 Appendix 3 of the Expedition of the Donner Party and its Tragic Fate. The Expedition of the Donner Party and its Tragic Fate by Eliza P. Donner-Houghton. Appendix 3. The Report of Thomas Fallon. Deductions. Statement of Edwin Bryant. Peculiar Circumstances. The following is the report of Thomas Fallon, leader of the fourth party to the camps near Donner Lake. Left Johnson's on the evening of April 13 and arrived at the lower end of Bear River Valley on the fifteenth. Hung our saddles upon trees and sent the horses back to be returned again in ten days to bring us in again. Started on foot with provisions for ten days and traveled to head of the valley and camped for the night. Snow from two to three feet deep. Started early in the morning of April 15 and traveled 23 miles. Snow ten feet deep. April 17. Reached the cabins between twelve and one o'clock. Expected to find some of the sufferers alive, Mrs. Donner and Kiesberg in particular. Entered the cabins and a horrible scene presented itself. Human bodies terribly mutilated, legs, arms, and skulls scattered in every direction. One body supposed to be that of Mrs. Eddy lay near the entrance, the limbs severed off, and a frightful gash in the skull. The flesh was nearly consumed from the bones, and a painful stillness pervaded the place. The supposition was that all were dead, when a sudden shout revived our hopes, and we flew in the direction of the sound. Three Indians who had been hitherto concealed, started from the ground, fled at our approach, leaving behind their bows and arrows. We delayed two hours in searching the cabins, during which we were obliged to witness sights from which we would have feigned turned away, and which are too dreadful to put on record. We next started for Donner's camp, eight miles distant over the mountains. After traveling about halfway, we came upon a track in the snow which excited our suspicion, and we determined to pursue. It brought us to the camp of Jacob Donner, where it had evidently left that morning. There we found property of every description, books, calicoes, tea, coffee, shoes, percussion caps, household and kitchen furniture, scattered in every direction, and mostly in water. At the mouth of the tent stood a large iron kettle, filled with human flesh cut up. It was from the body of George Donner. The head had been split open, and the brain extracted therefrom, and to the appearance he had not been long dead, not over three or four days at most. Nearby the kettle stood a chair, and thereupon three legs of a bullock that had been shot down in the early part of winter, and snowed upon before it could be dressed. The meat was found sound and good, and with the exception of a small piece out of the shoulder, whole, untouched. We gathered up some property, and camped for the night. April 18. Commenced gathering the most valuable property, suitable for our packs. The greater portion had to be dried. We then made them up and camped for the night. April 19. This morning Foster, Rhodes and Jay Foster started with small packs for the first cabins, intending from thence to follow the trail of the person that had left the morning previous. The other three remained behind to cash and secure the goods necessarily left there. Knowing the Donners had a considerable sum of money, we searched diligently, but were unsuccessful. The party for the cabins were unable to keep the trail of the mysterious personage owing to the rapid melting of the snow. They therefore went directly to the cabins, and upon entering discovered Keesburg lying down amid the human bones, and beside him a large pan full of fresh liver and lights. They asked him what had become of his companions, whether they were alive, and what had become of Mrs. Donner. He answered them by stating that they were all dead. Mrs. Donner, he said, had, in attempting to cross from one cabin to another, missed the trail, and slept out one night. That she came to his camp the next night very much fatigued. He made her a cup of coffee, placed her in bed, and rolled her well in the blankets. But next morning she was dead. He ate her body and found her flesh the best he had ever tasted. He further stated that he obtained from her body at least four pounds of fat. No trace of her body was found, nor of the body of Mrs. Murphy either. When the last company left the camp three weeks previous, Mrs. Donner was in perfect health, though unwilling to leave her husband there, and offered five hundred dollars to any person or persons who would come out and bring them in, saying this in the presence of Keesburg, and that she had plenty of tea and coffee. We suspected that it was she who had taken the piece from the shoulder of beef on the chair before mentioned. In the cabin with Keesburg were found two kettles of human blood in all, supposed to be over two gallons. Rhodes asked him where he had got the blood. He answered, there is blood in dead bodies. They asked him numerous questions, but he appeared embarrassed and equivocated a great deal, and in reply to their asking him where Mrs. Donner's money was, he evinced confusion and answered that he knew nothing about it, that she must have cashed it before she died. I haven't it, said he, nor money nor property of any person living or dead. They then examined his bundle, and found silks and jewelry which had been taken from the camp of Donner's, amounting in value to about two hundred