”Dec. 17. Pleasant; William Murphy returned from the mountain party last
evening; Baylis Williams died night before last; Milton and Noah started
for Donner’s eight days ago; not returned yet; think they are lost in
the snow.”
”Dec. 19. Snowed last night; thawing to-day; wind northwest; a little
singular for a thaw.”
”Dec. 20. Clear and pleasant; Mrs. Reed here; no account from Milton
yet. Charles Burger started for Donner’s; turned back; unable to
proceed; tough times, but not discouraged. Our hope is in God. Amen.”
”Dec. 21. Milton got back last night from Donner’s camp. Sad news; Jacob
Donner, Samuel Shoemaker, Rhinehart, and Smith are dead; the rest of
them in a low situation; snowed all night, with a strong southwest
wind.”
Jacob Donner was the first to die at Prosser Creek. He expired while
sitting at the table in his tent, with his head bowed upon his hands, as
if in deep meditation. The following terse account is from the gifted
pen of Mrs. S. O. Houghton (Eliza P. Donner), of San Jose: ”Jacob Donner
was a slight man, of delicate constitution, and was in poor health when
we left Springfield, Illinois. The trials of the journey reduced his
strength and exhausted his energy. When we reached the place of
encampment in the mountains he was discouraged and gave up in despair.
Not even the needs of his family could rouse him to action. He was
utterly dejected and made no effort, but tranquilly awaited death.”
”Dec. 23. Clear to-day; Milton took some of his meat away; all well at
their camp. Began this day to read the ’Thirty Days’ Prayers;’ Almighty
God, grant the requests of unworthy sinners!
”Dec. 24. Rained all night, and still continues; poor prospect for any
kind of comfort, spiritual or temporal.”
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As will be seen by various references throughout this diary, Mr. Breen
was a devout Catholic. During the darkest hour of trial the prayers were
regularly read. That this might be done during the long weary evenings,
as well as by day, pieces of pitch pine were split and laid carefully in
one corner of the cabin, which would be lighted at the fire, and would
serve as a substitute for candles. Those of the survivors who are living
often speak of the times when they held these sticks while Mr. Breen
read the prayers. So impressive were these religious observances that
one girl, a bright, beautiful child, Virginia E. Reed, made a solemn vow
that if God would hear these prayers, and deliver her family from the
dangers surrounding them, she would become a Catholic. God did save her
family, and she kept her vow. She is to-day a fervent Catholic.
”Dec. 25. Began to snow yesterday, snowed all night, and snows yet
rapidly; extremely difficult to find wood; uttered our prayers to God
this Christmas morning; the prospect is appalling, but we trust in Him.”
What a desolate Christmas morning that was for the snow-bound victims!
All were starving. Something to eat, something to satisfy the terrible
cravings of appetite, was the constant wish of all. Sometimes the wishes
were expressed aloud, but more frequently a gloomy silence prevailed.
When anything was audibly wished for, it was invariably something whose
size was proportional to their hunger. They never wished for a meal, or
a mouthful, but for a barrel full, a wagon load, a house full, or a
storehouse full.
On Christmas eve the children spoke in low, subdued tones, of the visits
Santa Claus used to make them in their beautiful homes, before they
started across the plains. Now they knew that no Santa Claus could find
them in the pathless depths of snow.
One family, the Reeds, were in a peculiarly distressing situation. They
knew not whether the father was living or dead. No tidings had reached
them since his letters ceased to be found by the wayside. The meat they
had obtained from the Breen and Graves families was now gone, and on
Christmas morning their breakfast was a ”pot of glue,” as the boiled
rawhide was termed. But Mrs. Reed, the dear, tender-hearted mother, had
a surprise in store for her children this day. When the last ox had been
purchased, Mrs. Reed had placed the frozen meat in one corner of the
cabin, so that pieces could be chipped off with a knife or hatchet. The
tripe, however, she cleaned carefully and hung on the outside of the
cabin, on the end of a log, close to the ground. She knew that the snow
would soon conceal this from view. She also laid away secretly, one
teacupful of white beans, about half that quantity of rice, the same
measure of dried apples, and a piece of bacon two inches square. She
knew that if Christmas found them alive, they would be in a terribly
destitute condition. She therefore resolved to lay these articles away,
and give them to her starving children for a Christmas dinner. This was
done. The joy and gladness of these poor little children knew no bounds
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when they saw the treasures unearthed and cooking on the fire. They
were, just this one meal, to have all they could eat! They laughed, and
danced, and cried by turns. They eagerly watched the dinner as it
boiled. The pork and tripe had been cut in dice like pieces.
