“Peter?”
“Yes, Virginia, it’s me. I’m here.”
She threw her arms around him and began to sob. “Oh, Peter.”
He stroked her hair, holding her tight. “It’s all right, Virginia. I’m here.”
“Did you see Papa?” she asked, seeming a little confused. “We saw Papa.”
“I know. They told me.”
“Mama fainted when she heard Papa was coming. But I ran to him and hugged him. I was so glad to see him.”
“Your father said he would come for you, Virginia. He promised, remember?”
Suddenly she looked wounded. “But why did it take so long, Peter?”
“We tried last fall, but the snow stopped us. We thought you had food.”
Great tears pushed over the eyelids and started down her cheeks. “Milt’s dead, Peter.”
He felt a deep stab of pain. “He is?” he whispered. Milt Elliott, Reed’s lead teamster, had been almost like an older brother to the children, but he had been especially close to Virginia.
She nodded, her mouth twisting with horror. “Mama and I dragged him out of the cabin after he died,” she said. “We buried him in the snow. He was such a faithful friend. We commenced burying him at his feet. I patted the pure white snow softly over him until I reached his face. Then I started to cry.”
She was crying hard now, and Peter had to steady her.
“Poor Milt!” she sobbed. “It was so hard to cover his face and to know that our best friend was gone.”
“I know, Virginia,” Peter said, holding her as her body shuddered against him. “I know.” No one should have to face such a terrible thing, he thought, but especially not an adolescent girl. “It’s all right now. We’ve come to take you to where it’s safe and there is plenty of food.” He took her hand. “Come on, I want to see your mother and James.”
Wiping at the tears with the back of her hand, she nodded, then led him to the tent. Will hung back, but Peter motioned him to follow.
When they stepped inside the tent, the light was subdued, but Peter was still shocked at the sight of Margret Reed. “Look, Mama,” Virginia exclaimed. “Look, James, it’s Peter.”
Margret Reed raised her head slowly. Then, when she recognized him, there was a strangled cry of joy.
He went to her and dropped to one knee, pulling her up and against his shoulder. “Oh, Mrs. Reed. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
James leaned forward and there was what should have been a smile but looked more like a horrible grimace. “I told Mama you would come, Peter,” he said. “I told her.”
Now tears were streaming down Peter’s cheeks. Behind him, Will stifled a sob.
“Yes, James,” Peter said, reaching out to take his hand. “We’re here now. It’s all right.”
After Peter and Will took Margret Reed and her two children to Johnson’s Ranch, almost a full two weeks passed before the second rescue group led by James Reed returned from the mountains. For a full day after that, Will and Peter did not see James Reed. That was not a surprise, and no one was of a mind to interrupt the reunion of this family who had come so close to tragedy. With Reed’s safe return, Will and Peter prepared to return to Sutter’s Fort.
They were nearly finished packing on the morning of March seventeenth, when there was a soft knock at the door of the cabin where they were staying.
Will got up and went to the door. When he opened it he stepped back. It was James Reed. Peter stood immediately and went to greet him. “Come in,” he said.
Reed removed his hat and stepped inside. He looked around. “I heard that you were going.”
Peter nodded. “We promised Mr. Sutter we’d get back as soon as we could.”
“Yes.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, clearly suffering. “Peter, I . . .”
Peter broke in quickly. “There’s no need to say anything, Mr. Reed. I am just glad that we could do something. I’m sorry that we didn’t hear soon enough to go in with you.”
He waved that aside. “What you did was more important,” he said gruffly. Reed started twisting his hat in his hand. “Peter, I’ve sent a letter back to Illinois to have my funds transferred out here to California, but until they come—”
Now Peter cut him off. “Mr. Reed, you’ve lost everything. Don’t fret about it. If it weren’t for you, Kathryn and I could have been up there in the mountains.”
Reed stepped forward and gripped his shoulders. “Listen, Peter, while I was fighting in the war with Mexico I was given a large land grant down near Pueblo de San Jose. I signed documents in the names of those of our party so that there would be land for them when they finally got here. I have land for you.” His words came out in a rush in his eagerness now. “Go find Kathryn. Bring her out here. We’ll help you get started.”
