Haunting Travels with the Donner Party

by Cecile Page Vargo

          It’s mid October. Supplies are dwindling down, particularly after raids on the cattle by Paiute Indians only a few days before.  A man was sent ahead and has finally arrived with a mule heavy laden with food. He brings along peaceful Indian guides and good word that mountain passes should remain open for at least another month.

          “The weather was already very cold and the heavy clouds hanging over the mountains to the west were strong indications of an approaching winter. Some wanted to stop and rest their cattle. Others, in fear of the snow, were in favor of pushing ahead as fast as possible,” a fellow traveler notes in his diary, as we stop in a meadow.

          With clouds darkening the skies overhead, we decide to rest a few more days amongst the grass near the river. Here, remaining cattle can graze and gain strength in preparation for the steep granite ascent ahead of us.  In the distant elevations, snows have already frosted many of the peaks. These early storms are few and far between, we are told, so I agree with the others to pause. Soon, I’m sipping from a mug of strong dark coffee prepared in a grey spackled pot over a warming campfire.

          I had been a loner pretty much until now, only a shy and quiet observer on the trail.  I didn‘t really know anyone, so figured it was time to find out. The coffee warmed the faint chill to my bones, but my stomach growled, so I reached in my personal pack for a snack before mustering the courage to ask a few names and offer my own.  There were too many to remember, but the names,  “Reed” and   “Donner” stood out like a frost bitten thumb.

          I strangled on the now bitter coffee as it melted the chocolate from the bite of store bought croissant I had been savoring in my mouth. A cold wind gust blew down the mountain pass as I recovered from the choke. The coffee pot clattered as it blew to the ground. The campfire shuddered. Only moments later the snow flurries began to fall from the sky, tickling my face. I had a strange inkling that the story that I hungered after was going to be hard earned.

          A hundred and many more years pass before my very eyes and I’m suddenly safe in my office, wiping chocolate from the next bite of croissant from my mouth. Frigid fingers struggle over the computer keyboard as I Google the names of my pioneer traveling companions. I sip from my Starbucks brew as a haunting tale soon reveals itself in plenty of time for October.

          Days later as I sit at my computer pondering pioneer tails over coffee and croissant once again, a packet arrives with copies of letters, diaries, and an author’s notes revealing the true story.

          "Monday morning, 20th Oct., Dear Sir, Yesterday the large mule became lame with his heavy pack. I got Mr. Rhodes, one of the emigrants, to examine him who said that his lameness was caused by a Sweency. I have tried hard to get another horse but could not succeed. If I find the mule will not stand the journey, I will send it back by some of the companies and cache his load."

          The party continued up the Truckee River Canyon on this day, pretty much following the course of present day Interstate 80 between Wadsworth and Reno.

.......To rescue these people Stanton had coming riding like a knight upon a quest. Having once delivered his provisions, he would have been justified, any one would think, in taking Indians and mules, and spurring for the pass. Three days would have taken him to safety in Bear Valley. Instead he took up Virginia Reed behind him on the mule, and thus they came into the broad-stretching Truckee meadows.

          Here the company reassembled, and emigrants camped in the fine grassland which reached along the river for several miles. They were really leaving the arid country behind now; on the mountains round about the meadows pine trees were growing. This was the best place to recruit cattle before attempting the passage of the mountains, and so the emigrants faced another dilemma. It had come to October 20. The weather was cloudy and threatening, and some snow had fallen on the higher mountains around them. Prudence bade them press on with all haste. But prudence also bade them stay, and let the oxen rest and build up their strength. To attempt the passage of the mountains with worn-out teams was only to invite catastrophe. Above Truckee Lake, as Stanton could tell them, the trail went right up over broken domes of granite."

          Stanton's party had met snow crossing the summit around October 7th. However, he had also been told at Sutter's Fort that the pass would not be snowed in until the middle of November. Even if there was early snow, it would melt between storms, or so they thought, thus the ill fated party took Stanton's advice. The cattle were put out to feast on the rich grass of Truckee Meadows...

Bibliography

George R. Stewart   

Ordeal By Hunger

http://members.aol.com/DanMRosen/donner/oct46.htm

http://www.legendsofamerica.com/CA-DonnerParty3.html

          We’ll leave the Donner party in Truckee Meadows for now. Perhaps we’ll run across them again in another issue of Explore Historic California.

Mojave Expedition Scrapbook

October 6, 2007

Photos by Roger Vargo