The very afternoon that the third relief party reached the cabins, Simon Murphy discovered a woman wandering about in the snow as if lost. It proved to be Mrs. Tamsen Donner. She had wearily traveled over the deep snows from Alder Creek, as narrated in a previous chapter, to see her children, and, if necessary, to protect their lives. Oh! the joy and the pain of the meeting of those little ones and their mother. As they wound their arms about her neck, kissed her lips, laughed in her eyes, and twined their fingers in her hair, what a struggle must have been taking place in her soul. As the pleading, upturned faces of her babies begged her not to leave them, her very heart-strings must have been rent with agony. Well may the voice quiver or the hand tremble that attempts to portray the anguish of this mother during that farewell interview. From the very first moment, her resolution to return to her husband remained unshaken. The members of the relief party entreated her to go with her, children and save her own life. They urged that there could only be a few hours of life left in George Donner. This was so true that she once ventured the request that they remain until she could return to Alder Creek, and see if he were yet alive. The gathering storm-clouds, which had hovered over the summit for days, compelled them to refuse this request. An hour's delay might be fatal to all.

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

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

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

When the June sunshine gladdened the Sacramento Valley, three little barefooted girls walked here and there among the houses and tents of Sutter's Fort. They were scantily clothed, and one carried a thin blanket. At night they said their prayers, lay down in whatever tent they happened to be, and, folding the blanket about them, fell asleep in each other's arms. When they were hungry, they asked food of whomsoever they met. If any one inquired who they were, they answered as their mother had taught them: "We are the children of Mr. and Mrs. George Donner." But they added something they had learned since. It was, "And our parents are dead."



Chapter XIX.



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



Keseberg is one of the leading characters in the Donner Party. Usually, his part in the tragedy has been considered the entire story. Comparatively few people have understood that any except this one man ate human flesh, or was a witness of any scene of horror. He has been loathed, execrated, abhorred as a cannibal, a murderer, and a heartless fiend. In the various published sketches which have from time to time been given to the world, Lewis Keseberg has been charged with no less than six murders. His cannibalism has been denounced as arising from choice, as growing out of a depraved and perverted appetite, instead of being the result of necessity. On the fourth of April, 1879, this strange man granted an interview to the author, and in this and succeeding interviews he reluctantly made a statement which was reduced to writing. "What is the use," he would urge, "of my making a statement? People incline to believe the most horrible reports concerning a man, and they will not credit what I say in my own defense. My 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."

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

"My name is Lewis Keseberg. I was born in the city of Berleburg, Province of Westphalia, in the Kingdom of Prussia, on the twenty-second of May, 1814. I am therefore almost sixty-three years of age. I was married June 22, 1842, came to the United States May 22, 1844, and emigrated to California in 1846 with the Donner Party. I never have made a statement concerning my connection with that Party to any one connected with the press. It is with the utmost horror that I revert to the scenes of suffering and unutterable misery endured during that journey. I have always endeavored to put away from me all thoughts or recollections of those terrible events. Time is the best physician, and would, I trusted, heal the wounds produced by those days of torture; yet my mind to-day recoils with undiminished horror as I endeavor to speak of this dreadful subject. Heretofore I have never attempted to refute the villainous slanders which have been circulated and published about me. I feel it my duty to make this statement, however, because I am convinced of your willingness to do justice to all who were concerned in that dreadful affair, and heretofore I have been treated with gross injustice.

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

"One day, while we were traveling on Goose Creek, we saw so many wild geese that I took my shotgun and went hunting. Ordinarily I am not superstitious, but on this morning I felt an overwhelming sense of impending calamity. I mentioned my premonitions to Mrs. Murphy before starting on the hunt. Becoming excited with the sport, and eagerly watching the game, I stepped down a steep bank. Some willows had been burned off, and the short, sharp stubs were sticking up just where I stepped. I had on buckskin moccasins, and one of these stubs ran into the ball of my foot, between the bones and the toes. From this time, until we arrived at Donner Lake, I was unable to walk, or even to put my foot to the ground. The foot became greatly swollen and inflamed, and was exceedingly painful. One day, at Donner Lake, one of my companions, at my earnest request, lanced my foot on the top. It discharged freely, and some days afterwards, in washing it, I found a hard substance protruding from the wound, and obtaining a pair of forceps, succeeded in extracting a piece of the willow stub, one and a half inches in length. It had literally worked up through my foot. I mention this particularly, because I have been frequently accused of remaining at the Donner cabins from selfish or sinister motives, when in fact I was utterly unable to join the relief parties."

