SIMON MURPHY, FRANCES, GEORGIA, AND I TAKEN FROM THE LAKE CABINS BY THE
THIRD RELIEF--NO FOOD TO LEAVE--CROSSING THE SNOW--REMNANT OF THE
SECOND RELIEF OVERTAKEN--OUT OF THE SNOW--INCIDENTS OF THE
JOURNEY--JOHNSON'S RANCH--THE SINCLAIR HOME--SUTTER'S FORT.
When we left the lake cabin, we still wore the clothing we had on when
we came from our tent with Messrs. Cady and Stone. Georgia and I were
clad in quilted petticoats, linsey dresses, woollen stockings, and
well-worn shoes. Our cloaks were of a twilled material, garnet, with a
white thread interwoven, and we had knitted hoods to match. Frances'
clothing was as warm; instead of cloak, however, she wore a shawl, and
her hood was blue. Her shoes had been eaten by our starving dog before
he disappeared, and as all others were buried out of reach, mother had
substituted a pair of her own in their stead.
Mr. Foster took charge of Simon Murphy, his wife's brother, and Messrs.
Eddy and Miller carried Georgia and me. Mr. Eddy always called Georgia
"my girl," and she found great favor in his eyes, because in size and
looks she reminded him of his little daughter who had perished in that
storm-bound camp.
Our first stop was on the mountain-side overlooking the lake, where we
were given a light meal of bread and meat and a drink of water. When we
reached the head of the lake, we overtook Nicholas Clark and John
Baptiste who had deserted father in his tent and were hurrying toward
the settlement. Our coming was a surprise to them, yet they were glad
to join our party.
After our evening allowance of food we were stowed snugly between
blankets in a snow trench near the summit of the Sierras, but were so
hungry that we could hardly get to sleep, even after being told that
more food would do us harm.
Early next morning we were again on the trail. I could not walk at all,
and Georgia only a short distance at a time. So treacherous was the way
that our rescuers often stumbled into unseen pits, struggled among snow
drifts, and climbed icy ridges where to slip or fall might mean death
in the yawning depth below.
Near the close of this most trying day, Hiram M. Miller put me down,
saying wearily, "I am tired of carrying you. If you will walk to that
dark thing on the mountain-side ahead of us, you shall have a nice lump
of loaf sugar with your supper."
My position in the blanket had been so cramped that my limbs were stiff
and the jostling of the march had made my body ache. I looked toward
the object to which he pointed. It seemed a long way off; yet I wanted
the sugar so much that I agreed to walk. The wind was sharp. I
shivered, and at times could hardly lift my feet; often I stumbled and
would have fallen had he not held my hand tightly, as he half led,
half drew me onward. I did my part, however, in glad expectation of the
promised bit of sweetness. The sun had set before we reached our
landmark, which was a felled and blackened tree, selected to furnish
fuel for our night fire. When we children were given our evening
allowance of food, I asked for my lump of sugar, and cried bitterly on
being harshly told there was none for me. Too disappointed and fretted
to care for anything else, I sobbed myself to sleep.
Nor did I waken happy next morning. I had not forgotten the broken
promise, and was lonesome for mother. When Mr. Miller told me that I
should walk that day as far as Frances and Georgia did, I refused to go
forward, and cried to go back. The result was that he used rough means
before I promised to be good and do as he commanded. His act made my
sister Frances rush to my defence, and also, touched a chord in the
fatherly natures of the other two men, who summarily brought about a
more comfortable state of affairs.
When we proceeded on our journey, I was again carried by Mr. Miller in
a blanket on his back as young children are carried by Indians on long
journeys. My head above the blanket folds bobbed uncomfortably at every
lurch. The trail led up and down and around snow peaks, and under
overhanging banks that seemed ready to give way and crush us.
At one turn our rescuers stopped, picked up a bundle, and carefully
noted the fresh human foot prints in the snow which indicated that a
number of persons were moving in advance. By our fire that night, Mr.
Eddy opened the bundle that we had found upon the snow, and to the
surprise of all, Frances at once recognized in it the three silk
dresses, silver spoons, small keepsakes, and articles of children's
clothing which mother had intrusted to the care of Messrs. Cady and
Stone.
The spoons and smaller articles were now stowed away in the pockets of
our rescuers for safekeeping on the journey; and while we little girls
dressed ourselves in the fresh underwear, and watched our discarded
garments disappear in the fire, the dresses, which mother had planned
should come to us later in life, were remodelled for immediate use.
Mr. Thompson pulled out the same sharp pocket-knife, coarse black
thread, and big-eyed needle, which he had used the previous evening,
while making Frances a pair of moccasins out of his own gauntlet
gloves. With the help of Mr. Eddy, he then ripped out the sleeves, cut
off the waists about an inch above the skirt gathers, cut slits in the
skirts for arm-holes, and tacked in the sleeves. Then, with mother's
wish in mind, they put the dove-colored silk on Frances, the light
brown on Georgia, and the dark coffee-brown on me. Pleats and laps in
the skirt bands were necessary to fit them to our necks. Strings were
tied around our waists, and the skirts tacked up until they were of
walking length. These ample robes served for cloaks as well as dresses
for we could easily draw our hands back through the sleeves and keep
our arms warm beneath the folds. Thus comfortably clad, we began
another day's journey.
Before noon we overtook and passed Messrs. Oakley, Stone, and Stark,
having in charge the following refugees from Starved Camp: Mr. and Mrs.
