Endeavors to Cross the Mountains
Discouraging Failures
Eddy Kills a Bear
Making SnowShoes
Who Composed the "Forlorn Hope"
Mary A. Graves
An Irishman
A Generous Act
Six Days' Rations
Mary Graves Account
Snow-Blind
C. T. Stanton's Death
"I am Coming Soon"
Sketch of Stanton's Early Life
His Charity and Self-Sacrifice
The Diamond Breastpin
Stanton's Last Poem.
All knew that death speedily awaited the entire company unless some
could cross over the mountain barrier and hasten back relief parties.
Out of the list of ninety persons mentioned in the first chapter, only
Mrs. Sarah Keyes, Halloran, Snyder, Hardcoop, Wolfinger, and Pike had
perished, and only three, Messrs. Reed, Herron, and McCutchen, had
reached California. This left eighty-one persons at the mountain camps.
It was resolved that at the earliest possible moment the strongest and
ablest of the party should endeavor to cross the summits and reach the
settlements. Accordingly, on the twelfth of November, a party of twelve
or fifteen persons set out from the cabins. It was found impossible,
however, to make any considerable headway in the soft, deep snow, and at
midnight they returned to the cabins. They had not succeeded in getting
more than a mile above the head of the lake. In this party were Mr. F.
W. Graves and his two daughters, Mary A. Graves, and Mrs. Sarah Fosdick.
The rest, with the exception of Jay Fosdick and Wm. H. Eddy, were young,
unmarried men, as, for instance, Stanton, Smith, Spitzer, Elliott,
Antoine, John Baptiste, and the two Indians. It was comparatively a
trifling effort, but it seemed to have the effect of utterly depressing
the hopes of several of these men. With no one in the camps dependent
upon them, without any ties of relationship, or bonds of affection,
these young men were be first to attempt to escape from their prison
walls of snow. Failing in this, many of them never again rallied or made
a struggle for existence. Not so, however, with those who were heads
of families. A gun was owned by William Foster, and with it, on the
fourteenth of November, three miles north of Truckee, near the present
Alder Creek Mill, Mr. Eddy succeeded in killing a bear. This event
inspired many hearts with courage; but, alas it was short-lived. No
other game could be found except two or three wild ducks. What were
these among eighty-one people! Mr. F. W. Graves was a native of Vermont,
and his boyhood days had been spent in sight of the Green Mountains.
Somewhat accustomed to snow, and to pioneer customs, Mr. Graves was the
only member of the party who understood how to construct snow-shoes. The
unsuccessful attempt made by the first party proved that no human being
could walk upon the loose snow without some artificial assistance. By
carefully sawing the ox-bows into strips, so as to preserve their curved
form, Mr. Graves, by means of rawhide thongs, prepared very serviceable
snow-shoes. Fourteen pair of shoes were made in this manner. It was
certain death for all to remain in camp, and yet the first attempt had
shown that it was almost equally certain death to attempt to reach the
settlements. There was not food for all, and yet the ones who undertook
to cross the mountains were undoubtedly sacrificing their lives for
those who remained in camp. If some should go, those who were left
behind might be able to preserve life until spring, or until relief
came. The stoutest hearts quailed before the thought of battling with
the deep drifts, the storms, and the unknown dangers which lurked on
the summits. The bravest shuddered at the idea of leaving the cabins
and venturing out into the drear and dismal wilderness of snow. Yet they
could count upon their fingers the days that would elapse before the
provisions would be exhausted, and starvation would ensue, if none left
the camps.
Day after day, with aching hearts and throbbing brows, the poor
imprisoned wretches gazed into each other's faces in blank despair.
Who should be sacrificed? Who would go out and seek a grave 'neath the
crashing avalanche, the treacherous drifts, or in the dreary famished
wilderness, that those left behind might live? Who would be the forlorn
hope of the perishing emigrants?
Once, Messrs. Patrick Breen, Patrick Dolan, Lewis Keseberg, and W.
H. Eddy, are said to have attempted to reach the summit. On another
occasion these same parties, with Mrs. Reed and family, Mr. Stanton and
the two Indians, made an unsuccessful attempt. Still another time, a
large party, among whom were Mrs. Murphy and the older members of her
family, made the effort, and even succeeded in crossing the topmost
ridge and reaching Summit Valley, one and a half miles west of the
summit. But all these parties were forced to return to the cabins, and
each failure confirmed the belief that no living being could cross the
mountains. In this manner time dragged wearily along until the tenth,
or, as some say, the sixteenth of December. The mere matter of the date
is of trifling importance. At all events a forlorn hope was organized.
