determination to visit him in the morning; and that he must
make up his mind during the night. They started back and
joined us at Donner's Camp.
April 20. We all started for Bear River Valley, with
packs of one hundred pounds each; our provisions being
nearly consumed, we were obliged to make haste away. Came
within a few hundred yards of the cabins and halted to pre-
pare breakfast, after which we proceeded to the cabin. I
now asked Keseberg if he was willing to disclose to me where
he had concealed that money. He turned somewhat pale and
again protested his innocence. I said to him, ' ' Keseberg, you
know well where Donner's money is, and damn you, you shall
tell me ! I am not going to multiply words with you or say
but little about it. Bring me that rope ! " He then arose from
his hot soup and human flesh, and begged me not to harm
him; he had not the money nor goods; the silk clothing and
money which were found upon him the previous day and
which he then declared belonged to his wife, he now said
were the property of others in California. I told him I did
not wish to hear more from him, unless he at once informed
us where he had concealed the money of those orphan chil-
dren ; then producing the rope I approached him. He became
frightened, but I bent the rope around his neck and as I
tightened the cord, and choked him, he cried out that he
would confess all upon release. I then permitted him to
arise. He still seemed inclined to be obstinate and made much
delay in talking. Finally, but without evident reluctance, he
led the way back to Donner's Camp, about ten miles distant,
accompanied by Rhodes and Tucker. While they were absent
we moved all our packs over the lower end of the lake, and
made all ready for a start when they should return. Mr.
Foster went down to the cabin of Mrs. Murphy, his mother-
in-law, to see if any property remained there worth collect-
ing and securing; he found the body of young Murphy who
f355]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
had been dead about three months with his breast and skull
cut open, and the brains, liver, and lights taken out ; and this
accounted for the contents of the pan which stood beside
Keseberg when he was found. It appeared that he had left
at the other camp the dead bullock and horse, and on visiting
this camp and finding the body thawed out, took therefrom
the brains, liver, and lights.
Tucker and Rhodes came back the next morning, bring-
ing $273.00 that had been cached by Keseberg, who after dis-
closing to them the spot, returned to the cabin. The money
had been hidden directly underneath the projecting limb
of a large tree, the end of which seemed to point precisely to
the treasure buried in the earth. On their return and passing
the cabin, they saw the unfortunate man within devouring
the remaining brains and liver left from his morning repast.
They hurried him away, but before leaving, he gathered
together the bones and heaped them all in a box he used for
the purpose, blessed them and the cabin and said, ** I hope
God will forgive me what I have done. I could not help it ;
and I hope I may get to heaven yet! *' We asked Keseberg
why he did not use the meat of the bullock and horse instead
of human flesh. He replied he had not seen them. We then
told him we knew better, and asked him why the meat on the
chair had not been consumed. He said, ** Oh, it is too dry
eating; the liver and lights were a great deal better, and
brains made good soup ! ' ' We then moved on and camped by
the lake for the night.
April 21. Started for Bear River Valley this morning.
Found the snow from six to eight feet deep ; camped at Yuma
River for the night. On the twenty-second travelled down
Yuma about eighteen miles, and camped at the head of Bear
River Valley. On the twenty-fifth moved down to lower end
of the valley, met our horses, and came in.
The account by Fallon regarding the fate of the last
of the Donners in their mountain camp was the same
as that which Elitha and Leanna had heard and had
endeavored to keep from us little ones at Sutter's
Fort.
[ 356 ]
VIEW IN THE GROUNDS OF THE HOUGHTON HOME
IN SAN JOSE
THE FALLON PAETY
It is self-evident, however, that the author of those
statements did not contemplate that reliable parties *
would see the Donner camps before prowling beasts,
or time and elements, had destroyed all proof of his
own and his party's wanton falsity.
It is also plain that the Fallon Party did not set out
expecting to find any one alive in the mountains, other-
wise would it not have taken more provisions than just
enough to sustain its own men ten days? Would it
not have ordered more horses to meet it at the lower
end of Bear Valley for the return trip ? Had it planned
to find and succor survivors would it have taken it for
granted that all had perished, simply because there
was no one in the lake cabins, and would it have de-
layed two precious hours in searching the lake camp
for valuables before proceeding to Donner 's Camp?
Had the desire to rescue been uppermost in mind,
would not the sight of human foot-tracks on the snow
half way between the two camps have excited hope,
instead of ** suspicion, *' and prompted some of the
party to pursue the lone wanderer with kindly intent?
