History of the Donner Party

Keseberg is six feet in height, is well proportioned, and weighs from
one hundred and seventy-five to one hundred and eighty pounds. He is
active, vigorous, and of an erect, manly carriage, despite his years and
his many afflictions. He has clear blue eyes, regular features, light
hair and beard, a distinct, rapid mode of enunciation, a loud voice, and
a somewhat excited manner of speech. In conversing he looks one squarely
and steadily in the eye, and appears like an honest, intelligent German.
He speaks and writes German, French, Spanish, and English, and his
selection of words proves him a scholar. His face generally wears a
determined, almost fierce expression, but one is impressed with the
thought that this appearance is caused by his habitually standing on the
defensive as against his fellow-men. Since he has never before had an
opportunity of speaking in his own defense, it is perhaps fitting that
his statement should be given in his own language:

“My name is Lewis Keseberg. I was born in the city of Berleburg,
Province of Westphalia, in the Kingdom of Prussia, on the twenty-second
of May, 1814. I am therefore almost sixty-three years of age. I was
married June 22, 1842, came to the United States May 22, 1844, and
emigrated to California in 1846 with the Donner Party. I never have made
a statement concerning my connection with that Party to any one
connected with the press. It is with the utmost horror that I revert to
the scenes of suffering and unutterable misery endured during that
journey. I have always endeavored to put away from me all thoughts or
recollections of those terrible events. Time is the best physician, and
would, I trusted, heal the wounds produced by those days of torture; yet
my mind to-day recoils with undiminished horror as I endeavor to speak
of this dreadful subject. Heretofore I have never attempted to refute
the villainous slanders which have been circulated and published about
me. I feel it my duty to make this statement, however, because I am
convinced of your willingness to do justice to all who were concerned in
that dreadful affair, and heretofore I have been treated with gross
injustice.

“If I believe in God Almighty having anything to do with the affairs of
men, I believe that the misfortune which overtook the Donner Party, and
the terrible part I was compelled to take in the great tragedy, were
predestined. On the Hastings Cut-off we were twenty-eight days in going
twenty-one miles. Difficulty and disaster hovered about us from the time
we entered upon this cut-off.”

“One day, while we were traveling on Goose Creek, we saw so many wild
geese that I took my shotgun and went hunting. Ordinarily I am not
superstitious, but on this morning I felt an overwhelming sense of
impending calamity. I mentioned my premonitions to Mrs. Murphy before
starting on the hunt. Becoming excited with the sport, and eagerly
watching the game, I stepped down a steep bank. Some willows had been
burned off, and the short, sharp stubs were sticking up just where I
stepped. I had on buckskin moccasins, and one of these stubs ran into
the ball of my foot, between the bones and the toes. From this time,
until we arrived at Donner Lake, I was unable to walk, or even to put my
foot to the ground. The foot became greatly swollen and inflamed, and
was exceedingly painful. One day, at Donner Lake, one of my companions,
at my earnest request, lanced my foot on the top. It discharged freely,
and some days afterwards, in washing it, I found a hard substance
protruding from the wound, and obtaining a pair of forceps, succeeded in
extracting a piece of the willow stub, one and a half inches in length.
It had literally worked up through my foot. I mention this particularly,
because I have been frequently accused of remaining at the Donner cabins
from selfish or sinister motives, when in fact I was utterly unable to
join the relief parties.”

It is proper to mention, in corroboration of Keseberg’s statement
regarding his lameness, that several of the survivors remembered, and
had related the circumstance prior to the interview. It is a
well-authenticated fact that he was very lame, and could not walk, yet,
as a specimen of the abuse which has been heaped upon the man, a
quotation is introduced from Thornton’s “Oregon and California.” In
speaking of the departure of Foster and Eddy, Thornton says: “There were
in camp Mrs. Murphy, Mr. and Mrs. Gorge Donner, and Keseberg – the
latter, it was believed, having far more strength to travel than others
who had arrived in the settlements. But he would not travel, for the
reason, as was suspected, that he wished to remain behind for the
purpose of obtaining the property and money of the dead.” Keseberg’s
statement continues:

