It will be remembered that the Forlorn
Hope was the party of fifteen which, as John Baptiste reported to us,
made the last unaided attempt to cross the mountains.
Words cannot picture, nor mind conceive, more torturing hardships and
privations than were endured by that little band on its way to the
settlement. It left the camp on the sixteenth of December, with scant
rations for six days, hoping in that time to force its way to Bear
Valley and there find game. But the storms which had been so pitiless
at the mountain camps followed the unprotected refugees with seemingly
fiendish fury. After the first day from camp, its members could no
longer keep together on their marches. The stronger broke the trail,
and the rest followed to night-camp as best they could.
On the third day, Stanton's sight failed, and he begged piteously to be
led; but, soon realizing the heart-rending plight of his companions, he
uncomplainingly submitted to his fate. Three successive nights, he
staggered into camp long after the others had finished their stinted
meal. Always he was shivering from cold, sometimes wet with sleet and
rain.
It is recorded that at no time had the party allowed more than an ounce
of food per meal to the individual, yet the rations gave out on the
night of the twenty-second, while they were still in a wilderness of
snow-peaks. Mr. Eddy only was better provided. In looking over his pack
that morning for the purpose of throwing away any useless article, he
unexpectedly found a small bag containing about a half-pound of dried
bear-meat.
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