The Expedition of the Donner Party and its Tragic Fate Part 27

Next, a note from San Jose informed us that Mrs. Mary M. Houghton died June 21, 1860, leaving a namesake, a daughter two weeks old, and that her brother had reached there in time for the funeral.

Of the seven Donners who had survived the disaster, she was the first called by death, and we deeply mourned her loss, and grieved because another little Mary was motherless. The following August, Mr. Houghton made his first visit to Rancho de los Cazadores, and with fatherly pride, showed the likeness of his little girl, and promised to keep us all in touch with her by letter.

Mr. Houghton was closely identified with pioneer affairs, and we had many friends in common, especially among officers and soldiers of the Mexican War. He had enlisted in Company A of Stevenson's Regiment of New York Volunteers when barely eighteen years of age; and sailed with it from his native State on the twenty-sixth of September, 1846. After an eventful voyage by way of Cape Horn, the good s.h.i.+p _Loo Choo_, which bore him hither, cast anchor in the Bay of San Francisco, March 26, 1847, about the time the Third Relief was bringing us little girls over the mountains. His company being part of the detachment ordered to Mexico under Colonel Burton, he went at once into active service, was promoted through intermediate grades, and appointed lieutenant, and adjutant on the staff of Colonel Burton, before his twentieth year.

Following an honorable discharge at the close of the war, and a year's exciting experiences in the gold fields, he settled in San Jose in November, 1849, then the capital city. His knowledge of the Spanish and French languages fitting him specially therefor, he turned his attention to legislative and munic.i.p.al matters. As clerk of the Senate Judiciary Committee of the first session of the California Legislature, he helped to formulate statutes for enactment, they being promulgated in Spanish as well as English at that time. During the period between 1851 and 1860 he held several official positions, among them that of president of the City Council; and on his twenty-fifth birthday he was elected Mayor of San Jose. Meanwhile he had organized the Eagle Guard, one of the first independent military companies in the State, and had also been successively promoted from adjutant to ordnance officer, with the rank of lieutenant-colonel, on Major-General Halleck's staff of the State Militia. Moreover, he had completed the study of law in the office of Judge W.T. Wallace, been admitted to the bar, and was now actively engaged in the practice of his profession.

[Footnote 18: See Appendix for extract from _The California Star_.]

CHAPTER x.x.xVI

NEWS OF THE BRUNNERS--LETTERS FROM GRANDPA.

More than two years had elapsed since we had heard directly from Sonoma, when, on the day before Thanksgiving, 1860, Judge Robert Robinson and wife, of Sacramento, came to the ranch, and he, in his pleasing way, announced that he and Mrs. Robinson had a little story to tell, and a message to deliver, which would explain why they had arrived unexpectedly to spend the national holiday with us. Then seating himself, he bowed to his wife, and listened in corroborative silence while she related the following incident:

"Last Summer when the Judge went on his circuit, he took the carriage, and I accompanied him on his travels. One day we stopped for dinner at the stage station between Sonoma and Santa Rosa. After we had registered, the proprietor approached us, saying: 'I see you are from Sacramento, and wonder if you know anything about a couple of young girls by the name of Downie, who spent some time there in the public school?' He seemed disappointed when we replied, 'We know Donners, but not Downies.' 'Well,' he continued, 'they are strangers to me; but I am interested in them on account of their former connection with an unfortunate little old German woman who frequently comes in on the stage that runs between Sonoma and Santa Rosa. She carries their pictures in her hand-bag and tells a touching story about her happiness when they lived with her.' Just then the stage stopped before the door, and he, looking out, exclaimed, 'Why, she is among the pa.s.sengers to-day! With your permission, I'll bring her to you.'

"He introduced her as Mrs. Brunner, told her where we were from, and asked her to show us the picture of her little girls. After shaking hands with us, she took the seat offered, and nervously drew from her reticule a handsomely inlaid case, which she opened and handed to us.

An expression of pride and tenderness lighted her worn features as Judge and I at once exclaimed, pointing to one and then the other, 'Why, this is Georgia, and this, Eliza Donner. We know them well and call them "our girls" in Sacramento!'"

"She sprang from her seat, and stood with one hand on Judge's shoulder, and the other on mine, saying earnestly,

"'Yes! You do know my children? Be they well, and doing well?'

"We had to talk fast in order to answer all her questions, and a number of listeners drew nearer and were considerably affected as the poor old soul said, 'Please shake hands with me again for them, and tell them that you talked with their old Grandma Brunner, that loves them now just the same as when they was little.'

"Judge and I a.s.sured her that we would deliver her messages in person, as soon as we should get time to look you up. After dinner we saw her reseated in the stage, and the black silk reticule containing the picture was upon her lap as the stage carried her homeward."

We learned from them further that grandpa had been convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to San Quentin Prison for a term of eleven years, and that grandma had been granted a divorce, and awarded all the property, but was having great trouble because it had since become involved and was being frittered away in litigation.

The information given by the Robinsons increased our uneasiness for our trouble-worn friends. Since the tragedy, Georgia and I had often spoken of them to one another, but to no one else. We knew that few could understand them as we did, and we refrained from exposing them to unnecessary criticism. Anxious as we were to comfort them, it was not in our power to do more than endeavor again to reach them by letter.

