Chapter XLI: Appendix

Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding
small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds
He all.

FRIEDRICH VON LOGAU.

I

ARTICLES PUBLISHED IN _The California Star_--STATISTICS OF THE PARTY--NOTES OF AGUILLA GLOVER--EXTRACT FROM THORNTON--RECOLLECTIONS OF JOHN BAPTISTE TRUBODE.

In honor to the State that cherishes the landmark; in justice to history which is entitled to the truth; in sympathetic fellowship with those who survived the disaster; and in reverent memory of those who suffered and died in the snow-bound camps of the Sierra Nevadas, I refute the charges of cruelty, selfishness, and inhumanity which have been ascribed to the Donner Party.

In this Appendix I set forth some of the unwarranted statements to which frequent reference has been made in the foregoing pages, that they may be examined and analyzed, and their utter unreliability demonstrated by comparison with established facts and figures. These latter data, for the sake of brevity, are in somewhat statistical form. A few further incidents, which I did not learn of or understand until long after they occurred, are also related.

The accounts of weather conditions, of scarcity of food and fuel, also the number of deaths in the camps before the first of March, 1847, are verified by the carefully kept "Diary of Patrick Breen, One of the Donner Party," which has recently been published by the Academy of Pacific Coast History.

The following article, which originally appeared in _The California Star_, April 10, 1847, is here quoted from "The Life and Days of General John A. Sutter," by T.J. Schoonover:

A more shocking scene cannot be imagined than was witnessed by the
party of men who went to the relief of the unfortunate emigrants in
the California Mountains. The bones of those who had died and been
devoured by the miserable ones that still survived were around their
tents and cabins; bodies of men, women, and children with half the
flesh torn from them lay on every side. A woman sat by the side of
the body of her dead husband cutting out his tongue; the heart she
had already taken out, broiled, and eaten. The daughter was seen
eating the father; and the mother, that [_viz._ body] of her
children; children, that of father and mother. The emaciated, wild,
and ghastly appearance of the survivors added to the horror of it.
Language can not describe the awful change that a few weeks of dire
suffering had wrought in the minds of the wretched and pitiable
beings. Those who one month before would have shuddered and sickened
at the thought of eating human flesh, or of killing their companions
and relatives to preserve their own lives, now looked upon the
opportunity the acts afforded them of escaping the most dreadful of
deaths as providential interference in their behalf.

Calculations were coldly made, as they sat around their gloomy camp
fires, for the next succeeding meals. Various expedients were
devised to prevent the dreadful crime of murder, but they finally
resolved to kill those who had least claims to longer existence.
Just at this moment some of them died, which afforded the rest
temporary relief. Some sank into the arms of death cursing God for
their miserable fate, while the last whisperings of others were
prayers and songs of praise to the Almighty. After the first few
deaths, but the one all-absorbing thought of individual
self-preservation prevailed. The fountains of natural affection
were dried up. The chords that once vibrated with connubial,
parental, and filial affection were torn asunder, and each one
seemed resolved, without regard to the fate of others, to escape
from impending calamity.

So changed had the emigrants become that when the rescuing party
arrived with food, some of them cast it aside, and seemed to prefer
the putrid human flesh that still remained. The day before the party
arrived, one emigrant took the body of a child about four years of
age in bed with him and devoured the whole before morning; and the
next day he ate another about the same age, before noon.

This article, one of the most harrowing to be found in print, spread through the early mining-camps, and has since been quoted by historians and authors as an authentic account of scenes and conduct witnessed by the first relief corps to Donner Lake. It has since furnished style and suggestion for other nerve-racking stories on the subject, causing keener mental suffering to those vitally concerned than words can tell. Yet it is easily proved to be nothing more or less than a perniciously sensational newspaper production, too utterly false, too cruelly misleading, to merit credence. Evidently, it was written without malice, but in ignorance, and by some warmly clad, well nourished person, who did not know the humanizing effect of suffering and sorrow, and who may not have talked with either a survivor or a rescuer of the Donner Party.

When the Donner Party ascended the Sierra Nevadas on the last day of October, 1846, it comprised eighty-one souls; namely, Charles Berger,[19] Patrick Breen, Margaret Breen (his wife), John Breen, Edward Breen, Patrick Breen, Jr., Simon Breen, James Breen, Peter Breen, Isabella Breen, Jacob Donner,[19] Elizabeth Donner[19] (his wife), William Hook,[20] Solomon Hook, George Donner, Jr., Mary Donner, Isaac Donner,[20] Lewis Donner,[19] Samuel Donner,[19] George Donner, Sr.,[19] Tamsen Donner[19] (his wife), Elitha Donner, Leanna C. Donner, Frances Eustis Donner, Georgia Anna Donner, Eliza Poor Donner, Patrick Dolan,[20] John Denton,[20] Milton Elliot,[19] William Eddy, Eleanor Eddy (his wife), Margaret Eddy,[19] and James Eddy,[19] Jay Fosdick[20] and Sarah Fosdick (his wife), William Foster, Sarah Foster (his wife) and George Foster,[19] Franklin W. Graves, Sr.,[20] Elisabeth Graves[20] (his wife), Mary Graves, William C. Graves, Eleanor Graves, Lovina Graves, Nancy Graves, Jonathan B. Graves, Franklin W. Graves, Jr.,[20] and Elizabeth Graves, Jr., Noah James, Lewis S. Keseberg, Philippine Keseberg (his wife), Ada Keseberg[20] and Lewis S. Keseberg, Jr.,[19] Mrs. Lovina Murphy[19] (a widow), John Landrum Murphy,[19] Lemuel Murphy,[20] Mary Murphy, William G. Murphy and Simon Murphy, Mrs. Amanda McCutchen and Harriet McCutchen,[19] Mrs. Harriet Pike (widow), Nioma Pike and Catherine Pike,[19] Mrs. Margaret Reed, Virginia Reed, Martha J. Reed, James F. Reed, Jr., and Thomas K. Reed, Joseph Rhinehart,[19] Charles Stanton,[20] John Baptiste Trubode, August Spitzer,[19] James Smith,[19] Samuel Shoemaker, Bailis Williams[19] and Eliza Williams (his sister), Mrs. Woolfinger (widow), Antonio (a Mexican) and Lewis and Salvador (the two Indians sent with Stanton by General Sutter).

Stated in brief, the result of the disaster to the party in the mountains was as follows:

The total number of deaths was thirty-six, as follows: fourteen in the mountains while _en route_ to the settlement; fourteen at camp near Donner Lake; and eight at Donner's Camp.

