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 DEDICATION.


 TO THE
 SURVIVING SUFFERERS
 OF THE
 APPALLING CALAMITY AT JOHNSTOWN
 AND
 NEIGHBORING VILLAGES
 THIS WORK
 WHICH RELATES THE THRILLING STORY
 OF THE GREAT DISASTER
 IS DEDICATED.




 THE
 JOHNSTOWN HORROR!!!

 OR

 VALLEY OF DEATH,

 BEING

 A COMPLETE AND THRILLING ACCOUNT OF THE AWFUL
 FLOODS AND THEIR APPALLING RUIN,

 CONTAINING

 Graphic Descriptions of the Terrible Rush of Waters; the
 great Destruction of Houses, Factories, Churches, Towns,
 and Thousands of Human Lives; Heartrending Scenes
 of Agony, Separation of Loved Ones, Panic-stricken
 Multitudes and their Frantic
 Efforts to Escape a Horrible Fate.

 COMPRISING

 THRILLING TALES OF HEROIC DEEDS; NARROW ESCAPES
 FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH; FRIGHTFUL HAVOC BY
 FIRE; DREADFUL SUFFERINGS OF SURVIVORS;
 PLUNDERING BODIES OF VICTIMS, ETC.

 TOGETHER WITH

 Magnificent Exhibitions of Popular Sympathy; Quick
 Aid from every City and State; Millions of Dollars
 Sent for the Relief of the Stricken Sufferers.


 By JAMES HERBERT WALKER,
 THE WELL KNOWN AUTHOR.


 FULLY ILLUSTRATED WITH SCENES OF THE GREAT CALAMITY.


 H.J. SMITH & CO.,
 249 South Sixth St., Philadelphia

 CHICAGO, ILL.:
 NOS. 341-351 DEARBORN ST.

 KANSAS CITY, MO.:
 NO. 614 EAST SIXTH ST.

 OAKLAND, CAL.
 NO. 1605 TELEGRAPH AVE.

COPYRIGHTED, 1889.




PREFACE


The whole country has been profoundly startled at the Terrible Calamity
which has swept thousands of human beings to instant death at Johnstown
and neighboring villages. The news came with the suddenness of a
lightning bolt falling from the sky. A romantic valley, filled with busy
factories, flourishing places of business, multitudes of happy homes and
families, has been suddenly transformed into a scene of awful
desolation. Frightful ravages of Flood and Fire have produced in one
short hour a destruction which surpasses the records of all modern
disasters. No calamity in recent times has so appalled the civilized
world. What was a peaceful, prosperous valley a little time ago is
to-day a huge sepulchre, filled with the shattered ruins of houses,
factories, banks, churches, and the ghastly corpses of the dead.

This book contains a thrilling description of this awful catastrophe,
which has shocked both hemispheres. It depicts with graphic power the
terrible scenes of the great disaster, and relates the fearful story
with masterly effect.

The work treats of the great storm which devastated the country,
deluging large sections, sweeping away bridges, swelling rivulets to
rivers, prostrating forests, and producing incalculable damage to life
and property; of the sudden rise in the Conemaugh River and tributary
streams, weakening the dam thrown across the fated valley, and
endangering the lives of 50,000 people; of the heroic efforts of a
little band of men to stay the flood and avert the direful calamity; of
the swift ride down the valley to warn the inhabitants of their
impending fate, and save them from instant death; of the breaking away
of the imprisoned waters after all efforts had failed to hold them back;
of the rush and roar of the mighty torrent, plunging down the valley
with sounds like advancing thunder, reverberating like the booming of
cannon among the hills; of the frightful havoc attending the mad flood
descending with incredible velocity, and a force which nothing could
resist; of the rapid rise of the waters, flooding buildings, driving the
terrified inhabitants to the upper stories and roofs in the desperate
effort to escape their doom; of hundreds of houses crashing down the
surging river, carrying men, women and children beyond the hope of
rescue; of a night of horrors, multitudes dying amid the awful terrors
of flood and fire, plunged under the wild torrent, buried in mire, or
consumed in devouring flames; of helpless creatures rending the air with
pitiful screams crying aloud in their agony, imploring help with
outstretched hands, and finally sinking with no one to save them.

Whole families were lost and obliterated, perishing together in a watery
tomb, or ground to atoms by floating timbers and wreck; households were
suddenly bereft--some of fathers, others of mothers, others of children,
neighbors and friends; frantic efforts were made to rescue the victims
of the flood, render aid to those who were struggling against death, and
mitigate the terrors of the horrible disaster. There were noble acts of
heroism, strong men and frail women and children putting their own lives
in peril to save those of their loved ones.

The terrible scene at Johnstown bridge, where thousands were consumed
was the greatest funeral pyre known in the history of the world. It was
ghastly work--that of recovering the bodies of the dead; dragging them
from the mire in which they were imbedded, from the ruins in which they
were crushed, or from the burning wreck which was consuming them.
Hundreds of bodies were mutilated and disfigured beyond the possibility
of identifying them, all traces of individual form and features utterly
destroyed. There were multitudes of corpses awaiting coffins for their
burial, putrefying under the sun, and filling the air with the sickening
stench of death. There were ghouls who robbed the bodies of the victims,
stripping off their jewels--even cutting off fingers to obtain rings,
and plundering pockets of their money.

Summary vengeance was inflicted upon prowling thieves; some of whom were
driven into the merciless waters to perish, while others were shot or
hanged by the neck until they were dead. The burial of hundreds of the
known and unknown, without minister or obsequies, without friend or
mourner, without surviving relatives to take a last look or shed a tear,
was one of the appalling spectacles. There was the breathless suspense
and anxiety of those who feared the worst, who waited in vain for news
of the safety of their friends, and at last were compelled to believe
that their loved ones had perished.

The terrible shock attending the horrible accounts of the great
calamity, was followed by the sudden outburst and exhibition of
universal grief and sympathy. Despatches from the President, Governors
of States, and Mayors of Cities, announced that speedy aid would be
furnished. The magnificent charity that came to the rescue with millions
of dollars, immense contributions of food and clothing, personal
services and heroic efforts, is one impressive part of this graphic
story. Rich and poor alike gave freely, many persons dividing their last
dollar to aid those who had lost their all.

These thrilling scenes are depicted, and these wonderful facts are
related, in THE JOHNSTOWN HORROR, by eye-witnesses who saw the fatal
flood and its direful effects. No book so intensely exciting has ever
been issued. The graphic story has an awful fascination, and will be
read throughout the land.




CONTENTS.


                                                                  PAGE
 CHAPTER I.

 The Appalling News,                                                17


 CHAPTER II.

 Death and Desolation,                                              50


 CHAPTER III.

 The Horrors Increase,                                              74


 CHAPTER IV.

 Multiplication of Terrors,                                        104


 CHAPTER V.

 The Awful Work of Death,                                          116


 CHAPTER VI.

 Shadows of Despair,                                               129


 CHAPTER VII.

 Burial of the Victims,                                            146


 CHAPTER VIII.

 Johnstown and its Industries,                                     154


 CHAPTER IX.

 A View of the Wreck,                                              164


 CHAPTER X.

 Thrilling Experiences,                                            182


 CHAPTER XI.

 New Tales of Horror,                                              208


 CHAPTER XII.

 Pathetic Scenes,                                                  246


 CHAPTER XIII.

 Digging for the Dead,                                             270


 CHAPTER XIV.

 Hairbreadth Escapes,                                              288


 CHAPTER XV.

 Terrible Pictures of Woe,                                         334


 CHAPTER XVI.

 Stories of the Flood,                                             380


 CHAPTER XVII.

 One Week after the Great Disaster,                                432


 CHAPTER XVIII.

 A Walk Through the Valley of Death,                               455


 CHAPTER XIX.

 A Day of Work and Worship,                                        479


 CHAPTER XX.

 Millions of Money for Johnstown,                                  489

[Illustration: RECOVERING THE BODIES OF VICTIMS.]

[Illustration: THE BREAK IN THE SOUTH FORKS DAM.]

[Illustration: IN THE PACK-SADDLE, ON THE CONEMAUGH, PENNSYLVANIA
RAILROAD.]

[Illustration: RUINS IN MAIN STREET, JOHNSTOWN.]

[Illustration: A GRAVEL-TRAIN RUNS AWAY FROM THE ADVANCING FLOOD.]

[Illustration: IMMENSE GAP IN THE BROKEN DAM, AS SEEN FROM THE INSIDE.]

[Illustration: FRIGHTFUL STRUGGLES FOR LIFE.]

[Illustration: THE FLOOD STRIKES THE CAMBRIA IRON WORKS.]

[Illustration: HOUSES AND HUMAN BEINGS LOST IN THE FLOOD.]

[Illustration: TEARING DOWN HOUSES IN JOHNSTOWN.]

[Illustration: SOLDIERS GUARDING A HUNGARIAN THIEF.]

[Illustration: DISTRIBUTING RELIEF AT THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD
STATION.]

[Illustration: IDENTIFYING THE DEAD.]

[Illustration: RELIEF CORPS CROSSING THE ROPE BRIDGE.]

[Illustration: SEARCHING FOR LOST RELATIVES.]

[Illustration: MAIN STREET, JOHNSTOWN, IN FRONT OF MERCHANT'S HOTEL.]

THE JOHNSTOWN HORROR

or

Valley of Death.




CHAPTER I.

The Appalling News.


On the advent of Summer, June 1st, the country was horror-stricken by
the announcement that a terrible calamity had overtaken the inhabitants
of Johnstown, and the neighboring villages. Instantly the whole land was
stirred by the startling news of this great disaster. Its appalling
magnitude, its dreadful suddenness, its scenes of terror and agony, the
fate of thousands swept to instant death by a flood as frightful as that
of the cataract of Niagara, awakened the profoundest horror. No calamity
in the history of modern times has so appalled the civilized world.

The following graphic pen-picture will give the reader an accurate idea
of the picturesque scene of the disaster:

Away up in the misty crags of the Alleghanies some tiny rills trickle
and gurgle from a cleft in the mossy rocks. The drippling waters, timid
perhaps in the bleak and lonely fastness of the heights, hug and coddle
one another until they flash into a limpid pool. A score of rivulets
from all the mountain side babble hither over rocky beds to join their
companions. Thence in rippling current they purl and tinkle down the
gentle <DW72>s, through bosky nooks sweet with the odors of fir tree and
pine, over meads dappled with the scarlet snap-dragon and purple heath
buds, now pausing for a moment to idle with a wood encircled lake, now
tumbling in opalescent cascade over a mossy lurch, and then on again in
cheerful, hurried course down the Appalachian valley.

None stays their way. Here and there perhaps some thrifty Pennsylvania
Dutchman coaxes the saucy stream to turn his mill-wheel and every league
or so it fumes and frets a bit against some rustic bridge. From these
trifling tourneys though, it emerges only the more eager and impetuous
in its path toward the towns below.


The Fatal River.

Coming nearer, step by step, to the busy haunts of men, the dashing
brook takes on a more ambitious air. Little by little it edges its
narrow banks aside, drinks in the waters of tributaries, swells with the
copious rainfall of the lower valley. From its ladder in the Alleghanies
it catches a glimpse of the steeples of Johnstown, red with the glow of
the setting sun. Again it spurts and spreads as if conscious of its new
importance, and the once tiny rill expands into the dignity of a river,
a veritable river, with a name of its own. Big with this sounding symbol
of prowess it rushes on as if to sweep by the teeming town in a flood of
majesty. To its vast surprise the way is barred. The hand of man has
dared to check the will of one that up to now has known no curb save
those the forest gods imposed. For an instant the waters, taken aback by
this strange audacity, hold themselves in leash. Then, like erl-king in
the German legends, they broaden out to engulf their opponent. In vain
they surge with crescent surface against the barrier of stone. By day,
by night, they beat and breast in angry impotence against the ponderous
wall of masonry that man has reared, for pleasure and profit, to stem
the mountain stream.


The Awful Rush of Waters.

Suddenly, maddened by the stubborn hindrance, the river grows black and
turgid. It rumbles and threatens as if confident of an access of
strength that laughs at resistance. From far up the hillside comes a
sound, at first soft and soothing as the fountains of Lindaraxa, then
rolling onward it takes the voluminous quaver of a distant waterfall.
Louder and louder, deeper and deeper, nearer and nearer comes an awful
crashing and roaring, till its echoes rebound from the crags of the
Alleghanies like peals of thunder and boom of cannon.

On, on, down the steep valley trumpets the torrent into the river at
Jamestown. Joined to the waters from the cloud kissed summits of its
source, the exultant Conemaugh, with a deafening din, dashes its way
through the barricade of stone and starts like a demon on its path of
destruction.

Into its maw it sucks a town. A town with all its hundreds of men and
women and children, with its marts of business, its homes, its factories
and houses of worship. Then, insatiate still, with a blast like the
chaos of worlds dissolved, it rushes out to new desolation, until Nature
herself, awe stricken at the sight of such ineffable woe, blinds her
eyes to the uncanny scene of death, and drops the pall of night upon the
earth.


Destruction Descended as a Bolt of Jove.

A fair town in a western valley of Pennsylvania, happy in the arts of
peace and prospering by its busy manufactures, suddenly swept out of
existence by a gigantic flood and thousands of lives extinguished as by
one fell stroke--such has been the fate of Johnstown.

Never before in this country has there happened a disaster of such
appalling proportions. It is necessary to refer to those which have
occurred in the valleys of the great European rivers, where there is a
densely crowded population, to find a parallel.


The Horrors Unestimated.

At first the horror was not all known. It could only be imperfectly
surmised. Until a late hour on the following night there was no
communication with the hapless city. All that was positively known of
its fate was seen from afar. It was said that out of all the
habitations, which had sheltered about twelve thousand people before
this awful doom had befallen, only two were visible above the water. All
the rest, if this be true, had been swallowed up or else shattered into
pieces and hurled downward into the flood-vexed valley below.

What has become of those twelve thousand inhabitants? Who can tell until
after the waters have wholly subsided?

Of course it is possible that many of them escaped. Much hope is to be
built upon the natural exaggeration of first reports from the sorely
distressed surrounding region and the lack of actual knowledge, in the
absence of direct communication. But what suspense must there be between
now and the moment when direct communication shall be opened!


Heedless of Fate.

The valley of the Conemaugh in which Johnstown stood lies between the
steep walls of lofty hills. The gathering of the rain into torrents in
that region is quick and precipitate. The river on one side roared out
its warning, but the people would not take heed of the danger impending
over them on the other side--the great South Fork dam, two and a half
miles up the valley and looming one hundred feet in height from base to
top. Behind it were piled the waters, a great, ponderous mass, like the
treasured wrath of fate. Their surface was about three hundred feet
above the deserted town.

If Noah's neighbors thought it would be only a little shower the people
of Johnstown were yet more foolish. The railroad officials had
repeatedly told them that the dam threatened destruction. They still
perversely lulled themselves into a false security. The blow came, when
it did, like a flash. It was as if the heavens had fallen in liquid fury
upon the earth. It was as if ocean itself had been precipitated into an
abyss. The slow but inexorable march of the mightiest glacier of the
Alps, though comparable, was not equal to this in force. The whole of a
Pyramid, shot from a colossal catapult, would not have been the petty
charge of a pea shooter to it. Imagine Niagara, or a greater even than
Niagara, falling upon an ordinary collection of brick and wooden houses.


An Inconceivable Force.

The South Fork Reservoir was the largest in the United States, and it
contained millions of tons of water. When its fetters were loosened,
crumbling before it like sand, a building or even a rock that stood in
its path presented as much resistance as a card house. The dread
execution was little more than the work of an instant.

The flood passed over the town as it would over a pile of shingles,
covering over or carrying with it everything that stood in its way. It
bounded down the valley, wreaking destruction and death on each hand and
in its fore. Torrents that poured down out of the wilds of the mountains
swelled its volume.

All along from the point of its release it bore debris and corpses as
its hideous trophies. In a very brief time it displayed some of both, as
if in hellish glee, to the horrified eyes of Pittsburg, seventy-eight
miles west of the town of Johnstown that had been, having danced them
along on its exultant billows or rolled them over and over in the depths
of its dark current all the way through the Conemaugh, the Kiskiminitas
and the Allegheny river.

It was like a fearful monster, gnashing its dripping jaws in the scared
face of the multitude, in the flesh of its victims.

One eye-witness of the effects of the deluge declares that he saw five
hundred dead bodies. Hundreds were counted by others. It will take many
a day to make up the death roll. It will take many a day to make up the
reckoning of the material loss.

If any pen could describe the scenes of terror, anguish and destruction
which have taken place in Conemaugh Valley it could write an epic
greater than the "Iliad." The accounts that come tell of hairbreadth
escapes, heartrending tragedies and deeds of heroism almost without
number.


A Climax of Horror.

As if to add a lurid touch of horror to the picture that might surpass
all the rest a conflagration came to mock those who were in fear of
drowning with a death yet more terrible. Where the ruins of Johnstown,
composed mainly of timber, had been piled up forty feet high against a
railroad bridge below the town a fire was started and raged with eager
fury. It is said that scores of persons were burned alive, their
piercing cries appealing for aid to hundreds of spectators who stood on
the banks of the river, but could do nothing.

Western Pennsylvania is in mourning. Business in the cities is virtually
suspended and all minds are bent upon this great horror, all hearts
convulsed with the common sorrow.


Heartrending Scenes and Heroic Struggles for Life.

Another eye-witness describes the calamity as follows: A flood of death
swept down the Alleghany Mountains yesterday afternoon and last night.
Almost the entire city of Johnstown is swimming about in the rushing,
angry tide. Dead bodies are floating about in every direction, and
almost every piece of movable timber is carrying from the doomed city a
corpse of humanity, drifting with the raging waters. The disaster
overtook Johnstown about six o'clock last evening.

As the train bearing the writer sped eastward, the reports at each stop
grew more appalling. At Derry a group of railway officials were gathered
who had come from Bolivar, the end of the passable portion of the road
westward. They had seen but a small portion of the awful flood, but
enough to allow them to imagine the rest. Down through the Packsaddle
came the rushing waters. The wooded heights of the Alleghanies looked
down in wonder at the scene of the most terrible destruction that ever
struck the romantic valley of the Conemaugh.

The water was rising when the men left at six o'clock at the rate of
five feet an hour. Clinging to improvised rafts, constructed in the
death battle from floating boards and timbers, were agonized men, women
and children, their heartrending shrieks for help striking horror to the
breasts of the onlookers. Their cries were of no avail. Carried along at
railway speed on the breast of this rushing torrent, no human ingenuity
could devise a means of rescue.

With pallid face and hair clinging wet and damp to her cheek, a mother
was seen grasping a floating timber, while on her other arm she held her
babe, already drowned. With a death-grip on a plank a strong man just
giving up hope cast an imploring look to those on the bank, and an
instant later he had sunk into the waves. Prayers to God and cries to
those in safety rang above the roaring waves.

The special train pulled into Bolivar at half-past eleven last night,
and the trainmen were there notified that further progress was
impossible. The greatest excitement prevailed at this place, and parties
of citizens are out all the time endeavoring to save the poor
unfortunates that are being hurled to eternity on the rushing torrent.


Attempts at Rescue.

The tidal wave struck Bolivar just after dark, and in five minutes the
Conemaugh rose from six to forty feet and the waters spread out over the
whole country. Soon houses began floating down, and clinging to the
debris were men, women and children shrieking for aid. A large number
of citizens at once gathered on the county bridge, and they were
reinforced by a number from Garfield, a town on the opposite side of the
river.

They brought a number of ropes and these were thrown over into the
boiling waters as persons drifted by in efforts to save some poor
beings. For half an hour all efforts were fruitless, until at last, when
the rescuers were about giving up all hope, a little boy, astride a
shingle roof, managed to catch hold of one of the ropes. He caught it
under his left arm and was thrown violently against an abutment, but
managed to keep hold, and was successfully pulled on to the bridge amid
the cheers of the onlookers. His name was Hessler and his rescuer was a
trainman named Carney. The lad was at once taken to the town of Garfield
and was cared for. The boy was aged about sixteen. His story of the
frightful calamity is as follows:


The Alarm.

"With my father I was spending the day at my grandfather's house in
Cambria City. In the house at the time were Theodore, Edward and John
Kintz, and John Kintz, Jr.; Miss Mary Kintz, Mrs. Mary Kintz, wife of
John Kintz, Jr.; Miss Treacy Kintz, Mrs. Rica Smith, John Hirsch and
four children, my father and myself. Shortly after five o'clock there
was a noise of roaring waters and screams of people. We looked out the
door and saw persons running. My father told us to never mind, as the
waters would not rise further.

"But soon we saw houses being swept away, and then we ran up to the
floor above. The house was three stories, and we were at last forced to
the top one. In my fright I jumped on the bed. It was an old fashioned
one, with heavy posts. The water kept rising and my bed was soon afloat.
Gradually it was lifted up. The air in the room grew close and the house
was moving. Still the bed kept rising and pressed the ceiling. At last
the posts pushed against the plaster. It yielded and a section of the
roof gave way. Then suddenly I found myself on the roof, and was being
carried down stream.


Saved.

"After a little this roof began to part, and I was afraid I was going to
be drowned, but just then another house with a shingle roof floated by,
and I managed to crawl on it, and floated down until nearly dead with
cold, when I was saved. After I was freed from the house I did not see
my father. My grandfather was on a tree, but he must have been drowned,
as the waters were rising fast. John Kintz, Jr., was also on a tree.
Miss Mary Kintz and Mrs. Mary Kintz I saw drown. Miss Smith was also
drowned. John Hirsch was in a tree, but the four children were drowned.
The scenes were terrible. Live bodies and corpses were floating down
with me and away from me. I would see persons, hear them shriek, and
then they would disappear. All along the line were people who were
trying to save us, but they could do nothing, and only a few were
caught."

This boy's story is but one incident, and shows what happened to one
family. No one knows what has happened to the hundreds who were in the
path of the rushing water. It is impossible to get anything in the way
of news save meagre details.

An eye-witness at Bolivar Block Station tells a story of unparalleled
heroism that occurred at the lower bridge which crosses the Conemaugh at
this point. A. Young, with two women was seen coming down the river on a
part of the floor. At the upper bridge a rope was thrown down to them.
This they all failed to catch. Between the two bridges he was noticed to
point towards the elder woman, who, it is supposed, was his mother. He
was then seen to instruct the women how to catch the rope that was
lowered from the other bridge. Down came the raft with a rush. The brave
man stood with his arms around the two women.


Unavailing Courage.

As they swept under the bridge he seized the rope. He was jerked
violently away from the two women, who failed to get a hold on the rope.
Seeing that they would not be rescued, he dropped the rope and fell back
on the raft, which floated on down the river. The current washed their
frail craft in toward the bank. The young man was enabled to seize hold
of a branch of a tree. He aided the two women to get up into the tree.

He held on with his hands and rested his feet on a pile of driftwood. A
piece of floating debris struck the drift, sweeping it away. The man
hung with his body immersed in the water. A pile of drift soon
collected and he was enabled to get another insecure footing. Up the
river there was a sudden crash, and a section of the bridge was swept
away and floated down the stream, striking the tree and washing it away.
All three were thrown into the water and were drowned before the eyes of
the horrified spectators just opposite the town of Bolivar.

Early in the evening a woman with her two children was seen to pass
under the bridge at Bolivar clinging to the roof of a coal house. A rope
was lowered to her, but she shook her head and refused to desert the
children. It was rumored that all three were saved at Cokeville, a few
miles below Bolivar. A later report from Lockport says that the
residents succeeded in rescuing five people from the flood, two women
and three men. One man succeeded in getting out of the water unaided.
They were taken care of by the people of the town.


A Child's Faith.

A little girl passed under the bridge just before dark. She was kneeling
on a part of a floor and had her hands clasped as if in prayer. Every
effort was made to save her, but they all proved futile. A railroader
who was standing by remarked that the piteous appearance of the little
waif brought tears to his eyes. All night long the crowd stood about the
ruins of the bridge which had been swept away at Bolivar. The water
rushed past with a roar, carrying with it parts of houses, furniture and
trees. The flood had evidently spent its force up the valley. No more
living persons were being carried past. Watchers with lanterns remained
along the banks until daybreak, when the first view of the awful
devastation of the flood was witnessed.

Along the bank lay remnants of what had once been dwelling houses and
stores; here and there was an uprooted tree. Piles of drift lay about,
in some of which bodies of the victims of the flood will be found.
Rescuing parties are being formed in all towns along the railroad.
Houses have been thrown open to refugees, and every possible means is
being used to protect the homeless.


Wrecking Trains to the Rescue.

The wrecking trains of the Pennsylvania Railroad are slowly making their
way east to the unfortunate city. No effort was being made to repair the
wrecks, and the crews of the trains were organized into rescuing
parties, and an effort will be made to send out a mail train this
morning. The chances are that they will go no further east than
Florence. There is absolutely no news from Johnstown. The little city is
entirely cut off from communication with the outside world. The damage
done is inestimable. No one can tell its extent.

The little telegraph stations along the road are filled with anxious
groups of men who have friends and relatives in Johnstown. The smallest
item of news is eagerly seized upon and circulated. If favorable they
have a moment of relief, if not their faces become more gloomy. Harry
Fisher, a young telegraph operator who was at Bolivar when the first
rush began, says:--"We knew nothing of the disaster until we noticed the
river slowly rising and then more rapidly. News then reached us from
Johnstown that the dam at South Fork had burst. Within three hours the
water in the river rose at least twenty feet. Shortly before six o'clock
ruins of houses, beds, household utensils, barrels and kegs came
floating past the bridges. At eight o'clock the water was within six
feet of the road-bed of the bridge. The wreckage floated past without
stopping for at least two hours. Then it began to lessen, and night
coming suddenly upon us we could see no more. The wreckage was floating
by for a long time before the first living persons passed. Fifteen
people that I saw were carried down by the river. One of these, a boy,
was saved, and three of them were drowned just directly below the town.
It was an awful sight and one that I will not soon forget."

Hundreds of animals lost their lives. The bodies of horses, dogs and
chickens floated past. The little boy who was rescued at Bolivar had two
dogs as companions during his fearful ride. The dogs were drowned just
before reaching the bridge. One old mule swam past. Its shoulders were
torn, but it was alive when swept past the town.


Saved from a Watery Grave to Perish by Flames.

After a long, weary ride of eight or nine miles over the worst of
country roads New Florence, fourteen miles from Johnstown, was reached.
The road bed between this place and Bolivar was washed out in many
places. The trackmen and the wreck crews were all night in the most
dangerous portions of the road.

The last man from Johnstown brought the information that scarcely a
house remained in the city. The upper portion above the railroad bridge
had been completely submerged. The water dammed up against the viaduct,
the wreckage and debris finishing the work that the torrent had failed
to accomplish. The bridge at Johnstown proved too stanch for the fury of
the water. It is a heavy piece of masonry, and was used as a viaduct by
the old Pennsylvania Canal. Some of the top stones were displaced.

The story reached here a short time ago that a family consisting of
father and mother and nine children were washed away in a creek at
Lockport. The mother managed to reach the shore, but the husband and
children were carried out into the Conemaugh to drown. The woman is
crazed over the terrible event.


A Night of Horror.

After night settled down upon the mountains the horror of the scenes was
enhanced. Above the roar of the water could be heard the piteous appeals
from the unfortunate as they were carried by. To add also to the terror
of the night, a brilliant illumination lit up the sky. This illumination
could be plainly seen from this place.

A message received from Sang Hollow stated that this light came from a
hundred burning wrecks of houses that were piled upon the Johnstown
Bridge. A supervisor from up the road brought the information that the
wreckage at Johnstown was piled up forty feet above the bridge.

The startling news came in that more than a thousand lives had been
lost. This cannot be substantiated. By actual count one hundred and ten
people had been seen floating past Sang Hollow before dark. Forty-seven
were counted passing New Florence and the number had diminished to eight
at Bolivar. The darkness coming on stopped any further count, and it was
only by the agonizing cries that rang out above the waters that it was
known that a human being was being carried to death.


An Irresistible Torrent.

The scenes along the river were wild in the extreme. Although the water
was subsiding, still as it dashed against the rocks that filled the
narrow channel of the Conemaugh its spray was carried high up on the
shore. The towns all along the line of the railroad from Johnstown west
had received visitations. Many of the houses in New Florence were
partially under water. At Bolivar the whole lower part of the town was
submerged.

The ride over the mountain road gave one a good idea of the cause of
this disaster. Every creek was a rushing river and every rivulet a
raging torrent. The ground was water soaked, and when the immense
mountain district that drains into the Conemaugh above South Fork is
taken into consideration the terrible volume of water that must have
accumulated can be realized. Gathering, as it did, within a few
minutes, it came against the breast of the South Fork dam with
irresistible force. The frightened inhabitants along the Conemaugh
describe the flood as something awful. The first rise came almost
without warning, and the torrent came roaring down the mountain passes
in one huge wave, several feet in height. After the first swell the
water continued to rise at a fearful rate.


Daylight Brings No Relief.

The gray morning light does not seem to show either hope or mitigation
of the awful fears of the night. It has been a hard night to everybody.
The overworked newspaper men, who have been without rest and food since
yesterday afternoon, and the operators who have handled the messages are
already preparing for the work of the day. There has been a long wrangle
over the possession of a special train for the press between rival
newspaper men, and it has delayed the work of others who are anxious to
get further east.

Even here, so far from the washed-out towns, seven bodies have been
found. Two were in a tree, a man and a woman, where the flood had
carried them. The country people are coming into the town in large
numbers telling stories of disaster along the river banks in sequestered
places.


Floating Houses.

John McCarthey, a carpenter, who lives in Johnstown, reached here about
four o'clock. He left Johnstown at half-past four yesterday afternoon
and says the scene then was indescribable. The people had been warned
early in the morning to move to the highlands, but they did not heed the
warning, although it was repeated a number of times up to one o'clock,
when the water poured into Cinder street several feet deep. Then the
houses began rocking to and fro, and finally the force of the current
carried buildings across streets and vacant lots and dashed them against
each other, breaking them into fragments. These buildings were full of
the people who had laughed at the cry of danger. McCarthey says that in
some cases he counted as many as fifteen persons clinging to buildings.
McCarthey's wife was with him. She had three sisters, who lived near
her. They saw the house in which these girls lived carried away, and
then they could endure the situation no longer and hurried away. The
husband feared his wife would go crazy. They went inland along country
roads until they reached here.