It is proper to mention, in corroboration of Keseberg's statement regarding his lameness, that several of the survivors remembered, and had related the circumstance prior to the interview. It is a well-authenticated fact that he was very lame, and could not walk, yet, as a specimen of the abuse which has been heaped upon the man, a quotation is introduced from Thornton's "Oregon and California." In speaking of the departure of Foster and Eddy, Thornton says: "There were in camp Mrs. Murphy, Mr. and Mrs. Gorge Donner, and Keseberg—the latter, it was believed, having far more strength to travel than others who had arrived in the settlements. But he would not travel, for the reason, as was suspected, that he wished to remain behind for the purpose of obtaining the property and money of the dead." Keseberg's statement continues:

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

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

"A heavy storm came on in a few days after the last relief party left. Mrs. George Donner had remained with her sick husband in their camp, six or seven miles away. Mrs. Murphy lived about a week after we were left alone. When my provisions gave out, I remained four days before I could taste human flesh. There was no other resort—it was that or death. My wife and child had gone on with the first relief party. I knew not whether they were living or dead. They were penniless and friendless in a strange land. For their sakes I must live, if not for my own. Mrs. Murphy was too weak to revive. The flesh of starved beings contains little nutriment. It is like feeding straw to horses. I can not describe the unutterable repugnance with which I tasted the first mouthful of flesh. There is an instinct in our nature that revolts at the thought of touching, much less eating, a corpse. It makes my blood curdle to think of it! It has been told that I boasted of my shame—said that I enjoyed this horrid food, and that I remarked that human flesh was more palatable than California beef. This is a falsehood. It is a horrible, revolting falsehood. This food was never otherwise than loathsome, insipid, and disgusting. For nearly two months I was alone in that dismal cabin. No one knows what occurred but myself—no living being ever before was told of the occurrences. Life was a burden. The horrors of one day succeeded those of the preceding. Five of my companions had died in my cabin, and their stark and ghastly bodies lay there day and night, seemingly gazing at me with their glazed and staring eyes. I was too weak to move them had I tried. The relief parties had not removed them. These parties had been too hurried, too horror-stricken at the sight, too fearful lest an hour's delay might cause them to share the same fate. I endured a thousand deaths. To have one's suffering prolonged inch by inch, to be deserted, forsaken, hopeless; to see that loathsome food ever before my eyes, was almost too much for human endurance. I am conversant with four different languages. I speak and write them with equal fluency; yet in all four I do not find words enough to express the horror I experienced during those two months, or what I still feel when memory reverts to the scene. Suicide would have been a relief, a happiness, a godsend! Many a time I had the muzzle of my pistol in my mouth and my finger on the trigger, but the faces of my helpless, dependent wife and child would rise up before me, and my hand would fall powerless. I was not the cause of my misfortunes, and God Almighty had provided only this one horrible way for me to subsist."

Did you boil the flesh?

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

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

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

"Oh! the days and weeks of horror which I passed in that camp! I had no hope of help or of being rescued, until I saw the green grass coming up by the spring on the hillside, and the wild geese coming to nibble it. The birds were coming back to their breeding grounds, and I felt that I could kill them for food. I had plenty of guns and ammunition in camp. I also had plenty of tobacco and a good meerschaum pipe, and almost the only solace I enjoyed was smoking. In my weak condition it took me two or three hours every day to get sufficient wood to keep my fire going."

