Stories of the Flood.
War, death, cataclysm like this, America,
Take deep to thy proud, prosperous heart.
E'en as I chant, lo! out of death, and out of ooze and slime,
The blossoms rapidly blooming, sympathy, help, love,
From west and east, from south and north and over sea,
Its hot spurr'd hearts and hands humanity to human aid moves on;
And from within a thought and lesson yet.
Thou ever-darting globe! thou Earth and Air!
Thou waters that encompass us!
Thou that in all the life and death of us, in action or in sleep.
Thou laws invisible that permeate them and all!
Thou that in all and over all, and through and under all, incessant!
Thou! thou! the vital, universal, giant force resistless, sleepless, calm,
Holding Humanity as in the open hand, as some ephemeral toy,
How ill to e'er forget thee!
_Walt Whitman._
"Are the horrors of the flood to give way to the terrors of the plague?"
is the question that is now agitating the valley of the Conemaugh.
To-day opened warm and almost sultry, and the stench that assails one's
senses as he wanders through Johnstown is almost overpowering. Sickness,
in spite of the precautions and herculean labors of the sanitary
authorities, is on the increase and the fears of an epidemic grow with
every hour.
"It is our impression," said Dr. T.L. White, assistant to the State
Board of Health, this morning, "that there is going to be great sickness
here within the next week. Five cases of malignant diphtheria were
located this morning on Bedford street, and as they were in different
houses they mean five starting points for disease. All this talk about
the dangers of epidemic is not exaggerated, as many suppose, but is
founded upon all experience. There will be plenty of typhoid fever and
kindred diseases here within a week or ten days in my opinion. The only
thing that has saved us thus far has been the cool weather. That has now
given place to summer weather, and no one knows what the next few days
may bring forth."
Fresh Meat and Vegetables Wanted.
Even among the workmen there is already discernible a tendency to
diarrhoea and dysentery. The men are living principally upon salt
meat, and there is a lack of vegetables. I have been here since Sunday
and have tasted fresh meat but once since that time. I am only one of
the many. Of course the worst has passed for the physicians, as our
arrangements are now perfected and each corps will be relieved from time
to time. Twenty more physicians arrived from Pittsburgh this morning and
many of us will be relieved to-day. But the opinion is general among the
medical men that there will be more need for doctors in a week hence
than there is now.
Sanitary Work.
Dr. R.L. Sibbel, of the State Board of Health, is in charge of Sanitary
Headquarters. "We are using every precaution known to science," said he
this morning, "to prevent the possibility of epidemic. Our labors here
have not been confined to any particular channel, but have been extended
in various directions. Disinfectants, of course, are first in
importance, and they have been used with no sparing hand. The prompt
cremation of dead animals as fast as discovered is another thing we have
insisted upon. The immediate erection of water-closets throughout the
ruins for the workmen was another work of the greatest sanitary
importance that has been attended to. They, too, are being disinfected
at frequent intervals. We have a committee, too, that superintends the
burial of the victims at the cemeteries. It is of the utmost importance
in this wholesale interment that the corpses should be interred a safe
distance beneath the surface in order that their poisonous emanations
may not find exit through the crevices of the earth.
"Another committee is making a house-to-house inspection throughout the
stricken city to ascertain the number of inhabitants in each standing
house, the number of the sick, and to order the latter to the hospital
whenever necessary. One great danger is the overcrowding of houses and
hovels, and that is being prevented as much as possible by the free use
of tents upon the mountain side. So far there is but little contagious
disease, and we hope by diligent and systematic efforts to prevent any
dangerous outbreak."
Dodging Responsibility.
It is now rumored that the South Fork Hunting and Fishing Club is a
thing of the past. No one admits his membership and it is doubtful if
outside the cottage owners one could find more than half a dozen members
in the city. Even some of the cottage owners will repudiate their
ownership until it is known whether or not legal action will be taken
against them. If it were not for the publicity which might follow one
could secure a transfer of a large number of shares of the club's stock
to himself, accompanied by a good sized roll of money. It is certain
that the cottage owners cannot repudiate their ownership. None of them,
however, will occupy the houses this summer.
The Club Found Guilty.
Coroner Hammer, of Westmoreland county, who has been sitting on the dead
found down the river at Nineveh, concluded his inquests to-day. His trip
to South Fork Dam on Wednesday has convinced him that the burden of this
great disaster rests on the shoulders of the South Fork Hunting and
Fishing Club of Pittsburgh. The verdict was written to-night, but not
all the jury were ready to sign it. It finds the South Fork Hunting and
Fishing Club responsible for the loss of life because of gross, if not
criminal negligence, and of carelessness in making repairs from time to
time. This would let the Pennsylvania Railroad Company out from all
blame for allowing the dam to fall so badly out of repair when they got
control of the Pennsylvania Canal and abandoned it. The verdict is what
might have been expected after Wednesday's testimony.
Mr. A.M. Wellington, with P. Burt, associate editor of the _Engineering
News_, of New York, has just completed an examination of the dam which
caused the great disaster here. Mr. Wellington states that the dam was
in every respect of very inferior construction, and of a kind wholly
unwarranted by good engineering practices of thirty years ago. Both the
original and reconstructed dams were of earth only, with no heart wall,
but only riprapped on the slopes.
The original dam, however, was made in dammed and watered layers, which
still show distinctly in the wrecked dam. The new end greatly added to
its stability, but it was to all appearances simply dumped in like an
ordinary railroad fill, or if rammed, the wreck shows no evidence of the
good effect of such work. Much of the old part is standing intact, while
the adjacent parts of the new work are wholly carried off. There was no
central wall of puddle or masonry either in the new or old dam. It has
been the invariable practice of engineers for thirty or forty years to
use one or the other in building high dams of earth. It is doubtful if
there is a single dam or reservoir in any other part of the United
States of over fifty feet in height which lacks this central wall.
Ignorance or Carelessness.
The reconstructed dam also bears the mark of great ignorance or
carelessness in having been made nearly two feet lower in the middle
than at the ends. It should rather have crowned in the middle, which
would have concentrated the overflow, if it should occur, at the ends
instead of in the centre. Had the break begun at the ends the cut of the
water would have been so gradual that little or no harm might have
resulted. Had the dam been cut at the ends when the water began running
over the centre the sudden breaking would have been at least greatly
diminished, possibly prolonged, so that little harm would have resulted.
The crest of the old dam had not been raised in the reconstruction of
1881. The old overflow channel through the rock still remains, but owing
to the sag of the crest in the middle of the dam only five and a half
feet of water in it, instead of seven feet, was necessary to run the
water over the crest.
And the rock spillway, narrow at best, had been further contracted by a
close grating to prevent the escape of fish, capped by a good-sized
timber, and in some slight degree also as a trestle footbridge. The
original discharge pipe indicates that it was made about half earth and
half rock, but if so there was little evidence of it in the broken dam.
The riprapping was merely a skin on each face with more or less loose
spauls mixed with the earth. The dam was seventy-two feet above water,
two to one inside slope, one and a half to one outside slope and twenty
feet wide on top. The rock throughout was about one foot below the
surface. The earth was pretty good material for such a dam, if it was to
be built at all, being of a clayey nature, making good puddle. To this
the fact of it standing intact since 1881 must be ascribed, as no
engineer of standing would have ever tried to so construct it. The fact
that the dam was a reconstructed one after twenty years' abandonment
made it especially hard on the older part of the dam to withstand the
pressure of the water.
Elder Thought it was Safe.
Cyrus Elder, general counsel for the Cambria Iron Company and a wealthy
and prominent citizen of Johnstown, lost a wife and daughter in the
recent disaster and narrowly escaped with his own life.