dollars. On his person they discovered abrasive pistols recognized to be those of George Donner, and while taking them from him discovered something concealed in his waistcoat, which on being opened was found to be two hundred and twenty-five dollars in gold. Before leaving the settlement the wife of Keesburg had told us that we would find but little money about him. The men therefore said to him that they knew he was lying to them, and that he was well aware of the place of concealment of the Donner's money. He declared before heaven he knew nothing concerning it, and that he had not the property of any one in his possession. They told him that to lie to them would affect nothing, that there were others back at the cabins who, unless informed of the spot where the treasure was hidden, would not hesitate to hang him upon the first tree. Their threats were of no avail. He still affirmed his ignorance and innocence. Rhodes took him aside and talked to him kindly, telling him that if he would give the information desired he should receive from their hands the best of treatment and be in every way assisted. Otherwise the party back at Donner's camp would upon arrival and his refusal to discover to them the place where he had deposited this money immediately put him to death. It was all to no purpose, however, and they prepared to return to us, leaving him in charge of the Pax, and assuring him of their determination to visit him in the morning, and that he must make up his mind during the night. They started back and joined us at Donner's camp. April twenty we all started for Bear River Valley with Pax of one hundred pounds each, our provisions being nearly consumed we were obliged to make haste away. Came within a few hundred yards of the cabins and halted to prepare breakfast, after which we proceeded to the cabin. I now asked Kiesberg if he was willing to disclose to me where he had concealed that money. He turned somewhat pale and again protested his innocence. I said to him, Kiesberg you know well where Donner's money is and damn you you shall tell me. I am not going to multiply words with you or say but little about it. Bring me that rope. He then arose from his hot soup and human flesh and begged me not to harm him. He had not the money nor goods, the silk clothing and money which were found upon him the previous day and which he then declared belonged to his wife. He now said were the property of others in California. I told him I did not wish to hear more from him unless he at once informed us where he had concealed the money of those orphaned children. Then producing the rope I approached him. He became frightened but I bent the rope around his neck and as I tightened the cord and choked him he cried out that he would confess all upon release. I then permitted him to arise. He still seemed inclined to be obstinate and made much delay in talking. Finally but without evident reluctance he led the way back to Donner's camp, about ten miles distant, accompanied by roads and tucker. While they were absent we moved all our packs over the lower end of the lake and made all ready for a start when they should return. Mr. Foster went down to the cabin of Mrs. Murphy, his mother-in-law, to see if any property remained there worth collecting and securing. He found the body of young Murphy who had been dead about three months with his breast and skull cut open and the brains, liver and lights taken out, and this accounted for the contents of the pan which stood beside Keysburg when he was found. It appeared that he had left at the other camp the dead bullock and horse and on visiting this camp and finding the body thawed out, took there from the brains, liver and lights. Tucker and Rhodes came back the next morning bringing two hundred and seventy three dollars that had been cashed by Keysburg who after disclosing to them the spot returned to the cabin. The money had been hidden directly underneath the projecting limb of a large tree, the end of which seemed to point precisely to the treasure buried in the earth. On their return and passing the cabin they saw the unfortunate man within devouring the remaining brains and liver left from his morning repast. They hurried him away, but before leaving he gathered together the bones and heaped them all in a box he used for the purpose, blessed them and the cabin, and said, I hope God will forgive me what I have done, I could not help it, and I hope I may get to heaven yet. We asked Keysburg why he did not use the meat of the bullock and horse instead of human flesh. He replied he had not seen them. We then told him we knew better and asked him why the meat on the chair had not been consumed. He said, oh it is too dry eating, the liver and lights were a great deal better and brains made good soup. We then moved on and camped by the lake for the night. April twenty-one started for Bear River Valley this morning, found the snow from six to eight feet deep, camped at Yuma River for the night. On the twenty-second traveled down Yuma about eighteen miles and camped at the head of Bear River Valley. On the twenty-fifth moved down to lower end of the valley, met our horses, and came in. The account by Fallon regarding the fate of the last of the Donners in their mountain camp was the same as that which Elytha and Liana had heard and had endeavored to keep from us little ones at Sutter's Fort. It is self-evident, however, that