TERRIBLE STORY OF THE DONNERS.
On his arrival at Truckee, the pleasure-seeker will do well to spend a
few hours in the examination of the beauties of Donner Lake, a lake much
resorted to by the people both of California and Nevada, and a perfect
little gem. Those who are afraid to venture out upon the broad waters of
Tahoe, will be quite at ease on Donner.
From the town of Truckee, Donner Lake is reached in travelling a
distance of but two miles, over an excellent carriage-road. The lake is
about three miles in length and from a mile to a mile and a half in
width. It is shut in on all sides by lofty and picturesque mountains. To
the south and west these are very imposing—mountain piled on mountain.
While the mountains to the southward are covered to a considerable
extent, in their lower ranges, with pine, fir, spruce, and other
evergreen trees, those on the west, toward the summit, are principally
bald and barren piles of granite; though there are scattering pines
clinging in places where their roots find a hold in the crevices of the
rocks.
The track of the Central Pacific Railroad passes along the face of the
mountains on the south side of the lake, hundreds of feet above its
placid waters. From the lake the trains are seen moving along the sides
of the great cliffs, where they seem to run on a track laid in the air
or to cling to the rocks “by their eyebrows,” as an old “mountain man”
once suggested, on looking up at the trains. At numerous points along
the track there are snow-sheds which greatly interfere with the view of
the lake from the cars, yet in many places picturesque glimpses of it
are obtained, and of the mountain scenery in all directions.
Through the bare granite mountains walling in the lake on the west,
passes a tunnel, into which it is a relief to see the trains plunge as
they dart through the last of the snow-sheds and glide round the last of
the cliffs.
From the top of the great mountain through which passes the
railroad-tunnel, is obtained a grand and comprehensive view of Donner
Lake and all its surroundings. The valley in which the little sheet of
water lies is so small that, seen from above, it presents much the
appearance of the crater of an extinct volcano. At each end, east and
west, are seen dark groves of small pines, a few acres in extent, and
these, with the waters of the lake, occupy all the level land in the
basin.
To the eastward of the lake, days of mountain climbing distant, rise the
snowy peaks of the eastern summit of the Sierras, glittering in the
sunlight and dimly seen; to the westward, on the western summit, rises
Donner Peak, crowned with black and rugged rocks, flecked with patches
of snow, and tufted here and there with a few scattering and stunted
pines. The water of Donner Lake is as clear, cold, and sweet as that of
any mountain-spring. At the lake are good hotels and both sail and
row-boats for the accommodation of visitors. Those who are lovers of the
sport so lauded by good old Isaak Walton, will find an abundance of
trout in the small brooks putting down from the mountains. The lake has
an outlet at the east end which forms a stream of considerable size,
called Little Truckee River. This unites with the main Truckee River,
which is the outlet of Lake Tahoe. There is good trout-fishing in the
Little Truckee, which is a bright and rapid stream.
It was on the banks of the Little Truckee, in the groves of pine at the
foot of the lake, that occurred the horrible Donner disaster, some years
before the discovery of gold in California.
The unfortunate Donner party, numbering seventy-six souls, principally
emigrants from Illinois, reached the Sierra Nevada Mountains, October
31st, 1746, a month later in the season than was safe at that time to be
found in such a region. That year the winter snows set in about three
weeks earlier than usual, and with unusual severity, and in a few days
fell to the depth of several feet.
When the snow began falling, the train had crossed what is known as the
eastern summit of the Sierras, and had entered Summit Valley, in which
lies Donner Lake. The train was pushed on through the storm until the
foot of the lake was reached. Here the snow fell so rapidly, day and
night, that it was soon several feet in depth, and it was impossible to
proceed; indeed, so great was the fall of snow that the cattle and
horses of the train were soon buried beneath it in all directions about
the camp.
The emigrants then built a number of log-houses in which to winter, and
moving into these from their wagons, began a season of suffering
unprecedented in the history of the Sierras, where many men have
perished in the snow. Though many individuals and small parties have
lost their lives in these mountains, as a horrible scene of suffering,
starvation, and death, the disaster which befel the Donner party stands
alone in the history of the Pacific Coast.