"When the rebuilding of the dam was begun some years ago," he said, "the
president of the Cambria Iron Company was very seriously concerned about
it, and wished, if possible, to prevent its construction, referring the
matter to the solicitor of the company. A gentleman of high scientific
reputation, who was then one of the general engineers, inspected the
dam. He condemned several matters in the way of construction and
reported that this had been changed and that the dam was perfectly safe.
My son, George R. Elder, was at that time a student in the Troy
Polytechnic University.
"His professor submitted a problem to the class which he immediately
recognized as being the question of the safety of the South Fork dam. He
sent it to me at the time in a letter, which, of course, is lost, with
everything else I possessed, in which he stated that the verdict of the
class was that the dam was safe. The president of the Cambria Iron
Company being still anxious, thought it might be good policy to have
some one inside of the fishing and hunting corporation owning the dam.
The funds of the company were therefore used to purchase two shares of
its stock, which were placed in the name of D.J. Morrell. After his
death these shares were transferred to and are still held by me,
although they are the property of the Cambria Iron Company. They have
not been sold because there was no market for them."
Untold Volumes of Water.
So far as the Signal Service is concerned, the amount of rainfall in the
region drained by the Conemaugh river cannot be ascertained. The Signal
Service authorities here, to whom the official there reported, received
only partial reports last Friday. There had been a succession of rains
nearly all of last week. The last rain commenced Thursday evening and
was unusually severe.
Mrs. H.M. Ogle, who had been the Signal Service representative in
Johnstown for several years and also manager of the Western Union office
there, telegraphed at eight o'clock Friday morning that the river marked
14 feet, rising; a rise of 13 feet in twenty-four hours. At eleven
o'clock she wired: "River 20 feet and rising, higher than ever before;
water in first floor. Have moved to second. River gauges carried away.
Rainfall, 2 3-10 inches." At twenty-seven minutes to one P.M., Mrs. Ogle
wired: "At this hour north wind; very cloudy; water still rising."
Nothing more was heard from her by the bureau, but at the Western Union
office here later in the afternoon she commenced to tell an operator
that the dam had broken, that a flood was coming, and before she had
finished the conversation a singular click of the instrument announced
the breaking of the current. A moment afterward the current of her life
was broken forever.
Sergeant Stewart, in charge of the bureau, says that the fall of water
on the Conemaugh shed at Johnstown up to the time of the flood was
probably 2 5-10 inches. He believes it was much heavier in the
mountains. The country drained by the little Conemaugh and Stony Creek
covers an area of about one hundred square miles. The bureau, figuring
on this basis and 2 5-10 inches of rainfall, finds that 464,640,000
cubic feet of water was precipitated toward Johnstown in its last hours.
This is independent of the great volume of water in the lake, which was
not less than 250,000,000 cubic feet.
Water Enough to Cover the Valley.
It is therefore easily seen that there was ample water to cover the
Conemaugh Valley to the depth of from ten to twenty-five feet. Such a
volume of water was never known to fall in that country in the same
time.
Colonel T.P. Roberts, a leading engineer, estimates that the lake
drained twenty-five square miles, and gives some interesting data on the
probable amount of water it contained. He says:--"The dam, as I
understand, was from hill to hill about one thousand feet long and about
eighty-five feet high at the highest point. The pond covered above
seven hundred acres, at least for the present I will assume that to be
the case. We are told also that there was a waste weir at one end
seventy-five feet wide and ten feet below the comb or top of the dam.
Now we are told that with this weir open and discharging freely to the
utmost of its capacity, nevertheless the pond or lake rose ten inches
per hour until finally it overflowed the top, and, as I understand, the
dam broke by being eaten away at the top.
Calculating the Amount of Water.
"Thus we have the elements for very simple calculation as to the amount
of water precipitated by the flood, provided these premises are
accurate. To raise 700 acres of water to a height of ten feet would
require about 300,000,000 cubic feet of water, and while this was rising
the waste dam would discharge an enormous volume--it would be difficult
to say just how much without a full knowledge of the shape of its side
walls, approaches and outlets--but if the rise required ten hours the
waste river might have discharged perhaps 90,000,000 cubic feet. We
would then have a total of flood-water of 390,000,000 cubic feet. This
would indicate a rainfall of about eight inches over the twenty-five
square miles. As that much does not appear to have fallen at the hotel
and dam it is more than likely that even more than eight inches were
precipitated in the places further up. These figures I hold tentatively,
but I am much inclined to believe that there was a cloud burst."
Six thousand men were at work on the ruins to-day. They are paid two
dollars a day, and have to earn it. The work seems to tell very little,
however, for the mass of debris is simply enormous. The gangs have
cleaned up the streets pretty thoroughly in the main part of the city,
from which the brick blocks were swept like card houses before a breeze.
The houses are pulled apart and burned in bonfires. Nowhere is anything
found worth saving.
It is not probable that the mass of debris at the bridge, by which the
water is tainted, can be removed in less than thirty days with the
greatest force possible to work on it. That particular job is under the
control of the State Board of Health. Every day adds to its seriousness.
The mass is being cleared by dynamite at the bridge where the current is
strongest, and the open place slowly grows larger. Not infrequently a
body is found after an explosion has loosened the wreckage.
So-called relief corps are still moving to and fro in the city, but the
most serious labor of many of the members is to carry a bright yellow
badge to aid them in passing the guards while sight-seeing. The militia
men are little better than ornamental. The guards do a good deal of
changing, to the annoyance of workers who want to get into the lines,
but they rarely stop any one. The soldiers do a vast deal of loafing. A
photographer who had his camera ready to take a view among the ruins was
arrested to-day and made to work for an hour by General Hastings'
order. When his stint was done he did not linger, but went at once.
Signs of Improvement.
"What is the condition of the valley now?" I asked Colonel Scott.
"It is improving with every hour. The perfect organization which has
been effected within the past day or two has gradually resolved all the
chaos and confusion into a semblance of order and regulation."
"Are many bodies being discovered now?"
"Very few; that is to say, comparatively few. Of course, as the waters
recede more and more between the banks, we have come upon bodies here
and there, as they were exposed to sight. The probabilities are that
there will be a great many bodies yet discovered under the rubbish that
covers the streets, and our hope and expectation is that the majority of
all the dead may be recovered and disposed of in a Christian manner."
"How about the movement to burn the rubbish, bodies and all?"
"I do not think that will be done--at least only as a last extremity.
While there is great anxiety in regard to the sanitary condition, all
possible precautions are being taken, and we hope to prevent any disease
until we shall have time to thoroughly overhaul the wreck.
Consideration for the Dead.
"The greatest consideration is being given to this matter of the
recovery of the dead and treatment of the bodies after discovery. I
think an impression has gone abroad that the dead are being handled here
very much as one would handle cord wood, but this is a great mistake. As
soon as possible after discovery they are borne from public gaze and
taken to the Morgue, where only persons who have lost relatives or
friends are admitted. Of course the general exclusion is not applied to
attendants, physicians and representatives of the press, but it is
righteously applied to careless sight-seers. We have no room for
sight-seers in Johnstown now. It is earnest workers and laborers we
want, and of these we can hardly have too many."
Speculating in Disaster.
Some long headed men are trying to make a neat little stake quietly out
of the disaster. A syndicate has been formed to buy up as much real
estate as possible in Johnstown, trusting to get a big block as they got
one to-day, for one-third of the valuation placed on it a week ago. The
members of the syndicate are keeping very much in the background and
conducting their business through a local agent.