Peter glanced at Will, who was listening to all of this but for now chose to stay out of it. Then he turned back. “Thank you, but our place is with our people.”
What Reed said next came as a total surprise. “Did you know that Sam Brannan is planning to leave as early as possible and go east to find your Brigham Young so that he can persuade him to come to California?”
“Brannan told you that?” Will asked slowly, his mind racing.
“Yes. Before I left Yerba Buena. He said he plans to leave around the first of April.” He turned back to Peter. “Will you at least consider our offer if your people decide to come here?”
“Yes, of course,” Peter said.
Reed stepped back a little, in full control of himself again. “Good-bye, Peter. I can never repay you for what you’ve done.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Reed. Thank you for all you did for us.”
For a moment it looked as if Reed might say something else, but then he put on his hat, gave one last little wave, and walked out the door.
Chapter Notes
When the seven surviving members of the snowshoe party—what later was labeled the Forlorn Hope party (see
UE,
p. 49)—staggered out of the mountains and reached Johnson’s Ranch on 17 January 1847, that was the first that anyone realized that the group of emigrants stranded in the mountains were in such desperate circumstances. Due to the war with Mexico and also to the small number of Americans who were in California at that time, there were not a lot of available men. However, it is still somewhat shocking to see how little response there was to the call for rescuers. Eventually, the men had to be promised five times normal wages so that they would continue. (See
Chronicles,
pp. 258–89;
UE,
pp. 195–97.)
The first rescue party reached Truckee (now Donner) Lake on 19 February, more than two months after the Forlorn Hope party left in search of help. In that rescue party were two Latter-day Saints, Daniel and John Rhoads. When the two brothers learned of the fate of the Donner Party, they vowed they would help bring them out or die trying. (See
Chronicles,
pp. 260–96.) It was Daniel who later told of the woman who asked if they were from California or from heaven (see
Overland in 1846,
p. 328). The vivid description of Gabriel blowing his horn and raising the near dead from their snowy tombs was that of historian George R. Stewart (probably inspired by a later statement by Lewis Keseberg) but is given expression in the novel by John as well (see
OBH,
p. 191). James Reed’s second rescue party met the descending first rescuers and those they were bringing out on 28 February. After a joyous but brief reunion with his wife and two children, Reed pressed on to find his other two children, who had been sent back. He brought both out safely. The Reeds were one of only two families who came through the tragedy without any loss of life. The other was Patrick Breen’s family. Of the eighty-two members of the Donner group that took the Hastings Cutoff, only forty-seven survived. (See
UE,
pp. 294–98, and
Chronicles,
pp. 352–61, for complete rosters of the Donner Party, information regarding who survived, and a description of what happened to the survivors later.)
Reed did secure land by signing documents for some of his group, evidently with the understanding of the authorities that they were stranded but would be coming on later (see
Chronicles,
p. 217). This and his own previous wealth helped Reed and his family become prominent in northern California’s early history. Sister Levinah Murphy, the only known Latter-day Saint with the Donner Party, died at Donner Lake. Marysville, California, was named after Mary Murphy, her daughter.
Lansford Hastings, whose book and whose promises of guide service led the Donners to take the cutoff that would thereafter bear Hastings’s name, would never take any blame for what happened. All that was needed, he said, was better roads and more water in the desert.
Virginia Reed’s description of the burial of Milt Elliott comes from her own account written later. Virginia claimed throughout her life that the Reeds were the only family which did not eat human flesh, though the Breens also denied being part of that. In a letter written to her cousin in May of 1847, Virginia also gave this now famous counsel about coming west: “Never take no cutofs [sic] and hury [sic] along as fast as you can” (in
WFFB,
p. 238).
Chapter 36
It’s a simple matter, Josh,” Sergeant Luther Tuttle said in conclusion. “When the elephants fight, the mice get trampled.”
For a moment, Private Josh Steed was puzzled by that expression; then understanding came. “And we’re the mice?”
“The foot soldier always is,” Tuttle muttered, more in resignation than anger.
