“I’ll be all right, Aunt Rebecca. I promise. At least Derek is going with you.”
“You’ll be in our prayers every day,” Rebecca promised.
“And you will be in mine.” He turned as Sergeant Williams gave the command for the detachment to form up. He took Rebecca’s hands and squeezed them hard. “Give Kathryn my love.”
“We will. That is the only bright spot in all of this. We will get to see her and be there when the baby is born.”
Josh leaned forward, kissed Rebecca on the cheek, then stepped back. Derek stuck out his hand and Josh gripped it hard for several seconds.
“You forgive me for the pepper pie?” Josh said gruffly.
“Never!” Derek growled.
Josh laughed, and then with one last small wave of his hand, he turned and walked swiftly away.
Chapter Notes
It is from Reed’s own accounts, one of which was written some years later, that we learn of his ordeal after being banished by the company. The details as given here are accurate, with the exception of the addition of Peter, of course. Reed and Herron found five beans—not seven. Walt Herron had three and Reed had two. Herron took two bites of the rancid tallow and Reed took one. Reed became so violently ill that Herron thought he would die. (See
Overland in 1846,
pp. 290–91;
UE,
pp. 191–92.)
Though the dating through this particular time period for the trek of the Donner Party has several difficulties, we know that the group led by Samuel Young (of the Harlan-Young Party) may have been the last of the emigrant companies to go over Truckee Pass in 1846. They crossed on 16 October. (See
Chronicles,
p. 178.) This means that James Reed and Charles Stanton, coming from different directions, met up with the Young Party on 18 or 19 October.
In his later account Reed clearly states that both he and Stanton left the “next morning” after they met in the wagon company camped on Bear River. This would mean that Stanton probably crossed the pass going east around 21 or 22 October. This is significant because it shows that the pass was still open at that time.
It is tempting to put all of the blame for the Donner tragedy on the long delays they experienced while crossing the Wasatch Mountains and on their having subsequently lost thirty-eight head of cattle while crossing the salt flats of western Utah. There is no question about the costliness of those two events. But there were other, more tragic contributing factors. Contention within the camp became so severe after they left Pilot Peak, the wagon train broke up into individual fragments, sometimes traveling together, sometimes spread out by as much as two days’ separation. This fragmentation was a major contributing factor in the death of John Snyder and the banishment of James Reed.
The disunity would cost them dearly after Reed left. The Paiutes, an Indian tribe that the emigrants held in great contempt and which they often called Diggers, had been harshly treated by the companies crossing the California Trail earlier that season. One report even claimed that some whites used the Indians for target practice. Some natives were killed. By the time the Donners came along, the Paiutes were in an ugly mood and looking for revenge. While they were not a large party, the Donners could have easily handled the Indians had they stayed together. Strung out as they were, however, they became easy prey. Stock was stolen or shot. Some of their people were ambushed, though no one was seriously hurt.
The Snyder killing was not the only symptom of the deep problems in the company. After Reed left, an old man fell behind and didn’t show up when they camped. William Eddy wanted to go find him, but no one would give him a horse, so the man was left to die. When Wolfinger, one of the German emigrants, had to abandon a wagon, he asked the company to wait while he cached his goods. They refused. Two companions stayed with him but later came back under suspicious circumstances, saying he had been killed by Indians. One of those later admitted that they had murdered Wolfinger for his money.
Still strung out in a long line, the group was continually harassed by the Paiutes. A band snuck in and stole all of Franklin Graves’s horses. The next day they killed or drove off eighteen head of oxen and cattle. A short time later, attacking from ambush, the Indians killed twenty-one more cattle. This loss of teams was disastrous and slowed the company considerably. It would delay them at least another week, and probably closer to ten days. Ten days sooner would have put them over Truckee Pass around 22 October, a time when we know (because of Charles Stanton) that the pass was still open.
By the time the main part of the group reached Truckee (now Donner) Lake, which is five or six miles below the pass, it was raining. In their naivete they waited, hoping the rain would pack down the snow that had fallen previously and make it easier to cross. But when the next day dawned clear, they could see their mistake. Rain at the lake had been snow at the pass.