I asked Adjutant General Hastings to-day what he thought of the
situation.
"It is very good so far as reported," was the reply. "Bodies are being
gradually recovered all the time, but of course not in the large number
of the first few days. Last night we arrested several ghouls that were
wandering amid the wreck on evil intent, and they were promptly taken to
the guard house. This morning they were given the choice of imprisonment
or going to work at two dollars a day, and they promptly chose the
latter. We are getting along very well in our work, and very little
tendency to lawlessness, I am happy to say, is observed."
Succor for the Living.
The Red Cross flag now flies over the society's own camp beside the
Baltimore and Ohio tracks, near the bridge to Kernville. The tents were
pitched this morning and the camp includes a large supply tent, mess
tent and offices. Miss Clara Barton, of Washington, is, of course, in
charge, and the work is being rapidly gotten into shape. I found Miss
Barton at the camp this morning.
"The Red Cross Society will remain here," she said, "so long as there is
any work to do. There is hardly any limit to what we will do. Much of
the present assistance that has been extended is, of course, impulsive
and ephemeral. When that is over there will still be work to do, and the
Red Cross Society will be here to do it. We are always the last to leave
the field.
"We need and can use to the greatest advantage all kinds of supplies,
and shall be glad to receive them. Money is practically useless here as
there is no place to buy what we need."
Dr. J. Wilkes O'Neill, of Philadelphia, surgeon of the First Regiment,
is here in charge of the Philadelphia division of the Red Cross Society.
He is assisted by a corps of physicians, nurses and attendants. Within
two hours after establishing the camp this morning about forty cases,
both surgical and medical, were treated. Diphtheria broke out in
Kernville to-day. Eleven cases were reported, eight of which were
reported to be malignant. The epidemic is sure to extend. There are also
cases of ulcerated tonsilitis. The patients are mostly those left
homeless by the flood and are fairly well situated in frame houses. The
doctors do not fear an epidemic of pneumonia. The Red Cross Society has
established a hospital camp in Grubbtown for the treatment of contagious
diseases. An epidemic of typhoid fever is feared, two cases having
appeared. The camp is well located in a pleasant spot near fine water.
It is supplied with cots, ambulances and some stores. They have an ample
supply of surgical stores, but need medical stores badly.
Serving Out the Rations.
At the commissary station at the Pennsylvania Railroad depot there was
considerable activity. A crowd of about one thousand people had gathered
about the place after the day's rations. The crowd became so great that
the soldiers had to be called up to guard the place until the Relief
Committee was ready to give out the provisions. Several carloads of
clothing arrived this morning and was to be disposed of as soon as
possible. The people were badly in need of clothing, as the weather had
been very chilly since Saturday.
B.F. Minnimun, a wealthy contractor of Springfield, Ohio, arrived this
forenoon with a despatch from Governor Foraker offering 2,000 trained
laborers for Johnstown, to be sent at once if needed. The despatch
further stated that if anything else was needed Ohio stood ready to
respond promptly to the call.
What Clara Barton Said.
"It is like a blow on the head; there are no tears, they are stunned;
but, ah, sir, I tell you they will awake after awhile and then the tears
will flow down the hills of this valley from thousands of bleeding
hearts, and there will be weeping and wailing such as never before."
That is what Clara Barton, president of the National Red Cross, said
this afternoon as she stood in a plain black gown on the bank of Stony
Creek directing the construction of the Red Cross tents, and she looked
motherly and matronly, while her voice was trembling with sympathy.
"You see nothing but that dazed, sickly smile that calamity leaves," she
went on, "like the crazy man wears when you ask him, 'How came you
here?' Something happened, he says, that he alone knows; all the rest is
blank to him. Here they give you that smile, that look and say 'I lost
my father, my mother, my sisters,' but they do not realize it yet. The
Red Cross intends to be here in the Conemaugh Valley when the pestilence
comes to them, and we are making ready with all our heart, with all our
soul, with all our strength. The militia, the railroad, the Relief
Committees and everybody is working for us. The railroad has completely
barricaded us so that none of our cars can be taken away by mistake."
When the great wave of death swept through Johnstown the people who had
any chance of escape ran hither and thither in every direction. They did
not have any definite idea where they were going, only that a crest of
foaming waters as high as the housetops was roaring down upon them
through the Conemaugh and that they must get out of the way of that.
Some in their terror dived into the cellars of their houses and
clambered over the adjoining roofs to places of safety. But the majority
made for the hills, which girt the town like giants. Of the people who
went to the hills, the water caught some in its whirl.
[Illustration: A WOMAN'S BODY LODGED IN A TREE.]
The others clung to trees and roots and pieces of debris which had
temporarily lodged near the banks, and managed to save themselves. These
people either stayed out on the hills wet, and in many instances walked
all night, or they managed to find farmhouses which sheltered them.
There was a fear of going back to the vicinity of the town. Even the
people whose houses the water did not reach abandoned their homes and
began to think of all of Johnstown as a city buried beneath the water.
But in the houses which were thus able to afford shelter there was not
food enough for all. Many survivors of the flood went hungry until the
first relief supplies arrived from Pittsburgh.
Struggling to Live Again.
From all this fright, destitution and exposure is coming a nervous
shock, culminating in insanity, pneumonia, fever and all the other forms
of disease. When these people came back to Johnstown on the day after
the wreck of the town they had to live in sheds, barns and in houses
which had been but partially ruined. They had to sleep without any
covering, in their wet clothes, and it took the liveliest kind of
skirmishing to get anything to eat. Pretty soon a citizen's committee
was established, and nearly all the male survivors of the flood were
immediately sworn in as deputy sheriffs. They adorned themselves with
tin stars, which they cut out of pieces of the sheets of metal in the
ruins, and pieces of tin with stars cut out of them are now turning up
continually, to the surprise of the Pittsburgh workmen who are
endeavoring to get the town in shape.
The women and children were housed, so far as possible, in the few
houses still standing, and some idea of the extent of the wreck of the
town may be gathered from the fact that of 300 prominent buildings only
16 are uninjured. For the first day or so people were dazed by what had
happened, and for that matter they are dazed still. They went about
helpless, making vague inquiries for their friends, and hardly feeling
the desire to eat anything. Finally the need of creature comforts
overpowered them and they woke up to the fact that they were faint and
sick.
Refugees in Their Own City.
Now this is to some extent changed by the arrival of tents and by the
systematic military care for the suffering. But the daily life of a
Johnstown man who is a refugee in his own city is still aimless and
wandering. His property, his home, in nine cases out of ten, his wife
and children, are gone. The chances are that he has hard work to find
the spot where he and his family once lived and were happy. He meditates
suicide, and even looks on the strangers who have flocked in to help him
and to put him and his town on their feet again with a kind of sullen
anger. He has frequent conflicts with the soldiers and with the
sight-seers, and he is crazy enough to do almost anything.
The first thing that Johnstown people do in the morning is to go to the
relief stations and get something to eat. They go carrying big baskets,
and their endeavor is to get all they can. There has been a new system
every day about the manner of dispensing the food and clothing to the
sufferers. At first the supplies were placed where people could help
themselves. Then they were placed in yards and handed to people over the
fences. Then people had to get orders for what they wanted from the
citizens' committee and their orders were filled at the different relief
stations. Now the matter has been arranged this way, and probably
finally. The whole matter of receiving and dispensing the relief
supplies has been placed in the hands of the Grand Army of the Republic
men.
Women Too Proud to Beg.
