| Aong the overland emigrants who jumped off
at St. Joseph in the spring of 1846 was the Fielding Lard family from Washington County,
Missouri. Their journey west was marked by one notable event: on June 14, Mary Lucy, the
fifteen-year-old daughter of the family, married Riley Septimus Moutrey, age 22, who had
been hired to drive one of the Lard wagons. The Lards and
Moutreys crossed the Sierra Nevada safely, arriving at Sutter’s Fort in October.
February saw Riley, or Sept, as he was often called, toiling once more over the mountains
as a member of the first party sent out to rescue the stranded Donner Party. After his
return, the Moutreys settled in Santa Clara County, where they spent the rest of their
lives.
Moutrey made a living as a farmer but in later years found himself in
reduced circumstances. More than once he petitioned the government for compensation for
his labors in the Donner relief, but all his efforts came to naught. Moutrey died in 1910
at the age of 86; Mary died thirteen years later, aged 92.
One of results of his campaign is the following memoir told to a
newspaper reporter in 1888. The account is marred the author’s uneven attempts at
rendering dialect, and there are several inaccuracies. The only one of significance is
Moutrey’s assertion that he had seen evidence of cannibalism at the camps; this is
contradicted not only by all 1847 accounts and later memoirs by survivors, but also by the
1873 statement of Moutrey’s companion on the First Relief, Daniel Rhoads. Though a
minor contribution, Moutrey’s memoir provides an interesting sidelight on the story
of the Donner Party.
—Kristin Johnson
A Horror Revived
The Ghastly Tale of the Suffering of the Donner Party—Their
Provisions Gone, They Had to Live on the Flesh of the Dead
The old St. Charles, a relic of
the war days, located on Pennsylvania avenue, under the very shadow of the Capitol at
Washington, at present shelters a man reputed to be the sole survivor of the gallant band
of pioneers who, in the severe winter of 1846-47, fought their way over the snow-covered
Sierras to reach the remnant of the ill-starred Donner band of emigrants.
His name is Riley Moutrey. He is a stalwart, large-framed man, through
[sic] his broad shoulders are somewhat bend with age. His massive head is covered with a
growth of very white hair, while the lower portion of his face is hidden by a heavy white
beard which falls upon his breast. A pair of honest blue eyes light up a rugged
countenance, always pleasant and at times positively beaming.
The old man is modest, and hung back diffidently when approached by the
correspondent and asked for a brief sketch of that awful episode in California history.
Moutrey finally thawed however, and in his own simple, homely style, told the story.
"Me and the old lady," he said, "crossed into Californy
jest ahead of the Donner party. We knew they were behind us, and on getting to
Sutter’s Fort told the folks there it might be best to send out provisions and a
guide to see ’em safely across the divide.
"General Sutter sent out Mr. Stanton and two Indians with packmules
and pervisions. This was in October of ’46.
"In February we got word at the fort of the fix in which the Donner
people was on the other side of the mountains. I went down to Monterey to see Commodore
Sloat. He told us to got ahead and the Government would see that we lost nothing.
"Ther was seven of us started—Aquila Glover, Daniel Rhoades,
John Rhoades, Daniel Tonker [Reason P. Tucker], Joe Sill [Sels], Ned Copymier and myself.
We went up Bear River valley to the Johnson place, just below the snow line.
"On the 16th of February we struck snow and stopped to make
snow-shoes.
"We left our mules and loads of provisions on the mountains there,
and started up into the snow with about six[ty?] pounds of provisions each. It were
seventy miles over the divide inter Truckee canyon, where they told us the camp was. The
snow was ’bout fifteen feet deep and soft. All made an average of ten mile a day. On
the 18th of February we crossed the summit and made down the other side toward Truckee
lake.
"About sundown me and Mr. Glover saw the cabins and tents o’
their party. We come nigh on fifty yard to ’em before we saw ’em. Ther camp
stood ’bout sixty yards from the east end of the lake that’s now called Donner.
The snow was about twelve to fourteen feet deep an’ covered everything. Where the
water was ther’ war a broad, clean sheet of snow.
"No one come up to greet us but when we got nearer an’ yelled,
they came tumbling out of the cabins.
"They were an awful looking sight—a white and starved looking
lot, I can tell you. There were pretty glad to see us. They took on awful, anyhow. Men,
wimmen and children crying and prayin’.
"After we was there a bit they told us how the had suffered for
months. The food all gone an’ death takin’ ’em on all sides.
"Then they showed us up into their cabins, and we saw the bodies of
them who had gone. Most of the flesh was all stripped off an’ eaten. The rest was
rotten It was just awful. Ten war already dead and we could see some of ther others was
going. They were too weak ter eat, an’ our pervisions bein’ scant, we thought it
were best to let ’em go an’ look after th’ stronger ones.
"We had ter guard the pervisions close, or they would have just
swooped down and stolen ’em all. We slept there that night and gave out as much food
as we could, then ther’ next day we went down Truckee canyon, ’bout eight miles,
and found Donner’s Camp.
"We took twenty-one of ’em; mostly wimmen and children. The
strong ones we chose, as we couldn’t get the weak ones across. They were bound to
die, so we left ’em. It was pitiful to hear ’em cryin’ for us, but we had
to go. It was sure death to stay there.
"We had good luck all the way over the divide. We had gone over in
soft snow and our tracks had froze hard, giving us a clear trail back.
"Four of ther’ children, that were almost gone, we took turns
in carryin’ on our backs. The rest walked.
"When we got over the summit, past the snow, in Bear River valley,
we met Jim Reed, with fifteen men and provision, goin’ over. Then we struck
Lieutenant Woodsworth, with his men. We got our crowd down safe to Sutter’s Fort and
waited for news of the others.
"Reed and his men struck a snow-storm and didn’t get over for
several days. When they got to the camp three more had died and their bodies was eat up.
Most of the others were brought over."
"Was there any way the party could have been saved?" asked the
correspondent.
"Yes," responded Moutrey,"ther’ war. If they had
killed ther stock first before the heavy snows came they wouldn’t have starved, and
ther’ was plenty of fuel to keep them warm, and if they had left their wagons and
gone straight up the mountains they could have got over easy. A half day’s trip would
have brought them all safely over the divide, and once they got below the snow-line they
would have been all right, but some how or other, though, luck was against them.
"Stanton and the two Indians who knew the trails well, go over to
them in October of 1846. They started back three times with small parties and never got
over the Summit.
"On the 16th of December they made a last attempt. A party got over
the divide, but some how or another Stanton wasn’t able to keep up. I guess he got
snow blind. He fell back and was never heard of again.
"On the 21st an awful snowstorm came on and continued for several
days the party went on, but everything round them was strange. The Indians confessed they
were lost. Then they began to starve and freeze, one by one, and by Christmas Day four of
them had gone, and the others began to eat their flesh.
"The Indians were afraid they would then be killed and left. The
party followed their trail in the snow, tracing it by the blood of one of the Indians, his
toes having frozen and dropped off.
"Mr. Fosditch died on the morning of the 5th of January. His wife
stayed with him till the last. The others cut up his flesh, but Mrs. Fosditch would not
touch a bit. On the 9th of January they found the Indians. There were out of the snow, but
one was dead and the other died an hour after. That’s the short story about the whole
thing," concluded the old pioneer.
Moutery has for two years been trying to get through a relief bill, but
thus far has been unsuccessful. He only asks a small sum to tide him over the few
remaining years of his life.
Senators Hearst and Stewart will endeavor to press the measure through.
—Santa Cruz Sentinel, August 31, 1888. |