Even though panic dogged them now, they still could not overcome the antipathy that also dogged them. On 3 November they moved ahead through three feet of snow past the lake. By the time they approached the pass itself, the snow was almost waist deep and they could see they had to abandon the wagons. But even here the contention continued. An extensive debate ensued about what to take with them. One wanted to drag a crate of tobacco; another argued for a bale of calico.
After two or three miles Stanton and his two Indian helpers pressed ahead to break trail, while the others collapsed in exhaustion. Pushing through snow up to their chests, the three men finally reached the summit and gazed down upon the western slopes of the Sierra. They rushed back to the group and found them camped beside a dead pine tree they had set ablaze. Stanton could say nothing that would convince them to go farther. They turned around and went back to Donner Lake to wait for better weather. (See
Chronicles,
pp. 186–92.)
The details given in this chapter about Santa Fe, the food there, the decision to change commanding officers, and the sending off of a second sick detachment are all recorded by those who were there during this time of the Mormon Battalion’s experience (see
CHMB,
pp. 163–68;
MB,
pp. 65–71;
SW,
pp. 216–32).
In the end, the enlisted men did have their voices heard about who should go in the second detachment, at least to some degree. When Lieutenant Colonel Philip St. George Cooke took roster he found that he had 486 men. Sixty of those were too sick for service. In spite of the fact that some of the women and children had been sent to Pueblo with the first “family detachment,” there were still twenty-five women and almost double that many children in the battalion. Cooke, appalled at what this would mean for a march across hostile territory, decreed that a second detachment be sent back to Pueblo.
Many were furious. They appealed to the lieutenant colonel, reminding him of the solemn promises made to the battalion by Colonel Allen before they enlisted. Cooke was sympathetic but adamant. The men went over his head and appealed directly to Colonel Alexander Doniphan. After listening carefully, Doniphan wisely ruled in favor of both sides. Colonel Cooke was right. Reality had to be faced. On the other hand, the army had to honor its commitments. He ruled that some of the husbands, sick or not, would be sent back with their wives and families. Five women, wives of the officers and sergeants, were allowed to continue with the battalion on the condition that they would be transported and provisioned at their own expense. (See
MB,
pp. 68–71.)
Chapter 31
On board an oceangoing ship, one learns to do many things. One of those is basic carpentry work. When Will had sailed to China, the crew included a ship’s carpenter, but the old man almost always enlisted one of the sailors to help him, and through that, Will learned some fundamental skills. But a gristmill took a lot more than fundamental skills, and so when Will had been sent by Captain John Sutter to help with its construction, he had come basically as a laborer. And that was fine with him. He couldn’t work on the construction of the waterwheel or build the huge gears that turned the millstones, but he could nail up planks on an outside wall just as well as the next man.
But John Sutter hadn’t hired him because of his carpentry skills. Two weeks after Jared Will Steed was born, Will and Alice sailed up the Sacramento River on Sam Brannan’s new boat called the
Comet.
Will had sought out Sutter and made him a proposal. If he would give Will work and help him find a place to house his family for the winter, Will offered to invest his wages and go into partnership with Sutter to freight goods up and down between the San Joaquin Valley and San Francisco Bay.
Sutter was a little dubious at first. He was not sure that a twenty-two-year-old “kid” could deliver on such grand promises, but Sutter was already learning that the Mormons were good, dependable workers and didn’t run off every time a new load of liquor was brought to the fort. Liking Will’s confidence, Sutter invited him and Alice for dinner. While they ate he plied the young couple with dozens of questions, drawing out the story of how Will had gone looking for his pa’s killers and was shanghaied into becoming a sailor. He learned of the voyage to China and about Will’s partnership with his father in a freighting outfit.
Convinced now that Will was capable of doing what he set his mind to do, Sutter drew up a contract as soon as the meal was finished. For half partnership in a freighting business, he offered Will the following: employment for the winter; a small one-room cabin not far from the fort; an extension of credit so that Will could purchase a boat even if he didn’t have enough money from his earnings come spring; and a guarantee for at least one shipment of goods to San Francisco Bay.
