A Wife's Devotion
The Smoky Gorge
Caught in a Storm
Casting Lots to See Who should Die
A Hidden River
The Delirium of Starvation
Franklin Ward Graves
His Dying Advice
A Frontiersman's Plan
The Camp of Death
A Dread Resort
A Sister's Agony
The Indians Refuse to Eat
Lewis and Salvador Flee for Their Lives
Killing a Deer
Tracks Marked by Blood
Nine Days without Food.
Let no one censure Stanton's companions for abandoning their brave comrade. In less than twenty-four hours all were without food, unless, indeed, it was Mr. Eddy, who, in his narration published by Judge Thornton, states that on the day of Stanton's death he found half a pound of bear's meat which had been secreted in a little bag by his wife. Attached to this meat was a paper, upon which his wife had written in pencil a note signed, "Your own dear Eleanor." Mr. Eddy had not discovered this meat until the sorest hour of need, and the hope expressed in Mrs. Eddy's note, that it would be the means of saving his life, was literally fulfilled. There is something extremely touching in the thought that this devoted wife, who, as will presently be seen, was starving to death in the cabins, saved her husband's life by clandestinely concealing about his person a portion of the food which should have sustained herself and her infant children.
In the account given by Mary Graves, is mentioned the following incident in the fourth day's travel: "Observing by the way a deep gorge at the right, having the appearance of being full of smoke, I wanted very much to go to it, but the Indians said no, that was not the way. I prevailed on the men to fire the gun, but there was no answer. Every time we neared the gorge I would halloo at the top of my voice, but we received no answer."
On this day the horror of the situation was increased by the commencement of a snow-storm. As the flakes fell thick and fast, the party sat down in the snow utterly discouraged and heartsick.
Mary Graves says: "What to do we did not know. We held a consultation, whether to go ahead without provisions, or go back to the cabins, where we must undoubtedly starve. Some of those who had children and families wished to go back, but the two Indians said they would go on to Captain Sutter's. I told them I would go too, for to go back and hear the cries of hunger from my little brothers and sisters was more than I could stand. I would go as far as I could, let the consequences be what they might."
There, in the deep, pitiless storm, surrounded on all sides by desolate wastes of snow, the idea was first advanced that life might be sustained if some one were to perish. Since leaving the cabins, they had at no time allowed themselves more than one ounce of meat per meal, and for two entire days they had not tasted food. The terrible pangs of hunger must be speedily allayed or death was inevitable. Some one proposed that lots be cast to see who should die. The terrible proposition met with opposition from Foster and others, but slips of paper were actually prepared by some of the men, and he who drew the longest—the fatal slip—was Patrick Dolan. Who should take Dolan's life? Who was to be the executioner of the man who had so generously given up the food which might have sustained his life, and joined the forlorn hope that others might live? With one accord they rose to their feet and staggered forward. As if to banish from their minds the horrid thought of taking Dolan's life, they attempted to pursue their journey.
With the greatest exertion and suffering they managed to crawl, and stagger, and flounder along until they attained a distance of two or three miles. Here they camped, and passed a most wretched, desolate night. The morning dawned; it was dreary, rainy, and discouraging. The little party set out as usual, but were too weak and lifeless to travel. The soft snow clung to their feet in heavy lumps like snow-balls. Instead of making a fire in a new place, Mary Graves says they crawled back to the camp-fire of the night previous. Here they remained until night came on—a night full of horrors. The wind howled through the shrieking forests like troops of demons. The rain had continued all day, but finally changed to snow and sleet, which cut their pinched faces, and made them shiver with cold. All the forces of nature seemed to combine for their destruction. At one time during the night, in attempting to kindle a fire, the ax or hatchet which they had carried was lost in the loose snow.
A huge fire was kindled at last, with the greatest difficulty, and in order to obtain more warmth, all assisted in piling fuel upon the flames. Along in the night, Mr. Foster thinks it was near midnight, the heat of the flames and the dropping coals and embers thawed the snow underneath the fire until a deep, well-like cavity was formed about the fire. Suddenly, as if to intensify the dreadful horrors of the situation, the bottom of this well gave way, and the fire disappeared! The camp and the fire had been built over a stream of water, and the fire had melted through the overlying snow until it had fallen into the stream! Those who peered over the brink of the dark opening about which they were gathered, could hear, far down in the gloom, during the lull of the storm, the sound of running waters.
If there is anything lacking in this picture of despair, it is furnished in the groans and cries of the shivering, dying outcasts, and the demoniacal shrieks and ravings of Patrick Dolan, who was in the delirium which precedes death. It was not necessary that life should be taken by the members of the company. Death was busily at work, and before the wild winter night was ended, his ghastly victims were deaf to wind or storm.
When the fire disappeared, it became apparent that the entire forlorn hope would perish before morning if exposed to the cold and storm. W. H. Eddy says the wind increased until it was a perfect tornado. About midnight, Antoine overcome by starvation, fatigue, and the bitter cold, ceased to breathe. Mr. F. W. Graves was dying. There was a point beyond which an iron nerve and a powerful constitution were unable to sustain a man. This point had been reached, and Mr. Graves was fast passing away. He was conscious, and calling his weeping, grief-stricken daughters to his side, exhorted them to use every means in their power to prolong their lives. He reminded them of their mother, of their little brothers and sisters in the cabin at the lake. He reminded Mrs. Pike of her poor babies. Unless these daughters succeeded in reaching Sutter's Fort, and were able to send back relief, all at the lake must certainly die. Instances had been cited in history, where, under less provocation, human flesh had been eaten, yet Mr. Graves well knew that his daughters had said they would never touch the loathsome food.