It is said to be next to impossible to get to Johnstown proper to-day in
any manner except by rowboat. The roads are cut up so that even the
countrymen refuse to travel over them in their roughest vehicles. The
only hope is to get within about three miles by a special train or by
hand car.


The Dead Cast Up.

Nine dead bodies have been picked up within the limits of this borough
since daylight. None of them has yet been recognized. Five are women.
One woman, probably twenty-five years old, had clasped in her arms a
babe about six months old. The body of a young man was discovered in the
branches of a huge tree which had been carried down the stream. All the
orchard crops and shrubbery along the banks of the river have been
destroyed.

The body of another woman has just been discovered in the river here.
Her foot was seen above the surface of the water and a rope was fastened
about it.


A Roof as a Raft.

John Weber and his wife, an old couple, Michael Metzgar and John Forney
were rescued near here early this morning. They had been carried from
their home in Cambria City on the roof of the house. There were seven
others on the roof when it was carried off, all of whom were drowned.
They were unknown to Weber, having drifted on to the roof from floating
debris. Weber and wife were thoroughly drenched and were almost helpless
from exposure. They were unable to walk when taken off the roof at this
place. They are now at the hotel here.

Hundreds of people from Johnstown and up river towns are hurrying here
in search of friends and relatives who were swept away in last night's
flood. The most intense excitement prevails. The street corners are
crowded with pale and anxious people who tell of the calamity with bated
breath. Squire Bennett has charge of the dead bodies, and he is having
them properly cared for. They are being prepared for burial, but will be
held here for identification.

Four boys have just come from the river bank above here. They say that
on the opposite side a number of bodies can be seen lying in the mud.
They found the body of a woman on this side badly bruised.

R.B. Rodgers, Justice of the Peace at Nineveh, has wired the Coroner at
Greensburg that one hundred dead bodies have been found at that place,
and he asks what is to be done with them. From this one can estimate
that the loss of life will reach over one thousand.

A report has just been received that twenty persons are on an island
near Nineveh and that men and women are on a partly submerged tree.

A report has just reached here that at least one hundred people were
consumed in the flames at Johnstown last night, but it cannot be
verified here. The air is filled with thrilling and most incredible
stories, but none of them have as yet been confirmed. It is certain,
however, that even the worst cannot be imagined.


Warnings Remembered Too Late.

It is very evident that more lives have been lost because of foolish
incredulity than from ignorance of the danger. For more than a year
there have been fears of an accident of just such a character. The
foundations of the dam were considered to be shaky early last spring and
many increasing leakages were reported from time to time.

According to people who live in Johnstown and other towns on the line
of the river, ample time was given to the Johnstown folks by the
railroad officials and by other gentlemen of standing and reputation. In
dozens, yes, hundreds of cases, this warning was utterly disregarded,
and those who heeded it early in the day were looked upon as cowards,
and many jeers were uttered by lips that now are cold among the rank
grass beside the river.

There has grown up a bitter feeling among the surviving sufferers
against those who owned the lake and dam, and damage suits will be
plentiful by and by.

The dam in Stony Creek, above Johnstown, broke about noon yesterday and
thousands of feet of lumber passed down the stream. It is impossible to
tell what the loss of life will be, but at nine o'clock the Coroner of
Westmoreland county sent a message out saying that 100 bodies had been
recovered at Nineveh, halfway from here to Johnstown. Sober minded
people do not hesitate to say that 1,200 is moderate.


Fire's Awful Work.

"How can anybody tell how many are dead?" said a railroad engineer this
morning. "I have been at Long Hollow with my train since eleven o'clock
yesterday, and I have seen fully five hundred persons lost in the
flood."

J.W. Esch, a brave railroad employee, saved sixteen lives at Nineveh.

The most awful culmination of the awful night was the roasting of a
hundred or more persons in mid-flood. The ruins of houses, old buildings
and other structures swept against the new railroad bridge at
Johnstown, and from an overturned stove or some such cause the upper
part of the wreckage caught fire.

There were crowds of men, women and children on the wreck, and their
screams were soon heard. They were literally roasted on the flood. Soon
after the fire burned itself out other persons were thrown against the
mass. There were some fifty people in sight when the ruins suddenly
broke up and were swept under the bridge into the darkness.

The latest news from Johnstown is that but two houses could be seen in
the town. It is also said that only three houses remain in Cambria City.

The first authentic news was from W.N. Hays, of the Pennsylvania
Railroad Company, who reached New Florence at nine o'clock. He says the
valley towns are annihilated.


Destruction at Blairsville.

The flood in the Conemaugh River at this point is the heaviest ever
known here. At this hour the railroad bridge between here and
Blairsville intersection has been swept away, and also the new bridge at
Coketon, half a mile below. It is now feared that the iron bridge at the
lower end of this town will go. A living woman and dead man, supposed to
be her husband, were seen going under the railroad bridge. They were
seen to come from under the bridge safely, but shortly disappeared and
were seen no more.

A great many families lose their household goods. The river is running
full of timber, houses, goods, etc. The loss will be heavy. The
excitement here is very great. The river is still rising. There are some
families below the town in the second story of their houses who cannot
get out. It is feared that if the water goes much higher the loss of
life will be very great. The railroad company had fourteen cars of coal
on their bridge when it went down, and all were swept down the river.

The town bridge has just succumbed to the seething floods, whose roar
can be heard a long distance. The water is still rising and it is
thought that the West Pennsylvania Railroad will be without a single
bridge. It is reported that a man went down with the Blairsville bridge
while he was adjusting a headlight.


Havoc about Altoona.

The highest and most destructive flood that has visited this place for
fifty years occurred yesterday. It has been raining continuously for the
past twenty-four hours. The Juniata river is ten feet above low water
mark and is still rising. The lower streets of Gaysport bordering on the
river bank are submerged, and the water is two feet deep on the first
floors of the houses there. The water rose so rapidly that the people
had to be removed from the houses in boats and wagons. Three railroad
trestles and a number of bridges over the streams have been carried
away, and railroad travel between this place and the surrounding towns
has been interrupted.

Property of all kinds was carried off. The truck gardens and grain
fields along the river were utterly destroyed, and the fences carried
away. The iron furnaces and rolling mills at this place and Duncanville
were compelled to shut down on account of the high water. Keene &
Babcock lost 300,000 brick in the kiln ready to burn, G.W. Rhodes
350,000, and Joseph Hart 15,000. It is estimated that the flood has done
over $50,000 damage in this vicinity. The fences of the Blair County
Agricultural Society were destroyed.


Alarm at York.

Last night was one of great alarm here. It rained steadily all day, some
of the showers being severe. The great flood of 1884 is forcibly
recalled. Many families are moving out. At half-past one A.M. a general
alarm was sounded on the bells of the city.

The flood in the Susquehanna River here reached its greatest height
about six o'clock this morning, when all bridges save one were under
water. Business places and residences in the low section were flooded to
a great extent, and the damage in this city alone amounts to $25,000 so
far. The injury to the Spring Grove paper mills near this city is heavy.
By noon the water had fallen sufficiently to restore travel over nearly
all the bridges.

A number of bridges in the county have been swept away, and the loss in
the county exclusive of the city is estimated at $100,000.

In attempting to catch some driftwood James McIlvaine lost his balance
and fell into the raging current and was drowned.

Seven bodies have been taken from the water and debris on the river
banks at New Florence. One body has also been taken from the river at
this point, that of a young girl. None of them have been identified.

The whole face of the country between here and New Florence is under
water, and houses, bridges and buildings fill the fields and even perch
upon the hillside all the way to Johnstown. Great flocks of crows are
already filling the valley, while buzzards are almost as frequently
seen. The banks of the river are lined with people who are looking as
well for booty as for bodies. Much valuable property was carried away in
the houses as well as from houses not washed away.

The river has fallen again into its channel, and nothing in the stream
itself except its red, angry color shows the wild horror of last night.
It has fallen fully twenty feet since midnight, and by to-night it will
have attained its normal depth.


Painful Scenes.

At all points from Greensburg to Long Hollow, the limit of the present
trouble, scores of people throng the stations begging and beseeching
railroad men on the repair trains to take them aboard, as they are
almost frenzied with anxiety and apprehension in regard to their friends
who live at or near Johnstown. Strong men are as tearful as the women
who join in the request.

Pitiable sights and scenes multiply more and more rapidly. The
Conemaugh is one great valley of mourning. Those who have not lost
friends have lost their house or their substance, and apparently the
grief for the one is as poignant as for the other.


They Were Warned.

The great volume of water struck Johnstown about half-past five in the
afternoon. It did not find the people unprepared, as they had had notice
from South Fork that the dam was threatening to go. Many, however,
disregarded the notice and remained in their houses in the lower part of
the city and were caught before they could get out.

Superintendent Pitcairn, of the Pennsylvania Railroad, who has spent the
entire day in assisting not only those who were afflicted by the flood,
but also in an attempt to reopen his road, went home this morning.
Before he left he issued an order to all Pennsylvania Railroad employees
to keep a sharp lookout for bodies, both in the river and in the bushes,
and to return them to their friends.

Assistant Superintendent Trump is still on the ground near Lone Hollow
directing the movements of gravel and construction trains, which are
arriving as fast as they can be fitted up and started out. The roadbeds
of both the Pennsylvania and the West Pennsylvania railroads are badly
damaged, and it will cost the latter, especially from the Bolivar
Junction to Saltsburg, many thousands of dollars to repair injuries to
embankments alone.

In Pittsburg there was but one topic of conversation, and that was the
Johnstown deluge. Crowds of eager watchers all day long besieged the
newspaper bulletin boards and rendered streets impassable in their
vicinity. Many of them had friends or relatives in the stricken
district, and "Names!" "Names!" was their cry. But there were no names.
The storm which had perhaps swept away their loved ones had also carried
away all means of communication and their vigil was unrewarded. It is
not yet known whether the telegraph operator at Johnstown is dead or
alive. The nearest point to that city which can be reached to-night is
New Florence, and the one wire there is used almost constantly by orders
for coffins, embalming fluid and preparing special cars to carry the
recovered dead to their homes.

Along the banks of the now turbulent Allegheny were placed watchers for
dead bodies, and all wreckage was carefully scanned for the dead. The
result of this vigilance was the recovery of one body, that of a woman
floating down on a pile of debris. Seven other bodies were seen, but
could not be reached owing to the swift moving wreckage by which they
were surrounded.


A Heartrending Sight.

A railroad conductor who arrived in the city this morning said:--"There
is no telling how many lives are lost. We got as far as Bolivar, and I
tell you it is a terrible sight. The body of a boy was picked up by some
of us there, and there were eleven bodies recovered altogether. I do
not think that anyone got into Johnstown, and it is my opinion that they
will not get in very soon. No one who is not on the grounds has any idea
of the damage done. It will be at least a week before the extent of this
flood is known, and then I think many bodies will never be recovered."

Assistant Superintendent Wilson, of the West Pennsylvania Railroad,
received the following despatch from Nineveh to-day:--

"There appears to be a large number of people lodged in the trees and
rubbish along the line. Many are alive. Rescuing parties should be
advised at every station."

Another telegram from Nineveh said that up to noon 175 bodies had been
taken from the river at that point.

The stage of water in the Allegheny this afternoon became so alarming
that residents living in the low-lying districts began to remove their
household effects to a higher grade. The tracks of the Pittsburgh and
Western Railroad are under water in several places, and great
inconvenience is felt in moving trains.


Criminal Negligence.

It was stated at the office of the Pennsylvania Railroad early this
morning that the deaths would run up into the thousands rather than
hundreds, as was at first supposed. Despatches received state that the
stream of human beings that was swept before the floods was pitiful to
behold. Men, women and children were carried along frantically shrieking
for help. Rescue was impossible.

Husbands were swept past their wives, and children were borne along at
a terrible speed to certain death before the eyes of their terrorized
and frantic parents. It was said at the depot that it was impossible to
estimate the number whose lives were lost in the flood. It will simply
be a matter of conjecture for several days as to who was lost and who
escaped.

The people of Johnstown were warned of the possibility of the bursting
of the dam during the morning, but very few if any of the inhabitants
took the warning seriously. Shortly after noon it gave way about five
miles above Johnstown, and sweeping everything before it burst upon the
town with terrible force.

Everything was carried before it, and not an instant's time was given to
seek safety. Houses were demolished, swept from their foundations and
carried in the flood to a culvert near the town. Here a mass of all
manner of debris soon lodged, and by evening it had dammed the water
back into the city over the tops of many of the still remaining
chimneys.


The Dam Always a Menace.

Assistant Superintendent Trump, of the Pennsylvania, is at Conemaugh,
but the officials at the depot had not been able to receive a line from
him until as late as half-past two o'clock this morning. It was said
also that it will be impossible to get a train through either one way or
the other for at least two or three days. This applies also to the
mails, as there is absolutely no way of getting mails through.

"We were afraid of that lake," said a gentleman who had lived in
Johnstown for years, "we were afraid of that lake seven years ago. No
one could see the immense height to which that artificial dam had been
built without fearing the tremendous power of the water behind it. I
doubt if there was a man or woman in Johnstown who at some time or other
had not feared and spoken of the terrible disaster that has now come.

"People wondered and asked why the dam was not strengthened, as it
certainly had become weak, but nothing was done, and by and by they
talked less and less about it as nothing happened, though now and then
some would shake their heads as though conscious that the fearful day
would come some time when their worst fears would be transcended by the
horror of the actual occurrence.


Converted Into a Lake.

"Johnstown is in a hollow between two rivers, and that lake must have
swept over the city at a depth of forty feet. It cannot be, it is
impossible that such an awful thing could happen to a city of ten
thousand inhabitants, and if it has, thousands have lost their lives,
and men are to blame for it, for warnings have been uttered a thousand
times and have received no attention."

The body of a Welsh woman, sixty years of age, was taken from the river
near the suspension bridge, at ten o'clock this morning. Four other
bodies were seen, but owing to the mass of wreckage which is coming
down they could not be recovered, and passed down the Ohio River.

A citizens' meeting has been called to devise means to aid the
sufferers. The Pennsylvania Railroad officials have already placed cars
on Liberty street for the purpose of receiving provisions and clothing,
and up to this hour many prominent merchants have made heavy donations.


Anxiety of the People.

The difficulty of obtaining definite information added tremendously to
the excitement and apprehension of the people in Pittsburgh who had
relatives and friends at the scene of the disaster.

Members of the South Fork Club, and among them some of the most eminent
men in the Pittsburgh financial and mercantile world, were in or near
Johnstown, and several of them were accompanied by their wives and
families. There happened to be also quite a number of residents of
Johnstown in Pittsburgh, and when the news of the horror was confirmed
and the railroads bulletined the fact that no trains would go east last
night the scene at Union Depot was profoundly pathetic and exciting. But
two trains were sent out by the Pennsylvania road from the Union station
at Pittsburgh.

A despatch states that the Cambria Iron Company's plant on the north
side of the Conemaugh River at Johnstown is a complete wreck. Until this
despatch was received it was not thought that this portion of the plant
had been seriously injured. It was known that the portion of the plant
located on the south bank of the river was washed away, and this was
thought to be the extent of the damage to the property of that immense
corporation. The plant is said to be valued at $5,000,000.

[Illustration]




CHAPTER II.

Death and Desolation.


The terrible situation on the second day after the great disaster only
intensifies the horror. As information becomes more full and accurate,
it does not abate one tittle of the awful havoc. Rather it adds to it,
and gives a thousand-fold terror to the dreadful calamity.

Not only do the scenes which are described appear all the more dreadful,
as is natural, the nearer they are brought to the imagination, but it
seems only too probable that the final reckoning in loss of life and
material wealth will prove far more stupendous than has even yet been
supposed.

The very greatness of the destruction prevents the possibility of an
accurate estimate. Beneath the ghastly ruins of the once happy towns and
villages along the pathway of the deluge, who shall say how many victims
lie buried? Amid the rocks and woods that border the broad track of the
waters, who shall say how many lie bruised and mangled and
unrecognizable, wedged between boulders or massed amid debris and
rubbish, or hidden beneath the heaped-up deposits of earth, and whether
all of them shall ever be found and given the last touching rites?

Already the air of the little valley, which four days ago was smiling
with all the health of nature and the contentment of industrious man,
is waxing pestiferous with the awful odor of decaying human bodies.
Buzzards, invited by their disgusting instinct, gather for a promised
feast, and sit and glower on neighboring perches or else circle round
and round in the blue empyrean over the location of unfriended corpses,
known only to their keen sense of smell or vision.

But another kind of buzzard, more disgusting, more hideous, more vile,
has hastened to this scene of woe and anguish and desolation to exult
over it to his profit. Thugs and thieves in unclean hordes have
mysteriously turned up at Johnstown and its vicinity, as hyenas in the
desert seem to spring bodily out of the deadly sand whenever the corpse
of a gallant warrior, abandoned by his kind, lies putrefying in the
night.

There is a cry from the afflicted community for the policing of the
devastated region, and there is no doubt it is greatly needed. Happily,
Nemesis does not sleep this time in the face of such provocation as is
given her by these atrociously inhuman human beings. It is a
satisfaction to record that something more than a half dozen of them
have been dealt with as promptly and as mercilessly as they deserve. For
such as they there should be no code of pity.

There is an inexhaustible store of pathos and heroism in the tale of
this disaster. Of course, in all of its awful details it never can be
fitly written. One reason is that too many of the witnesses of its more
fearful phases "sleep the sleep that knows not waking." But there is a
greater reason, and that is that there is a point in the intenser
actuality of things at which all human language fails to do justice to
it. Yet--as simply told as possible--there are many incidents of this
great tragedy which nothing has ever surpassed or ever can surpass in
impressiveness. It is a consolation, too, that human nature at such
times does betray here and there a gleam of that side of it which gives
forth a reflection of the ideal manhood or womanhood. Bits of heroism
and of tender devotedness scattered throughout this dark, dismal picture
of destruction and despair light it up with wonderful beauty, and while
they bring tears to the eyes of the sternest reader, will serve as a
grateful relief from the pervading hue of horror and blackness.

There is the very gravest need of vigorous relief measures in favor of
the survivors of the flood. A spontaneous movement in that direction has
been begun, but as yet lacks the efficiency only to be derived from a
general and organized co-operation.


Complete Annihilation.

When Superintendent Pitcairn telegraphed from Johnstown to Pittsburgh
Friday night that the town was annihilated he came very close to the
facts of the case, although he had not seen the ill-fated city. To say
that Johnstown is a wreck is but stating the facts of the case. Nothing
like it was ever seen in this country. Where long rows of dwelling
houses and business blocks stood forty-eight hours ago, ruin and
desolation now reign supreme.

The losses, however, are as nothing compared to the frightful
sacrifices of precious human lives. During Sunday Johnstown has been
drenched with the tears of stricken mortals, and the air is filled with
sobs that come from breaking hearts. There are scenes enacted here every
hour and every minute that affect all beholders profoundly. When brave
men die in battle, for country or for principle, their loss can be
reconciled to the stern destinies of life. When homes are torn asunder
in an instant, and the loved ones hurled from the arms of loving and
devoted mothers, there is an element of sadness connected with the
tragedy that touches every heart.

_The loss of life is simply dreadful. The most conservative people
declare that the number will reach 5000, while others confidently assert
that 8000 or 10,000 have perished._


How Johnstown Looks after Flood and Fire Have Done
Their Worst.

An eye-witness writing from Pittsburgh says:--We have just returned from
a trip through what is left of Johnstown. The view from beyond is almost
impossible to describe. To look upon it is a sight that neither war nor
catastrophe can equal. House is piled upon house, not as we have seen in
occasional floods of the the Western rivers, but the remains of two and
four storied buildings piled upon the top of one another.

The ruins of what is known as the Club House are in perhaps the best
condition of any in that portion of the town, but it is certainly
damaged beyond possibility of repair. _On the upper floor five bodies
are lying unidentified._ One of them, a woman of genteel birth, judging
by her dress, is locked in one of the small rooms to prevent a
possibility of spoliation by wreckers, who are flocking to the spot from
all directions and taking possession of everything they can get hold of.

Here and there bodies can be seen sticking in the ruins. Some of the
most prominent citizens are to be seen working with might and main to
get at the remains of relatives whom they have located.

_There is no doubt that, wild as the estimates of the loss of life and
damage to property have been, it is even larger than there is any idea
of._

Close on to 2,000 residences lie in kindling wood at the lower end of
the town.


Freaks of the Flood.

An idea of the eccentricity of the flood may be gathered from the fact
that houses that were situated at Woodvale and points above Johnstown
are piled at the lower end of the town, while some massive houses have
been lifted and carried from the lower end as far as the cemetery at the
extreme upper portion of the town. All through the ruins are scattered
the most costly furniture and store goods of all kinds.


Thieves are Busy.

I stood on the keyboard and strings of a piano while I watched a number
of thieves break into the remnants of houses and pilfer them, while
others again had got at a supply of fine groceries and had broken into
a barrel of fine brandy, and were fairly steeping themselves in it. I
met quite a number of Pittsburghers in the ruins looking for friends and
relatives. If the skiffs which were expected from Pittsburgh were there
they would be of vast assistance in reaching the ruins, which are
separated by the stream of water descending from the hills. A great fear
is felt that there will be some difficulty in restoring the stream to
its proper channel. Its course now lies right along Main street, and it
is about two hundred yards wide.

Something should be done to get the bodies of the dead decently taken
care of. The ruins are reeking with the smell of decaying bodies. Right
at the edge of the ruins the decaying body of a stout <DW52> woman is
lying like the remains of an animal, without any one to identify and
take care of it.


Lynching the Ghouls.

A number of Hungarians collected about a number of bodies at Cambria
which had been washed up and began rifling the trunks. After they had
secured all the contents they turned their attention to the dead.

The ghastly spectacle presented by the distorted features of those who
had lost their lives during the flood had no influence upon the ghouls,
who acted more like wild beasts than human beings. They took every
article from the clothing on the dead bodies, not leaving anything of
value or anything that would serve to identify the remains.

After the miscreants had removed all their plunder to dry ground a
dispute arose over a division of the spoils. A pitched battle followed
and for a time the situation was alarming. Knives and clubs were used
freely. As a result several of the combatants were seriously wounded and
left on the ground, their fellow countrymen not making any attempt to
remove them from the field of strife.

JOHNSTOWN, PA., June 2, 11 A.M.

_They have just hung a man over near the railroad to the telegraph pole
for cutting the finger off of a dead woman in order to get a ring._


Vengeance, Swift and Sure.

The way of the transgressor in the desolated valley of the Conemaugh is
hard indeed. Each hour reveals some new and horrible story of suffering
and outrage, and every succeeding hour brings news of swift and merited
punishment meted out to the fiends who have dared to desecrate the stiff
and mangled corpses in the city of the dead, and torture the already
half crazed victims of the cruelest of modern catastrophes.

As the roads to the lands round about are opened tales of almost
indescribable horror come to light, and deeds of the vilest nature,
perpetrated in the darkness of the night, are brought to light.


Followed by Avenging Farmers.

Just as the shadows began to fall upon the earth last evening a party of
thirteen Hungarians were noticed stealthily picking their way along the
banks of the Conemaugh toward Sang Hollow. Suspicious of their purpose,
several farmers armed themselves and started in pursuit. Soon their
most horrible fears were realized. The Hungarians were out for plunder.

Lying upon the shore they came upon the dead and mangled body of a woman
upon whose person there were a number of trinkets and jewelry and two
diamond rings. In their eagerness to secure the plunder, the Hungarians
got into a squabble, during which one of the number severed the finger
upon which were the rings, and started on a run with his fearful prize.
The revolting nature of the deed so wrought upon the pursuing farmers,
who by this time were close at hand, that they gave immediate chase.
Some of the Hungarians showed fight, but being outnumbered were
compelled to flee for their lives. Nine of the brutes escaped, but four
were literally driven into the surging river and to their death. The
inhuman monster whose atrocious act has been described was among the
number of the involuntary suicides. Another incident of even greater
moment has just been brought to notice.


Anxious to be a Murderer.

At half-past eight this morning an old railroader who had walked from
Sang Hollow stepped up to a number of men who were congregated on the
platform stations at Curranville and said:--"Gentlemen, had I a shotgun
with me half an hour ago I would now be a murderer, yet with no fear of
ever having to suffer for my crime.

"Two miles below here I watched three men going along the banks
_stealing the jewels from the bodies of the dead wives and daughters of
men who have been robbed of all they held dear on earth._"

He had no sooner finished the last sentence than five burly men, with
looks of terrible determination written on their faces, were on their
way to the scene of plunder, one with a coil of rope over his shoulder
and another with a revolver in his hand. In twenty minutes, so it is
stated, they had overtaken two of the wretches, who were then in the act
of cutting pieces from the ears and fingers from the hands of the bodies
of two dead women.


Brutes at Bay.

With revolver leveled at the scoundrels the leader of the posse shouted,
"Throw up your hands or I'll blow your heads off!" With blanched faces
and trembling forms they obeyed the order and begged for mercy. They
were searched, and as their pockets were emptied of their ghastly finds
the indignation of the crowd intensified, and when _a bloody finger of
an infant, encircled with two tiny gold rings_, was found among the
plunder in the leader's pocket, a cry went up "_Lynch them! Lynch
them!_" _Without a moment's delay ropes were thrown around their necks
and they were dangling to the limbs of a tree, in the branches of which
an hour before were entangled the bodies of a dead father and son._

After the expiration of a half hour the ropes were cut, and the bodies
lowered and carried to a pile of rocks in the forest on the hill above.
It is hinted that an Allegheny county official was one of the most
prominent actors in this justifiable homicide.

Another case of attempted lynching was witnessed this evening near
Kernville. The man was observed stealing valuable articles from the
houses. He was seized by a mob, a rope was placed around his neck and he
was jerked up into the air. The rope was tied to the tree and his
would-be lynchers left him. Bystanders cut him down before he was dead.
The other men did not interfere and he was allowed to go. The man was so
badly scared that he could not give his name if he wanted to do so.

Two <DW52> men were shot while robbing the dead bodies, by the
Pittsburgh police, who are doing guard about the town.


Fiends in Human Form.

To one who saw bright, bustling Johnstown a week ago the sight of its
present condition must cause a thrill of horror, no matter how callous
he might be. I doubt if any incident of war or flood ever caused a more
sickening sight. Wretchedness of the most pathetic kind met the gaze on
every side.

_Unlawfulness runs riot._ If ever military aid was needed now is the
time. _The town is perfectly overrun with thieves_, many of them from
Pittsburgh. The Hungarians are the worst. They seem to operate in
regular organized bands. In Cambria City this morning they entered a
house, drove out the occupants at the point of revolvers and took
possession. They can be constantly seen carrying large quantities of
plunder to the hills.

The number of drunken men is remarkable. Whiskey seems marvelously
plenty. Men are actually carrying it around in pails. Barrels of the
stuff are constantly located among the drifts, and men are scrambling
over each other and fighting like wild beasts in their mad search for
it.

At the cemetery, at the upper end of the town, I saw a sight that rivals
the inferno. A number of ghouls had found a lot of fine groceries, among
them a barrel of brandy, with which they were fairly stuffing
themselves. One huge fellow was standing on the strings of an upright
piano singing a profane song, every little while breaking into a wild
dance. A half dozen others were engaged in a hand-to-hand fight over the
possession of some treasure stolen from a ruined house, and the crowd
around the barrel were yelling like wild men.

The cry for help increases every hour. Something must be done to get the
bodies decently taken care of. The ruins are reeking with the smell of
decaying bodies. At the very edge of the ruins the body of a large
<DW52> woman, in an advanced state of decomposition, is lying like the
body of an animal.


Watched Their Friends Die.

The fire in the drift above the bridge is still burning fiercely and
will continue to do so for several days. The skulls of six people can be
seen sticking up out of the ruins just above the east end of the bridge.
Nothing but the blackened skulls can be seen. They are all together.

The sad scenes will never all be written. One lady told me this morning
of seeing her mother crushed to pieces just before her eyes and the
mangled body carried off down the stream. William Yarner lost six
children and saved a baby about eighteen months old. His wife died just
three weeks ago. An aged German, his wife and five daughters floated
down on their house to a point below Nineveh, where the house was
wrecked. The five daughters were drowned, but the old man and his wife
stuck in a tree and hung there for twenty-four hours before they could
be taken off.


Died Kissing Her Babe.

One of the most pitiful sights of this terrible disaster came to my
notice this afternoon, when the body of a young lady was taken out of
the Conemaugh River. The woman was apparently quite young, though her
features were terribly disfigured. Nearly all the clothing except the
shoes was torn off the body. The corpse was that of a mother, for
although cold in death the woman clasped a young male babe apparently
not more than a year old tightly in her arms. The little one was huddled
close up to its mother's face, who when she realized their terrible
fate, had evidently raised the babe to her lips to imprint upon its
little lips the last motherly kiss it was to receive in this world. The
sight was a pathetic one and turned many a stout heart to tears.

Among the miraculous escapes to be recorded in connection with the great
disaster is that of George J. Leas and his family. He resided on Iron
street. When the rush of water came there were eight people on the
roof. The little house swung around off its moorings and floated about
for nearly half an hour before it came up against the bank of drift
above the stone bridge. A three-year-old girl with sunny golden hair and
dimpled cheeks prayed all the while that God would save them, and it
seemed that God really answered the prayer of this innocent little girl
and directed the house against the drift, enabling every one of the
eight to get off. Mrs. Leas carried the little girl in her arms, and how
she got off she doesn't know. Every house around them, she said, was
crushed, and the people either killed or drowned.


Thugs at Their Work.

One of the most dreadful features of this catastrophe has been the
miserable weakness displayed by the authorities of Johnstown and the
surrounding boroughs. Johnstown needed them sadly for forty-eight hours.
There is supposed to be a Burgess, but like most burgesses he is a
shadowy and mythical personage. If there had been concerted and
intelligent action the fire in the debris at the dam could have been
extinguished within a short time after it started. Too many cooks
spoiled this ghastly broth.

Even now if dynamite or some other explosive was intelligently applied
the huge mass of wreckage which has up to the present time escaped the
flame, and no doubt contains a number of bodies, could be saved from
fire.

This, however, is a matter of small import compared with the immunity
granted the outrageous and open graveyard robbery and disgusting
thievery which have thriven bravely since Friday morning.

Foreigners and natives carrying huge sacks, and in some instances even
being assisted by horses and carts, have been busily engaged hunting
corpses and stealing such valuables as were to be found in the wreckage.