"Some time after Mrs. Donner's death, I thought I had gained sufficient strength to redeem the pledge I had made her before her death. I started to go to the camps at Alder Creek to get the money. I had a very difficult journey. The wagons of the Donners were loaded with tobacco, powder, caps, shoes, school-books, and dry-goods. This stock was very valuable, and had it reached California, would have been a fortune to the Donners. I searched carefully among the bales and bundles of goods, and found five-hundred and thirty-one dollars. Part of this sum was silver, part gold. The silver I buried at the foot of a pine tree, a little way from the 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 to return to my cabin. I had spent one night at the Donner tents. On my return I became lost. When it was nearly dark, in crossing a little flat, the snow suddenly gave way under my feet, and I sank down almost to my armpits. By means of the crust on top of the snow, I kept myself suspended by throwing out my arms. A stream of water flowed underneath the place over which I had been walking, and the snow had melted on the underside until it was not strong enough to support my weight. I could not touch bottom with my feet, and so could form no idea of the depth of the stream. By long and careful exertion I managed to draw myself backward and up on the snow. I then went around on the hillside, and continued my journey. At last, just at dark, completely exhausted and almost dead, I came in sight of the Graves cabin. I shall never forget my joy at sight of that log-cabin. I felt that I was no longer lost, and would at least have shelter. Some time after dark I reached my own cabin. My clothes were wet by getting in the creek, and the night was so cold that my garments were frozen into sheets of ice. I was so weary, and chilled, and numbed, that I did not build up a fire, or attempt to get anything to eat, but rolled myself up in the bed-clothes and tried to get warm. Nearly all night I lay there shivering with cold; and when I finally slept, I slept very soundly. I did not wake up until quite late the next morning. To my utter astonishment my camp was in the most inexplicable confusion. My trunks were broken open, and their contents were scattered everywhere. Everything about the cabin was torn up and thrown about the floor. My wife's jewelry, my cloak, my pistol and ammunition were missing. I supposed Indians had robbed my camp during my absence. Suddenly I was startled by the sound of human voices. I hurried up to the surface of the snow, and saw white men coming toward the cabin. I was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude at the prospect of my deliverance. I had suffered so much, and for so long a time, 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 the 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 them 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, and at last I told them 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 exasperated 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 the alcalde 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 buried, 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 proportion of all moneys and property which they rescued."

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



Chapter XX.



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



December 16, 1846, the fifteen composing the "Forlorn Hope," left Donner Lake. January 17, 1847, as they reached Johnson's ranch; and February 5th Capt. Tucker's party started to the assistance of the emigrants. This first relief arrived February 19th at the cabins; the second relief, or Reed's party, arrived March 1st; the third, or Foster's, about the middle of March; and the fourth, or Fallon's, on the seventeenth of April. Upon the arrival of Capt. Fallon's company, the sight presented at the cabins beggars all description. Capt. R. P. Tucker, now of Goleta, Santa Barbara County, Cal., endeavors, in his correspondence, to give a slight idea of the scene. Human bodies, terribly mutilated, legs, arms, skulls, and portions of remains, were scattered in every direction and strewn about the camp. Mr. Foster found Mrs. Murphy's body with one of her limbs sawed off, the saw still lying by her remains. It was such scenes as these which gave this party their first abhorrence for Keseberg. The man was nowhere to be seen, but a fresh track was discovered in the snow leading away from the cabins toward the Dormer tents. The party pressed forward to Alder Creek. Captain Tucker writes: "The dead bodies lay moldering around, being all that was left to tell the tale of sorrow. On my first trip we had cut down a large pine tree, and laid the goods of the Donners on this tree to dry in the sun. These goods lay there yet, with the exception of those which Reed's party had taken away."

George Donner was wealthy. His wealth consisted not merely of goods, as many claim, but of a large amount of coin. Hiram Miller, of the relief parties, is authority for the statement that Mr. Donner owned a quarter section of land within the present city limits of Chicago. This land was sold for ten thousand dollars, shortly before Mr. Donner started for California. Mr. Allen Francis, who has been mentioned as the very best authority concerning this, family, camped with them on the evening of their first night's journey out of Springfield, Illinois, saw Mr. Donner's money, and thinks there was ten thousand dollars. Mrs. F. E. Bond, of Elk Grove, Sacramento County, California, does not remember the exact amount, but knows that Mr. Donner started with a great deal of gold, because she helped make the belts in which it was to be carried in crossing the plains. The relief parties always understood there was at Donner's camp a large sum of money, estimated at from six to fourteen thousand dollars. It is not disputed that Halloran left about fifteen hundred dollars to this family. Yet Capt. Fallon's party could find no money. It was clear to their minds that some one had robbed the Donner tents.

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

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

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

"These men treated me with the greatest 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 delames 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. One day I was dragging myself slowly along behind the party, when I came to a place which had evidently been used as a camping-ground by some of the previous parties. Feeling very tired, I thought it would be a good place to make some coffee. Kindling a fire, I filled my coffee-pot with fresh snow and sat waiting for it to melt and get hot. Happening to cast my eyes carelessly around, I discovered a little piece of calico protruding from the snow. Half thoughtlessly, half out of idle curiosity, I caught hold of the cloth, and finding it did not come readily, I gave it a strong pull. I had in my hands the body of my dead child Ada! She had been buried in the snow, which, melting down, had disclosed a portion of her clothing. I thought I should go frantic! It was the first intimation I had of her death, and it came with such a shock!"