Does not each succeeding day's entry in that journal
disclose the party's forgetfulness of its declared mis-
sion to the mountains? Can any palliating excuse be
urged why those men did not share with Keseberg the
food they had brought, instead of permitting him to
continue that which famine had forced upon him, and
which later they so righteously condemned?
Is there a single strain of humanity, pathos, or rev-
•General Kearney and escort, accompanied by Edwin Bryant.
[357]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PARTY
erence in that diary, save that reflected from Kese-
berg's last act before being hurried away from that
desolate cabin? Or could there be a falser, cruder, or
more heartless account brought to bereaved children
than Fallon's purported description of the father's
body found in Donner's Camp?
Here is the statement of Edwin Bryant, who with
General Kearney and escort, en route to the United
States, halted at the deserted cabins on June 22, 1847,
and wrote:
The body of (Captain) George Donner was found in his
own camp about eight miles distant. He had been care-
fully laid out by his wife, and a sheet was wrapped around
the corpse. This sad office was probably the last act she per-
formed before visiting the camp of Keseberg.*
After considering what had been published by The
California Star, by Bryant, Thornton, Mrs. Farnham,
and others, I could not but realize Keseberg 's pecu-
liarly helpless situation. "Without a chance to speak
in his own defence, he had been charged, tried, and ad-
judged guilty by his accusers; and an excited people
had accepted the verdict without question. Later, at
Captain Sutter's suggestion, Keseberg brought action
for slander against Captain Fallon and party. The
case was tried before Alcalde Sinclair,! and the jury
gave Keseberg a verdict of one dollar damages. This
verdict, however, was not given wide circulation, and
prejudice remained unchecked.
•McGlashan's ''History of the Donner Party" (1879).
t The old Alcalde records are not in existence, but some of the sur-
vivors of the party remember the circumstance ; and Mrs. Samuel Kybert,
now of Clarkville, Eldorado County, was a witness at the trial. C. F.
McGlashan, 1879.
[358]
QUESTIONS CONCERNING KESEBERG
There were other peculiar circumstances connected
with this much accused man which were worthy of con-
sideration, notably the following: If, as reported,
Keseberg was in condition to walk to the settlement,
why did the First Relief permit him to remain in camp
consuming rations that might have saved others?
Messrs. Reed and McCutchen of the Second Relief
knew the man on the plains, and had they regarded
him as able to travel, or a menace to life in camp,
would they have left him there to prey on women and
little children, like a wolf in the fold?
Messrs. Eddy and Foster of the Third Relief had
travelled with him on the plains, starved with him in
camp, and had had opportunities of talking with him
upon their return to the cabins too late to rescue
Jimmy Eddy and Georgia Foster. Had they believed
that he had murdered the children, would those two
fathers and the rest of their party have taken Simon
Murphy and the three little Donner girls and left Kese-
berg a/w6 in camp with lone, sick, and helpless Mrs.
Murphy — Mrs. Murphy who was grandmother of
Georgia Foster, and had sole charge of Jimmy Eddy?
[359]
IV
LEWIS KESEBERG
IN March, 1879, while collecting material for his
** History of the Donner Party,'' Mr. C. F.
McGlashan, of Truckee, California, visited survivors
at San Jose, and coming to me, said:
'* Mrs. Houghton, I am sorry that I must look to
you and your sisters for answers to the most delicate
and trying questions relating to this history. I refer
to the death of your mother at the hand of Keseberg. ' '
He was so surprised and shocked as I replied, ** I
do not believe that Keseberg was responsible for my
mother's death," that he interrupted me, lost for a
moment the manner of the impartial historian, and
with the directness of a cross-questioning attorney
asked :
" Is it possible that Mrs. George Conner's daughter
defends the murderer of her mother? "
And when I replied, ** We have no proofs. My
mother's body was never found," he continued
earnestly,
** Why, I have enough evidence in this note book to
convict that monster, and I can do it, or at least arouse
such public sentiment against him that he will have to
leave the State."
r 360 1
KESEBERG^S STORY
Very closely he followed my answering words, * * Mr.
McGlashan, from little girlhood I have prayed that
Lewis Keseberg some day would send for me and tell
me of my mother's last hours, and perhaps give a last
message left for her children, and I firmly believe that
my prayer will be granted, and I would not like you to
destroy my opportunity. You have a ready pen, but it
will not be used in exact justice to all the survivors, as
you have promised, if you finish your work without
giving Keseberg also a chance to speak for himself."
