A Tragedy of the Sierra
More thrilling than romance, more terrible than fiction, the sufferings of the Donner Party form a bold contrast to the joys of pleasure-seekers who today look down upon the lake from the windows of silver palace cars. (6)
High adventure. That’s how I would tag this engaging, entirely readable epic written by a newspaperman about one of early America’s most tragic events which took place during the winter of 1846-1847 in the Sierras.
If you don’t know of “the Donner Party,” then buckle up, cuz it’s a pretty wild ride. Among the most famous survival stories of all time—think Endurance, Unbroken, Alive—the Donner Party carries with it a very dark side, namely records of cannibalism. But don’t expect too many gruesome details: McGlashan “was writing a narrative of the sufferings of the Donner party, not a coroner’s report.” (xxvii)
It all started in April 1846 when a group of families started heading west in a train from states like Illinois and Missouri. In the following weeks and months they combined into a train of up to three hundred wagons, but eventually the people separated into smaller groups, leaving the Donner Party under the leadership of their Captain, George Donner, with just 90 people. For whatever reason, this group decided to take a route slightly different than the rest, and when one untimely snowstorm delayed their advance, followed by another and another and countless others still, the Party determined to hunker down for the winter where they were near a lake high up in the Sierras.
The story that follows is one of tragedy and death as the people—babies and infants included—starve and freeze to death one by one until eventually forty-two bodies lay buried in the snow. Some of these bodies, yes, were mutilated and eaten, but far fewer than the myths and legends would hope. There were no happy cannibals enjoying their meals as rescuers entered the camps and no buckets of human blood soup boiling over the fires. In fact, some survivors would go so far as to say that only one man from the ninety, Lewis Keseberg, ate human flesh at all, and he because he was crazy.
Thankfully, McGlashan’s research and interviews of some of the survivors—as well as visits to the mountain location with some of those very survivors—sheds better light upon the story and dispels a number of the myths and legends. In fact, it’s these insights which would be impossible for any researcher today to gather which make this book such a wonderful read. McGlashan’s paperman style keeps the story relatively fast-paced. We needn’t suffer through 50-word sentences like some of his contemporaries might have written, but get to enjoy quick writing, strong detail, and a poetic flare that I found charming.
Perhaps my favorite portions of the book (beyond the anecdotes of survival and rescue) were the character sketches that he gave a number of the participants. Specifically, I enjoyed the stories of Tamsen Donner, Lewis Keseberg, and Gen. John A. Sutter.
Tamsen Donner died in the mountains, but McGlashan was able to dig up a great deal of this gentle teacher’s biography, information and anecdotes which would make a quality novel reminiscent of Christy or Anne of Avonlea. His respectful eulogy for the woman in this book shines a bit of light onto his more poetic side: “O, Land of the Sunshine! Let the memory of this wife’s devotion be ever enshrined in the hearts of your faithful daughters! In tablets thus pure, engrave the name of Tamsen Donner.” (204)
Lewis Keseberg, the one man who was most vilified by the country in the aftermath of the rescues as the main cannibalistic monster, gave to McGlashan his first and only public interview since he left the mountains in the Spring of 1847. In that interview, he defends himself as a man who never murdered anyone, who absolutely had to eat human flesh, and who has suffered a terrible life because of it, from other people and even from God Himself. In fact, he closes his interview this way: “I beg of you, insert in your book a fervent prayer to Almighty God that He will forever prevent the recurrence of a similar scene of horror” (224).
Finally, General John A. Sutter of Sutter Fort was given the greatest accolades for his generosity and fortitude during the entire rescue process. The biographical sketch of General Sutter reads like a James Michener novel, showing a man of great character and success who donated provisions and manpower and eventually property to the four relief parties and the survivors that slowly trickled in throughout the spring. McGlashan also helps his readers by sharing the sad end to his tale and life, which includes decades of squatters and lawsuits and loss that left him a destitute old man forced to move back East.
Although this book is 140 years old, “It still stands as a moving chronicle of human despair, dissension, and defeat.” (ix) It helped answer questions and dispel rumors way back then, and it remains a quality record of an incredible story of survival even today: “To forever supplant [the] distorted and fabulous reports…the survivors have deemed it wise to contribute the truth. The truth is sufficiently terrible.” (6)
I loved this book, but honestly, it’s too bad this book was so good, because I have long called Alive my favorite book of all time. I fear that if I start recommending them in tandem, their common thread beyond “survival” might make me sound like a psycho! But who cares: I recommend them both. Cannibalism itself, however, still gets two enthusiastic thumbs down.
©2019 E.T.