The ordeal through which she passed is thus told by Colonel Thornton, after a personal interview with Mr. Eddy: 

Mrs. George Donner was able to travel.  But her husband was in a helpless condition, and she would not consent to leave him while he survived.  She expressed her solemn and unalterable purpose, which no danger or peril could change, to remain and perform for him the last sad office of duty and affection.  She manifested, however, the greatest solicitude for her children, and informed Mr. Eddy that she had fifteen hundred dollars in silver, all of which she would give him, if he would save the lives of the children.

He informed her that he would not carry out one hundred dollars of all she had, but that he would save her children or die in the effort.  The party had no provisions to leave for the sustenance of these unhappy, unfortunate beings.

After remaining about two hours, Mr. Eddy informed Mrs. Donner that he was constrained by force of circumstances to depart.  It was certain that George Donner would never rise from the miserable bed upon which he had lain down, worn by toil and wasted by famine.

    A woman was probably never before placed in circumstances of greater
    or more peculiar trial; but her duty and affection as a wife
    triumphed over all her instincts of reason.

    The parting scene between parent and children is represented as
    being one that will never be forgotten, so long as life remains or
    memory performs its functions.

My own emotions will not permit me to attempt a description which language, indeed, has not power to delineate.  It is sufficient to say that it was affecting beyond measure; and that the last words uttered by Mrs. Donner in tears and sobs to Mr. Eddy were, “Oh, save, save my children!”

[Footnote 10:  Extract from Thornton’s work.]

[Footnote 11:  Thornton saw Eddy pay Hiram Miller the promised fifty dollars after the Third Relief reached the settlement.]

[Footnote 12:  See McGlashan’s “History of the Donner Party.”]

CHAPTER XV

SIMON MURPHY, FRANCES, GEORGIA, AND I TAKEN FROM THE LAKE CABINS BY THE THIRD RELIEF—­NO FOOD TO LEAVE—­CROSSING THE SNOW—­REMNANT OF THE SECOND RELIEF OVERTAKEN—­OUT OF THE SNOW—­INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY—­JOHNSON’S RANCH—­THE SINCLAIR HOME—­SUTTER’S FORT.

When we left the lake cabin, we still wore the clothing we had on when we came from our tent with Messrs. Cady and Stone.  Georgia and I were clad in quilted petticoats, linsey dresses, woollen stockings, and well-worn shoes.  Our cloaks were of a twilled material, garnet, with a white thread interwoven, and we had knitted hoods to match.  Frances’ clothing was as warm; instead of cloak, however, she wore a shawl, and her hood was blue.  Her shoes had been eaten by our starving dog before he disappeared, and as all others were buried out of reach, mother had substituted a pair of her own in their stead.