ANOTHER STORM--FOUR DEATHS IN DONNER CAMP--FIELD MICE USED FOR
FOOD--CHANGED APPEARANCE OF THE STARVING--SUNSHINE--DEPARTURE OF THE
"FORLORN HOPE"--WATCHING FOR RELIEF--IMPOSSIBLE TO DISTURB THE BODIES
OF THE DEAD IN DONNER CAMP--ARRIVAL AND DEPARTURE OF THE FIRST RELIEF
PARTY.
Meanwhile with us in the Sierras, November ended with four days and
nights of continuous snow, and December rushed in with a wild,
shrieking storm of wind, sleet, and rain, which ceased on the third.
The weather remained clear and cold until the ninth, when Milton Elliot
and Noah James came on snowshoes to Donner's camp, from the lake
cabins, to ascertain if their captain was still alive, and to report
the condition of the rest of the company.
Before morning, another terrific storm came swirling and whistling down
our snowy stairway, making fires unsafe, freezing every drop of water
about the camp, and shutting us in from the light of heaven. Ten days
later Milton Elliot alone fought his way back to the lake camp with
these tidings: "Jacob Donner, Samuel Shoemaker, Joseph Rhinehart, and
James Smith are dead, and the others in a low condition."[5]
Uncle Jacob, the first to die, was older than my father, and had been
in miserable health for years before we left Illinois. He had gained
surprisingly on the journey, yet quickly felt the influence of
impending fate, foreshadowed by the first storm at camp. His courage
failed. Complete prostration followed.
My father and mother watched with him during the last night, and the
following afternoon helped to lay his body in a cave dug in the
mountain side, beneath the snow. That snow had scarcely resettled when
Samuel Shoemaker's life ebbed away in happy delirium. He imagined
himself a boy again in his father's house and thought his mother had
built a fire and set before him the food of which he was fondest.
But when Joseph Rhinehart's end drew near, his mind wandered, and his
whitening lips confessed a part in Mr. Wolfinger's death; and my
father, listening, knew not how to comfort that troubled soul. He could
not judge whether the self-condemning words were the promptings of a
guilty conscience, or the ravings of an unbalanced mind.
Like a tired child falling asleep, was James Smith's death; and Milton
Elliot, who helped to bury the four victims and then carried the
distressing report to the lake camp, little knew that he would soon be
among those later called to render a final accounting. Yet it was even
so.
Our camp having been thus depleted by death, Noah James, who had been
one of my father's drivers, from Springfield until we passed out of the
desert, now cast his lot again with ours, and helped John Baptiste to
dig for the carcasses of the cattle. It was weary work, for the snow
was higher than the level of the guide marks, and at times they
searched day after day and found no trace of hoof or horn. The little
field mice that had crept into camp were caught then and used to ease
the pangs of hunger. Also pieces of beef hide were cut into strips,
singed, scraped, boiled to the consistency of glue, and swallowed with
an effort; for no degree of hunger could make the saltless, sticky
substance palatable. Marrowless bones which had already been boiled and
scraped, were now burned and eaten, even the bark and twigs of pine
were chewed in the vain effort to soothe the gnawings which made one
cry for bread and meat.
During the bitterest weather we little ones were kept in bed, and my
place was always in the middle where Frances and Georgia, snuggling up
close, gave me of their warmth, and from them I learned many things
which I could neither have understood nor remembered had they not made
them plain.
[Illustration: PASS IN THE SIERRA NEVADAS OF CALIFORNIA]
[Illustration: From an old drawing made from description furnished by
Wm. G. Murphy. CAMP AT DONNER LAKE, NOVEMBER, 1846]
Just one happy play is impressed upon my mind. It must have been after
the first storm, for the snow bank in front of the cabin door was not
high enough to keep out a little sunbeam that stole down the steps and
made a bright spot upon our floor. I saw it, and sat down under it,
held it on my lap, passed my hand up and down in its brightness, and
found that I could break its ray in two. In fact, we had quite a
frolic. I fancied that it moved when I did, for it warmed the top of my
head, kissed first one cheek and then the other, and seemed to run up
and down my arm. Finally I gathered up a piece of it in my apron and
ran to my mother. Great was my surprise when I carefully opened the
folds and found that I had nothing to show, and the sunbeam I had left
seemed shorter. After mother explained its nature, I watched it creep
back slowly up the steps and disappear.
Snowy Christmas brought us no "glad tidings," and New Year's Day no
happiness. Yet, each bright day that followed a storm was one of
thanksgiving, on which we all crept up the flight of snow steps and
huddled about on the surface in the blessed sunshine, but with our eyes
closed against its painful and blinding glare.
Once my mother took me to a hole where I saw smoke coming up, and she
told me that its steps led down to Uncle Jacob's tent, and that we
would go down there to see Aunt Betsy and my little cousins.
I stooped low and peered into the dark depths. Then I called to my
cousins to come to me, because I was afraid to go where they were. I
had not seen them since the day we encamped. At that time they were
chubby and playful, carrying water from the creek to their tent in
small tin pails. Now, they were so changed in looks that I scarcely
knew them, and they stared at me as at a stranger. So I was glad when
my mother came up and took me back to our own tent, which seemed less
dreary because I knew the things that were in it, and the faces about
me.
Father's hand became worse. The swelling and inflammation extending up
the arm to the shoulder produced suffering which he could not conceal.
