THE DONNER LAKE TRADEDY IN 1846.

In April of the above year an emigrant party set out from Springfield, Sangamon County, Illinois, for California, among whom were two brothers George, and Jacob Donner, and families numbering sixteen, James F. Reed and family of seven persons, and Franklin W. Graves with a family of twelve. At Independence, Missouri, they were joined by Patrick Breen and family of nine. Later Mrs. Lavina Murphy, a widow lady with whom was her family, joined them one hundred miles west of Fort Bridger, and these were the principal members of the Donner party proper that numbered ninety souls. Independence was reached in the first week of May, and the train finally was increased to between two and three hundred wagons. At this point provisions were purchased and the overland journey commenced.  On the sixteenth of June Mrs. George Donner in a letter reported very favorably of the expedition up to that time and place, 450 miles from Independence.

At Fort Laramie some of them joined in celebrating the Fourth of July, and on the 20^th of that month at Little Sandy River, George Donner was elected Captain of the train. At Fort Bridger a portion of the emigrants decided to try a new route to California by the way of Salt Lake, known as the Hastings Cut-off; the remaining members of the party preferring to take the longer, but better known route by which they eventually reached in safety the point of their destination. Those choosing the Salt Lake route were the ones whose tragic fate, leading them to Starvation Camp, has handed their history down to posterity as the darkest page shadowing the history of Pacific Coast pioneer life. With the change of route their trials began. Salt Lake being reached in over thirty instead of seven days as anticipated.  Then the great desert beyond that lake was to be crossed, trackless, barren, and desolate and foreboding. From that time forward misfortune's hand lay heavy upon them, hope's outlines fading grew less distinct in the shadows of each departing day, while in every succeeding event seemed lurking some dark tragedy. At the western margin of the desert it was determined that someone must go forward to Sutter's Fort, 700 miles, and come back to meet them on the way with provisions. Volunteers were called for to do this when Wm. McCutchen of Missouri, and C. T. Stanton of Chicago, Illinois, responded and started on horseback alone upon the forlorn hope mission of life or death to all who were left behind.

Gravelly Ford on the Humboldt was reached, with worn out cattle, by the emaciated travelers, who were subsisting upon short rations. At this place occurred the saddest event that misfortune cast by the wayside for those victims trailing their course from happy homes in the East to the court of death by the bank of Lake Donner. There was a young man some twenty-three years of age, named John Snyder, who was driving one of the teams for Mr.  Graves. He was a person of unusually fine appearance rather tall, well developed, prepossessing, and looked a king among; men. In disposition happy, mirthful, jubilant, with a smile and kind word for everyone; he had become the favorite of the party.  He had one misfortune, that of a fierce, ungovernable temper when the lion of anger was stirred within him. Mary Graves, a tall, graceful, dark eyed beauty, also one of the emigrants, was to become his bride upon their arrival in California. At this fatal ford an altercation occurred between him and James F. Reed. Mrs. Reed, in rushing between the combatants, received a cruel blow from the butt end of a whip intended for her husband, dealt by Snyder, who the next instant staggered back with his life blood flowing from a mortal wound received in the side from a knife in the hand of the enraged husband. Mr. Reed was banished from the train without food, or gun to get it with, to make his way as best he could to California; but after he had gone affection overtook him. A friend stole out of camp with his gun accompanied by Mr. Reed's little twelve-year-old girl Virginia, who had secreted some crackers about her person, and following the wretched traveler, came up with him. But for this he must have perished on the desert, from which cruel fate he was saved through the constancy of a friend and the affections of his child. The remains of young Snyder were buried near the place where he had fallen. The next day the train moved on with the heart-broken girl, who had looked for the last time upon the one that she had loved, and the little mound that forever covered his form from her sight.

On the ninth of October while moving down the Humboldt, an old man named Hardcoop in company with Keseberg, fell behind the train. That night Keseberg came into camp but the old man did not; he had traveled until his feet burst open, and then laid down and died. At Humboldt sink twenty-eight of their cattle were run off by Indians, and the party was near the verge of despair. They continued however to struggle on, all of them on foot now except the children and disabled. They were literally starving, some of them being forced to go without food for a day or more at a time. On the fourteenth of October, between Humboldt sink and Wadsworth, Keseberg and a wealthy member of the party named Wolfinger. fell behind and the latter was never seen afterwards; Keseberg came into camp without his companion, and later on Joseph Reinhart, when dying, confessed to having had something to do with the murder of the missing man. The further trials and terrible horrors that beset the path of this ill-started party is taken from the history before mentioned of Nevada County, California, by Thompson & West, and we quote the following from that work:

On the nineteenth of October, near the present site of Wadsworth, Nevada, the destitute company was happily provisioned by C. T. Stanton; furnished with food and mules, together with two Indian vaqueros, by Captain Sutter, without compensation.  At the present site of Reno it was concluded to rest. Three or four days time was lost. This was the fatal act. The storm-clouds were already brewing upon the mountains, only a few miles distant.  The ascent was ominous. Thick and thicker grew the clouds, outstripping in threatening battalions the now eager feet of the alarmed emigrants, until, at Prosser Creek, three miles below Truckee, October 28, 1846, a month earlier than usual, the storm set in and they found themselves in six inches of newly fallen snow. On the summit it was already from two to five feet deep. The party, in much confusion, finally reached Donner Lake in disordered fragments.  Frequent and desperate attempts were made to cross the mountain tops, but at last, last battled and despairing, they returned to camp at the lake. The storm now descended upon the ill-fated emigrants. Its dreadful import was well understood, as laden with omens of suffering and death. With slight interruptions, the storm continued for several days. The animals were literally buried alive and frozen in the drifts. Meat was hastily prepared from their frozen carcasses, and cabins rudely built. 

One, the Schallenberger cabin, erected November, 1844, was already standing, about a quarter of a mile below the lake. This the Breen family appropriated.  The Murphys erected one three hundred yards from the lake, marked by a large stone twelve feet high.  The Graves family built theirs near Donner Creek, three-quarters of a mile farther down the stream, the three forming the apexes of a triangle; the Breen and Murphy cabins were distant from each other about one hundred and fifty yards. The Donner brothers, with their families, hastily constructed a brush shed in Alder Creek Valley, six or seven miles from the lake. Their provisions were speedily consumed, and starvation, with all its grim attendant horrors, stared the poor emigrants in the face. Day by day, with aching hearts and paralyzed energies, they awaited, amid the beating storms of the Sierra, the dread revelation of the morrow, " hoping against hope " for some welcome sign.

On the sixteenth day of December, 1846, a party of seventeen were enrolled to attempt the hazardous journey over the mountains, to press into the valley beyond for relief. Two returned, and the remaining fifteen pressed on, including Mary Graves and her sister, Mrs. Sarah Fosdick, and several other women, the heroic C. T. Stanton and the noble F. W. Graves (who left his wife and seven children at the lake to await in vain his return) being the leaders. This was the " Forlon Hope Party," over whose dreadful sufferings and disaster we must throw a veil. A detailed account of this party is given from the graphic pen of C. F. McGlashan, and lately published in book form from the press of McGIashan, proprietor of the Truckee Republican, to which we take pleasure in referring the reader. Death in its most awful form reduced the wretched company to seven-two men and five women-when suddenly tracks were discovered imprinted in the snow. "Can any one imagine," says Mary Graves in her recital, of the joy these foot prints gave us?" We ran as fast as our strength would "carry us." Turning a sharp point they suddenly came upon an Indian rancheria. The acorn-bread offered them by the kind and awestricken savages was eagerly devoured. But on they pressed with their Indian guides, only to repeat their dreadful sufferings, until at last, one evening about the last of January, Mr. Eddy with his Indian guide, preceding the party fifteen miles, reached Johnson's Ranch, on Bear River, the first settlement on the western slope of the Sierra, when relief was sent back as soon as possible, and the remaining six survivors were brought in next day. It had been thirty-two days since they left Donner Lake. No tongue can tell, no pen portray, the awful suffering, the terrible and appalling straits, as well as the noble deeds of heroism that characterized this march of death. The eternal mountains, whose granite faces bore witness to their sufferings, are fit monuments to mark the last resting place of Charles T. Stanton, that cultured, heroic soul, who groped his way through the blinding snow of the Sierra to immortality. The divinest encomium-"he gave his life as a ransom for many"-is his epitaph, foreshadowed in his own noble words, " I will bring aid to these famishing people or lay down my life."