Dozens of barrels of strong liquor have been rescued by the Hungarian
and Polish laborers from among the ruins of saloons and hotels and the
contents of the same have been freely indulged in. This has led to an
alarming debauchery, which is on the increase. All day the numbers of
the drunken crowd have been augmented from time to time by fresh
arrivals from the surrounding districts.

Those who have suffered from the tidal wave have become much embittered
against the law breakers. There have been many small fights and several
small riots in consequence. This has been regarded with apprehension by
the State authorities, and Adjutant General Hastings has arrived at
Johnstown to examine into the condition of affairs and to guard the
desolated district with troops. The Eighteenth regiment, of Pittsburgh,
has tendered its services to this work, but has received no reply to its
tender.

General Hastings estimates that the loss of life is at least eight
thousand.

An employee of J.L. Gill, of Latrobe, says he and thirty-five other men
were in a three-story building in Johnstown last night. They had been
getting out logs for the Johnstown Lumber Company. The man says that
the building was swept away and all the men were drowned except Gill and
his family.


Handling the Dead.

The recovery of bodies has taken up the time of thousands all day. The
theory now is that most of those killed by the torrent were buried
beneath the debris. To-day's work in the ruins in a large degree
justifies this assumption. I saw six bodies taken out of one pile of
rubbish not eight feet square.

The truth is that bodies are almost as plentiful as logs. The whirl of
the waters puts the bodies under and the logs and boards on top. The
rigidity of arms standing out at right angles to the bloated and bruised
bodies show that death in ninety-nine out of a hundred cases took place
amid the ruins--that is after the wreck of houses had closed over them.

Dr. D.G. Foster, who has been here all day, is of the opinion that most
of the victims were killed by coming into violent contact with objects
in the river and not by drowning. He found many fractured skulls and on
most heads blows that would have rendered those receiving them instantly
unconscious, and the water did the rest.

_Not fewer than three hundred bodies have been taken from the river and
rubbish to-day._ It has been the labor of all classes of citizens, and
marvellous work has been accomplished. The eastern end of Main street,
through which the waters tore most madly and destructively, and in which
they left their legacy of wrecked houses, fallen trees and dead bodies
in a greater degree than in any other portion of the city, has been
cleared and the remains of over fifty have been taken out.

All over town the searchers have been equally successful. As soon as a
body is found it is placed on a litter and sent to the Morgue, where it
is washed and placed on a board for several hours to await
identification.

[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE MORGUE.]

The Morgue is the Fourth-ward school house, and it has been surrounded
all day by a crowd of several thousand people. At first the crowd were
disposed to stop those bearing the stretchers, uncover the remains and
view them, but this was found to be prolific not only of great delay,
also scenes of agony that not even the bearers could endure.

Now a litter is guarded by a file of soldiers with fixed bayonets, and
the people are forced aside until the Morgue is reached. It is
astonishing to find how small a number of injured are in the city. Few
survived. It was death or nothing with the demon of the flood.

Now that an adequate idea of what has befallen them has been reached,
and the fact that a living has still to be made, that plants must be
taken care of, that contracts must be filled, the business people of the
city are giving their attention to the future. Vice President and
Director James McMillan, of the Cambria Iron Company, says their loss
has been well nigh incalculable. They are not daunted, but will
to-morrow begin the work of clearing up the ruins of their mills
preparatory to rebuilding and repairing their works. They will also
immediately rebuild the Gautier Iron Works. This is the disposition of
all.

"Our pockets are light," they say, "but if nothing happens all of us
will be in business again." The central portion of Johnstown is as
completely obliterated as if it had never had foundation. The river has
made its bed upon the sites of hundreds of dwellings, and a vast area of
sand, mud and gravel marks the old channel.

It is doubtful whether it will be possible even to reclaim what was once
the business portion of the city. The river will have to be returned to
its old bed in order to do this.

Among the lost is H.G. Rose, the District Attorney of Cambria county,
whose body was among the first discovered.

Governor Foraker, of Ohio, this afternoon sent five hundred tents to
this city. They will be pitched on the hillside to-morrow. They are
sadly needed, as the buildings that are left are either too damp or too
unsafe for occupancy.


Burying the Dead.

The work of burying the dead began this morning and has been kept up
till late this evening. The bruising of the bodies by logs and trees and
other debris and other exposure in the water have tended to hasten
decomposition, which has set in in scores of cases, making interment
instantly necessary.

Bodies are being buried as rapidly as they are identified. The work of
Pittsburgh undertakers in examining the dead has rendered it possible to
keep all those embalmed two or three days longer, but this is desirable
only in cases where identification is dubious and no claimants appear at
all.

To-day the cars sent out from Pittsburgh with provisions for the living
were hastily cleared in order to contain the bodies of the dead intended
for interment in suburban cemeteries and in graveyards handy to the
city.

Formality is dispensed with. In some instances only the undertaker and
his assistants are present, and in others only one or two members of
the family of the dead.

The dead are more plentiful than the mourners.

Death has certainly dealt briefly with the stricken city. "Let the dead
bury the dead" has been more nearly exemplified in this instance than in
any other in this country's history. The magnitude of the horror
increases with the hours. It is believed that not less than two thousand
of the drowned found lodgment beneath the _omnium gatherum_ in the
triangle of ground that the Conemaugh cut out of the bank between the
river and the Pennsylvania Railroad bridge.


The Greatest Funeral Pyre in History.

The victims were not upon it, but were parts of it. Whole houses were
washed into the apex of the triangle. Hen coops, pigstys and stables
were added to the mass. Then a stove ignited the mass and the work of
cremation began. It was a literal breast of fire. The smoke arose in a
huge funnel-shaped cloud, and at times it changed to the form of an hour
glass. At night the flames united would light up this misty remnant of
mortality. The effect upon the living, both ignorant and intelligent,
was the same. That volume of smoke with its dual form, produced a
feeling of awe in many that was superior in most cases to that felt in
the awful moment of the storm's wrath on Friday.

Hundreds stood for hours regarding the smoke and wondering whether it
foreboded another visitation more dire than its predecessor.

The people hereabouts this morning awoke to find that nothing was left
but a mass of ashes, calcined human bones, stoves, old iron and other
approximately indestructible matter, from which only a light blue vapor
was arising. General Hastings took precautions to prevent the extension
of the fire to another huge pile, a short distance away, and this will
be rummaged to-day for bodies of flood victims.

The Pittsburgh undertakers have contributed more to facilitate the
preparation of the dead for the graves than all others besides.

There was a disposition on the part of many foreigners and <DW64>s to
raid the houses, and do an all around thieving business, but the
measures adopted by the police had a tendency to frighten them off in
nearly every case.

One man was caught in the act of robbing the body of an old woman, but
he protested that he had got nothing and was released. He immediately
disappeared, and it was found afterward that he had taken $100 from the
pocket of the corpse.

A half-breed <DW64> yesterday and this morning was doing a thriving
business in collecting hams, shoulders, chickens and even furniture. He
had thieves in his employ, and while to some of them he was paying
regular salaries, others were doing the work for a drink of whiskey. The
authorities stopped this thing very suddenly, but not until a number of
the people threatened to lynch the half breed. In one or two instance
very narrow escapes from the rope were made.

Thousands of coffins and rough boxes have already arrived, and still
the supply is short. They are brought in marked to some undertaker, who
has a list of his dead, and as fast as the coffins come he writes the
name of its intended tenant and tells the friends (when there are any)
where to find it.


How a Funeral Takes Place.

Two of them go after it, and, carrying it between them to the Morgue or
to their homes, place the body in it and take it to the burial grounds.

One unfortunate feature of the destruction is the fact that some one has
been drowned from nearly every house in the city, and teams are
procurable only with the greatest difficulty.

Dead horses are seen everywhere. In one stable two horses, fully
harnessed, bridled and ready to be taken out, stand dead in their
stable, stiff and upright. In a sand pile near the Pennsylvania Railroad
depot a horse's hind feet, rump and tail are all that can be seen of
him. He was caught in the rapidly running waters and had been driven
into the sand.

The following telegram from Johnstown has been received at Pittsburg:

"For God's sake tell the sight-seers to keep away from Johnstown for the
present. What we want is people to work, not to look on. Citizen's
Committee."

Three trains have already been sent out with crowded cargoes of
sight-seers. At every station along the road excited crowds are waiting
for an opportunity to get aboard.

That's what would have happened to the owners of South Fork if they had
put in an appearance.

There is great indignation among the people of Johnstown at the wealthy
Pittsburghers who own South Fork. They blame them severely for having
maintained such a frightfully dangerous institution there. The feeling
among the people was intense. If any of the owners of the dam had put in
an appearance in Johnstown they would have been lynched.

The dam has been a constant menace to this valley ever since it has been
in existence, and the feeling, which has been bitter enough on the
occasion of every flood hitherto, after this horrible disaster is now at
fever heat.

Without seeing the havoc created no idea can be given of the area of the
desolation or the extent of the damage.


Only One Left to Mourn.

An utterly wretched woman stood by a muddy pool of water, trying to find
some trace of a once happy home. She was half crazed with grief, and her
eyes were red and swollen. As I stepped to her side she raised her pale
and haggard face, crying:

"They are all gone. Oh God be merciful to them. My husband and my seven
dear little children have been swept down with the flood and I am left
alone. We were driven by the raging flood into the garret, but the
waters followed us there. Inch by inch it kept rising until our heads
were crushing against the roof. It was death to remain. So I raised a
window and one by one placed my darlings on some drift wood, trusting
to the Great Creator. As I liberated the last one, my sweet little boy,
he looked at me and said:

'Mamma, you always told me that the Lord would care for me; will he look
after me now?'

"I saw him drift away with his loving face turned toward me, and with a
prayer on my lips for his deliverance he passed from sight forever. The
next moment the roof crashed in and I floated outside to be rescued
fifteen hours later from the roof of a house in Kernville. If I could
only find one of my darlings, I could bow to the will of God, but they
all are gone. I have lost everything on earth now but my life, and I
will return to my old Virginia home and lay me down for my last great
sleep."

A handsome woman, with hair as black as a raven's wing, walked through
the depot, where a dozen or more bodies were awaiting burial. Passing
from one to another, she finally lifted the paper covering from the face
of a woman, young and with traces of beauty showing through the stains
of muddy water. With a cry of anguish she reeled backward, to be caught
by a rugged man who chanced to be passing. In a moment or so she had
calmed herself sufficiently to take one more look at the features of her
dead. She stood gazing at the unfortunate as if dumb. Finally turning
away with another wild burst of grief she said:--

"And her beautiful hair all matted and her sweet face bruised and
stained with mud and water."

The dead woman was the sister of the mourner. The body was placed in a
coffin a few minutes later and sent away to its narrow house.

These incidents are but fair samples of the scenes familiar to every
turn in this stricken city.

[Illustration: THE AWFUL RUSH OF WATERS.]




CHAPTER III.

The Horror Increases.


During the night thirty-three bodies were brought to one house. As yet
the relief force is not perfectly organized and bodies are lying around
on boards and doors. Within twenty feet of where this was written the
dead body of a <DW52> woman lies.

Provision has been made by the Relief Committee for the sufferers to
send despatches to all parts of the country. The railroad company has a
track through to the bridge. The first train arrived about half-past
nine o'clock this morning. A man in a frail craft got caught in the
rapids at the railroad bridge, and it looked as if he would increase the
already terrible list of dead, but fortunately he caught on a rock,
where he now is and is liable to remain all day.

The question on every person's lips is--Will the Cambria Iron Company
rebuild? The wire mill is completely wrecked, but the walls of the
rolling mill are still standing. If they do not resume it is a question
whether the town will be rebuilt. The Hungarians were beginning to
pillage the houses, and the arrival of police was most timely. Word had
just been received that all the men employed by Peabody, the Pittsburgh
contractor, have been saved.

The worst part of this disaster has not been told. Indeed, the most
graphic description that can be written will not tell half the tale. No
pen can describe nor tongue tell the vastness of this devastation.

I walked over the greater part of the wrecked town this morning, and one
could not have pictured such a wreck, nor could one have imagined that
an entire town of this size could be so completely swept away.

A.J. Haws, one of the prominent men of the town, was standing on the
hillside this morning, taking a view of the wreck. He said:

"I never saw anything like this, nor do I believe any one else ever did.
No idea can be had of the tremendous loss of property here. It amounts
up into the millions. I am going to leave the place. I never will build
here."

I heard the superintendents and managers of the Cambria Iron Works
saying they doubted if the works will be rebuilt. This would mean the
death blow to the place. Mr. Stackhouse, first vice-president of the
iron works, is expected here to-day. Nothing can be done until a meeting
of the company is held.


Preparations for Burial.

Adjutant General Hastings, who is in charge of the relief corps at the
railroad station, has a force of carpenters at work making rough boxes
in which to bury the dead. They will be buried on the hill, just above
the town, on ground belonging to the Cambria Iron Company. The graves
will be numbered. No one will be buried that has not been identified
without a careful description being taken. General Hastings drove
fifty-eight miles across the country in order to get here, and as soon
as he came took charge. He has the whole town organized, and in
connection with L.S. Smith has commenced the building of bridges and
clearing away the wrecks to get out the dead bodies.

[Illustration: PREPARATIONS FOR BURIAL.]

General Hastings has a large force of men clearing private tracks of the
Cambria Iron Company in order that the small engines can be put to work
bringing up the dead that have been dragged out of the river at points
below.

The bodies are being brought up and laid out in freight cars. Mr.
Kittle, of Ebensburg, has been deputized to take charge of the valuables
taken from the bodies and keep a registry of them, and also to note any
marks of identification that may be found. A number of the bodies have
been stripped of rings or bracelets and other valuables.

Over six hundred corpses have now been taken out on the south side of
Stony Creek, the greater portion of which have been identified.


Send Us Coffins.

Preparations for their burial are being carried on as rapidly as
possible, and "coffins, coffins," is the cry. No word has been received
anywhere of any being shipped. Even rough boxes will be gladly received.
Those that are being made, and in which many of the bodies are being
buried, are of rough unplaned boards. One hundred dead bodies are laid
out at the soap factory, while two hundred or more people are gathered
there that are in great distress. Boats are wanted. People have the
greatest difficulty in getting to the town.


Struggling for Order.

Another account from Johnstown on the second day after the disaster
says:

The situation here has not changed, and yesterday's estimates of the
loss of life do not seem to be exaggerated. Six hundred bodies are now
lying in Johnstown, and a large number have already been buried. Four
immense relief trains arrived last night, and the survivors are being
well cared for.

Adjutant General Hastings, assisted by Mayor Sanger, has taken command
at Johnstown and vicinity. Nothing is legal unless it bears the
signature of the former. The town itself is guarded by Company H, Sixth
regiment, Lieutenant Leggett in command. New members were sworn in by
him, and they are making excellent soldiers.

Special police are numerous, and the regulations are so strict that even
the smoking of a cigar is prohibited. General Hastings expresses the
opinion that more troops are necessary.

Mr. Alex. Hart is in charge of the special police. He has lost his wife
and family. Notwithstanding his great misfortune he is doing the work of
a Hercules in his own way.


Firemen and Soldiers Arriving.

Chief Evans, of the Pittsburgh Fire Department, arrived this evening
with engines and several hose carts, with a full complement of men. A
large number of Pittsburgh physicians came on the same train.

A squad of Battery B, under command of Lieutenant Brown, the forerunners
of the whole battery, arrived at the improvised telegraph office at
half-past six o'clock. Lieutenant Brown went at once to Adjutant General
Hastings and reported for duty.

A portion of the police force of Pittsburgh and Alleghany are on duty,
and better order is maintained than prevailed yesterday. Communication
has been restored between Cambria City and Johnstown by a foot bridge.

The work of repairing the tracks between Sang Hollow and Johnstown is
going on rapidly, and trains will probably be running by to-morrow
morning. Not less than fifteen thousand strangers are here.

The unruly element has been put down and order is now perfect. The
Citizen's Committee are in charge and have matters well organized.

A proclamation has just been issued that all men who are able to work
must report for work or leave the place. "We have too much to do to
support idlers," says the Citizen's Committee, "And will not abuse the
generous help that is being sent by doing so." From to-morrow all will
be at work.

Money now is greatly needed to meet the heavy pay rolls that will be
incurred for the next two weeks. W. C. Lewis, Chairman of the Finance
Committee, is ready to receive the same.


Fall of the Wall of Water.

Mr. Crouse, proprietor of the South Fork Fishing Club Hotel, came to
Johnstown this afternoon. He says:--

"When the dam of Conemaugh Lake broke the water seemed to leap, scarcely
touching the ground. It bounded down the valley, crashing and roaring,
carrying everything before it. For a mile its front seemed like a solid
wall twenty feet high."

Freight Agent Dechert, when the great wall that held the body of water
began to crumble at the top sent a message begging the people of
Johnstown for God's sake to take to the hills. He reports no serious
accidents at South Fork.

Richard Davis ran to Prospect Hill when the water raised. As to Mr.
Dechert's message, he says just such have been sent down at each flood
since the lake was made. The warning so often proved useless that little
attention was paid to it this time. "I cannot describe the mad rush," he
said. "At first it looked like dust. That must have been the spray. I
could see houses going down before it like a child's play blocks set on
edge in a row. As it came nearer I could see houses totter for a moment,
then rise and the next moment be crushed like egg shells against each
other."


To Rise Phoenix-like.

James McMillin, vice-president of the Cambria Iron Works, was met this
afternoon. In a conversation he said:

"I do not know what our loss is. I cannot even estimate, as I have not
the faintest idea what it may be. The upper mill is totally
wrecked--damaged beyond all possibility of repairs. The lower mill is
damaged to such an extent that all machinery and buildings are useless.

"The mills will be rebuilt immediately. I have sent out orders that all
men that can must report at the mill to-morrow to commence cleaning up.
I do not think the building was insured against a flood. The great thing
we want is to get the mill in operation again."

[Illustration: THE BRIDGE, WHERE A THOUSAND HOUSES, JAMBED TOGETHER,
CAUGHT FIRE.]

[Illustration: IN THE VALLEY OF DEATH.]

[Illustration: A MOTHER AND CHILD PERISH TOGETHER.]

[Illustration: SWEPT AWAY BY THE TORRENT.]

[Illustration: LYNCHING AND DROWNING THIEVES.]

[Illustration: DISTRIBUTING SUPPLIES TO THE DESTITUTE.]

[Illustration: A CRAZED SOLDIER COMMITS SUICIDE.]

[Illustration: MADE ORPHANS BY THE FLOOD.]

[Illustration: A FATHER'S DESPAIR AT THE LOSS OF HIS FAMILY.]

[Illustration: VALLEY OF THE CONEMAUGH NEAR JOHNSTOWN.]

[Illustration: MEETING OF FRIENDS AND RELATIVES AFTER THE FLOOD.]

[Illustration: MOTHER AND BABE CAST UP BY THE WATERS.]

[Illustration: RELIEF FOR JOHNSTOWN-PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD STATION,
PHILADELPHIA.]

[Illustration: THE MILITIA AT REST.]

The Gautier Wire Works was completely destroyed. The buildings will be
immediately rebuilt and put in operation as soon as possible. The loss
at this point is complete. The land on which it stood is to-day as
barren and desolate as if it were in the midst of the Sahara Desert.

The Cambria Iron Company loses its great supply stores. The damage to
the stock alone will amount to $50,000.

The building was valued at $150,000, and is a total loss. The company
offices which adjoins the store was a handsome structure. It was
protected by the first building, but nevertheless is almost totally
destroyed.

The Dartmouth Club, at which employees of the works boarded, was carried
away in the flood. It contained many occupants at the time. None were
saved.

Estimates of the losses of the Cambria Iron Company given are from
$2,000,000 to $2,500,000. But little of this can be recovered.

History of the Works.

The Cambria Iron Works at Johnstown were built in 1853. It was the
second largest plant of its kind in the country, and was completely
swept away. Its capacity of finished steel per annum was 180,000 net
tons of steel rails and 20,000 net tons of steel in other shapes. The
mill turned out steel rails, spike bars, angles, flats, rounds, axles,
billets and wire rods. There were nine Siemens and forty-two reverbatory
heating furnaces, one seven ton and two 6,000 pound hammers and three
trains of rolls.

The Bessemer Steel Works made their first blow July 10, 1871, and they
contained nine gross ton converters, with an annual capacity of 200,000
net tons of ingots. In 1878 two fifteen gross tons Siemens open-hearth
steel furnaces were built, with an annual capacity of 20,000 net tons of
ingots.

The Cambria Iron Company also owns the Gautier Steel Works at Johnstown,
which were erected in 1878.

The rolling mill produced annually 30,000 net tons of merchant bar steel
of every size and for every purpose. The wire mill had a capacity alone
of 30,000 tons of fence wire.

There are numerous bituminous coal mines near Johnstown, operated by the
Cambria Iron Company, the Euclid Coal Company and private persons. There
were three woolen mills, employing over three hundred hands and
producing an annual product valued at $300,000.

Awful Work of the Flames.

Fifty acres of town swept clean. One thousand two hundred buildings
destroyed. Eight thousand to ten thousand lives lost.

That is the record of the Johnstown calamity as it looked to me just
before dark last night. Acres of the town were turned into cemeteries,
and miles of the river bank were involuntary storage rooms for household
goods.

From the half ruined parapet at the end of the stone railroad bridge, in
Johnstown proper, one sees sights so gruesome that none but the
soulless Hungarian and Italian laborers can command his emotions.

_At my right is a fiery pit that is now believed to have been the
funeral pyre of almost a thousand persons._

Streets Obliterated.

The fiercest rush of the current was straight across the lower, level
part of Johnstown, where it entirely obliterated Cinder, Washington,
Market, Main and Walnut streets. These streets were from a half to
three-quarters of a mile in length, and were closely crowded along their
entire course with dwellings and other buildings, and there is now no
more trace of streets or houses than there is at low tide on the beach
at Far Rockaway.

In the once well populated boroughs of Conemaugh and Woodvale there are
to-night literally but two buildings left, one the shell of the Woodvale
Woolen Mill and the other a sturdy brick dwelling.

The buildings which were swept from twenty out of the thirty acres of
devastated Johnstown were crowded against the lower end of the big stone
bridge in a mass 200 yards wide, 500 yards broad and from 60 to 100 feet
deep. They were crushed and split out of shape and packed together like
playing cards.

When you realize that in nearly every one of these buildings there were
at least one human being, while in some there were as many as
seventy-five, it is easy to comprehend how awful it was when this mass
began to burn fiercely last night. It was known that a large number of
persons were imprisoned in the debris, for they could be plainly seen
by those on shore, but it was not until people stopped to think and to
ask themselves questions, which startled them in a ghastly way, that the
fact became plain that instead of a pitiful hundred or two of victims at
least a thousand were in that roaring, crackling, loathsome, blazing
mass upon the surface of the water and in the huge, inaccessible arches
of the big bridge.

Charred Bodies.

Charred bodies could be seen here and there all through the glowing
embers. There was no attempt to check the fire by the authorities, nor
for that matter did they try to stop the robbing of the dead, nor any
other glaring violation of law. The fire is spreading toward a large
block of crushed buildings further up the stream. There is a broad
stretch of angry water above and below, while over there, just opposite
the end of the bridge, is the ruin of the great Cambria Iron Works,
which have been damaged to the extent of over $1,000,000.

The Gautier Steel Works have been wiped away, and are represented by a
loss of $1,000,000 and a big hole.

The Holbert House, owned by Renford Brothers, has entirely disappeared.
It was a five story building, was the leading hotel of Johnstown, and
contained a hundred rooms. Of the seventy-five guests who were in it
when the flood came, only eight have been saved. Most of them were
crushed by the fall of the walls and flooring.

Hundreds of searching parties are looking in the muddy ponds and among
the wreckage for bodies and they are being gathered in ghastly heaps.

In one building among the bloated victims, I saw a young and
well-dressed man and woman, still locked in each other's arms, a young
mother with her babe pressed with delirious tenacity to her breast, and
on a small pillow was a tiny babe a few hours old, which the doctors
said must have been born in the water. It is said that 720 bodies have
so far been recovered, or have been located.

The coroner of Westmoreland county is ordering coffins by the carload.

In the Raging Waters.

A dispatch from Derry says: In this city the poor people in the raging
waters cried out for aid that never came. More than one brave man risked
his life in trying to save those in the flood. Every hour details of
some heroic action are brought to light. In many instances the victims
displayed remarkable courage and gave their chances for rescue to
friends with them. Sons stood back for mothers, and were lost while
their parents were taken out. Many a son went down to a watery grave
that a sister or a father might be saved. Such instances of sacrifice in
the face of fearful danger are numerous.

The Force of the Waters.

One can estimate the force of the water when it is known that it carried
locomotives down the mountain side and turned them upside down where
they are now lying. Long trains of cars have been derailed and carried
great distances from the railroads.

The first sight that greeted the men at nine this morning was the body
of a beautiful woman lying crushed and mangled under the ponderous
wheels of a gondola car. The clothing was torn to shreds. Dr. Berry said
that he never saw such intense pain pictured on a face before.

Terrible Stories.

At this time of writing it is impossible to secure the names of any of
the lost. Every person one meets along the road has some horrible tale
of drowned and dead bodies recovered.

One thousand people or more were buried and crushed in the great fire.
The flats below Conemaugh are full of cars with many dead bodies lying
under them. At Sang Hollow a man named Duncan sat on the roof of a house
and saw his father and mother die in the attic below him. The poor
fellow was powerless to help them, and he stood there wringing his hands
and tearing his hair.

A man was seen clinging to a tree, covered with blood. He was lost with
the others.

Long after dark the flames of fire shot high above the burning mass of
timber, lighting the vast flood of rushing waters on all sides.

The Dead.

Dead bodies are being picked up. The train master, E. Pitcairn, has been
working manfully directing the rescuing of dead bodies at Nineveh. In a
ten acre field seventy-five bodies were taken out within a half mile of
each other. Of this number only five were men, the rest being women and
children. Many beautiful young girls, refined in features and handsomely
dressed, were found, and women and young mothers with their hair matted
with roots and leaves are constantly being removed.

The wrecking crew which took out these bodies are confident that 150
bodies are lying buried in the sand and under the debris on those
low-lying bottom lands. Some of the bodies were horribly mangled, and
the features were twisted and contorted as if they had died in the most
excrutiating agony. Others are found lying stretched out with calm
faces.

Many a tear was dropped by the men as they worked away removing the
bodies. An old lady with fine gray hair was picked up alive, although
every bone in her body was broken. Judging from the number of women and
children found in the swamps of Nineveh, the female portion of the
population suffered the most.

A Fatal Tree.

Mr. O'Conner was at Sang Hollow when the flood began. He remained there
through the afternoon and night, and he states that there was a fatal
tree on the island against which a number of people were dashed and
instantly killed. Their bodies were almost tied in a knot doubled over
the tree by the force of the current. Mr. O'Conner says that the first
man who came down had his brains knocked out against this obstruction.
In fact, those who hit the tree met the same fate and were instantly
killed under the pile of driftwood collected there. He could give no
estimate of the number lost at this point, but says that it is certainly
large.


Braves Death for His Family.

One of the most thrilling incidents of the disaster was the performance
of A.J. Leonard, whose family reside in Morrellville, a short distance
below this point. He was at work here, and hearing that his house had
been swept away determined at all hazards to ascertain the fate of his
family. The bridges having been carried away he constructed a temporary
raft, and clinging to it as close as a cat to the side of a fence, he
pushed his frail craft out in the raging torrent and started on a chase
which, to all who were watching, seemed to mean an embrace in death.

Heedless of cries "For God's sake go back, you will be drowned," and
"Don't attempt it," he persevered. As the raft struck the current he
threw off his coat and in his shirt sleeves braved the stream. Down
plunged the boards and down went Leonard, but as it rose he was seen
still clinging. A mighty shout arose from the throats of the hundreds on
the banks, who were now deeply interested, earnestly hoping he would
successfully ford the stream.

Down again went his bark, but nothing, it seemed, could shake Leonard
off. The craft shot up in the air apparently ten or twelve feet, and
Leonard stuck to it tenaciously. Slowly but surely he worked his boat
to the other side of the stream, and after what seemed an awful
suspense he finally landed amid ringing cheers of men, women and
children.

The last seen of him he was making his way down a mountain road in the
direction of the spot where his house had lately stood. His family
consisted of his wife and three children.


An Angel in the Mud.

The Pennsylvania Railroad Company's operators at Switch Corner, which is
near Sang Hollow, tell thrilling stories of the scenes witnessed by them
on Friday afternoon and evening. Said one of them:

"In order to give you an idea of how the tidal wave rose and fell, let
me say that I kept a measure and timed the rise and fall of the water,
and in forty-eight minutes it fell four and a half feet.

"I believe that when the water goes down about seventy-five children and
fifty grown persons will be found among the weeds and bushes in the bend
of the river just below the tower.

"There the current was very strong, and we saw dozens of people swept
under the trees, and I don't believe that more than one in twenty came
out on the other side."

"They found a little girl in white just now," said one of the other
operators.

"Good God!" said the chief operator, "she isn't dead, is she!"

"Yes; they found her in a clump of willow bushes, kneeling on a board,
just about the way we saw her when she went down the river." Turning to
me he said:--

"That was the saddest thing we saw all day yesterday. Two men came down
on a little raft, with a little girl kneeling between them, and her
hands raised and praying. She came so close to us we could see her face,
and that she was crying. She had on a white dress and looked like a
little angel. She went under that cursed shoot in the willow bushes at
the bend like all the rest, but we did hope she would get through
alive."

"And so she was still kneeling," he said to his companion, who had
brought the unwelcome news.

"She sat there," was the reply, "as if she were still praying, and there
was a smile on her poor little face, though her mouth was full of mud."

All agreed in saying that at least one hundred people were drowned below
Nineveh.


Direful Incidents.

The situation at Johnstown grows worse as fuller particulars are being
received in Pittsburgh.

This morning it was reported that three thousand people were lost in the
flood. In the afternoon this number was increased to six thousand, and
at this writing despatches place the number at ten thousand.

It is the most frightful destruction of life that has ever been known in
the United States.


Vampires at Hand.

It is stated that already a large gang of thieves and vampires have
descended on and near the place. Their presumed purpose is to rob the
dead and ransack the demolished buildings.

The Tenth regiment of the Pennsylvania National Guard has been ordered
out to protect property.

A telegram from Bolivar says Lockport did not suffer much, but that
sixty-five families were turned out of their homes. The school at that
place is filled with mothers, fathers, daughters and children.


