Snow Mountain Passage - Softcover

Houston, James D.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0156011433 ISBN 13: 9780156011433

Publisher: Mariner Books, 2002

Synopsis

Snow Mountain Passage is a powerful retelling of our most dramatic pioneer story--the ordeal of the Donner Party. Through the eyes of James Frazier Reed, one of the group's leaders, and the imagined "Trail Notes" of his daughter Patty, we journey along with the ill-fated group determined, at all costs, to make it to the California territory.
James Reed is a proud, headstrong, yet devoted husband and father. As he and his family travel in the "Palace Car," a huge, specially built--and ultimately cumbersome--covered wagon, they thrill to new sights and cope with conflict and constant danger. Yet when a fight between Reed and another driver ends in death, Reed is exiled from the group and heads over the mountains alone. The fate of the other families, including Reed's wife and four children, is sealed when they set out across a new, untested route through the Sierra--their final mountain pass. Arriving at the foothills just as the snows start to fall, they are left stranded for months--starving, freezing, and battling to survive--while Reed journeys across northern California, trying desperately to find means and men for a rescue party.
An extraordinary tale of pride and redemption, Snow Mountain Passage is a brilliantly imagined and grippingly told story straight from American history.

*National Bestseller

About this title

About the Author

James D. Houston (1933–2009) was the author of several novels and nonfiction works exploring the history and cultures of the western United States and the Asia/Pacific region. His works include Snow Mountain Passage, Continental Drift, In the Ring of Fire: A Pacific Basin Journey, and The Last Paradise, which received a 1999 American Book Award for fiction. A former Wallace Stegner Fellow at Stanford, Jim received a National Endowment for the Arts writing grant and a Library of Congress Story Award and traveled to Asia lecturing for the USIS Arts America program.

 

From the Back Cover

"A remarkably successful re-creation of the Donner Party's ordeal. . . . A moving, persuasive, imaginative account."-- Los Angeles Times


In Snow Mountain Passage, a powerful reimagining of our most dramatic pioneer story, author James Houston tells the tragic tale of the Donner Party through the eyes of James Frazier Reed, one of the leaders, and his daughter Patty. In moving, riveting prose, we follow this ill-fated group determined, at all costs, to make it to the promised land--the California territory.
A proud, headstrong, and devoted husband and father, Reed and his family travel in the "Palace Car," an enormous--and ultimately cumbersome--covered wagon, thrilling to new sights and coping with conflict and constant danger. Yet after a fatal struggle with another driver, Reed is exiled from the party and heads alone over the Sierra Nevada-the final mountain pass. Weeks later, the remaining families arrive at the foothills where they are trapped in the imprisoning snows. Slowly starving and freezing, for months they battle to survive while Reed journeys across northern California, trying desperately to find means and men for a rescue party. An extraordinary tale of pride and redemption, Snow Mountain Passage is a brilliantly and grippingly told story of history and heartbreak.

"Snow Mountain Passage is in a class by itself. ... A dignified, powerful narrative of our shared American destiny."-The Washington Post Book World

"Powerful . . . The novel's clear and beautiful prose brings the realities of the journey alive."-The Denver Post

"A clear-eyed view of humanity's heart of darkness."-The Atlantic Monthly

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Excerpt

Somewhere in Nebraska

June 1846

They have been following the sandy borders of the Platte through level countrythat changes little from day to day, an undulating sea of grasses broken hereand there by clumps of trees along the river. Jim Reed likes it best in lateafternoon, the low sun giving texture to the land, giving each hump and rippleits shadow and its shape, while the river turns to gold, a broad moltencorridor.

He likes being alone at this time of day, with the mare under him. He wears awide-brim hat, a loose shirt of brown muslin, a kerchief knotted around hisneck. His trousers are stuffed into high leather boots, and his rifle liesacross the saddle. He has been scouting ahead, in search of game, and now, as hetakes his time returning, his reverie is interrupted by the sight of anotherrider heading toward the wagons. As the man and horse draw nearer, Reedrecognizes him and calls out.

"Mr. Keseberg!"

The German is not going to stop, so Jim overtakes him.

"Keseberg, hold on! What are you carrying there?"

"Something for my wife, to help her sleep a little easier."

Jim rides in closer. Two shaggy hides are heaped across the pommel. "Lookslike buffalo."

"Indeed it is."

Jim has not seen a buffalo for several days. Keseberg isn't much of a shot, inany event, nor could he have skinned a creature for its hide, even had hesomehow brought one down.

"May I ask where it comes from?"

"This was a gift."

"A gift?"

"From a dead Indian. The best Indian is a dead Indian. Isn't that what youAmericans say?"

Keseberg seems to think this is funny. His mouth spreads in a boastful grin.

"Some say that. I do not."

"But surely you will agree that these are fine specimens."

