THE STARTLING CRASH.
The citizens were startled by a sudden crash. Those who lived near the
bridge knew that the train was late. Many of them were in some way
connected with the road, either as telegraph or baggage men or in some
capacity of the railroad service.
For some reason there was an expectancy among them all. Those who dwelt
on the banks of the gorge could look from their rear windows and see
each train as it came. As the first awful crash was heard the whole
neighborhood was startled. Then as the ominous sound of car following
car fell upon the ear, crash after crash in quick succession, the
horrible consciousness came to all with appalling force. Some started
to their feet with alarm. Others rushed to the doors and hastened to
the scene. One lady, Mrs. Apthorp, exclaimed to her husband in terror
and great alarm: “My God, Henry, No. 5 has gone off the bridge.” As her
husband seized his hat and coat and hastened out of the door, with a
woman’s sympathy she put the camphor bottle into his hands, thinking of
the wounded, and the suffering which must follow.
But a few minutes had passed before a number were at the depot. The
engineer of the pump-engine was standing on the depot platform as the
train approached. As he heard the sound he looked up and could see
the cars from the middle of the train, plunge off to the side of the
bridge, and fall into the abyss. The headlight of the engine was above
the track, but the passenger cars were falling behind it. The head
painter was also in his shop and heard the crash. The saloon keeper
of one of the hotels, and the foreman of the fire engine “Lake Erie,”
also heard and saw the fall. These were the first to start for the
wreck, and reached it very soon. Mr. Apthorp also was early on the
ground. These, as they approached were appalled at the awful scene.
The engineer seized an axe and pail as the first things which were
at hand, and hardly knowing what he was doing, attempted to break
the doors and windows, for the wounded to escape. Mr. Tinlay plunged
into the water and swam to the other side to rescue those who were
at a distance in the wreck. The omnibus man began to chop to get an
opening for those within, but cut an awful gash into his foot, and was
obliged to cease. Mr. Apthorp, more deliberate and self-controlled,
first thought of the bell and of giving the alarm, but hastened to the
train. He went from car to car, entering such as were open and could be
reached, and sought to help out those who might be left inside. Others
arrived and helped the wounded to escape from the water and ice, and up
the bank.
All were excited and hardly knew what they were doing and did not think
of what next to do. The engineer fluttered to and fro, excited and
uncontrolled. The saloon keeper assisted a few and then disappeared.
Some who arrived stood on the bank amazed, and appalled, but idle and
passive, amid the scene.
In the meantime the flames began to arise. It was only a little
glimmering light at first, so small that as the passengers pass they
throw snow and a portion of it is quenched. A few buckets of water
thrown at this time, would have sufficed to have kept down the flame.
But the critical moment was passed. The fire began at both ends of the
wreck, and rapidly spread. It was just a little flame on the east side
underneath the sleeper. It was brighter in the smoker and in the heap
near the bridge, but it spread from car to car, and soon enveloped the
whole. No one thought that the fire could be prevented. The desire to
rescue the wounded, and save the living, was more urgent. It was too
constraining for any deliberate thought. It crowded out every effort
to prevent the spreading of the flames. Every one was appalled, and
overwhelmed, and did that which seemed most pressing at the moment.
The brakeman, Stone, who had escaped unhurt, thought only of another
train which was expected soon. He hastened to the telegraph office to
tell of the wreck, and to stop the coming train. The conductor was
almost paralyzed with terror and became frantic with excitement, and
rushed to and fro, calling for help, and it is said was kept with
difficulty from throwing himself into the fire.
The flames kept arising. They spread far and wide. They ascended high
and still higher. They filled the valley. A cloud of smoke ascended,
too. It was black and dense and pitchy. It came from the paint and
varnish, and the materials of that gilded wreck. It was stifling to the
breath and deadly to all who breathed it. It enveloped the ruins. It
even darkened the sky and rolled a thick cloud through the awful gorge.
The worst of fears began now to be realized. Horror seized the living,
for death now claimed its victims, and man was powerless to deliver.
Within the awful canopy the flames shot up, and from among them came
forth groans and shrieks and cries of agony and despair.
Then followed the most heart-rending scenes and incidents. Those who
were without, but who had friends still left in the burning cars,
shouted loud and begged that the fire might be put out; they even
sought to go back to get their friends. Yells arose from the valley,
and were echoed in shouts from the top of the abutments, and one wild
scene of excitement pervaded the spot. A little child was heard to
exclaim, “Papa, O, Papa, take me!” A woman cried from within a car, “Oh
save me, for God’s sake take my child!” A man had clasped a woman, to
carry her from the flames, but her foot was caught, and he was obliged
to leave her and save himself.
Another saw underneath the floor of a car, a man and a woman lying
there and calling for help; he tried to extricate them, but, as the
flames arose, he went to the firemen and begged them to put on water
and save the living.
Mr. Apthorp saw a woman trying to get out of the window of a car,
high up amid the ruins; she was half way out and called for help. He
hastened to the rescue, but the flames arose between him and her, and
she perished there.
Two men were seen, sitting in their seats, surrounded by the flames,
but they perished and no one could save them. One man stood by his
berth and burned to death, holding to its side. A gentlemen, supposed
by some to be Mr. Brunner of Wisconsin, and by others, to be Mr. P. P.
Bliss, the sweet singer, was seen to emerge and then to go back, saying
that he will perish with his family.
A gentleman was seen in the midst of the flames, standing as if
surrounded by a wall of fire, until he fell. The most appalling sounds
and sights shock every heart, and send a shiver of horror through every
frame. The howl of a poor wounded dog echoes through the valley.
A woman, whose children have already perished, was seen lifting up her
hands and beseeching help, and was at last rescued, among the last,
awfully burned, and died in a few days from her wounds. The last one
removed was the fireman, and then this poor dog, which had kept up its
piteous howling.
The living were driven from the wreck, and could only stand and look
upon the awful scene. A cry arose--a horrid cry; it was not a shriek;
it was not a groan, nor even a cry for help, but it was a plaintive,
melancholy wail--the despairing cry of those who knew that they must
die. It was a prolonged, an agonized, a heart-rending moan; it was
the sound of Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Then all were dead, and silence
settled down upon the scene--the awful silence which comes upon the
dead.
The parched lips were sealed forever; the stifled breath could no
longer send forth a cry or groan; the carnival of death had at last
silenced all its victims; the slaughter was complete. “Blood and fire,
and vapor of smoke.” The flames leaped and danced, and lifted high
their heads, and death was exultant in all its forces. The canopy of
blackness arched the snow-covered valley, while the fiery billows
rolled between. All that man could do was to stand and look upon the
scene, appalled.
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