There, with a man's honor and soul to uncover, I had scarcely breathed while he spoke. I watched the expression of his face, his words, his hands. His eyes did not turn from my face; his hand between mine lay as untrembling as that of a child in peaceful sleep; and so, unflinchingly Lewis Keseberg passed the ordeal which would have made a guilty man quake.
I felt the truth of his assertion, and told him that if it would be any comfort to him at that late day to know that [Tamsen Donner's] daughter believed him innocent of her murder, he had that assurance in my words, and that I would maintain that belief so long as my lips retained their power of speech.
Tears glistened in his eyes as he uttered a heartfelt "Thank you!" and spoke of the comfort the recollection of this meeting would be to him during the remaining years of his life.
Before our departure, Mr. McGlashan asked Keseberg to step aside and show my husband the scars left by the wound which had prevented his going to the settlement with the earlier refugees. There was a mark of a fearful gash which had almost severed the heel from the foot and left a troublesome deformity. One could easily realize how slow and tedious its healing must have been, and Keseberg assured us that walking caused excruciating pain even at the time the Third Relief Corps left camp.
His clothing was threadbare, but neat and clean. One could not but feel that he was poor, yet he courteously but positively declined the assistance which, privately, I offered him. In bidding him good-bye, I remarked that we might not see one another again on earth, and he replied pathetically, "Don't say that, for I hope this may not be our last meeting."
I did not see Keseberg again. Years later, I learned that he had passed away; and in answer to inquiries I received the following personal note from [Dr. G.A. White], Medical Superintendent of the Sacramento County Hospital:
Lewis Keseberg died here on September 3, 1895; aged 81 years. He left no special message to any one. His death was peaceful.