The total number who reached the settlement was forty-five; of whom five were men, eight were women, and thirty-two were children.

The family of James F. Reed and that of Patrick Breen survived in unbroken numbers. The only other family in which all the children reached the settlement was that of Captain George Donner.

Fourteen of the eighty-one souls constituting the Donner Party were boys and girls between the ages of nineteen and twelve years; twenty-six ranged from twelve years to a year and a half; and seven were nursing babes. There were only thirty-four adults,--twenty-two men and twelve women.

Of the first-named group, eleven survived the disaster. One youth died _en route_ with the Forlorn Hope; one at the Lake Camp; and one at Bear Valley in charge of the First Relief.

Twenty of the second-named group also reached the settlements. One died _en route_ with the First Relief; two at Donner's Camp (in March, 1847); two at Starved Camp, in charge of the Second Relief; and one at the Lake Camp (in March).

Two of the seven babes lived, and five perished at the Lake Camp. They hungered and slowly perished after famine had dried the natural flow, and infant lips had drawn blood from maternal breasts.

The first nursling's life to ebb was that of Lewis Keseberg, Jr., on January 24, 1847.[21] His grief-stricken mother could not be comforted. She hugged his wasted form to her heart and carried it far from camp, where she dug a grave and buried it in the snow.

Harriet McCutchen, whose mother had struggled on with the Forlorn Hope in search of succor, breathed her last on the second of February, while lying upon the lap of Mrs. Graves; and the snow being deep and hard frozen, Mrs. Graves bade her son William make the necessary excavation near the wall within their cabin, and they buried the body there, where the mother should find it upon her return. Catherine Pike died in the Murphy cabin a few hours before the arrival of food from the settlement and was buried on the morning of February 22.[22]

Those were the only babes that perished before relief came. Does not the fact that so many young children survived the disaster refute the charges of parental selfishness and inhumanity, and emphasize the immeasurable self-sacrifice, love, and care that kept so many of the little ones alive through that long, bitter siege of starvation?

Mrs. Elinor Eddy, who passed away in the Murphy cabin on the seventh of February, was the only wife and mother called by death, in either camp, before the arrival of the First Relief. Both Patrick Breen's diary and William G. Murphy, then a lad of eleven years, assert that Mrs. Eddy and little Margaret, her only daughter, were buried in the snow near the Murphy cabin on the ninth of February. Furthermore, the Breen Diary and the death-list of the Donner Party show that not a husband or father died at the Lake Camp during the entire period of the party's imprisonment in the mountains.[23]

How, then, could that First Relief, or either of the other relief parties see--how could they even have imagined that they saw--"wife sitting at the side of her husband who had just died, mutilating his body," or "the daughter eating her father," or "mother that of her children," or "children that of father and mother"? The same questions might be asked regarding the other revolting scenes pictured by the _Star_.

The seven men who first braved the dangers of the icy trail in the work of rescue came over a trackless, ragged waste of snow, varying from ten to forty feet in depth,[24] and approached the camp-site near the lake at sunset. They halloed, and up the snow steps came those able to drag themselves to the surface. When they descended into those cabins, they found no cheering lights. Through the smoky atmosphere, they saw smouldering fires, and faced conditions so appalling that words forsook them; their very souls were racked with agonizing sympathy. There were the famine-stricken and the perishing, almost as wasted and helpless as those whose sufferings had ceased. Too weak to show rejoicing, they could only beg with quivering lips and trembling hands, "Oh, give us something to eat! Give us something to drink! We are starving!"

True, their hands were grimy, their clothing tattered, and the floors were bestrewn with hair from hides and bits of broken bullock bones; but of connubial, parental, or filial inhumanity, there were no signs.

With what deep emotion those seven heroic men contemplated the conditions in camp may be gathered from Mr. Aguilla Glover's own notes, published in Thornton's work:

Feb. 19, 1847. The unhappy survivors were, in short, in a condition
most deplorable, and beyond power of language to describe, or
imagination to conceive.

The emigrants had not yet commenced eating the dead. Many of the
sufferers had been living on bullock hides for weeks and even that
sort of food was so nearly exhausted that they were about to dig up
from the snow the bodies of their companions for the purpose of
prolonging their wretched lives.

Thornton's work contains the following statement by a member of one of the relief corps:

On the morning of February 20,[25] Racine Tucker, John Rhodes, and
Riley Moutrey went to the camp of George Donner eight miles distant,
taking a little jerked beef. These sufferers (eighteen) had but one
hide remaining. They had determined that upon consuming this they
would dig from the snow the bodies of those who had died from
starvation. Mr. Donner was helpless, Mrs. Donner was weak but in
good health, and might have come to the settlement with this party;
yet she solemnly but calmly determined to remain with her husband
and perform for him the last sad offices of affection and humanity.
And this she did in full view that she must necessarily perish by
remaining behind. The three men returned the same day with seven
refugees[26] from Donner Camp.

John Baptiste Trubode has distinct recollections of the arrival and departure of Tucker's party, and of the amount of food left by it.

He said to me in that connection:

"To each of us who had to stay in camp, one of the First Relief Party measured a teacupful of flour, two small biscuits, and thin pieces of jerked beef, each piece as long as his first finger, and as many pieces as he could encircle with that first finger and thumb brought together, end to end. This was all that could be spared, and was to last until the next party could reach us.

"Our outlook was dreary and often hopeless. I don't know what I would have done sometimes without the comforting talks and prayers of those two women, your mother and Aunt Elizabeth. Then evenings after you children went to sleep, Mrs. George Donner would read to me from the book[27] she wrote in every day. If that book had been saved, every one would know the truth of what went on in camp, and not spread these false tales.

"I dug in the snow for the dead cattle, but found none, and we had to go back to our saltless old bullock hide, days before the Second Relief got to us, on the first of March."

[Footnote 19: Died while in the mountain camps.]

[Footnote 20: Died _en route_ over the mountains to the settlements in California.]

[Footnote 21: Report brought by John Baptiste to Donner's Camp, after one of his trips to the lake.]

[Footnote 22: Incident related by William C. Graves, after he reached the settlement.]

[Footnote 23: Franklin W. Graves and Jay Fosdick perished in December, 1846, while _en route_ to the settlement with the Forlorn Hope.]

[Footnote 24: One of the stumps near the Breen-Graves cabin, cut for fuel while the snow was deepest, was found by actual measurement to be twenty-two feet in height. It is still standing.]