Noble Acts of Heroism.

Edward Dick, a young railroader living in the place, saw an old man
floating down the river on a tree trunk whose agonized face and
streaming gray hair excited his compassion. He plunged into the torrent,
clothes and all, and brought the old man safely ashore. Scarcely had he
done this when the upper story of a house floated by on which Mrs.
Adams, of Cambria, and her two children were borne. He plunged in again,
and while breaking through the tin roof of the house cut an artery in
his left wrist, but, although weakened with loss of blood, succeeded in
saving both mother and children.

George Shore, another Lockport swimmer, pulled out William Jones, of
Cambria, who was almost exhausted and could not possibly have survived
another twenty minutes in the water.

John Decker, who has some celebrity as a local pugilist, was also
successful in saving a woman and boy, but was nearly killed in a third
attempt to reach the middle of the river by being struck by a huge log.

The most miraculous fact about the people who reached Bolivar alive was
how they passed through the falls halfway between Lockport and Bolivar.
The seething waters rushed through that barrier of rock with a noise
which drowned that of all the passing trains. Heavy trees were whirled
high in the air out of the water, and houses which reached there whole
were dashed to splinters against the rocks.


A Tale of Horror.

On the floor of William Mancarro's house, groaning with pain and grief,
lay Patrick Madden, a furnace man of the Cambria Iron Company. He told
of his terrible experience in a voice broken with emotion. He said:
"When the Cambria Iron Company's bridge gave way I was in the house of a
neighbor, Edward Garvey. We were caught through our own neglect, like a
great many others, and a few minutes before the houses were struck
Garvey remarked that he was a good swimmer, and could get away no matter
how high the water rose. Ten minutes later I saw him and his son-in-law
drowned.

"No human being could swim in that terrible torrent of debris. After the
South Fork reservoir broke I was flung out of the building and saw, when
I rose to the surface of the water, my wife hanging upon a piece of
scantling. She let it go and was drowned almost within reach of my arm
and I could not help or save her. I caught a log and floated with it
five or six miles, but it was knocked from under me when I went over the
dam. I then caught a bale of hay and was taken out by Mr. Morenrow."

A despatch from Greensburg says the day express, which left Pittsburgh
at eight o'clock on Friday morning was lying at Johnstown in the evening
at the time the awful rush of waters came down the mountains. We have
been informed by one who was there that the coach next to the baggage
car was struck by the raging flood, and with its human freight cut loose
from the rest of the train and carried down the stream. All on board, it
is feared, perished. Of the passengers who were left on the track,
fifteen or more who endeavored to flee to the mountains were caught, it
is thought, by the flood, and likewise carried to destruction. Samuel
Bell, of Latrobe, was conductor on the train, and he describes the scene
as the most appalling and heartrending he ever witnessed.

A special despatch from Latrobe says:--"The special train which left the
Union Station, Pittsburgh, at half-past one arrived at Nineveh Station,
nine miles from Johnstown, last evening at five o'clock. The train was
composed of four coaches and locomotive, and carried, at the lowest
calculation, over nine hundred persons, including the members of the
press. The passengers were packed in like sardines and many were
compelled to hang out upon the platform. A large proportion of the
passengers were curiosity seekers, while there was a large sprinkling of
suspicious looking characters, who had every appearance of being crooks
and wreckers, such as visit all like disasters for the sole purpose of
plundering and committing kindred depredations."

When the train reached Nineveh the report spread through it that a
number of bodies had been fished out of the water and were awaiting
identification at a neighboring planing mill. I stopped off to
investigate the rumor, while the balance of the party journeyed on
toward Sang Hollow, the nearest approach to Johnstown by rail. I visited
Mumaker's planing mills and found that the report was true.

[Illustration: TAKING DEAD BODIES FROM A ROOF.]

All day long the rescuers had been at work, and at this writing (six
o'clock) they have taken out seventy-eight dead bodies, the majority of
whom are women and children. The bodies are horribly mutilated and
covered with mud and blood. Fifteen of them are those of men. Their
terribly mutilated condition makes identification for the present almost
impossible. One of the bodies found was that of a woman, apparently
about thirty-five years of age.

Every conveyance that could be used has been pressed into service.
Latrobe is all agog with excitement over the great disaster. Almost
every train takes out a load of roughs and thugs who are bent on
mischief. They resemble the mob that came to Pittsburgh during the
riots.


Measures of Relief.

Pittsburgh is in a wild state of excitement. A large mass meeting was
held yesterday afternoon and in a short space of time $1,000 was
subscribed for the sufferers.

The Pennsylvania company has been running trains every hour to the scene
of the disaster or as near it as they can get. Provisions and a large
volunteer relief corps have been sent up. The physicians have had an
enthusiastic meeting at which one and all freely offered their services.

The latest project is to have the wounded and the survivors who fled to
the hillsides from the angry rush of waters brought to Pittsburgh. The
Exposition Society has offered the use of its splendid new building as a
temporary hospital. All the hospitals in the city have also offered to
care for the sufferers free of charge to the full limit of their
capacity.

Word has been received at Allegheny Junction, twenty-two miles above
Pittsburgh, from Leechburg that a woman and two children were seen
floating past there at five o'clock yesterday morning on top of some
wreckage. They were alive, and their pitiful cries for help drew the
attention of the people on the shore. Some men got a boat and endeavored
to reach the sufferers.

As they rowed out in the stream the woman could be heard calling to them
to save the children first.

The men made a gallant effort. It was all without avail, as the strong
current and floating masses of debris prevented them from reaching the
victims, and the latter floated on down the stream until their
despairing cries could no longer be heard.

Mrs. Chambers, of Apollo, was swept away when her house was wrecked
during the night. She had gone to bed when the flood came and she had
not time to dress. Fortunately she managed to secure a hold on some
wreckage which was being carried past her. She kept her hold until her
cries were heard by some men a short distance above Leechburg. They got
out a boat and succeeded in reaching her, and took her to a house near
the bank of the river. When they got her there it was found that she was
badly bruised and all her clothing had been torn off by the debris with
which she had come in contact, leaving her entirely naked. She was also
rescued at Natrona.


A Lucky Change of Residence.

Mr. F.J. Moore, of the Western Union office in this city, is giving
thanks to-day for the fortunate escape of his wife and two children
from the devastated city. As if by some foreknowledge of the impending
disaster, Mr. Moore had arranged to have his family move yesterday from
Johnstown and join him in this city. Their household goods were shipped
on Thursday, and yesterday just in time to save themselves, the little
party departed in the single train which made the trip between Johnstown
and Pittsburgh. I called on Mrs. Moore at her husband's apartments, No.
4 Webster avenue, and found her completely prostrated by the news of the
final catastrophe, coupled with the dangerous experience through which
she and her little ones had passed.

"Oh, it was terrible," she said. "The reservoir had broken, and before
we got out of the house the water filled the cellar, and on the way to
the depot it was up to the carriage bed. Our train left at a quarter to
two P.M., and at that hour the flood had commenced to rise with terrible
rapidity. Houses and sheds were carried away, and two men were drowned
almost under our very eyes. People gathered on the roofs to take refuge
from the water which poured into the lower rooms of their dwellings, and
many families took fright and became scattered beyond hope of being
reunited. Just as the train pulled out I saw a woman crying bitterly.
Her house had been flooded and she had escaped, leaving her husband
behind, and her fears for his safety made her almost crazy. Our house
was in the lower part of the town, and it makes me shudder to think what
would have happened had we remained in it an hour longer. So far as I
know we were the only passengers from Johnstown on the train, and
therefore I suppose we are the only persons who got away in time to
escape the culminating disaster."

Mrs. Moore's little son told me how he had seen the rats driven out of
their holes by the flood and running along the tops of the fences. Mr.
Moore endeavored to get to Johnstown yesterday, but was prevented by the
suspension of traffic and says he is very glad of it.


What the Eye Hath Seen.

The scenes at Heanemyer's planing mill at Nineveh, where the dead bodies
are lying, are never to be forgotten. The torn, bruised and mutilated
bodies of the victims are lying in a row on the floor of the planing
mill which looks more like the field of Bull Run after that disasterous
battle than a work shop. The majority of the bodies are nude, their
clothing having been torn off. All along the river bits of clothing--a
tiny shoe, a baby dress, a mother's evening wrapper, a father's coat,
and in fact every article of wearing apparel imaginable may be seen
hanging to stumps of trees and scattered on the bank.

One of the most pitiful sights of this terrible disaster came to my
notice this afternoon when the body of a young lady was taken out of the
Conemaugh river. The woman was apparently quite young, though her
features were terribly disfigured. Nearly all the clothing excepting the
shoes was torn off the body. The corpse was that of a mother, for
although cold in death she clasped a young male babe, apparently not
more than a year old, tightly in her arms. The little one was huddled
close up to the face of the mother, who when she realized their terrible
fate had evidently raised it to her lips to imprint upon its lips the
last kiss it was to receive in this world. The sight forced many a stout
heart to shed tears. The limp bodies, with matted hair, some with holes
in their heads, eyes knocked out and all bespattered with blood were a
ghastly spectacle.


Story of The First Fugitives.

The first survivors of the Johnstown wreck who arrived in the city last
night were Joseph and Henry Lauffer and Lew Dalmeyer, three well known
Pittsburghers. They endured considerable hardship and had several narrow
escapes with their lives. Their story of the disaster can best be told
in their own language. Joe, the youngest of the Lauffer brothers,
said:--

"My brother and I left on Thursday for Johnstown. The night we arrived
there it rained continually, and on Friday morning it began to flood. I
started for the Cambria store at a quarter past eight on Friday, and in
fifteen minutes afterward I had to get out of the store in a wagon, the
water was running so rapidly. We then arrived at the station and took
the day express and went as far as Conemaugh, where we had to stop. The
limited, however got through, and just as we were about to start the
bridge at South Fork gave way with a terrific crash, and we had to stay
there. We then went to Johnstown. This was at a quarter to ten in the
morning, when the flood was just beginning. The whole city of Johnstown
was inundated and the people all moved up to the second floor.


Mountains of Water.

"Now this is where the trouble occurred. These poor unfortunates did not
know the reservoir would burst, and there are no skiffs in Johnstown to
escape in. When the South Fork basin gave way mountains of water twenty
feet high came rushing down the Conemaugh River, carrying before them
death and destruction. I shall never forget the harrowing scene. Just
think of it! thousands of people, men, women and children, struggling
and weeping and wailing as they were being carried suddenly away in the
raging current. Houses were picked up as if they were but a feather, and
their inmates were all carried away with them, while cries of 'God help
me!' 'Save me!' 'I am drowning!' 'My child!' and the like were heard on
all sides. Those who were lucky enough to escape went to the mountains,
and there they beheld the poor unfortunates being crushed among the
debris to death without any chance of being rescued. Here and there a
body was seen to make a wild leap into the air and then sink to the
bottom.

"At the stone bridge of the Pennsylvania company people were dashed to
death against the piers. When the fire started there hundreds of bodies
were burned. Many lookers-on up on the mountains, especially the women,
fainted."

Mr. Lauffer's brother, Harry, then told his part of the tale, which was
not less interesting. He said:--"We had the most narrow escapes of
anybody, and I tell you we don't want to be around when anything of that
kind occurs again.

"The scenes at Johnstown have not in the least been exaggerated, and
indeed the worst is to be heard. When we got to Conemaugh and just as we
were about to start the bridge gave way. This left the day express, the
accommodation, a special train and a freight train at the station. Above
was the South Fork water basin, and all of the trains were well filled.
We were discussing the situation when suddenly, without any warning, the
whistles of every engine began to shriek, and in the noise could be
heard the warning of the first engineer, 'My God! Rush to the mountains,
the reservoir has burst.' Then, with a thundering like peal came the mad
rush of waters. No sooner had the cry been heard than those who could
with a wild leap rushed from the train and up the mountains. To tell
this story takes some time, but the moments in which the horrible scene
was enacted were few. Then came the tornado of water, leaping and
rushing with tremendous force. The waves had angry crests of white and
their roar was something deafening. In one terrible swath they caught
the four trains and lifted three of them right off the track, as if they
were only a cork. There they floated in the river. Think of it, three
large locomotives and finely varnished Pullmans floating around, and
above all the hundreds of poor unfortunates who were unable to escape
from the car swiftly drifting toward death. Just as we were about to
leap from the car I saw a mother, with a smiling, blue eyed baby in her
arms. I snatched it from her and leaped from the train just as it was
lifted off of the track. The mother and child were saved, but if one
more minute had elapsed we all would have perished."


Beyond the Power of Words.

During all of this time the waters kept rushing down the Conemaugh and
through the beautiful town of Johnstown, picking up everything and
sparing nothing.

The mountains by this time were black with people, and the moans and
sighs from those below brought tears to the eyes of the most stony
hearted. There in that terrible rampage were brothers, sisters, wives
and husbands, and from the mountain could be seen the panic stricken
marks in the faces of those who were struggling between life and death.
I really am unable to do justice to the scene, and its details are
almost beyond my power to relate. Then came the burning of the debris
near the Pennsylvania Railroad bridge. The scene was too sickening to
endure. We left the spot and journeyed across country and delivered many
notes, letters, etc., that were intrusted to us.

We rode thirty-one miles in a buckboard, then walked six miles, reached
Blairsville and journeyed again on foot to what is called the "Bow," and
from thence we arrived home. On our way we met Mr. F. Thompson, a
friend of ours, who resides in Nineveh, and he stated that rescuing
parties were busy all day at Annom. One hundred and seventy-five bodies
were recovered at that place. An old couple about sixty years of age
were rescued from a tree, on which they came floating down the stream.
They were clasped in each other's arms.

President Harrison's private secretary, Elijah Halford, and wife, were
on the train which was swept away, but escaped and were in the mountains
when I left.

Among the lost are Colonel John P. Linton and his wife and children.
Colonel Linton was prominent in the Grand Army of the Republic and in
the Knights of Pythias and other orders. He was formerly Auditor General
of Pennsylvania.

[Illustration: NINEVEH STATION, WHERE TWO HUNDRED BODIES WERE FOUND.]




CHAPTER IV.

Multiplication of Terrors.


The handsome brick High School Building is damaged to such an extent
that it will have to be rebuilt. The water attained the height of the
window sills of the second floor. Its upper stories formed a refuge for
many persons. All Saturday afternoon two little girls could be seen at
the windows frantically calling for aid. They had spent all night and
the day in the building, cut off from all aid. Without food and drinking
water their condition was lamentable. Late in the evening the children
were removed to higher ground and properly cared for.

A number of persons had been taken from this building earlier in the
day, but in the excitement the children were forgotten. Their names
could not be obtained.


Death in Many Forms.

Morrell Institute, a beautiful building and the old homestead of the
Morrell family, is totally ruined. The water has weakened the walls and
foundations to such an extent that there is danger of its collapsing.
Many families took refuge in this building and were saved. Now that the
waters have receded there is danger from falling walls. All day long the
crashing of walls could be heard across the river. Before daybreak this
morning the sounds could not but make one shudder at the very thought
of the horrible deaths that awaited many who had escaped the devastating
flood.

Library Hall was another of the fine buildings of the many in the city
that is destroyed. Of the Episcopal church not a vestige remains. Where
it once stood, there is now a placid lake. The parsonage is swept away,
and the rector of the church, Rev. Mr. Diller, was drowned.


Buried Under Falling Buildings.

The church was one of the first buildings to fall. It carried with it
several of the surrounding houses. Many of them were occupied. The
victims were swept into the comparatively still waters at the bridge,
and there met death either by fire or water.

James M. Walters, an attorney, spent the night in Alma Hall and relates
a thrilling story. One of the most curious occurrences of the whole
disaster was how Mr. Walters got to the hall. He has his office on the
second floor. His home is at No. 135 Walnut street. He says he was in
the house with his family when the waters struck it. All was carried
away. Mr. Walters' family drifted on a roof in another direction. He
passed down several streets and alleys until he came to the hall. His
dwelling struck that edifice and he was thrown into his own office.


Long, Dark Night of Terror.

About two hundred persons had taken refuge in the hall, and were on the
second, third and fourth stories. The men held a meeting and drew up
some rules, which all were bound to respect. Mr. Walters was chosen
president. Rev. Mr. Beale was put in charge of the first floor, A.M.
Hart of the second floor, Doctor Matthews of the fourth floor. No lights
were allowed, and the whole night was spent in darkness. The sick were
cared for. The weaker women and children had the best accommodations
that could be had, while the others had to wait. The scenes were most
agonizing. Heartrending shrieks, sobs and moans pierced the gloomy
darkness. The crying of children mingled with the suppressed sobs of the
women. Under the guardianship of the men all took more hope. No one
slept during all the long dark night. Many knelt for hours in prayer,
their supplications mingling with the roar of the waters and the shrieks
of the dying in the surrounding houses. In all this misery two women
gave premature birth to children.


Here is a Hero.

Dr. Matthews is a hero. Several of his ribs were crushed by a falling
timber and his pains were most severe, yet through all he attended the
sick. When two women in a house across the street shouted for help he
with two other brave young men climbed across the drift and ministered
to their wants. No one died during the night, but women and children
surrendered their lives on the succeeding day as a result of terror and
fatigue. Miss Rose Young, one of the young ladies in the hall, was
frightfully cut and bruised. Mrs. Young had a leg broken. All of Mr.
Walters' family were saved.

While the loss of property about Brookville, the lumber centre of
Pennsylvania, by the great flood has been enormous, variously estimated
at from $250,000 to $500,000, not a single life has been lost. At least
there have been none reported so far, and I have travelled over the line
from Red Bank, on the Valley road, to Dubois, on the low grade division.
Every creek is swollen to many times its natural size. A great deal of
the low-lying farm lands and roads in places have water enough over them
to float an ordinary steamboat.

Leaving Pittsburgh Saturday morning on the valley road, we ran past
millions and millions of feet of lumber. From the city to the junction
opposite Freeport the river was almost choked with debris of broken and
shattered houses. In places the river was fairly black with floating
masses of lath, shingles, roofs, floors and other lumber that had
formerly been houses. The sight was appalling and spoke louder than any
pen can describe.

At Red Bank the river was filled with a different kind of lumber,
including huge saw logs ready for cutting. From the estimates of an old
lumber man who was on the train I was told that between the stations
named we passed at least ten million feet of lumber, which means a loss
of fully $100,000 to the owners. A big portion of this came out of the
Clarion river, the estimated money loss from that section alone being
anywhere from $500,000 to $750,000.

All along the Allegheny river were gathered people trying to catch the
logs, risking their lives, for the logs swept down the river in a
current that was running fully ten miles an hour. The work was very
hazardous. The catchers are allowed by law six and a quarter cents for
each log captured, and the river was almost lined with people trying to
save the property.

At Red Bank, which we left at noon, there were at least six feet of
water expected from Oil City, and with it, according to the reports from
up the river, was an immense amount of lumber. Leaving the valley road
at Red Bank we went up the low grade division to Bryant, where immense
sawmills, the largest in the vicinity are located. The current was
rushing along at a rate anywhere from twelve to fifteen miles an hour,
tossing the huge logs around like so many toothpicks and carrying
everything before them. So great was the current and mass of logs that
the big iron bridge at Reynoldsville, sixteen miles above Brookville,
was swept away, as were two wagon bridges and several small foot
bridges.


Hundreds Homeless and Suffering.

Many houses here and there along Red Bank Creek were turned upside down,
some of them floating clear away, while the more secure ones were
flooded with water clear into the second floors. Many of the smaller
cottages and shanties were covered, leaving only the peaks of the roofs
sticking out to show the spots that families had but a few hours before
called home. All along the railroad track was piled the few household
effects, furniture, bedding, tables and clothes which the poor owners
had saved before they were forced out on the high ground. These same
people had gone to bed last evening thinking themselves safe from the
high water, only to be wakened about midnight by the noise of the
rushing floods and the huge saw logs bumping against their homes. The
very narrow escapes that some of them made while getting their families
into places of safety would fill many pages of this book.


Floating to Safety on Saw Logs.

One man had to mount the different members of his family on logs. The
mother and children alike sat astride of them, and then, with the father
on the other end, were poled across to the high ground.

Another man, whose house was in a worse place, swam ashore and, throwing
a rope back to the mother, who was surrounded on the porch of the house
by the children, yelled for her to tie one end to the little ones so he
could pull them over the fast running water. This operation was
continued until the entire family was rescued.

Willing workers from the neighborhood were not long in getting huge
bonfires started, and with the aid of these and dry clothing brought in
haste by people whose homes stood on higher ground the family were soon
warmed.

The same willing hands hastily constructed sheds, and with immense
bonfires the people were kept warm till daylight. Others, more
fortunate, were able to save enough from their houses to make
themselves comfortable for a short season of camping. One poor family I
noticed had saved enough carpet to make a tent out of, and under this
temporary shelter the mother was doing her best to prepare a meal and
attend to her other household duties.


Sheltered by Friendly Neighbors.

In Brookville a great many houses were submerged, but no lives were
lost. While the people were driven from their homes, they were more
fortunate than the people of Bryants, because they could at once find
shelter under the roofs of the neighbors' houses.

All of the saw mills, the chief industry of the town, were closed down.
Some because the water was over the first floor, and others because
their entire working force were on the creek trying to construct
temporary booms, by which they expected to save at least a portion of
the property from being swept away. One man rigged a boom with the aid
of a cable 1,600 feet long and thick enough to hold the heaviest
steamer. About fifty logs were chained together for further protection.
This arrangement for a time checked the mass of logs, but just when
everybody was thinking it would stop the output a small dam gave way,
bringing down with it another half million feet of lumber. When this
struck the temporary boom it parted, as if the huge cable was a piece of
thread, and the logs shot past.

Just at Bryants, however, a gorge formed shortly after two o'clock
Friday afternoon, and within a remarkably short time there was a pile of
logs wedged in that stretched back fully a quarter of a mile and the
top of which was more than ten feet high. This of course changed the
course of the stream a little, but the natural gorge had saved enough
logs to amount to more than $100,000 in money.

The following comments by one of our journals sum up the situation after
receiving the dreadful news of the three preceding days:


The Great Calamity.

The appalling catastrophy which has spread such awful havoc through the
teeming valley of the Conemaugh almost surpasses belief and fairly
staggers imagination. Without yet measuring its dire extent, enough is
known to rank it as the greatest calamity of the natural elements which
this country has ever witnessed. Nothing in our history short of the
deadly blight of battle has approached this frightful cataclysm, and no
battle, though destroying more life, has ever left such a ghastly trail
of horror and devastation. It seems more like one of those terrible
convulsions of nature from which we have hitherto been happily spared,
but which at rare intervals have swallowed up whole communities in
remote South American or oriental lands.

Ingenious and masterful as the human intellect is in guiding and
controlling the ordinary forces of nature, how impotent and
insignificant it appears in the presence of such a transcendent
disaster! It is well nigh inconceivable that a great section throbbing
with populous towns, and resonant with the hum of industry, should be
wiped out in the twinkling of an eye by a mighty, raging torrent, more
consuming than fire and more violent than the earthquake. The suddenness
of the blow and the impossibility of communicating with the scene add to
the terror of the event. The sickening spectacle of ruin and death which
will be revealed when the veil of darkness is lifted is left to
conjecture. The imagination can scarcely picture the dread realities,
and it would be difficult to overdraw the awful features of a calamity
which has every element of horror.


The River and Lake.

Nature is so framed at the fated point for such a disaster that man was
called upon for unceasing vigilance. The Conemaugh makes its channel
through a narrow valley between high ranges. Numerous streams drain the
surrounding mountains into its current. Along its course swarm frequent
hamlets busy with the wealth dug from the seams of the earth. The chief
of these towns, the seat of an immense industry, lies in a little basin
where the gap broadens to take in a converging stream and then
immediately narrows again, no outlet save the constricted waterway. High
above stands a great lake which is held in check only by an artificial
barrier, and which, if once unchained, must pour its resistless torrent
through this narrow gorge like a besom of destruction overwhelming
everything before it. There were all the elements of an unparalleled
disaster. Years of immunity had given a feeling of security for all time
without some extraordinary and unexpected occasion. But the occasion
appeared when in unforseen force the rains descended and the floods
came, and to-day desolation reigns.


A Direful Calamity.

It is impossible yet to measure the extent of the calamity. But the
destruction of life and property must be something that it is appalling
to think of, and the sorrow and suffering to follow are incalculable. A
solemn obligation devolves upon the people of the whole country. We can
not remedy the past but we can alleviate the present and the future.
Thousands of families are homeless and destitute; thousands are without
means of support; perchance, thousands are bereft of the strong arms
upon which they have relied. There is an instant, earnest demand for
help. Let there be immediate, energetic, generous action. Let us do our
part to relieve the anguish and mitigate the suffering of a community
upon whom has fallen the most terrible visitation in all our history.


An Historic Catastrophe.

When an American Charles Reade wishes in the future to weave into the
woof of his novel the account of some great public calamity he will
portray the misfortune which overwhelmed the towns and villages lying in
the valley of the Conemaugh River. The bursting of a reservoir, and the
ensuing scenes of death and destruction, which are so vividly described
in "Put Yourself in His Place," were not the creatures of Mr. Reade's
imagination, but actual occurrences. The novelist obtained facts and
incidents for one of the most striking chapters in all of his works
from the events which followed the breaking of the Dale <DW18> embankment
at Sheffield, England, in March, 1864, when 238 lives were lost and
property valued at millions was destroyed.

It will need even more vivid and vigorous descriptive powers than Mr.
Reade possessed to adequately delineate the scene of destruction and
death now presented in Johnstown and the adjacent villages. The
Sheffield calamity, disastrous as it proved to be, was a small affair
when compared with this latest reservoir accident. The Mill River
reservoir disaster of May, 1874, with its 200 lives lost and $1,500,000
of property destroyed, almost sinks into insignificance beside it. The
only recorded calamity of the kind which anywhere approaches it occurred
in Estrecho de Rientes, in Spain, in April, 1802, when a dam burst and
drowned 600 persons and swept $7,000,000 worth of property away. But
above all these calamities in sad pre-eminence will stand the Conemaugh
disaster.

But dark as the picture is, it will doubtless be relieved by many acts
of heroism. The world will wait to learn if there was not present at
Conemaugh some Myron Day, whose ride on his bareback steed before the
advancing wall of water that burst from Mill River Dam in 1874, shouting
to the unsuspecting people as he rode: "The reservoir is breaking! The
flood is coming! Fly! Fly for your lives," was the one mitigating
circumstance in that scene of woe and destruction. When the full story
of the Conemaugh calamity is told it will, doubtless, be found that
there were many deeds of heroism performed, many noble sacrifices made
and many an act as brave as any performed on the field of battle.
Already we are told of husbands and mothers who preferred to share a
watery grave with their wives and children sooner than accept safety
alone.

Such a calamity, while it makes the heart sick with its story of death
and suffering, always serves to bring out the better and higher
qualities in men and women, and to illustrate how closely all mankind
are bound together by ties of sympathy and compassion. This fact will be
made evident now by the open-handed liberality which will quickly flow
in to relieve the suffering, and, as far as possible, to repair the loss
caused by this historic calamity.




CHAPTER V.

The Awful Work of Death.


The record of June 3rd continues as follows: The horror of the situation
does not lessen. The latest estimate of the number of dead is an
official one by Adjutant General Hastings, and it places the number
between 12,000 and 15,000.

The uncovering of hundreds of bodies by the recession of the waters has
already filled the air with pestilential odors. The worst is feared for
the surviving population, who must breathe this poisoned atmosphere.
Sharp measures prompted by sheer necessity have resulted in an almost
complete subsidence of cowardly efforts to profit by the results of the
disaster. Thieves have slunk into places of darkness and are no longer
to be seen at their unholy work.

All thoughts are now fixed upon the hideous revelation that awaits the
light of day, when the waters shall have entirely quitted the ruins that
now lie beneath them, and shall have exposed the thousands upon
thousands of corpses that are massed there.

A sad and gloomy sky, almost as sad and gloomy as the human faces under
it, shrouded Johnstown to-day. Rain fell all day and added to the
miseries of the wretched people. The great plain where the best part of
Johnstown used to stand was half covered with water. The few sidewalks
in the part that escaped the flood were inches thick with black, sticky
mud, through which tramped a steady procession of poor women who are
left utterly destitute. The tents where the people are housed who cannot
find other shelter were cold and cheerless.


A Great Tomb.

The town seemed like a great tomb. The people of Johnstown have supped
so full of horrors that they go about in a sort of a daze and only half
conscious of their griefs. Every hour, as one goes through the streets,
he hears neighbors greeting each other and then inquiring without show
of feeling how many each had lost in his family. To-day I heard a gray
haired man hail another across the street with this question.

"I lost five; all are gone but Mary and I," was the reply.

"I am worse off than that," said the first old gentleman. "I have only
my grandson left. Seven of us gone."

And so they passed on without apparent excitement. They and everyone
else had heard so much of these melancholy conversations that somehow
the calamity had lost its significance to them. They treat it exactly as
if the dead persons had gone away and were coming back in a week.


The Ghastly Search.

The melancholy task of searching the ruins for more bodies went on
to-day in the soaking rain. There were little crowds of morbid curiosity
hunters around each knot of workingmen, but they were not residents of
Johnstown. All their curiosity in that direction was satiated long ago.
Even those who come in from neighboring towns with the idea of a day's
strange and ghastly experiences did not care to be near after they had
seen one body exhumed. There were hundreds and thousands of these
visitors from the country to-day. The effect of the dreadful things they
saw and heard was to drive most of them to drink. By noon the streets
were beginning to be full of boisterous and noisy countrymen, who were
trying to counteract the strain on their nerves with unnatural
excitement. Then the chief of police, foreseeing the unseemly sights
that were likely to disgrace the streets, drove out and kept out all the
visitors who had not some good reason for their presence. After that and
far into the evening all the country roads were filled with drunken
stragglers, who were trying to forget what they had seen.

One thing that makes the work of searching for the bodies very slow is
the strange way that great masses of objects were rolled into intricate
masses of rubbish.


Horrible Masses.

As the flood came down the valley of the South Fork it obliterated the
suburb of Woodvale, where not a house was left, nor a trace of one. The
material they had contained rolled on down the valley, over and over,
grinding it up to pulp and finally leaving it against an unusually firm
foundation or in the bed of an eddy. The masses contain human bodies,
but it is slow work to pick them to pieces. In the side of one of them
I saw the remnants of a carriage, the body of a harnessed horse, a baby
cradle and a doll, a tress of woman's hair, a rocking horse, and a piece
of beefsteak still hanging on a hook.

