Riley Septimus Moutray is Lexi's 2nd cousin 6 times removed.

Riley Septimus Aong the overland emigrants who jumped off at St. Joseph in the spring of 1846 was the
Fielding Lard family from Washington County, Missouri. Their journey west was marked by
Moutrey one notable event: on June 14, Mary Lucy, the fifteen-year-old daughter of the family,
Recalls the married Riley Septimus Moutrey, age 22, who had been hired to drive one of the Lard
Donner Relief wagons.

"They were an awful The Lards and Moutreys crossed the Sierra Nevada safely, arriving at Sutter’s Fort in
looking sight—a October. February saw Riley, or Sept, as he was often called, toiling once more over the
white and starved mountains as a member of the first party sent out to rescue the stranded Donner Party. After
looking lot, I can tell his return, the Moutreys settled in Santa Clara County, where they spent the rest of their
you. There were lives.
pretty glad to see
Moutrey made a living as a farmer but in later years found himself in reduced circumstances.
us. ... Men, wimmen
More than once he petitioned the government for compensation for his labors in the Donner
and children crying
relief, but all his efforts came to naught. Moutrey died in 1910 at the age of 86; Mary died
and prayin’.
thirteen years later, aged 92.

One of results of his campaign is the following memoir told to a newspaper reporter in 1888.
The account is marred the author’s uneven attempts at rendering dialect, and there are
several inaccuracies. The only one of significance is Moutrey’s assertion that he had seen
evidence of cannibalism at the camps; this is contradicted not only by all 1847 accounts and
later memoirs by survivors, but also by the 1873 statement of Moutrey’s companion on the
First Relief, Daniel Rhoads. Though a minor contribution, Moutrey’s memoir provides an
interesting sidelight on the story of the Donner Party.

—Kristin Johnson

A Horror Revived
The Ghastly Tale of the Suffering of the Donner Party—Their Provisions
Gone, They Had to Live on the Flesh of the Dead

The old St. Charles, a relic of the war days, located on Pennsylvania avenue, under the very
shadow of the Capitol at Washington, at present shelters a man reputed to be the sole survivor
of the gallant band of pioneers who, in the severe winter of 1846-47, fought their way over the
snow-covered Sierras to reach the remnant of the ill-starred Donner band of emigrants.

His name is Riley Moutrey. He is a stalwart, large-framed man, through [sic] his broad
shoulders are somewhat bend with age. His massive head is covered with a growth of very
white hair, while the lower portion of his face is hidden by a heavy white beard which falls
upon his breast. A pair of honest blue eyes light up a rugged countenance, always pleasant
and at times positively beaming.

The old man is modest, and hung back diffidently when approached by the correspondent and
asked for a brief sketch of that awful episode in California history. Moutrey finally thawed
however, and in his own simple, homely style, told the story.

"Me and the old lady," he said, "crossed into Californy jest ahead of the Donner party. We
knew they were behind us, and on getting to Sutter’s Fort told the folks there it might be best
to send out provisions and a guide to see ’em safely across the divide.

"General Sutter sent out Mr. Stanton and two Indians with packmules and pervisions. This
was in October of ’46.
"In February we got word at the fort of the fix in which the Donner people was on the other
side of the mountains. I went down to Monterey to see Commodore Sloat. He told us to got
ahead and the Government would see that we lost nothing.

"Ther was seven of us started—Aquila Glover, Daniel Rhoades, John Rhoades, Daniel Tonker
[Reason P. Tucker], Joe Sill [Sels], Ned Copymier and myself. We went up Bear River valley
to the Johnson place, just below the snow line.

"On the 16th of February we struck snow and stopped to make snow-shoes.

"We left our mules and loads of provisions on the mountains there, and started up into the
snow with about six[ty?] pounds of provisions each. It were seventy miles over the divide
inter Truckee canyon, where they told us the camp was. The snow was ’bout fifteen feet deep
and soft. All made an average of ten mile a day. On the 18th of February we crossed the
summit and made down the other side toward Truckee lake.