The stumps of the trees cut by the party still stand, and are from
fifteen to eighteen feet in height, showing the great depth to which the
cabins and all in the camp lay buried. At first the unfortunate people
lived on the cattle they were able to dig out of the snow, but there
came a time when no more of these could be found, and then the pangs of
hunger began to be felt in the dreary camp. It was seen that unless
relief could be obtained from some quarter, all must soon die of
starvation.
In this emergency a Mr. Reed, a man of iron frame, provided with a
scanty stock of such provisions as could be gathered in the huts of the
castaways, struggled through the snow till he had crossed the western
summit of the Sierras, when he made his way as speedily as possible to
the village of Yerba Buena, now San Francisco; the first place where he
could look for relief. Here he made known the perilous position of his
friends in the mountains. As soon as his story was heard, a meeting was
called, provisions were contributed, and a relief-party was organized.
When the relief-party arrived at the camp on Donner Lake and entered the
cabins of the unfortunates, forty persons were found to be still alive
and were rescued. Thirty-six were dead, and the snow formed for them a
winding-sheet.
[Illustration: DONNER LAKE, SIERRA NEVADAS.]
[Illustration: SUMMIT-CROSSING OF SIERRA NEVADAS, NEAR DONNER LAKE.]
When the relief-party started on their return from the cabins, they were
obliged to leave behind Mr. Donner, a farmer from Illinois, who was very
ill; also, his wife, who refused to be saved if her husband must be left
behind. Keysbury, a German, for some reason for which no satisfactory
explanation has ever been given, was left behind with the Donners. These
three persons were left to winter in the camp, such provisions as could
be spared by the relief-party being given them. What passed in the lone
camp during the dark and dreary months that followed, will never be
known.
In April, a party, under General Kearney, was sent out to bring these
persons over the mountains. On entering the camp, only Keysbury was
found alive. The party found the body of Mr. Donner in a tent, where it
had been carefully laid out by his wife. Nothing could be seen of Mrs.
Donner, however. Old Keysbury was found reclining at his ease upon the
floor of one of the cabins, calmly smoking his pipe, and apparently
engaged in watching the smoke-wreaths as they curled upward. He sat near
a wide fireplace on the hearth of which blazed a fire, on which hung a
camp-kettle, found to be half filled with human flesh. Near at hand
stood a bucket partly filled with blood and pieces of human flesh, while
pieces of human flesh, fresh and bloody, were strewn about the floor.
Old Keysbury himself presented a most repulsive appearance—no ogre or
ghoul, feasting in his den, could have been more hideous. His beard was
of great length, and spread in tangled strings over his breast, his hair
in a great, matted mop, hung about his shoulders and stood out over his
eyes, while the nails of his fingers had grown to such a length that
they resembled the claws of a wild beast. He was ragged to an indecent
degree, exceedingly filthy, and as ferocious as he was filthy. When
confronted in his den and discovered in the very act of indulging in his
cannibal feast, he roused up and glared upon those who approached as
though he were a hyena.
After some trouble he was secured and was then charged with having
murdered Mrs. Donner for her flesh and money. He stoutly denied the
charge, but a rope having been placed about his neck and one end of it
thrown over the limb of a tree, the old fiend began to beg for his life,
and, being released, showed where he had hidden a portion of the money.
In pity of his miserable condition—he appearing not wholly in his right
mind—and in view of the apparent fact that he was driven to the deed by
the pangs of hunger, Keysbury’s life was spared, but he was driven forth
from the society of his kind, and became a wanderer on the face of the
earth, spurned and avoided wherever he became known.
A young son and daughter of the Donners were rescued by the first
relief-party. They were carried over the deep snow that lay in the
mountains, on the backs of men. When these children reached San
Francisco they excited universal sympathy and in order to do something
toward giving them a start in the world, they were granted a 100-vara
lot each. Many years afterwards, when the village of Yerba Buena became
San Francisco, and a great and rich city, these lots became the subject
of a lawsuit of much importance. The remains of the Donner cabins were
to be seen until a few years since. In some of the cabinets of the
curious, in Virginia City, are bones collected at the old Donner camp,
about the sites of the decayed cabins, and some of these may even have
been gnawed by old Keysbury.
At no great distance from Virginia City, there are in several localities
hot springs, all of which possess medicinal virtues and are much
frequented by persons afflicted with rheumatism and kindred disorders.