Occasionally one of these pieces would boil up to the surface of the
water for an instant, then a bean would take a peep at them from the
boiling kettle, then a piece of apple, or a grain of rice. The
appearance of each tiny bit was hailed by the children with shouts of
glee. The mother, whose eyes were brimming with tears, watched her
famished darlings with emotions that can be imagined. It seemed too sad
that innocent children should be brought to such destitution that the
very sight of food should so affect them! When the dinner was prepared,
the mother’s constant injunction was, ”Children, eat slowly, there is
plenty for all.” When they thought of the starvation of to-morrow, they
could not repress a shade of sadness, and when the name of papa was
mentioned all burst into tears. Dear, brave papa! Was he struggling to
relieve his starving family, or lying stark and dead ’neath the snows of
the Sierra? This question was constantly uppermost in the mother’s mind.
”Dec. 27. Cleared off yesterday, and continues clear; snow nine feet
deep; wood growing scarce; a tree, when felled, sinks into the snow, and
is hard to be got at.”
”Dec. 30. Fine clear morning; froze hard last night. Charles Burger died
last evening about 10 o’clock.”
”Dec. 31. Last of the year. May we, with the help of God, spend the
coming year better than we have the past, which we propose to do if it
is the will of the Almighty to deliver us from our present dreadful
situation. Amen. Morning fair, but cloudy; wind east by south; looks
like another snow-storm. Snow-storms are dreadful to us. The snow at
present is very deep.”
”Jan. 1, 1847. We pray the God of mercy to deliver us from our present
calamity, if it be His holy will. Commenced snowing last night, and
snows a little yet. Provisions getting very scanty; dug up a hide from
under the snow yesterday; have not commenced on it yet.”
”Jan. 3. Fair during the day, freezing at night. Mrs. Reed talks of
crossing the mountains with her children.”
”Jan. 4. Fine morning; looks like spring. Mrs. Reed and Virginia, Milton
Elliott, and Eliza Williams started a short time ago with the hope of
crossing the mountains; left the children here. It was difficult for
Mrs. Reed to part with them.”
This expedition was only one of many that the emigrants attempted. The
suffering that was endured at these times was indescribable. The broken,
volcanic nature of the summits rendered it extremely difficult to keep
from getting lost. The white, snowy cliffs were everywhere the same.
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This party became bewildered and lost near the beautiful Lake Angeline,
which is close to the present ”Summit Station” of the Central Pacific.
Had they attempted to proceed, all would undoubtedly have perished.
Within half a mile of the wagon road which now extends from Donner Lake
to the Summit are places where rocks and cliffs are mingled in wildest
confusion. Even in summertime it is difficult to find one’s way among
the broken, distorted mountain tops. In the mighty upheaval which
produced the Sierra Nevada, these vast mounds or mountains of frowning
granite were grouped into weird, fantastic labyrinths. Time has wrought
little effect upon their hold precipitous sides, and made slight impress
upon their lofty and almost inaccessible crests. Between these
fragmentary mountains, in shapely, symmetrical bowls which have been
delved by the fingers of the water nymphs and Undines, lie beautiful
lakelets. Angeline is but one of a dozen which sparkle like a chain of
gems between Donner Lake and the snowy, overhanging peaks of Mount
Stanford. The clefts and fissures of the towering granite cliffs are
filled, in summer, with dainty ferns, clinging mosses, and the loveliest
of mountain wild flowers, and the rims of the lakelets are bordered with
grasses, shrubbery, and a wealth of wild blossoms. But in winter this
region exhibits the very grandeur of desolation. No verdure is visible
save the dwarfed and shattered pines whose crushed branches mark the
path of the rushing avalanche. The furious winds in their wild sport
toss and tumble the snow-drifts here and there, baring the sterile
peaks, and heaping the white masses a hundred feet deep into chasm and
gorge. The pure, clear lakes, as if in very fear, hide their faces from
the turbulent elements in mantles of ice. The sun is darkened by dense
clouds, and the icy, shivering, shrieking stormfiends hold undisturbed
their ghastly revels. On every side are lofty battlements of rock, whose
trembling burden of snow seems ever ready to slide from its glassy
foundations of ice, and entomb the bewildered traveler.