[Footnote 25: Thornton's dates are one day later than those in the Breen Diary. Breen must have lost a day _en route_.]

[Footnote 26: The First Relief Corps took six, instead of seven, refugees from Donner Camp, and set out from the lake cabins with twenty-three, instead of twenty-four, refugees.]

[Footnote 27: The journal, herbarium, manuscript, and drawings of Mrs. George Donner were not among the goods delivered at the Fort by the Fallon Party, and no trace of them was ever found.]

II

THE REED-GREENWOOD PARTY, OR SECOND RELIEF--REMINISCENCES OF WILLIAM G. MURPHY--CONCERNING NICHOLAS CLARK AND JOHN BAPTISTE.

On the third of March, 1847, the Reed-Greenwood, or Second Relief Corps (excepting Nicholas Clark) left camp with the following refugees: Patrick Breen, Margaret Breen (his wife), Patrick Breen, Jr., Simon Breen, James Breen, Peter Breen, Isabella Breen, Solomon Hook, Mary Donner, Isaac Donner, Mrs. Elizabeth Graves, Nancy Graves, Jonathan B. Graves, Franklin W. Graves, Jr., Elizabeth Graves, Jr., Martha J. Reed, and Thomas K. Reed. The whole party, as has been already told, were forced into camp about ten miles below the summit on the west side of the Sierras, by one of the fiercest snow-storms of the season.

All credit is due Mr. and Mrs. Breen for keeping the nine helpless waifs left with them at Starved Camp alive until food was brought them by members of the Third Relief Party. Mr. Breen's much prized diary does not cover the experiences of that little band in their struggle across the mountains, but concludes two days before they started. After he and his family succeeded in reaching the Sacramento Valley, he gave his diary (kept at Donner Lake) to Colonel George McKinstrey for the purpose of assisting him in making out his report to Captain Hall, U.S.N., Sloop of War _Warren_, Commander Northern District of California.

James F. Reed of the Reed-Greenwood Party, the second to reach the emigrants, has been adversely criticised from time to time, because he and six of his men returned to Sutter's Fort in March with no more than his own two children and Solomon Hook, a lad of twelve years, who had said that he could and would walk, and did.

Careful investigation, however, proves the criticism hasty and unfair. True, Mr. Reed went over the mountains with the largest and best equipped party sent out, ten well furnished, able-bodied men. But returning he left one man at camp to assist the needy emigrants.

The seventeen refugees whom he and nine companions brought over the summit comprised three weak, wasted adults, and fourteen emaciated young children. The prospect of getting them all to the settlement, even under favorable circumstances, had seemed doubtful at the beginning of the journey. Alas, one of the heaviest snow-storms of the season overtook them on the bleak mountain-side ten miles from the tops of the Sierra Nevadas. It continued many days. Food gave out, death took toll. The combined efforts of the men could not do more than provide fuel and keep the fires. All became exhausted. Rescuers and refugees might have perished there together had the nine men not followed what seemed their only alternative. Who would not have done what Reed did? With almost superhuman effort, he saved his two children. No one felt keener regret than he over the fact that he had been obliged to abandon at Starved Camp the eleven refugees he had heroically endeavored to save.

In those days of affliction, it were well nigh impossible to say who was most afflicted; still, it would seem that no greater destitution and sorrow could have been meted to any one than fell to the lot of Mrs. Murphy at the lake camp. The following incidents were related by her son, William G. Murphy, in an address to a concourse of people assembled on the shore of Donner Lake in February, 1896:

I was a little more than eleven years of age when we all reached
these mountains, and that one-roomed shanty was built, where so many
of us lived, ate, and slept. No!--Where so many of us slept,
starved, and died! It was constructed for my mother and seven
children (two being married) and her three grandchildren, and
William Foster, husband of her daughter Sarah.

Early in December when the Forlorn Hope was planned, we were almost
out of provisions; and my mother took the babes from the arms of
Sarah and Harriet (Mrs. Pike) and told them that she would care for
their little ones, and they being young might with William (Foster)
and their brother Lemuel reach the settlement and return with food.
And the four became members of that hapless band of fifteen.

Mr. Eddy being its leader, his wife and her two children came to
live with us during his absence. When my eldest brother, on whom my
mother depended, was very weak and almost at death's door, my mother
went to the Breens and begged a little meat, just a few mouthfuls--I
remember well that little piece of meat! My mother gave half of it
to my dying brother; he ate it, fell asleep with a hollow death
gurgle. When it ceased I went to him--he was dead--starved to death
in our presence. Although starving herself, my mother said that if
she had known that Landrum was going to die she would have given him
the balance of the meat. Little Margaret Eddy lingered until
February 4, and her mother until the seventh. Their bodies lay two
days and nights longer in the room with us before we could find
assistance able to bury them in the snow. Some days earlier Milton
Elliot, weak and wandering around, had taken up his abode with us.
We shared with him the remnant of our beef hides. We had had a lot
of that glue-making material. But mark, it would not sustain life.
Elliot soon starved to death, and neighbors removed and interred the
body in the snow beside others.

Catherine Pike, my absent sister's baby, died on the eighteenth of
February, only a few hours before the arrival of the First Relief.
Thus the inmates of our shanty had been reduced to my mother, my
sister Mary, brother Simon, Nioma Pike, Georgie Foster, myself, and
little Jimmy Eddy.

When the rescuers decided they would carry out Nioma Pike, and that
my sister Mary and I should follow, stepping in the tracks made by
those who had snowshoes, strength seemed to come, so that I was able
to cut and carry to my mother's shanty what appeared to me a huge
pile of wood. It was green, but it was all I could get.

We left mother there with three helpless little ones to feed on
almost nothing, yet in the hope that she might keep them alive until
the arrival of the next relief.

Many of the survivors remember that after having again eaten food seasoned with salt, the boiled, saltless hides produced nausea and could not be retained by adult or child.

I say with deep reverence that flesh of the dead was used to sustain the living in more than one cabin near the lake. But it was not used until after the pittance of food left by the First Relief had long been consumed; not until after the wolves had dug the snow from the graves. Perhaps God sent the wolves to show Mrs. Murphy and also Mrs. Graves where to get sustenance for their dependent little ones.

Both were widows; the one had three, and the other four helpless children to save. Was it culpable, or cannibalistic to seek and use the only life-saving means left them? Were the acts and purposes of their unsteady hands and aching hearts less tender, less humane than those of the lauded surgeons of to-day, who infuse human blood from living bodies into the arteries of those whom naught else can save, or who strip skin from bodies that feel pain, to cover wounds which would otherwise prove fatal?

