As they reached the two men, Peter swung down. The two brothers stopped, a look of astonishment on their faces. “Peter Ingalls?” Dan Rhoads cried. “But what are you doing here?”
“That’s what we were going to ask you,” Peter exclaimed. “I’d heard your father had settled on the Consumnes River. That’s a long way from here.”
“We were with the first rescue party that went out to find the Donner group,” Dan replied.
Suddenly Peter understood. Of course. The Rhoads boys would be among the first to volunteer to go on a rescue mission. That was how that family was. But then, at another thought, he frowned. “And you’ve come only this far?”
John Rhoads shook his head. “No, no, we’re on our way back again. We’re taking out some of the people we found.”
Peter stiffened. “You have people from the Donner group? Here? Now?”
“Yes,” Dan answered. He shook his head, his dark eyes deeply troubled. “We started with twenty-three, but we had to send two of the children back. Then three more didn’t make it. There was an Englishman—”
“John Denton?”
“Yes. And we lost two children, a Keseberg girl who was about three, then a ten-year-old boy yesterday. A boy named Hook.”
Peter had to swallow hard. How many names that he knew would be added to the list of the dead before this was over? “What about Levinah Murphy? She is a Latter-day Saint too, you know. Is she with you?”
Daniel shook his head. “No. She wasn’t strong enough.” He looked away. “Her son Landrum was dead by the time we got there. You remember her daughter Harriet Pike, don’t you?”
“Yes. She made it out with the snowshoe party, didn’t she?”
“Right. Well,” Daniel went on, his voice very low, “John here promised to bring Harriet’s two little daughters out. Sadly, her baby daughter, Catherine, died the day after we arrived at the camp.”
“And the other one? Did you make it with her?” Peter asked.
John nodded, but it was Daniel again who spoke. “Naomi is three. John strapped her in a blanket on his back and carried her out.”
Peter felt his eyes burning. He had watched Sister Murphy’s grandchildren playing around the wagons on more than one occasion.
John peered at Peter more closely. “But how come you aren’t back there with them?” Then he snapped his fingers. “That’s right, you came ahead with Mr. Reed.”
“Yes. And speaking of Mr. Reed, have you seen him? He was leading a second relief party. He should have been this far by now.”
“Yes,” John answered. “We met him two days ago. You can imagine his joy to see his wife and some of his children, but—”
Peter jerked forward. “You have Mrs. Reed with you?” Peter cried.
“We do,” Dan Rhoads answered, “and two of the children. Unfortunately, it was the two other Reed children that we had to send back. They were too weak to come with us. So Reed and the others have gone on to find them and the rest of the people up there.”
“So all of the Reeds are safe?” Peter said, suddenly weak with relief.
“We hope so,” John answered. “The two who went back, Patty and Tommy, were pretty weak, but Reed should have reached them by now. And he’s got food.”
Will looked more closely at the two men. “Is it as bad as the reports say?” he asked softly.
Both men dropped their eyes. Dan shook his head slowly. “It was pretty bad. When we finally reached the camp at Truckee Lake, it was like we had walked onto a battlefield. There were corpses lying out in the open. They had no way to bury them. At first we thought we were too late. There was not a living soul to be seen. But when we called out, suddenly heads started popping up like prairie dogs from what we thought were just snowdrifts. We hadn’t even realized there were cabins there.”
“It was like our voices were Gabriel’s horn,” John added, “and the dead started coming out of their graves. Suddenly these skeletons started appearing everywhere around us.”
Dan Rhoads’s eyes were shining. “When one woman saw us, she said, ‘Are you from California, or are you from heaven?’ ”
John went on now, his voice very quiet. “They are in ghastly shape, Peter. They’ve had nothing to live on except for a few rotten hides for several weeks.”
Peter could only nod. He wanted to ask for names of those who were still alive, but there would be time for that later. “I’d like to see Mrs. Reed and the children. Then Will and I will press on and try to catch Mr. Reed.”