[Illustration: THE REMAINS OF CAMBRIA CITY.]

The city is now very much better patrolled than it has been at any time
since the flood occurred. Many members of the police force of Pittsburgh
came in and offered their services. One of them showed his spirit
during the first hour by striking a man, whom he saw opening a trunk
among the rubbish, a tremendous blow over the head which knocked him
senseless. Several big trunks and safes lie in full sight on the
desolate plain in the lower part of the town, but no one dared to touch
them after that.

The German Catholic Church at Cambria City, a short distance west of
Johnstown, is almost a complete wreck. Rather a singular coincidence in
connection with the destruction of the above is that the Immaculate
Conception, that stood in the northwest corner of the lecture rooms,
stands just as it was when last seen. The figure, which is wax, was not
even scratched, and the clothes, which are made of white silk and deep
duchess lace, were spotless. This seems strange, when the raging water
destroyed everything else in the building. Hundreds of persons visited
the place during the day.


Ten Bodies an Hour.

Bodies are now being brought in at lower Cambria at the rate of ten per
hour.

A man named Dougherty tells a thrilling story of a ride down the river
on a log. When the waters struck the roof of the house on which he had
taken shelter he jumped astride a telegraph pole, riding a distance of
some twenty-three miles, from Johnstown to Bolivar, before he was
rescued.

Many inquiries have been made as to why the militia did not respond when
ordered out by Adjutant General Hastings. "In the first place it is
beyond the General's authority to order troops to a scene of this kind
unless the Governor first issues a proclamation, then it becomes his
duty to issue orders." The General said he was notified that the
Pittsburgh troops, consisting of the Fourteenth and Eighteenth
regiments, had tendered their services, and no doubt would have been of
great service. The General consulted with the Chief Burgess of Johnstown
and Sheriff of Cambria county in regard to calling the troops to the
scene, but both officials strenuously objected, as they claimed the
people would object to anything of this kind. As a proof of this not a
breach of peace was committed last night in Johnstown and vicinity.

It has not been generally believed that the district in the neighborhood
of Kernville would be so extremely prolific of corpses as it has proven
to be. I visited that part of the town where both the river and Stony
Creek have done their worst. I found that within the past twenty-four
hours almost one thousand bodies had been recovered or were in sight.
The place is one great repository of the dead.


The Total May Never be Known.

The developments of every hour make it more and more apparent that the
exact number of lives lost in the Johnstown horror will never be known.
All estimates made to this time are conservative, and when all is known
will doubtless be found to have been too small. Over one thousand bodies
have been found since sunrise to-day, and the most skeptical concede
that the remains of thousands more rest beneath the debris above the
Johnstown bridge. The population of Johnstown, the surrounding towns and
the portion of the valley affected by the flood is, or was, from 50,000
to 55,000. Numerous leading citizens of Johnstown, who survived the
flood, have been interviewed, and the concensus of opinion was that
fully thirty per cent of the residents of Johnstown and Cambria had been
victims of the continued disasters of fire and water. If this be true,
the total loss of life in the entire valley cannot be less than seven or
eight thousand and possibly much greater. Of the thousands who were
devoured by the flames and whose ashes rest beneath the smoking debris
above Johnstown bridge, no definite information can ever be obtained.


Hundreds Carried Miles Away.

As little will be learned of hundreds that sank beneath the current and
were borne swiftly down the Conemaugh only to be deposited hundreds of
miles below on the banks and in the driftwood of the raging Ohio.
Probably one-third of the dead will never be recovered, and it will take
a list of the missing weeks hence to enable even a close estimate to be
made of the number of lives that were lost. That this estimate can never
be accurate will be understood when it is remembered that in many
instances whole families and their relatives were swept away, and found
a common grave beneath the wild waste of waters. The total destruction
of the city leaves no data to even demonstrate that the names of these
unfortunates ever found place on the pages of eternity's history.

"All indications point to the fact that the death list will reach over
five thousand names, and in my opinion the missing will reach eight
thousand in number," declared General D.H. Hastings to-night.

At present there are said to have been twenty-two hundred bodies
recovered. The great difficulties experienced in getting a correct list
is the great number of morgues. There is no central bureau of
information, and to communicate with the different dead houses is the
work of hours. The journey from the Pennsylvania Railroad morgue to the
one in the Fourth ward school house in Johnstown occupies at least one
hour. This renders it impossible to reach all of them in one day,
particularly as some of the morgues are situated at points inaccessible
from Johnstown. At six o'clock in the evening the 630th body had been
recovered at the Cambria depository for corpses.


None Left to Care for the Dead.

Kernville is in a deplorable condition. The living are unable to take
care of the dead. The majority of the inhabitants of the town were
drowned. A lean-to of boards has been erected on the only street
remaining in the town. This is the headquarters for the committee that
controls the dead. As quickly as the dead are brought to this point they
are placed in boxes and then taken to the cemetery and buried.

A supply store has opened in the town. A milkman who was overcharging
for milk narrowly escaped lynching. The infuriated men appropriated all
his milk and distributed it among the poor and then drove him out of
the town. The body of the Hungarian who was lynched in an orchard was
removed by his friends during the night.

There is but one street left in the town. About one hundred and
fifty-five houses are standing where once there stood a thousand. None
of the large buildings in what was once a thriving little borough have
escaped. One thousand people is a low estimate of the number of lives
lost from this town, but few of the bodies have been recovered. It is
directly above the ruins and the bodies have floated down into them,
where they burned. A walk through the town revealed a desolate sight.
Only about twenty-five able-bodied men have survived and are able to
render any assistance. Men and women can be seen with black eyes,
bruised faces and cut heads.


Useless Calls for Help.

The appearance of some of the ladies is heartrending. They were injured
in the flood, and since that have not slept. Their faces have turned a
sickly yellow and dark rings surround the eyes. Many have succumbed to
nervous prostration. For two days but little assistance could be
rendered them. The wounded remained uncared for in some of the houses
cut off by the water, and died from their injuries alone. Some were
alive on Sunday, and their shouts could be heard by the people on the
shore.

A man is now in a temporary jail in what is left of the town. He was
caught stealing a gold watch. A shot was fired at him but he was not
wounded. The only thing that saved him from lynching was the smallness
of the crowd. His sentence will be the heaviest that can be given him.

Services in the chapel from which the bodies were buried consisted
merely of a prayer by one of the survivors. No minister was present.
Each coffin had a descriptive card on it, and on the graves a similar
card was placed, so that bodies can be removed later by friends.

There are about thirty Catholic priests and nuns here. The sisters are
devoting themselves to the cure of the sick and injured in the
hospitals, while the priests are doing anything and everything and
making themselves generally useful. Bishop Phelan, who reached here on
Sunday evening, returned to Pittsburgh on the three o'clock train
yesterday afternoon. He has organized the Catholic forces in this
neighborhood, and all are devoting themselves to hard work assiduously.

Mr. Derlin, who heeded the warning as to the danger of the dam, had
hurried his wife and two children to the hills, but returned himself to
save some things from his house. While in the building the flood struck
it and swept it away, jamming it among a lot of other houses and hurling
them all around with a regular churning motion. Mr. Derlin was in a fix,
but went to his top story, clambered to the roof and escaped from there
to solid structures and then to the ground. His property was entirely
ruined, but he thinks himself fortunate in saving his family.

Where Woodvale once stood there is now a sea of mud, broken but rarely
by a pile of wreckage. I waded through mud and water up the valley
to-day over the site of the former village. As has been often stated,
nothing is standing but the old woollen mills. The place is swept bare
of all other buildings but the ruins of the Gautier wire mill. The
boilers of this great works were carried one hundred yards from their
foundations. Pieces of engines, rolls and other machinery were swept far
away from where they once stood. The wreck of a hose carriage is
sticking up out of the mud. It belonged to the crack company of
Johnstown. The engine house is swept away and the cellar is filled with
mud, so that the site is obliterated.

A German watchman was on guard at the mill when the waters came. He ran
for the hillside and succeeded in escaping. He tells a graphic story of
the appearance of the water as it swept down the valley. He declares
that the first wave was as high as the third story of a house.

The place is deserted. No effort is being made to clean off the streets.
The mire has formed the grave for many a poor victim. Arms and legs are
protruding from the mud and it makes the most sickening of pictures.


General Hastings' Report.

In answer to questions from Governor Beaver, Adjutant-General Hastings
has telegraphed the following:

"Good order prevailed throughout the city and vicinity last night.
Police arrangements are excellent. Not one arrest made. No need of
sending troops. The Mayor of Johnstown and the Sheriff of Cambria
county, with whom I am in constant communication, request that no troops
be sent. I concur in their judgment. There is a great outside clamor for
troops. Do not send tents. Have nine hundred here, which are sufficient.
I advise you to make a call on the general public for money and other
assistance.

"About two thousand bodies have been rescued and the work of embalming
and burying the dead is going on with regularity. There is plenty of
medical assistance. We have a bountiful supply of food and clothing
to-day, and the fullest telegraphic facilities are afforded and all
inquiries are promptly answered.

"Have you any instructions or inquiries? The most conservative estimates
here place the number of lives lost at fully 5,000. The prevailing
impression is that the loss will reach from 8,000 to 10,000. There are
many widows and orphans and a great many wounded--impossible to give an
estimate. Property destroyed will reach $25,000,000. The popular
estimate will reach $40,000,000 to $50,000,000.

"I will issue a proclamation to-night to the people of the country and
to all who sympathize with suffering to give aid to our deeply afflicted
people. Tell them to be of good cheer, that the sympathies of all our
people, irrespective of section, are with them, and wherever the news of
their calamity has been carried responses of sympathy and aid are coming
in. A single subscription from England just received is for $1,000."

Grand View Cemetery has three hundred buried in it. All met death in the
flood. They have thirty-five men digging graves. Seven hundred dead
bodies in the hospital on Bedford street, Conneaut. One hundred dead
bodies in the school-house hospital, Adam street, Conneaut. Three
hundred bodies found to-day in the sand banks along Stony Creek,
vicinity of the Baltimore and Ohio; 182 bodies at Nineveh.

[Illustration: ON A MISSION OF MERCY.]




CHAPTER VI.

Shadows of Despair.


Another graphic account of the fearful calamity is furnished by an
eye-witness: The dark disaster of the day with its attendant terrors
thrilled the world and drew two continents closer together in the bonds
of sympathy that bind humanity to man. The midnight terrors of Ashtabula
and Chatsworth evoked tears of pity from every fireside in Christendom,
but the true story of Johnstown, when all is known, will stand solitary
and alone as the acme of man's affliction by the potent forces to which
humanity is ever subject.

The menacing clouds still hover darkly over the valley of death, and the
muttering thunder that ever and anon reverberates faintly in the
distance seems the sardonic chuckle of the demon of destruction as he
pursues his way to other lands and other homes.


The Waters Receding.

But the modern deluge has done its worst for Johnstown. The waters are
rapidly subsiding, but the angry torrents still eddy around Ararat, and
the winged messenger of peace has not yet appeared to tell the pathetic
tale of those who escaped the devastation.

It is not a hackneyed utterance to say that no pen can adequately depict
the horrors of this twin disaster--holocaust and deluge. The deep
emotions that well from the heart of every spectator find most eloquent
expression in silence--the silence that bespeaks recognition of man's
subserviency to the elements and impotence to avert catastrophe. The
insignificance of human life is only fully realized by those who witness
such scenes as Johnstown, Chatsworth and Ashtabula, and to those whose
memory retains the picture of horror the dread experience cannot fail to
be a fitting lesson.


A Dreary Morning.

This morning opened dark and dreary. Great drops of rain fell
occasionally and another storm seems imminent. Every one feels thankful
though that the weather still remains cold, and that the gradual
putrefaction of the hundreds of bodies that still line the streams and
lie hidden under the miles of driftwood and debris is not unduly
hastened.

The peculiar stench of decaying human flesh is plainly perceptible to
the senses as one ascends the bank of Stony Creek for a half mile along
the smouldering ruins of the wreck, and the most skeptical now conceive
the worst and realize that hundreds--aye, perhaps thousands--of bodies
lie charred and blackened beneath this great funeral pyre. Searchers
wander wearily over this smoking mass, and as occasionally a sudden
shout comes over the waters, the patient watchers on the hill realize
that another ghastly discovery has been added to that long list of
revelations that chill every heart and draw tears to the eyes of
pessimists.

From the banks many charred remains of victims of flames and flood are
plainly visible to the naked eye, as the retreating waters reluctantly
give up their dead. Beneath almost every log or blackened beam a
glistening skull or the blanched remnants of ribs or limbs mark all that
remains of life's hopes and dreams.

Since ten o'clock last night the fire engines have been busy. Water has
been constantly playing on the burning ruins. At times the fire seems
almost extinguished, but fitful flames suddenly break out afresh in some
new quarter, and again the water and flames wage fierce combat.


The Count is Still Lacking.

As yet there is no telling how many lives have been lost. Adjutant
General Hastings, who has charge of everything, stated this morning that
he supposed there were at least two thousand people under the burning
debris, but the only way to find out how many lives were lost was to
take a census of the people now living and subtract that from the census
before the flood. Said he, "In my opinion there are any way from twelve
thousand to fifteen thousand lost."

Up to this morning people living here who lost whole families or parts
of families hardly seemed to realize what a dreadful calamity had
befallen them. To-day, however, they are beginning to understand the
situation. Agony is stamped on the faces of every one, and it is truly a
city of mourning.

The point of observation is on the hillside, midway between the woolen
mills of Woodvale and Johnstown proper, which I reached to-day after a
journey through the portions of the city from which the waters, receding
fast, are revealing scenes of unparalleled horror. From the point on the
hillside referred to an excellent view of the site of the town can be
obtained. Here it can be seen that from the line of the Pennsylvania
Railroad, which winds along the base of Prospect Hill, to a point at
which St. John's Catholic Church formerly stood, and from the stone
bridge to Conemaugh, on the Conemaugh River, but twelve houses by actual
count remain, and they are in such a condition as to be practically
useless. To any one familiar with the geography of the iron city of
Cambria county this will convey a vivid idea of a swarth averaging
one-half mile in width and three miles in length. In all the length and
breadth of the most peaceful and costly portion of Johnstown not a
shingle remains except those adhering to the buildings mentioned.


Houses Upside Down.

But do not think for an instant that this comprehends in full the
awfulness of the scene. What has just been mentioned is a large waste of
territory swept as clean as if by a gigantic broom. In the other
direction some few of the houses still remain, but they are upside down,
piled on top of each other, and in many ways so torn asunder that not a
single one of them is available for any purpose whatever. It is in this
district that the loss of life has been heartrending. Bodies are being
dug up in every direction.

On the main street, from which the waters have receded sufficiently to
render access and work possible, bodies are being exhumed. They are as
thick as potatoes in a field. Those in charge seem to have the utmost
difficulty in securing the removal of bodies after they have been found.

The bodies are lying among the mass of wrecked buildings as thick as
flies. The fire in the drift above the bridge is under control and is
being rapidly smothered by the Pittsburgh firemen in charge of the work.
About seven o'clock this morning a crowd of Battery B boys discovered a
family of five people in the smoking and burned ruins above the bridge.
They took out father, mother and three children, all terribly burned and
mutilated. The little girl had an arm torn off.


Finding the Dead.

The work of rescuing the bodies from the mud and debris has only fairly
begun, and yet each move in that direction reveals more fully the
horrible extent of the calamity. It is estimated that already 1,800
corpses have been found in all parts of the valley and given some little
attention. Many of them were so mangled as to be beyond identification.

A regularly organized force of men has been at work most of the day upon
the mass of debris about the stone bridge. Early in the forenoon ten
bodies were found close together. There was nothing to identify them, as
they were burnt almost to a crisp. Several of them must have belonged to
one household, as they were taken from under the blackened timbers of a
single roof.

[Illustration: THE VILLAGE OF JOHNSTOWN BEFORE THE FLOOD.]

Soon after a man, woman and child were taken from the ruins. The child
was clasped in the arms of the woman, and the trio were evidently
husband, wife and child.

It is a most distressing sight to see the relatives of people supposed
to be lost standing around and watching every body as it is pulled out,
and acting more like maniacs than sensible people.

As the work progressed the number of the ghastly finds increased. The
various parties of workmen turned out from ten to fifteen bodies and
fragments of bodies an hour all day long.

Many of the corpses found had valuables still clasped in their hands.
One woman taken from the mill this morning had several diamond rings and
earrings, a roll of government bonds and some money clasped in her
hands. She was a widow, and was very wealthy. Her body has been embalmed
and is at the house of relatives.


Suicide Brought Relief.

From under the large brick school-house 124 bodies were taken last night
and to-day, and in every corner and place the bodies are being found and
buried as fast as possible. The necessity for speedy burial is becoming
manifest, and the stench is sickening. A number of bodies have been
found with a bullet hole in them, showing conclusively that in their
maddening fright suicide was resorted to by many.

Work was commenced during the day on the south side of the town. It is
supposed that five hundred or six hundred bodies will be found in that
locality.

About twelve o'clock ten bodies were taken out of the wreck near the
Cambria Library. On account of the bruised and mangled condition, some
having faces crushed in, it was impossible to identify them. It is
supposed they were guests at the Hurlbert House, which is completely
demolished.

Eight bodies were recovered near the Methodist Church at eleven o'clock.
It is said that fully one hundred and fifty bodies were found last
evening in a sort of pocket below the Pennsylvania Railroad signal tower
at Sang Hollow, where it was expected there would be a big find.


Kernville One Vast Morgue.

Over one thousand bodies have been taken from the river, dragged from
the sluggish pools of mud or dug out of the sand about Kernville during
the day. Three hundred of them were spread out upon the dry sand along
the river's bank at one time this afternoon. The sight is one that
cannot be described, and is one of the most distressing ever witnessed.
A crowd of at least five hundred were gathered around, endeavoring to
find the bodies of some friends or relatives. There were no coffins
there at the time and the bodies had to be laid on the ground. However,
five hundred coffins are on the way here, and the undertakers have sent
for five hundred additional ones. Kernville from now on will be the
place where most of the bodies will be found. The water has fallen so
much that it is possible to get at the bodies. However, all the bodies
have to be dug out of the sand, and it causes no end of work.

It is thought that most of the bodies that will be found at Kernville
are under a large pile of debris, about an acre in length. This is where
most of the buildings drifted, and it is natural to suppose that the
bodies floated with them. A rain is now falling, but this does not
interfere with the work. Most of the rescuing party have been up for two
days, yet they work with a determination that is wonderful.


Nineveh, the City of the Dead.

Nineveh is literally a city of the dead. The entire place is filled with
corpses. At the depot eighty-seven coffins were piled up and boxed. On
the streets coffin boxes covered the sidewalks. Improvised undertaking
shops have embalmed and placed in their shrouds 198 persons. The dead
were strewn about the town in all conceivable places where their bodies
would be protected from the thoughtless feet of the living.

Most of the bodies embalmed last night had been taken out of the river
in the morning by the people at Nineveh, who worked incessantly night
and day searching the river. The bodies when found were placed in a
four-horse wagon, frequently twelve at a time, and driven away. Of the
bodies taken out near Moorhead fully three-fourths are women and the
rest children. But few men are found there. In one row at the planing
mill to-day were eighteen children's bodies awaiting embalming. Next to
them was a woman whose head had been crushed in so as to destroy her
features. On her hand were three diamond rings.

Dr. Graff, of the State Board of Health, stationed at Nineveh, states
that up till ten o'clock this morning they had embalmed about two
hundred bodies, and by noon to-day would about double that number, as
they were fishing bodies out of the river at this point at the rate of
one every five minutes. In the driftwood and debris bodies are being
exhumed, and an additional force of undertakers has been despatched to
this place.


In a Charnel House.

At the public school-house the scene beggars description. Boards have
been laid from desk to desk, and as fast as the hands of a large body of
men and women can put the remains in recognizable shape they are laid
out for possible identification and removed as quickly as possible.
Seventy-five still remain, although many have been taken away, and they
are being brought in every moment. It is something horrifying to see one
portion of the huge school taken up by corpses, each with a clean white
sheet covering it, and on the other side of the room a promiscuous heap
of bodies in all sorts of shapes and conditions, looking for all the
world like decaying tree trunks. Among the number identified are two
beautiful young ladies named respectively Mrs. Richardson, who was a
teacher in the kindergarten school, and Miss Lottie Yost, whose sister I
afterwards noticed at one of the corners near by, weeping as if her very
heart was broken. Not a single acquaintance did she count in all of the
great throng who passed her by, although many tendered sincere
sympathy, which was accentuated by their own losses.


Lost and Found.

At the station of Johnstown proper this morning the following names were
added to the list of bodies found and identified: Charles Marshall, one
of the engineers Cambria Company. A touching incident in connection with
his death is that he had been married but a short time and his widow is
heartbroken.


Order at any Cost.

Ex-Sheriff C.L. Dick, who was at one time Burgess of Johnstown, has
charge of a large number of special deputies guarding the river at
various points. He and a posse of his men caught seven Hungarians
robbing dead bodies in Kernville early this morning, and threw them all
into the river and drowned them. He says he has made up his mind to
stand no more nonsense with this class of persons, and he has given
orders to his men to drown, shoot or hang any man caught stealing from
the dead. He said the dead bodies of the Huns can be found in the creek.

Sheriff Dick, or "Chall" as he is familiarly called, is a tall, slim
man, and is well known in Pittsburgh, principally to sportsmen. He is a
first-class wing shot, and during the past year he has won several live
bird matches. He is slow to anger, but when forced into a fight his
courage is unfailing.


Shooting Looters on the Wing.

Dick wears corduroy breeches, a large hat, a cartridge belt, and is
armed with a Winchester rifle. He is a crack shot and has taken charge
of the deputies in the wrecked portion of the city. Yesterday afternoon
he discovered two men and a woman cutting the finger from a dead woman
to get her rings. The Winchester rifle cracked twice in quick
succession, and the right arm of each man dropped, helplessly shattered
by a bullet. The woman was not harmed, but she was so badly frightened
that she will not rob corpses again. Some five robbers altogether were
shot during the afternoon, and two of them were killed.

The lynchings in the Johnstown district so far number from sixteen to
twenty.


Treasure Lying Loose.

Notwithstanding this, and the way that the town is most thoroughly under
martial law, the pilfering still goes on. The wreck is a gold mine for
pilferers. A Hungarian woman fished out a trunk down in Cambria City
yesterday, and on breaking it open found $7,500 in it. Another woman
found a jewel box containing several rings and a gold watch. In one
house in Johnstown there is $1,700 in money, but it is impossible to get
at it.


Hanged and Riddled with Bullets.

Quite an exciting scene took place in the borough of Johnstown last
night. A Hungarian was discovered by two men in the act of blowing up
the safe in the First National Bank Building with dynamite. A cry was
raised, and in a few minutes a crowd had collected and the cry of "Lynch
him!" was raised, and in less time than it takes to tell it the man was
strung up to a tree in what was once about the central portion of
Johnstown. Not content with this the Vigilance Committee riddled the
man's body full of bullets. He remained hanging to the tree for several
hours, when some person cut him down and buried him with the other dead.

The stealing by Hungarians at Cambria City and points along the railroad
has almost ceased. The report of several lynchings and the drowning of
two Italians while being pursued by citizens yesterday, put an end to
the pilfering for a time.

While Deputy Sheriff Rose was patrolling the river bank he found two
Hungarians attempting to rob several bodies, and at once gave chase. The
men started for the woods when he pulled out a pistol and shot twice,
wounding both men badly. From the latest reports the men are still
living, but they are in a critical condition.


Cutting Off a Head for a Necklace.

It is reported that two Hungarians found the body of a lady between
Woodvale and Conemaugh who had a valuable necklace on. The devils
dragged her out of the water and severed her head from her body to get
the necklace. At eleven o'clock to-day the woods were being scoured for
the men who are supposed to be guilty of the crime.


Pickets Set, Strangers Excluded.

Up till noon to-day General Hastings has had his headquarters on the
east side of the river, but this morning he came over to the burning
debris, followed by about one hundred and twenty-five men carrying
coffins. He started to work immediately, and has ordered men from
Philadelphia, Harrisburg, and all eastern towns to do laboring work.

The Citizen's Committee are making desperate efforts to preserve peace,
and the Hungarians at Cambria City are being kept in their houses by men
with clubs, who will not permit them to go outside. There seems
considerable race prejudice at Cambria City, and trouble may follow, as
both the English and Hungarians are getting worked up to a considerable
extent.

The Sheriff has taken charge of Johnstown and armed men are this morning
patrolling the city. The people who have been properly in the limits are
permitted to enter the city if they are known, but otherwise it is
impossible to get into the town. The regulation seems harsh, but it is a
necessity.


Troops Sent Home.

Battery B, of Pittsburgh, arrived in the city this morning under command
of Lieutenant Sheppard, who went to the quarters of Adjutant-General
Hastings in the railroad watch tower. The General had just got up, and
as the officer approached the General said:--

"Who sent you here?"

"I was sent here by the Chamber of Commerce," replied the Lieutenant.

"Well, I want to state that there are only four people who can order you
out, viz.:--The Governor, Adjutant-General, Major General and the
Commander of the Second Brigade. You have committed a serious breach of
discipline, and my advice to you is to get back to Pittsburgh as soon as
possible, or you may be mustered out of service. I am surprised that you
should attempt such an act without any authority whatever."

This seemed to settle the matter, and the battery started back to
Pittsburgh. In justice to Lieutenant Sheppard it might be stated that he
was told that an order was issued by the Governor. General Hastings
stated afterwards that the sending down of the soldiers was like waving
a red flag, and it would only tend to create trouble. He said everything
was quiet here, and it was an insult to the citizens of Johnstown to
send soldiers here at present.


Extortioners Held in Check.

A riot was almost caused by the exorbitant prices that were charged for
food. One storekeeper in Millville borough was charging $5 a sack for
flour and seventy-five cents for sandwiches on Sunday. This caused
considerable complaint and the citizens grew desperate. They promptly
took by force all the contents of the store. As a result this morning
all the stores have been put under charge of the police. An inventory
was taken and the proprietor was paid the market price for his stock.

A strong guard is kept at the office of the Cambria Iron Company.
Saturday was pay day at the works, and $80,000 is in the safe. This
became known, and the officials are afraid that an attempt would be
made to rob the place.

Sheriff Dick and a posse of his men got into a riot this afternoon with
a crowd of Hungarians at Cambria City. The Hungarians got the better of
him, and he called on a squad of Battery B boys, who charged with drawn
sabres, and soon had the crowd on the run.


Men Hard at Work.

Order is slowly arising out of chaos. The survivors are slowly realizing
what is the best course to pursue. The great cry is for men. Men who
will work and not stand idly by and do nothing but gaze at the ruins.
The following order was posted on a telegraph pole in Johnstown
to-day:--

"Notice--During the day men who have been idle have been begged to aid
us in clearing the town, and many have not refused to work. We are now
so organized that employment can be found for every man who wants to
work, and men offered work who refuse to take the same and who are able
to work must leave Johnstown for the present. We cannot afford to feed
men who will not work. All work will be paid for. Strangers and idlers
who refuse to work will be ejected from Johnstown.

"By order of Citizens' Committee."


Turning Away the Idlers.

Officers were stationed at every avenue and railroad that enters the
town. All suspicious looking characters are stopped. But one question is
asked. It is, "Will you work?" If an affirmative answer is given a man
escorts him to the employment bureau, where he is put to work. If not,
he is turned back. The committee has driven one or two men out of the
town. There is a lot of idle vagabond <DW64>s in Johnstown who will not
work. It is likely that a committee will escort them out of town. They
have caused the most trouble during the past terrible days.

It is a fact, although a disagreeable one to say, that not a few of the
relief committees who came to this city, came only out of curiosity and
positively refused to do any work, but would hang around the cars eating
food. The leaders of the committee then had to do all the work. They
deserve much credit.


Begging for Help.

An old man sat on a chair placed on a box at the intersection of two
streets in Johnstown and begged for men. "For God's sake," he said, "can
we not find men. Will not some of you men help? Look at these men who
have not slept for three days and are dropping with fatigue. We will pay
well. For God's sake help us." Tears rolled down his cheeks as he spoke.
Then he would threaten the group of idlers standing by and again plead
with them. Every man it seems wants to be a policeman.




CHAPTER VII.

Burial of the Victims.


Hundreds have been laid away in shallow trenches without forms,
ceremonies or mourners. All day long the work of burial has been going
on. There was no time for religious ceremonies or mourning and many a
mangled form was coffined with no sign of mourning save the honest
sympathy of the brave men who handled them. As fast as the wagons that
are gathering up the corpses along the stream arrive with their ghastly
loads they are emptied and return again to the banks of the merciless
Conemaugh to find other victims among the driftwood in the underbrush,
or half buried in the mud. The coffins are now beginning to arrive, and
on many streets on the hillside they are stacked as high as the second
and third story windows.

At Kernville the people are not so fortunate. It would seem that every
man is his own coffin maker, and many a man can be seen here and there
claiming the boards of what remains of his house in which perhaps he has
found the remains of a loved one, and busily patching them together with
nails and hoops or any available thing to hold the body.

When the corpses are found they are taken to the nearest dead house and
are carefully washed. They are then laid out in rows to await
identification. Cards are pinned to their breasts as soon as they are
identified, and their names will be marked on the headboards at the
graves.


Wholesale Funerals.

There were many rude funerals in the upper part of the town. The coffins
were conveyed to the cemeteries in wagons, each one carrying two, three
or more.

At Long View Cemetery and at one or two other points long trenches have
been dug to receive the coffins. The trenches are only about three feet
deep, it being thought unnecessary to bury deeper, as almost all the
bodies will be removed by friends. Nearly three hundred bodies were
buried thus to-day.

There will be no public ceremony, no funeral dirge, and but few weeping
mourners. The people are too much impressed with the necessity of
immediate and constant work to think of personal grief.

The twenty-six bodies taken to the hose house in Minersville were buried
shortly after ten o'clock yesterday morning. Of the twenty-six, thirteen
were identified. Eight women, a baby and four men were buried without
having been identified.

All day yesterday men were engaged in burying the dead. They ran short
of coffins, and in order to dispose of the rapidly decomposing bodies
they built rough boxes out of the floating lumber that was caught. In
this way they buried temporarily over fifty bodies in the cemetery just
above the town.