John Baptiste Trubode and Nicholas Clark, of the Second Relief, were the last men who saw my father alive. In August, 1883, the latter came to my home in San Jose.

This was our second meeting since that memorable morning of March 2, 1847, when he went in pursuit of the wounded mother bear, and was left behind by the relief party. We spoke long and earnestly of our experience in the mountains, and he wished me to deny the statement frequently made that, "Clark carried a pack of plunder and a heavy shotgun from Donner's Camp and left a child there to die." This I can do positively, for when the Third Relief Party took Simon Murphy and us "three little Donner girls" from the mountain camp, not a living being remained, except Mrs. Murphy and Keseberg at the lake camp, and my father and mother at Donner's Camp. All were helpless except my mother.

The Spring following my interview with Nicholas Clark, John Baptiste came to San Jose, and Mr. McCutchen brought him to talk with me. John, always a picturesque character, had become a hop picker in hop season, and a fisherman the rest of the year. He could not restrain the tears which coursed down his bronzed cheeks as he spoke of the destitution and suffering in the snow-bound camps; of the young unmarried men who had been so light-hearted on the plains and brave when first they faced the snows. His voice trembled as he told how often they had tried to break through the great barriers, and failed; hunted, and found nothing; fished, and caught nothing; and when rations dwindled to strips of beef hide, their strength waned, and death found them ready victims. He declared,

The hair and bones found around the Donner fires were those of
cattle. No human flesh was used by either Donner family. This I
know, for I was there all winter and helped get all the wood and
food we had, after starvation threatened us. I was about sixteen
years old at the time. Our four men died early in December and were
buried in excavations in the side of the mountain. Their bodies were
never disturbed. As the snows deepened to ten and twelve feet, we
lost track of their location.

When saying good-bye, he looked at me wistfully and exclaimed: "Oh, little Eliza, sister mine, how I suffered and worked to help keep you alive. Do you think there was ever colder, stronger winds than them that whistled and howled around our camp in the Sierras?"

He returned the next day, and in his quaint, earnest way expressed keenest regret that he and Clark had not remained longer in camp with my father and mother.

"I did not feel it so much at first; but after I got married and had children of my own, I often fished and cried, as I thought of what I done, for if we two men had stayed, perhaps we might have saved that little woman."

His careworn features lightened as I bade him grieve no more, for I realized that he was but a boy, overburdened with a man's responsibilities, and had done his best, and that nobly. Then I added what I have always believed, that no one was to blame for the misfortunes which overtook us in the mountains. The dangers and difficulties encountered by reason of taking the Hastings Cut-off had all been surmounted--two weeks more and we should have reached our destination in safety. Then came the snow! Who could foresee that it would come earlier, fall deeper, and linger longer, that season than for thirty years before? Everything that a party could do to save itself was done by the Donner Party; and certainly everything that a generous, sympathizing people could do to save the snow-bound was done by the people of California.

III

THE REPORT OF THOMAS FALLON--DEDUCTIONS--STATEMENT OF EDWIN BRYANT--PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES.

The following is the report of Thomas Fallon, leader of the fourth party to the camps near Donner Lake:

Left Johnson's on the evening of April 13, and arrived at the lower
end of Bear River Valley on the fifteenth. Hung our saddles upon
trees, and sent the horses back, to be returned again in ten days to
bring us in again. Started on foot, with provisions for ten days and
travelled to head of the valley, and camped for the night; snow from
two to three feet deep. Started early in the morning of April 15 and
travelled twenty-three miles. Snow ten feet deep.

April 17. Reached the cabins between twelve and one o'clock.
Expected to find some of the sufferers alive. Mrs. Donner and
Keseberg[28] in particular. Entered the cabins, and a horrible scene
presented itself. Human bodies terribly mutilated, legs, arms, and
skulls scattered in every direction. One body supposed to be that of
Mrs. Eddy lay near the entrance, the limbs severed off, and a
frightful gash in the skull. The flesh was nearly consumed from the
bones, and a painful stillness pervaded the place. The supposition
was, that all were dead, when a sudden shout revived our hopes, and
we flew in the direction of the sound. Three Indians who had been
hitherto concealed, started from the ground, fled at our approach,
leaving behind their bows and arrows. We delayed two hours in
searching the cabins, during which we were obliged to witness sights
from which we would have fain turned away, and which are too
dreadful to put on record. We next started for Donner's camp,
eight miles distant over the mountains. After travelling about
half-way, we came upon a track in the snow which excited our
suspicion, and we determined to pursue. It brought us to the camp of
Jacob Donner, where it had evidently left that morning. There we
found property of every description, books, calicoes, tea, coffee,
shoes, percussion caps, household and kitchen furniture, scattered
in every direction, and mostly in water. At the mouth of the tent
stood a large iron kettle, filled with human flesh cut up. It was
from the body of George Donner. The head had been split open, and
the brain extracted therefrom; and to the appearance he had not been
long dead--not over three or four days, at most. Near-by the kettle
stood a chair, and thereupon three legs of a bullock that had been
shot down in the early part of winter, and snowed upon before it
could be dressed. The meat was found sound and good, and with the
exception of a small piece out of the shoulder, whole, untouched. We
gathered up some property, and camped for the night.

April 18. Commenced gathering the most valuable property, suitable
for our packs; the greater portion had to be dried. We then made
them up, and camped for the night.

April 19. This morning Foster, Rhodes, and J. Foster started, with
small packs, for the first cabins, intending from thence to follow
the trail of the person that had left the morning previous. The
other three remained behind to cache and secure the goods
necessarily left there. Knowing the Donners had a considerable sum
of money we searched diligently but were unsuccessful. The party for
the cabins were unable to keep the trail of the mysterious
personage, owing to the rapid melting of the snow; they therefore
went directly to the cabins and upon entering discovered Keseberg
lying down amid the human bones, and beside him a large pan full of
fresh liver and lights. They asked him what had become of his
companions; whether they were alive, and what had become of Mrs.
Donner. He answered them by stating that they were all dead. Mrs.
Donner, he said, had, in attempting to cross from one cabin to
another, missed the trail and slept out one night; that she came to
his camp the next night very much fatigued. He made her a cup of
coffee, placed her in bed, and rolled her well in the blankets; but
next morning she was dead. He ate her body and found her flesh the
best he had ever tasted. He further stated that he obtained from her
body at least four pounds of fat. No trace of her body was found,
nor of the body of Mrs. Murphy either. When the last company left
the camp, three weeks previous, Mrs. Donner was in perfect health,
though unwilling to leave her husband there, and offered $500.00 to
any person or persons who would come out and bring them in, saying
this in the presence of Keseberg, and that she had plenty of tea and
coffee. We suspected that it was she who had taken the piece from
the shoulder of beef on the chair before mentioned. In the cabin
with Keseberg were found two kettles of human blood, in all,
supposed to be over two gallons. Rhodes asked him where he had got
the blood. He answered, "There is blood in dead bodies." They asked
him numerous questions, but he appeared embarrassed, and equivocated
a great deal; and in reply to their asking him where Mrs. Donner's
money was, he evinced confusion, and answered that he knew nothing
about it, that she must have cached it before she died. "I haven't
it," said he, "nor money nor property of any person, living or
dead." They then examined his bundle, and found silks and jewellery,
which had been taken from the camp of Donners, amounting in value to
about $200.00. On his person they discovered a brace of pistols
recognized to be those of George Donner; and while taking them from
him, discovered something concealed in his waistcoat, which on being
opened was found to be $225.00 in gold.