Dan Rhoads considered that for a moment, then shook his head. “Maybe you ought to reconsider moving on farther. Mr. Reed has quite a few men with him, including a couple of mountain men. But there’s only half a dozen of us. We could use your help and what food you have to get these people back to Johnson’s Ranch.”
When he saw Peter’s reaction to that, he went on. “I think Mr. Reed would appreciate knowing that his wife and children were being helped to safety. He will bring the other two children with him.”
Peter changed his mind at that. “All right,” he agreed. “I’d like to see Mrs. Reed if I can.”
“All right,” Dan Rhoads said slowly, “but you’ll have to steel yourself. You can’t let her see the shock in your eyes.” He took a quick breath. “And you will be shocked.”
“It’s that bad?” Peter said in a near whisper.
“You may not recognize her at first,” came the answer.
When they reached camp, there was no need to ask which were the rescuers and which were the rescued, and that was not because Peter immediately knew his former companions. Though he had traveled with them for months, now he barely recognized them. Their cheeks were hollow and their eyes deeply sunken. They looked like walking skeletons. Their clothes were filthy and in rags and barely hung on their emaciated bodies. But it was the eyes that were unrecognizable. They were empty, lifeless, haunted. As he moved among them, touching their outstretched hands, he could scarcely stop from crying aloud in horror.
Here was Doris Wolfinger, now a widow at nineteen years of age. It was her husband, if the reports William Eddy had sent were true, who had been murdered by two of his companions for the gold he carried. She stood beside four of the Donner children and Noah James, one of the Donners’ teamsters. Philippine Keseberg, wife of the arrogant and obnoxious Lewis Keseberg, didn’t respond at all as Peter took her hand. She simply stared through him as if he weren’t there. She had lost an infant at the camp. She had lost her second child, a toddler, as they came down from the mountains.
Eliza Williams managed a wan smile when she recognized him, but Peter didn’t have the courage to ask about her brother, Baylis. Was he dead or just too weak to come out? There were two of the Murphy children, two of Patrick Breen’s, and three-year-old Naomi Pike, the child John Rhoads had carried on his back and whose mother had come out with the Forlorn Hope party. She was anxiously awaiting word of her family at Johnson’s Ranch.
“I thought William Eddy was with your group,” Peter said to John Rhoads.
“He was, but we sent him to Johnson’s Ranch for more horses and food. I’m surprised you didn’t see him.”
“We camped during the day and traveled at night.”
“Oh,” Dan said, then shook his head. “Both his wife and baby daughter are dead,” he went on in barely a whisper. “He doesn’t know that yet.”
Then Peter saw Virginia Reed. She had stepped out of one of the tents and was squinting against the brighter light, trying to see what was causing the commotion. He stifled a gasp. At thirteen, Virginia had been turning into a young woman when Peter had last seen her. Now she looked like a stooped little girl. Suddenly her eyes widened. She took a step forward. Peter broke into a run, calling her name. Now he couldn’t hold back the tears as he reached her and swept her up. Her long dark hair was matted and tangled. Her lips looked like cracked leather left too long in the sun. Virginia had been so clean, well groomed, and full of energy that to see her so dirty, unkempt, and we
ak was a shock.
“Peter?”
“Yes, Virginia, it’s me. I’m here.”
She threw her arms around him and began to sob. “Oh, Peter.”
He stroked her hair, holding her tight. “It’s all right, Virginia. I’m here.”
“Did you see Papa?” she asked, seeming a little confused. “We saw Papa.”
“I know. They told me.”
“Mama fainted when she heard Papa was coming. But I ran to him and hugged him. I was so glad to see him.”
“Your father said he would come for you, Virginia. He promised, remember?”
Suddenly she looked wounded. “But why did it take so long, Peter?”
“We tried last fall, but the snow stopped us. We thought you had food.”
Great tears pushed over the eyelids and started down her cheeks. “Milt’s dead, Peter.”
He felt a deep stab of pain. “He is?” he whispered. Milt Elliott, Reed’s lead teamster, had been almost like an older brother to the children, but he had been especially close to Virginia.