Putrefaction of dead bodies threatens the health of the whole region.
Now that the waters are fast shrinking back from the horrid work of
their own doing and are uncovering thousands of putrid and ill-smelling
corpses the fearful danger of pestilence is espied, stalking in the wake
of more violent destruction.

The air is already reeking with infectious filth, and the alarm is
widespread among the desolated and overwrought population.


Cremation Best.

Incident to this phase of the situation the chief sensation of the
morning was the united remonstrance of the physicians against the
extinguishment of the burning wreck of the demolished town which is
piled up against the bridge. They maintain, with a philosophy that to
anxious searchers seems heartless, that hundreds, if not thousands, of
lifeless and decaying bodies lie beneath this mass of burning ruins.

"It would be better," they say, "to permit Nature's greatest
scavenger--the flames--to pursue his work unmolested than to expose to
further decay the horde of putrefying bodies that lie beneath this
debris. There can be but one result. Days will elapse before the rubbish
can be sufficiently removed to permit the recovery of these bodies, and
long before that every corpse will be a putrid mass, giving forth those
frightful emanations of decaying human flesh that in a crowded community
like this can have but one result--the dreadful typhus. Every
battlefield has demonstrated the necessity of the hasty interment of
decaying bodies, and the stench that already arises is a forerunner of
impending danger. Burn the wreck, burn the wreck."


Sorrow Rejects Safety.

A loud cry of indignation arose from the lips of the vast multitude and
the warnings of science were lost in the eager demands of those that
sought the remains of the near and dear. The hose was again turned upon
the hissing mass, and rapidly the flames yielded to the supremacy of
water.

It is almost impossible to conceive the extent of these smoking ruins.
An area of eight or ten acres above the dam is covered to a depth of
forty feet with shattered houses, borne from the resident centre of
Johnstown. In each of these houses, it is estimated, there were from one
to twenty or twenty-five people. This is accepted as data upon which to
estimate the number that perished on this spot, and if the data be
correct the bodies that lie beneath these ruins must run well up into
the thousands.

Members of the State Board of Health arrived in Nineveh this morning and
determined to proceed at once to dredge the river, to clean it of the
dead and prevent the spreading of disease. To this end they have wired
the State Department to furnish them with the proper appliances.


Drinking Poisoned Water.

From other points in this and connecting valleys the same fear of
pestilence is expressed. The cities of Pittsburgh and Allegheny, which
have a population of three hundred and fifty thousand and drink the
waters of the Allegheny River, down which corpses and debris from
Johnstown must flow unless stopped above, are in danger of an epidemic.
The water is to-day thick with mud, and bodies have been found as far
south of here as Beaver, a distance of thirty miles below Pittsburgh. To
go this distance the bodies followed the Conemaugh from Johnstown to the
Kiskiminetas, at Blairsville, joining the Allegheny at Freeport, and the
Ohio here, the entire distance from this point being about one hundred
and fifty miles.

"This is a very serious matter," said a prominent Pittsburgh physician
who is here to me to-day, "and one that demands the immediate attention
of the Board of Health officials. The flood of water that swept through
Johnstown has cleaned out hundreds of cesspools. These and the
barnyards' manure and the dirt from henneries and swamps that were swept
by the waters have all been carried down into the Allegheny River. In
addition to this there are the bodies of persons drowned. Some of these
will, in all likelihood, be secreted among the debris and never be
found. Hundreds of carcasses of animals of various kinds are also in the
river.


Typhus Dreaded.

"These will decay, throwing out an animal poison. This filth and
poisonous matter is being carried into the Allegheny, and will be pumped
up into the reservoir and distributed throughout the city. The result is
a cause for serious apprehension. Take, for example, the town of
Hazleton, Pa. There the filth from some outhouse was carried into the
reservoir and distributed through the town. The result was a typhoid
fever epidemic and hundreds of people lost their lives. The water that
we are drinking to-day is something fearful to behold."

The municipal authorities of Pittsburgh have issued a notice embodying
the above facts.


Sanitary Work.

A message was received by the Relief Committee this morning confirming
the report that for the health of the cities of Pittsburgh and Allegheny
it is absolutely necessary that steps be taken immediately to remove the
bodies and drift from the river, and begging the committee to take early
action. The contract for clearing the river was awarded to Captain
Jutte, and he will start up the Allegheny this afternoon as far as
Freeport, and then work down. His instructions are to clear the river
thoroughly of anything that might in any way affect the water supply.


Helping Hands.

The work of relief at the scene of the great disaster is going on
rapidly. The Alliance (Ohio) Relief Committee arrived here this morning
on a special train with five carloads of provisions. The party is
composed of the most prominent iron and steel merchants of Alliance.

They have just returned from a tour of the ruined town. They have been
up to Stony Creek, a distance of five miles and up the Conemaugh River
toward South Fork, a distance of two miles.

[Illustration: DISTRIBUTING SUPPLIES FROM THE RELIEF TRAIN.]

In describing their trip, one of their number said:--"I tell you the
half has never been told. It is impossible to tell the terrible tale. I
thought I had seen horrible sights, and I served five years in the War
of the Rebellion, but in all my life it has never been my lot to look
upon such ghastly sights as I have witnessed to-day.

"While making the circuit of the ruined places we saw 103 bodies taken
out of the debris along the bank of the river and Stony Creek. Of this
number, we identified six of the victims as our friends."

[Illustration: SCENE ON SOUTH CLINTON STREET.]




CHAPTER VIII.

Johnstown and Its Industries.


At this point of our narrative a sketch of Johnstown, where the most
frightful havoc of the flood occurred, will interest the reader.

The following description and history of the Cambria Iron Company's
Works, at Johnstown, is taken from a report prepared by the State Bureau
of Industrial Statistics:

The great works operated by the Cambria Iron Company originated in a few
widely separated charcoal furnaces, which were built by pioneer iron
workers in the early years of this century. It was chartered under the
general law authorizing the incorporation of iron manufacturing
companies, in the year 1852. The purpose was to operate four
old-fashioned charcoal furnaces, located in and about Johnstown, some of
which had been erected many years before. Johnstown was then a village
of 1300 inhabitants. The Pennsylvania Railroad had only been extended
thus far in 1852, and the early iron manufacturers rightly foresaw a
great future for the industry at this point.


Immense Furnaces.

Coal, iron and limestone were abundant, and the new railroad would
enable them to find ready markets for their products. In 1853 the
construction of four coke furnaces was commenced, and it was two years
before the first was completed, while some progress was made on the
other three. England was then shipping rails into this country under a
low duty, and the iron industry, then in its infancy, was struggling for
existence.

The furnaces at Johnstown labored under greater difficulties in the
years between 1852 and 1861 than can be appreciated at this late day.
Had it not been for a few patriotic citizens in Philadelphia, who loaned
their credit and means to the failing company, the city of Johnstown
would possibly never have been built. Notwithstanding the protecting
care of the Philadelphia merchants, the company in Johnstown was unable
to continue in business, and suspended in 1854. Among its heaviest
creditors in Philadelphia were Oliver Martin and Martin, Morrell & Co.
More money was subscribed, but the establishment failed again in 1855.
D. J. Morrell, however, formed a new company with new credit.


Recovery From a Great Fire.

The year of 1856, the first after the lease was made, was one of great
financial depression, and the following year was worse. To render the
situation still more gloomy a fire broke out in June, 1857, and in three
hours the large mill was a mass of ruins. Men stood in double ranks
passing water from the Conemaugh river, 300 yards distant, with which to
fight the flames. So great was the energy, determination and financial
ability of the new company that in one week after the fire the furnaces
and rolls were once more in operation under a temporary structure. At
this early stage in the manufacturing the management found it advisable
to abandon the original and widely separated charcoal furnaces and
depend on newly constructed coke furnaces. As soon as practicable after
the fire a permanent brick mill was erected, and the company was once
more fully equipped. When the war came and with it the Morrill tariff of
1861 a broader field was opened up. Industry and activity in business
became general; new life was infused into every enterprise. In 1862 the
lease by which the company had been successfully operated for seven
years expired, and by a reorganization the present company was formed.


Advent of Steel Rails.

A new era in the manufacture of iron and steel was now about to dawn
upon the American people. In this year 1870 there were 49,757 tons of
steel produced in the United States, while in 1880 the production was
1,058,314 tons. Open hearth steel, crucible steel and blister steel,
prior to this, had been the principal products, but were manufactured by
processes too slow and too expensive to take the place of iron. The
durability of steel over iron, particularly for rails, had long been
known, but its cost of production prevented its use. In 1857 one steel
rail was sent to Derby, England, and laid down on the Midland Railroad,
at a place where the travel was so great that iron rails then in use had
to be renewed sometimes as often as once in three months. In June, 1873,
after sixteen years of use, the rail, being well worn, was taken out.
During its time 1,250,000 trains, not to speak of the detached engines,
etc., had passed over it. This was the first steel rail, now called
Bessemer rail, ever used.

[Illustration: MAP OF THE CONEMAUGH VALLEY.]

About ten years ago the Cambria Iron Company arranged with Dr. J.H.
Gautier & Sons, of Jersey City, to organize a limited partnership
association under the name of "The Gautier Steel Company, Limited," to
manufacture, at Johnstown, wire and various other forms of merchant
steel. Within less than a mile from the main works extensive mills were
erected and the business soon grew to great proportions. In a few years
so much additional capital was required, owing to the rapidly increasing
business, that Dr. Gautier, then far advanced in life, wished to be
relieved of the cares and duties incident to the growing trade, and the
Cambria Iron Company became the purchaser of his works. "The Gautier
Steel Company, Limited," went out of existence and the works are now
known as the "Gautier Steel Department of Cambria Iron Company."


Description of the Works.

The blast furnaces, steel works and rolling mills of the company are
situated upon what was originally a river flat, where the valley of the
Conemaugh expanded somewhat just below the borough of Johnstown, and now
forming part of Millville Borough. The arrangement of the works has been
necessarily governed by the fact that they have gradually expanded from
the original rolling-mill and four old style blast furnaces to their
present character and capacity of which some idea may be obtained by the
condensed description given below.

The Johnstown furnaces, Nos. 1, 2, 3 and 4, form one complete plant,
with stacks seventy-five feet high, sixteen feet diameter of bosh. Steam
is generated in forty boilers, fired by furnace gas, for eight vertical
direct-acting blowing engines. Nos. 5 and 6 blast furnaces form together
a second plant with stacks seventy-five feet high, nineteen feet
diameter of bosh. No. 5 has iron hot blast stoves and No. 6 has four
Whitwell fire-brick hot blast stoves. The furnaces have together six
blowing engines exactly like those at Nos. 1, 2, 3 and 4 furnaces. The
engines are supplied with steam by thirty-two cylinder boilers.


Marvelous Machinery.

The Bessemer plant was the sixth started in the United States (July,
1871). The main building is 102 feet in width by 165 feet in length. The
cupolas are six in number. Blast is supplied from eight Baker rotary
pressure blowers driven by engines sixteen inches by twenty-four inches,
at 110 revolutions per minute. The cupolas are located on either side of
the main trough, into which they are tapped, and down which the melted
metal is directed into a ten-ton ladle set on a hydraulic weighing
platform, where it is stored until the converters are ready to receive
it. There are two vessels of eight and a half tons capacity each, the
products being distributed by a hydraulic ladle crane. The vessels are
blown by three engines. The Bessemer works are supplied with steam by a
battery of twenty-one tubular boilers.

The best average, although not the very highest work done in the
Bessemer department is 103 heats of eight and a half tons each for
twenty-four hours. The best weekly record reached 1,847 tons of ingots,
the best monthly record of 20,304 tons, and the best daily output, 900
tons ingots. All grades of steel are made in the converters from the
softest wire and bridge stock to spring steel. All the special stock,
that is other than rails, is carefully analyzed by heats, and the
physical properties are determined by a tension test.


Ponderous Steam-Hammers.

The open hearth building, 120 feet in width by 155 feet in length,
contains three Pernot revolving hearth furnaces of fifteen tons capacity
each, supplied with natural gas. A separate pit with a hydraulic ladle
crane of twenty tons capacity is located in front of each pan. In a
portion of the mill building, originally used as a puddle mill, is
located the bolt and nut works, wherein are made track bolts and machine
bolts. This department is equipped with bolt-heading and nut making
machines, cutting, tapping and facing machines, and produces about one
thousand kegs of finished track bolts, of 200 pounds each, per month,
besides machine bolts. Near this, also, are located the axle and forging
shops, in the old puddle mill building. The axle shop has three steam
hammers to forge and ten machines to cut off, centre and turn axles. The
capacity of this shop is 100 finished steel axles per day. All axles are
toughened and annealed by a patented process, giving the strongest axle
possible. In the forging plant, located in the same building, there is
an 18,000 pound Bement hammer, and a ten-ton traveling crane to convey
forgings from the furnaces to the hammer. There are two furnaces for
heating large ingots and blooms for forgings.

A ventilating fan supplies fresh air to the mills through pipes located
overhead, and having outlets near the heating furnaces. One hundred
thousand cubic feet of fresh air per minute is distributed throughout
the mills. The mill has in addition to its boilers, over the
heating-furnaces, a brick and iron building, located near the rail mill,
205 feet long and 45 feet wide, containing twenty-four tubular boilers,
aggregating about 2000 horse-power.


Tons of Barbed Wire.

The "Gautier Steel Department" consists of a brick building 200 feet by
500 feet, where the wire is annealed, drawn and finished; a brick
warehouse 373 feet by 43 feet; many shops, offices, etc.; the barb wire
mill, 50 feet by 256 feet, where the celebrated Cambria Link barb wire
is made; and the main merchant mill, 725 feet by 250 feet. These mills
produce wire, shafting, springs, plowshare, rake and harrow teeth and
other kinds of agricultural implement steel. In 1887 they produced
50,000 tons of this material, which was marketed mainly in the Western
states.

Grouped with the principal mills are the foundries, pattern and other
shops, drafting offices, time offices, etc., all structures being of a
firm and substantial character. The company operates about thirty-five
miles of railroad tracks, employing in this service twenty-four
locomotives, and it owns 1500 cars.

In the fall of 1886 natural gas was introduced into the works.


Building up Johnstown.

Anxious to secure employment for the daughters and widows of the
employees of the company who were willing to work, its management
erected a woolen mill which now employs about 300 persons. Amusements
were not neglected, and the people of Johnstown are indebted to the
company for the erection of an opera house, where dramatic
entertainments are given.

The company owns 700 houses, which are rented exclusively to employees.
The handsome library erected by the company and presented to the town
was stocked with nearly 7000 volumes. The Cambria Hospital is also under
the control of the beneficial association of the works. The Cambria
Clubhouse is a very neat pressed brick building on the corner of Main
and Federal streets. It was first operated in 1881, and is used
exclusively for the entertainment of the guests of the company and such
of their employees as can be accommodated. The store building occupied
by Wood, Morrell & Co., limited, is a four-story brick structure on
Washington street, with three large store rooms on the first floor, the
remainder of the building being used for various forms of merchandise.

Including the surrounding boroughs, Kernville, Morrellville and Cambria
City, all of which are built up solidly to Johnstown proper, the
population is about 30,000. The Cambria Iron Company employs, in
Johnstown, about 7500 people, which would certainly indicate a
population of not less than 20,000 depending upon the company for a
livelihood.

A large proportion of the population of Johnstown are citizens of
foreign birth, or their immediate descendants. Those of German, Irish,
Welsh and English birth or extraction predominate, with a few Swedes and
Frenchmen. As a rule the working people and their families are well
dressed and orderly; in this they are above the average. Most of the
older workmen of the company, owing largely to its liberal policy, own
their houses, and many of them have houses for rent.




CHAPTER IX.

View of the Wreck.


Each visitor to the scene of the great disaster witnessed sights and
received impressions different from all others. The following graphic
account will thrill every reader:

The most exaggerative imagination cannot too strongly picture the awful
harvest of death, the wreck which accompanied that terrible deluge last
Friday afternoon. I succeeded in crossing from the north side of the
Little Conemaugh, a short distance above the point, to the sandy muddy
desert strewn with remnants of the buildings and personal property of
those who know not their loss.

It is almost an impossibility to gain access to the region, and it was
accomplished only after much difficulty in crossing the swiftly running
stream.

Standing at a point in this abode of thousands of dead the work of the
great flood can be more adequately measured than from any one place in
the devastated region. Here I first realized the appalling loss of life
and the terrible destruction of property.

It was about ten o'clock when the waters of Stony Creek rose, overflowed
their banks and what is known as the "flats," which includes the entire
business portion of the city of Johnstown. The Little Conemaugh was
running high at the same time, and it had also overreached the limit of
its banks. The water of both streams soon submerged the lower portion of
the town. Up to this time there was no intimation that a terrible
disaster was imminent. The water poured into the cellars of the houses
in the lower districts and rose several inches in the streets, but as
that had occurred before the people took no alarm.

Shortly after twelve o'clock the first drowning occurred. This was not
because of the deluge, it was simply the carelessness of the victim, who
was a driver for the Cambria Iron Company, in stepping into a cellar
which had been filled with water. The water continued to rise, and at
twelve o'clock had reached that part of the city about a block from the
point between Stony Creek and the Little Conemaugh.


Topography of the Place.

The topography of Johnstown is almost precisely like that of Pittsburgh,
only in a diminished degree. Stony Creek comes in from the mountains on
the northeast, and the Little Conemaugh comes in from the northwest,
forming the Conemaugh at Johnstown, precisely as the Allegheny and
Monongahela form the Ohio at Pittsburgh. On the west side of Stony Creek
are mountains rising to a great height, and almost perpendicularly from
the water. On the north side of the Conemaugh River mountains equally as
high as those on Stony Creek confine that river to its course. The hills
in Johnstown start nearly a half mile from the business section of the
city. This leaves a territory between the two rivers of about four
hundred acres. This was covered by costly buildings, factories and other
important manufactories.

When the waters of South Fork and Little Conemaugh broke over their
banks into that portion of the city known as the "flats," the business
community turned its attention to putting endangered merchandise in a
place of safety.


First Alarm.

In the homes of the people the women began gathering household articles
of any kind that may have been in the cellar. Little attention was paid
to the water beyond this.

Looking from the "flats" at Johnstown toward and following the
Pennsylvania Railroad tracks, which wind along the Little Conemaugh, the
village of Woodville stands, or did stand, within sight of the "flats,"
and is really a continuation of the city at this point.

The mountains on the south side of the Little Conemaugh rise here and
form a narrow valley where Woodville was located. Next joining this,
without any perceptible break in the houses, was the town of East
Conemaugh. The extreme eastern limit of East Conemaugh is about a mile
and a half from Johnstown "flats."


A Narrow Chasm.

The valley narrows as it reaches eastward, and in a narrow chasm three
miles from Johnstown "flats" is the little settlement of Mineral Point.
A few of the houses have found a place on the mountain side out of
harm's way, and so they still stand.

At East Conemaugh there is located a roundhouse of the Pennsylvania
Railroad, for the housing of locomotives used to assist trains over the
mountains. The inhabitants of this place were all employees of the
Pennsylvania and the Gautier Steel Works, of the Cambria Iron Company.
The inhabitants numbered about 1,500 people. Like East Conemaugh, 2,000
or 2,500 people, who lived at Woodville, were employees of the same
corporation and the woolen mills located there.

Just below Woodville the mountains upon the south bank of the Conemaugh
disappear and form the commencement of the Johnstown "flats." The
Gautier Steel Works of the Cambria Iron Company are located at this
point, on the south bank. The Pennsylvania Railroad traverses the
opposite bank, and makes a long curve from this point up to East
Conemaugh.


Timely Warning to Escape.

At what is known as the point where Stony Creek and the Little Conemaugh
form the Conemaugh the mountains followed by Stony Creek take an abrupt
turn northward, and the waters of the Little Conemaugh flow into the
Conemaugh at right angles with these mountains.

A few hundred feet below this point the Pennsylvania Railroad bridge
crosses the Conemaugh River. The bridge is a massive stone structure.
From the east end of the bridge there is a heavy fill of from thirty to
forty feet high to Johnstown Station, a distance of a quarter of a mile.

Within a few feet of the station a wagon bridge crosses the Little
Conemaugh, five hundred feet above the point connecting the "flats" and
the country upon the north side of the river.

The Cambria Iron Company's Bessemer department lies along the north bank
of the Conemaugh, commencing at the fill, and extends for over two miles
down the Conemaugh River upon its northern bank.

Below the Cambria Iron Company's property is Millville Borough, and on
the hill back of Millville Borough is Minersville properly--the Second
ward of Millville Borough.

The First ward of Millville was washed away completely.

While the damage from a pecuniary sense was large, the loss of life was
quite small, inasmuch as the people had timely warning to escape.

Below the Pennsylvania Railroad Bridge at Johnstown, upon the south bank
of the Conemaugh, was the large settlement of Cambria. It had a
population of some five thousand people. At Cambria the mountain
retreats for several hundred feet, leaving a level of two or three
hundred acres in extent. Just below the bridge the Conemaugh River makes
a wide curve around this level. About eight or nine hundred houses stood
upon this level.

Below Cambria stands Morrellville, a place about equal in size to
Cambria.

From this description of the location of Johnstown and neighboring
settlements the course of the waters may be better understood when
described. It was about ten minutes to three o'clock Friday afternoon
when Mr. West, of the local office of the Pennsylvania Railroad at
Johnstown, received a dispatch from the South Fork station, advising him
to notify the inhabitants that the big dam in the South Fork, above the
city, was about to break. He at once despatched couriers to various
parts of the city, and a small section was notified of the impending
danger. The messenger was answered with,

"We will wait until we see the water."

Others called "Chestnuts!" and not one in fifty of the people who
received the warning gave heed to it.


The Debris of Three Towns.

With the waters standing several inches deep in the streets of the
"flats" of the city the deluge from South Fork Lake, burst the dam and
rushed full upon Johnstown shortly after five o'clock on Friday
afternoon the last day of May.

First it swept the houses from Mineral Point down into East Conemaugh.
When the flood reached East Conemaugh the town was wiped out. This mass
of debris was borne on to Johnstown, reinforced by the material of three
towns.

The Gautier steel department of the Cambria Iron Company was the first
property attacked in the city proper. Huge rolls, furnaces and all the
machinery in the great mills, costing $6,000,000, were swept away in a
moment, and to-day there is not the slightest evidence that the mill
ever stood there.


Swept From the Roofs.

Westward from this point the flood swept over the flats. The houses, as
soon as the water reached them, were lifted from their foundation and
hurled against their neighbors'. The people who at the first crash of
their property managed to reach the roof or some other floating material
were carried on until their frail support was driven against the next
obstruction, when they went down in the crash together.

The portion of the "flats" submerged is bounded by Clinton street to the
Little Conemaugh River, to the point at Stony Creek, then back to
Clinton street by way of Bedford.

This region has an area of one mile square, shaped like a heart, and in
this district there are not more than a dozen buildings that are not
total wrecks.

Ten per cent. of this district is so covered with mud, stones, rocks and
other material, where costly buildings once stood, that it will require
excavating from eight to twenty feet to reach the streets of the city.


Remnants of the City.

Of the houses standing there is the Methodist church, the club house,
James McMillen's residence, the Morrell mansion, Dr. Lohman's house and
the First ward school building.

The Fourth ward school house and the Cambria Iron Works' general office
building are the only buildings standing on the north side of the river
from the Pennsylvania Railroad bridge to the limits of the "flats."

The Pennsylvania Railroad, from its station in Johnstown City nearly to
Wilmore, a distance of seven miles, had a magnificent road bed of solid
rock. From East Conemaugh to the point in Johnstown opposite the Gautier
Steel Works, this road bed, ballast and all are gone. Only a few rails
may occasionally be seen in the river below.


Freaks of the Flood.

When the crash came in Johnstown the houses were crushed as easily by
the huge mass as so many buildings of sand, making much the same sound
as if a pencil were drawn over the slats of a shutter. Houses were torn
from their foundations and torn to pieces before their occupants
realized their danger. Hundreds of these people were crushed to death,
while others were rescued by heroic men; but the lives of the majority
were prolonged a few minutes, when they met a more horrible death
further down the stream.

There is a narrow strip extending from the club house to the point
which, in some singular manner, escaped the mass of filling that was
distributed on the flats. This strip is about 200 feet wide, 300 long
and from 3 to 20 feet deep. What queer turn the flood took to thus spare
this section, when the surrounding territory was covered with mud,
stones and other material, is a mystery. It is, however, one of the
remarkable turns of the flood.

The German Catholic Church is standing, but is in an exceedingly shaky
condition and may fall at any minute. This and Dr. Lohman's residence
are the only buildings on the plot standing between Main street, Clinton
street, Railroad street and the Little Conemaugh.

The destruction of life in this district was too awful to contemplate.
It is estimated that not more than one thousand people escaped with
their lives, and it is believed that there were fully five thousand
persons remaining in the district when the flood came down. The flood
wiped out the "flat" with the exception of the buildings noted. The
water was twenty feet high here and hurled acres upon acres of houses
against the Pennsylvania Railroad bridge which held it and dammed the
water up until it was forty feet high. The mass accumulated until the
weight became so great that it broke through the fill east of the bridge
and the debris started out of the temporary reservoir with an awful
rush.

It was something near five o'clock when the fill broke. The water rushed
across the Cambria flats and swept every house away with the exception
of a portion of a brewery. There is nothing else standing in this
district which resembles a house.

The Johnstown Post Office Building, with all the office money and
stamps, was carried away in the flood. The Postmaster himself escaped
with great difficulty.

The dam broke in the centre at three o'clock on Friday afternoon, and
at four o'clock it was dry. That great body of water passed out in one
hour. Park & Van Buren, who are building a new draining system at the
lake, tried to avert the disaster by digging a sluiceway on one side to
ease the pressure on the dam. They had about forty men at work and did
all they could, but without avail. The water passed over the dam about a
foot above its top, beginning at about half-past two. Whatever happened
in the way of a cloud burst took place during the night. There had been
but little rain up to dark. When the workmen woke in the morning the
lake was very full and was rising at the rate of a foot an hour. It kept
on rising until at two o'clock it first began breaking over the dam and
undermining it. Men were sent three or four times during the day to warn
people below of their danger.


The Break Two Hundred Feet Wide.

When the final break came, at three o'clock, there was a sound like
tremendous and continued peals of thunder; rocks, trees and earth were
shot up into mid-air in great columns, and then the wave started down
the ravine. A farmer, who escaped, said that the water did not come down
like a wave, but jumped on his house and beat it to fragments in an
instant. He was safe upon the hillside, but his wife and two children
were killed. At the present time the lake looks like a cross between the
crater of a volcano and a huge mud puddle with stumps of trees and rocks
scattered over it. There is a small stream of muddy water running
through the centre of the lake site. The dam was seventy feet high and
the break is about two hundred feet wide, and there is but a small
portion of the dam left on either side. No damage was done to any of the
buildings belonging to the club. The whole south fork is swept, with not
a tree standing. There are but one or two small streams showing here and
there in the lake. A great many of the workmen carried off baskets full
of fish caught in the mud.


Three Millions Indemnity.

It is reported that the Sportsman's Association, which owned the South
Fork dam, was required to file an indemnity bond of $3,000,000 before
their charter was issued. When the bill granting them these privileges
was before the Legislature the representatives from Cambria and Blair
counties vigorously opposed its passage and only gave way, it is said,
upon condition that such an indemnifying bond was filed. This bond was
to be filed with the prothonotary of Cambria county.

Father Boyle, of Ebensburg, said the records at the county seat had no
trace of such a bond. He found the record of the charter, but nothing
about the bond. As the association is known to be composed of very
wealthy people, there is much talk here of their being compelled to pay
at least a part of the damages.


The Rain Did It.

It begins to dawn on us that the catastrophe was brought about not
merely by the bursting of the dam of the old canal reservoir, but by a
rainfall exceeding in depth and area all previously recorded phenomena
of the kind. The whole drainage basin of the Kiskiminetas, and more
particularly that of the Conemaugh, was affected. An area of probably
more than 600 square miles poured its precipitation through the narrow
valley in which Johnstown and associate villages are located. It is easy
to see how, with a rainfall similar to that which caused the Butcher Run
disaster of a few years ago, fully from thirty to fifty times as much
water became destructive. The whole of the water of the lake would pass
Suspension Bridge at Pittsburgh inside of from seven to ten minutes,
while the gorge at Johnstown, narrowed by the activity of mines for
generations past, was clearly insufficient to allow a free course for
Stony Creek alone, which is a stream heading away up in Somerset county,
twenty-five or thirty miles south of Johnstown. That the rainfall of the
entire Allegheny Mountain system was unprecedented is clearly
demonstrated to any one who has watched the Allegheny and Monongahela
rivers for the past three days, and this view may serve to correct the
impression in the public mind that would localize the causes of the
widespread disaster to the bursting of any single dam.


Danger Was Anticipated.

Charles Parke, of Philadelphia, the civil engineer in the employ of the
South Fork Fishing Club, in company with George C. Wilson, ex-United
States District Attorney, and several other members of the club, reached
Johnstown and brought with them the first batch of authoritative news
from Conemaugh Lake, the bursting of which, it is universally conceded,
caused the disaster.

Mr. Parke was at first averse to talking, and seemed more interested in
informing his friends in the Quaker City that he was still in the land
of the living. On being pressed he denied most emphatically that the dam
had burst, and proceeded to explain that he first commenced to
anticipate danger on Friday morning, when the water in the lake
commenced to rise at a rapid rate. Immediately he turned his force of
twenty-five Italians to opening an extra waste sluiceway in addition to
the one that had always answered before.

The five members of the club on hand all worked like horses, but their
efforts were in vain, and at three o'clock the supporting wall gave way
with a sound that seemed like distant thunder and the work was done.


The Governor's Appeal.

HARRISBURG, Pa., June 3, 1886.--The Governor issued the following:--

"COMMONWEALTH OF PENNSYLVANIA,    }
"EXECUTIVE CHAMBER,               }
"HARRISBURG, Pa., June 3, 1889.   }

"TO THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES:--

"The Executive of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania has refrained
hitherto from making any appeal to the people for their benefactions, in
order that he might receive definite and reliable information from the
centres of disaster during the late floods, which have been
unprecedented in the history of the State or nation. Communication by
wire has been established with Johnstown to-day. The civil authorities
are in control, the Adjutant General of the State cooperating with them;
order has been restored and is likely to continue. Newspaper reports as
to the loss of life and property have not been exaggerated.