“When we reached the lake, we lost our road, and owing to the depth of
the snow on the mountains; were compelled to abandon our wagons, and
pack our goods upon oxen. The cattle, unused to such burdens, caused
great delay by ‘bucking’ and wallowing in the snow. There was also much
confusion as to what articles should be taken and what abandoned. One
wanted a box of tobacco carried along; another, a bale of calico, and
some thing and some another. But for this delay we would have passed the
summit and pressed forward to California. Owing to my lameness, I was
placed on horseback, and my foot was tied up to the saddle in a sort of
sling. Near evening we were close to the top of the dividing ridge. It
was cold and chilly, and everybody was tired with the severe exertions
of the day. Some of the emigrants sat down to rest, and declared they
could go no further. I begged them for God’s sake to get over the ridge
before halting. Some one, however, set fire to a pitchy pine tree, and
the flames soon ascended to its topmost branches. The women and children
gathered about this fire to warm themselves. Meantime the oxen were
rubbing off their packs against the trees. The weather looked very
threatening, and I exhorted them to go on until the summit was reached.
I foresaw the danger plainly and unmistakably. Only the strongest men,
however, could go ahead and break the road, and it would have taken a
determined man to induce the party to leave the fire. Had I been well,
and been able to push ahead over the ridge, some, if not all, would have
followed. As it was, all lay down on the snow, and from exhaustion were
soon asleep. In the night, I felt something impeding my breath. A heavy
weight seemed to be resting upon me. Springing up to a sitting posture,
I found myself covered with freshly-fallen snow. The camp, the cattle,
my companions, had all disappeared. All I could see was snow everywhere.
I shouted at the top of my voice. Suddenly, here and there, all about
me, heads popped up through the snow. The scene was not unlike what one
might imagine at the resurrection, when people rise up out of the earth.
The terror amounted to a panic. The mules were lost, the cattle strayed
away, and our further progress rendered impossible. The rest you
probably know. We returned to the lake, and prepared, as best we could,
for the winter. I was unable to build a cabin, because of my lameness,
and so erected a sort of brush shed against one side of Breen’s cabin.

“When Reed’s relief party left the cabins, Mr. Reed left me a half
teacupful of flour, and about half a pound of jerked beef. It was all he
could give. Mrs. Murphy, who was left with me, because too weak and
emaciated to walk, had no larger portion. Reed had no animosity toward
me. He found me too weak to move. He washed me, combed my hair, and
treated me kindly. Indeed, he had no cause to do otherwise. Some of my
portion of the flour brought by Stanton from Sutter’s Fort I gave to
Reed’s children, and thus saved their lives. When he left me, he
promised to return in two weeks and carry me over the mountains. When
this party left, I was not able to stand, much less to walk.”

“A heavy storm came on in a few days after the last relief party left.
Mrs. George Donner had remained with her sick husband in their camp, six
or seven miles away. Mrs. Murphy lived about a week after we were left
alone. When my provisions gave out, I remained four days before I could
taste human flesh. There was no other resort – it was that or death. My
wife and child had gone on with the first relief party. I knew not
whether they were living or dead. They were penniless and friendless in
a strange land. For their sakes I must live, if not for my own. Mrs.
Murphy was too weak to revive. The flesh of starved beings contains
little nutriment. It is like feeding straw to horses. I can not describe
the unutterable repugnance with which I tasted the first mouthful of
flesh. There is an instinct in our nature that revolts at the thought of
touching, much less eating, a corpse. It makes my blood curdle to think
of it! It has been told that I boasted of my shame – said that I enjoyed
this horrid food, and that I remarked that human flesh was more
palatable than California beef. This is a falsehood. It is a horrible,
revolting falsehood. This food was never otherwise than loathsome,
insipid, and disgusting. For nearly two months I was alone in that
dismal cabin. No one knows what occurred but myself – no living being
ever before was told of the occurrences. Life was a burden. The horrors
of one day succeeded those of the preceding. Five of my companions had
died in my cabin, and their stark and ghastly bodies lay there day and
night, seemingly gazing at me with their glazed and staring eyes. I was
too weak to move them had I tried. The relief parties had not removed
them. These parties had been too hurried, too horror-stricken at the
sight, too fearful lest an hour’s delay might cause them to share the
same fate. I endured a thousand deaths. To have one’s suffering
prolonged inch by inch, to be deserted, forsaken, hopeless; to see that
loathsome food ever before my eyes, was almost too much for human
endurance. I am conversant with four different languages. I speak and
write them with equal fluency; yet in all four I do not find words
enough to express the horror I experienced during those two months, or
what I still feel when memory reverts to the scene. Suicide would have
been a relief, a happiness, a godsend! Many a time I had the muzzle of
my pistol in my mouth and my finger on the trigger, but the faces of my
helpless, dependent wife and child would rise up before me, and my hand
would fall powerless. I was not the cause of my misfortunes, and God
Almighty had provided only this one horrible way for me to subsist.”

Did you boil the flesh?

“Yes! But to go into details – to relate the minutiae – is too
agonizing! I can not do it! Imagination can supply these. The necessary
mutilation of the bodies of those who had been my friends, rendered the
ghastliness of my situation more frightful. When I could crawl about and
my lame foot was partially recovered, I was chopping some wood one day
and the ax glanced and cut off my heel. The piece of flesh grew back in
time, but not in its former position, and my foot is maimed to this day.

