CHAPTER LVI.

TERRIBLE STORY OF THE DONNERS.

On his arrival at Truckee, the pleasure-seeker will do well to spend a few hours in the examination of the beauties of Donner Lake, a lake much resorted to by the people both of California and Nevada, and a perfect little gem. Those who are afraid to venture out upon the broad waters of Tahoe, will be quite at ease on Donner.

From the town of Truckee, Donner Lake is reached in travelling a distance of but two miles, over an excellent carriage-road. The lake is about three miles in length and from a mile to a mile and a half in width. It is shut in on all sides by lofty and picturesque mountains. To the south and west these are very imposing—mountain piled on mountain. While the mountains to the southward are covered to a considerable extent, in their lower ranges, with pine, fir, spruce, and other evergreen trees, those on the west, toward the summit, are principally bald and barren piles of granite; though there are scattering pines clinging in places where their roots find a hold in the crevices of the rocks.

The track of the Central Pacific Railroad passes along the face of the mountains on the south side of the lake, hundreds of feet above its placid waters. From the lake the trains are seen moving along the sides of the great cliffs, where they seem to run on a track laid in the air or to cling to the rocks “by their eyebrows,” as an old “mountain man” once suggested, on looking up at the trains. At numerous points along the track there are snow-sheds which greatly interfere with the view of the lake from the cars, yet in many places picturesque glimpses of it are obtained, and of the mountain scenery in all directions.

Through the bare granite mountains walling in the lake on the west, passes a tunnel, into which it is a relief to see the trains plunge as they dart through the last of the snow-sheds and glide round the last of the cliffs.

From the top of the great mountain through which passes the railroad-tunnel, is obtained a grand and comprehensive view of Donner Lake and all its surroundings. The valley in which the little sheet of water lies is so small that, seen from above, it presents much the appearance of the crater of an extinct volcano. At each end, east and west, are seen dark groves of small pines, a few acres in extent, and these, with the waters of the lake, occupy all the level land in the basin.

To the eastward of the lake, days of mountain climbing distant, rise the snowy peaks of the eastern summit of the Sierras, glittering in the sunlight and dimly seen; to the westward, on the western summit, rises Donner Peak, crowned with black and rugged rocks, flecked with patches of snow, and tufted here and there with a few scattering and stunted pines. The water of Donner Lake is as clear, cold, and sweet as that of any mountain-spring. At the lake are good hotels and both sail and row-boats for the accommodation of visitors. Those who are lovers of the sport so lauded by good old Isaak Walton, will find an abundance of trout in the small brooks putting down from the mountains. The lake has an outlet at the east end which forms a stream of considerable size, called Little Truckee River. This unites with the main Truckee River, which is the outlet of Lake Tahoe. There is good trout-fishing in the Little Truckee, which is a bright and rapid stream.

It was on the banks of the Little Truckee, in the groves of pine at the foot of the lake, that occurred the horrible Donner disaster, some years before the discovery of gold in California.

The unfortunate Donner party, numbering seventy-six souls, principally emigrants from Illinois, reached the Sierra Nevada Mountains, October 31st, 1746, a month later in the season than was safe at that time to be found in such a region. That year the winter snows set in about three weeks earlier than usual, and with unusual severity, and in a few days fell to the depth of several feet.

When the snow began falling, the train had crossed what is known as the eastern summit of the Sierras, and had entered Summit Valley, in which lies Donner Lake. The train was pushed on through the storm until the foot of the lake was reached. Here the snow fell so rapidly, day and night, that it was soon several feet in depth, and it was impossible to proceed; indeed, so great was the fall of snow that the cattle and horses of the train were soon buried beneath it in all directions about the camp.

The emigrants then built a number of log-houses in which to winter, and moving into these from their wagons, began a season of suffering unprecedented in the history of the Sierras, where many men have perished in the snow. Though many individuals and small parties have lost their lives in these mountains, as a horrible scene of suffering, starvation, and death, the disaster which befel the Donner party stands alone in the history of the Pacific Coast.