Seventeen names were enrolled as volunteers. Of these, Charles Burger
went only a short distance, turning back weary and exhausted. Wm. G.
Murphy, who is described as a most brave and resolute boy of eleven
years of age, accompanied the party as far as the head of Donner Lake.
He and his brother Lemuel were without snowshoes. It was expected they
would step in the beaten tracks of those who had shoes, but this was
soon proven to be utterly impracticable. The party made snow-shoes for
Lemuel on the first night, out of the aparajos which had been brought by
Stanton from Sutter's Fort. Wm. G. Murphy saved his life by returning
to the cabins. No human being could have endured the trip without
snow-shoes. Fifteen remained in the party, and these pressed forward
without so much as daring to look back to the dear ones whose lives
depended upon this terrible venture. Without forgetting William G.
Murphy and Charles Burger, who started with this little band, the first
party who crossed the Sierra will in future be termed the fifteen.
Who composed this party? Mothers, whose babes would starve unless the
mothers went; fathers, whose wives and children would perish if the
fathers did not go; children, whose aged parents could not survive
unless the children, by leaving, increased the parents' share of food.
Each were included in the forlorn hope.
It was time for some one to leave the cabins. During the days that had
elapsed, no word had been received from the Donner brothers at Alder
Creek, nor from the emigrants who camped with them. Alder Creek is a
branch of Prosser Creek, and the Donners encamped on the former stream
about a mile and a half above the junction.
On the ninth of December, Milton Elliott and Noah James started back to
learn some tidings of these people. Soon after they left the camps at
the lake, a terrific storm came down from the mountains, and as nothing
had been heard from them, it was considered certain they had perished.
About this time, starvation and exposure had so preyed upon one of the
company, Augustus Spitzer, that one day he came reeling and staggering
into the Breen cabin and fell prostrate and helpless upon the floor.
Poor fellow, he never rallied, although by careful nursing and kindest
attentions he lingered along for some weeks. The emigrants were no
longer on short allowance, they were actually starving! Oh! the horror!
the dread alarm which prevailed among the company! C. T. Stanton, ever
brave, courageous, lion-hearted, said, "I will bring help to these
famishing people or lay down my life." F. W. Graves, who was one of the
noblest men who ever breathed the breath of life, was next to volunteer.
Mr. and Mrs. Graves had nine children, the youngest being only nine
months old. Generously had they parted with the cattle which they
brought to the lake, dividing equally with those families who had
no food. Mary A. Graves and her elder sister, Mrs. Sarah Fosdick,
determined to accompany their father, and as will presently be seen,
their hearts failed not during trials which crushed strong men. Mary
Graves was about nineteen years old. She was a very beautiful girl,
of tall and slender build, and exceptionally graceful carriage. Her
features, in their regularity, were of classic Grecian mold. Her eyes
were dark, bright, and expressive. A fine mouth and perfect set of
teeth, added to a luxuriant growth of dark, rebelliously wavy hair,
completed an almost perfect picture of lovely girlhood. Jay Fosdick
resolved to share with his wife the perils of the way. Mrs. Murphy
offered to take care of the infant children of her married daughters,
Mrs. Foster and Mrs. Pike, if they would join the party. The dear, good
mother argued that what the daughters would eat would keep her and the
little ones from starving. It was nobly said, yet who can doubt but
that, with clearer vision, the mother saw that only by urging them to
go, could she save her daughters' lives. With what anguish did Mrs.
Harriet F. Pike enroll her name among those of the "Forlorn Hope,"
and bid good-by to her little two-year-old Naomi and her nursing babe,
Catherine! What bitter tears were shed by Mr. and Mrs. Foster when they
kissed their beautiful baby boy farewell! Alas! though they knew it not,
it was a long, long farewell. Mrs. Eddy was too feeble to attempt the
journey, and the family were so poorly provided with food that Mr. Eddy
was compelled to leave her and the two little children in the cabins,
and go with the party. Mrs. McCutchen also had an infant babe, and Mrs.
