A mantle of mist hung low over the Conemaugh Valley when the people of
Johnstown rose on Sunday morning, June 9th; but about the time the two
remaining church bells began to toll, the sun's rays broke through the
fog, and soon the sky was clear save for a few white clouds which sailed
lazily to the Alleghenies. Never in the history of Johnstown did
congregations attend more impressive church services. Some of them were
held in the open air, others in half-ruined buildings, and one only in a
church. The ceremonies were deeply solemn and touching. Early in the
forenoon German Catholics picked their way through the wreck to the
parsonage of St. Joseph's, where Fathers Kesbernan and Ald said four
masses. Next to the parsonage there was a great breach in the walls made
by the flood, and one-half of the parsonage had been carried away. At
one end of the pastor's reception-room had been placed a temporary
altar lighted by a solitary candle. There were white roses upon it,
while from the walls, above the muddy stains, hung pictures of the
Immaculate Conception, the Crucifixion, and the Virgin Mary. The room
was filled with worshipers, and the people spread out into the lateral
hall hanging over the cellar washed bare of its covering. No chairs or
benches were in the room. There was a deep hush as the congregation
knelt upon the damp floors, silently saying their prayers. With a
dignified and serene demeanor, the priest went through the services of
his church, while the people before him were motionless, the men with
bowed heads, the women holding handkerchiefs to their faces.
Back of this church, on the side of a hill, there gathered another
congregation of Catholics. Their church and parsonage and chapel had all
been destroyed, and they met in a yard near their cemetery. A pretty
arbor, covered with vines, ran back from the street, and beneath this
stood their priest, Father Tahney, who had worked with them over a
quarter of a century. His hair was white, but he stood erect as he
talked to his people. Before him was a white altar. This, too, was
lighted with a single candle. The people stood before him and on each
side, reverently kneeling on the grass as they prayed. Three masses were
said by Father Tahney and by Father Matthews, of Washington, and then
the white-haired priest spoke a few words of encouragement to his
listeners. He urged them to make a manful struggle to rebuild their
homes, to assist one another in their distress, and to be grateful to
all Americans for the helping hand extended to them. Other Catholic
services were held at the St. Columba's Church, in Cambria, where Father
Troutwein, of St. Mary's Church, Fathers Davin and Smith said mass and
addressed the congregation. Father Smith urged them not to sell their
lands to those who were speculating in men's misery, but to be
courageous until the city should rise again.
At the Pennsylvania station a meeting was held on the embankment
overlooking the ruined part of the town. The services were conducted by
the Rev. Mr. McGuire, chaplain of the 14th Regiment. The people sang
"Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing," and then Mr. McGuire read the
psalm beginning "I will bless the Lord at all times." James Fulton,
manager of the Cambria Iron Works, spoke encouraging words. He assured
them that the works would be rebuilt, and that the eight thousand
employés would be cared for. Houses would be built for them and
employment given to all in restoring the works. There was a strained
look on men's faces when he told them in a low voice that he held the
copy of a report which he had drawn up on the dam, calling attention to
the fact that it was extremely dangerous to the people living in the
valley.
One of the peculiar things a stranger notices in Johnstown is the
comparatively small number of women seen in the place. Of the throngs
who walk about the streets searching for dead friends, there is not one
woman to ten men. Occasionally a little group of two or three women with
sad faces will pick their way about, looking for the morgues. There are
a few Sisters of Charity, in their black robes, seen upon the streets,
and in the parts of the town not totally destroyed the usual number of
women are seen in the houses and yards. But, as a rule, women are a
rarity in Johnstown now. This is not a natural peculiarity of Johnstown,
nor a mere coincidence, but a fact with a dreadful reason behind it.
There are so many more men than women among the living in Johnstown now,
because there are so many more women than men among the dead. Of the
bodies recovered there are at least two women for every man. Besides the
fact that their natural weakness made them an easier prey to the flood,
the hour at which the disaster came was one when the women would most
likely be in their homes and the men at work in the open air or in
factory yards, from which escape was easy.
Children also are rarely seen about the town, and for a similar reason.
They are all dead. There is never a group of the dead discovered that
does not contain from one to three or four children for every grown
person. Generally the children are in the arms of the grown persons, and
often little toys and trinkets clasped in their hands indicate that the
children were caught up while at play, and carried as far as possible
toward safety.
Johnstown when rebuilt will be a city of many widowers and few children.
In turning a school-house into a morgue the authorities probably did a
wiser thing than they thought. It will be a long time before the
school-house will be needed for its original purpose.
The miracle, as it is called, that happened at the Church of the
Immaculate Conception, has caused a tremendous sensation. A large number
of persons will testify as to the nature of the event, and, to put it
mildly, the circumstances are really remarkable. The devotions in honor
of the Blessed Virgin celebrated daily during the month of May were in
progress on that Friday when the water descended on Cambria City. The
church was filled with people at the time, but when the noise of the
flood was heard the congregation hastened to get out of the way. They
succeeded as far as escaping from the interior is concerned, and in a
few minutes the church was partially submerged, the water reaching
fifteen feet up the sides and swirling around the corners furiously. The
building was badly wrecked, the benches were torn out, and in general
the entire structure, both inside and outside, was fairly dismantled.
Yesterday morning, when an entrance was forced through the blocked
doorway the ruin appeared to be complete. One object alone had escaped
the water's wrath. The statue of the Blessed Virgin, that had been
decorated and adorned because of the May devotions, was as unsullied as
the day it was made. The flowers, the wreaths, the lace veil were
undisturbed and unsoiled, although the marks on the wall showed that the
surface of the water had risen above the statue to a height of fifteen
feet, while the statue nevertheless had been saved from all contact with
the liquid. Every one who has seen the statue and its surroundings is
firmly convinced that the incident was a miraculous one, and even to the
most skeptical the affair savors of the supernatural.
A singular feature of the great flood was discovered at the great stone
viaduct about half way between Mineral Point and South Fork. At Mineral
Point the Pennsylvania Railroad is on the south side of the river,
although the town is on the north side. About a mile and a half up the
stream there was a viaduct built of very solid masonry. It was
originally built for the old Portage Road. It was seventy-eight feet
above the ordinary surface of the water. On this viaduct the railroad
tracks crossed to the north side of the river and on that side ran into
South Fork, two miles farther up. It is the general opinion of engineers
that this strong viaduct would have stood against the gigantic wave had
it not been blown up by dynamite. But at South Fork there was a dynamite
magazine which was picked up by the flood and shot down the stream at
the rate of twenty miles an hour. It struck the stone viaduct and
exploded. The roar of the flood was tremendous, but the noise of this
explosion was heard by farmers on the Evanston Road, two miles and a
half away. Persons living on the mountain sides, in view of the river,
and who saw the explosion, say that the stones of the viaduct at the
point where the magazine struck it, were thrown into the air to the
height of two hundred feet. An opening was made, and the flood of death
swept through on its awful errand.