the author of these statements did not contemplate that reliable parties would see the Donner camps before prowling beasts or time and elements had destroyed all proof of his own and his party's wanton falsity. It is also plain that the Fallon party did not set out expecting to find anyone alive in the mountains. Otherwise, would it not have taken more provisions than just enough to sustain its own men ten days? Would it not have ordered more horses to meet it at the lower end of Bear Valley for the return trip? Had it planned to find and sucker survivors, would it have taken it for granted that all had perished, simply because there was no one in the lake cabins, and would it have delayed two precious hours in searching the lake camp for valuables before proceeding to Donner's camp? Had the desire to rescue been uppermost in mind, would not the sight of human foot-tracks on the snow, half way between the two camps, have excited hope instead of suspicion, and prompted some of the party to pursue the lone wanderer with kindly intent? Does not each succeeding day's entry in that journal disclose the party's forgetfulness of its declared mission to the mountains? Can any palliating excuse be urged why those men did not share with Keysburg the food they had brought, instead of permitting him to continue that which famine had forced upon him, and which later they so righteously condemned? Is there a single strain of humanity, pathos, or reverence in that diary, saved that reflected from Keysburg's last act before being hurried away from that desolate cabin? Or could there be a falser, crueler, or more heartless account brought to bereaved children than Fallon's purported description of the father's body found in Donner's camp? Here is the statement of Edwin Bryant, who with General Kearney and escort en route to the United States, halted at the deserted cabins on June 22, 1847, and wrote, The body of Captain George Donner was found in his own camp about eight miles distant. He had been carefully laid out by his wife, and a sheet was wrapped around the corpse. This sad office was probably the last act she performed before visiting the camp of Keysburg. After considering what had been published by the California Star, by Bryant, Thornton, Mrs. Farnham, and others, I could not but realize Keysburg's peculiarly helpless situation. Without a chance to speak in his own defense, he had been charged, tried, and judged guilty by his accusers, and an excited people had accepted the verdict without question. Later, at Captain Sutter's suggestion, Keysburg brought action for slander against Captain Fallon in party. The case was tried before Alcalde Sinclair, and the jury gave Keysburg a verdict of one dollar damages. This verdict, however, was not given wide circulation, and prejudice remained unchecked. There were other peculiar circumstances connected with this much-accused man which were worthy of consideration, notably the following. If, as reported, Keysburg was in condition to walk to the settlement, why did the first relief permit him to remain in camp consuming rations that might have saved others? Messers Reed and McCutcheon of the Second Relief knew the man on the planes, and had they regarded him as able to travel, or a menace to life in camp, would they have left him there to prey on women and little children, like a wolf in the fold? Messers Eddy and Foster of the Third Relief had travelled with him on the planes, starved with him in camp, and had had opportunities of talking with him upon their return to the cabins too late to rescue Jimmy Eddy and Georgia Foster, had they believed that he had murdered the children? Would those two fathers and the rest of their party have taken Simon Murphy and the three little Donner girls, and left Keysburg alive in camp, with lone, sick, and helpless Mrs. Murphy? Mrs. Murphy, who was Grandmother of Georgia Foster, and had sole charge of Jimmy Eddy? End of Appendix 3 Appendix 4 of the Expedition of the Donner Party and its Tragic Fate This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org The Expedition of the Donner Party and its Tragic Fate by Eliza P. Donner-Houghton Appendix 4, Lewis Keysburg In March 1879, while collecting material for his History of the Donner Party, Mr. C. F. Maglassian of Truckee, California visited survivors at San Jose, and, coming to me, said, Mrs. Houghton, I am sorry that I must look to you and your sisters for answers to the most delicate and trying questions relating to this history. I refer to the death of your mother at the hand of Keysburg. He was so surprised and shocked as I replied, I do not believe that Keysburg was responsible for my mother's death. That he interrupted me, lost for a moment the manner of the impartial historian, and with the directness of a cross questioning attorney, asked, Is it possible that Mrs. George Donner's daughter defends the murderer of her mother? And when I replied, We have no proofs. My mother's body was never found. He continued earnestly. Why, I have enough evidence in this notebook to convict that monster, and I can do it, or at least arouse such public sentiment against him that he will have to leave the State. Very closely he followed my answering words. Mr. Maglassian, from little girlhood I have prayed that Lewis Keysburg someday would send for me and tell me of my mother's last hours, and perhaps give a last message left for her