Into this interminable maze of rocks and cliffs and frozen lakelets, the
little party wandered. Elliott had a compass, but it soon proved
worthless, and only added to their perplexed and uncertain state of
mind. They were out five days. Virginia’s feet became so badly frozen
that she could not walk. This occurrence saved the party. Reluctantly
they turned back toward the cabins, convinced that it was madness to
attempt to go forward. They reached shelter just as one of the most
terrible storms of all that dreadful winter broke over their heads. Had
they delayed their return a few hours, the path they made in ascending
the mountains, and by means of which they retraced their steps, would
have been concealed, and death would have been certain.
”Jan. 6. Eliza came back yesterday evening from the mountains, unable to
proceed; the others kept ahead.”
”Jan. 8. Mrs. Reed and the others came back; could not find their way on
the other side of the mountains. They have nothing but hides to live
on.”
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”Jan. 10. Began to snow last night; still continues; wind
west-north-west.”
”Jan. 13. Snowing fast; snow higher than the shanty; it must be thirteen
feet deep. Can not get wood this morning; it is a dreadful sight for us
to look upon.”
One of the stumps near the Graves-Reed cabin, cut while the snow was at
its deepest, was found, by actual measurement, to be twenty-two feet in
height. Part of this stump is standing to-day.
”Jan. 14. Cleared off yesterday. The sun, shining brilliantly, renovates
our spirits. Praise be to the God of heaven.”
”Jan. 15. Clear to-day again. Mrs. Murphy blind; Landrum not able to get
wood; has but one ax between him and Keseberg. It looks like another
storm; expecting some account from Sutter’s soon.”
”Jan. 17. Eliza Williams came here this morning; Landrum crazy last
night; provisions scarce; hides our main subsistence. May the Almighty
send us help.”
”Jan. 21. Fine morning; John Baptiste and Mr. Denton came this morning
with Eliza; she will not eat hides. Mrs. - sent her back to live or die
on them.”
The blanks which occasionally occur were in the original diary. The
delicacy which prompted Patrick Breen to omit these names can not fail
to be appreciated. What, if there was sometimes a shade of selfishness,
or an act of harshness? What if some families had more than their
destitute neighbors? The best provided had little. All were in reality
strangely generous. All divided with their afflicted companions. The
Reeds had almost nothing to eat when they arrived at the cabins, yet
this family is the only one which reached the settlements without some
one member having to partake of human flesh.
”Jan. 22. Began to snow after sunrise; likely to continue; wind north.”
”Jan. 23. Blew hard and snowed all night; the most severe storm we have
experienced this winter; wind west.”
”Jan. 26. Cleared up yesterday; to-day fine and pleasant: wind south; in
hopes we are done with snow-storms. Those who went to Sutter’s not yet
returned; provisions getting scant; people growing weak, living on a
small allowance of hides.”
”Jan. 27. Commenced snowing yesterday; still continues to-day. Lewis
Keseberg, Jr., died three days ago; food growing scarce; don’t have fire
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enough to cook our hides.”
”Jan. 30. Fair and pleasant; wind west; thawing in the sun. John and
Edward Breen went to Graves’ this morning. Mrs. - seized on Mrs. ˜
N ’s
goods until they would be paid; they also took the hides which herself
and family subsisted upon. She regained two pieces only, the balance