These melancholy duties to the dead being
performed, the cabins, by order of Major Sword, were fired and, with
everything surrounding them connected with the horrible and
melancholy tragedy, consumed.
The body of (Captain) George Donner was found in his 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 Keseberg. He
was buried by a party of men detailed for that purpose.
I knew the Donners well; their means in money and merchandise which
they had brought with them were abundant. Mr. Donner was a man of
about sixty, and was at the time of leaving the United States a
highly respectable citizen of Illinois, a farmer of independent
means. Mrs. Donner was considerably younger than her husband, an
energetic woman of refined education.
After Georgia left me, I reopened the book, and pondered its
revelations, many of them new to us both; and most of them I marked for
later investigation.
Bryant found no human bones at Donner's camp. His description of that
camp was all-important, proving that my father's body had not been
mutilated, but lay in his mountain hut three long months, sacred as
when left by my little mother, who had watched over him to the pitiful
end, had closed his eyes, folded his arms across his breast, and
wrapped the burial sheet about his precious form.
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