Before leaving the settlement, the wife of Keseberg had told us that
we would find but little money about him; the men therefore said to
him that they knew he was lying to them, and that he was well aware
of the place of concealment of the Donners' money. He declared
before Heaven he knew nothing concerning it, and that he had not the
property of any one in his possession. They told him that to lie to
them would effect nothing; that there were others back at the cabins
who unless informed of the spot where the treasure was hidden would
not hesitate to hang him upon the first tree. Their threats were of
no avail. He still affirmed his ignorance and innocence. Rhodes took
him aside and talked to him kindly, telling him that if he would
give the information desired, he should receive from their hands
the best of treatment, and be in every way assisted; otherwise, the
party back at Donner's Camp would, upon arrival, and his refusal to
discover to them the place where he had deposited this money,
immediately put him to death. It was all to no purpose, however, and
they prepared to return to us, leaving him in charge of the packs,
and assuring him of their determination to visit him in the morning;
and that he must make up his mind during the night. They started
back and joined us at Donner's Camp.

April 20. We all started for Bear River Valley, with packs of one
hundred pounds each; our provisions being nearly consumed, we were
obliged to make haste away. Came within a few hundred yards of the
cabins and halted to prepare breakfast, after which we proceeded to
the cabin. I now asked Keseberg if he was willing to disclose to me
where he had concealed that money. He turned somewhat pale and again
protested his innocence. I said to him, "Keseberg, you know well
where Donner's money is, and damn you, you shall tell me! I am not
going to multiply words with you or say but little about it. Bring
me that rope!" He then arose from his hot soup and human flesh, and
begged me not to harm him; he had not the money nor goods; the silk
clothing and money which were found upon him the previous day and
which he then declared belonged to his wife, he now said were the
property of others in California. I told him I did not wish to hear
more from him, unless he at once informed us where he had concealed
the money of those orphan children; then producing the rope I
approached him. He became frightened, but I bent the rope around his
neck and as I tightened the cord, and choked him, he cried out that
he would confess all upon release. I then permitted him to arise. He
still seemed inclined to be obstinate and made much delay in
talking. Finally, but without evident reluctance, he led the way
back to Donner's Camp, about ten miles distant, accompanied by
Rhodes and Tucker. While they were absent we moved all our packs
over the lower end of the lake, and made all ready for a start when
they should return. Mr. Foster went down to the cabin of Mrs.
Murphy, his mother-in-law, to see if any property remained there
worth collecting and securing; he found the body of young Murphy who
had been dead about three months with his breast and skull cut
open, and the brains, liver, and lights taken out; and this
accounted for the contents of the pan which stood beside Keseberg
when he was found. It appeared that he had left at the other camp
the dead bullock and horse, and on visiting this camp and finding
the body thawed out, took therefrom the brains, liver, and lights.

Tucker and Rhodes came back the next morning, bringing $273.00 that
had been cached by Keseberg, who after disclosing to them the spot,
returned to the cabin. The money had been hidden directly underneath
the projecting limb of a large tree, the end of which seemed to
point precisely to the treasure buried in the earth. On their return
and passing the cabin, they saw the unfortunate man within devouring
the remaining brains and liver left from his morning repast. They
hurried him away, but before leaving, he gathered together the bones
and heaped them all in a box he used for the purpose, blessed them
and the cabin and said, "I hope God will forgive me what I have
done. I could not help it; and I hope I may get to heaven yet!" We
asked Keseberg why he did not use the meat of the bullock and horse
instead of human flesh. He replied he had not seen them. We then
told him we knew better, and asked him why the meat on the chair had
not been consumed. He said, "Oh, it is too dry eating; the liver and
lights were a great deal better, and brains made good soup!" We then
moved on and camped by the lake for the night.

April 21. Started for Bear River Valley this morning. Found the snow
from six to eight feet deep; camped at Yuma River for the night. On
the twenty-second travelled down Yuma about eighteen miles, and
camped at the head of Bear River Valley. On the twenty-fifth moved
down to lower end of the valley, met our horses, and came in.

The account by Fallon regarding the fate of the last of the Donners in their mountain camp was the same as that which Elitha and Leanna had heard and had endeavored to keep from us little ones at Sutter's Fort.

It is self-evident, however, that the author of those statements did not contemplate that reliable parties[29] would see the Donner camps before prowling beasts, or time and elements, had destroyed all proof of his own and his party's wanton falsity.

It is also plain that the Fallon Party did not set out expecting to find any one alive in the mountains, otherwise would it not have taken more provisions than just enough to sustain its own men ten days? Would it not have ordered more horses to meet it at the lower end of Bear Valley for the return trip? Had it planned to find and succor survivors would it have taken it for granted that all had perished, simply because there was no one in the lake cabins, and would it have delayed two precious hours in searching the lake camp for valuables before proceeding to Donner's Camp?

Had the desire to rescue been uppermost in mind, would not the sight of human foot-tracks on the snow half way between the two camps have excited hope, instead of "suspicion," and prompted some of the party to pursue the lone wanderer with kindly intent? Does not each succeeding day's entry in that journal disclose the party's forgetfulness of its declared mission to the mountains? Can any palliating excuse be urged why those men did not share with Keseberg the food they had brought, instead of permitting him to continue that which famine had forced upon him, and which later they so righteously condemned?