“A man, before he judges me, should be placed in a similar situation;
but if he were, it is a thousand to one he would perish. A constitution
of steel alone could endure the deprivation and misery. At this time I
was living in the log-cabin with the fireplace. One night I was awakened
by a scratching sound over my head. I started up in terror, and listened
intently for the noise to be repeated. It came again. It was the wolves
trying to get into the cabin to eat me and the dead bodies.”

“At midnight, one cold, bitter night, Mrs. George Donner came to my
door. It was about two weeks after Reed had gone, and my loneliness was
beginning to be unendurable. I was most happy to her the sound of a
human voice. Her coming was like that of an angel from heaven. But she
had not come to bear me company. Her husband had died in her arms. She
had remained by his side until death came, and then had laid him out and
hurried away. He died at nightfall, and she had traveled over the snow
alone to my cabin. She was going, alone, across the mountains. She was
going to start without food or guide. She kept saying, ‘My children! I
must see my children!’ She feared he would not survive, and told me she
had some money in her tent. It was too heavy for her to carry. She said,
‘Mr. Keseberg, I confide this to your care.’ She made me promise
sacredly that I would get the money and take it to her children in case
she perished and I survived. She declared she would start over the
mountains in the morning. She said, ‘I am bound to go to my children.’
She seemed very cold, and her clothes were like ice. I think she had got
in the creek in coming. She said she was very hungry, but refused the
only food I could offer. She had never eaten the loathsome flesh. She
finally lay down, and I spread a feather-bed and some blankets over her.
In the morning she was dead. I think the hunger, the mental suffering,
and the icy chill of the preceding night, caused her death. I have often
been accused of taking her life. Before my God, I swear this is untrue!
Do you think a man would be such a miscreant, such a damnable fiend,
such a caricature on humanity, as to kill this lone woman? There were
plenty of corpses lying around. He would only add one more corpse to the
many!”

“Oh! the days and weeks of horror which I passed in that camp! I had no
hope of help or of being rescued, until I saw the green grass coming up
by the spring on the hillside, and the wild geese coming to nibble it.
The birds were coming back to their breeding grounds, and I felt that I
could kill them for food. I had plenty of guns and ammunition in camp. I
also had plenty of tobacco and a good meerschaum pipe, and almost the
only solace I enjoyed was smoking. In my weak condition it took me two
or three hours every day to get sufficient wood to keep my fire going.”

“Some time after Mrs. Donner’s death, I thought I had gained sufficient
strength to redeem the pledge I had made her before her death. I started
to go to the camps at Alder Creek to get the money. I had a very
difficult journey. The wagons of the Donners were loaded with tobacco,
powder, caps, shoes, school-books, and dry-goods. This stock was very
valuable, and had it reached California, would have been a fortune to
the Donners. I searched carefully among the bales and bundles of goods,
and found five-hundred and thirty-one dollars. Part of this sum was
silver, part gold. The silver I buried at the foot of a pine tree, a
little way from the camp. One of the lower branches of another tree
reached down close to the ground, and appeared to point to the spot. I
put the gold in my pocket, and started to return to my cabin. I had
spent one night at the Donner tents. On my return I became lost. When it
was nearly dark, in crossing a little flat, the snow suddenly gave way
under my feet, and I sank down almost to my armpits. By means of the
crust on top of the snow, I kept myself suspended by throwing out my
arms. A stream of water flowed underneath the place over which I had
been walking, and the snow had melted on the underside until it was not
strong enough to support my weight. I could not touch bottom with my
feet, and so could form no idea of the depth of the stream. By long and
careful exertion I managed to draw myself backward and up on the snow. I
then went around on the hillside, and continued my journey. At last,
just at dark, completely exhausted and almost dead, I came in sight of
the Graves cabin. I shall never forget my joy at sight of that
log-cabin. I felt that I was no longer lost, and would at least have
shelter. Some time after dark I reached my own cabin. My clothes were
wet by getting in the creek, and the night was so cold that my garments
were frozen into sheets of ice. I was so weary, and chilled, and numbed,
that I did not build up a fire, or attempt to get anything to eat, but
rolled myself up in the bed-clothes and tried to get warm. Nearly all
night I lay there shivering with cold; and when I finally slept, I slept
very soundly. I did not wake up until quite late the next morning. To my
utter astonishment my camp was in the most inexplicable confusion. My
trunks were broken open, and their contents were scattered everywhere.
Everything about the cabin was torn up and thrown about the floor. My
wife’s jewelry, my cloak, my pistol and ammunition were missing. I
supposed Indians had robbed my camp during my absence. Suddenly I was
startled by the sound of human voices. I hurried up to the surface of
the snow, and saw white men coming toward the cabin. I was overwhelmed
with joy and gratitude at the prospect of my deliverance. I had suffered
so much, and for so long a time, that I could scarcely believe my
senses. Imagine my astonishment upon their arrival to be greeted, not
with a ‘good morning’ or a kind word, but with the gruff, insolent
demand, ‘Where is Donner’s money?'”

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