No travelers in an upheaved and disorganized land push through with more
pluck and courage than the newspaper correspondents. Accounts have
already been given of some of their experiences. A writer in the New
York _Times_ thus told of his, a week after the events described:
"A man who starts on a journey on ten minutes' notice likes the journey
to be short, with a promise of success and of food and clothes at its
end. Starting suddenly a week ago, the _Times's_ correspondent has since
had but a small measure of success, a smaller measure of food, and for
nights no rest at all; a long tramp across the Blue Hills and Allegheny
Mountains, behind jaded horses; helping to push up-hill the wagon they
tried to pull or to lift the vehicle up and down bridges whose
approaches were torn away, or in and out of fords the pathways to which
had disappeared; and in the blackness of the night, scrambling through
gullies in the pike road made by the storm, paved with sharp and
treacherous rocks and traversed by swift-running streams, whose roar was
the only guide to their course. All this prepared a weary reporter to
welcome the bed of straw he found in a Johnstown stable loft last
Monday, and on which he has reposed nightly ever since.
"And let me advise reporters and other persons who are liable to sudden
missions to out-of-the-way places not to wear patent leather shoes. They
are no good for mountain roads. This is the result of sad experience.
Wetness and stone bruises are the benisons they confer on feet that
tread rough paths.
"The quarter past twelve train was the one boarded by the _Times's_
correspondent and three other reporters on their way hither a week ago
Friday night. It was in the minds of all that they would get as far as
Altoona, on the Pennsylvania Road, and thence by wagon to this place.
But all were mistaken. At Philadelphia we were told that there were
wash-outs in many places and bridges were down everywhere, so that we
would be lucky if we got even to Harrisburg. This was harrowing news. It
caused such a searching of time-tables and of the map of Pennsylvania as
those things were rarely ever subjected to before. It was at last
decided that if the Pennsylvania Railroad stopped at Harrisburg an
attempt would be made to reach the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad at
Martinsburg, West Virginia, by way of the Cumberland Railroad, a train
on which was scheduled to leave Harrisburg ten minutes after the arrival
of the Pennsylvania train.
"It was only too evident to us, long before we reached Harrisburg, that
we would not get to the West out of that city. The Susquehanna had risen
far over its banks, and for miles our train ran slowly with the water
close to the fire-box of the locomotive and over the lower steps of the
car platform. At last we reached the station. Several energetic
Philadelphia reporters had come on with us from that lively city,
expecting to go straight to Johnstown. As they left the train one cried:
'Hurrah, boys, there's White. He'll know all about it.' White stood
placidly on the steps, and knew nothing more than that he and several
other Philadelphia reporters, who had started Friday night, had got no
further than the Harrisburg station, and were in a state of wonderment,
leaving them to think our party caught.
"As the Cumberland Valley train was pulling out of the station, its
conductor, a big, genial fellow, who seemed to know everybody in the
valley, was loth to express an opinion as to whether we would get to
Martinsburg. He would take us as far as he could, and then leave us to
work out our own salvation. He could give us no information about the
Baltimore and Ohio Road. Hope and fear chased one another in our midst;
hope that trains were running on that road, and fear that it, too, had
been stopped by wash-outs. In the latter case it seemed to us that we
should be compelled to return to Harrisburg and sit down to think with
our Philadelphia brethren.
"The Cumberland Valley train took us to Hagerstown, and there the big and
genial conductor told us it would stay, as it could not cross the
Potomac to reach Martinsburg. We were twelve miles from the Potomac and
twenty from Martinsburg. Fortunately, a construction train was going to
the river to repair some small wash-outs, and Major Ives, the engineer
of the Cumberland Valley Road, took us upon it, but he smiled pitifully
when we told him we were going across the bridge.
"'Why, man,' he said to the _Times's_ correspondent, 'the Potomac is
higher than it was in 1877, and there's no telling when the bridge will
go.'
"At the bridge was a throng of country people waiting to see it go down,
and wondering how many more blows it would stand from foundering
canal-boats, washed out of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, whose lines
had already disappeared under the flood. A quick survey of the bridge
showed that its second section was weakening, and had already bent
several inches, making a slight concavity on the upper side.
"No time was to be lost if we were going to Martinsburg. The country
people murmured disapproval, but we went on the bridge, and were soon
crossing it on the one-foot plank that served for a footwalk. It was an
unpleasant walk. The river was roaring below us. To yield to the
fascination of the desire to look between the railroad ties at the
foaming water was to throw away our lives. Then that fear that the tons
of drift stuff piled against the upper side of the bridge, would
suddenly throw it over, was a cause of anything but confidence. But we
held our breath, balanced ourselves, measured our steps, and looked far
ahead at the hills on the Western Virginia shore. At last the firm
embankment was reached, and four reporters sent up one sigh of relief
and joy.
"Finding two teams, we were soon on our way to Martinsburg.
"The Potomac was nine feet higher than it was ever known to be before,
and it was out for more than a mile beyond the tracks of the Cumberland
Valley Railroad at Falling Waters, where it had carried away several
houses. This made the route to Martinsburg twice as long as it otherwise
would have been. To weary, anxious reporters it seemed four times as
long, and that we should never get beyond the village of Falling Waters.
It confronted us at every turn of the crooked way, until it became a
source of pain. It is a pretty place, but we were yearning for
Johnstown, not for rural beauty.