"The valley of the Conemaugh, which is peculiar, has been swept from one
end to the other as with the besom of destruction. It contained a
population of forty thousand to fifty thousand people, living for the
most part along the banks of a small river confined within narrow
limits. The most conservative estimates place the loss of life at 5,000
human beings, and of property at twenty-five millions. [The reader will
understand that this and previous estimates were the first and were far
too small.] Whole towns have been utterly destroyed. Not a vestige
remains. In the more substantial towns the better buildings, to a
certain extent, remain, but in a damaged condition. Those who are least
able to bear it have suffered the loss of everything.

"The most pressing needs, so far as food is concerned, have been
supplied. Shoes and clothing of all sorts for men, women and children
are greatly needed. Money is also urgently required to remove the
debris, bury the dead, and care temporarily for the widows and orphans
and for the homeless generally. Other localities have suffered to some
extent in the same way, but not in the same degree.

"Late advices seem to indicate that there is great loss of life and
destruction of property along the west branch of the Susquehanna and in
localities from which we can get no definite information. What does
come, however, is of the most appalling character, and it is expected
that the details will add new horrors to the situation.

Generous Responses.

"The responses from within and without the State have been most generous
and cheering. North and South, East and West, from the United States and
from England, there comes the same hearty, generous response of sympathy
and help. The President, Governors of States, Mayors of cities, and
individuals and communities, private and municipal corporations, seem to
vie with each other in their expressions of sympathy and in their
contributions of substantial aid. But, gratifying as these responses
are, there is no danger of their exceeding the necessities of the
situation.

Organized Distribution.

"A careful organization has been made upon the ground for the
distribution of whatever assistance is furnished. The Adjutant General
of the State is there as the representative of the State authorities and
giving personal attention, in connection with the Chief Burgess of
Johnstown and a committee of relief to the distribution of the help
which is furnished.

"A large force will be employed at once to remove the debris and bury
the dead, so as to avoid disease and epidemic.

"The people of the Commonwealth and others whose unselfish generosity
is hereby heartily appreciated and acknowledged may be assured that
their contributions will be made to bring their benefactions to the
immediate and direct relief of those for whose benefit they are
intended.

"JAMES A. BEAVER.

"By the Governor, CHARLES W. STONE, Secretary
of the Commonwealth."


Alive to the Situation.

The Masonic Relief Committee which went from Pittsburgh to Johnstown
telegraphed President Harrison, urging the appointment of a national
commission to take charge of sanitary affairs at the scene of the
disaster. It was urged that the presence of so many decaying corpses
would breed a pestilence there, besides polluting the water of the
streams affecting all the country between Pittsburgh and New Orleans.

The disasters in Pennsylvania were the subject of a conference at the
White House between the President, General Noble, the Secretary of the
Interior, and Surgeon General Hamilton. The particular topic which
engaged their attention was the possibility of the pollution of the
water-supply of towns along the Conemaugh river by the many dead bodies
floating down the stream.

The President was desirous that this new source of danger should be cut
off, if any measures which could be taken by the government could
accomplish it. It was suggested that the decomposition of so much human
flesh and the settling of the decomposing fragments into the bed of the
stream might make the water so foul as to breed disease and scatter
death in a new form among the surviving dwellers in the valley.


Not Afraid of a Plague.

Surgeon General Hamilton expressed the opinion that the danger was not
so great as might be supposed. There would be no pollution from those
bodies taken from the river before decomposition set in, and the force
of the freshet would tend to clear the river bed of any impurities in it
rather than make new deposits. The argument which had the most weight,
however, with the President was the efficiency of the local authorities.
Pennsylvania has a State Board of Health and is a State with ample means
at her disposal, both in money and men, and if there is any danger of
this sort her local officials were able to deal with it. This was
practically the decision of the conference. The gentlemen will meet
again, if necessary, and stand ready to render every assistance which
the situation calls for, but they will leave the control of the matter
with the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania until it appears that she is
unable to cope with it.


Governor Beaver to the President.

The following telegram was received by President Harrison from Governor
Beaver, who made his way from York to Harrisburg:--

"HARRISBURG, Pa., June 3, 1889.

"To the PRESIDENT, Washington:--

"The Sheriff of Cambria county says everything is quiet and that he can
control the situation without the aid of troops. The people are fairly
housed and good order prevails. The supply of food so far is equal to
the demand, but supplies of food and clothing are still greatly needed.

"Conservative estimates place the loss of life at from five thousand to
ten thousand, and loss of property at from $25,000,000 to $40,000,000.
The people are at work heroically, and will have a large force to-morrow
clearing away the debris.

"The sympathies of the world are freely expressed. One telegram from
England gives $1,000. I will issue a general appeal to the public
to-night. Help comes from all quarters. Its universality greatly
encourages our people. I will communicate with you promptly if anything
unusual occurs.

"JAMES A. BEAVER."




CHAPTER X.

Thrilling Experiences.


JOHNSTOWN, Pa., June 3, 1889.--Innumerable tales of thrilling individual
experiences, each one more horrible than the others, are told.

Frank McDonald, a conductor on the Somerset branch of the Baltimore and
Ohio, was at the Pennsylvania Railroad depot in this place when the
flood came. He says that when he first saw the flood it was thirty feet
high and gradually rose to at least forty feet.

"There is no doubt that the South Fork Dam was the cause of the
disaster," said Mr. McDonald. "Fifteen minutes before the flood came
Decker, the Pennsylvania Railroad agent read me a telegram that he had
just received saying that the South Fork Dam had broken. As soon as he
heard this the people in station, numbering six hundred, made a rush for
a hill. I certainly think I saw one thousand bodies go over the bridge.
The first house that came down struck the bridge and at once took fire,
and as fast as the others came down they were consumed.


Saw a Thousand Persons Burn.

"I believe I am safe in saying that I saw one thousand bodies burn. It
reminded me of a lot of flies on fly paper struggling to get away, with
no hope and no chance to save them.

[Illustration: THE WRECKED HOUSES BURNING AT THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD
BRIDGE.]

"I have no idea that had the bridge been blown up the loss of life
would have been any less. They would have floated a little further with
the same certain death. Then, again, it was impossible for any one to
have reached the bridge in order to blow it out, for the waters came so
fast that no one could have done it.

"I saw fifteen to eighteen bodies go over the bridge at the same time.

"I offered a man $20 to row me across the river, but could get no one to
go, and finally had to build a boat and get across that way."

It required some exercise of acrobatic agility to get into or out of the
town. A slide, a series of frightful tosses from side to side, a run and
you had crossed the narrow rope bridge which spanned the chasm dug by
the waters between the stone bridge and Johnstown. Crossing the bridge
was an exciting task. Yet many women accomplished it rather than remain
in Johnstown. The bridge pitched like a ship in a storm. Within two
inches of your feet rushed the muddy waters of the Conemaugh. There were
no ropes to guide one and creeping was more convenient than walking.

One had to cross the Conemaugh at a second point in order to reach
Johnstown proper. This was accomplished by a skiff ferry. The ferryman
clung to a rope and pulled the load over.


Confusion Worse Confounded.

It is impossible to describe the appearance of Main street. Whole houses
have been swept down this one street and become lodged. The wreck is
piled as high as the second story windows. The reporter could step from
the wreck into the auditorium of the Opera House. The ruins consists of
parts of houses, trees, saw logs, reels from the wire factory. Many
houses have their side walls and roofs torn up, and you can walk
directly into what had been second story bedrooms, or go in by way of
the top. Further up town a raft of logs lodged in the street and did
great damage.

The best way to get an idea of the wreck is to take a number of
children's blocks, place them closely together and draw your hand
through them.

At the commencement of the wreckage, which is at the opening of the
valley of the Conemaugh, one can look up the valley for miles and not
see a house. Nothing stands but an old woolen mill.


As Seen by an Eye-Witness.

Charles Luther is the name of the boy who stood on an adjacent elevation
and saw the whole flood. He said he heard a grinding noise far up the
valley, and looking up he could see a dark line moving slowly toward
him. He saw that it was made up of houses. On they came like the hand of
a giant clearing off his tables. High in the air would be tossed a log
or beam, which fell back with a crash. Down the valley it moved sedately
and across the little mountain city. For ten minutes nothing but moving
houses were seen, and then the waters came with a roar and a rush. This
lasted for two hours, and then it began to flow more steadily.

The pillaging of the houses in Johnstown is something awful to
contemplate and describe. It makes one feel almost ashamed to call
himself a man and know that others who bear the same name have converted
themselves into human vultures, preying on the dead. Men are carrying
shotguns and revolvers, and woe betide the stranger who looks even
suspiciously at any article. Goods of great value were being sold in
town to-day for a drink of whiskey.

A supply store has been established in the Fourth ward in Johnstown. A
line of men, women and children, extending for a square, waited
patiently to have their wants supplied.


An Improvised Morgue.

The school house has been converted into a morgue, and the dead are
being buried from this place. A hospital has been opened near by and is
full of patients. One of the victims was removed from a piece of
wreckage in which he had been imprisoned three days. His leg was broken
and his face badly bruised. He was delirious when rescued.

In some places it is said the railroad tracks were scooped out to a
depth of twenty feet. A train of cars, all loaded, were run on the
Conemaugh bridge. They, with the bridge, now lie in the wreckage at this
point. The Pennsylvania Railroad loses thirty-five engines and many
cars.


Fire Still Raging.

The cling-cling-clang of the engines has a homelike sound. The fire has
spread steadily all day and the upper part of the drift is burning
to-night. The fire engine is stationed on the river bank and a line of
hose laid far up the track to the coal mine. The flames to-night are
higher than ever before, and by its light long lines of the curious can
be seen along the banks.

[Illustration: FIREMEN ON DUTY AT THE BRIDGE.]

The natural gas has been shut off, owing to the many leaks in Johnstown.
No fire is allowed in the city. The walls of many houses are falling.
Their crash can be heard across the river, where the newspaper men are
located. In the walk through the town to-day the word "danger," could be
noticed, painted by the rescuers on the walls.


Cremated.

One of the Catholic churches in the town was burned on Saturday. A house
drifted down against it and set it on fire. A funeral was being held at
the church at the time of the flood. The congregation deserted the
church and the body was burned with the building. Two large trees passed
entirely through a brick Catholic church located near the centre of the
town. The building still stands, but is a total wreck.

Colonel Norman M. Smith, of Pittsburgh, while returning from Johnstown
after a visit to Adjutant General Hastings, was knocked from the
temporary bridge into the river and carried down stream a couple of
hundred yards before he was able to swim ashore. He was not hurt.


A Lucky Escape.

O.J. Palmer, travelling salesman for a Pittsburgh meat house, was on the
ill-fated day express, one car of which was washed away. He narrowly
escaped drowning, and tells a horrible tale of his experience on that
occasion. The engineer, the fireman and himself, when they saw the flood
coming, got upon the top of the car, and when the coach was carried away
they caught the driftwood, and fortunately it was carried near the shore
and they escaped to the hills. Mr. Palmer walked a distance of twenty
miles around the flooded district to a nearby railroad station on this
side.


Freaks of the Disaster.

A novel scene was witnessed yesterday near Johnstown borough. Some women
who managed to escape from the town proper had to wear men's clothes, as
their own had been torn off by the flood.

The force of the flood can be estimated by the fact that it carried
three cars a mile and a half and the tender of an engine weighing twelve
tons was carried fourteen miles down the river. A team of horses which
was standing on Main street just before the flood was found a mile and a
quarter below the town yesterday.

The damage to the Cambria Iron Works was not so great as at first
reported. The ends of the blooming mill and open hearth furnace
buildings were crushed in by the force of the flood. The water rushed
through the mill and tore a great pile of machinery from its fastenings
and caused other damage. The Bessemer steel mill is almost a ruin. The
rolling and wire mills and the six blast furnaces were not much damaged.
This morning the company put a large force of men at work and are making
strenuous efforts to have at least a portion of the plant in operation
within a few weeks. This has given encouragement to the stricken people
of Johnstown, and they now seem to have some hope, although so many of
their loved ones have met their death. The mill yard, with its numerous
railroad tracks, is nothing but a waste. Large piles of pig metal were
scattered in every direction. All the loose debris is being gathered
into heaps and burned.


Hurled to a Place of Safety.

A pitiful sight was that of an old, gray haired man named Norn. He was
walking around among the mass of debris, looking for his family. He had
just sat down to eat his supper when the crash came, and the whole
family, consisting of wife and eight children, were buried beneath the
collapsed house. He was carried down the river to the railroad bridge on
a plank. Just at the bridge a cross-tie struck him with such force that
he was shot clear upon the pier and was safe. But he is a mass of
bruises and cuts from head to foot. He refused to go to the hospital
until he found the bodies of his loved ones.


Heroism in Bright Relief.

A Paul Revere lies somewhere among the dead. Who he is is now known, and
his ride will be famous in history. Mounted on a grand, big bay horse,
he came riding down the pike which passes through Conemaugh to
Johnstown, like some angel of wrath of old, shouting his warning: "Run
for your lives to the hills! Run to the hills!"


A Cloud of Ruin.

The people crowded out of their houses along the thickly settled streets
awe-struck and wondering. No one knew the man, and some thought he was a
maniac and laughed. On and on, at a deadly pace, he rode, and shrilly
rang out his awful cry. In a few moments, however, there came a cloud of
ruin down the broad streets, down the narrow alleys, grinding, twisting,
hurling, overturning, crashing--annihilating the weak and the strong. It
was the charge of the flood, wearing its coronet of ruin and
devastation, which grew at every instant of its progress. Forty feet
high, some say, thirty according to others, was this sea, and it
travelled with a swiftness like that which lay in the heels of Mercury.

On and on raced the rider, on and on rushed the wave. Dozens of people
took heed of the warning and ran up to the hills.

Poor, faithful rider, it was an unequal contest. Just as he turned to
cross the railroad bridge the mighty wall fell upon him, and horse,
rider and bridge all went out into chaos together.

A few feet further on several cars of the Pennsylvania Railroad train
from Pittsburgh were caught up and hurried into the caldron, and the
heart of the town was reached.

The hero had turned neither to right nor left for himself, but rode on
to death for his townsmen. He was overwhelmed by the current at the
bridge and drowned. A party of searchers found the body of this man and
his horse. He was still in the saddle. In a short time the man was
identified as Daniel Periton, son of a merchant of Johnstown, a young
man of remarkable courage. He is no longer the unknown hero, for the
name of Daniel Periton will live in fame as long as the history of this
calamity is remembered by the people of this country.


A Devoted Operator.

Mrs. Ogle, the manager of the Western Union, who died at her post, will
go down in history as a heroine of the highest order. Notwithstanding
the repeated notifications which she received to get out of reach of the
approaching danger, she stood by the instruments with unflinching
loyalty and undaunted courage, sending words of warning to those in
danger in the valley below. When every station in the path of the coming
torrent had been warned she wired her companion at South Fork, "This is
my last message," and as such it shall always be remembered as her last
words on earth, for at that very moment the torrent engulfed her and
bore her from her post on earth to her post of honor in the great
beyond.


Another Hero.

A telegraph operator at the railroad station above Mineral Point, which
is just in the gorge a short distance below the dam, and the last
telegraph station above Conemaugh, had seen the waters rising, and had
heard of the first break in the dam. Two hours before the final break
came he sent a message to his wife at Mineral Point to prepare for the
flood. It read: "Dress the three children in their best Sunday clothes.
Gather together what valuables you can easily carry and leave the house.
Go to the stable on the hillside. Stay there until the water reaches
it; then run to the mountain. The dam is breaking. The flood is coming.
Lose no time."

His wife showed the message to her friends, but they laughed at her.
They even persuaded her to not heed her husband's command. The wife went
home and about her work. Meanwhile the telegraph operator was busy with
his ticker. Down to Conemaugh he wired the warning. He also sent it on
to Johnstown, then he ticked on, giving each minute bulletins of the
break. As the water came down he sent message after message, telling its
progress. Finally came the flood. He saw houses and bodies swept past
him. His last message was: "The water is all around me; I cannot stay
longer, and, for God's sake, all fly." Then he jumped out of his tower
window and ran up the mountain just in time to save himself. A whole
town came past as he turned and looked. Great masses of houses plunged
up. He saw people on roofs yelling and crying, and then saw collisions
of houses, which caused the buildings to crush and crumble like paper.


Racing with Death.

All the time he felt that his family were safe. But it was not so with
them. When the roar of approaching water came the people of Mineral
Point thought of their warning. The wife gathered her children and
started to run. As she went she forgot her husband's advice to go to the
mountain and fled down the street to the lowlands. Suddenly she
remembered she had left the key of her home in the door. She took the
children and ran back. As she neared the house the water came and forced
them up between the two houses. The only outlet was toward the mountain,
and she ran that way with her children. The water chased her, but she
and the children managed to clamber up far enough to escape. Thus it was
that an accident saved their lives. Only three houses and a school-house
were saved at Mineral Point.


A Dangerous Venture.

One of the most thrilling incidents of the disaster was the performance
of A.J. Leonard, whose family reside in Morrellville. He was at work,
and hearing that his house had been swept away determined at all hazards
to ascertain the fate of his family. The bridges having been carried
away he constructed a temporary raft, and clinging to it as close as a
cat to the side of a fence, he pushed his frail craft out into the
raging torrent and started on a chase which, to all who were watching,
seemed to mean an embrace in death.

Heedless of cries "For God's sake go back, you will be drowned." "Don't
attempt it," he persevered. As the raft struck the current he pulled off
his coat and in his shirt sleeves braved the stream. Down plunged the
boards and down went Leonard, but as it arose he was seen still
clinging. A mighty shout arose from the throats of the hundreds on the
banks, who were now deeply interested, earnestly hoping he would
successfully ford the stream.

Down again went his bark, but nothing, it seemed, could shake Leonard
off. The craft shot up in the air apparently ten or twelve feet, and
Leonard stuck to it tenaciously. Slowly but surely he worked his boat to
the other side of the stream, and after what seemed an awful suspense he
finally landed amid ringing cheers of men, women and children.

The last seen of him he was making his way down a mountain road in the
direction of the spot where his house had lately stood. His family
consisted of his wife and three children.


A Thrilling Escape.

Henry D. Thomas, a well-known dry goods merchant, tells the following
story: "I was caught right between a plank and a stone wall and was held
in that position for a long time. The water came rushing down and forced
the plank against my chest. I felt as if it were going through me, when
suddenly the plank gave way, and I fell into the water. I grabbed the
plank quickly and in some unaccountable way managed to get the forepart
of my body on it, and in that way I was carried down the stream. All
around me were people struggling and drowning, while bodies floated like
corks on the water. Some were crying for help, others were praying aloud
for mercy and a few were singing as if to keep up their courage.

A large raft which went by bore a whole family, and they were singing,
'Nearer my God to Thee.' In the midst of their song the raft struck a
large tree and went to splinters. There were one or two wild cries and
then silence. The horror of that time is with me day and night. It would
have driven a weak-minded person crazy.

"The true condition of things that night can never be adequately
described in words. The water came down through a narrow gorge, which in
places was hardly two hundred feet wide. The broken dam was at an
elevation of about five hundred feet above Johnstown. The railroad
bridge across the Conemaugh River is at the lower side of Johnstown, and
the river is joined there by another mountain stream from the northeast.
It was here that the debris collected and caught fire, and I doubt if it
will ever be known how many perished there. The water came down with the
speed of a locomotive. The people there are absolutely paralyzed--so
much so that they speak of their losses in a most indifferent way. I
heard two men in conversation. One said: 'Well, I lost a wife and three
children.' 'That's nothing,' said the other; 'I lost a wife and six
children.'"


The Sudden Break.

A man named Maguire was met on his way from South Fork to Johnstown. He
said he was standing on the edge of the lake when the walls burst. The
waters were rising all day and were on a level with a pile of dirt which
he said was above the walls of the dam. All of a sudden it burst with a
report like a cannon and the water started down the mountain side,
sweeping before it the trees as if they were chips. Bowlders were rolled
down as if they were marbles. The roar was deafening. The lake was
emptied in an hour.

At the time there were about forty men at work up there, building a new
draining system at the lake for Messrs. Parke and Van Buren. They did
all they could to try and avert the disaster by digging a sluiceway on
one side to ease the pressure on the dam, but their efforts were
fruitless.

"It was about half-past two o'clock when the water reached the top of
the dam. At first it was just a narrow white stream trickling down the
face of the dam, soon its proportions began to grow with alarming
rapidity, and in an extremely short space of time a volume of water a
foot in thickness was passing over the top of the dam.

"There had been little rain up to dark. Whatever happened in the way of
a cloud burst took place during the night. When the workmen woke in the
morning the lake was very full and was rising at the rate of a foot an
hour.

"When at two o'clock the water began to flow over the dam, the work of
undermining began. Men were sent three or four times during the day


To Warn the People

below of their danger. At three o'clock there was a sound like
tremendous and continued peals of thunder. The earth seemed to shake and
vibrate beneath our feet.

"There was a rush of wind, the trees swayed to and fro, the air was full
of fine spray or mist: then looking down just in front of the dam we saw
trees, rocks and earth shot up into mid-air in great columns. It seemed
as though some great unseen force was at work wantonly destroying
everything; then the great wave, foaming, boiling and hissing, dashing
clouds of spray hundreds of feet in height as it came against some
obstruction in the way of its mad rush, clearing everything away before
it, started on its terrible death-dealing mission down the fatal
valley."


Engineer Henry's Awful Race.

Engineer Henry, of the second section of the express train, No. 8, which
was caught at Conemaugh, tells a thrilling story. His train was caught
in the midst of the wave and were the only cars that were not destroyed.
"It was an awful sight," he said. "I have often seen pictures of flood
scenes, and I thought they were exaggerations, but what I witnessed last
Friday changes my former belief. To see that immense volume of water,
fully fifty feet high, rushing madly down the valley, sweeping
everything before it, was a thrilling sight. It is engraved indelibly on
my memory. Even now I can see that mad torrent carrying death and
destruction before it.

"The second section of No. 8, on which I was, was due at Johnstown about
10.15 in the morning. We arrived there safely, and were told to follow
the first section. When we arrived at Conemaugh the first section and
the mail were there. Washouts further up the mountain prevented our
going, so we could do nothing but sit around and discuss the situation.
The creek at Conemaugh was swollen high, almost overflowing. The heavens
were pouring rain, but this did not prevent nearly all the inhabitants
of the town from gathering along its banks. They watched


The Waters Go Dashing

by and wondered whether the creek could get much higher. But a few
inches more and it would overflow its banks. There seemed to be a
feeling of uneasiness among the people. They seemed to fear that
something awful was going to happen. Their suspicions were strengthened
by the fact that warning had come down the valley for the people to be
on the lookout. The rains had swelled everything to the bursting point.
The day passed slowly, however.

"Noon came and went, and still nothing happened. We could not proceed,
nor could we go back, as the tracks about a mile below Conemaugh had
been washed away, so there was nothing for us to do but to wait and see
what would come next.

"Some time after 3 o'clock Friday afternoon I went into the train
despatcher's office to learn the latest news. I had not been there long
when I heard a fierce whistling from an engine away up the mountain.
Rushing out I found dozens of men standing around. Fear had blanched
every cheek. The loud and continued whistling had made every one feel
that something serious was going to happen. In a few moments I could
hear a train rattling down the mountain. About five hundred yards above
Conemaugh the tracks make a slight curve and we could not see beyond
this. The suspense was something awful. We did not know what was coming,
but no one could get rid of the thought that something was wrong at the
dam.

"Our suspense was not very long, however. Nearer and nearer the train
came, the thundering sound still accompanying it. There seemed to be
something behind the train, as there was a dull, rumbling sound which I
knew did not come from the train. Nearer and nearer it came; a moment
more and it would reach the curve. The next instant there burst upon our
eyes a sight that made every heart stand still. Rushing around the
curve, snorting and tearing, came an engine and several gravel cars. The
train appeared to be putting forth every effort to go faster. Nearer it
came, belching forth smoke and whistling long and loud. But


The Most Terrible Sight

was to follow. Twenty feet behind came surging along a mad rush of water
fully fifty feet high. Like the train, it seemed to be putting forth
every effort to push along faster. Such an awful race we never before
witnessed. For an instant the people seemed paralyzed with horror. They
knew not what to do, but in a moment they realized that a second's delay
meant death to them. With one accord they rushed to the high lands a few
hundred feet away. Most of them succeeded in reaching that place and
were safe.

[Illustration: AN ENGINEER'S TERRIFIC RACE IN THE VALLEY OF DEATH.]

"I thought of the passengers in my train. The second section of No. 8
had three sleepers. In these three cars were about thirty people, who
rushed through the train crying to the others 'Save yourselves!' Then
came a scene of the wildest confusion. Ladies and children shrieked and
the men seemed terror-stricken. I succeeded in helping some ladies and
children off the train and up to the highlands. Running back, I caught
up two children and ran for my life to a higher place. Thank God, I was
quicker than the flood! I deposited my load in safety on the high land
just as it swept past us.

"For nearly an hour we stood watching the mad flood go rushing by. The
water was full of debris. When the flood caught Conemaugh it dashed
against the little town with a mighty crash. The water did not lift the
houses up and carry them off, but crushed them one against the other and
broke them up like so many egg shells. Before the flood came there was a
pretty little town. When the waters passed on there was nothing but


Few Broken Boards

to mark the central portion of the city. It was swept as clean as a
newly brushed floor. When the flood passed onward down the valley I went
over to my train. It had been moved back about twenty yards, but it was
not damaged. About fifty persons had remained in the train and they were
safe. Of the three trains ours was the luckiest. The engines of both the
others had been swept off the track and one or two cars in each train
had met the same fate.

"What saved our train was the fact that just at the curve which I
mentioned the valley spread out. The valley is six or seven hundred
yards broad where our train was standing. This, of course, let the
floods pass out. It was only twenty feet high when it struck our train,
which was about in the middle of the valley.

"This fact, together with the elevation of the track, was all that saved
us. We stayed that night in the houses in Conemaugh that had not been
destroyed. The next morning I started down the valley and by 4 o'clock
in the afternoon had reached Conemaugh furnace, eight miles west of
Johnstown. Then I got a team and came home.

"In my tramp down the valley I saw some awful sights. On the tree
branches hung shreds of clothing torn from the unfortunates as they were
whirled along in the terrible rush of the torrent. Dead bodies were
lying by scores along the banks of the creeks. One woman I helped drag
from the mud had tightly clutched in her hand a paper. We tore it out of
her hand and found it to be a badly water-soaked photograph. It was
probably a picture of the drowned woman."


Over the Bridge.

Frank McDonald, a railroad conductor, says: "I certainly think I saw
1,000 bodies go over the bridge. The first house that came down struck
the bridge and at once took fire, and as fast as they came down they
were consumed. I believe I am safe in saying I saw 1,000 bodies burn. It
reminded me of a lot of flies on fly-paper struggling to get away, with
no hope and no chance to save them. I have no idea that had the bridge
been blown up the loss of life would have been any less. They would
have floated a little further with the same certain death. Then, again,
it was impossible for any one to have reached the bridge in order to
blow it up, for the waters came so fast that no one could have done it.
I saw fifteen to eighteen bodies go over the bridge. At the same time I
offered a man twenty dollars to row me across the river, but could get
no one to go, and I finally had to build a boat and get across that
way."

Nothing seems to have withstood the merciless sweep of the mighty
on-rush of pent-up Conemaugh. As for the houses of the town a thousand
of them lie piled up in a smouldering mass to the right of Conemaugh
bridge.

At the present moment, away down in its terrible depths, this mass of
torn and twisted timbers and dead humanity is slowly burning, and the
light curling smoke that rises as high almost as the mountain, and the
sickening smell that comes from the centre of this fearful funeral pile
tell that the unseen fire is feeding on other fuel than the rafters and
roofs that once sheltered the population of Johnstown.


A Ghastly Scene.

The mind is filled with horror at the supreme desolation that pervades
the whole scene. It is small wonder that the pen cannot in the hands of
the most skillful even pretend to convey one-hundredth part of what is
seen and heard every hour in the day in this fearful place. At the
present moment firemen and others are out on that ghastly aggregation of
woodwork and human kind jammed against the unyielding mass of arched
masonry.

Round them curls the white smoke from the smouldering interior of the
heaped up houses of Johnstown. Every now and then the gleam of an axe
and a group of stooping forms tell that another ghastly find has been
made, and a whisper goes round among the hundreds of watchers that other
bodies are being brought to light.

How many hundreds or thousands there are who found death by fire at this
awful spot will never be known, and the people are already giving up
hopes of ever reaching the knowledge of how their loved and lost ones
met their doom, whether in the fierce, angry embrace of the waters of
Conemaugh, or in the deadly grip of the fire fiend, who claimed the
homes of Johnstown for his own above the fatal bridge.

Every hour it becomes more and more apparent that the exact number of
lives lost will never be known. Up to the present time the disposition
has been to under rather than overestimate the number of lives
sacrificed.


A Mother Rescued by Her Daughter.

A daughter of John Duncan, superintendent of the Johnstown Street Car
Company, had an awful struggle in rescuing her mother and baby sister.
Mrs. Duncan and family had taken refuge on a roof, when a large log came
floating down the river, striking the house with immense force, knocking
Mrs. Duncan and daughter into the fast running river. Seeing what had
happened, Alvania, her fifteen-year-old daughter, leaped into the water,
and after a hard struggle landed both on the roof of the house.

The members of the Cambria Club tell of their battle for life in the
following manner: They were about to sit down to dinner when they heard
the crash, and knowing what had occurred they started for the attic just
as the flood was upon them. When the members were assured of their
safety they at once commenced saving others by grasping them as they
floated by on tree tops, houses, etc. In this manner they saved seventy
persons from death.


The Clock Stopped at 5.20.

One of the queerest sights in the centre of the town is a three-story
brick residence standing with one wall, the others having disappeared
completely, leaving the floors supported by the partitions. In one of
the upper rooms can be seen a mantel with a lambrequin on it and a clock
stopped at twenty minutes after five. In front of the clock is a lady's
fan, though from the marks on the wall-paper the water has been over all
these things.

In the upper part of the town, where the back water from the flood went
into the valley with diminished force, there are many strange scenes.
There the houses were toppled over one after another in a row, and left
where they lay. One of them was turned completely over and stands with
its roof on the foundations of another house and its base in the air.
The owner came back, and getting into his house through the windows
walked about on his ceiling. Out of this house a woman and her two
children escaped safely and were but little hurt, although they were
stood on their heads in the whirl. Every house has its own story. From
one a woman shut up in her garret escaped by chopping a hole in the
roof. From another a Hungarian named Grevins leaped to the shore as it
went whirling past and fell twenty-five feet upon a pile of metal and
escaped with a broken leg. Another is said to have come all the way from
very near the start of the flood and to have circled around with the
back water and finally landed on the flats at the city site, where it is
still pointed out.