children, and I firmly believe that my prayer will be granted, and I would not like you to destroy my opportunity. You have a ready pen, but it will not be used in exact justice to all the survivors as you have promised if you finish your work without giving Keysburg also a chance to speak for himself. After a moment's reflection he replied, I am amazed, but your wish in this matter shall be respected. The following evening he wrote from San Francisco. You will be glad to know that I have put Harry N. Morse's detective agency of Oakland upon the track of Keysburg, and if found I mean to take steps to obtain his confession. In less than a week after the foregoing came a note from him which tells its own story. Sacramento, midnight April 4, 1879. Mrs. E. P. Houghton. Dear Madam, late as it is I feel that I ought to tell you that I have spent the evening with Keysburg. I have just got back and return early tomorrow to complete my interview. By mirror's accident, while tracing as I supposed the record of his death, I found a clue to his whereabouts. After dark I drove six miles and found him. At first he declined to tell me anything, but somehow I melted the mood with which he seemed enrapt, and he talked freely. He swears to me that he did not murder your mother. He declares it so earnestly that I cannot doubt his veracity. Tomorrow I intend applying him closely with questions and by a rigid system of cross-examination will detach the falsehood if there is one in his statement. He gives chapter after chapter that others never knew. I cannot say more tonight, but desire that you write me at the Cosmopolitan any questions you might wish me to ask Keysburg, and if I have not already asked them I will do so on my return from San Francisco, C. F. McGlashan. After his second interview with Keysburg, and in response to my urgent appeal for full details of everything relating to my parents, Mr. McGlashan wrote, quote, I wish you could see him. He will talk to either you or me at any time unless other influences are brought to bear upon him. If I send word for him to come to Sacramento, he will meet me on my return. If you and your husband could be there on Thursday or Friday of this week, I could arrange an interview at the hotel that would be all you could wish. I asked him especially if he would talk to you, and he said yes. I dared not tell you about my interview until I had your permission. Even now I approached the task tremblingly. Your mother was not murdered. Your father died, Keysburg thinks, about two weeks after you left. Your mother remained with him until the last, and laid him out tenderly, as you know. The days to Keysburg were perfect blanks. Mrs. Murphy died soon after your departure with Eddie, and he was left alone. Alone in his cabin, alone with the dead bodies which he could not have lifted from the floor because of his weakness even had he desired. The man's sighs and shutters and great drops of agony gather upon his brows as he endeavors to relate the details of those terrible days or recall their horrors. Loneliness, desolation was the chief element of horror. Alone with the mutilated dead. One night he sprang up in a fright at the sound of something moving or scratching at a log outside his cabin. It was some time before he could understand that it was wolves trying to get in. One night about two weeks after you left a knock came at his door and your mother entered. To this lonely wretch her coming seemed like an angel. She was cold and wet and freezing, yet her first words were that she must see her children. Keysburg understood that she intended to start out that very night and soon found that she was slightly demented. She kept saying, oh, God, I must see my children. I must go to my children. She finally consented to wait until the morning, but was determined that nothing should then prevent her lonely journey. She told Keysburg where her money was concealed, she made him solemnly promise that he would get the money and take it to her children. She would not taste the food he had to offer. She had not tasted human flesh and would hardly consent to remain in his foul and hideous den. Two weeks and chilled to move, she finally sank down on the floor, and he covered her as best he could with blankets and feather bed, and made a fire to warm her. But it was of no avail. She had received her death chill, and in the morning her spirit had passed heavenward. I believe Keysburg tells the truth. Your mother watched day and night by her father's bedside until the end. At nightfall he ceased to breathe, and she was alone in the desolate camp, where she performed the last sad administrations, and then her duty in the mountains was accomplished. All the smothered yearnings of maternal love now burst forth with full power. Out into the darkness and night she rushed, without waiting for the morning. My children, I must see my children. She arrived at Keysburg's cabin overwrought mentally, overtaxed physically, and chilled by the freezing night air. She was eager to set forth on her desperate journey without resting a moment. I can see her as he described her, wringing her hands and exclaiming over and over again, I must see my children. The story told by Mrs. Farnham and others about finding your mother's remains, and that of Thornton concerning the pale of blood are unquestionably false. She had been dead weeks, and Keysburg confessed to me that no part