There is one reminiscence of my life as a "railroad man" that dwells
in my memory with most terrible vividness, one that I often think of
in daytime with shuddering horror; and in the night, in dreams of
appalling terror, each scene is renewed in all the ghastliness of
the reality, so that the nights when I dream of it become epochs of
miserable, terrible helplessness.
It was on a clear, bright day in August. The fields were covered
with the maturity of verdure, the trees wore their coronal of leaves
perfected, the birds sang gaily, and the river sparkled in the sun; and
I sat upon my engine, looking ahead mostly, but occasionally casting
my eyes at the vessels on the river, that spread their white sails to
the breeze and danced over the rippling waters, looking too graceful
to be of earth. Among the craft upon the river I noticed the steamboat
"Henry Clay;" another and a rival boat was some distance from it, and
from the appearance of things I inferred that they were racing. I
watched the two as closely as I could for sometime, and while looking
intently at the "Clay," I saw a dark column of thick black smoke
ascending from her, "amidships," just back of the smoke-pipe. At first
I paid little heed to it, but soon it turned to fire, and the leaping
flames, like serpents, entwined the whole of the middle portion of the
boat in their terrible embrace. She was at once headed for the shore,
and came rushing on, trailing the thick cloud of flame and smoke. She
struck the shore near where I had stopped my train, for, of course,
seeing such a thing about to happen, I stopped to enable the hands
and passengers to render what assistance they could. The burning boat
struck the shore by the side of a little wharf, right where the station
of "Riverdale" now stands, and those who were upon the forward part of
her decks escaped at once by leaping to the shore; but the majority
of the passengers, including all of the women and children, were on
the after-part of the boat, and owing to the centre of the boat being
entirely enwrapped by the hissing flames, they were utterly unable
to get to the shore. So they were cooped up on the extreme after-end
of the boat, with the roaring fire forming an impassable barrier to
prevent their reaching the land, and the swift-flowing river at their
feet, surging and bubbling past, dark, deep, and to most of them as
certain death as the flames in front. The fire crept on. It drove them
inch by inch to the water. The strong swimmers, crazed by the heat,
wrapped their stalwart arms about their dear ones, and leaped into
the water. Their mutual struggles impeded each other; they sank with
words of love and farewell bubbling from their lips, unheard amidst the
roar of the flames and hiss of the water, as the burning timbers fell
in and were extinguished. Women raised their hands to Heaven, uttered
one piercing, despairing scream, and with the flames enwrapping their
clothing, leaped into the stream, which sullenly closed over them.
Some crawled over the guards and hung suspended until the fierce heat
compelled them to loose their hold and drop into the waves below.
Mothers, clasping their children to their bosoms, knelt and prayed God
to let this cup pass from them. Many, leaping into the water, almost
gained the shore, but some piece of the burning wreck would fall upon
them and crush them down. Some we could see kneeling on the deck until
the surging flames and blinding smoke shrouded them and hid them from
our sight. One little boy was seen upon the hurricane roof, just as it
fell. Entwined in each other's embrace, two girls were seen to rush
right into the raging fire, either delirious with the heat or desirous
of quickly ending their dreadful sufferings, which they thought _must_
end in death. And we upon the shore stood almost entirely powerless to
aid. Death-shrieks and despairing cries for help, prayer and blasphemy,
all mingled, came to our ear above the roaring and crackling of the
flames, and in agony and the terror of helplessness we closed our ears
to shut out the horrid sounds. The intense heat of the fire rendered
it impossible for us to approach near the boat. The many despairing
creatures struggling in the water made it almost certain death for any
to swim out to help. No boats were near, except the boats of a sloop
which came along just as the fire was at its highest and were unable to
get near the wreck, because of the heat. The scene among the survivors
was most terrible. One little boy of about seven, was running around
seeking his parents and sisters. Poor fellow! his search was vain,
for the scorching flames had killed them, and the rapid river had
buried them. A mother was there, nursing a dead babe, which drowned
in her arms, as, with almost superhuman exertions, she struggled to
the shore. A young lady sat by the side of her father, lying stark and
stiff, killed by a falling beam, within twenty feet of the shore. A
noble Newfoundland dog stood, sole guardian of a little child of three
or four, that he had brought ashore himself, and to whom we could find
neither kith nor kin among the crowd. His dog, playmate of an hour
before, was now the saviour of his life and his only friend. I left the
scene with my train when convinced that a longer stay was useless, as
far as saving life went.
I returned that afternoon, and the water had given up many of its dead.
Twenty-two bodies lay stretched upon the shore--but one in a coffin,
and she a bride of that morning, with the wedding-dress scorched and
blackened, and clinging with wet, clammy folds to her stiff and rigid
form. Her husband bent in still despair over her. A little child lay
there, unclaimed. His curly, flaxen hair that, two hours before, father
and sisters stroked so fondly, was matted around his forehead, and
begrimed with the sand, over which his little body had been washed to
the river-bank. His little lips, that a mother pressed so lately, now
were black with the slime of the river-bed in which he went to sleep.
An old man of seventy was there, sleeping calmly after the battle of
life, which for him culminated with horror at its close. In short, of
all ages they were there, lying on the sand, and the scene I shall
never forget. Each incident, from the first flashing out of the flame
to the moment when I, with reverent hands, helped lay them in their
coffins and the tragedy closed, is photographed forever upon my mind.