The first was despatched to grandma at Sonoma, the day after the departure of our guests; and shortly before Christmas I posted one to grandpa. The former was answered quickly, and so pathetically that brother Ben offered to take us to Sonoma for a visit in the early Spring and then to see what could be done for grandma.

The letter to grandpa did not reach him until January 27, 1861, but his reply left San Quentin by Wells-Fargo Express on the twenty-eighth of January. It was a brave letter, closing with the following mystifying paragraph:

Though I may be confined by prison walls, I wish those dear to me to be happy and joyous as they can, and I trust in G.o.d to open a way for me out of here, when I can see you all; which will make us all very happy.

Your affectionate grandfather,

CHRISTIAN BRUNNER.

His next communication contained a thrilling surprise which cleared the lurking mystery of his former letter, and expressed such joyous appreciation of his regained privileges that I once more quote his own words, from the letter yellowed by age, which lies before me.

SONOMA, _March 25, 1861_

DEAR ELIZA AND GEORGIA:

Your kind and friendly letter reached me about ten days ago, and I would have responded to the same right away, but waited a few days, so that I could give you some good news, over which you, my dear little girls, will surely rejoice, as you take so much interest in everything which myself concerns. This news is that I am free again.

Last Tuesday I received, through the influence of friends, from the Governor of the State of California, a full pardon, and am again in Sonoma; and as soon as I have my business affairs in such a way settled that I can leave for a week or two, I will come up and see you. I have much to tell you which you will better understand through a personal interview than by writing.

Yours friendly,

C. BRUNNER

Georgia and I felt this news was almost too good to be true. We wondered how soon he would come to see us; wondered also, if he and grandma had met, and were glad that we had not taken the side of either against the other.

"What next?" was the pertinent question uppermost in our minds. We found the answer in _The Sacramento Daily Union_, early in April, under t.i.tle of "Romance in Real Life." After a brief review of the troubles of the Brunners, and reference to their divorcement, the article announced their recent remarriage.

This gratifying circ.u.mstance made our long intended trip to Sonoma unnecessary, especially since the reunited couple seemed to have retained the sympathy and loyalty of those who had known them in their days of prosperity and usefulness.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

ARRIVAL OF THE FIRST PONY EXPRESS.

I happened to be in Sacramento on the thirteenth day of April, 1861, and found the city full of irrepressible excitement. Men on gayly caparisoned horses galloping hither and thither, unfurled flags, and a general air of expectancy on eager faces everywhere betokened an occasion of rare moment. At times hats were swung aloft and cheers rang out tumultuously, only to be hushed by the disappointing murmur, "Not yet." But an instant's quiet, and there was a mad rush of the populace toward Sutter's Fort; then again enthusiasm died, and the crowds ebbed back up J Street, which, some eight or ten feet higher than any other street in the city, extended straight as an arrow from the fort to where the bay steamer lightly hugged the water front, puffing and impatient to be off to San Francisco.

So the anxious waiting continued until the day was well on to its close, when suddenly, vociferous cheers again rent the air, and this time knew no cessation. What a din! With leap and outcry, all faced Sutter's Fort. That was a spectacle to be remembered.

Pony! The pony, hurrah, hurrah! We see a dark speck in the distance.

It grows, as up J Street it comes. Now, the pony foams before us; now, swift as the wind, it is gone. It pa.s.ses reception committee, pa.s.ses escort. It reaches the water front; down the gang-plank it dashes; the band plays, the whistle blows, the bell rings, the steamer catches the middle of the stream and is off, leaving a trail of sparks and smoke in the twilight, and bearing away the first "Pony Express," memorable in history.

The baffling problem is solved; the dream of years is realized; expeditious mail service with the East is an accomplished fact.

No wonder the people cheered! It was a gigantic scheme, well conceived, magnificently executed. Think of it, a stretch of two thousand miles of mountain wild and desert plain covered in twelve days!

How was it done? Horses were tested and riders selected by weight and power of endurance. The latter were boys in years--Bill Cody, the youngest, said to be only fourteen years of age. The pouch was light, its contents were limited--but how gladly five dollars per letter was paid for those precious missives.

Every detail was carefully arranged. The first mount left St. Joseph, Missouri, April 2; relay camps were established ten miles apart, with a horse ever in readiness for instantaneous exchange, and a fresh rider, mounted for the next run, was waiting at each successive hundred-mile station along the entire route.

Small wonder those pioneers were beside themselves with enthusiastic excitement. The minds of many reverted to personal experiences with ox team, or jogtrot of horses or mule train. Here was the Overland Stage outdone; even the speed with which Monk Hanks brought Horace Greeley over the mountains was at discount.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

WAR AND RUMORS OF WAR--MARRIAGE--SONOMA REVISITED.

The Summer of 1861, now well advanced, was rife with war and rumors of war, and foreshadowings of coming events. The old and the young were flushed with patriotism, each eager to help his country's cause. I, remembering grandma's training, was ready to give my services to hospital work. Earnest as was this desire, however, I was dissuaded from taking definite steps in that direction by those who knew that my slender physique and girlish appearance would defeat my purpose before the board of appointing physicians. Moreover, Mr. Houghton's visits and frequent letters were changing my earlier plans for the future, and finally led to my naming the tenth of October, 1861, as our wedding day.