"All roads have an end, and Farmer Sperow's teams at last dragged us
into Martinsburg. Little comfort was in store for us there. No train had
arrived there for more than twenty-four hours. Farmer Sperow was called
on to take us back to the river, our instructions being to cross the
bridge again and take a trip over the mountains. Hope gave way to utter
despair when we learned that the bridge had fallen twenty minutes after
our passage. We had put ourselves into a pickle. Chief Engineer Ives and
his assistant, Mr. Schoonmaker joined us a little while later. They had
followed us across the bridge and been cut off also. They were needed at
Harrisburg, and they backed up our effort to get a special train to go
to the Shenandoah Valley Road's bridge, twenty-five miles away, which
was reported to be yet standing.
"The Baltimore and Ohio officials were obdurate. They did not know
enough about the tracks to the eastward to experiment with a train on
them in the dark. They promised to make up a train in the morning.
Wagons would not take us as soon. A drearier night was never passed by
men with their hearts in their work. Morning came at last and with it
the news that the road to the east was passable nearly to Harper's
Ferry. Lots of Martinsburg folks wanted to see the sights at the Ferry,
and we had the advantage of their society on an excursion train as far
as Shenandoah Junction, where Mr. Ives had telegraphed for a special to
come over and meet us if the bridge was standing.
"The telegraph kept us informed about the movement of the train. When we
learned that it had tested and crossed the bridge our joy was modified
only by the fear that we had made fools of ourselves in leaving
Harrisburg, and that the more phlegmatic Philadelphia reporters had
already got to Johnstown. But this fear was soon dissipated. The
trainman knew that Harrisburg was inundated and no train had gone west
for nearly two days. A new fear took its place. It was that New York
men, starting behind us, had got into Johnstown through Pittsburg by way
of the New York Central and its connections. No telegrams were penned
with more conflicting emotions surging through the writer than those by
which the _Times's_ correspondent made it known that he had got out of
the Martinsburg pocket and was about to make a wagon journey of one
hundred and ten miles across the mountains, and asked for information as
to whether any Eastern man had got to the scene of the flood.
"The special train took us to Chambersburg, where Superintendent
Riddle, of the Cumberland Valley Road, had information that four
Philadelphia men were on their way thither, and had engaged a team to
take them on the first stage of the overland trip. A wild rush was made
for Schiner's livery, and in ten minutes we were bowling over the pike
toward McConnellsburg, having already sent thither a telegraphic order
for fresh teams. The train from Harrisburg was due in five minutes when
we started. As we mounted each hill we eagerly scanned the road behind
for pursuers. They never came in sight.
"In McConnellsburg the entire town had heard of our coming, and were out
to greet us with cheers. They knew our mission and that a party of
competitors was tracking us. Landlord Prosser, of the Fulton Hotel, had
his team ready, but said there had been an enormous wash-out near the
Juniata River, beyond which he could not take us. We would have to walk
through the break in the pike and cross the river on a bridge tottering
on a few supports. Telegrams to Everett for a team to meet us beyond the
river and take us to Bedford, and to the latter place for a team to make
the journey across the Allegehenies to Johnstown settled all our plans.
"As well as we could make it out by telegraphic advices, we were an hour
ahead of the Philadelphians. Ten minutes was not, therefore, too long
for supper. Landlord Prosser took the reins himself and we started
again, with a hurrah from the populace. As it was Sunday, they would
sell us nothing, but storekeeper Young and telegraph operator Sloan
supplied us with tobacco and other little comforts, our stock of which
had been exhausted. It will gratify our Prohibition friends to learn
that whisky was not among them. McConnellsburg is, unfortunately, a dry
town for the time being. It was a long and weary pull to the top of
Sidling Hill. To ease up on the team, we walked the greater part of the
way. A short descent and a straight run took us to the banks of Licking
Creek.
"Harrisonville was just beyond, and Harrisonville had been under a
raging flood, which had weakened the props of the bridge and washed out
the road for fifty feet beyond it. The only thing to do was to unhitch
and lead the horses over the bridge and through the gully. This was
difficult, but it was finally accomplished. The more difficult task was
to get the wagon over. A long pull, with many strong lifts, in which
some of the natives aided, took it down from the bridge and through the
break, but at the end there were more barked shins and bruised toes than
any other four men ever had in common.
"It was a quick ride from Everett to Bedford, for our driver had a good
wagon and a speedy team. Arriving at Bedford a little after two o'clock
in the morning, we found dispatches that cheered us, for they told us
that we had made no mistake, and might reach the scene of disaster
first. Only a reporter who has been on a mission similar to this can
tell the joy imparted by a dispatch like this:
"'NEW YORK--Nobody is ahead of you. Go it.'
"At four o'clock in the morning we started on our long trip of forty
miles across the Alleghenies to Johnstown. Pleasantville was reached at
half-past six A. M. Now the road became bad, and everybody but the
driver had to walk. Footsore as we were, we had to clamber over rocks
and through mud in a driving rain, which wet us through. For ten miles
we went thus dismally. Ten miles from Johnstown we got in the wagon, and
every one promptly went to sleep, at the risk of being thrown out at any
time as the wagon jolted along. Tired nature could stand no more, and we
slumbered peacefully until four half-drunken special policemen halted us
at the entrance to Johnstown. Argument with them stirred us up, and we
got into town and saw what a ruin it was."