The Grand Army men have made the Adams Street Relief Station a central
relief station and all the others at Kernville, the Pennsylvania depot,
Cambria City and Jackson and Somerset Streets, sub-stations. The idea is
to distribute supplies to the sub-stations from the central station and
thus avoid the jam of crying and excited people at the committee's
headquarters. The Grand Army men have appointed a committee of women to
assist in their work. The women go from house to house ascertaining the
number of people lost from there in the flood and the exact needs of the
people. It was found necessary to have some such committee as this, for
there were women actually starving who were too proud to take their
places in lines with the other women with bags and baskets. Some of
these people were rich before the flood.
Now they are not worth a dollar. One man who was reported to be worth
$100,000 before the flood now is penniless and has to take his place in
the line along with others seeking the necessaries of life.
Though the Adams street station is now the central relief station, the
most imposing display of supplies is made at the Pennsylvania Railroad
freight and passenger depots. Here on the platform and in the yards are
piled up barrels of flour in long rows three and four barrels high.
Biscuits in cans and boxes by the carload, crackers under the railroad
sheds in bins, hams by the hundred strung on poles, boxes of soap and
candles, barrels of kerosene oil, stacks of canned goods and things to
eat of all sorts and kinds are here to be seen.
No Fear of a Food Famine.
The same sight is visible at the Baltimore and Ohio road and there is
now no fear of a food famine in Johnstown, though of course everybody
will have to rough it for weeks. What is needed most in this line are
cooking utensils. Johnstown people want stoves, kettles, pans, knives
and forks. All the things that have been sent so far have been sent with
the evident idea of supplying an instant need, and that is right and
proper. But it would be well now if instead of some of the provisions
that are sent, cooking utensils should arrive. Fifty stoves arrived from
Pittsburgh this morning, and it is said more are coming. At both the
depots where the supplies are received and stored a big rope line
encloses them in an impromptu yard so as to give room to those having
the supplies in charge to walk around and see what they have got. On
the inside of this line, too, stalk back and forth the soldiers with
their rifles on their shoulders, and by the side of the lines pressing
against the ropes there stands every day from daylight until dawn a
crowd of women with big baskets who make piteous appeals to the soldiers
to give them food for their children at once before the order of the
relief committee.
Where Death Rules.
The following letters from a young woman to her mother, written
immediately after the disaster at Johnstown from her home in New
Florence, a few miles west of that place, though not intended for
publication, picture in graphic manner the agony of suspense sustained
by those who escaped the flood, and give side pictures of the scenes
following the disaster. They were received in Philadelphia:
Hours of Suspense.
NEW FLORENCE, PA.--My Darling Mother: I am nearly crazed, and thought I
would try and be quiet and write to you, as it always comforts me to
feel you are near your child, though many miles are now between us. I
have said my prayers over and over again all day long, and to-night I am
going to spend in the watch-tower, and am trying to be quiet and brave,
although my heart is just wrung with anguish. Andrew sent me word from
Johnstown this afternoon about half-past three he was safe and would be
home shortly. Well, he has never come, and I have had many reports of
the work train, but no one seems to know anything definite about him. I
have telegraphed and telegraphed, but no news yet, and all I can find
out is he was seen on the bridge just before it went down. I am trying
to be brave.
Good News at Last.
SUNDAY MORNING.
You see, dearest mother, I could not write, and now I am happy, though
tired, for Andrew is home and safe, and I thank God for the great mercy
he has shown his child. I won't dwell on my anxiety, it can better be
imagined than described. From the letter I had from him at Johnstown,
written at 9 A.M. Friday, until 6.30 last evening, I never knew whether
he was living or dead. Thomas, our man, brought the news. God bless him,
and it nearly cost him his life to do it, poor man. Andrew got separated
from the party, and was close to the bridge when it was carried away,
but escaped by going up the mountain. He tried to signal to his men he
was safe, but could not make them see him, nor could those men that were
with him; all communication was impossible. Thomas left him at nine
o'clock Friday night on the mountain and tried to get home. He got a man
to ferry him across the river above Johnstown, and the boat was upset,
but all managed to get ashore, and Thomas walked all night and all
yesterday, and came straight to me and told me my husband was safe, and
an hour later I had a telegram from Andrew. He had walked from the
Conemaugh side to Bolivar. The bridge at Nineveh was the only bridge
left standing. He took the first train home from Bolivar and got home
about 9.30.
I telegraphed you in the morning, or rather Uncle Clem, that I was safe
and Andrew reported safe, though now they tell me every one here thought
he was lost and Thomas with him. Thomas's wife was met at the station
and informed of his death by some of the men, and six hours afterwards
Thomas came home, yet more dead than alive, poor man. It is very hard to
write, as all the country people and men have been here to tell me how
glad they are "I got my husband safely back, and that I am a powerful
sight lucky young woman." Well, mother darling, make your mind easy
about your children now. Andrew is safe and well, though pretty well
exhausted, and his feet are so sore and swollen he can hardly stand, and
can't wear anything but rubbers, as his mountain shoes he cut to pieces.
He left early this morning, but will be back to-night. I cannot begin to
tell you of the horrors, as the papers do not half picture the distress.
New Florence was not flooded, though some of the people left the place
on Friday night and went up on Squirrel Hill.
Scenes at the River.
I went down to the river once, and that was enough, as I knew Andrew
would not like me to see the sorrow, for which there was no help. I went
just after the bridge fell, saw Centreville flooded and the people make
a dash for the mountain. Yesterday two hundred and three bodies were
taken from the river near here, and yet every train takes away more. The
freight cars have taken nothing but human freight, and wagon load after
wagon load of dead bodies have been right in front of the house. There
was a child about Nellie's age, with light hair, dead in the wagon, with
her hands clasped, saying her prayers, and her blue eyes staring wide
open. By her side lay a man with a pipe in his mouth, naked children,
and a woman with a baby at her breast. Oh, the terror on their faces.
Two women and three men were rescued here, and a German family of
mother, four children and father. I had them all on my hands to look
after; no one could make them understand, and how I ever managed it I
don't know, but I did. They lost two children and their home, but had a
little money and were going to his brother's, at Hazleton. They got here
in the night and left at noon, and it would have done your heart good to
see them eat. One was a baby five weeks old.
Help Needed.
Now, mother, I want you to go around among the family and get me
everything in the way of clothes you possibly can, and get Uncle Clem to
express them to me. I should also like money, and as much as you can get
can be used. I am pretty well cleaned out of everything, as all the
cattle and stock have been lost and nothing can be bought here, and all
I have in the way of provisions is some preserves, chocolate, coffee,
olives and crackers. We can't starve, as we have the chickens. I got the
last meat from the butcher's yesterday, and he said he didn't expect to
have any more for a week, so I told Uncle Clem I would not mind having
two hams from Pittsburgh, and was very grateful for his telegram. I
telegraphed him in the morning; also, Uncle White at Germantown, so that
they might know I was all right, but from Auntie's telegram I judge
Uncle Clem's telegrams were the only ones that got through. If I find I
need provisions I will let you know, but do not think I will need
anything for myself, and the poor are being fed by the relief supplies,
and what is needed now is money and clothes.
Helpers.
There's not a house in the place that is not in trouble from the loss of
some dear one, nor one that does not hold or shelter some one or more of
the sufferers. Tell everybody anything you can get can be used, and by
the time you get this letter I will know of more cases to provide for,
so take everything you can get, and don't worry about me, for I am all
right now that Andrew is safe. This letter has been written by
instalments, as I have been interrupted so many times, so pardon the
abruptness of it, and please send it to Germantown, as I have too much
to do now. My hands and heart are both full. Milk is as scarce as wine,
as the pasturage was all on the other side, and cows were lost, and
bread is as scarce as can be, and, instead of a dozen eggs, we only get
one a day. I am proud of New Florence, as all it has done to help the
sufferers no one knows, and as for Mr. Bennett, he is one in a thousand.