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

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

Speaking upon this point, Keseberg denies the assertion that any blood was discovered, calls attention to the length of time Mrs. Donner had been dead, to the readiness with which blood coagulates, and adds that not a witness testified to such a circumstance at the trial. Why should Keseberg murder Mrs. Donner? If he wanted her money, it was only necessary to allow her to go out into the mountains alone, without provisions, without any one to point out the way, and perish in the trackless snows. She could not carry any considerable portion of her money with her, and he, had only to go back to Alder Creek and secure the treasure. He bears witness that she never tasted human flesh; that she would not partake of the food he offered; how reasonable, then, the story of her death. The fourth relief party expected to find a vast sum of money. One half was to be given them for their trouble. They regarded the man Keseberg as the murderer of George Foster, because of the reports given by the little children brought out by the third relief. The father of this child was with both the third and fourth reliefs. Arriving at the cabins, they were amazed and horrified at the dreadful sights. Hastening to the tents, they found no money. Their idea that Keseberg was a thief was confirmed by his disgorging the money when threatened with death. There was much reason for their hatred of the man who crossed the mountains with them, and this was intensified by their being brought before Alcalde Sinclair and proven slanderers. Out of this hatred has grown reports which time has magnified into the hideous falsehoods which greet the ear from all directions. Keseberg may be responsible for the death of Hardcoop, but urges in his defense that all were walking, even to the women and the children. He says Hardcoop was not missed until evening, and that it was supposed the old man would catch up with the train during the night. The terrible dangers surrounding the company, the extreme lateness of the season, the weakness of the oxen, and the constant fear of lurking, hostile Indians, prevented him or any one else from going back. Keseberg may be responsible for the death of Wolfinger, of George Foster, of James Eddy, of Mrs. Murphy, and of Mrs. Tamsen Donner, but the most careful searcher for evidence can not find the slightest trace of proofs. In his own mournful language, he comes near the truth when he says:

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

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

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

Eleven children were born to them, and four are now living. One of these, Lillie, now lives in Sacramento with her husband. Another, Paulina, a widow, resides in San Rafael. Bertha and Augusta live with the father at Brighton, Sacramento County. Both these children are hopelessly idiotic. Bertha is twenty-six years of age, and has never uttered an intelligible word. Augusta is fifteen years old, weighs two hundred and five pounds, and possesses only slight traces of intelligence. Teething spasms, occurring when they were about two years old, is the cause of their idiocy. Both are subject to frequent and violent spasms or epileptic fits. They need constant care and attention. Should Bertha's hand fall into the fire, she has not sufficient intelligence to withdraw it from the flames. Both are helpless as children. The State provides for insane, but not for idiots. Keseberg says a bill setting aside a ward in the State Asylum for his two children, passed the Legislature, but received a pocket veto by the Governor. Sacramento County gives them eighteen dollars a month. Their helplessness and violence render it impossible to keep any nurse in charge of them longer than a few days. Keseberg is very poor. He has employment for perhaps three months during the year. While his wife lived, she took care of these children; but now he has personally to watch over them and provide for their necessities. While at work, he is compelled to keep them locked in a room in the same building. They scream so loudly while going into the spasms that he can not dwell near other people. He therefore lives isolated, in a plain little house back of his brewery. Here he lives, the saddest, loneliest, most pitiable creature on the face of the earth. He traces all his misfortunes to that cabin on Donner Lake, and it is little wonder that he says: "I beg of you, insert in your book a fervent prayer to Almighty God that He will forever prevent the recurrence of a similar scene of horror."



Chapter XXI.