of her body was found by the relief, fallen, party. My friend, I have attempted to comply with your request. More than once during this evening I have burst into tears. I am sorry almost that I attempted so mournful a task, but you will pardon the pain I have caused. Keysburg is a powerful man six feet in height, with full bushy beard, thin brown locks, and high forehead. He has blue eyes that look squarely at you while he talks. He is sometimes absent-minded, and at times seems almost carried away with the intensity of his misery and desolation. He speaks and writes German, French, Spanish, and English, and his selection of words proves him a scholar. When I first asked him to make a statement which I could reduce to writing, he urged, What is the use of making a statement? People inclined to believe the most horrible reports concerning a man. They will not credit what I say in my own defense. My conscience is clear. I am an old man, and am calmly awaiting my death. God is my judge, and it long ago ceased to trouble me that people shunned and slandered me. He finally consented to make the desired statement, and in speaking of your family, he continued, Sometime after Mrs. George Donner's death, I thought I had gained sufficient strength to redeem the pledge I had made her before her death. I went to Alder Creek Camp to get the money. I had a difficult journey. The wagons of the Donners were loaded with tobacco, powder, caps, school books, shoes, and dry goods. This stock was very valuable. I spent the night there, searched carefully among the bales and bundles of goods, and found five hundred and thirty-one dollars. Part of this sum was gold, part silver. The silver I buried at the foot of a pine tree, a little away from 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 back to my cabin, got lost, and in crossing a little flat, the snow suddenly gave way, and I sank down almost to my armpits. After great exertion, I raised myself out of a snow-covered stream and went round on a hillside and continued my journey. At dark and completely exhausted and almost dead, I came inside of the graves' cabin, and sometime after dark staggered into my own. My clothes were wet and the night was so cold that my garments were frozen stiff. I did not build a fire nor get anything to eat, just rolled myself up in the bed clothes and shivered, finally fell asleep and did not waken until late in the morning. Then I saw my camp was in most inexplicable confusion. Everything about the cabin was torn up and scattered about, trunks broken open, and my wife's jewelry, my cloak, my pistol and ammunition was missing. I thought Indians had been there. Suddenly I heard human voices. I hurried up to the surface of the snow and saw white men approaching. I was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. I had suffered so much and so long 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 a gruff, insolent demand. Where is Donner's money? I told them they ought to give me something to eat and that I would talk with them afterwards, but no, they insisted that I should tell them about Donner's money. I asked who they were and where they came from, but they replied by threatening to kill me if I did not give up the money. They threatened to hang or shoot me. At last I told them that I had promised Mrs. Donner that I would carry her money to her children, and I proposed to do so, unless shown some authority by which they had a better claim. This so exasperated them that they acted as though they were going to kill me. I offered to let them bind me as a prisoner and take me before Alcalde Sinclair at Sutter's Fort, and I promised that I would then tell all I knew about the money. They would listen to nothing, however, and finally I told them where they would find the silver and gave them the gold. After I had done this, they showed me a document from Alcalde Sinclair by which they were to receive a certain proportion of all monies and properties which they rescued. Those men treated me with great unkindness. Mr. Tucker was the only one who took my part or befriended me. When they started over the mountains, each man carried two bales of goods. They had silks, calicoes, and delanes from the Donner's, and other articles of great value. Each man would carry one bundle a little way, lay it down, and come back and get the other bundle. In this way they passed over the snow three times. I could not keep up with them because I was so weak, but managed to come up to their camp every night. End quote. Upon receipt of this communication I wrote Mr. Maglassian from San José that I was nervous for the ordeal, but that he should not permit me to start on that momentous journey if his proposed arrangements were at all doubtful and that he should telegraph me at once. Alas, my note miscarried, and believing that his proposal had not met my approval, Mr. and Mrs. Maglassian returned to Truckee a day earlier than expected. Two weeks later he returned the envelope, its postmarks showing what had happened. It was not easy to gain the consent of my husband to a meeting with Kiesberg. He dreaded its effect on me. He feared the outcome of the interview. However, on May 16, 1879, he and I by invitation joined Mr. and Mrs. Maglassian at the Golden Eagle Hotel in Sacramento. The former then announced that although Kiesberg had agreed by letter to meet us there, he had that morning begged to be