Mr. Hay's son has worked like a Trojan. Tell Cousin Hannah that the new
tracks will be sure to be straight, as Andrew will superintend the
whole business. With heart full of love to one and all and a kiss to the
children. Lovingly,
BETT.
The Awful After Scenes.
NEW FLORENCE, Sunday Night.
My Darling Mother: This is my second letter to you to-day. It is after
11 o'clock, and one of the men has just brought me word that Andrew will
be home, he thought, by 1 o'clock; so I am waiting up for him, so as to
give him his dinner, and I have been through so much I cannot go to bed
until I know he is safe home again. I put him up a good lunch, and know
he cannot starve.
Oh the horrors of to-day! I have only had one pleasant Sunday here, and
that was the one after we were married. I have had a very busy day, as I
have been through our clothes, and routing out everything possible for
the sufferers and the dead, and the cry to-day for linen sheets, etc.,
was something awful. I have given away all my underclothes, excepting my
very best things--and all my old ones I made into face-cloths for the
dead. To-day they took five little children out of the water; they were
playing "Ring around a rosy," and their hands were clasped in a clasp
which even death did not loosen, and their faces were still smiling.
One man identified his wife among those who came ashore here, and Rose
said that he was nearly crazy, and that her face was the most beautiful
thing she ever saw, and that she had very handsome pearls in her ears
and was so young looking. The dead are all taken from here to Johnstown
and Nineveh and other places, where they will be most likely to be
identified; about thirty have been identified here and taken away. I
feel hardened to a great deal, and feel God has been so merciful to me I
must do all I can for the unfortunate ones. I hope soon to have some
help from you all, for I have given willingly of my little and my means
are exhausted. I expect we will have to live on ham and eggs next week,
but we are thankful to have that, as I would rather live low and give
all I can, than not to give. All I care about is that Andrew gets enough
to eat, as he needs a great deal to keep his strength up, working as
hard as he does. Now I will close as it is nearly time for him to be
home. Lovingly,
BETT.
Feeding the Hungry.
There are over 30,000 people at Johnstown who must be fed from the
outside world. Of these 18,000 are natives of the town that a week ago
had 29,500 inhabitants; all the others are dead or have gone away. Over
12,000 people are here clearing the streets, burying the dead, attending
the sick, and feeding and sheltering the homeless; all these people have
to be fed at least three times a day, for days are very long in
Johnstown just now. They begin at five o'clock in the morning, two hours
before the whistles in the half-mired Cambria Iron Company's building
blow, and end just about the time the sun is going down. If the people
who are on the outside and who are engaged in the labor of love of
sending the food that is keeping strength in Johnstown's tired arms and
the clothing that is covering her nakedness could understand the
situation as it is they would redouble their efforts. Johnstown cannot
draw on the country immediately around about her, for that was drained
days ago. To be safe, there should be a week's supply of food ahead. At
no time has there been a day's supply or anything like it.
A Crisis in the Commissary.
Twice within the last forty-eight hours the commissary department at the
Pennsylvania Railroad Depot, where nearly 10,000 people are furnished
with food, have been in a state of mind bordering on panic. They had run
out of food; people who had trudged down the hill with expectant faces
and empty baskets had to trudge back again with hearts heavy and baskets
still empty. That was the case on Wednesday night. Then the Citizens'
Committee had to send to the refugee camp, the smallest food station in
the city, and take away 1500 loaves of bread. The bread supply in the
central portion of the town had suddenly given out and there was a
clamoring crowd demanding to be fed.
The same thing happened again last night. It was not so bad as on the
night before, but there were anxious faces enough among the men under
the direction of Major Spangler, who realized the awful responsibility
of providing the mouths of the thousands with food. The supply had
given out, but fortunately not until almost everybody had been supplied.
Telegrams announced that eight carloads of provisions had been shipped
from the West and were somewhere in the line between Pittsburgh and
Johnstown. At midnight nothing could be heard of them. The delay was
maddening. If the food did not arrive it meant fully 10,000
breakfastless and possibly dinnerless people in Johnstown to-day, with
consequent suffering and possible disorder among the rough and rowdy
element.
The Danger Tided Over.
Before daylight the expected cars came in from Ohio and Pittsburgh and
the danger was over for the time being. This serves, however, to show
the perilous condition the town is in, living as it is in a
hand-to-mouth fashion. It should be remembered that the only direct
access to Johnstown from the West is by way of the Pennsylvania, which
is handicapped as she has never been before, and from the East and
South, of the Baltimore and Ohio. If the Pennsylvania were opened
through to the East a steady stream of 200 cars already loaded for the
sufferers would pour over the Alleghenies, but the Pennsylvania does not
see light ahead much more clearly than yesterday. The terrible breaks
and washouts will require days yet to repair, and supplies that come
from the interior of the State must come by means of wagons.
Crowding in the Supplies.
The Baltimore and Ohio is piling the supplies in to-day faster than the
men can unload them. In the neighborhood of 100 carloads were received.
The Pennsylvania during to-day has handled something like twenty-eight
carloads all told. In the way of food the articles most needed are
fresh, salt meats, sugar, rice, coffee, tea, and dried and canned
fruits. The supply of sugar gave out entirely to-day. Twenty thousand
pounds of Cincinnati hams arrived to-day and they melted like 20,000
pounds of ice beneath the scorching heat of this afternoon's sun. Much
of the clothing that is received here is new and serviceable, but
thousands of pieces are so badly worn that, to use the words of General
Axline, of Ohio, who is doing noble service here with the thousands of
other self-sacrificing men, "it is unfit to be worn by tramps." Many old
shoes with the soles half torn off have been received. Shoes are badly
needed at once or all Johnstown will be barefooted.
Eighteen Carloads of Relief.
Even in the rush of distribution the officials who have it in charge can
find time to say a hearty word of praise for those towns which have
contributed to the sufferers. Philadelphia's first installment was the
first to arrive from the East, and more goods have been coming in
steadily ever since. W.H. Tumblestone, the president of the Retail
Grocers' Association of Pennsylvania, who was appointed first lieutenant
of the Philadelphia relief by the Mayor, arrived here first. He set at
work handling coffins, but as soon as the first freight car of goods
arrived he was put in charge of their distribution and has been working
like threemen ever since. The eight freight cars from Philadelphia which
arrived with the relief party on Monday, at 4 o'clock, were distributed
from a great storehouse at the terminus of the Baltimore and Ohio
Railroad. The goods are carried in bulk from the cars to the warehouse
by a gang of twenty-eight men, who are identified by red flannel
hat-bands. When they fail to enthuse over their work Mr. Tumblestone
gets off his coat and shoves boxes himself.
[Illustration: DISTRIBUTING CLOTHING AND OTHER SUPPLIES.]
Distributing Supplies.
Inside the warehouse a score of volunteers and Pittsburgh policemen
break open the boxes and pile the goods in separate heaps; the women's
clothing, the men's, the children's and the different sizes being placed
in regular order. Then the barriers are opened and the crowd surges in
like depositors making a run on a savings bank. The police keep good
order and the ubiquitous Tumblestone and his assistants dole out the
goods to all who have orders. Special orders call for stoves, mattrasses
and blankets.