After a moment's reflection, he replied, ** I am
amazed; but your wish in this matter shall be
respected."
The following evening he wrote from San Francisco :
You will be glad to know that I have put Harry N.
Morse's detective agency of Oakland upon the track of Kese-
berg, and if found, I mean to take steps to obtain his
confession.
In less than a week after the foregoing, came a note
from him which tells its own story.
Sacramento, Midnight, April 4, 1879
Mrs. E. p. Houghton,
Dear Madam : —
Late as it is, I feel that I ought to tell you that I have
spent the evening with Keseberg. I have just got back, and
return early to-morrow to complete my interview. By merest
accident, while tracing, as I supposed, the record of his death,
I found a clue to his whereabouts. After dark I drove six
miles and found him. At first he declined to tell me any-
thing, but somehow I melted the mood with which he seemed
enwrapped, and he talked freely.
He swears to me that he did not murder your mother.
He declares it so earnestly that I cannot doubt his veracity.
[361]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PAETY
To-morrow I intend plying him closely with questions, and
by a rigid system of cross examination will detect the false-
hood, if there is one, in his statement. He gives chapter after
chapter that others never knew. I cannot say more to-night,
but desire that you write me (at the Cosmopolitan) any ques-
tions you might wish me to ask Keseberg, and if I have not
already asked them, I will do so on my return from San
Francisco. Yours respectfully,
C. F. McGlashan.
After his second interview with Keseberg and in
response to my urgent appeal for full details of every-
thing relating to my parents, Mr. McGlashan wrote :
I wish you could see him. He will talk to either you or
me at any time, unless other influences are brought to bear
upon him. If I send word for him to come to Sacramento,
he will meet me on my return. If you and your husband
could be there on Thursday or Friday of this week, I could
arrange an interview at the hotel that would be all you could
wish. I asked him especially if he would talk to you, and he
said, '' Yes.''
I dared not tell you about my interview until I had your
permission. Even now, I approach the task tremblingly.
Your mother was not murdered. Your father died, Kese-
berg thinks, about two weeks after you left. Your mother
remained with him until the last and laid him out tenderly,
as you know.
The days — to Keseberg — were perfect blanks. Mrs.
Murphy died soon after your departure with Eddy, and he
was left alone — alone in his cabin — alone with the dead bod-
ies which he could not have lifted from the floor, because of
his weakness, even had he desired. The man sighs and shud-
ders, and great drops of agony gather upon his brows as he
endeavors to relate the details of those terrible days, or recall
their horrors. Loneliness, desolation was the chief element
of horror. Alone with the mutilated dead !
One night he sprang up in affright at the sound of some-
thing moving or scratching at a log outside his cabin. It was
some time before he could understand that it was wolves try-
ing to get in.
[362]'
LETTER FROM MR. McGLASHAN
One night, about two weeks after you left, a knock came
at his door, and your mother entered. To this lonely wretch
her coming seemed like an angel's. She was cold and wet and
freezing, yet her first words were, that she must see her chil-
dren. Keseberg understood that she intended to start out
that very night, and soon found that she was slightly
demented. She kept saying, * * 0 God ! I must see my children.
I must go to my children! '* She finally consented to wait
until the morning, but was determined that nothing should
then prevent her lonely journey. She told Keseberg where
her money was concealed, she made him solemnly promise
that he would get the money and take it to her children. She
would not taste the food he had to offer. She had not tasted
human flesh, and would hardly consent to remain in his foul
and hideous den. Too weak and chilled to move, she finally
sank down on the floor, and he covered her as best he could
with blankets and feather bed, and made a fire to warm her ;
but it was of no avail, she had received her death-chill, and
in the morning her spirit had passed heavenward.
I believe Keseberg tells the truth. Your mother watched
day and night by your father's bedside until the end. At
nightfall he ceased to breathe, and she was alone in the deso-
late camp, where she performed the last sad ministrations,
and then her duty in the mountains was accomplished. All
the smothered yearnings of maternal love now burst forth
with full power. Out into the darkness and night she rushed,
without waiting for the morning. * * My children, I must see
my children ! ' ' B^^^OXit Ubn^
She arrived at Keseberg 's cabin, overwrought mentally,
overtaxed physically, and chilled by the freezing night air.