Each day that we had a fire, I watched mother sitting by his side, with
a basin of warm water upon her lap, laving the wounded and inflamed
parts very tenderly, with a strip of frayed linen wrapped around a
little stick. I remember well the look of comfort that swept over his
worn features as she laid the soothed arm back into place.
By the middle of January the snow measured twelve and fourteen feet in
depth. Nothing could be seen of our abode except the coils of smoke
that found their way up through the opening. There was a dearth of
water. Prosser Creek was frozen over and covered with snow. Icicles
hung from the branches of every tree. The stock of pine cones that had
been gathered for lights was almost consumed. Wood was so scarce that
we could not have fire enough to cook our strips of rawhide, and
Georgia heard mother say that we children had not had a dry garment on
in more than a week, and that she did not know what to do about it.
Then like a smile from God, came another sunny day which not only
warmed and dried us thoroughly but furnished a supply of water from
dripping snowbanks.
The twenty-first was also bright, and John Baptiste went on snowshoes
with messages to the lake camp. He found its inmates in a more
pitiable condition than we were. Only one death had occurred there
since our last communication, but he saw several of the starving who
could not survive many days.
The number to consume the slender stock of food had been lessened,
however, on the sixteenth of December, some six weeks previously, by
the departure of William Eddy, Patrick Dolan, Lemuel Murphy, William
Foster, Mrs. Sarah Foster, Jay Fosdick, Mrs. Sarah Fosdick, Mrs.
William McCutchen, Mrs. Harriet Pike, Miss Mary Graves, Franklin
Graves, Sr., C.T. Stanton, Antonio, Lewis, and Salvador.
This party, which called itself "The Forlorn Hope," had a most
memorable experience, as will be shown later. In some instances husband
had parted from wife, and father from children. Three young mothers had
left their babes in the arms of grandmothers. It was a dire resort, a
last desperate attempt, in face of death, to save those dependent upon
them.
Staff in hand, they had set forth on snowshoes, each carrying a pack
containing little save a quilt and light rations for six days'
journeying. One had a rifle, ammunition, flint, and hatchet for camp
use. William Murphy and Charles Burger, who had originally been of the
number, gave out before the close of the first day, and crept back to
camp. The others continued under the leadership of the intrepid Eddy
and brave Stanton.
John Baptiste remained there a short time and returned to us, saying,
"Those at the other camp believe the promised relief is close at hand!"
This rekindled hope in us, even as it had revived courage and prolonged
lives in the lake cabins, and we prayed, as they were praying, that the
relief might come before its coming should be too late.
Oh, how we watched, hour after hour, and how often each day John
Baptiste climbed to the topmost bough of a tall pine tree and, with
straining eyes, scanned the desolate expanse for one moving speck in
the distance, for one ruffled track on the snow which should ease our
awful suspense.
Days passed. No food in camp except an unsavory beef hide--pinching
hunger called for more. Again John Baptiste and Noah James went forth
in anxious search for marks of our buried cattle. They made
excavations, then forced their hand-poles deep, deeper into the snow,
but in vain their efforts--the nail and hook at the points brought up
no sign of blood, hair, or hide. In dread unspeakable they returned,
and said:
"We shall go mad; we shall die! It is useless to hunt for the cattle;
but the _dead_, if they could be reached, their bodies might keep us
alive."
"No," replied father and mother, speaking for themselves. "No, part of
a hide still remains. When it is gone we will perish, if that be the
alternative."
The fact was, our dead could not have been disturbed even had the
attempt been made, for the many snowfalls of winter were banked about
them firm as granite walls, and in that camp was neither implement nor
arm strong enough to reach their resting-places.
It was a long, weary waiting, on starvation rations until the
nineteenth of February. I did not see any one coming that morning; but
I remember that, suddenly, there was an unusual stir and excitement in
the camp. Three strangers were there, and one was talking with father.
The others took packs from their backs and measured out small
quantities of flour and jerked beef and two small biscuits for each of
us. Then they went up to fell the sheltering pine tree over our tent
for fuel; while Noah James, Mrs. Wolfinger, my two half-sisters, and
mother kept moving about hunting for things.
Finally Elitha and Leanna came and kissed me, then father, "good-bye,"
and went up the steps, and out of sight. Mother stood on the snow where
she could see all go forth. They moved in single file,--the leaders on
snowshoes, the weak stepping in the tracks made by the strong. Leanna,
the last in line, was scarcely able to keep up. It was not until after
mother came back with Frances and Georgia that I was made to understand
that this was the long-hoped-for relief party.
It had come and gone, and had taken Noah James, Mrs. Wolfinger, and my
two half-sisters from us; then had stopped at Aunt Betsy's for William
Hook, her eldest son, and my Cousin George, and all were now on the
way to the lake cabins to join others who were able to walk over the
snow without assistance.
The rescuers, seven in number, who had followed instructions given them
at the settlement, professed to have no knowledge of the Forlorn Hope,
except that this first relief expedition had been outfitted by Captain
Sutter and Alcalde Sinclair in response to Mr. Eddy's appeal, and that
other rescue parties were being organized in California, and would soon
come prepared to carry out the remaining children and helpless grown
folk. By this we knew that Mr. Eddy, at least, had succeeded in
reaching the settlement.
[Footnote 5: Patrick Breen's Diary.]