The first survivors of the Johnstown wreck who arrived at Pittsburg were
Joseph and Henry Lauffer and Lew Dalmeyer. They endured considerable
hardship and had several narrow escapes with their lives. Their story of
the disaster can best be told in their own language. Joe, the youngest
of the Lauffer brothers, said:
"My brother and I left on Thursday for Johnstown. The night we arrived
there it rained continually, and on Friday morning it began to flood. I
started for the Cambria store at a quarter-past eight on Friday, and in
fifteen minutes afterward I had to get out of the store in a wagon, the
water was running so rapidly. We then arrived at the station and took
the day express and went as far as Conemaugh, where we had to stop. The
limited, however, got through, and just as we were about to start the
bridge at South Fork gave way with a terrific crash, and we had to stay
there. We then went to Johnstown. This was at a quarter to ten in the
morning, when the flood was just beginning. The whole city of Johnstown
was inundated and the people all moved up to the second floor.
"Now this is where the trouble occurred. These poor unfortunates did not
know the reservoir would burst, and there are no skiffs in Johnstown to
escape in. When the South Fork basin gave way mountains of water twenty
feet high came rushing down the Conemaugh River, carrying before them
death and destruction. I shall never forget the harrowing scene. Just
think of it! thousands of people, men, and women, and children,
struggling and weeping and wailing as they were being carried suddenly
away in the raging current. Houses were picked up as if they were but a
feather, and their inmates were all carried away with them, while cries
of 'God help me!' 'Save me!' 'I am drowning!' 'My child!' and the like
were heard on all sides. Those who were lucky enough to escape went to
the mountains, and there they beheld the poor unfortunates being crushed
to death among the debris without any chance of being rescued. Here and
there a body was seen to make a wild leap into the air and then sink to
the bottom.
"At the stone bridge of the Pennsylvania Railroad people were dashed to
death against the piers. When the fire started there hundreds of bodies
were burned. Many lookers-on up on the mountains, especially the woman,
fainted."
Mr. Lauffer's brother, Harry, then told his part of the tale, which was
not less interesting. He said: "We had a series of narrow escapes, and I
tell you we don't want to be around when anything of that kind occurs
again.
"The scenes at Johnstown have not in the least been exaggerated, and,
indeed, the worst is to be heard. When we got to Conemaugh and just as
we were about to start the bridge gave way. This left the day express,
the accommodation, a special train, and a freight train at the station.
Above was the South Fork water basin, and all of the trains were well
filled. We were discussing the situation when suddenly, without any
warning, the whistles of every engine began to shriek, and in the noise
could be heard the warning of the first engineer, 'Fly for your lives!
Rush to the mountains, the reservoir has burst.' Then with a thundering
peal came the mad rush of waters. No sooner had the cry been heard than
those who could rushed from the train with a wild leap and up the
mountains. To tell this story takes some time, but the moments in which
the horrible scene was enacted were few. Then came the avalanche of
water, leaping and rushing with tremendous force. The waves had angry
crests of white, and their roar was something deafening. In one
terrible swath they caught the four trains and lifted three of them
right off the track, as if they were only a cork. There they floated in
the river. Think of it, three large locomotives and finely finished
Pullmans floating around, and above all the hundreds of poor
unfortunates who were unable to escape from the car swiftly drifting
toward death. Just as we were about to leap from the car I saw a mother,
with a smiling, blue-eyed baby in her arms. I snatched it from her and
leaped from the train just as it was lifted off the track. The mother
and child were saved, but if one more minute had elapsed we all would
have perished.
"During all of this time the waters kept rushing down the Conemaugh and
through the beautiful town of Johnstown, picking up everything and
sparing nothing.
"The mountains by this time were black with people, and the moans and
sighs from those below brought tears to the eyes of the most
stony-hearted. There in that terrible rampage were brothers, sisters,
wives and husbands, and from the mountain could be seen the
panic-stricken marks in the faces of those who were struggling between
life and death. I really am unable to do justice to the scene, and its
details are almost beyond my power to relate. Then came the burning of
the debris near the Pennsylvania Railroad bridge. The scene was too
sickening to endure. We left the spot and journeyed across country and
delivered many notes, letters, etc., that were intrusted to us."
The gallant young engineer, John G. Parke, whose ride of warning has
already been described, relates the following:
"On Thursday night I noticed that the dam was in good order and the
water was nearly seven feet from the top. When the water is at this
height the lake is then nearly three miles in length. It rained hard on
Thursday night and I rode up to the end of the lake on the eventful day
and saw that the woods around there was teeming with a seething cauldron
of water. Colonel Unger, the president of the fishing club that owns the
property, put twenty-five Italians to work to fix the dam. A farmer in
the vicinity also lent a willing hand. To strengthen the dam a plow was
run along the top of it, and earth was then thrown into the furrows. On
the west side a channel was dug and a sluice was constructed. We cut
through about four feet of shale rock, when we came to solid rock which
was impossible to cut without blasting. Once we got the channel open the
water leaped down to the bed-rock, and a stream fully twenty feet wide
and three feet deep rushed out on that end of the dam, while great
quantities of water were coming in by the pier at the other end. And
then in the face of this great escape of water from the dam, it kept
rising at the rate of ten inches an hour.
"At noon I fully believed that it was practically impossible to save the
dam, and I got on a horse and galloped down to South Fork, and gave the
alarm, telling the people at the same time of their danger, and advising
them to get to a place of safety. I also sent a couple of men to the
telegraph tower, two miles away, to send messages to Johnstown and
Cambria and to the other points on the way. The young girl at the
instrument fainted when the news reached her, and was carried away.
Then, by the timely warning given, the people at South Fork had an
opportunity to move their household goods and betake themselves to a
place of safety. Only one person was drowned in that place, and he was
trying to save an old washtub that was floating down-stream.
"It was noon when the messages were sent out, so that the people of
Johnstown had just three hours to fly to a place of safety. Why they did
not heed the warning will never be told. I then remounted my horse and
rode to the dam, expecting at every moment to meet the lake rushing down
the mountain-side, but when I reached there I found the dam still
intact, although the water had then reached the top of it. At one P. M.
I walked over the dam, and then the water was about three inches on it,
and was gradually gnawing away its face. As the stream leaped down the
outer face, the water was rapidly wearing down the edge of the
embankment, and I knew that it was a question of but a few hours. From
my knowledge I should say there was fully ten million tons of water in
the lake at one o'clock, while the pressure was largely increased by the
swollen streams that flowed into it, but even then the dam could have
stood it if the level of the water had been kept below the top. But,
coupled with this, there was the constantly trickling of the water over
the sides, which was slowly but surely wearing the banks away.
"The big break took place at just three o'clock, and it was about ten
feet wide at first and shallow; but when the opening was made the
fearful rushing waters opened the gap with such increasing rapidity that
soon after the entire lake leaped out and started on its fearful march
of death down the Valley of the Conemaugh. It took but forty minutes to
drain that three miles of water, and the downpour of millions of tons of
water was irresistible. The big boulders and great rafters and logs that
were in the bed of the river were picked up, like so much chaff, and
carried down the torrent for miles. Trees that stood fully seventy-five
feet in height and four feet through were snapped off like pipe-stems."