Is there a single strain of humanity, pathos, or reverence in that diary, save that reflected from Keseberg's last act before being hurried away from that desolate cabin? Or could there be a falser, crueler, or more heartless account brought to bereaved children than Fallon's purported description of the father's body found in Donner's Camp?

Here is the statement of Edwin Bryant, who with General Kearney and escort, _en route_ to the United States, halted at the deserted cabins on June 22, 1847, and wrote:

The body of (Captain) George Donner was found in his own camp about
eight miles distant. He had been carefully laid out by his wife, and
a sheet was wrapped around the corpse. This sad office was probably
the last act she performed before visiting the camp of Keseberg.[30]

After considering what had been published by _The California Star_, by Bryant, Thornton, Mrs. Farnham, and others, I could not but realize Keseberg's peculiarly helpless situation. Without a chance to speak in his own defence, he had been charged, tried, and adjudged guilty by his accusers; and an excited people had accepted the verdict without question. Later, at Captain Sutter's suggestion, Keseberg brought action for slander against Captain Fallon and party. The case was tried before Alcalde Sinclair,[31] and the jury gave Keseberg a verdict of one dollar damages. This verdict, however, was not given wide circulation, and prejudice remained unchecked. There were other peculiar circumstances connected with this much accused man which were worthy of consideration, notably the following: If, as reported, Keseberg was in condition to walk to the settlement, why did the First Relief permit him to remain in camp consuming rations that might have saved others?

Messrs. Reed and McCutchen of the Second Relief knew the man on the plains, and had they regarded him as able to travel, or a menace to life in camp, would they have left him there to prey on women and little children, like a wolf in the fold?

Messrs. Eddy and Foster of the Third Relief had travelled with him on the plains, starved with him in camp, and had had opportunities of talking with him upon their return to the cabins too late to rescue Jimmy Eddy and Georgia Foster. Had they believed that he had murdered the children, would those two fathers and the rest of their party have taken Simon Murphy and the three little Donner girls and left Keseberg _alive_ in camp with lone, sick, and helpless Mrs. Murphy--Mrs. Murphy who was grandmother of Georgia Foster, and had sole charge of Jimmy Eddy?

[Footnote 28: Should be spelled Keseberg.]

[Footnote 29: General Kearney and escort, accompanied by Edwin Bryant.]

[Footnote 30: McGlashan's "History of the Donner Party" (1879).]

[Footnote 31: The old Alcalde records are not in existence, but some of the survivors of the party remember the circumstance; and Mrs. Samuel Kybert, now of Clarkville, Eldorado County, was a witness at the trial. C.F. McGlashan, 1879.]

IV

LEWIS KESEBERG

In March, 1879, while collecting material for his "History of the Donner Party," Mr. C.F. McGlashan, of Truckee, California, visited survivors at San Jose, and coming to me, said:

"Mrs. Houghton, I am sorry that I must look to you and your sisters for answers to the most delicate and trying questions relating to this history. I refer to the death of your mother at the hand of Keseberg."

He was so surprised and shocked as I replied, "I do not believe that Keseberg was responsible for my mother's death," that he interrupted me, lost for a moment the manner of the impartial historian, and with the directness of a cross-questioning attorney asked:

"Is it possible that Mrs. George Donner's daughter defends the murderer of her mother?"

And when I replied, "We have no proofs. My mother's body was never found," he continued earnestly,

"Why, I have enough evidence in this note book to convict that monster, and I can do it, or at least arouse such public sentiment against him that he will have to leave the State."

Very closely he followed my answering words, "Mr. McGlashan, from little girlhood I have prayed that Lewis Keseberg some day would send for me and tell me of my mother's last hours, and perhaps give a last message left for her children, and I firmly believe that my prayer will be granted, and I would not like you to destroy my opportunity. You have a ready pen, but it will not be used in exact justice to all the survivors, as you have promised, if you finish your work without giving Keseberg also a chance to speak for himself."

After a moment's reflection, he replied, "I am amazed; but your wish in this matter shall be respected."

The following evening he wrote from San Francisco:

You will be glad to know that I have put Harry N. Morse's detective
agency of Oakland upon the track of Keseberg, and if found, I mean
to take steps to obtain his confession.

In less than a week after the foregoing, came a note from him which tells its own story.

SACRAMENTO, _Midnight, April 4, 1879_

MRS. E.P. HOUGHTON,
DEAR MADAM:--

Late as it is, I feel that I ought to tell you that I have spent the
evening with Keseberg. I have just got back, and return early
to-morrow to complete my interview. By merest accident, while
tracing, as I supposed, the record of his death, I found a clue to
his whereabouts. After dark I drove six miles and found him. At
first he declined to tell me anything, but somehow I melted the mood
with which he seemed enwrapped, and he talked freely.

He swears to me that he did not murder your mother. He declares it
so earnestly that I cannot doubt his veracity. To-morrow I intend
plying him closely with questions, and by a rigid system of cross
examination will detect the false-hood, if there is one, in his
statement. He gives chapter after chapter that others never knew. I
cannot say more to-night, but desire that you write me (at the
Cosmopolitan) any questions you might wish me to ask Keseberg, and
if I have not already asked them, I will do so on my return from San
Francisco.

C.F. MCGLASHAN.

After his second interview with Keseberg and in response to my urgent appeal for full details of everything relating to my parents, Mr. McGlashan wrote:

I wish you could see him. He will talk to either you or me at any
time, unless other influences are brought to bear upon him. If I
send word for him to come to Sacramento, he will meet me on my
return. If you and your husband could be there on Thursday or Friday
of this week, I could arrange an interview at the hotel that would
be all you could wish. I asked him especially if he would talk to
you, and he said, "Yes."

I dared not tell you about my interview until I had your permission.
Even now, I approach the task tremblingly.

Your mother was not murdered. Your father died, Keseberg thinks,
about two weeks after you left. Your mother remained with him until
the last and laid him out tenderly, as you know.

The days--to Keseberg--were perfect blanks. Mrs. Murphy died soon
after your departure with Eddy, and he was left alone--alone in his
cabin--alone with the dead bodies which he could not have lifted
from the floor, because of his weakness, even had he desired. The
man sighs and shudders, and great drops of agony gather upon his
brows as he endeavors to relate the details of those terrible days,
or recall their horrors. Loneliness, desolation was the chief
element of horror. Alone with the mutilated dead!

One night he sprang up in affright at the sound of something moving
or scratching at a log outside his cabin. It was some time before he
could understand that it was wolves trying to get in.