If the Philadelphians could see the faces of the people they are helping
before and after they have passed the distribution windows they would
feel well repaid for their visible sympathy. Chairman Scott says the
class of goods from Philadelphia have been of the highest quality. "We
have been delighted with the thought and excellence of the selections
and amiable nature of the contributions. The two miles of track lying
between here and Morrellville are still blocked with cars stretched from
one end to the other, and fresh arrivals are coming in daily over the
Baltimore and Ohio." Although it is impossible to say how much has been
received from Philadelphia, Mr. Tumblestone says that so far as many as
eighteen freight cars, each filled from the sides to the roof, have
arrived from the Quaker City, and their contents have been distributed.
How Rival Hotels were Crushed Together.
The principal hotels of the town were bunched in a group about the
corner of Main and Clinton streets. They were the Merchants', a large
old-fashioned, three-story tavern, with a stable yard behind, a relic of
staging days; the Hurlburt House, the leading hotel of the place, a fine
four-story brick structure with a mansard roof and all the latest
wrinkles in furnishing inside and out; the Fritz House, a narrow,
four-story structure, with an ornate front, and the Keystone, a smaller
hotel than any of the others.
These few inns stood in the path of the flood. The Hurlburt, the largest
and handsomest, was absolutely obliterated. The Keystone's ruin was next
in completion. It stood across Clinton Street from Fritz's, and Landlord
Charles West has not yet recovered from the surprise of seeing the rival
establishment thrown bodily across the street against his second story
front, tearing it completely out.
After the water subsided it fell back upon the pavement in front of its
still towering rival, and in the meantime Landlord West had saved mine
host of the Keystone and his family from the roof which was thrust in
his windows.
Back of Fritz's there was a little alley, which made a course for a part
of the torrent. Fully half a dozen houses were sent swimming in here.
They crushed their way through the small hotel's outhouses straight to
the rear of the Merchants', and sliced the walls off the old inn as a
hungry survivor to-day cut a Philadelphia cheese. You can see the
interior of the rooms. The beds were swept out into the flood, but a
lonesome wardrobe fell face downward on the floor and somehow escaped.
There are bodies under the rear wall. How many is not known, but
Landlord West, of Fritz's, says he is certain there were people on the
rear porch of the Merchants'. The story of Landlord West's rival being
thrown into his front windows has its parallels.
Colonel Higgins, the manager of the Cambria Club House, was in the third
story of the building with his family. Suddenly a man was hurled by the
torrent rapidly through the window. He was rescued, then fainted, and
upon inspection was found to have a broken leg. The leg was bandaged and
the man resuscitated, and when this last act of kindness was
accomplished he said faintly: "This ain't so bad. I've been in a
blow-up."
A Cool Request.
This remark showed the greatest sang-froid known to be exhibited during
the flood, but the most irreverent was that of an old man who was saved
by E.B. Entworth, of the Johnson works. On Saturday morning Mr. Entworth
rowed to a house near the flowing debris at the bridge, and found a
woman, with a broken arm, and a baby. After she had got into the boat
she cried: "Come along, grandpap." Whereupon an old man, chilled but
chipper, jumped up from the other side of the roof, slid down into the
boat, and ejaculated: "Gentlemen, can any of you give me a chew of
tobacco?"
Scenes Amid the Ruins.
One of the curious finds in the debris yesterday was two proofs from
cabinet-size negatives of two persons--a man and a woman. The prints
were found within two feet of each other in the ruins near the
Merchants' Hotel. They were immediately recognized as portraits of Mamie
Patton, formerly a Johnstown girl, and Charles DeKnight, once a Pullman
palace car conductor. The two were found dying together in a room in a
Pittsburgh hotel several months ago, the woman having shot the man and
then herself. She claimed that he was her husband. The dress in which
the picture showed her was the same that she wore when she killed
DeKnight.
Tracks that were Laid in a Hurry.
If Pennsylvania Railroad trains ever ran over tougher-looking tracks
than those used now through Johnstown it must have been before people
began to ride on it. The section from the north end of the bridge to the
railroad station has a grade that wabbles between 50 and 500 feet to the
mile and jerks back and forth sideways as though laid by a gang of
intoxicated men on a dark night. When the first engine went over it
everybody held his breath and watched to see it tumble. These
eccentricities are being straightened out, however, as fast as men and
broken stones can do it.
The railroad bridge at Johnstown deserves attention beyond that which it
is receiving on account of the way it held back the flood. It is one of
the most massive pieces of masonry ever set up in this country. In a
general way it is solid masonry of cut sandstone blocks of unusual size,
the whole nearly 400 feet long, forty wide, and averaging about forty
deep. Seven arches of about fifty feet span are pierced through it,
rising to within a few feet of the top and leaving massive piers down to
the rock beneath. As the bridge crosses the stream diagonally, the
arches pierce the mass in a slanting direction, and this greatly adds to
the heavy appearance of the bridge. There has been some disposition to
find fault with the bridge for being so strong, the idea being that if
it had gone out there would have been no heaping up of buildings behind
it, no fire, and fewer deaths. This is probably unfair, as there were
hundreds of persons saved when their houses were stopped against the
bridge by climbing out or being helped out upon the structure. If the
bridge had gone, too, the flood would have taken the whole instead of
only half of Cambria City.
Photographers Forced to Work.
The camera fiend has about ceased his wanderings. An order was issued
yesterday from headquarters to arrest and put to work the swarms of
amateur photographers who are to be found everywhere about the ruins.
Those who will not work are to be taken uptown under guard. This order
is issued to keep down the number of useless people and thus save the
fast diminishing provisions for the workers.
A man who stood on the bluff and saw the first wave of the flood come
down the valley tried to describe it. "I looked up," he said, "and saw
something that looked like a wall of houses and trees up the valley. The
next moment Johnstown seemed coming toward me. It was lifted right up
and in a minute was smashing against the bridge and the houses were
flying in splinters across the top and into the water beyond."
A 13-year-old girl, pretty and with golden hair, wanders about from
morgue to morgue looking for ten of a family of eleven, she being the
sole survivor.
There were half a dozen bulldogs in one house that was heaped up in the
wreck some distance above the bridge. They were loose among the debris,
and it is said by those who claim to have seen it that after fighting
among themselves they turned upon the people near them and were tearing
and biting them until the flames swept over the place.
Slow Time to Pittsburgh.
Irregular is a weak word for the manner in which passenger trains run
between this place and Pittsburgh. The distance is seventy miles and the
ordinary time is two hours. The train that left here at 4.30 yesterday
afternoon reached there at midnight. This is ordinarily good time
nowadays. A passage in five hours is an exceptional one.
Engine 1309, the one that faced the flood below Conemaugh and stood
practically unharmed, backed down to the station as soon as the tracks
were laid up to where it stood and worked all right. Only the oil cups
and other small fittings, with the headlight, were broken.
The superintendent of the Woodvale Woolen Mills, one of the Cambria Iron
Company's concerns, was one of the very few fortunate ones in that
little place. He and all his family got into the flouring mill just
below the woolen mill and upon the roof. The woolen mill was totally
wrecked, though not carried away, and the flouring mill was badly
damaged, but the roof held and all were saved. These two parts of the
mill were the only buildings left standing in Woodvale.
A man in Kernville, on Friday last, had jet black hair, moustache and
beard. That night he had a battle with the waters. On Saturday morning
his hair and beard began to turn gray, and they are now well streaked
with white. He attributes the change to his awful Friday night's
experience.
Wounds of the Dead.
It is the impression of the medical corps and military surgeons who
arrived here early in the week that hundreds, maybe thousands of men,
women and children were insensible to all horror on that awful
afternoon, just a week ago, before the waters of the valley closed in
over them. Their opinion is based on the fact that hundreds and hundreds
of the bodies already brought to light are terribly wounded somewhere,
generally on the head. In many instances the wounds are sufficient in
themselves to have caused death.