Deeply grateful for Sutter’s generosity and trust, the next day Will cleaned out the cabin and moved Alice and Jared and their meager belongings into it. The following morning he walked the short distance upriver and started work on the new gristmill. He had come up every day since—excepting Sundays, of course—for the last two and half weeks. In another few days most of the outer building would be done. There might be another day or two of work helping build the millrace, but after that he would have to leave Alice for a time. Forty miles upriver, close to the vast forests of timber that covered the western slopes of the Sierra, Sutter was also planning to build a sawmill. With the rush of emigrants to California, the cry for good lumber was already far outpacing the supply. It would be a profitable venture.
Will hammered in the last of the thick nails they had brought up from the blacksmith’s shop, then stepped back to survey his work. He turned as he heard a voice calling his name. Coming up the path from the fort he saw Samuel, one of Sutter’s many Indians. About eleven, Samuel served as messenger and all-around errand boy for Sutter. Like many of the other Miwoks around the fort, Samuel was a Christian who spoke mostly Spanish and his own native tongue. Like most of the Indians, he was cheerful and unfailingly helpful.
“Mr. Weell. Mr. Weell,” he called, his head turning back and forth as he searched.
Will smiled. Samuel and many of the others called him “Weell Stid.” They called Alice “Aleece.”
“Here, Samuel,” he called, waving. “I’m over here.”
“Weell! Weell!” he cried, breaking into a run. “Come queek. Aleece says come queek.”
Will let the hammer drop from his grasp. “What is it, Samuel? What’s wrong?”
The boy’s shoulders lifted and fell and his face was a mask of inscrutability.
“Is she sick?”
He shrugged again. “Aleece says come queek.”
Will yelled to one of the other workers that he would be back shortly, then turned and ran. Samuel fell in beside him, trotting along easily.
Will ran up to the cabin and threw the door open. “Alice? What’s the mat—” He stopped so abruptly that his feet skidded a little on the dirt floor. “Peter?” he gasped.
“Hello, Will.”
He took a step forward, gaping. “Peter Ingalls?” He was completely dumbfounded.
There was a hollow laugh. “Yes, it’s me. Or at least about eighty percent of me.”
“What happened to you?” Will stepped up to him, his eyes searching the gaunt face, the deep-set eyes ringed with dark circles, the tattered, filthy clothing, the ragged beard.
“It’s a long story, Will. I’ve just come over the mountains.”
“What?” Will exclaimed. “But they said the last of the companies had come across more than a week ago.”
Peter shook his head. Then, looking around, he moved to a box and sat down. He looked at Will. “I can’t believe it. When we arrived here at the fort about an hour ago, I asked Mr. Sutter if he knew anything about the ship
Brooklyn
and Mormon emigrants. Imagine my shock when he said you and Alice were right here.” He managed a wan smile.
Alice leaned forward anxiously. “Can I get you some food, Peter?”
He shook his head again. “No, we’ve had food these last few days. I’m just still a little weak. We went over a week with nothing but water and a couple of beans.”
“But where’s Kathryn?” Will said, moving over and pulling out a stool to face him.
Peter rubbed his hand across his eyes, looking suddenly very tired. “She’s with a group of Saints in a place called Pueblo, somewhere in the eastern foothills of the Rocky Mountains.”
“She’s not with the family?”
Peter shook his head. “I forget. You and Alice left so early. You don’t know anything.” He took a quick breath. “Kathryn and I left the family early this year and hired on with a company from Springfield, Illinois, that was employing men to help them go to California. We thought that would be a good way to spare the family two more mouths to feed. We just assumed we’d catch up with our people somewhere on the trail. But Brigham Young didn’t come west.”
Now both Will and Alice cried aloud. “What?”
“That’s right. They’re still back on the Missouri River; at least that’s what we were told. We never saw them. I happened to find another group of our people from Mississippi who had also hoped to catch Brother Brigham. They decided to winter at Pueblo, so I sent Kathryn with them. But the group I was with—the Donner Party—they’re still on the other side of the mountains.”