One night, about two weeks after you left, a knock came at his door,
and your mother entered. To this lonely wretch her coming seemed
like an angel's. She was cold and wet and freezing, yet her first
words were, that she must see her children. Keseberg understood that
she intended to start out that very night, and soon found that she
was slightly demented. She kept saying, "O God! I must see my
children. I must go to my children!" She finally consented to wait
until the morning, but was determined that nothing should then
prevent her lonely journey. She told Keseberg where her money was
concealed, she made him solemnly promise that he would get the money
and take it to her children. She would not taste the food he had to
offer. She had not tasted human flesh, and would hardly consent to
remain in his foul and hideous den. Too weak and Chilled to move,
she finally sank down on the floor, and he covered her as best he
could with blankets and feather bed, and made a fire to warm her;
but it was of no avail, she had received her death-chill, and in the
morning her spirit had passed heavenward.

I believe Keseberg tells the truth. Your mother watched day and
night by your father's bedside until the end. At nightfall he ceased
to breathe, and she was alone in the desolate camp, where she
performed the last sad ministrations, and then her duty in the
mountains was accomplished. All the smothered yearnings of maternal
love now burst forth with full power. Out into the darkness and
night she rushed, without waiting for the morning. "My children, I
must see my children!"

She arrived at Keseberg's cabin, overwrought mentally, overtaxed
physically, and chilled by the freezing night air. She was eager to
set forth on her desperate journey without resting a moment. I can
see her as he described her, wringing her hands and exclaiming over
and over again, "I must see my children!"

The story told by Mrs. Farnham and others about finding your
mother's remains, and that of Thornton concerning the pail of blood,
are unquestionably false. She had been dead weeks, and Keseberg
confessed to me that no part of her body was found by the relief
(Fallon) party.

My friend, I have attempted to comply with your request. More than
once during this evening I have burst into tears. I am sorry almost
that I attempted so mournful a task, but you will pardon the pain I
have caused.

Keseberg is a powerful man, six feet in height, with full bushy
beard, thin brown locks, and high forehead. He has blue eyes that
look squarely at you while he talks. He is sometimes absent-minded
and at times seems almost carried away with the intensity of his
misery and desolation.

He speaks and writes German, French, Spanish, and English; and his
selection of words proves him a scholar. When I first asked him to
make a statement which I could reduce to writing he urged: "What is
the use of making a statement? People incline to believe the most
horrible reports concerning a man; they will not credit what I say
in my own defence. 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."

He finally consented to make the desired statement, and in speaking
of your family he continued: "Some time after Mrs. George Donner's
death, I thought I had gained sufficient strength to redeem the
pledge I had made her before her death. I went to Alder Creek Camp
to get the money. I had a difficult journey. The wagons of the
Donners were loaded with tobacco, powder, caps, school-books, shoes,
and dry goods. This stock was very valuable. I spent the night
there, searched carefully among the bales and bundles of goods, and
found five hundred and thirty-one dollars. Part of this sum was
gold, part silver. The silver I buried at the foot of a pine tree, a
little way from 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 back to my cabin; got lost,
and in crossing a little flat the snow suddenly gave way, and I sank
down almost to my arm-pits. After great exertion I raised myself out
of a snow-covered stream, and went round on a hillside and continued
my journey. At dark, and completely exhausted, and almost dead, I
came in sight of the Graves's cabin, and sometime after dark
staggered into my own. My clothes were wet, and the night was so
cold that my garments were frozen stiff. I did not build a fire nor
get anything to eat, just rolled myself up in the bed-clothes, and
shivered; finally fell asleep, and did not waken until late in the
morning. Then I saw my camp was in most inexplicable confusion;
everything about the cabin was torn up and scattered about, trunks
broken open; and my wife's jewellery, my cloak, my pistol and
ammunition was missing. I thought Indians had been there. Suddenly I
heard human voices. I hurried up to the surface of the snow, and saw
white men approaching. I was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. I
had suffered so much and so long, 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 a 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 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. At last
I told them that 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 Alcalde Sinclair
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, 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 properties which they rescued. Those men treated me with
great 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 delaines
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."

Upon receipt of this communication I wrote Mr. McGlashan from San Jose that I was nerved for the ordeal, but that he should not permit me to start on that momentous journey if his proposed arrangements were at all doubtful, and that he should telegraph me at once.

Alas! my note miscarried; and, believing that his proposal had not met my approval, Mr. and Mrs. McGlashan returned to Truckee a day earlier than expected. Two weeks later he returned the envelope, its postmarks showing what had happened.

It was not easy to gain the consent of my husband to a meeting with Keseberg. He dreaded its effect on me. He feared the outcome of the interview.

However, on May 16, 1879, he and I, by invitation, joined Mr. and Mrs. McGlashan at the Golden Eagle Hotel in Sacramento. The former then announced that although Keseberg had agreed by letter to meet us there, he had that morning begged to be spared the mortification of coming to the city hotel, where some one might recognize him, and as of old, point the finger of scorn at him. After some deliberation as to how I would accept the change, Mr. McGlashan had aceeded to the old man's wish, that we drive to the neat little boarding house at Brighton next morning, where we could have the use of the parlor for a private interview. In compliance with this arrangement we four were at the Brighton hotel at the appointed time.

Mr. McGlashan and my husband went in search of Keseberg, and after some delay returned, saying:

"Keseberg cannot overcome his strong feeling against a meeting in a public house. He has tidied up a vacant room in the brewery adjoining the house where he lives with his afflicted children. It being Sunday, he knows that no one will be about to disturb us. Will you go there?"

I could only reply, "I am ready."

My husband, seeing my lips tremble and knowing the intensity of my suppressed emotion, hastened to assure me that he had talked with the man, and been impressed by his straightforward answers, and that I need have no dread of meeting or talking with him.

When we met at his door, Mr. McGlashan introduced us. We bowed, not as strangers, not as friends, nor did we shake hands. Our thoughts were fixed solely on the purpose that had brought us together. He invited us to enter, led the way to that room which I had been told he had swept and furnished for the occasion with seats for five. His first sentence made us both forget that others were present. It opened the way at once.

"Mr. McGlashan has told me that you have questions you wish to ask me yourself about what happened in the mountain cabin."

Still standing, and looking up into his face, I replied: "Yes, for the eye of God and your eyes witnessed my mother's last hours, and I have come to ask you, in the presence of that other Witness, when, where, and how she died. I want you to tell me all, and so truly that there shall be no disappointment for me, nor remorse and denials for you in your last hour. Tell it now, so that you will not need to send for me to hear a different story then."