The crashing of houses together in the first mad rush of the flood with
a force greater than the collision of railroad trains making fast time,
and the hurling of timbers, poles, towers and boulders through the air
is believed to have caused a legion of deaths in an instant, before the
lost knew what was coming. Even the survivors bear testimony to this.
Surgeon Foster, of the 14th Regiment, who was first to have charge of
the hospital, tells how he treated long lines of men, women and children
for wounds too terrible to mention and they themselves know not how it
happened only that they fell in a moment. In connection with his
experience he speaks of the tender, yet heroic, work of four Sisters of
Mercy, two from Pittsburgh and two here, who went ahead of him down the
ranks of the wounded with sponges, chloroforming the suffering, before
his scalpel aid reached them. Sometimes there were a dozen victims ahead
of his knives.
Once these sisters stopped, for the first time showing horror, by a
great pile of dead children and infants on the river bank laid one on
top of the other. By one man each little body was seized and the
clothing quickly cut from it. Then he passed it to another, who washed
it in the river. Then a third man took it in the line of the dead. But
the Sisters of Mercy saw they were too late there, and passed on among
the living.
Most of the Pennsylvania Railroad passengers who left Pittsburgh for the
East last Friday and were caught in the flood in the Conemaugh Valley
reached Philadelphia in a long special train at 5 o'clock Friday
morning, June 7th, after a week of adventure, peril and narrow escapes
which none of them will ever forget. A few of their number who lost
presence of mind when the flood struck the train were drowned. The
survivors are unanimous in their appreciation of the kindness shown them
by Pennsylvania officials, and in their praise of the hospitality and
generosity of the country folk, among whom they found homes for three
days. The escapes in some instances seem miraculous.
An hour before the flood the first section of the day express stopped at
Conemaugh City, about ten miles below the dam at South Fork, on account
of a washout farther up the valley. The second section of the express
and another passenger train soon overtook the first and half an hour
before the dam broke all these trains stood abreast on the four-track
road. The positions now occupied seems providential. If the railroad men
had foreseen the disaster they could not have shown greater prudence,
for the engine of the first section of the express, on the track nearest
the mountain side, stood about a car's length ahead of the second. The
engine of the third train came to a stop a car's length behind the
second and on the outer track, which was within a few feet of the
swollen Conemaugh River, stood a heavily laden freight train.
When the flood came it struck the slanting front of the four
locomotives. Most of the passengers had, in the meantime, escaped up the
mountain side. Three of the locomotives were carried down by the
irresistible torrent, but the fourth turned on its side and was soon
buried under sand, tree trunks and other debris. This served as a
breakwater for the flood and accounts for the fact that the trains of
cars were not reduced to kindling wood while the railroad roundhouse and
its twelve locomotives, a little farther down the valley, was taken up
bodily, broken into fragments and its mighty inmates carried like chips
for miles down the valley.
Weary Passengers.
From end to end of the train, upon its arrival at Philadelphia, there
was an aspect of absolute exhaustion, varied in its expression according
to the individual. Phlegmatic men lay upon their backs, across the
seats, with their legs dangling in the aisles. One might send them
spinning round or toss their feet out of the passage, and their worn
faces showed no more sign than if they were lifeless. Women lay swathed
in veils and wraps, sometimes alone, sometimes huddled together, and
sometimes guarded by the arms of their husbands--husbands who themselves
had given way and slept as heavily as if dosed with narcotics.
But here and there is the typical American girl, full of nerve. She is
worn out, too, but sleeps only fitfully, starting up at every sound and
dropping uneasily off again. Now and then one encountered the man and
woman of restless temperament, whose sleepless eyes looked out thinking,
thinking--thinking on the trees and grass and bushes, faintly showing
form now in the gray light of the very earliest dawn.
Childhood's Peaceful Sleep.
In the midst of it all a girl of six or seven, with a light shawl thrown
over her figure, slept as peacefully as if she lay in the comfortable
embrace of her own crib at home. She was little Bertha Reed, who had
been sent out from Chicago in the care of the conductor on a trip to
Brooklyn, where she was to meet her aunt. At Pittsburgh she was taken in
charge by a Miss Harvey, a relative. She was a passenger on the Chicago
limited, the last train to get safely across the bridge at South Fork.
She was a model of patience and cheerfulness through all the discomforts
and drawbacks of the voyage, and her innocent prattle made every man and
woman love her.
It might have been supposed that if one were to waken any of these
sleeping passengers to obtain their names and ask them of the disaster
they might surlily have resented it. But they didn't. Now and then one
of them would half-sleepily hand out his ticket under the mistaken
notion that the reporter was the conductor. Another shake brought them
round and they answered everything as kindly as if the unavoidable
breaking in upon their comfort were a matter of no concern whatever.
Sometimes it would seem that great sorrow must have a chastening effect
upon everyone.
From All Parts of the World.
It was a strange gathering altogether, and made one think again of the
remark so often repeated in "No Thoroughfare," "How small the world is."
All the ends of the earth had sent their people to meet at the disaster,
and the tide of human life flows on as recklessly as the current of any
sea or river. Here weary, sleepy and sad, was Jacob Schmidt, of Aspen,
Col. He had been a passenger on the Pittsburgh day express. He was
standing on the platform when the flood came and by a lurching of the
car he was thrown into the boiling torrent. He managed to seize a
floating plank and was saved, but all his money and other valuables were
lost. That was a particularly hard loss to him, because he was on his
way to South Africa to seek his fortune. Behind him was R.B. Jones, who
had come from the other side of the globe; in particular from Sydney,
Australia, and met the others at Altoona. He was on the way for a visit
to his parents in York County. He was on the Chicago Limited and just
escaped the danger.
In a front car was Peter Sherman, of Pawtucket, R.I. He was tall and
broad shouldered and his sun-browned face was shaded by a big soft hat.
He was on his way from Texarkana, way down in Texas, and he too was at
Conemaugh. He was a passenger on the first section of the day express.
He had not slept a wink on the way down from Altoona, and he told his
story spiritedly. He said: "I heard a voice in the car crying the
reservoir is burst; run for your lives! I got up and made a rush for the
door. A poor little cripple with two crutches sat in front of me and
screamed to me to save him or he would be drowned. I grabbed him up
under one arm and took his crutches with my free hand. As we stepped
from the car the water was coming. I made my way up the hill toward a
church. The water swooped down on us and was soon up to my knees. I told
the cripple I could not carry him further; that we should both be lost.
He screamed to me again to save him, but the water was gaining rapidly
on us. He had a grip of my arm, but finally let go, and I laid him,
hopefully, on the wooden steps of a house. I managed to reach the high
land just in time. I never saw the cripple afterwards, but I learned
that he was drowned."
A Great Loss.
A tall, heavily built man, with tattered garments, walked along the
platform with the help of a cane. His face was covered with a beard, and
his head was bowed so that his chin almost touched his breast. One foot
was partially covered by a cut shoe, while on the other foot he wore a
boot from which the heel was missing. This was Stephen Johns, a foreman
at the Johnson Steel Rail Works at Woodvale. He was a big, strong man,
but his whole frame trembled as he said: "Yes, I am from Johnstown. I
lost my wife and three children there, so I thought I would leave."
It was only by the greatest effort that Mr. Johns kept the tears back.
