The Donner Party:

The Diary of Patrick Breen

Sean Arthur Joyce

Snow. White deceiver
casting its soft cloak over us
layer by layer, thin at first

but gradually filling in the sky,
blind hand erasing the world.
Snowstorms are dreadful to us.¹

Not enough that the mountain
buries us, demons blow out the fire,
spit ice in our faces, not even

the pity of a dog for our freezing
babies. The sun is a redeemer
in its vast coat of azure

stretched helplessly above
our prison of ice. Dante
could not have imagined this Hell

dug from sleet and gale.
Hands swollen with cold,
I write in my diary:

Friday, 18^th December, 1846.
Beautiful day. Sky clear.
It would be delightful were it not

for the snow lying so deep.
Gravel galls my kidney
hour after hour and snow falls

all through the night,
a white purgatory.
Poor prospect for any kind of comfort,

temporal or spiritual.
Monday, 21^st December, 1846.
Jake Donner, Sam Shoemaker, Reinhart

and Smith are dead.
Swallow up death forever, O Lord,
and wipe the tears from our faces.²

Wednesday, 23^rd December, 1846.
Began the thirty days prayer today.
May Almighty God grant the request

of the unworthy sinner I am.
Friday, 25^th December, 1846.
Offered our prayers to God this Christmas

morning. The prospect is appalling,
but hope in God. Isolation
gnaws at our faith, a cougar

too many days hungry. Pain
has turned some in our party
to mockery. What use are prayers,

they say. You waste your breath.
No God can be called Almighty
who cannot even deliver this small party

from a slow, agonizing death.
But to me, the Blessed Virgin walks
in a blizzard’s veil, calling us home.

As father of my household, I must
keep faith—for my children, for Peggy—
sturdy helpmate that she is.

Wednesday, 30^th December, 1846.
Fine clear morning. Froze hard last night.
Charley Burger died last night about 10 o’clock.

Had with him in money $1.50,
two good-looking silver watches, one razor,
three boxes caps, gold pin, one shirt

and tools for shaving. Spitzer took his coat
and waistcoat, Keseberg all his other
effects. Possession howls in the gale.

The others mock me
but only prayer will keep it at bay.
Praised be the God of Heaven.

Thursday, 31^st December, 1846.
Last of the year, may we with God’s help
spend the coming year better than the past. Amen.

Sunday, 3^rd January, 1847.
Mrs. Reid talks of crossing the mountains
with her children. Provisions scarce. Providence,

help us now. Desperation mutters hourly.
I fear it has driven Mrs. Murphy
insane. Lucifer daily shines false hope.

Warm winds are the merciful breath
of Christ—blessing that turns our world
to muck. Not even the black pudding

of famine potatoes to eat.
Lord, what have the children
of Erin done to deserve such suffering?

And what of Hastings—³
where is he while we watch
our children pale and shiver unto death?

Friday, 8^th January, 1847.
Fine morning. Very cold. Mrs. Reid and company
came back this morning. Could not find

their way on the other side of the mountain.
May God relieve us all if it is his holy will.
Wednesday, 13^th January, 1847.

Snow higher than the shanty.
Must be 13 feet deep. Don’t know how
to get wood this morning.

Friday, 15^th January, 1847.
Fine clear day. Mrs. Murphy blind.
Landron Murphy not able to get wood.

Looks like another storm. Expecting
an account from Sutter’s Fort soon.
Sunday, 17^th January, 1847.

Eliza came here this morning, sent her back
to Graves’ shanty. Landron crazy last night,
so Bill Graves says. Hides are the only

article we depend on. We have a little meat yet,
may God send us help.
Tuesday, 19^th January, 1847.

Thawing a little in the sun. Peggy and Edward
sick last night by eating some meat
Dolan threw his tobacco on. Pretty well today,

praise God for his blessings.
Now even Peggy chuffs her pipe
when I thank God, though

relieved that our children survive.
Thursday, 21^st January, 1847.
Did not freeze quite so hard last night.