Graves employed the same reasoning with her that Mrs. Murphy had so
effectively used with Mrs. Pike and Mrs. Foster. That these three young
mothers left their infant children, their nursing babes, with others,
and started to find relief, is proof stronger than words, of the
desperate condition of the starving emigrants. The Mexican Antoine, the
two Indians Lewis and Salvador, and an Irishman named Patrick Dolan,
completed the fifteen. This Patrick Dolan deserves more than a passing
word. He had owned a farm in Keokuk, Iowa, and selling it, had taken as
the price, a wagon, four oxen, and two cows. With these he joined the
Donner Party, and on reaching the lake had killed his cattle and stored
them away with those killed by the Breens. Dolan was a bachelor, and
about forty years of age. He was possessed of two or three hundred
dollars in coin, but instead of being miserly or selfish, was
characterized by generous openheartedness. "When it became apparent that
there was to be suffering and starvation" (this quotation is from the
manuscript of Hon. James F. Breen), "Dolan determined to lighten the
burden at the camps, and leave with the party that was to attempt the
passage of the summit, so that there should be less to consume the scant
supply of provisions. Previous to his departure, he asked my father
(Patrick Breen) to attend to the wants of Reed's family, and to give of
his (Dolan's) meat to Reed's family as long as possible." Accordingly,
Mrs. Reed and her children were taken into Breen's cabin, where, as
mentioned above, Dolan's meat was stored. Was ever a more generous act
recorded? Patrick Dolan had no relative in the Donner Party, and no
friends, save those whose friendship had been formed upon the plains.
With the cattle which belonged to him he could have selfishly subsisted
until relief came, but, whole-souled Irishman that he was, he gave food
to the mothers and the children and went out into the waste of snow to
perish of starvation! How many who live to-day owe their existence to
Patrick Dolan's self-sacrifice! This blue-eyed, brown haired Irishman
is described as being of a jovial disposition, and inclined to look
upon the bright side of things. Remembering how he gave his life for
strangers, how readily can we appreciate Mr. Breen's tender tribute: "He
was a favorite with children, and would romp and play with a child." As
a token of appreciation for his kindness, Mrs. Reed gave Patrick Dolan a
gold watch and a Masonic emblem belonging to her husband, bidding him
to keep them until he was rewarded for his generosity. The good mother's
word had a significance she wot not of. When Mrs. Reed reached Sutter's
Fort she found these valuables awaiting her. They had been brought in by
Indians. Patrick Dolan had kept them until his death--until the angels
came and bore him away to his reward.
This party of fifteen had taken provisions to last only six days. At the
end of this time they hoped to reach Bear Valley, so they said, but it
is more than probable they dared not take more food from their dear
ones at the cabins. Six days' rations! This means enough of the poor,
shriveled beef to allow each person, three times a day, a piece the size
of one's two fingers. With a little coffee and a little loaf sugar,
this was all. They had matches, Foster's gun, a hatchet, and each a thin
blanket. With this outfit they started to cross the Sierra. No person,
unaccustomed to snow-shoes, can form an idea of the difficulty which is
experienced during one's first attempt to walk with them. Their shoes
would sink deep into the loose, light snow, and it was with great effort
they made any progress. They had been at Donner Lake from forty-two to
forty-six days, and on this first night of their journey had left it
four miles behind them. After a dreadful day's work they encamped, in
full sight of the lake and of the cabins. This was harder for the aching
hearts of the mothers than even the terrible parting from their little
ones. To see the smoke of the cabins, to awake from their troubled
dreams, thinking they heard the cry of their starving babes, to stifle
the maternal yearnings which prompted them to turn back and perish with
their darlings clasped to their breasts, were trials almost unbearable.
The next day they traveled six miles. They crossed the summit, and the
camps were no longer visible. They were in the solemn fastnesses of the
snow-mantled Sierra. Lonely, desolate, forsaken apparently by God and
man, their situation was painfully, distressingly terrible. The snow
was, wrapped about cliff and forest and gorge. It varied in depth from
twelve to sixty feet.