She nodded, her mouth twisting with horror. “Mama and I dragged him out of the cabin after he died,” she said. “We buried him in the snow. He was such a faithful friend. We commenced burying him at his feet. I patted the pure white snow softly over him until I reached his face. Then I started to cry.”
She was crying hard now, and Peter had to steady her.
“Poor Milt!” she sobbed. “It was so hard to cover his face and to know that our best friend was gone.”
“I know, Virginia,” Peter said, holding her as her body shuddered against him. “I know.” No one should have to face such a terrible thing, he thought, but especially not an adolescent girl. “It’s all right now. We’ve come to take you to where it’s safe and there is plenty of food.” He took her hand. “Come on, I want to see your mother and James.”
Wiping at the tears with the back of her hand, she nodded, then led him to the tent. Will hung back, but Peter motioned him to follow.
When they stepped inside the tent, the light was subdued, but Peter was still shocked at the sight of Margret Reed. “Look, Mama,” Virginia exclaimed. “Look, James, it’s Peter.”
Margret Reed raised her head slowly. Then, when she recognized him, there was a strangled cry of joy.
He went to her and dropped to one knee, pulling her up and against his shoulder. “Oh, Mrs. Reed. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
James leaned forward and there was what should have been a smile but looked more like a horrible grimace. “I told Mama you would come, Peter,” he said. “I told her.”
Now tears were streaming down Peter’s cheeks. Behind him, Will stifled a sob.
“Yes, James,” Peter said, reaching out to take his hand. “We’re here now. It’s all right.”
After Peter and Will took Margret Reed and her two children to Johnson’s Ranch, almost a full two weeks passed before the second rescue group led by James Reed returned from the mountains. For a full day after that, Will and Peter did not see James Reed. That was not a surprise, and no one was of a mind to interrupt the reunion of this family who had come so close to tragedy. With Reed’s safe return, Will and Peter prepared to return to Sutter’s Fort.
They were nearly finished packing on the morning of March seventeenth, when there was a soft knock at the door of the cabin where they were staying.
Will got up and went to the door. When he opened it he stepped back. It was James Reed. Peter stood immediately and went to greet him. “Come in,” he said.
Reed removed his hat and stepped inside. He looked around. “I heard that you were going.”
Peter nodded. “We promised Mr. Sutter we’d get back as soon as we could.”
“Yes.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, clearly suffering. “Peter, I . . .”
Peter broke in quickly. “There’s no need to say anything, Mr. Reed. I am just glad that we could do something. I’m sorry that we didn’t hear soon enough to go in with you.”
He waved that aside. “What you did was more important,” he said gruffly. Reed started twisting his hat in his hand. “Peter, I’ve sent a letter back to Illinois to have my funds transferred out here to California, but until they come—”
Now Peter cut him off. “Mr. Reed, you’ve lost everything. Don’t fret about it. If it weren’t for you, Kathryn and I could have been up there in the mountains.”
Reed stepped forward and gripped his shoulders. “Listen, Peter, while I was fighting in the war with Mexico I was given a large land grant down near Pueblo de San Jose. I signed documents in the names of those of our party so that there would be land for them when they finally got here. I have land for you.” His words came out in a rush in his eagerness now. “Go find Kathryn. Bring her out here. We’ll help you get started.”
Peter glanced at Will, who was listening to all of this but for now chose to stay out of it. Then he turned back. “Thank you, but our place is with our people.”
What Reed said next came as a total surprise. “Did you know that Sam Brannan is planning to leave as early as possible and go east to find your Brigham Young so that he can persuade him to come to California?”
“Brannan told you that?” Will asked slowly, his mind racing.
“Yes. Before I left Yerba Buena. He said he plans to leave around the first of April.” He turned back to Peter. “Will you at least consider our offer if your people decide to come here?”
“Yes, of course,” Peter said.
Reed stepped back a little, in full control of himself again. “Good-bye, Peter. I can never repay you for what you’ve done.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Reed. Thank you for all you did for us.”