Keseberg is a handsome fellow, with penetrating blue eyes and a full head ofblond hair that hangs to his collar. Knowing that he crossed the ocean less thantwo years ago, Jim is willing to make allowances. He wants to get along withthis man, though he does not like him much. They will all need one anothersooner or later.

"Have you had much experience with Indians, Keseberg?"

"As little as possible."

"If these robes come from a funeral scaffold, you'd better put themback."

His smile turns insolent. "So you can ride out later and take them foryourself?"

"When I want a buffalo robe I will trade for it, not steal it."

"And in the meantime you would leave these out here to rot in the sun andin the rain."

This remark seems to please Keseberg. His face is set, as if all his honor is atstake and he has just made a telling point. Clearly he has no idea what he hasdone, nor does he care.

Jim looks off toward the circle of wagons, which are drawn up for the nightabout a quarter mile away. He does not see himself as a superstitious man. Hesees himself as a practical man. Stealing robes from a funeral scaffold issimply foolish for anyone to try, given all they've heard about the Sioux. Itnettles him; it riles him. He does not like being snared in another man'sfoolishness.

Near the wagons he sees animals grazing, children running loose, burning off theday's stored restlessness. Women hunker at the cooking fires. His wife will soonbe laying out a tablecloth wherever she can find a patch of grass. "We'regoing to stay civilized," she will say to someone, once or twice a day,"no matter how far into the wilderness we may wander."

Such a poignant scene it is, and all endangered now by the thoughtless greed ofthis fellow who pulled up to the rear of the party on just such an evening andasked if he could travel with them. George Donner had met the man briefly in St.Louis before they crossed the Mississippi. At the time Jim had no reason toprotest. Keseberg is young and fit, somewhere in his early thirties, and he isnot a drifter or a desperado as some of the younger, single riders have turnedout to be. He looks prosperous enough. He has two full wagons, one driven by ahired man. He has six yoke of oxen, two children, a pretty wife. She can barelyspeak English, but Keseberg speaks quite well for one so recently arrived. He issomething of a scholar, too, knows four languages in all, or so he claims. Theother German travelers have welcomed him, and so has Donner, whose parents comefrom Germany. Jim has never had any trouble with Germans. But he sees now thathe is going to have trouble being civil to Keseberg. Rumors have beencirculating that he beats his wife. This is why she wears so many scarves andbonnets, Margaret whispers, even on the warmest days. Jim shrugged this off atfirst. Now he wonders. Into Keseberg's eyes has come a look that seems to say heis capable of such things. Defiant. Selfish.

"Mr. Keseberg, these robes are not yours to keep."

"Nonsense," he says.

Jim's color rises. "They have to be returned!"

With sudden gaiety that could be a form of mockery, Keseberg says, "My God,man! The sun is going down! The day is done! My dinner will be waiting!"

He gallops away toward the wagons, sitting tall, as if he is a show rider in acircus troupe.

By the time Jim catches up to him, Keseberg has dismounted and is holding highone of the long robes for his wife to see, speaking endearments in German as hepresents her with this gift, for his sweet one, the companion of his heart, forhis dearest Phillipine. In front of her he has turned boyish, a schoolboybringing something home for his mother, and she is smoothing down her skirt withnervous hands, as if preparing to throw this robe around her shoulders. Shewears a bonnet, though the sun has nearly set, and she wears a scarf wrappedaround her neck, while above the scarf her cheeks are flushed with happiness.

Half a dozen emigrants from other wagons have stopped whatever they were doingto watch, and you might think a fiddler has just touched bow to string and thesetwo are about to dance the prairie jig wrapped together in a buffalo robe. Sheis like a girl at a dance. He is laughing a wild, high, adolescent laugh, asReed climbs off the mare.

"Keseberg, you idiot!"

Turning to the small circle of observers, with his hands thrown wide, Kesebergsays, "Why is this man calling me a criminal?"

"You are a criminal! Dammit, man. If the Sioux come after us, you and Iwill be killed, our wives will be taken, our children too!"

He is shouting. His eyes are wide and fierce.

Someone calls out, "Hey Jim, what's got into you?"

"These are burial robes! But Keseberg thinks they belong to him!"

"Better him than the Indians," one fellow says.

"Haw haw," laughs another.

"I don't know," says a third. "Wouldn't mess with themSioux."

"Me neither," says someone else. "Ain't worth no buffaloskins."

"I wouldn't mind pickin' off a brave or two," the first fellow says."Whatta we got rifles for?"

"I think Jim is right. Maybe you'd pick off a few, but you wouldn't live totell the story. Any way you look at it, we'd be outnumbered a hundred to one,and don't you think otherwise. It ain't worth it. I'd get rid a them hides rightnow."