"About sundown me and Mr. Glover saw the cabins and tents o’ their party. We come nigh on
fifty yard to ’em before we saw ’em. Ther camp stood ’bout sixty yards from the east end of
the lake that’s now called Donner. The snow was about twelve to fourteen feet deep an’
covered everything. Where the water was ther’ war a broad, clean sheet of snow.

"No one come up to greet us but when we got nearer an’ yelled, they came tumbling out of the
cabins.

"They were an awful looking sight—a white and starved looking lot, I can tell you. There
were pretty glad to see us. They took on awful, anyhow. Men, wimmen and children crying
and prayin’.

"After we was there a bit they told us how the had suffered for months. The food all gone an’
death takin’ ’em on all sides.

"Then they showed us up into their cabins, and we saw the bodies of them who had gone.
Most of the flesh was all stripped off an’ eaten. The rest was rotten It was just awful. Ten war
already dead and we could see some of ther others was going. They were too weak ter eat, an’
our pervisions bein’ scant, we thought it were best to let ’em go an’ look after th’ stronger
ones.

"We had ter guard the pervisions close, or they would have just swooped down and stolen ’em
all. We slept there that night and gave out as much food as we could, then ther’ next day we
went down Truckee canyon, ’bout eight miles, and found Donner’s Camp.

"We took twenty-one of ’em; mostly wimmen and children. The strong ones we chose, as we
couldn’t get the weak ones across. They were bound to die, so we left ’em. It was pitiful to
hear ’em cryin’ for us, but we had to go. It was sure death to stay there.

"We had good luck all the way over the divide. We had gone over in soft snow and our tracks
had froze hard, giving us a clear trail back.

"Four of ther’ children, that were almost gone, we took turns in carryin’ on our backs. The
rest walked.

"When we got over the summit, past the snow, in Bear River valley, we met Jim Reed, with
fifteen men and provision, goin’ over. Then we struck Lieutenant Woodsworth, with his men.
We got our crowd down safe to Sutter’s Fort and waited for news of the others.

"Reed and his men struck a snow-storm and didn’t get over for several days. When they got to
the camp three more had died and their bodies was eat up. Most of the others were brought
over."

"Was there any way the party could have been saved?" asked the correspondent.

"Yes," responded Moutrey,"ther’ war. If they had killed ther stock first before the heavy
snows came they wouldn’t have starved, and ther’ was plenty of fuel to keep them warm, and
if they had left their wagons and gone straight up the mountains they could have got over
easy. A half day’s trip would have brought them all safely over the divide, and once they got
below the snow-line they would have been all right, but some how or other, though, luck was
against them.

"Stanton and the two Indians who knew the trails well, go over to them in October of 1846.
They started back three times with small parties and never got over the Summit.

"On the 16th of December they made a last attempt. A party got over the divide, but some
how or another Stanton wasn’t able to keep up. I guess he got snow blind. He fell back and
was never heard of again.

"On the 21st an awful snowstorm came on and continued for several days the party went on,
but everything round them was strange. The Indians confessed they were lost. Then they
began to starve and freeze, one by one, and by Christmas Day four of them had gone, and the
others began to eat their flesh.

"The Indians were afraid they would then be killed and left. The party followed their trail in
the snow, tracing it by the blood of one of the Indians, his toes having frozen and dropped off.

"Mr. Fosditch died on the morning of the 5th of January. His wife stayed with him till the last.
The others cut up his flesh, but Mrs. Fosditch would not touch a bit. On the 9th of January
they found the Indians. There were out of the snow, but one was dead and the other died an
hour after. That’s the short story about the whole thing," concluded the old pioneer.

Moutery has for two years been trying to get through a relief bill, but thus far has been
unsuccessful. He only asks a small sum to tide him over the few remaining years of his life.

Senators Hearst and Stewart will endeavor to press the measure through.

—Santa Cruz Sentinel, August 31, 1888.