Mrs. M. A. Clarke (Mary Graves), now of White River, Tulare County,
speaking of this second day, says: "We had a very slavish day's travel,
climbing the divide. Nothing of interest occurred until reaching the
summit. The scenery was too grand for me to pass without notice, the
changes being so great; walking now on loose snow, and now stepping on a
hard, slick rock a number of hundred yards in length. Being a little
in the rear of the party, I had a chance to observe the company ahead,
trudging along with packs on their backs. It reminded me of some
Norwegian fur company among the icebergs. My shoes were ox-bows,
split in two, and rawhide strings woven in, something in form of the
old-fashioned, split-bottomed chairs. Our clothes were of the bloomer
costume, and generally were made of flannel. Well do I remember a remark
one of the company made here, that we were about as near heaven as we
could get. We camped a little on the west side of the summit the second
night."
Here they gathered a few boughs, kindled a fire upon the surface of the
snow, boiled their coffee, and ate their pitiful allowance of beef; then
wrapping their toil-worn bodies in their blankets, lay down upon the
snow. As W. C. Graves remarks, it was a bed that was soft, and white,
and beautiful, and yet it was a terrible bed--a bed of death. The third
day they walked five miles. Starting almost at dawn, they struggled
wearily through the deep drifts, and when the night shadows crept over
crag and pine and mountain vale, they were but five miles on their
journey. They did not speak during the day, except when speech was
absolutely necessary. All traveled silently, and with downcast eyes.
The task was beginning to tell upon the frames of even the strongest and
most resolute. The hunger that continually gnawed at their vitals, the
excessive labor of moving the heavy, clumsy snow-shoes through the soft,
yielding snow, was too much for human endurance. They could no longer
keep together and aid each other with words of hope. They struggled
along, sometimes at great distances apart. The fatigue and dazzling
sunlight rendered some of them snowblind. One of these was the
noble-hearted Stanton. On this third day he was too blind and weak to
keep up with the rest, and staggered into the camp long after the others
had finished their pitiful supper. Poor, brave, generous Stanton! He
said little, but in his inner heart he knew that the end of his journey
was almost at hand.
Who was this heroic being who left the beautiful valleys of the
Sacramento to die for strangers? See him wearily toiling onward during
the long hours of the fourth day. The agony and blindness of his eyes
wring no cry from his lips, no murmur, no word of complaint. With
patient courage and heroic fortitude he strives to keep pace with his
companions, but finds it impossible. Early in the morning he drops to
the rear, and is soon lost to sight. At night he drags his weary limbs
into camp long after his comrades are sleeping 'neath the silent stars.
It must be remembered that they had been accustomed to short allowance
of food for months, while he had been used to having an abundance. Their
bodies had been schooled to endure famine, privations, and long, weary
walks. For many days before reaching the mountains, they had been used
to walking every day, in order to lighten the burdens of the perishing
oxen. Fatigues which exhausted them crushed Stanton. The weather was
clear and pleasant, but the glare of the sun during the day had been
like molten fire to their aching eyes.
On the morning of the fifth day Stanton was sitting smoking by the
smoldering fire when the company resumed its journey. Mary Graves, who
had a tender heart for the suffering of others, went kindly up to him,
and asked him if he were coming. "Yes," he replied, "I am coming
soon." Was he answering her, or the unseen spirits that even then were
beckoning him to the unknown world? "Yes, I am coming soon!" These were
his last words. His companions were too near death's door to return when
they found he came not, and so he perished. He had begged them piteously
to lead him, during the first days of his blindness, but seeming
to realize that they were unable to render assistance, he ceased to
importune, and heroically met his fate. He did not blame his comrades.
They were weak, exhausted, and ready to die of starvation. With food
nearly gone, strength failing, hope lost, and nothing left but the last,
blind, clinging instinct of life, it was impossible that the perishing
company should have aided the perishing Stanton. He was a hero of the
highest, noblest, grandest stamp. No words can ever express a fitting
tribute to his memory. He gave his life for strangers who had not the
slightest claim to the sacrifice. He left the valleys where friends,
happiness, and abundance prevailed, to perish amidst chilling
snow-drifts--famished and abandoned. The act of returning to save the
starving emigrants is as full of heroic grandeur as his death is replete
with mournful desolation.
In May, 1847, W. C. Graves, in company with a relief party, found the
remains of C. T. Stanton near the spot where he had been left by his
companions. The wild animals had partially devoured his body, but the
remains were easily identified by means of his clothing and pistols.