I took the chair he proffered, and he placed his own opposite and having gently reminded me of the love and respect the members of the Donner Party bore their captain and his wife, earnestly and feelingly, he told me the story as he had related it to Mr. McGlashan.

Then, before I understood his movement, he had sunk upon his knees, saying solemnly,

"On my knees before you, and in the sight of God, I want to assert my innocence."

I could not have it thus. I bade him rise, and stand with me in the presence of the all-seeing Father. Extending my upturned hand, I bade him lay his own right hand upon it, then covering it with my left, I bade him speak. Slowly, but unhesitatingly, he spoke:

"Mrs. Houghton, if I had murdered your mother, would I stand here with my hand between your hands, look into your pale face, see the tear-marks on your cheeks, and the quiver of your lips as you ask the question? No, God Almighty is my witness, I am innocent of your mother's death! I have given you the facts as I gave them to the Fallon Party, as I told them at Sutter's Fort, and as I repeated them to Mr. McGlashan. You will hear no change from my death-bed, for what I have told you is true."

There, with a man's honor and soul to uncover, I had scarcely breathed while he spoke. I watched the expression of his face, his words, his hands. His eyes did not turn from my face; his hand between mine lay as untrembling as that of a child in peaceful sleep; and so, unflinchingly Lewis Keseberg passed the ordeal which would have made a guilty man quake.

I felt the truth of his assertion, and told him that if it would be any comfort to him at that late day to know that Tamsen Donner's daughter believed him innocent of her murder, he had that assurance in my words, and that I would maintain that belief so long as my lips retained their power of speech.

Tears glistened in his eyes as he uttered a heartfelt "Thank you!" and spoke of the comfort the recollection of this meeting would be to him during the remaining years of his life.

Before our departure, Mr. McGlashan asked Keseberg to step aside and show my husband the scars left by the wound which had prevented his going to the settlement with the earlier refugees. There was a mark of a fearful gash which had almost severed the heel from the foot and left a troublesome deformity. One could easily realize how slow and tedious its healing must have been, and Keseberg assured us that walking caused excruciating pain even at the time the Third Relief Corps left camp.

His clothing was threadbare, but neat and clean. One could not but feel that he was poor, yet he courteously but positively declined the assistance which, privately, I offered him. In bidding him good-bye, I remarked that we might not see one another again on earth, and he replied pathetically, "Don't say that, for I hope this may not be our last meeting."

I did not see Keseberg again. Years later, I learned that he had passed away; and in answer to inquiries I received the following personal note from Dr. G.A. White, Medical Superintendent of the Sacramento County Hospital:

Lewis Keseberg died here on September 3, 1895; aged 81 years. He
left no special message to any one. His death was peaceful.

THE END

INDEX

Academy of Pacific Coast History Altemera, Padre American Fur Company American Tract Society Arguello, Doña Concepcion

Bartlett, Washington A. Benton, Rev. J.A. Benton, Thomas H. Boggs, ex-Governor of Missouri Bond, Frances Boone, Alphonso Breen, Patrick diary of Brenheim, Adolph Brunner, Christian Brunner, "Grandma" and Napoleon Bryant, Edwin

Cady, Charles _California Star_ Camp of Death Chamberlain, Charlotte (Mrs. Wm. E.) Chamberlain, William E. Church, Mission service Civil War Clark, Nicholas, Cody, Bill Coffemeir, Edward Coon, William Curtis, James

Del, John Denison, Eliza "Diary of Patrick Breen, One of the Donner Party" Dofar, Matthew Dolan, Patrick Donner, Elitha Donner, Frances Donner, George Donner, Mrs. George letters Donner, Georgia Donner, Jacob Donner, Leanna Donner, Mary Donner Party Dozier, Tamsen Eustis _see_ Donner, Mrs. George.

Eddy, William

Fallon, Thomas diary Fitch, Capt. "Forlorn Hope" Party Fortune, Padre Fosdick, Jay Foster, John Foster, William Francis, Allen Frémont, John C. Frisbie, Capt. marriage of Fuller, John

Glover, Aguilla
Gold, discovery
early minings
seekers

Graves, W.F. Grayson, Mrs. Andrew J. Great Overland Caravan Greenwood, "Old Trapper"

Halloran, Luke Hardcoop, ---- Hastings, Lansford W. Herron, Walter Hook, Solomon Hooker, Capt. Joe Houghton, S.O.

Independence, Mo.
Indians
as guides
Sioux
on raids
as saviours
at "grub-feast"

James, Noah Jondro, Joseph Josephine, Empress

Kerns, Capt. Keseberg, Lewis

Land-grants, Mexican Leese, Jacob "Life and Days of General John A. Sutter"

Maps of territory Maury, William L. McCoon, Perry McCutchen, William McGlashan, C.F. McKinstrey, Col. George Mervine, Capt. Mexican War Miller, Hiram Moutrey, R.S. Murphy, Mrs. Lavina Murphy, William G.

Napoleon

Oakley, Howard Oatman, Eugene "Oregon and California"

Packwood, Mr. and Mrs. Pike, William Pony Express, first Poor, Elizabeth letter to Prudon, Major

Reed, James F. Relief Party, First Relief Party, Fourth Relief Party, Second Relief Party, Third Rhinehart, Joseph Rhodes, Daniel Rhodes, John Richardson, ---- Richey, D. Richer, Col. M.D. Robinson, Kate Robinson, Judge Robert Robinson, Hon. Tod Russell, Col.

Sacramento _Sacramento Union_ School, first in California Miss Doty's St. Mary's Hall Miss Hutchinson's St. Catherine's Jefferson Grammar Schoonover, T.J. Sherman, Gen. Wm. T. Shoemaker, Samuel Sinclair, John Sloat, Commodore Smallpox Smith, General Smith, James Snyder, John Sonoma, last visit to, _Springfield Journal_ Stanton, Charles Stark, John Starved Camp Stone, Charles Sutter, Captain John A. Sutter's Fort Swift, Margaret

Thanksgiving celebration Thornton, J.Q., extracts from journal "Thrilling Events in California History" Toll, Agnes "Topographical Report, with Maps Attached" "Travels Among the Rocky Mountains, Through Oregon and California" Trubode, John Baptiste Tucker, Daniel Tucker, George Tucker, Racine Turner, John

Upton, Nellie

Vallejo, Mariano G.

Webster, Daniel "What I Saw in California" White, Dr. G.A. White, Henry A. Wolfinger, ---- Woodworth, Midshipman

Yost, Daniel Yount, George

Zabriskie, Annie