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



Zealous in sending supplies and relief to the suffering Donner Party, earnest in providing shelter, clothing, and food to all who were rescued, Captain John A. Sutter merits more than a passing mention in this history. From the arrival of Stanton at Sutter's Fort with the tidings that a destitute emigrant train was en route for California until the return of the fourth relief party with Lewis Keseberg, Captain Sutter's time, wealth, and influence were enlisted in behalf of the party. Actuated only by motives of benevolence and humanity, he gave Stanton and the various relief parties full and free access to whatever he possessed, whether of money, provisions, clothing, mules, cattle, or guides. With all due deference to the generosity of Yerba Buena's citizens, and to the heroic endeavors of the noble men who risked their lives in rescuing the starving emigrants, it is but just and right that this warm-hearted philanthropist should be accorded the honor of being first among the benefactors of the Donner Party. His kindness did not cease with the arrival of the half-starved survivors at Sutter's Fort, but continued until all had found places of employment, and means of subsistence. Pitiful and unworthy is the reward which history can bestow upon such a noble character, yet since he never received any remuneration for his efforts and sacrifices, the reward of a noble name is the least and the most that earth can now bestow. In view of his good deeds, the survivors of the Donner Party have almost unanimously requested that a brief biographical sketch of the man be inserted in these pages.

At midnight on the twenty-eighth of February (or first of March), 1803, John A. Sutter was born in the city of Baden. He was of Swiss parentage, and his father and mother, were of the Canton Berne. Educated in Baden, we find him at the age of thirty a captain in the French army. Filled with enthusiasm, energy, and love of adventure, his eyes turned toward America as his "land of promise," and in July, 1834, he arrived in New York. Again breaking away from the restraints of civilized life, he soon made his way to the then almost unknown regions west of the Mississippi. For some years he lived near St. Charles, in Missouri. At one time he entertained the idea of establishing a Swiss colony at this point, and was only prevented by the sinking of his vessel of supplies in the Mississippi River. During this time he accompanied an exploring party into the sultry, sand-covered wastes of New Mexico. Here he met hunters and trappers from California, and listened to tales of its beauty, fertility, and grandeur which awoke irresistible longings in his breast. In March, 1838, with Captain Tripp, of the American Fur Company, he traveled westward as far as the Rocky Mountains, and thence journeying with a small party of trappers, finally reached Fort Vancouver. Finding no land route to California, he embarked in a vessel belonging to the Hudson Bay Company, which was ready for a voyage to the Sandwich Islands. From Honolulu he thought there would be little difficulty in finding passage in a trading vessel for the Coast of California. Disappointed in this, he remained at the Islands some months, and finally shipped as supercargo of a ship bound for Sitka. In returning, the vessel entered the Bay of San Francisco, but was not allowed to land, and Monterey was reached before Sutter was permitted to set foot upon California soil. From Governor Alvarado he obtained the right of settling in the Sacramento Valley. After exploring the Sacramento, Feather, and American Rivers, finally, on the sixteenth of August, 1839, he landed near the present site of Sacramento City, and determined to permanently locate. Soon afterward he began the construction of the famous Sutter's Fort. He took possession of the surrounding country, naming it New Helvetia. One of the first difficulties to be overcome was the hostility of the Indian tribes who inhabited the Sacramento and San Joaquin valleys. Kindness and humane treatment were generally sufficient to cause these Indians to become his allies, yet in more than one instance he was obliged to resort to arms. Considering the size of his army, there is a sort of grim heroism in the fact that he successfully waged at times a defensive and at times an aggressive warfare. His entire army was composed of six white men, who had been collected from different parts of the world, and eight Kanakas.

Dunbar, in describing Sutter's situation, says: "This portion of upper California, though fair to look upon, was peculiarly solitary and uninviting in its isolation and remoteness from civilization. There was not even one of those cattle ranches, which dotted the coast at long intervals, nearer to Sutter's locality than Suisun and Martinez, below the mouth of the Sacramento. The Indians of the Sacramento were known as 'Diggers.' The efforts of the Jesuit Fathers, so extensive on this continent, and so beneficial to the wild Indians wherever missions were established among them, never reached the wretched aborigines of the Sacramento country. The valley of the Sacramento had not yet become the pathway of emigrants from the East, and no civilized human being lived in this primitive and solitary region, or roamed over it, if we except a few trappers of the Hudson Bay Company."

Out of this solitude and isolation, Sutter, as if with a magician's wand, brought forth wealth and evolved for himself a veritable little kingdom. Near the close of the year 1839, eight white men joined his colony, and in 1840 his numbers were increased by five others. About this time the Mokelumne Indians became troublesome, and were conquered. Other tribes were forced into submission, and Sutter was practically monarch of the Sacramento and San Joaquin. The old pioneers speak with pride of the wonderful power he exerted over these Indians, teaching them the arts of civilization, forming them into military companies, drilling them in the use of firearms, teaching them to till the soil, and making them familiar with the rudiments of husbandry. The vast herds of cattle which in process of time he acquired, were tended and herded principally by these Indians, and the cannon which ultimately came into his possession were mounted upon the Fort, and in many instances were manned by these aborigines. Hides were sent to Yerba Buena, a trade in furs and supplies was established with the Hudson Bay Company, and considerable attention was given to mechanical and agricultural pursuits.

