The Expedition of the Donner Party and its Tragic Fate

by Eliza Poor Donner Houghton

She had left us with the promise that she would bring us something nice if we would be good children and do certain work that she had planned. After we had finished the task, we both became restless, wondered how soon she would come back, and what we could do next to keep from being lonesome. Then I espied on the upper shelf the cream-colored sugar bowl, with the old-fashioned red roses and black foliage on its cover and sides. Grandma had occasionally given us lumps of sugar out of it; and I now asked Georgia if I hadn't better get it down, so that we could each have a lump of sugar. Hesitatingly, she said, "No, I am afraid you will break it." I assured her that I would be very careful, and at once set a chair in place and climbed up. It was quite a strain to reach the bowl, so I lifted it down and rested it on the lower shelf, expecting to turn and put it into Georgia's hands. But, somehow, before I could do this, the lid slipped off and lay in two pieces upon the floor. Georgia cried out reproachfully,

"There, you know I didn't want you to do it, and now you will get a good whipping for breaking grandma's best sugar bowl!"

I replied loftily that I was not afraid, because I would ask God to mend it for me. She did not think He would do it, but I did. So I matched the broken edges and put it on the chair, knelt down before it and said "Please" when I made my request. I touched the pieces very carefully, and pleaded more earnestly each time that I found them unchanged. Finally, Georgia, watching at the door, said excitedly, "Here comes grandma!"

I arose, so disappointed and chagrined that I scarcely heard her as she entered and spoke to me. I fully believed that He would have mended that cover if she had remained away a little longer; nevertheless, I was so indignant at Him for being so slow about it, that I stood unabashed while Georgia told all that had happened. The whipping I got did not make much impression, but the after talks and the banishment from "good company" were terrible.

Later, when I was called from my hiding-place, grandma saw that I had been very miserable, and she insisted upon knowing what I had been thinking about. Then I told her, reluctantly, that I had talked to God and told Him I did not think that He was a very good Heavenly Father, or He would not let me get into so much trouble; that I was mad at Him, and didn't believe He knew how to mend dishes. She covered her face with her apron and told me, sobbingly, that she had expected me to be sorry for getting down her sugar bowl and for breaking its cover; that I was so bad that I would "surely put poor old grandma's gray hair in her grave, who had got one foot there already and the other on the brink."

This increased my wretchedness, and I begged her to live just a little longer so that I might show her that I would be good. She agreed to give me another trial and ended by telling me about the "beautiful, wicked angel who had been driven out of paradise, and spends his time coaxing people to be bad, and then remembers them, and after they die, takes them on his fork and pitches them back and forth in his fire." Jakie had told me his name and also the name of his home.

Toward evening, my head ached, and I felt so ill that I crept close to grandma and asked sorrowfully if she thought the devil meant to have me die that night, and then take me to his hell. At a glance, she saw that I suffered, and drew me to her, pillowed my head against her bosom and soothingly assured me that I would be forgiven if I would make friends with God and remember the lesson that I had learned that day. She told me, later, I must never say "devil," or "hell," because it was not nice in little girls, but that, instead, I might use the words, "blackman," and "blackman's fires." At first, I did not like to say it that way, because I was afraid that the beautiful devil might think that I was calling him nicknames and get angry with me.

Notwithstanding my shortcomings, the Brunners were very willing to keep me, and strove to make a "Schweitzer child" of me, dressed me in clothes modelled after those which grandma wore when she was small, and by verse and legend filled my thoughts with pictures of their Alpine country. I liked the German language, learned it rapidly and soon could help to translate orders. Those which pleased grandma best were from the homes of Mr. Jacob Leese, [Captain Fitch], [Major Prudon], and [General Vallejo]; for their patronage influenced other distinguished Spanish families at a distance to send for her excellent cheese and fancy pats of butter. Yet, with equal nicety, she filled the orders that came from the mess-room of the officers of our own brave boys in blue, and always tried to have a better kerchief and apron on the evenings that officers and orderly rode out to pay the bills.

Visitors felt more than a passing interest in us two little ones, for accounts of the sufferings of the [Donner Party] had been carried to all the settlements on the Pacific coast and had been sent in print or writings to all parts of the United States as a warning against further emigration to California by way of Hastings Cut-Off. Thus the name we bore awakened sympathy for us, and in the huts of the lowly natives as well as in the homes of the rulers of the province, we found welcome and were greeted with words of tenderness, which were often followed by prayers for the repose of the souls of our precious dead.

Marked attentions were also shown us by officers and soldiers from the post. The latter gathered in the evenings at the Brunner home for social intercourse. Some played cards, checkers, and dominoes, or talked and sang about "des Deutschen Vaterland." Others reviewed happenings in our own country, recalled battles fought and victories won. And we, sitting between our foster grandparents, or beside Jakie, listening to their thrilling tales, were, unwittingly, crammed with crumbs of truth and fiction that made lasting impressions upon our minds.