A dozen more have joined the circle, and the commentary spreads into a noisydebate. Some envy Keseberg's trophies and are content to stand feasting theireyes on his handsome wife, imagining how she will look inside the wagon relaxingon these soft, seductive robes. Others grasp the full weight of thispredicament, among them George Donner, an elder in the party, with the look of apatriarch, his face wide, his jaw firm, his hair silver. Though often regardedas a leader, he lacks Jim's eagerness to take command.

Donner listens a while, then looks at Keseberg. Quietly he says, "Jim isright. You ought to do what he says, Lewis, and the sooner the better."

Now Keseberg cannot look at his wife, who has been mystified by all the turmoil,her eyes darting wildly from voice to voice. She understands enough to fear thather new possession will soon be taken from her, and she clutches the robe to herchest. For the German this is very hard medicine, but he respects George Donner."All right," he says. "All right. I will do it first thing in themorning."

Jim says, "We'd better do it now."

Keseberg puffs out his chest and begins to prance back and forth, slamming afist into his palm, pop pop pop, as if he has been condemned to the firing squadand has now been denied his final request.

"And I'll go with you."

"I said I'd do it!" Keseberg cries. "My word is good!"

Jim says, "You'll need someone to hold your horse."

On the ride out, Keseberg refuses to speak. The sun is setting as they come uponthe scaffold, about a mile from the wagons and near the bank of a small creekwinding toward the Platte. There are other signs of recent encampment, ashes,close-cropped grass. The scaffold is made of four slender poles stuck into theearth, supporting a platform of woven branches lashed with thong. Laid out uponthe platform are the remains of a chief. Feathers fall against his black hair.His shield and lance are with him. On the bare soil beneath the scaffold,bleached buffalo skulls are arranged in a circle.

As the two men sit on horseback regarding the corpse, the wind around themgradually falls off. Across the prairie Jim can see wind moving, but right herethe nearest grass is still. The surface of the creek is slick and motionless.The sky is suddenly sprayed with crimson, while underneath its gaudy panorama,the space in front of them seems lit by some separate and brighter column ofafterglow. On his arms the hairs rise. Under him he feels the mare tremble.

He instructs Keseberg to wrap the robes across the corpse exactly as he foundthem, to duplicate the look as closely as he can. As he watches, holding bothsets of reins, the horses begin to twitch and rear, as if another animal isnearby. Jim squints toward a grove downstream, sees nothing.

All four are eager to get away from there, the men and the horses. As they lopetoward the wagons, Keseberg still won't speak. At last Jim says, "Before weset out tomorrow I'll call a meeting of the council. I'm going to propose thatyou be expelled from the party."

He waits. When he hears no reply he turns and sees the blue eyes inspecting himwith scorn.

"You have put the lives of everyone at risk. But we may be less at risk ifyou fall back. Do you understand my meaning?"

Keseberg's voice is low and harsh. "I have never been spoken to likethis."

"Well, I am speaking to you like this. I know George Donner will supportme. You can resist, if you choose, but I assure you that others on the councilwill agree. In this wagon party you are no longer welcome."

"You are going too far," says Keseberg.

"Maybe you'd rather leave tonight and avoid an embarrassment. It's yourchoice."

"I believe in discipline, Mr. Reed. But you have gone too far."

In a dramatic burst of horsemanship, Keseberg spurs ahead, kicking up a longplume of dust. Jim gives him plenty of room, lingering in the twilight, to letthe dust plume settle, and let his own blood cool down.

a few more minutes pass. From the deep grass beyond the clearing, a Sioux bravesits up on his haunches and watches them ride away. He wears a buckskin tunic,arrows in a quiver. He creeps close enough to touch the robes and sniff aroundthe edges. There is a faint white smell. Nothing has been cut or marked. He hasnever seen such a thing. If the Pawnee had stolen these robes, they would neverbring them back. They steal for the insult. They scatter the skulls and throwthe body down and defile it.

Who are these men? He could have killed them both and taken their scalps, firstthe one who held the horses, then the bright-haired one whose scalp would behighly prized. He could have gone back with the scalps and reported that he hadfound the thieves. But now they have returned the robes. Why? It is verystrange. What kind of people would do this, take away the buffalo skins, thenbring them back?

When he can no longer see the men, he stands for a long time listening. Voicescome toward him on the wind, distant sounds of women and children. In thenear-dark their fires light the sky. It is a village. A village of tents thatmove. All day he watched them passing along in their white tents. Between onerising and setting of the sun he has seen four villages of white tents, and manyhorses and many animals like the buffalo, with sharp horns, and men who drivethe animals but do not shoot them, though some carry rifles. Are they warriors?They do not have the look of warriors.

Where do they come from? Where are they going?

Continues...

Excerpted from Snow Mountain Passageby James D. Houston Copyright © 2002 by James D. Houston. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Copyright © 2002 James D. Houston
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Edition details

• Publisher: Mariner Books
• Publication date: 2002
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0156011433
• ISBN 13: 9780156011433
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 336