The most wonderful of all these are the Steamboat Springs, in Steamboat
Valley, on the line of the Virginia and Truckee Railroad, about midway
between Reno and Carson City. The springs are situated on a low mound,
about a mile in length and six hundred feet in width, formed of rocky
incrustations deposited by the mineral waters. Running north and south
through this low ridge are several large crevices from which arise
columns of steam, heated air and gases.
[Illustration: WINTER IN THE MOUNTAINS.]
Early in the morning, when the air is cool and calm, as many as sixty or
seventy columns of steam may be seen rising along the ridge, many of
which ascend to the height of over fifty feet. Far down in the crevices,
which are over a foot in width, may be heard the surging of billows of
boiling water. At the sides and ends of the crevices are a great number
of boiling springs, some of which spurt water to the height of two or
three feet above the surface. A strong smell of sulphur pervades the
atmosphere, and pure sulphur is found in many places along the line of
the large crevices.
At times, some of these springs spout water to a great height. In 1860,
one about the diameter of an ordinary well, threw a column of hot water
three feet in diameter to the height of over fifty feet. This spring was
intermittent. After spouting steadily for an hour it would suddenly
cease with a sound as of a great sigh, as the direction of the internal
force changed and the water seemed sucked back into the regions below.
The eruptions of this spring occurred once in about eight hours. After
the water was sucked back into the ground, a hole about nine feet in
depth was seen, the bottom of which was covered with sand. The
withdrawing of the water through this sand appeared to be the cause of
the sighing sound heard at the end of each eruption.
When a grand season of spouting was about to begin, a heavy rumbling
would be heard below, there was a hissing sound at the bottom of the
well, bubbles came up through the sand, and presently boiling water
surged in. This water would rush, foaming and hissing, to within two or
three feet of the surface, when it would suddenly withdraw with a great
sigh. In about a minute the hissing and rumbling would again begin, and
again the water would rush almost to the top of the well. When this had
been three or four times repeated, the preliminary performance—notes of
preparation, as it were—had ended. A rumbling much louder than anything
before heard began, the ground for many rods about the spot was
violently shaken, and on a sudden, with a great roar, a huge column of
water darted into the air. Had this spring continued these eruptions, it
would have been one of the lions of the country, but after a season of
activity in the Spring of 1860, it became closed up, and has since been
one of the tamest springs along the line. In 1862 a spring for a time
spouted water to the height of fifty or sixty feet, through an orifice
about three inches in diameter.
In June, 1873, the then proprietor of the Steamboat Springs and hotel,
lost his life in one of the springs. He was engaged in the erection of a
new bath-house over a large pool of boiling water, some five feet in
depth, for use in giving steam baths. Timbers for the foundation had
been laid across the pool, and the man walked out on one of these to
arrange a cross-timber, when he slipped and fell into the scalding
water. The water was so deep as to reach nearly to his neck, and so hot
that eggs could be cooked in it in two minutes.
When he fell into the pool, he was either so much frightened or felt
such pain that for a time he seemed in a manner paralyzed, and did
hardly anything toward trying to make his escape. He was in the spring
at least half a minute before he got out, which he at last did
principally through his own exertions, though a man who was working near
the place ran to his assistance and lent him a helping hand when he had
reached the bank of the pool. When his clothes were taken off, the
greater part of the skin slipped from his body. He was literally cooked
alive, and lived but a short time.
At certain seasons of the year, many of the millionaires of the Comstock
are to be found rambling in California, taking their ease in that land
of sunshine and flowers. Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, and other places on
the sea-coast are much frequented by those who are weary of the eternal
sameness and the light and dry atmosphere of the mountains, and who wish
to find some pleasant place in which to rest and recuperate. Said an
enthusiastic Comstocker, who had just returned from a visit to the
“Golden State”: “California, sir! It is the land of the palm, and the
banana! Look abroad on her vine-clad hills, sir! Beautiful! Observe her
glorious gardens—gardens such as were not in Eden—the propped trees of
her orchards; her fields of golden grain; her giant eucalyptus; and see,
towering over all and overshadowing all—with one hand resting on the
peaks of the Coast Range and the other on the summit of the Sierras—her
hoodlum! Beautiful, sir, beautiful!”