Nothing could be done, in the meantime, for the relief of the sufferers at Donner Lake, without securing help from Fort Sutter, which was speedily accomplished by John Rhodes. In a week, six men, fully provisioned, with Captain Reasin P. Tucker at their head, reached Johnson's Ranch, and in ten or twelve days' time, with provisions, mules, etc, the first relief party started for the scene of Donner Lake. It was a fearful undertaking, but on the morning of the nineteenth of February, 1847, the above party began the descent of the gorge leading to Donner Lake.  We have purposely thrown a veil over the dreadful sufferings of the stricken band left in their wretched hovels at Donner Lake. Reduced to the verge of starvation, many died (including numerous children, seven of whom were nursing babes) who, in this dreadful state of necessity, were summarily disposed of. Rawhides, moccasins, strings, etc., were eaten, but relief was now close at hand for the poor stricken sufferers. On the evening of the nineteenth of February, 1847, the stillness of death that had settled upon the scene was broken by prolonged shouts. In an instant the painfully sensitive ears of the despairing watchers caught the welcome sound. Captain Tucker, with his relief party, had at last arrived upon the scene. Every face was bathed in tears, and the strongest men of the relief party, melted at the appalling sight, sat down and wept with the rest. But time was precious, as storms were imminent. The return party was quickly gathered. Twenty-three members started, among them several women and children. Of this number two were compelled to return, and three perished on the journey. Many hardships and privations were experienced, and their provisions were soon entirely exhausted. Death once more stared them in the face, and despair settled upon them.  But assistance was near at hand, James F. Reed, who had preceded the Donner party by some months, suddenly appeared with the second relief party, on the twenty-fourth of February, 1847. The joy of the meeting was indescribable, especially between the family and the long-absent father. Re-provisioned, the party pressed on, and gained their destination after severe suffering, with eighteen members, only three having perished. Reed continued his journey to the cabins at Donner Lake. There the scene was simply indescribable, starvation and disease were fast claiming their victims. March 1^st (according to Breen's diary), Reed and his party arrived at the camp. Proceeding directly to his cabin, he was espied by his little daughter (who, with her sister was carried back by the previous party), and immediately recognized with a cry of joy. Provisions were carefully dealt out to the famishing people, and immediate steps were taken for the return. Seventeen comprised this party. Half starved and completely exhausted, they were compelled to camp in the midst of a furious storm, in which Mr. Reed barely escaped with his life. This was "Starved Camp," and from this point Mr. Reed, with his two little children and another person, struggled ahead to obtain hasty relief if possible.

On the second day after leaving Starved Camp, Mr. Reed and the three companions were overtaken by Cady and Stone, and on the night of the third day reached Woodworths Camp, at Bear Valley, in safety. The horrors of Starved Camp beggar all description, indeed, require none. The third relief party, composed of John Stark, Howard Oakley, and Charles Stone, were nearing the rescue, while W. H. Foster and W. H. Eddy (rescued by a former party) were bent on the same mission. These, with William Miller set out from Woodworth's Camp in the following morning after Reed's arrival. The eleven were duly reached, but were in a starving condition and nine of the eleven were unable to walk. By the noble resolution and herculean efforts of John Stark, a part of the number were borne and urged onward to their destination, while the other portion was compelled to remain and await another relief party.  When the third relief party, under Foster and Eddy, arrived at Donner Lake, the sole survivors at Alder Creek were George Donner, the Captain of the company and his heroic and faithful wife, whose devotion to her dying husband caused her own death during the last and fearful days of waiting for the fourth relief George Donner knew he was dying, and urged his wife to save her life, and go with her little ones, with the third relief, but she refused.  Nothing was more heart-rending than her sad parting with her beloved little ones, who wound their childish arms lovingly around her neck, and besought her with mingled tears and kisses to join them. But duly prevailed over affection, and she retraced the weary distance to die with him whom she had promised to love and honor to the end. Such scenes of anguish are seldom witnessed on this sorrowing earth, and such acts of triumphant devotion are among her most golden deeds. The snowy cerements of Donner Lake enshrouded in its stilly whiteness no purer life, no nobler heart than Mrs. George Donner's. The terrible recitals that close this awful tragedy we willingly omit.

The third relief party rescued four of the five last survivors; the fourth and last relief party rescued the last survivor, Lewis Keseberg, on the seventh of April, 1847. Ninety names are given as members of the Donner party. Of these, forty-two perished, six did not live to reach the mountains, and forty-eight survived. Twenty-six, and possibly twenty-eight, out of the forty-eight survivors, are living today, several residing in San Jose, Calistoga, Los Galos, Marysville, and in Oregon.

Thus ends this narrative of horrors, without a parallel in the annals of American history, of appalling disasters, fearful sufferings. heroic fortitude, self denial and heroism.

The emigration increased in 1847, and then the gold discovered in 1848 induced a steady stream of treasure-seekers to come from the States, over the plains, and down the Humboldt River in 1849, en route for California. Their number precludes the possibility of a further detail of the advent of those who were but passing through Nevada.