THE SEARCH FOR RELICS.
The week began with a search for relics. It was a difficult task. The
wind was cold; the water was deep and frozen over. Snow and ashes
filled the air. A confused heap of iron, tin roofs, broken trucks, and
other debris were mingled into one mass of ruins.
A company was organized for the work, with the train-dispatcher at
the head. Men were hired, police were stationed, the ice was broken,
great iron beams and rails and rods were drawn out, trucks and wheels
and brakes and bolts were moved away, and every spot was searched
for traces of the dead. Watches, jewels, shreds of clothing, hands
of women and arms of men were found. It was a place where diamonds
lay; a stream where nuggets of gold were washed; a mine where they
dug for treasures, all that men seek in distant lands, but there were
human lives which could not be found. Everything was closely scanned.
Curiosity was fed by the constant search, and yet, to friends, the
results were meagre.
A single bone was found, around which a chain was wound. It was the
remains of a lady’s arm.
A watch was found, the gold was melted, the works were lost, but it
bore the number and the pattern which proved it to belong to Rev. Dr.
Washburn, the Rector of Grace Church, Cleveland.
A gentleman made diligent search for some remains or relics of Dr.
Hubbard, of Des Moines, Iowa, and at last found a shawl strap and check
which bore his name. The Doctor’s brother arrived from Boston, bringing
his aged mother’s description of his clothing: Woolen socks (which she
had knit for him), and two pairs of drawers, one worn inside of his
socks. By this description a limb which had been saved from burning
with the remainder of the body, by lying in the water, was identified
as his, and taken home for burial.
A cap was found which proved that a young man named Marvin was lost. He
was the only son of a widow, and her only support.
A simple string was all that another had, to prove that a body was that
of a mother. It was a present from a daughter, and was tied about the
hair, and had not been burned.
A key, identified by a duplicate sent by his partner from Chicago, was
the proof that E. P. Rogers was on the train.
A coat was recognized as belonging to Mr. J. Rice, of Lowell.
A pair of initial sleeve buttons were found which proved that Boyd
Russell, of Auburn, N. Y., was among the lost. The body had burned,
diamond pins and badges and valuable jewelry had disappeared, but these
remained.
The father and friends of Miss Minnie Mixer after long search had given
up all hope of finding a single trace of her remains. At last her
mother came and identified a chain which had been her daughter’s.
The watch of Mr. G. Kepler, of Ashtabula, was identified.
A wife did not know her husband was on the train. She missed his
letters. She heard that he had gone to Dunkirk. She searched the relics
and found his knife.
A lady from Toronto, a Mrs. Smith, came searching for her husband from
whom she had heard just as he left Buffalo for Detroit. He had seven
thousand dollars on his person. A pocket was fished up from the stream.
It contained the pocket-book and the name and a bank certificate, but
the money was not there. A letter was discovered among the relics. It
bore no name except that of the writer, as the envelope was gone. A
brother from Massachusetts came. He found no trace except the letter.
He went to Chicago and sought some of the survivors and still did
not satisfy himself. He returned and consulted the author of this
book. Only two persons were saved from the car which he was in. They
described the occupants of the car one by one. “In one seat,” said
they, “was a gentlemanly man, quiet in manner, and intelligent.” He
was going to “South America by way of California.” “That’s my brother,”
was the tearful answer. In a low toned voice and tender accents we
talked, and it seemed as if the brother could not rest until all was
told. Yet there was but little to be said.
An old lady was on the train who was from the east. She was described
as sitting in the middle of the car, a young man with her. He was
teaching school at the time in Illinois, and had spent his vacation
in going after her. She was seventy-nine years of age. Her angular
features and loud voice had attracted the attention of passengers.
The same lady was described to the author. A description of her given
by two young men on the train was recognized by the friends, and a
photograph of the young man shown to them was recognized in turn. Thus
two more were identified as being on the train.
A family, consisting of a gentleman and his wife and two children, were
in the drawing-room car. They were described to the author as “neither
stylish nor very plain,” “just a comfortable, respectable and happy
family.” Mr. T. C. Wright, of Tennessee, had noticed them as they sat
together, and was impressed, and told what a happy family they were.
They were sitting in the state-room and enjoying one another’s company.
The little girl was described as having “light hair and curls which
hung round her face and was very pretty, but had poor teeth.” This
description was sent to the “Inter-Ocean” of Chicago by the author. A
letter was afterwards received from Mrs. H. H. Gray, of Darlington,
Wis., enquiring about a family which was lost (“annihilated” it was
written). No one could find any trace of them. An answer was returned,
“Look into the ‘Inter-Ocean’ of January 16 and read my letter.” The
next letter received was from the administrator of the estate. It
described the gentleman as a man of “extensive business, very energetic
and honorable,” and contained the photographs of two children. “This
whole family were on their way from Bethlehem, Pa., to Gratiot, Wis.”
The only survivor from the drawing-room car, was a Mr. Ormsbee, from
Boston, who was nearsighted and could not tell much about those in
the car. Mr. Wright, who was in the smoker at the time of the fall,
belonged in this car. His description had already been recognized by
the author, but the photographs were shown to Mr. Ormsbee, and he,
after close examination, with solemnity said, “They were the children
who were in my car.” Another photograph of the whole family was
afterwards sent to Mr. Wright, of Nashville, and was recognized as the
likeness of the family which he had noticed in that state-room.
There is an affecting story about this family: It is supposed that they
were in the state-room at the time of the fall and by some means the
wife and children were held in the wreck and could not be extricated.
The father tried to save them but the flames arose. He could escape
himself and actually did get out of the car and away from the flames,
but the little girl cried out, “Papa! oh, Papa! take me!” and he went
back, exclaiming, “I would rather perish with my family; I can’t live
without them,” and so all perished together.