She was eager to set forth on her desperate journey without
resting a moment. I can see her as he described her, wring-
ing her hands and exclaiming over and over again, ** I must
see my children ! ' '
The story told by Mrs. Farnham and others about find-
ing your mother 's remains, and that of Thornton concerning
the pail of blood, are unquestionably false. She had been
dead weeks, and Keseberg confessed to me that no part of her
body was found by the relief (Fallon) party.
My friend, I have attempted to comply with your request.
More than once during this evening I have burst into tears.
[ 363 ]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNEE PAETY
I am sorry almost that I attempted so mournful a task, but
you will pardon the pain I have caused.
Keseberg is a powerful man, six feet in height, with full
bushy beard, thin brown locks, and high forehead. He has
blue eyes that look squarely at you while he talks. He is
sometimes absent-minded and at times seems almost carried
away with the intensity of his misery and desolation.
He speaks and writes German, French, Spanish, and Eng-
lish ; and his selection of words proves him a scholar. When
I first asked him to make a statement which I could reduce to
writing he urged : * * What is the use of making a statement ?
People incline to believe the most horrible reports concerning
a man; they will not credit what I say in my own defence.
My conscience is clear. I am an old man, and am calmly
awaiting my death. God is my judge, and it long ago ceased
to trouble me that people shunned and slandered me.'*
He finally consented to make the desired statement, and
in speaking of your family he continued : ^ ' Some time after
Mrs. George Donner's death, I thought I had gained sufficient
strength to redeem the pledge I had made her before her
death. I went to Alder Creek Camp to get the money. I had
a difficult journey. The wagons of the Donners were loaded
with tobacco, powder, caps, school-books, shoes, and dry goods.
This stock was very valuable. I spent the night there,
searched carefully among the bales and bundles of goods,
and found five hundred and thirty-one dollars. Part of this
sum was gold, part silver. The silver I buried at the foot
of a pine tree, a little way from camp. One of the lower
branches of another tree reached down close to the ground,
and appeared to point to the spot. I put the gold in my
pocket, and started back to my cabin; got lost, and in cross-
ing a little flat the snow suddenly gave way, and I sank down
almost to my arm-pits. After great exertion I raised myself
out of a snow-covered stream, and went round on a hillside
and continued my journey. At dark, and completely
exhausted, and almost dead, I came in sight of the Graves's
cabin, and sometime after dark staggered into my own. My
clothes were wet, and the night was so cold that my gar-
ments were frozen stiff. I did not build a fire nor get any-
thing to eat, just rolled myself up in the bed-clothes, and
shivered; finally fell asleep, and did not waken until late in
[3641
LETTER FROM MR. McGLASHAN
the morning. Then I saw my camp was in most inexplicable
confusion; everything about the cabin was torn up and scat-
tered about, trunks broken open ; and my wife^s jewellery, my
cloak, my pistol and ammunition was missing. I thought
Indians had been there. Suddenly I heard human voices. I
hurried up to the surface of the snow, and saw white men
approaching. I was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. I
had suffered so much and so long, that I could scarcely believe
my senses. Imagine my astonishment upon their arrival to
be greeted, not with a * Good-morning ' or a kind word,
but with a gruff, insolent demand, 'Where is Donner's
money ? *
*' I told them they ought to give me something to eat, and
that I would talk with them afterwards ; but no, they insisted
that I should tell them about Donner's money. I asked who
they were, and where they came from, but they replied by
threatening to kill me if I did not give up the money. They
threatened to hang or shoot me. At last I told them that I
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 had a better claim. This so exas-
perated them that they acted as though they were going to
kill me. I offered to let them bind me as a prisoner, and take
me before Alcalde Sinclair at Sutter's Fort, and I promised
that I would then tell all I knew about the money. They
would listen to nothing, however, and finally I told them
where they would find the silver, and gave them the gold.
After I had done this they showed me a document from
Alcalde Sinclair, by which they were to receive a certain pro-
portion of all moneys and properties which they rescued.
Those men treated me with great unkindness. Mr. Tucker
was the only one who took my part or befriended me. When
they started over the mountains, each man carried two bales
of goods. They had silks, calicoes, and delaines from the
Donners, and other articles of great value. Each man would
carry one bundle a little way, lay it down, and come back
and get the other bundle. In this way they passed over the
snow three times. I could not keep up with them, because I
was so weak, but managed to come up to their camp every
night.'*
[365]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
Upon receipt of this comnmnication I wrote Mr. Mc-
Glashan from San Jose that I was nerved for the or-
deal, but that he should not permit me to start on that
momentous journey if his proposed arrangements were
at all doubtful, and that he should telegraph me at
once.
