The Expedition of the Donner Party and its Tragic Fate Part 30

James F. Reed of the Reed-Greenwood Party, the second to reach the emigrants, has been 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 mountains with the largest and best equipped party sent out, ten well furnished, able-bodied men. But returning he left one man at camp to a.s.sist the needy emigrants.

The seventeen refugees whom he and nine companions brought over the summit comprised three weak, wasted adults, and fourteen emaciated young children. The prospect of getting them all to the settlement, even under favorable circ.u.mstances, 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 refugees might have perished there together had the nine men not followed what seemed their only alternative. Who would not have done what Reed did? 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 impossible to say who was most afflicted; still, it would seem that no greater dest.i.tution 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 a.s.sembled on the sh.o.r.e 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 children 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 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 a.s.sistance able to bury them in the snow. Some days earlier Milton 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, saltless 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 consumed; not until after the wolves had dug the snow from the graves.

Perhaps G.o.d sent the wolves to show Mrs. Murphy and also Mrs. Graves where to get sustenance 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 humane 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 memorable morning of March 2, 1847, when he went in pursuit 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 carried 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 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. McCutchen 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 dest.i.tution 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 nothing; 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?"

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, overburdened with a man's responsibilities, and had done his best, and that n.o.bly. Then I added what I have always believed, that no one was to blame for the misfortunes which overtook us in the mountains. The dangers and difficulties encountered by reason of taking the Hastings Cut-off had all been surmounted--two weeks more and we should have reached our destination 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.

III

THE REPORT OF THOMAS FALLON--DEDUCTIONS--STATEMENT OF EDWIN BRYANT--PECULIAR CIRc.u.mSTANCES.

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[28] 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 record. We next started for Donner's camp, eight miles distant over the mountains. After travelling about half-way, 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 morning. 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 property, 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 diligently 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 become 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 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 embarra.s.sed, 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 property 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 information desired, he should receive from their hands the best of treatment, and be in every way a.s.sisted; otherwise, the party back at Donner's Camp would, upon arrival, and his refusal to discover to them the place where he had deposited 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 a.s.suring 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 prepare 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 d.a.m.n 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 children; 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 collecting and securing; he found the body of young Murphy who 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, bringing $273.00 that had been cached by Keseberg, who after disclosing 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 pa.s.sing 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 G.o.d 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: VIEW IN THE GROUNDS OF THE HOUGHTON HOME IN SAN JOSE]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE HOUGHTON RESIDENCE IN SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA]

It is self-evident, however, that the author of those statements did not contemplate that reliable parties[29] 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, otherwise 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 delayed 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 mission 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 reverence in that diary, save that reflected from Keseberg's last act before being hurried away from that desolate cabin? Or could there be a falser, crueler, 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 carefully laid out by his wife, and a sheet was wrapped around the corpse. This sad office was probably the last act she performed before visiting the camp of Keseberg.[30]

After considering what had been published by _The California Star_, by Bryant, Thornton, Mrs. Farnham, and others, I could not but realize Keseberg's peculiarly helpless situation. Without a chance to speak in his own defence, he had been charged, tried, and adjudged 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,[31] and the jury gave Keseberg a verdict of one dollar damages. This verdict, however, was not given wide circulation, and prejudice remained unchecked. There were other peculiar circ.u.mstances connected with this much accused man which were worthy of consideration, 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?