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

As early as 1844 a great tide of emigration began flowing from the Eastern States toward California, a tide which, after the discovery of gold, became a deluge. Sutter's Fort became the great terminal point of emigration, and was far-famed for the generosity and open-heartedness of its owner. Relief and assistance were rendered so frequently and so abundantly to distressed emigrants, and aid and succor were so often sent over the Sierra to feeble or disabled trains, that Sutter's charity and generosity became proverbial. In the sunny hillslopes and smiling valleys, amidst the graceful groves and pleasant vineyards of this Golden State, it would be difficult to find localities where pioneers have not taught their children to love and bless the memory of the great benefactor of the pioneer days, John A. Sutter. With his commanding presence, his smiling face, his wealth, his power, and his liberality, he came to be regarded in those days as a very king among men. What he did for the Donner Party is but an instance of his unvarying kindness toward the needy and distressed. During this time he rendered important services to the United States, and notably in 1841, to the exploring expedition of Admiral Wilkes. The Peacock, a vessel belonging to the expedition, was lost on the Columbia bar, and a part of the expedition forces, sent overland in consequence, reached Sutter's Fort in a condition of extreme distress, and were relieved with princely hospitality. Later on he gave equally needed and equally generous relief to Colonel Fremont and his exploring party. When the war with Mexico came on, his aid and sympathy enabled Fremont to form a battalion from among those in Sutter's employ, and General Sherman's testimony is, "that to him (Sutter) more than any single person are we indebted for the conquest of California with all its treasures."

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

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

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

"At an early period subsequent to the discovery, an immense emigration from overland poured into the Sacramento Valley, making Sutter's domains their camping-ground, without the least regard for the rights of property. They occupied his cultivated fields, and squatted all over his available lands, saying these were the unappropriated domain of the United States, to which they had as good a right as any one. They stole and drove off his horses and mules, and exchanged or sold them in other parts of the country; they butchered his cattle, sheep, and hogs, and sold the meat. One party of five men, during the flood of 1849-50, when the cattle were surrounded by water, near the Sacramento river, killed and sold $60,000 worth of these—as it was estimated and left for the States. By the first of January, 1852, the so-called settlers, under pretense of pre-emption claims, had appropriated all Sutter's lands capable of settlement or appropriation, and had stolen all of his horses, mules, cattle, sheep, and hogs, except a small portion used and sold by himself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For some years he received a small allowance from the State of California; but after a time this appropriation expired, and was never thereafter renewed. The later years of the pioneer's life were passed at Litiz, Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and his time was devoted to endeavoring to obtain from Congress an appropriation of $50,000, as compensation for the expenditures he made for the relief of the early settlers of California. His death occurred at Washington, D. C., on the eighteenth day of June, 1880, and his remains were laid at rest in Litiz, Pennsylvania. The termination of this grand, heroic life, under circumstances of abject poverty and destitution, forms as strange and mournful a story as can be found in the annals of the present age.

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

"I have been sad, oh! so sad, since tidings flashed across the continent telling the friends of General Sutter to mourn his loss. In tender and loving thought I have followed the remains to his home, have stood by his bier, touched his icy brow, and brushed back his snowy locks, and still it is hard for me to realize that he is dead; that he who in my childhood became my ideal of all that is generous, noble, and good; he who has ever awakened the warmest gratitude of my nature, is to be laid away in a distant land! But I must not yield to this mood longer. God has only harvested the ripe and golden grain. Nor has He left us comfortless, for recollection, memory's faithful messenger, will bring from her treasury records of deeds so noble, that the name of General Sutter will be stamped in the hearts of all people, so long as California has a history. Yes, his name will be written in letters of sunlight on Sierra's snowy mountain sides, will be traced on the clasps of gold which rivet the rocks of our State, and will be arched in transparent characters over the gate which guards our western tide. All who see this land of the sunset will read, and know, and love the name of John A. Sutter, who fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and comforted the sorrowing children of California's pioneer days."