Alas! my note miscarried; and, believing that
his proposal had not met my approval, Mr. and Mrs.
McGlashan returned to Truckee a day earlier than ex-
pected. Two weeks later he returned the envelope, its
postmarks showing what had happened.
It was not easy to gain the consent of my husband to
a meeting with Keseberg. He dreaded its effect on
me. He feared the outcome of the interview.
However, on May 16, 1879, he and I, by invitation,
joined Mr. and Mrs. McGlashan at the Golden Eagle
Hotel in Sacramento. The former then announced that
although Keseberg had agreed by letter to meet us
there, he had that morning begged to be spared the
mortification of coming to the city hotel, where some
one might recognize him, and as of old, point the finger
of scorn at him. After some deliberation as to how I
would accept the change, Mr. McGlashan had acceeded
to the old man's wish, that we drive to the neat little
boarding house at Brighton next morning, where we
could have the use of the parlor for a private inter-
view. In compliance with this arrangement we four
were at the Brighton hotel at the appointed time.
Mr. McGlashan and my husband went in search of
Keseberg, and after some delay returned, saying:
[366]
MEETING WITH KESEBEEO
** Keseberg cannot overcome his strong feeling
against a meeting in a public house. He has tidied up
a vacant room in the brewery adjoining the house
where he lives with his afflicted children. It being Sun-
day, he knows that no one will be about to disturb us.
Will you go there? '^
I could only reply, ** I am ready.''
My husband, seeing my lips tremble and knowing the
intensity of my suppressed emotion, hastened to as-
sure me that he had talked with the man, and been im-
pressed by his straightforward answers, and that I
need have no dread of meeting or talking with him.
When we met at his door, Mr. McGlashan introduced
us. We bowed, not as strangers, not as friends, nor
did we shake hands. Our thoughts were fixed solely
on the purpose that had brought us together. He in-
vited us to enter, led the way to that room which I had
been told he had swept and furnished for the occasion
with seats for five. His first sentence made us both
forget that others were present. It opened the way
at once.
** Mr. McGlashan has told me that you have ques-
tions you wish to ask me yourself about what hap-
pened in the mountain cabin."
Still standing, and looking up into his face, I replied :
* * Yes, for the eye of God and your eyes witnessed my
mother's last hours, and I have come to ask you, in the
presence of that other Witness, when, where, and how
she died. I want you to tell me all, and so truly that
there shall be no disappointment for me, nor remorse
[367]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
and denials for you in your last hour. Tell it now, so
that you will not need to send for me to hear a differ-
ent story then."
I took the chair he proffered, and he placed his own
opposite and having gently reminded me of the love
and respect the members of the Donner Party bore
their captain and his wife, earnestly and feelingly, he
told me the story as he had related it to Mr.
McGlashan.
Then, before I understood his movement, he had
sunk upon his knees, saying solemnly,
** On my knees before you, and in the sight of God,
I want to assert my innocence."
I could not have it thus. I bade him rise, and stand
with me in the presence of the all-seeing Father. Ex-
tending my upturned hand, I bade him lay his own
right hand upon it, then covering it with my left, I
bade him speak. Slowly, but unhesitatingly, he spoke :
** Mrs. Houghton, if I had murdered your mother,
would I stand here with my hand between your hands,
look into your pale face, see the tear-marks on your
cheeks, and the quiver of your lips as you ask the ques-
tion? No, God Almighty is my witness, I am innocent
of your mother's death! I have given you the facts
as I gave them to the Fallon Party, as I told them at
Sutter's Fort, and as I repeated them to Mr. Mc-
Glashan. You will hear no change from my death-bed,
for what I have told you is true."
There, with a man's honor and soul to uncover, I
had scarcely breathed while he spoke. I watched the
[368]
INNOCENCE OF KESEBERG
expression of his face, his words, his hands. His eyes
did not turn from my face ; his hand between mine lay
as untrembling as that of a child in peaceful sleep ; and
so, unflinchingly Lewis Keseberg passed the ordeal
which would have made a guilty man quake.
