The freshet at Bangor, Me., in the spring of 1846, is thus described in
"Forest Life and Forest Trees:"
The first injury to the city was from the breaking away of a small
section of the jam, which came down and pressed against the ice on our
banks. By this, twenty houses in one immediate neighborhood, on the west
bank of the river alone, were at once inundated, but without loss of
life. This occurred in the daytime, and presented a scene of magnificent
interest. The effect of this small concussion upon the ice near the city
was terrific. The water rose instantly to such a height as to sweep the
buildings and lumber from the ends of the wharves, and to throw up the
ice in huge sheets and pyramids. This shock was resisted by the great
covered bridge on the Penobscot, which is about one thousand feet in
length, and this gave time to save much property But meanwhile another
auxiliary to the fearful work had been preparing, by the breaking up of
the ice in the Kenduskeag river. This river flows through the heart of
the city, dividing it into two equal portions. The whole flat, on the
margin of the river, is covered with stores and public buildings, and is
the place of merchandise for the city. The Kenduskeag runs nearly at
right angles with the Penobscot, at the point where they unite. The
Penobscot skirts the city on the eastern side, and on the banks of this
river are the principal wharves for the deposit of lumber.
I must mention another circumstance to give you a just idea of our
situation. There is a narrow spot in the river, about a mile below the
city, at High Head, in which is a shoal, and from which the greatest
danger of a jam always arises, and it was this that caused the principal
inundation.
The next incident occurred at midnight, when the bells were rung to
announce the giving way of the ice. It was a fearful sound and scene.
The streets were thronged with men, women, and children, who rushed
abroad to witness the approach of the icy avalanche. At length it came
rushing on with a power that a thousand locomotives in a body could not
vie with; but it was vailed from the eye by the darkness of a hazy
night, and the ear only could trace its progress by the sounds of
crashing buildings, lumber, and whatever it encountered in its pathway,
except the glimpses that could be caught of it by the light of hundreds
of torches and lanterns that threw their glare upon the misty
atmosphere. The jam passed on, and a portion of it pressed through the
weakest portion of the great bridge, and thus, joining the ice below the
bridge, pressed it down to the narrows at High Head. The destruction,
meanwhile, was in progress on the Kenduskeag, which poured down its
tributary ice, sweeping mills, bridges, shops, and other buildings, with
masses of logs and lumber, to add to the common wreck.
At that moment, the anxiety and suspense were fearful whether the jam
would force its way through the narrows, or there stop and pour back a
flood of waters upon the city; for it was from the rise of the water
consequent upon such a jam that the great destruction was to be
apprehended. But the suspense was soon over. A cry was heard from the
dense mass of citizens who crowded the streets on the flat, "The river
is flowing back!" and so sudden was the revulsion, that it required the
utmost speed to escape the rising waters. It seemed but a moment before
the entire flat was deluged; and many men did not escape from their
stores before the water was up to their waists. Had you witnessed the
scene, occurring as it did in the midst of a dark and hazy night, and
had you heard the rushing of the waters, and the crash of the ruins,
and seen the multitudes retreating in a mass from the returning flood,
illumined only by the glare of torches and lanterns, and listened to the
shouts and cries that escaped from them to give the alarm to those
beyond, you would not be surprised at my being reminded of the host of
Pharaoh as they fled and sent up their cry from the Red Sea, as it
returned upon them in its strength.
"The closing scene of this dreadful disaster occurred on Sunday evening,
beginning at about seven o'clock. The alarm was again rung through the
streets that the jam had given way. The citizens again rushed abroad to
witness what they knew must be one of the most sublime and awful scenes
of nature, and also to learn the full extent of their calamity. Few,
however, were able to catch a sight of the breaking up of the jam,
which, for magnitude, it is certain, has not occurred on this river for
more than one hundred years. The whole river was like a boiling
cauldron, with masses of ice upheaved as by a volcano. But soon the
darkness shrouded the scene in part. The ear, however, could hear the
roaring of the waters and the crash of buildings, bridges, and lumber,
and the eye could trace the mammoth ice-jam of four miles long, which
passed on majestically, but with lightning rapidity, bearing the
contents of both rivers on its bosom, The noble covered bridge of the
Penobscot, two bridges of the Kenduskeag, and the two long ranges of
saw-mills, besides other mills, houses, shops, logs, and lumber enough
to build up a considerable village. The new market floated over the
lower bridge across the Kenduskeag, a part of which remains, and, most
happily, landed at a point of the wharves, where it sunk, and formed the
nucleus of a sort of boom, which stopped the masses of floating lumber
in the Kenduskeag, and protected thousands of dollars' worth of lumber
on the wharves below."