Josh considered that, then nodded. Sergeant Luther Tuttle had a lot of savvy about things, including the “military mind,” a phrase that he dryly noted was a contradiction in terms. It was nearing sundown and they were off duty for the night. The four other men they shared the tent with had decided to go to town and look around. Tuttle was on call as backup to the duty sergeant and couldn’t leave. Josh had gone into Pueblo de Los Angeles once and had not found it at all to his liking and turned down the invitation to join the others.
Los Angeles was much larger than San Diego—about five thousand people, Josh had been told—and was inhabited mostly by Mexicans and Indians, who were accepting of their American conquerors but not appreciative. Around the town there were rich farms and vineyards, but the city itself seemed quite dilapidated.
Cantinas
—Mexican grog shops—and gambling houses abounded, and there were always girls trying to become friendly.
He sighed, longing for the cool isolation of Mission San Luis Rey. He would have been content to finish out their tour of duty right there. Or San Diego would have been an acceptable second choice. But they had been in San Luis Rey for barely six weeks when the elephants began to bellow.
After seeing the Pacific Ocean for the first time on January twenty-seventh, at a spot not far from the deserted Mission San Luis Rey, the battalion marched down to the beach below the mission and camped near the water. It had been a new experience to hear the constant roar of the surf. Some of the men complained that they couldn’t sleep with the unexpected noise, but Josh found it strangely soothing. The next day they marched on to San Diego and took up camp near the mission there, which was about four miles from the port.
When General Kearny learned that the battalion was nearing San Diego, he came down from Los Angeles to meet them. Thus, on the twenty-eighth of January, Lieutenant Colonel Philip St. George Cooke proudly reported to his commanding officer that the battalion had fulfilled their orders and cut a wagon road through from the Santa Fe Trail to the Pacific Ocean. They had brought five government wagons and three private ones across a trackless desert, a feat of enormous magnitude. Kearny had been greatly pleased and praised the men, which pleased them immensely. Even more pleasing to the men was the news that the Mexican forces in the southern portions of Upper California had surrendered and that no further conflict was anticipated. The war with Mexico was not over yet, but the fighting in this area seemed to be.
Kearny only stayed a short time, then prepared to leave by ship for Monterey. Before doing so, however, he ordered Colonel Cooke to take the battalion back to Mission San Luis Rey because he was worried that hostilities might break out again. So after only two days in San Diego, they took up their march once more and returned the forty miles to the deserted mission. That was fine with Josh. California was in full spring now, and the hills around Mission San Luis Rey were verdant and beautiful. Whenever he was off duty he would go for long walks, finding a place where he could see the ocean and then sitting for long periods of time, enjoying the solitude.
When the order came on March fourteenth to move the battalion north to Los Angeles, it came as a sharp disappointment to Josh Steed. Part of that was because the battalion was to be split once again. Company B would be going to San Diego; the other four companies would march to Los Angeles. As they finally started north on the nineteenth of March, they began to learn what Sergeant Tuttle meant by the “battle of the elephants.”
General Kearny brought with him a letter from Washington appointing him governor of California once the war was won. But Lieutenant Colonel John C. Frémont, who had come to California on an exploring expedition for the U.S. Army in 1845, had a large contingent of soldiers called the “California Volunteers.” It was Frémont who accepted the Mexican surrender at Los Angeles, and therefore Commodore Stockton, the senior naval officer in California, made him the governor. Kearny was furious.
With the Mormon Battalion and his First Dragoons, Kearny commanded over two thousand men who were totally loyal to him, and that finally convinced Stockton to accept his commission. But Frémont flatly refused, saying that since his troops had done most of the fighting—a fact that Kearny bitterly disputed—he had every right to be the governor. Even though Kearny was a general and Frémont only a lieutenant colonel, Frémont refused to budge. That was what had brought the order for the battalion to march to Los Angeles so that Kearny would have some muscle to back him up.
They arrived at Los Angeles shortly after noon on Tuesday, March twenty-third. For two hours Kearny kept the battalion standing at attention, and it looked for a while as though they might have to go to war with their own countrymen. There were a lot of Missourians in Frémont’s unit, and old resentments started to smoulder again. Finally, and wisely, the two forces backed away from a confrontation, and Kearny had Cooke bivouac the Mormons some distance from town.