I felt the truth of his assertion, and told him that
if it would be any comfort to him at that late day to
know that Tamsen Donner's daughter believed him
innocent of her murder, he had that assurance in my
words, and that I would maintain that belief so long
as my lips retained their power of speech.
Tears glistened in his eyes as he uttered a heartfelt
* * Thank you ! ' ' and spoke of the comfort the recollec-
tion of this meeting would be to him during the re-
maining years of his life.
Before our departure, Mr. McGlashan asked Kese-
berg to step aside and show my husband the scars left
by the wound which had prevented his going to the
settlement with the earlier refugees. There was a
mark of a fearful gash which had almost severed the
heel from the foot and left a troublesome deformity.
One could easily realize how slow and tedious its heal-
ing must have been, and Keseberg assured us that
walking caused excruciating pain even at the time the
Third Relief Corps left camp.
His clothing was threadbare, but neat and clean.
One could not but feel that he was poor, yet he cour-
teously but positively declined the assistance which,
privately, I offered him. In bidding him good-bye, I
remarked that we might not see one another again on
[ 369 ]
THE EXPEDITION OF THE DONNER PARTY
earth, and lie replied pathetically, '* Don't say that,
for I hope this may not be our last meeting. ' '
I did not see Keseberg again. Years later, I learned
that he had passed away ; and in answer to inquiries I
received the following personal note from Dr. G. A.
White, Medical Superintendent of the Sacramento
County Hospital :
Lewis Keseberg died here on September 3, 1895; aged
81 years. He left no special message to any one. His death
was peaceful.
THE END
INDEX
INDEX
Academy of Pacific Coast History,
336.
Altemera, Padre, 187.
American Fur Company, 27.
American Tract Society, 10.
Arguello, Dona Concepcion, 302,
303.
Bartlett, Washington A., 93, 94.
Benton, Kev. J. A., 324.
Benton, Thomas H., 1.
Boggs, ex-Governor of Missouri, 9,
14, 2o, 218.
Bond, Frances, 292, 311.
Boone, Alphonso, 9.
Breen, Patrick, 32, 119; diary of,
68, 336, 345.
Brenheim, Adolph, 97.
Brunner, Christian, 150, 173, 296,
297, 318-320.
Brunner, *< Grandma,*' 147-149,
317, 327 ; and Napoleon, 243-246.
Bryant, Edwin, 12, 16, 27, 30, 307-
310, 358.
Cady, Charles, 104.
California Star, 140, 307, 336.
Camp of Death, 83.
Chamberlain, Charlotte (Mrs. Wm.
E.), 305.
Chamberlain, William E., 305.
Church, Mission service, 233.
Civil War, 324.
Clark, Nicholas, 104, 349.
Cody, Bill, 322.
Coffemeir, Edward, 97, 134.
Coon, William, 97.
Curtis, James, 97.
Del, John, 134.
Denison, Eliza, 306.
** Diary of Patrick Breen, One of
the Donner Party," 336.
Dofar, Matthew, 104.
Doland, Patrick, 33, 73, 80, 81.
Donner, Elitha, 3, 132-137, 145,
253, 262.
Donner, Frances, 3, 251, 304.
Donner, George, 2, 4, 25, 137, 250,
309.
Donner, Mrs. George, 2, 5, 33, 102,
111, 137, 309; letters, 24-26.
Donner, Georgia, 3, 161.
Donner, Jacob, 2, 4, 8, 60, 68, 69.
Donner, Leanna, 3, 132-137, 153,
254.
Donner, Mary, 128, 313.
Donner Party, 32, 33, 337, 338.
Dozier, Tamsen Eustis, see Donner,
Mrs. George.
Eddy, William, 32, 73, 78, 97, 119.
Fallon, Thomas, 134; diary, 310,
352-356.
Fitch, Capt., 184.
'< Forlorn Hope" Party, 73, 76-90.
Fortune, Padre, 187.
Fosdick, Jay, 35, 73, 87.
Foster, John, 97.
Foster, William, 32, 73, 119, 134.
Francis, Allen, 4, 6, 8, 23.
Fremont, John C, 1, 4.
Frisbie, Capt., 195, 242; marriage
of, 247.
Fuller, John, 94.
Glover, Aguilla, 76, 342.
Gold, discovery, 192; early min-
ings, 204-206; seekers, 217.
Graves, W. F., 35, 79-81, 134.
Grayson, Mrs. Andrew J., 169,
170.