He then told his experience in this way: "I was all through the war. I
was at Fair Oaks, at Chancellorsville, in the Wilderness, and many other
battles, but never in my life was I in such a hot place as I was on
Friday night. I don't know how I escaped, but here am I alone, wife and
children gone. I was at the office of the company on Friday. We had been
receiving telephonic messages all morning that the dam was unsafe. No
one heeded them. I did not know anything about the dam. The bookkeeper
said there was not enough water up there to flood the first floor of the
office. I thought he knew, so I didn't send my family to the hills.
"I don't know what time it was in the afternoon that I saw the flood
coming down the valley. I was standing at the gate. Looking up the
valley I saw a great white crowd moving down upon us. I made a dash for
home to try to get my wife and children to the hills. I saw them at the
windows as I ran up to the house. That is the last time I ever saw their
faces. No sooner had I got into the house than the flood struck the
building. I was forced into the attic. It was a brick house with a slate
roof. I had intended to keep very cool, but I suppose I forgot all about
that.
Swept Down the Stream.
"It seemed a long time, but I suppose it was not more than a second
before the house gave way and went tumbling down the stream. It turned
over and over as it was washed along. I was under the water as often as
I was above it. I could hear my wife and children praying, although I
could not see them. I did not pray. They were taken and I was left for
some purpose, I suppose. My house finally landed up against the stone
railway bridge. I was then pinned down to the floor by a heavy rafter or
something. Somehow or other I was lifted from the floor and thrown
almost out upon the bridge. Then some people got hold of me and pulled
me out and took me over to a brickyard. My eyes and nose were full of
cinders. After I reached the brickyard I vomited fully a pint of cinders
which I had swallowed while coming through that awful stream of water. I
can't tell you what it was like. No one can understand it unless he or
she passed through it."
"Did you find your wife and children?"
"No. I searched for them all of Saturday, Sunday and Monday, but could
find no trace of them. I think they must have been among those who
perished in the fire at the bridge. I would have staid there and worked
had it not been the place was so near my old home that I could not stand
it. I thought I would be better off away from there where I could not
see anything to recall that horrible sight."
How the Survivors Live.
With a view of showing the character of living in and about Johnstown,
how the people pass each day and what the conveniences and deprivations
of domestic life experienced under the new order of things so suddenly
introduced by the flood are, an investigation of a house-to-house nature
was made to-day. As a result, it was noted that the degrees of comfort
varied with the people as the types of human nature. As remarked by a
visitor:
"The calamity has served to bring to the surface every phase of
character in man, and to bring into development traits that had before
been but dormant. Generally speaking all are on the same footing so far
as need can be concerned. Whether houses remain to them or not, all the
people have to be fed, for even should they have money, cash is of no
account, provisions cannot be bought; people who still have homes nearly
all of them furnish quarters for some of the visitors. Militia officers,
committeemen, workmen, &c., must depend upon the supply stations for
food."
At Prospect.
The best preserved borough adjoining Johnstown is Prospect, with its
uniformly built gray houses, rising tier upon tier against the side of
the mountain, at the north of Johnstown. There are in the neighborhood
of 150 homes here, and all look as if but one architect designed them.
They are large, broad gabled, two-story affairs, with comfortable
porches, extending all the way across the front, each being divided by
an interior partition, so as to accommodate two families. The situation
overlooked the entire shoe-shaped district, heretofore described.
Nearly every householder in Prospect is feeding not only his own family,
but from two to ten others, whom he has welcomed to share what he has.
Said one of these "We are all obliged to go to the general department
for supplies, for we could not live otherwise. Our houses have not been
touched, but we have given away nearly everything in the way of
clothing, except what we have on. There were two little stores up here,
but we purchased all they had long ago. It does not matter whether the
people are rich or poor, they are all compelled to take their chances.
In Prospect are the quarters of the Americus Club, of Pittsburgh, an
organization which is widely spoken of as having distinguished itself by
furnishing meals to any and every hungry person who applied."
An Incident.
As two newspaper men were about to descend the hill, after visiting a
number of points, a little woman approached and made an inquiry about
the running of trains. She was one of the survivors and wished to reach
Clearfield, where her grown-up sons were. "I'd walk it if I could," she
said, "but it's too far, and I'm too old now." She was living with her
friends, who have taken care of her since her home was swept away.
A Distributing Point.
At the base of the long flight of wooden steps that lead to Prospect is
the path extending across to the Pennsylvania Railroad station. Here is
one of the principal distributing points. Three times each day a
remarkable sight is here to be witnessed. Along the track at the eastern
end, from the station platform back as far as the freight house,
standing upon railroad ties, resting upon piles of lumber, and trying to
hold their places in the line of succession in any position possible,
crowds of people wait to be served. Aged, decrepit men and women and
little girls and boys hold baskets, boxes, tin cans, wooden buckets, or
any receptacle handy in which they may carry off provisons for the day.
Sad Sights.
The women have, many of them, tattered or ill-fitting clothing, taken at
random when the first supply of this character arrived, their heads
covered with thin shawls or calico sun shades. They stand there in the
chilly morning wind that blows through the valley along the mountains,
patiently waiting their turn at the provision table, making no complaint
of cold feet and chilled bodies. In the line are people who, ten days
ago, had sufficient of this world's goods to enable them to live
comfortably the remainder of their lives. They are massed in solidly.
Guards of soldiers stand at short intervals to keep them back and
preserve the lines, and sentries march up and down the entire length of
the station challenging the approach of any one who desires to pass
along the platform. For a distance of about one hundred feet to the
railroad signal tower are piled barrels of flour, boxes of provisions,
and supplies of all descriptions. Under the shed of the station an
incongruous collection of clothing is being arranged to allow of
convenient distribution. While they waited for the signal to commence
operations, a guard entered into conversation with a woman in the line.
She was evidently telling a story of distress, for the guard looked
about hastily to a spot where canned meats and bread were located and
made a movement as if to obtain a supply for the woman, but the eyes of
brother soldiers and a superior officer were upon him and he again
assumed his position. It is said to be not unusual for the soldiers,
under cover of dusk, to overstep their duty in order to serve some
applicant who, through age or lack of physical strength, is poorly
equipped to bear the strain. All sorts of provisions are asked for. One
woman asks boldly for ham, canned chicken, vegetables and flour. Another
approaches timidly and would be glad to have a few loaves of bread and a
little coffee.
No Discrimination.
Before complete system was introduced complaint was made of
discrimination by those dealing out supplies, but under the present
order of things the endeavor is made to treat everybody impartially.
Provisions are given out in order, so that imposition is avoided. It
would seem that there could be no imposition in any case, however. The
people who are here, and who are able to get within the lines at all,
have a reason for their presence, and this is not curiosity. They are
here for anything but entertainment, and there is no possibility of
purchasing supplies. All must needs apply at the commissary department.
A big distributing point for clothing is at the Baltimore and Ohio
Railroad station, in the Fourth Ward, known as Harpville, on the east
bank of the Stony creek. A rudely constructed platform extends over a
washed-out ditch, partially filled with debris. In the vicinity is a
large barn and several smaller outhouses, thrown in a tumble-down
condition. Piled against them are beams and rafters from houses smashed
into kindling wood. All about the station are boxes, empty and full,
scattered in confusion, and around and about these crowds are clustered
as best they can. A big policeman stands upon a raised platform made of
small boxes, and as he is supplied with goods from the station he throws
about in the crowds socks, shoes, dresses, shirts, pantaloons, etc.,
guessing as rapidly as possible at proportion and speedily getting rid
of his bundle. Around the corner, on a street running at right angles
with the tracks, is the provision department. These two are sample
stations. They are scattered about at convenient points, and number
about ten in all.