The following sketch of this hero is kindly furnished by his brother,
Sidney Stanton, of Cazenovia, New York:
"Charles Tyler Stanton was born at Pompey, Onondaga County, New York,
March 11, 1811. He was five feet five inches in height. He had brown
eyes and brown hair. He possessed a robust constitution, and although
rather slender during his youth, at the age of fifteen he became strong
and hearty, and could endure as great hardships as any of his brothers.
He had five brothers and four sisters, and was the seventh child. His
grandparents, on his father's side, were well off at the close of the
revolutionary war, but sold their large farms, and took Continental
money in payment. Soon afterward this money became worthless, and they
lost all. They were at the time living in Berkshire, Massachusetts,
but soon after removed west to the county where C. T. Stanton was born.
There were in his father's family fourteen children--seven sons and
seven daughters."
In his younger days Stanton was engaged as a clerk in a store. He was
honest, industrious, and greatly beloved by those with whom he came in
contact. His early education was limited, but during his employment as
clerk he used every possible endeavor to improve his mind. During his
journey across the plains, he was regarded as somewhat of a savant,
on account of his knowledge of botany, geology, and other branches of
natural science. His disposition was generous to a fault. He never was
happier than when bestowing assistance upon needy friends. His widowed
mother, for whom he entertained the most devoted affection, was kindly
cared for by him until her death in 1835. After this sad event he
removed to Chicago. At Chicago he made money rapidly for a time, and his
hand was ever ready to give aid to those about him. Charity and heroic
self-sacrifice appear to have been his predominant characteristics. They
stand out in bold relief, not only in his early history, but during his
connection with the Donner Party. While in the mountains he had no money
to give, but instead he gave his strength, his energy, his love, his
all, his very life, for his companions.
That he had a premonition of the gloomy fate which overtook him in the
Sierra, or at least that he fully realized the perils to which he was
exposing his life, is indicated by the following incident: When he set
out from Sutter's Fort to return to the Donner train with provisions, he
left a vest with Captain Sutter. In one of the pockets of this vest was
subsequently found a package directed to the Captain with the following
memorandum: "Captain Sutter will send the within, in the event of my
death, to Sidney Stanton, Syracuse, New York." The package contained a
diamond breastpin. Mr. Sidney Stanton writes as follows concerning this
keepsake:
"I will give you a short history or account of the pin which was left
for me at Sutter's Fort, which Mr. McKinstry forwarded to me. This was
an event so peculiar at the time. He visited me here at Syracuse, while
he was prospering in Chicago. He was on his way to New York, and wanted
a sum of money, which I advanced. Before leaving he fastened this pin on
the dress of my wife, remarking that she must consider it as a present
from him. Nothing more was thought of this event until he again wanted
money. Misfortune had overtaken him, and this event gave him much pain,
not so much on his own account as because he could not relieve the
distress of dear friends when asked for aid. I sent him a little more
money; I had not much to spare, and in talking the matter over with my
wife, she asked, 'Why not send him the pin? It is valuable, and in time
of need he might dispose of it for his comfort.' In saying this she
took the ground that it was left with her as a pledge, not as a gift. I
therefore handed it to my sister to send to him for this purpose. But it
appears by his keeping it and sending it back in the way he did, that he
did consider it a gift, and hence he would not and did not dispose of it
for necessary things for his own comfort. This pin was the only thing of
value which he had at the time of his death."
Stanton was an excellent writer. His descriptions of his travels from
Chicago to the South would make a good-sized and a very interesting
book. His last composition is given below. It is an appropriate ending
to this brief outline of the history of one who should be regarded as
one of the noblest of California's pioneer heroes:
"To My Mother In Heaven."
"Oh, how that word my soul inspires
With holy, fond, and pure desires!
Maternal love, how bright the flame!
For wealth of worlds I'd not profane
Nor idly breathe thy sacred name,
My mother."
"Thy sainted spirit dwells on high.
How oft I weep, how oft I sigh
Whene'er I think of bygone time,
Thy smile of love, which once was mine,
That look so heavenly and divine,
My mother."
"Thy warning voice in prayers of love,
Ascending to the throne above
With tones of eloquence so rife,
Hath turned my thoughts from worldly strife,
And cheered me through my wayward life,
My mother."
"When death shall close my sad career,
And I before my God appear
There to receive His last decree
My only prayer there will be
Forever to remain with thee,
My mother."