The most noticeable individual from the gathering is, without a doubt, George Donner. He heads the whole Donner tribe, which is made out of his family as well as that of his more youthful sibling Jacob. They give off an impression of being basic men yet they should be shrewder than they look, for individuals say they had claimed a lot of property in Illinois. The senior Donner is enamored with citing from the Bible yet regularly stirs up the entries. I question whether he’s astute enough to lead, however, of course, he is entirely trusted by all, exactly because he realizes how to insult none. The most remarkable thing about him, other than his size (corpulent), is his better half, Tamsen. A large portion of the men in the gathering have fallen head over heels for her; in any case, I have seen in her a specific hardness that edges near mercilessness. I have seen her make workers cry, and act icily to youngsters other than her own. She disregards ladies who are not as lovely as she and has gained notoriety for fiddling with black magic—likely gossip brought into the world of the other lady’s envy.
Then, at that point, we have James Reed, the proprietor of an enormous furniture business in Springfield. Truly, he is something contrary to George Donner: more limited and slight with a tight, drawn face. He now and again stresses at his hands with his hanky, which can’t resist the opportunity to make me consider Lady Macbeth (Out, out, accursed spot). In any case, unpalatable and pugnacious as he can be, he appears to be a model resident, as he, at the end of the day, never botches the chance to bring up. He is hitched to a more established lady, a widow with various kids by her late spouse. Those from Springfield say that the marriage was the salvation of Margaret Reed, who is slight and debilitated and sincerely could be taken for Reed’s mom. The Reed party looks like nothing even a voyaging carnival, with their three huge carts stacked up with extravagant furnishings (his organization’s craftsmanship, one envisions) and all way of familiar luxuries. There are workers, including a young lady to do the cooking and wash, and even horses for the kids.
I’ve saved my number one new colleague from the Springfield unforeseen for last. Charles Stanton, an unhitched male voyaging alone in his own Conestoga cart, is not normal for most the wide range of various single men in the gathering—either recruited hands or close destitute wanderers—and I think thus we immediately became companions. We were both raised by clergymen (however dissimilar to my area evangelist father, his granddad is a noticeable Anglican clergyman, so popular that even I’ve known about him) and bear comparable scars to demonstrate it. I was complimented when he disclosed to me that he’d read the articles I composed for the Washington Globe on that evangelist extortion Uriah Putney.
For a peaceful man he has carried on with an existence of outrageous shading: He was brought into the world in Massachusetts and apprenticed to a legal advisor in Virginia before running off to battle under General Sam Houston in the skirmish of San Jacinto. Seeing that he battled in the battle for Texas autonomy although he has no connections to that region, he may be either a heartfelt or dreamer. From what I saw of him, I’d say he’s a tad bit of both—which implies he’s destined to a troubled life, though it pains me to mention it. He has alluded to some horrendous occasion that drove him from Massachusetts yet will not discuss it. He isn’t sure what he would do once he arrives in California, another indication of the anxious soul that keeps him moving.
A bizarre blend of spirits and, regardless of the occasional politicking and interests, I will be hesitant to leave them all when I separate from the cart train tomorrow first thing. I chose to focus on that plot I kept in touch with you about, joining a little gathering of men without families on donkey and horseback to improve time. I was unable to persuade Stanton to leave with me and I speculate this is because he believes he can be useful to the bigger party, which can be irritable. I’m here and there eased—they’ll have one reasonable man in the gathering—and in alternate ways restless to leave the gathering before they have effectively settled on a pioneer.
Post Laramie is a true blue wilderness stronghold, similarly as the papers depict them. You get the feeling of being at the actual edge of civilization, that past the fortification’s adobe dividers is a land almost immaculate by the white man, where nature rules. I’ve been informed that this year alone, a few thousand carts moved through this designated spot, and by all gauges, that number will take off the following year, excepting battle with Mexico or threats with the Indians. The fortification gives every one of the indications of flourishing: notwithstanding the little post positioned here, there is a decent measured general store, metal forger’s shop, attire stable, and a bread kitchen. There are a few two-story houses inside the adobe dividers, probably for the post’s proprietors, families, and staff.