ton's work, that they entered this Camp of
Death, Friday, December 25, Christmas. According to his version they
started from the cabins on the sixteenth day of December, with scanty
rations for six days. On the twenty-second they consumed the last morsel
of their provisions. Not until Sunday noon, December 27, did the storm
break away. They had been over four days without food, and two days and
a half without fire. They were almost dead.

Is there a mind so narrow, so uncharitable, that it can censure these
poor dying people for the acts of this terrible day? With their loved
ones perishing at Donner Lake, with the horror of a lingering death
staring them in the face, can the most unfeeling heart condemn them?

Emerging from the dreary prison-house, they attempted to kindle a fire.
Their matches were wet and useless. Their flint-lock gun would give
forth a spark, but without some dry material that would readily ignite,
it was of no avail.

On this morning of the twenty-seventh Eddy says that he blew up a
powder-horn in an effort to strike fire under the blankets. His face and
hands were much burned. Mrs. McCutchen and Mrs. Foster were also burned,
but not seriously. For some time all efforts to obtain a fire proved
fruitless. Their garments were drenched by the storm. Mrs. Pike had a
mantle that was lined with cotton. The lining of this was cut open, and
the driest portion of the cotton was exposed to the sun's rays, in the
hope that it could be made to catch the spark from the flint. At last
they were successful. A fire was kindled in a dead tree, and the
flames soon leaped up to the loftiest branches. The famished, shivering
wretches gathered round the burning tree. So weak and lifeless were they
that when the great pine limbs burned off and fell crashing about them,
neither man nor woman moved or attempted to escape the threatening
danger. All felt that sudden death would be welcome. They were stunned
and horrified by the dreadful alternative which it was evident they must
accept.

The men finally mustered up courage to approach the dead. With averted
eyes and trembling hand, pieces of flesh were severed from the inanimate
forms and laid upon the coals. It was the very refinement of torture to
taste such food, yet those who tasted lived. One could not eat. Lemuel
Murphy was past relief. A boy about thirteen years old, Lemuel was
dearly loved by his sisters, and, full of courage, had endeavored to
accompany them o