spared the mortification of coming to the City Hotel, where someone might recognize him and, as of old, point the finger of scorn at him. After some deliberation as to how I would accept the change, Mr. Maglassian had exceeded to the old man's wish that we drive to the neat little boarding-house at Brighton next morning, where we could have the use of the parlor for a private interview. In compliance with this arrangement we four were at the Brighton Hotel at the appointed time. Mr. Maglassian and my husband went in search of Kiesberg, and after some delay returned, saying, Kiesberg cannot overcome his strong feeling against a meeting in a public house. He has tidied up a vacant room in the brewery adjoining the house where he lives with his afflicted children. It being Sunday, he knows that no one will be about to disturb us. Will you go there? I could only reply, I am ready. My husband, seeing my lips tremble and knowing the intensity of my suppressed emotion, hastened to assure me that he had talked with the man, and been impressed by his straightforward answers, and that I need have no dread of meeting or talking with him. When we met at his door Mr. Maglassian introduced us. We bowed, not as strangers, not as friends, nor did we shake hands. Our thoughts were fixed solely on the purpose that had brought us together. He invited us to enter, led the way to that room which I had been told he had swept and furnished for the occasion with seats for five. His first sentence made us both forget that others were present. It opened the way at once. Mr. Maglassian has told me that you have questions you wish to ask me yourself about what happened in the mountain cabin. Still standing and looking up into his face I replied, Yes, for the eye of God and your eyes witnessed my mother's last hours, and I have come to ask you in the presence of that other witness, when, where, and how she died. I want you to tell me all, and so truly that there shall be no disappointment for me, nor remorse and denials for you in your last hour. Tell it now, so that you will not need to send for me to hear a different story then. I took the chair he proffered, and he placed his own opposite, and having gently reminded me of the love and respect the members of the Donner Party bore their captain and his wife. Ernestly and feelingly he told me the story as he had related it to Mr. Maglassian. Then, before I understood his movement, he had sunk upon his knees, saying solemnly, On my knees before you and in the sight of God I want to assert my innocence. I could not have it thus. I bat him rise and stand with me in the presence of the all-seeing father. Extending my upturned hand, I bat him lay his own right hand upon it, then covering it with my left, I bat him speak. Slowly but unhesitatingly he spoke. Mrs. Houghton, if I had murdered your mother, would I stand here with my hand between your hands, look into your pale face, see the tear marks on your cheeks and the quiver of your lips as you ask the question? No, God Almighty is my witness, I am innocent of your mother's death. I have given you the facts as I gave them to the Fallon Party, as I told them at Sutter's Fort and as I repeated them to Mr. Maglassian. You will hear no change from my deathbed, for what I have told you is true. There, with a man's honour and soul to uncover, I had scarcely breathed while he spoke. I watched the expression of his face, his words, his hands. His eyes did not turn for my face, his hand between mine lay as untrembling as that of a child in peaceful sleep. And so, unflinchingly, Lewis Keesburg passed the ordeal which would have made a guilty man quake. I felt the truth of his assertion, and told him that if it would be any comfort to him at that late day to know that Tampson Donner's daughter believed him innocent of her murder, he had that assurance in my words, and that I would maintain that belief so long as my lips retained their power of speech. Tears glistened in his eyes as he uttered a heartfelt thank you, and spoke of the comfort the recollection of this meeting would be to him during the remaining years of his life. Before our departure Mr. Maglassian asked Keesburg to step aside and show my husband the scars left by the wound which had prevented his going to the settlement with the earlier refugees. There was a mark of a fearful gash which had almost severed the heel from the foot and left a troublesome deformity. One could easily realize how slow and tedious its healing must have been, and Keesburg assured us that walking caused excruciating pain even at the time the third relief core left camp. His clothing was threadbare but neat and clean. One could not but feel that he was poor, yet he courteously but positively declined the assistance which privately I offered him. In bidding him good-bye I remarked that we might not see one another again on earth, and he replied pathetically, Don't say that, for I hope this may not be our last meeting. I did not see Keesburg again. Years later I learned that he had passed away and in answer to inquiries I received the following personal note from Dr. G. A. White, Medical Superintendent of the Sacramento County Hospital. Lewis Keesburg died here on September 3, 1895, aged 81 years. He left no special message to anyone. His death was peaceful. End of Appendix 4 End of The Expedition of the Donner Party and Its Tragic Fate by Eliza P. Donner-Houghton