The stumps of the trees cut by the party still stand, and are from fifteen to eighteen feet in height, showing the great depth to which the cabins and all in the camp lay buried. At first the unfortunate people lived on the cattle they were able to dig out of the snow, but there came a time when no more of these could be found, and then the pangs of hunger began to be felt in the dreary camp. It was seen that unless relief could be obtained from some quarter, all must soon die of starvation.

In this emergency a Mr. Reed, a man of iron frame, provided with a scanty stock of such provisions as could be gathered in the huts of the castaways, struggled through the snow till he had crossed the western summit of the Sierras, when he made his way as speedily as possible to the village of Yerba Buena, now San Francisco; the first place where he could look for relief. Here he made known the perilous position of his friends in the mountains. As soon as his story was heard, a meeting was called, provisions were contributed, and a relief-party was organized. When the relief-party arrived at the camp on Donner Lake and entered the cabins of the unfortunates, forty persons were found to be still alive and were rescued. Thirty-six were dead, and the snow formed for them a winding-sheet.

[Illustration: DONNER LAKE, SIERRA NEVADAS.]

[Illustration: SUMMIT-CROSSING OF SIERRA NEVADAS, NEAR DONNER LAKE.]

When the relief-party started on their return from the cabins, they were obliged to leave behind Mr. Donner, a farmer from Illinois, who was very ill; also, his wife, who refused to be saved if her husband must be left behind. Keysbury, a German, for some reason for which no satisfactory explanation has ever been given, was left behind with the Donners. These three persons were left to winter in the camp, such provisions as could be spared by the relief-party being given them. What passed in the lone camp during the dark and dreary months that followed, will never be known.

In April, a party, under General Kearney, was sent out to bring these persons over the mountains. On entering the camp, only Keysbury was found alive. The party found the body of Mr. Donner in a tent, where it had been carefully laid out by his wife. Nothing could be seen of Mrs. Donner, however. Old Keysbury was found reclining at his ease upon the floor of one of the cabins, calmly smoking his pipe, and apparently engaged in watching the smoke-wreaths as they curled upward. He sat near a wide fireplace on the hearth of which blazed a fire, on which hung a camp-kettle, found to be half filled with human flesh. Near at hand stood a bucket partly filled with blood and pieces of human flesh, while pieces of human flesh, fresh and bloody, were strewn about the floor.

Old Keysbury himself presented a most repulsive appearance—no ogre or ghoul, feasting in his den, could have been more hideous. His beard was of great length, and spread in tangled strings over his breast, his hair in a great, matted mop, hung about his shoulders and stood out over his eyes, while the nails of his fingers had grown to such a length that they resembled the claws of a wild beast. He was ragged to an indecent degree, exceedingly filthy, and as ferocious as he was filthy. When confronted in his den and discovered in the very act of indulging in his cannibal feast, he roused up and glared upon those who approached as though he were a hyena.

After some trouble he was secured and was then charged with having murdered Mrs. Donner for her flesh and money. He stoutly denied the charge, but a rope having been placed about his neck and one end of it thrown over the limb of a tree, the old fiend began to beg for his life, and, being released, showed where he had hidden a portion of the money. In pity of his miserable condition—he appearing not wholly in his right mind—and in view of the apparent fact that he was driven to the deed by the pangs of hunger, Keysbury’s life was spared, but he was driven forth from the society of his kind, and became a wanderer on the face of the earth, spurned and avoided wherever he became known.

A young son and daughter of the Donners were rescued by the first relief-party. They were carried over the deep snow that lay in the mountains, on the backs of men. When these children reached San Francisco they excited universal sympathy and in order to do something toward giving them a start in the world, they were granted a 100-vara lot each. Many years afterwards, when the village of Yerba Buena became San Francisco, and a great and rich city, these lots became the subject of a lawsuit of much importance. The remains of the Donner cabins were to be seen until a few years since. In some of the cabinets of the curious, in Virginia City, are bones collected at the old Donner camp, about the sites of the decayed cabins, and some of these may even have been gnawed by old Keysbury.