John Baptiste and Denton came this morning
with Eliza Graves. She won’t eat hides.
Mrs. Reid sent her back to live or die on them.

Tuesday, 26^th January, 1847.
Those that went to Sutter’s Fort not yet returned.
Provisions very scant. People getting weak

living on short allowance of hides.
Eliza is right, they taste of glue.
The Murphys haven’t enough firewood

to boil the hides. Too weak now
to scrape off the hair.
Sunday, 31^st January, 1847.

Landron Murphy died last night about one o’clock.
Only fifteen. Had been doing men’s work
three months now, like my son John.

Friday, 5^th February, 1847.
Snowed hard all yesterday until 12 o’clock
at night. Peggy very uneasy for fear

we shall perish from hunger.
We have but a little meat left
and only part of three hides. Has to support

Mrs. Reid, she has nothing left
but one hide and it is on Graves’ shanty.
Milt Elliott is living there and likely will keep that hide.

The Eddy’s child died last night.
There is no sound in the world so sad
as the wind filling her grave with snow.

We entrust her soul to God, amen.
Sunday, 7^th February, 1847.
Ceased to snow last night after one of the most

severe storms we experienced this winter.
The snow fell about four feet deep.
Had to shovel the snow off our shanty this morning.

Paced off the floor first for measure,
then climbed up the chimney.
McCutcheon’s child died 2nd of this month.

Tuesday, 9^th February, 1847.
Mrs. Murphy here this morning. Says
Pikes’ child all but dead. John went down today

to bury Mrs. Eddy and child. Heard nothing
from Graves for two or three days.
Wednesday, 10^th February, 1847.

Milt Elliott died last night at Murphy’s shanty
about 9 o’clock pm. Denton trying to borrow
meat from Graves, had none to give.

They have nothing but hides.
All are entirely out of meat
but we have a little. Our hides are nearly

all eaten up but with God’s help
spring will soon smile upon us.
Friday, 19^th February, 1847.

Froze hard last night. Seven men arrived
from California yesterday evening
with some provisions but left the greater part

on the way. Some of the men are gone today
to Donner’s camp. Will start back on Monday.
There have been horrible tales

of the relief parties. Two Indians
maybe killed for food. Patrick Dolan
eaten after dying on the snowshoe trail.

He was a good man. Blessed Virgin
commend his soul to God.
Monday, 22^nd February, 1847.

The Californians started this morning with a party
24 in number, some in a very weak state.
Mrs. Keseberg left Keseberg here, unable to go.

I buried Pike’s child this morning in the snow.
Tuesday, 23^rd February, 1847.
Shot Towser our dog today and dressed his flesh.

Mrs. Graves came here this morning
To borrow meat, dog or ox. They think
I have meat to spare.

They have plenty of hides.
I live principally on the same.
Thursday 25^th February, 1847.

Mrs. Murphy says the wolves are about to dig up
the dead bodies at her shanty.
The nights are too cold to watch them.

We hear them howl. Do they choir
departed souls to rest?
Angels are scarce here and even

the Almighty buries His footsteps.
Friday, 26^th February, 1847.
Hungry times in camp. Plenty of hides

but folks will not eat them. We eat them
with a tolerable good appetite.
Thanks be to Almighty God, amen.

Mrs. Murphy said yesterday she thought
she would begin to eat Milt Elliott.
I don’t think she has done so yet.

It is distressing. The Donners
told the California folks they would begin
to eat the dead people four days ago

if they did not succeed that day or the next
in finding their cattle, then under ten
or twelve feet of snow.

Monday, 1^st March, 1847.
Ten men arrived this morning from Bear Valley
with provisions. We are to start

in two or three days and cache our goods here.
There is among them some old mountaineers.
They say snow will be here until June.

Praise be to God
for these holy buckskin angels
who lead us from the Valley of Death.

The agony of Christ is ours,
our eyes seared with scenes
that murder sleep.

Praise be to God. Keep us sane,
we pray, that we may not be
a broken reed in Your hand.

©2010 Sean Arthur Joyce

See next page: Background Notes