For a moment it looked as if Reed might say something else, but then he put on his hat, gave one last little wave, and walked out the door.
Chapter Notes
When the seven surviving members of the snowshoe party—what later was labeled the Forlorn Hope party (see UE,p. 49)—staggered out of the mountains and reached Johnson’s Ranch on 17 January 1847, that was the first that anyone realized that the group of emigrants stranded in the mountains were in such desperate circumstances. Due to the war with Mexico and also to the small number of Americans who were in California at that time, there were not a lot of available men. However, it is still somewhat shocking to see how little response there was to the call for rescuers. Eventually, the men had to be promised five times normal wages so that they would continue. (See Chronicles,pp. 258–89; UE,pp. 195–97.)
The first rescue party reached Truckee (now Donner) Lake on 19 February, more than two months after the Forlorn Hope party left in search of help. In that rescue party were two Latter-day Saints, Daniel and John Rhoads. When the two brothers learned of the fate of the Donner Party, they vowed they would help bring them out or die trying. (See Chronicles,pp. 260–96.) It was Daniel who later told of the woman who asked if they were from California or from heaven (see Overland in 1846,p. 328). The vivid description of Gabriel blowing his horn and raising the near dead from their snowy tombs was that of historian George R. Stewart (probably inspired by a later statement by Lewis Keseberg) but is given expression in the novel by John as well (see OBH,p. 191). James Reed’s second rescue party met the descending first rescuers and those they were bringing out on 28 February. After a joyous but brief reunion with his wife and two children, Reed pressed on to find his other two children, who had been sent back. He brought both out safely. The Reeds were one of only two families who came through the tragedy without any loss of life. The other was Patrick Breen’s family. Of the eighty-two members of the Donner group that took the Hastings Cutoff, only forty-seven survived. (See UE,pp. 294–98, and Chronicles,pp. 352–61, for complete rosters of the Donner Party, information regarding who survived, and a description of what happened to the survivors later.)
Reed did secure land by signing documents for some of his group, evidently with the understanding of the authorities that they wer
e stranded but would be coming on later (see Chronicles,p. 217). This and his own previous wealth helped Reed and his family become prominent in northern California’s early history. Sister Levinah Murphy, the only known Latter-day Saint with the Donner Party, died at Donner Lake. Marysville, California, was named after Mary Murphy, her daughter.
Lansford Hastings, whose book and whose promises of guide service led the Donners to take the cutoff that would thereafter bear Hastings’s name, would never take any blame for what happened. All that was needed, he said, was better roads and more water in the desert.
Virginia Reed’s description of the burial of Milt Elliott comes from her own account written later. Virginia claimed throughout her life that the Reeds were the only family which did not eat human flesh, though the Breens also denied being part of that. In a letter written to her cousin in May of 1847, Virginia also gave this now famous counsel about coming west: “Never take no cutofs [sic] and hury [sic] along as fast as you can” (in WFFB,p. 238).
Chapter 36
It’s a simple matter, Josh,” Sergeant Luther Tuttle said in conclusion. “When the elephants fight, the mice get trampled.”
For a moment, Private Josh Steed was puzzled by that expression; then understanding came. “And we’re the mice?”
“The foot soldier always is,” Tuttle muttered, more in resignation than anger.
Josh considered that, then nodded. Sergeant Luther Tuttle had a lot of savvy about things, including the “military mind,” a phrase that he dryly noted was a contradiction in terms. It was nearing sundown and they were off duty for the night. The four other men they shared the tent with had decided to go to town and look around. Tuttle was on call as backup to the duty sergeant and couldn’t leave. Josh had gone into Pueblo de Los Angeles once and had not found it at all to his liking and turned down the invitation to join the others.
Los Angeles was much larger than San Diego—about five thousand people, Josh had been told—and was inhabited mostly by Mexicans and Indians, who were accepting of their American conquerors but not appreciative. Around the town there were rich farms and vineyards, but the city itself seemed quite dilapidated. Cantinas—Mexican grog shops—and gambling houses abounded, and there were always girls trying to become friendly.
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