At no great distance from Virginia City, there are in several localities hot springs, all of which possess medicinal virtues and are much frequented by persons afflicted with rheumatism and kindred disorders. The most wonderful of all these are the Steamboat Springs, in Steamboat Valley, on the line of the Virginia and Truckee Railroad, about midway between Reno and Carson City. The springs are situated on a low mound, about a mile in length and six hundred feet in width, formed of rocky incrustations deposited by the mineral waters. Running north and south through this low ridge are several large crevices from which arise columns of steam, heated air and gases.

[Illustration: WINTER IN THE MOUNTAINS.]

Early in the morning, when the air is cool and calm, as many as sixty or seventy columns of steam may be seen rising along the ridge, many of which ascend to the height of over fifty feet. Far down in the crevices, which are over a foot in width, may be heard the surging of billows of boiling water. At the sides and ends of the crevices are a great number of boiling springs, some of which spurt water to the height of two or three feet above the surface. A strong smell of sulphur pervades the atmosphere, and pure sulphur is found in many places along the line of the large crevices.

At times, some of these springs spout water to a great height. In 1860, one about the diameter of an ordinary well, threw a column of hot water three feet in diameter to the height of over fifty feet. This spring was intermittent. After spouting steadily for an hour it would suddenly cease with a sound as of a great sigh, as the direction of the internal force changed and the water seemed sucked back into the regions below. The eruptions of this spring occurred once in about eight hours. After the water was sucked back into the ground, a hole about nine feet in depth was seen, the bottom of which was covered with sand. The withdrawing of the water through this sand appeared to be the cause of the sighing sound heard at the end of each eruption.

When a grand season of spouting was about to begin, a heavy rumbling would be heard below, there was a hissing sound at the bottom of the well, bubbles came up through the sand, and presently boiling water surged in. This water would rush, foaming and hissing, to within two or three feet of the surface, when it would suddenly withdraw with a great sigh. In about a minute the hissing and rumbling would again begin, and again the water would rush almost to the top of the well. When this had been three or four times repeated, the preliminary performance—notes of preparation, as it were—had ended. A rumbling much louder than anything before heard began, the ground for many rods about the spot was violently shaken, and on a sudden, with a great roar, a huge column of water darted into the air. Had this spring continued these eruptions, it would have been one of the lions of the country, but after a season of activity in the Spring of 1860, it became closed up, and has since been one of the tamest springs along the line. In 1862 a spring for a time spouted water to the height of fifty or sixty feet, through an orifice about three inches in diameter.

In June, 1873, the then proprietor of the Steamboat Springs and hotel, lost his life in one of the springs. He was engaged in the erection of a new bath-house over a large pool of boiling water, some five feet in depth, for use in giving steam baths. Timbers for the foundation had been laid across the pool, and the man walked out on one of these to arrange a cross-timber, when he slipped and fell into the scalding water. The water was so deep as to reach nearly to his neck, and so hot that eggs could be cooked in it in two minutes.

When he fell into the pool, he was either so much frightened or felt such pain that for a time he seemed in a manner paralyzed, and did hardly anything toward trying to make his escape. He was in the spring at least half a minute before he got out, which he at last did principally through his own exertions, though a man who was working near the place ran to his assistance and lent him a helping hand when he had reached the bank of the pool. When his clothes were taken off, the greater part of the skin slipped from his body. He was literally cooked alive, and lived but a short time.

At certain seasons of the year, many of the millionaires of the Comstock are to be found rambling in California, taking their ease in that land of sunshine and flowers. Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, and other places on the sea-coast are much frequented by those who are weary of the eternal sameness and the light and dry atmosphere of the mountains, and who wish to find some pleasant place in which to rest and recuperate. Said an enthusiastic Comstocker, who had just returned from a visit to the “Golden State”: “California, sir! It is the land of the palm, and the banana! Look abroad on her vine-clad hills, sir! Beautiful! Observe her glorious gardens—gardens such as were not in Eden—the propped trees of her orchards; her fields of golden grain; her giant eucalyptus; and see, towering over all and overshadowing all—with one hand resting on the peaks of the Coast Range and the other on the summit of the Sierras—her hoodlum! Beautiful, sir, beautiful!”