Chapter XXII.



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



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

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

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

The second relief succeeded in reaching the settlements with only Solomon Hook, Patty Reed, and Thomas K. Reed. With this party were its Captain, James F. Reed, and William McCutchen. Those who were brought to Starved Camp by the second relief, and saved by a portion of the third relief, were Patrick Breen, Mrs. Margaret Breen, John Breen, Patrick Breen, Jr., James F. Breen, Peter Breen, Isabella M. Breen, Nancy Graves, Jonathan Graves, Elizabeth Graves, and Mary M. Donner. The remainder of the third relief rescued Simon P. Murphy, Frances E. Donner, Georgia A. Donner, Eliza P. Donner, and John Baptiste. W. H. Eddy remained in the valleys after making this journey. Wm. M. Foster traversed the snow-belt no less than five times—once with the "Forlorn Hope," twice with the third relief, and twice with the fourth. The fourth relief rescued Lewis Keseberg.

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor Graves married William McDonnell about the first of September, 1849. Their children are: Ann, born September, 1850; Charles, born in 1852; Mary, born in 1855, married to Lester Green, January 2, 1878, and now living on the Sacramento River, about seventeen miles below the city; Lillie, born April 14, 1857, died in February, 1873; Franklin, born in 1860, died in March, 1873; Henry, born July, 1864; Eleanor, born July, 1868; Leslie, born October, 1872, died March, 1873; Louisa, born in 1878. Mrs. Eleanor McDonnell and family reside in Knights Valley, Sonoma County. Their address is Calistoga, California.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All the surviving members of the Breen family are still residing at or near San Juan. John Breen married in 1852. His family, consisting of his wife and ten children, are all living. His children's names are: Lillie M., Edward P., John J., Thomas F., Adelaide A., Kate, Isabelle, Gertrude, Charlotte, and Ellen A. Breen. Edward J. Breen married, in 1858. His wife died in 1862; leaving the following children: Eugene T., Edward J., and John Roger. Patrick Breen, Jr., married in 1865; his wife is living, and their children are Mary, William, Peter, Eugene. Simon P. Breen married in 1867; his wife is living; their children are Geneva and Mary. James F. Breen, the present Superior Judge of San Benito County, married in 1870; his wife is living; their only surviving children are Margaret and Grace. Peter Breen died, unmarried, on July 3, 1870, by accidental death. Isabella M. Breen was married in 1869, to Thomas McMahon, and with her husband resides at Hollister, San Benito County. William M. Breen, whose portrait appears in the group of the Breen family, was born in San Juan in 1848, and was not of the Donner Party. He married in 1874, leaving a widow, and one child, Mary.

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

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

In Memoriam.

Mrs. Margaret Breen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Chapter XXIII.



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



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

Among the first to stretch forth a helping hand to clothe the needy children was that noble philanthropist, Capt. John A. Sutter. Other newly-found friends gave food from their scanty supplies, and the children would have been comfortable for a time, had not some pilfering hand taken all that had been given them. They were again obliged to ask for food of those whom they thought would give. As the weather became warmer it had a cheering influence over them. They forgot their wish for heavier clothing; but oftener repeated the more heartfelt one—"If mother would only come!"

Those who have suffered bereavement under similar circumstances can understand how fully these little girls realized their situation when they were told that their mother was dead.

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

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

What a picture this scene presents to the mind! There is the Indian leading his gray pony to the river's side! He examines him carefully, and puts the blanket on more securely! He waits for the approaching child. How small she is—not five years old! How she trembles with dread as the swift current meets her eye! Yet she is anxious to go. One pleading look in the Indian's face, and she is ready. He mounts; she is placed behind him; her little arms are stretched tightly around his dusky form! He presses his elbows to his sides to made her more secure, and, by signs, warns her against loosening her grasp, or she, like the passing branches, will be the water's prey! They enter the stream. Oh how cold the water is! They reach the middle; her grasp is tighter, and she holds her breath with fear, for they are drifting with the current past where Jacob stands! But joy comes at last. They have crossed the river. There stands the pony, shaking the water from his sides. The Indian takes his dollar with a grunt of satisfaction, and Jacob catches up the little girl, mounts his horse, and hurries off to grandpa's, where grandma, Leanna, and Georgia are waiting to give her a warm welcome.

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

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

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

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

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



Chapter XXIV.



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



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