The road
was not as solitary as the day before. In a deep part of the
forest the horse snorted and reared, and I saw a cinnamon-colored
bear with two cubs cross the track ahead of me. I tried to keep
the horse quiet that the mother might acquit me of any designs
upon her lolloping children, but I was glad when the ungainly,
long-haired party crossed the river. Then I met a team, the
driver of which stopped and said he was glad that I had not gone
to Cornelian Bay, it was such a bad trail, and hoped I had
enjoyed Tahoe. The driver of another team stopped and asked if I
had seen any bears. Then a man heavily armed, a hunter probably,
asked me if I were the English tourist who had "happened on" a
"Grizzly" yesterday. Then I saw a lumberer taking his dinner on
a rock in the river, who "touched his hat" and brought me a
draught of ice-cold water, which I could hardly drink owing to
the fractiousness of the horse, and gathered me some mountain
pinks, which I admired. I mention these little incidents to
indicate the habit of respectful courtesy to women which prevails
in that region. These men might have been excused for speaking
in a somewhat free-and-easy tone to a lady riding alone, and in
an unwonted fashion. Womanly dignity and manly respect for women
are the salt of society in this wild West.
My horse was so excitable that I avoided the center of Truckee,
and skulked through a collection of Chinamen's shanties to the
stable, where a prodigious roan horse, standing seventeen hands
high, was produced for my ride to the Donner Lake. I asked the
owner, who was as interested in my enjoying myself as a West
Highlander might have been, if there were not ruffians about who
might make an evening ride dangerous. A story was current of a
man having ridden through Truckee two evenings before with a
chopped-up human body in a sack behind the saddle, and hosts of
stories of ruffianism are located there, rightly or wrongly.
This man said, "There's a bad breed of ruffians, but the ugliest
among them all won't touch you. There's nothing Western folk
admire so much as pluck in a woman." I had to get on a barrel
before I could reach the stirrup, and when I was mounted my feet
only came half-way down the horse's sides. I felt like a fly on
him. The road at first lay through a valley without a river, but
some swampishness nourished some rank swamp grass, the first
GREEN grass I have seen in America; and the pines, with their red
stems, looked beautiful rising out of it. I hurried along, and
came upon the Donner Lake quite suddenly, to be completely
smitten by its beauty. It is only about three miles long by one
and a half broad, and lies hidden away among mountains, with no
dwellings on its shores but some deserted lumberers' cabins.[5]
Its loneliness pleased me well. I did not see man, beast, or
bird from the time I left Truckee till I returned. The
mountains, which rise abruptly from the margin, are covered with
dense pine forests, through which, here and there, strange forms
of bare grey rock, castellated, or needle-like, protrude
themselves. On the opposite side, at a height of about 6,000
feet, a grey, ascending line, from which rumbling, incoherent
sounds occasionally proceeded, is seen through the pines. This
is one of the snow-sheds of the Pacific Railroad, which shuts out
from travelers all that I was seeing. The lake is called after
Mr. Donner, who, with his family, arrived at the Truckee River in
the fall of the year, in company with a party of emigrants bound
for California. Being encumbered with many cattle, he let the
company pass on, and, with his own party of sixteen souls, which
included his wife and four children, encamped by the lake. In
the morning they found themselves surrounded by an expanse of
snow, and after some consultation it was agreed that the whole
party except Mr. Donner who was unwell, his wife, and a German
friend, should take the horses and attempt to cross the mountain,
which, after much peril, they succeeded in doing; but, as the
storm continued for several weeks, it was impossible for any
rescue party to succor the three who had been left behind. In
the early spring, when the snow was hard enough for traveling, a
party started in quest, expecting to find the snow-bound alive
and well, as they had cattle enough for their support, and, after
weeks of toil and exposure, they scaled the Sierras and reached
the Donner Lake. On arriving at the camp they opened the rude
door, and there, sitting before the fire, they found the German,
holding a roasted human arm and hand, which he was greedily
eating. The rescue party overpowered him, and with difficulty
tore the arm from him. A short search discovered the body of the
lady, minus the arm, frozen in the snow, round, plump, and fair,
showing that she was in perfect health when she met her fate.
The rescuers returned to California, taking the German with them,
whose story was that Mr. Donner died in the fall, and that the
cattle escaped, leaving them but little food, and that when this
was exhausted Mrs. Donner died. The story never gained any
credence, and the truth oozed out that the German had murdered
the husband, then brutally murdered the wife, and had seized upon
Donner's money. There were, however, no witnesses, and the
murderer escaped with the enforced surrender of the money to the
Donner orphans.
[5] Visitors can now be accommodated at a tolerable mountain
hotel.
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