Great Overland Caravan, 4.
Greenwood, **01d Trapper," 94,
95.
[373]
INDEX
Halloran, Luke, 33, 36, 37.
Hardcoop, , 33, 50.
Hastings, Lansford W., 4, 31.
Herron, Walter, 33, 49.
Hook, Solomon, 117.
Hooker, Capt. Joe, 195.
Houghton, S. O., 312, 314, 315,
324.
Independence, Mo., 8, 10, 11.
Indians, as guides, 15; Sioux, 26,
28; on raids, 54; as saviours,
88; at *' grub-feast, " 162-164.
James, Noah, 70.
Jondro, Joseph, 104.
Josephine, Empress, 243.
Kerns, Capt., 92.
Keseberg, Lewis, 32, 136, 139-
141, 230, 355, 360-370.
Land-grants, Mexican, 5.
Leese, Jacob, 184.
*'Life and Days of General John
A. Sutter," 336.
Maps of territory, 1, 3.
Maury, William L., 95.
McGoon, Perry, 145.
McCutchen, William, 32, 37, 66.
McGlashan, C. F., 360-369.
McKinstrey, Col. George, 310,
346.
Mervine, Capt., 93, 95.
Mexican War, 93, 193.
Miller, Hiram, 104, 119, 141, 251.
Moutrey, K. S., 96.
Murphy, Mrs. Lavina, 32, 110.
Murphy, WilUam G., 347.
Napoleon, 243.
Oakley, Howard, 119.
Oatman, Eugene, 306.
** Oregon and California," 17.
Packwood, Mr. and Mrs., 157.
Pike, William, 32, 36, 57.
Pony Express, first, 321-323.
Poor, Elizabeth, 218; letter to,
234.
Prudon, Major, 184.
Reed, James F., 4, 8, 48, 66, 313.
Eelief Party, First, 97, 341.
Relief Party, Fourth, 134.
Relief Party, Second, 104, 345.
Relief Party, Third, 119.
Rhinehart, Joseph, 33, 68.
Rhodes, Daniel, 97.
Rhodes, John, 97, 134.
Richardson, , 93.
Richey, D., 97.
Richey, Col. M. D., 89.
Robinson, Kate, 312.
Robinson, Judge Robert, 306, 316.
Robinson, Hon. Tod, 306.
Russell, Col., 9, 10, 12, 25-27.
Sacramento, 288.
Sacramento Union, 291, 296, 305,
306, 320.
School, first in California, 223,
225; Miss Doty's, 234; St.
Mary's Hall, 260; Miss Hutch-
inson's, 260; St. Catherine's,
297; Jefferson Grammar, 306.
Schoonover, T. J., 336.
Sherman, Gen. Wm. T., 266.
Shoemaker, Samuel, 33, 68.
Sinclair, John, 91, 96, 145.
Sloat, Commodore, 188.
Smallpox, 255-257.
Smith, General, 197.
Smith, James, 33, 69.
Snyder, John, 35, 48.
Sonoma, 187-191; last visit to,
326-331.
Springfield Journal, 4, 8, 23.
Stanton, Charles, 33, 36, 37, 79.
Stark, John, 118, 134.
Starved Camp, 119.
Stone, Charles, 104, 119.
Sutter, Captain John A., 37, 38,
92, 96, 311.
Sutter's Fort, 131-138.
Swift, Margaret, 306.
Thanksgiving celebration, 261,
262.
Thornton, J. Q., 9, 16; extracts
from journal, 39, 54, 85, 87, 89,
95, 121, 342.
** Thrilling Events in California
History," 310.
Toll, Agnes, 306.
* * Topographical Report, with
Maps Attached," 4.
** Travels Among the Rocky
Mountains, Through Oregon
and California," 4, 32.
[374]
INDEX
Trubode, John Baptiste, 34, 62,
220, 343, 349, 350.
Tucker, Daniel, 134.
Tucker, George, 97.
Tucker, Kacine, 97.
Turner, John, 104.
Upton, Nellie, 306.
Vallejo, Mariano G., 95, 184, 187.
Webster, Daniel, 305.
"What I Saw in California,** 12,
307.
White, Dr. G. A., 370.
White, Henry A., 306.
Wolfinger, , 33, 55.
Woodworth, Midshipman, 94, 116,
127.
Yost, Daniel, 306.
Yount, George, 94.
Zabriskie, Annie, 306.
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