Patrick Breen and their five children; Mary Donner, Jonathan Graves,
Nancy Graves, and baby Graves. Messrs. Oakley and Stone were in
advance, the former carrying Mary Donner over his shoulder; and the
latter baby Graves in his arms. Great-hearted John Stark had the care
of all the rest. He was broad-shouldered and powerful, and would stride
ahead with two weaklings at a time, deposit them on the trail and go
back for others who could not keep up. These were the remnant of the
hopeful seventeen who had started out on the third of March with the
Second Relief, and with whom mother had hoped we children would cross
the mountains.
It was after dark when our own little party encamped at the crossing of
the Yuba River. The following morning Lieutenant Woodworth and
attendants were found near-by. He commended the work done by the Third
Relief; yet, to Mr. Eddy's dismay, he declared that he would not go to
the rescue of those who were still in the mountains, because the warmer
weather was melting the snow so rapidly that the lives of his men would
be endangered should he attempt to lead them up the trail which we had
just followed down. He gave our party rations, and said that he would
at once proceed to Johnson's Ranch and from there send to Mule Springs
the requisite number of horses to carry to the settlement the persons
now on the trail.
Our party did not resume travel until ten o'clock that morning;
nevertheless, we crossed the snow line and made our next camp at Mule
Springs. There we caught the first breath of spring-tide, touched the
warm, dry earth, and saw green fields far beyond the foot of that cold,
cruel mountain range. Our rescuers exclaimed joyfully, "Thank God, we
are at last out of the snow, and you shall soon see Elitha and Leanna,
and have all you want to eat."
Our allowance of food had been gradually increased and our improved
condition bore evidence of the good care and kind treatment we had
received. We remained several days at Mule Springs, and were
comparatively happy until the arrival of the unfortunates from Starved
Camp, who stretched forth their gaunt hands and piteously begged for
food which would have caused death had it been given to them in
sufficient quantities to satisfy their cravings.
When I went among them I found my little cousin Mary sitting on a
blanket near Mr. Oakley, who had carried her thither, and who was
gently trying to engage her thoughts. Her wan face was wet with tears,
and her hands were clasped around her knee as she rocked from side to
side in great pain. A large woollen stocking covered her swollen leg
and frozen foot which had become numb and fallen into the fire one
night at Starved Camp and been badly maimed before she awakened to
feel the pain. I wanted to speak to her, but when I saw how lonesome
and ill she looked, something like pain choked off my words.
Her brother Isaac had died at that awful camp and she herself would not
have lived had Mr. Oakley not been so good to her. He was now
comforting her with the assurance that he would have the foot cared for
by a doctor as soon as they should reach the settlement; and she,
believing him, was trying to be brave and patient.
We all resumed travel on horseback and reached Johnson's Ranch about
the same hour in the day. As we approached, the little colony of
emigrants which had settled in the neighborhood the previous Autumn
crowded in and about the two-roomed adobe house which Mr. Johnson had
kindly set apart as a stopping place for the several relief parties on
their way to and from the mountains. All were anxious to see the
sufferers for whose rescue they had helped to provide.
Survivors of the Forlorn Hope and of the First Relief were also there
awaiting the arrival of expected loved ones. There Simon Murphy, who
came with us, met his sisters and brother; Mary Graves took from the
arms of Charles Stone, her slowly dying baby sister; she received from
the hands of John Stark her brother Jonathan and her sister Nancy, and
heard of the death of her mother and of her brother Franklin at Starved
Camp. That house of welcome became a house of mourning when Messrs.
Eddy and Foster repeated the names of those who had perished in the
snows. The scenes were so heart-rending that I slipped out of doors and
sat in the sunshine waiting for Frances and Georgia, and thinking of
her who had intrusted us to the care of God.
Before our short stay at the Johnson Ranch ended, we little girls had a
peculiar experience. While standing in a doorway, the door closed with
a bang upon two of my fingers. My piercing cry brought several persons
to the spot, and one among them sat down and soothed me in a motherly
way. After I was myself again, she examined the dress into which
Messrs. Thompson and Eddy had stitched so much good-will, and she said:
"Let me take off this clumsy thing, and give you a little blue dress
with white flowers on it." She made the change, and after she had
fastened it in the back she got a needle and white thread and bade me
stand closer to her so that she might sew up the tear which exposed my
knees. She asked why I looked so hard at her sewing, and I replied,
"My mother always makes little stitches when she sews my dresses."
No amount of pulling down of the sleeves or straightening out of the
skirt could conceal the fact that I was too large for the garment. As I
was leaving her, I heard her say to a companion, "That is just as good
for her, and this will make two for my little girl." Later in the day
Frances and Georgia parted with their silks and looked as forlorn as I
in calico substitutes.
Oh, the balm and beauty of that early morning when Messrs. Eddy,
Thompson, and Miller took us on horseback down the Sacramento Valley.
Under the leafy trees and over the budding blossoms we rode. Not
rapidly, but steadily, we neared our journey's end. Toward night, when
the birds had stopped their singing and were hiding themselves among
bush and bough, we reached the home of Mr. and Mrs. John Sinclair on
the American River, thirty-five miles from Johnson's Ranch and only two
and a half from Sutter's Fort.
That hospitable house was over-crowded with earlier arrivals, but as it
was too late for us to cross the river, sympathetic Mrs. Sinclair said
that she would find a place for us. Having no bed to offer, she
loosened the rag-carpet from one corner of the room, had fresh straw
put on the floor, and after supper, tucked us away on it, drawing the
carpet over us in place of quilts.
We had bread and milk for supper that night, and the same good food
next day. In the afternoon we were taken across the river in an Indian
canoe. Then we followed the winding path through the tules to Sutter's
Fort, where we were given over to our half-sisters by those heroic men
who had kept their pledge to our mother and saved our lives.