CHAPTER XI.

New Tales of Horror.


The accounts contained in the foregoing chapters bring this appalling
story of death down to June 4th. We continue the narrative as given from
day to day by eye-witnesses, as this is the only method by which a full
and accurate description of Johnstown's unspeakable horror can be
obtained.

On the morning of June 5th one of the leading journals contained the
following announcements, printed in large type, and preceding its vivid
account of the terrible situation at Johnstown.

Death, ruin, plague! Threatened outbreak of disease in the fate stricken
valley. Awful effluvia from corpses! Swift and decisive means must be
taken to clear away the masses of putrefying matter that underlie the
wreck of what was once a town. Proposed use of explosives. Crowds of
refugees are already attacked by pneumonia and the germs of typhus
pervade both air and water. Victims yet unnumbered. Dreadful discoveries
hourly made! Heaps of the drowned, the mangled and the burned are found
in pockets between rocks and under packed accumulations of sand!
Pennsylvania regiments ordered to the scene to keep ward over an
afflicted and heartbroken people. Blame where it belongs. The ears of
the inhabitants were dulled to fear by warnings many times
repeated--forty-two years ago the dam broke--vivid stories of witnesses
of the great tragedy--the owners of the lake must bear a gigantic burden
of remorse--sufferings of survivors!

These were the terrible headings in a single issue of a newspaper.

A registry of the living who were residents of Johnstown prior to the
flood was begun to-day. Out of a total population of 39,400 the names of
only 10,600 have been recorded. This may give an approximate idea of the
number of those who lost their lives.


Gaunt Menace of Pestilence.

The most important near fact of to-day is the increasing danger of
pestilence.

As the work of disengaging the bodies of the dead progresses the
horrible peril becomes more and more apparent. There is need of the
speediest possible measures to offset the gravity of the sanitary
situation.

From every part of the stricken valley the same cry of alarm arises, for
at every point where the dead are being discovered, as the waters
continue to abate, the same peril exists.

The use of explosives, especially dynamite, has been discussed. There is
some opposition to it, but it may yet be resorted to. The great mass of
ruins at the Pennsylvania Railroad bridge, which is still smoking and
smouldering, is a ghastly mine of human flesh and bones in all sorts of
hideous shapes, and unless desperate means are employed, cannot be
cleared away in weeks to come.

[Illustration: READING THE HORRIBLE NEWS.]

Still, vigorous work in that direction is being performed, and
explosives will be used in a limited degree to further it. This great
work may be divided into two parts--the clearing away of the mass of
debris lodged against the Pennsylvania Railroad bridge, and the
examination and removal of the many wrecked buildings which mark the
site of Johnstown.


Order Out of Chaos.

Slowly something like order is beginning to appear in the chaos of
destruction. Enough militia came to-day to put the town under strict
martial law. Four hundred men of the Fourteenth regiment, of Pittsburgh,
are here. There will be no more tramping over the ruins by ungoverned
mobs. There will be no more fears of rioting.

The supplies of food are constantly growing. The much needed money is
beginning to come in, though not at all needless relief committees are
beginning to go out. Better quarters for the sufferers are being
provided. Better arrangements for systematic relief are made. Something
of the deep gloom has been dispelled, though Johnstown is still the
saddest spot on earth.

The systematic attempt to clear up the ruins at the gorge and get out
the bodies imprisoned there began to-day. The expectations of ghastly
discoveries were more than realized. Scores of burned and mangled bodies
were removed.


Freaks of the Torrent.

The great waste where the city stood looked a little different to-day.
Some attempt was made to clear up the rubbish, and fires were burning in
a dozen places to get rid of it. Tents for the soldiers and some of the
sufferers were put up in the smooth stretch of sand where a great, five
story hardware store used to stand. The dead animals that were here and
there in the debris were removed, to the benefit of the towns-people's
health.

Curious things come to light where the rubbish was cleared away. The
solid cobblestone pavement had been scooped up by the force of the water
and in some places swept so far away that there was not a sign of it.
Behind a house that was resting on one corner was found a wickerwork
baby carriage full of mud, but not injured or scratched in the least nor
yet buried in the mud, but looking as if it had been rolled there and
left. Very close to it was a piece of railroad iron that must have been
carried half a mile, bent as it it were but common wire. Exactly on the
site of a large grocery store was a box of soap and a bundle of
clothespins, while of all the brick and stone, of which the store was
built, and all the heavy furniture it contained there was not the
slightest trace.

Many articles of wearing apparel were found here, but no bodies could be
discovered in the whole stretch of the plain, from which it is inferred
that most of the deaths occurred at the gorge or else the flood swept
them far away.


Reminders of a Broken Home.

One of the few buildings that are left in this part of town is the fine
house of Mr. Geranheiser, of the Cambria Iron Company. It presents a
queer spectacle--that is common here but has not often been seen before.
The flood reached almost to the second floor and was strong enough to
cut away about half the house, leaving the rest standing. The whole
interior of the place can be seen just as the frightened inmates left
it. The carpets are torn up from the first floor, but the pictures are
still hanging on the walls and an open piano stands against the wall
full of mud; a Brussels carpet being halfway out of the second story on
the side where the wreck was and showing exactly how high the water
came. There was a centre table in the room and an open book on it.
Chairs stood about the room and the pictures were on the walls, and half
of the room was gone miles away.


Seven Acres of Wreckage.

Just below the bare plain where the business block of Johnstown stood,
and above the stone arch bridge on which the Pennsylvania Railroad
crossed the river, are seven acres of the wreckage of the flood. The
horrors that have been enacted in that spot, the horrors that are seen
there every hour, who can attempt to describe? Under and amid that mass
of conglomerate rubbish are the remains of at least one thousand persons
who died the most frightful of deaths.

This is the place where the fire broke out within twenty minutes after
the flood. It has burned ever since. The stone arch bridge acted as a
dam to the flood, and five towns were crushing each other against it. A
thousand houses came down on the great wave of water, and were held
there a solid mass in the jaws of a Cyclopean vise.

A kitchen stove upset. The mass took fire. A thousand people were
imprisoned in these houses. A thousand more were on the roofs. For most
of them there was no escape. The fire swept on from house to house. The
prisoners saw it coming and shrieked and screamed with terror, and ran
up and down their narrow quarters in an agony of fear.


Sights to Freeze Their Blood.

Thousands of people stood upon the river bank and saw and heard it all
and still were powerless to help. They saw people kneeling in the flames
and praying. They saw families gathered together with their arms around
each other and waiting for death. They saw people going mad and tearing
their hair and laughing. They saw men plunge into the narrow crevices
between the houses and seek death in the water rather than wait its
coming in the flames. Some saw their friends and some their wives and
children perishing before them, and some in the awful agony of the hour
went mad themselves and ran shrieking to the hillsides, and stronger men
laid down on the ground and wept.

All that night and all the next day, and far into the morning of Monday,
these dreadful shrieks resounded from that place of doom. The fire
burned on, aided by the fire underneath, added to by fresh fuel coming
down the river. All that time the people stood helpless on the bank and
heard those heartrending sounds. What could they do? They could not
fight the fire. Every fire engine in the town lay in that mass of
rubbish smashed to bits. For hours they had to wait until they could get
telegraph word to surrounding towns, and hours more until the fire
engines arrived at noon on Monday.


Wrecks of Five Iron Bridges.

The shrieks ceased early in the morning. Men had began to search the
ruins and had taken out the few that still lived. The fire engines began
to play on the still smouldering fire. Other workmen began to remove the
bodies. The fire had swept over the whole mass from shore to shore and
burned it to the water. A great field of crushed and charred timbers was
all that was left. The flood had gorged this in so tightly that it made
a solid bridge above the water. A tremendous, irresistible force had
ground and churned and macerated the debris until it was a confused,
solid, almost welded, conglomerate, stretching from shore to shore,
jammed high up against the stone bridge and extending up the river a
quarter of a mile, perhaps half as wide. In this tangled heap and crush
of matter were the twisted wrecks of five iron bridges, smashed
locomotives, splintered dwellings and all their contents; human beings
and domestic animals, hay and factory machinery; the rich contents of
stores and brick walls ground to powder--all the products of human
industry, all the elements of human interests, twisted, turned, broken
in a mighty mill and all thrown together.


A Sickening Spectacle.

I walked over this extraordinary mass this morning and saw the fragments
of thousands of articles. In one place the roofs of forty frame houses
were packed in together just as you would place forty bended cards one
on top of another. The iron rods of a bridge were twisted into a perfect
spiral six times around one of the girders. Just beneath it was a
woman's trunk, broken up and half filled with sand, with silk dresses
and a veil streaming out of it. From under the trunk men were lifting
the body of its owner, perhaps, so burned, so horribly mutilated, so
torn from limb to limb, that even the workmen, who have seen so many of
these frightful sights that they have begun to get used to them, turned
away sick at heart.

I saw in one place a wrecked grocery store--bins of coffee and tea,
flour, spices and nuts, parts of the counter and safe mingled together.
Near it was the pantry of the house, still partly intact, the plates and
saucers regularly piled up, a waiter and a teapot, but not a sign of the
woodwork, not a recognizable outline of a house. In another place a
halter, with a part of a horse's head tied to a bit of a manger, and a
mass of hay and straw about, but no other signs of the stable in which
the horse was burned. Two cindered towels, a cake of soap in a dish, and
a bit of carpet were taken to indicate the location of a hotel. I saw a
child's skull in a bed of ashes, but no sign of a body.


Recognized by Fragments.

In another place was a human foot and crumbling indications of a boot,
but no signs of a body. A hay rick, half ashes, stood near the centre of
the gorge. Workmen who dug about it to-day found a chicken coop, and in
it two chickens, not only alive but clucking happily when they were
released. A woman's hat, half burned; a reticule, with a part of a hand
still clinging to it; two shoes and part of a dress told the story of
one unfortunate's death. Close at hand a commercial traveller had
perished. There was his broken valise, still full of samples, fragments
of his shoes and some pieces of his clothing.

Scenes like these were occurring all over the charred field where men
were working with pick and axe and lifting out the poor, shattered
remains of human beings, nearly always past recognition or
identification, except by guesswork, or the locality where they were
found. Articles of domestic use scattered through the rubbish helped to
tell who some of the bodies were. Part of a set of dinner plates told
one man where in the intangible mass his house was. In one place was a
photograph album with one picture recognizable. From this the body of a
child near by was identified. A man who had spent a day and all night
looking for the body of his wife, was directed to her remains by part of
a trunk lid.


Dead Bodies Caressed.

Poor old John Jordan, of Conemaugh! Many a tear ran over swarthy cheeks
for him to-day. All his family, his wife and children, had been swept
from his sight in the flood. He wandered over the gorge yesterday
looking for them, and last night the police could not bring him away. At
daylight he found his wife's sewing machine and called the workmen to
help him. First they found a little boy's jacket that he recognized and
then they came upon the rest of them all buried together, the mother's
burned arms still clinging to the little children. Then the white headed
old man sat down in the ashes and caressed the dead bodies and talked to
them just as if they were alive until some one came and led him quietly
away. Without a protest he went to the shore and sat down on a rock and
talked to himself, and then got up and disappeared on the hills.


To Blow Up the Gorge.

Was this the only such scene the day saw? There were scores like it.
People worked in ruins all day to find their relatives and then went
home with horrible uncertainty. People found what they were looking for
and fainted at the sight. People looked and cried aloud and came and
stood on the banks all day, afraid to look and still afraid to go away.
The burned bodies are not the only ones in the gorge. Under the timbers
and held down in the water there must be hundreds that escaped the fire,
but were drowned. To get at these the gorge is to be blown up with
dynamite. The sanitary reasons for such a step are becoming hourly more
apparent. It is the belief of the physicians that a pestilence will be
added to the other horrors of the place if such a thing is not done. All
day the bodies have been brought to shore. Those that were not
recognized were carried on stretchers to the Morgue. One hundred and
twenty of the identified bodies were carried over the bridge in one
procession.

Relief work for the suffering goes on at the headquarters of the Relief
Committee on that little, muddy, rubbish-filled street which escaped
destruction at the edge of the flood.

The building is a wretched shanty, once a Hungarian boarding-house, and
a long line of miserable women stretches out in front of it all day
waiting for relief. They are the unfortunate who have lost everything in
the flood.

Quarters for five thousand of these people are provided in tents on the
hillside. For provisions they are dependent on the charity of the
country. Bread and meat are served out to them on the committee's order.

They are the most mournful and pitiable sight. There was not one in the
line who had not lost some one dear to her. Most of them were the wives
of merchants or laborers who went down in the disaster. They were the
sole survivors of their families. Very few had any more clothes than
they wore when their houses were washed away. They stood there for hours
in the rain yesterday without any protection, soaked with the drizzle,
squalid and utterly forlorn--a sight to move a heart of stone.


Silent Sufferers.

They did not talk to one another as women generally do even when they
are not acquainted. They got no words of sympathy from any one, and they
gave none. Not a word was spoken along the whole line. They simply stood
and waited. In truth there is nothing about the survivors of the
disaster that strikes one so forcibly as their evident inability to
comprehend their misfortune and the absence of sympathetic expressions
among them. It is not because they are naturally stolid, but the whole
thing is so vast and bears upon them so heavily they cannot grasp it.

People in California know much more about the disaster than any resident
of Johnstown knows; more information about it can be gotten from
towns-people forty miles away than from those who saw it. The people
here are not at all lacking in sympathy or kindliness of heart, but what
words of sympathy would have any meaning in such a tremendous
catastrophe? Every person of Johnstown has lost a relative or a friend,
and so has every other resident he meets. They seem to see instinctively
that condolence would be meaningless.


Famine Happily Averted.

On the west side of the lower town one or two little streets are left
from the flood. They are crowded all the time with the survivors. As I
have gone among them I have heard nothing but such conversations as
this, which is literally reproduced:--

"Hello, Will! Where's Jim?"

"He's lost."

"Is that so! Goodby."

Another was:--

"Good morning, Mr. Holden; did you save Mrs. Holden?"

"No; she went with the house. You lost your two boys, didn't you?"

"Yes. Good morning."

Two women met on the narrow rope bridge which spans the creek. As they
passed one said:--

"How about Aunt Mary?"

"Oh, she's lost; so is Cousin Hattie."

It gives an outside listener a strange sensation to hear people talk
thus with about as little emotion as they would talk about the weather.
But the people of Johnstown had so much to do with death that they think
about nothing else. I will undertake to say that half the people have
not the slightest idea what day of the week or month this is.


A Rope Bridge of Sighs.

To get from one part of the town to another it is necessary to cross the
river or creek which is now flowing over the sites of business blocks.
Of course every vestige of a bridge was swept far away, and to take
their places two ropes have been hung from high timbers built upon the
sandy island that was the city's site. On these ropes narrow boards are
tied. The whole structure is not more than four feet wide, and it hangs
trembling over the water in a way that makes nervous people shudder.
Over this frail thing hundreds of people crowd every hour, and why there
has not been another disaster is something no one can understand.

The river is rising steadily, and all the afternoon the middle of the
bridge sagged down into the water, but the people kept on struggling
across. Many of them carried coffins containing bodies from the Morgue.
There are no express wagons, no hearses--scarcely any vehicles of any
kind in the town--and all the coffins have to be carried on the
shoulders of the men.

Coffins are a dreadfully common sight. It is impossible to move a dozen
steps in any direction without meeting one or very likely a procession
of of them. One hundred of them were piled up in front of the Morgue
this morning. Twice as many more were on the platform of the
Pennsylvania station. Carloads of coffins were being unloaded from
freight cars below town and carried along the roads. Almost every house
has a coffin in it. Every boat that crosses the river carries one, and
rows of them stood by the bank to receive the bodies.


Merely a Mud Plain.

There is a narrow fringe of houses on each side of the empty plain,
which escaped because they were built on higher ground. Fine brick
blocks and paved streets filled the business part of the town, which was
about a mile long and half a mile wide. Where these blocks stood mud is
in some places six feet deep. Over and through it all is scattered an
extraordinary collection of rubbish--boilers, car wheels, fragments of
locomotives, household furniture, dead animals, clothing, sewing
machines, goods from stores, safes, passenger and street cars, some half
buried in the sand, some all exposed, helter-skelter.

It is simply impossible to realize the tremendous force exercised by the
flood, though the imagination is assisted by the presence of heavy iron
beams twisted and bent, railroad locomotives swept miles away, rails
torn up, the rocks and banks slashed away, and brick walls carried away,
leaving no traces of their foundations. The few stone houses that
resisted the shock were completely stripped of all their contents and
filled four feet deep with sand and powdered debris.


A Glimpse from a Window.

As I write this, seated within a curious circular affair, which was once
a mould for sewer pipe, are two operators busy with clicking
instruments. The floor is a foot deep with clay. There are no doors.
There are no windows which boast of glass or covering of any kind. The
lookout embraces the bulk of the devastated districts. Just below the
windows are the steep river banks, covered with a miscellaneous mass
thrown up by the flood. The big stone bridge is crowded with freight
cars loaded with material for repairing the structure and with people
who are eager to see something horrible.


That Funeral Pyre.

The further half of the bridge which was swept away has been replaced by
a trembling wooden affair, wide enough only for two persons to walk
abreast. To the left of the bridge and across the river are the great
brick mills of the Cambria Iron and Steel Company, crushed and torn out
of a semblance to workshops. Just in front of the office is what has
been called the "funeral pyre," and which threatens to become a
veritable breeding spot of pestilence.

Just before me a group of red-capped firemen are directing a stream of
water upon such portions of the mass as can be reached from the shore.


Where Death Was Busiest.

Over to the right, at the edge of a muddy lagoon which marks the limit
of the levelling rush of the mad torrent, there are dozens and dozens of
buildings leaning against each other in the oddest sort of jumble. The
spectacle would be ludicrous if it were not so awfully suggestive of the
tragic fate of the inmates. Behind this border land are the regions
where death was wofully busy. In some streets a mile from any railroad
track locomotives and cars are scattered among the smouldering ruins. In
the river the rescuers are busy, and so are the Hungarians and native
born thieves.

Men take queer souvenirs away sometimes. One came up the bank a short
time ago with a skull and two leg bones, all blackened and burned by the
fire.

There is, of course, no business done, and those who have been spared
have little to do save watch for a new phase of the greatest tragedy of
the kind in modern history. On Prospect Hill is a town of tents where
the homeless are housed and fed, and where also a formidable city of the
dead has been just prepared. Such are some of the scenes visible from
the window.


The Skeleton of Its Former Self.

The water has receded in the night almost as rapidly as it came, and
behind it remains the sorriest sight imaginable. The dove that has come
has no green leaf of promise, for its wings are draped with the hue of
mourning and desolation. There now lies the great skeleton of dead
Johnstown. The great ribs of rocky sand stretch across the chest scarred
and covered with abrasions. Acres of mud, acres of wreckage, acres of
unsteady, tottering buildings, acres of unknown dead, of ghastly objects
which have been eagerly sought for since Friday; acres of smoky,
streaming ruin, of sorrow for somebody, lie out there in the sunshine.


Like Unto Arcadia After the Fire.

The awful desolation of the scene has been described often enough
already to render a repetition of the attempt here unnecessary. These
descriptions have been as truthful and graphic as it is possible for man
to make them; but none have been adequate--none could be. Where once
stood solid unbroken blocks for squares and squares, with basements and
subcellars, there is now a level plain as free from obstruction or
excavation as the fair fields of Arcadia after they had been swept by
the British flames. The major and prettier portion of the beautiful city
has literally been blotted from the face of the earth.


Disease Succeeds to Calamity.

Up the ragged surface of Prospect Hill, whither hundreds of terrified
people fled for safety Friday night, I scrambled this afternoon. I came
upon a pneumonia scourge which bids fair to do for a number of the
escaped victims what the flood could not. Death has pursued them to
their highest places, and terror will not die. Every little house on
the hill--and there are a hundred or two of them--had thrown its doors
open to receive the bruised, half-clad fugitives on the dark day of the
deluge, and every one was now a crude hospital. Half the women who had
scaled the height were so overcome with fright that they have been
bedridden ever since. There had been pneumonia on the hill, but only a
few cases. To-day, however, several fresh cases developed among the the
flood fugitives, and a local physician said the prospects for a scourge
are all too promising. The enfeebled condition of the patients, the
unhealthy atmosphere pervading the valley and the necessarily close
quarters in which the people are crowded render the spread of the
disease almost certain.


The Military Called Out.

At the request of the Sheriff, Adjutant General Hastings called out the
Fourteenth regiment of Pittsburgh, who are to be stationed at Johnstown
proper, to guard the buildings and against emergencies. Other reasons
are known to exist for this precaution. Bodies were recovered to-day
that have been robbed by the ghouls. It is known that one lady had
several hundred dollars in her possession just before the disaster, but
when the body was recovered there was not a cent in her pocket.

The Hungarians attacked a supply wagon between Morrellville and Cambria
City to-day. The drivers of the wagon repulsed them, but they again
returned. A second fight ensued, but after lively scrambling the
Hungarians were again driven away. After that drivers and guards of
supply wagons were permitted to go armed.

General Hastings was seen later in the day, and when asked what caused
him to order the militia said: "There is no need of troops to quell
another disturbance, but now there are at least two thousand men at work
in Johnstown clearing up the debris, and I think that it will not hurt
to have the Fourteenth regiment here, as they can guard the banks and
all valuables. The Sheriff consulted me in the matter. He stated that
his men were about worn out, and he thought that we had better have some
soldiers. So I ordered them."

The people, aroused by repeated outrages, are bitterly hounding the
Hungarians, and a military force is essential to see that both sides
preserve order.


Indignant Battery B.

A number of the members of Battery B and the Washington infantry, who
were ordered back from Johnstown, are very indignant at Adjutant General
Hastings, who gave the order. They claim that General Hastings not only
acted without a particle of judgment, but when they offered to act as
picket, do police duty or anything else that might be required of them,
they state that they were treated like dogs.

They also insist that their services are badly needed for the reason
that the hills surrounding Johnstown are swarming with tramps, who are
availing themselves of every opportunity to secure plunder from the
numerous wrecks or dead bodies.

They told the General that they came more as private citizens than as
soldiers, and were willing to do what they could. The General abruptly
ordered them back to Pittsburgh. Lieutenant Gammel, who had charge of
the men, said: "We would like to have stayed but we had to obey orders
and we took the first train for home. Even the short time we were there
the fifty-five men had pulled out thirty-five bodies."

Members of the battery said: "This is a fine Governor we have, and as
for Hastings, the least said about his actions the better."

The Adjutant General's order calling out the Fourteenth regiment and
ordering them to this place is not looked upon as being altogether a
wise move by many citizens.


Narrow Escape from Lynching.

About eleven o'clock this morning, Captain W.R. Jones, of Braddock, and
his men discovered a man struggling in the hands of an angry crowd on
Main street. The crowd were belaboring the man with sticks and fists,
and Captain Jones entered the house where the disturbance occurred, and
the man shouted: "I have a right here, and am getting what belongs to my
folks!"

The crowd then demanded that he show what he had in his possession. He
reluctantly produced a handful of jewelry from his pocket, among which
was a gold watch, which was no sooner shown than a gentleman who was
standing nearby claimed it as his own, saying that the house where they
were standing was the residence of his family. He then proceeded to
identify clearly the property. The crowd, convinced of the thief's
guilt, wanted to lynch him, but after an exciting scene Captain Jones
pacified them. The man was escorted out of town by officers, released
and ordered not to return.


Johnstown Succored.

There will be no more charity except for the helpless. The lengthening
of the death roll has fearfully shortened the list to be provided for.
There is now an abundance of food and clothing to satisfy the present
necessities of all who are in need. Beginning to-morrow morning, June
5th, aid will not be extended to any who are able to work except in
payment for work. All the destitute who are able and willing will be put
to work clearing up the wreck in the river and the wastes where the
streets stood. They will be paid $2.50 and $3.00 per day for ordinary
laboring work, and thus obtain money with which to buy provisions, which
will be sold to them at reduced prices.

Those who will not work will be driven off. The money collected will be
paid out in wages, in defraying funeral expenses and in relieving those
whose bread providers have been taken away.


Dainties Not Wanted.

The supplies of food and clothing are far in excess of the demand
to-day. The mistake of sending large quantities of dainties has been
made by some of the relief committees. Bishop Phelan has been on the
ground all day in company with a number of Catholic priests from
Pittsburgh.

He has ordered provisions for all the sufferers who have taken shelter
in the buildings over which he has placed the Little Sisters of the
Poor. There are several hundred people now being cared for by the relief
corps, and as the work of rescue goes on the number increases.


Bent on Charity.

Mrs. Campbell, president of the Allegheny Woman's Christian Temperance
Union, arrived this morning, and with Miss Kate Foster, of Johnstown,
organized a temporary home for destitute children on Bedford street. On
the same train came a delegation from the Smithfield Methodist Episcopal
Church. They began relieving the wants of the suffering Methodists.

Committees from the Masonic and Odd Fellows from Pittsburgh are looking
after their brethren.

Mr. Moxham, the iron manufacturer, is Mayor pro. tem. of Johnstown
to-day. He is probably the busiest man in the United States; although
for days without sleep, he still sticks nobly to his task. Hundreds of
others are like him. Men fall to the earth from sheer fatigue. There are
many who have not closed an eye in sleep since they awoke on Friday
morning; they are hollow-eyed and pitiful looking creatures. Many have
lost near relatives and all friends.


Shylocks.

Men and horses are what are most needed to-day. Some of the unfortunates
who could not go to the relief trains endeavored to obtain flour from
the wrecked stores in Johnstown. One dealer was charging $5 a sack for
flour, and was getting it in one or two cases. Suddenly the crowd heard
of the occurrence.

Several desperate men went to the store and doled the flour gratuitously
to the homeless and stricken. Another dealer was selling flour at $1.50
a sack. He refused to give any away, but would sell it to any one who
had the money. Otherwise he would not allow any one to go near it,
guarding his store with a shotgun.


Masons on the Field.

The special train of the Masonic Relief Association which left
Pittsburgh at one o'clock yesterday afternoon on the Baltimore and Ohio
Railroad did not reach here until just before midnight, at which time it
was impossible to do anything. Under the circumstances, the party
concluded to pass the night in the cars, making themselves as
comfortable as possible with packing boxes for beds and candle boxes for
pillows.

They spent the morning distributing the food and clothing among the
Masonic sufferers. In addition to a large quantity of cooked food,
sandwiches, etc., as well as flour and provisions of every description,
the Relief Committee brought up 100 outfits of clothing for women and a
similar number for girls, and a miscellaneous lot for men and boys. The
women's outfits are complete, and include underwear, stockings, shoes,
dresses, wraps and hats. They are most acceptable in the present crisis,
and much suffering has already been relieved by them.

The Knights of Pythias have received a large donation of money from
Pittsburgh lodges.


Appeal to President Harrison.

Adjutant General Hastings yesterday afternoon telegraphed to President
Harrison requesting that government pontoons be furnished to enable a
safe passageway to be made across the field of charred ruins above
Johnstown Bridge for the purpose of prosecuting search for the dead.
Late last night an answer was received from the President stating that
the pontoons would be at once forwarded by the Secretary of War.

A despatch of sympathy has been received by Adjutant General Hastings
from the Mayor of Kansas City, who states that the little giant of the
West will do her duty in this time of need.


Fraternities Uniting.

The various fraternities, whose work has been referred to in various
despatches, have established headquarters and called meetings of
surviving local members. These meetings are held in Alma Hall, belonging
to the Odd Fellows, which, owing to its solid construction, withstood
the pressure of the flood. From the headquarters at Alma Hall most of
the committees representing the various secret societies are
distributing relief.

The first hopeful view of the situation taken by the Odd Fellows'
Committee has been clouded by the dismal result of further
investigations. At last night's meeting at the old school-house on
Prospect Hill definite tidings were received from but thirty members
out of a total of 501.

Cambria Lodge, with a membership of eighty-five, mostly Germans, seems
to have been entirely wiped out, not a single survivor having yet
reported.


Call for Workers.

Last night Robert Bridgard, a letter carrier of Johnstown, marched at
the head of three hundred men to the corner of Morrell avenue and
Columbia street, where he mounted a wagon and made a speech on the needs
of the hour. Chiefest of these, he considered, was good workmen to clear
away the debris and extract the bodies from the wreckage.

He closed with a bitter attack on the lazy Huns and Poles, who refused
to aid in the work of relief and yet are begging and even stealing the
provisions that are sent here to feed the sufferers. The crowd numbered
nearly one thousand, and greeted Bridgard's words with cheers.

Another resident of the city then mounted a barrel and made a ringing
speech condemning the slothful foreigners, who have proven themselves a
menace to the valley and its inhabitants. The feelings of the crowd were
aroused to such an alarming extent that it was feared it would culminate
in an attack on the worthless Poles and Hungarians.

The following resolution was adopted with a wild shout of approval, and
the meeting adjourned:--

"_Resolved_, That we, the citizens of Johnstown, in public meeting
assembled, do most earnestly beg the Relief Corps of the Johnstown
sufferers to furnish no further provisions to the Hungarians and Poles
of this city and vicinity except in payment of services rendered by them
for the relief of their unfortunate neighbors.

"_Resolved_, Further, that in case of their refusal to render such
service they be driven from the doors of the relief trains and warned to
vacate the premises."


Hospitals and Morgues.

Those who doubt that many thousands lost their lives in this disaster
have not visited the morgues. There are three of these dreadful places
crowded so full of the unidentified dead that there is scarcely room to
move between the bodies. To the largest morgue, which I visited this
morning, one hundred and sixty bodies have been brought for
identification. When it is remembered that most of the bodies were swept
below the limits of Johnstown, that many more found here have been
identified at once by their friends and that it is certain that many
bodies were consumed entirely in the fire at the gorge, the fact gives
some idea of the extent of the calamity.

The largest morgue is at the Fourth ward school-house, a two-story brick
building which stands just at the edge of the high mark of the flood.
The bodies were laid across the school children's desks until they got
to be so numerous that there was not room for them, excepting on the
floor. Soldiers with crossed bayonets keep out the crowd of curious
people who have morbid appetites to gratify. None of these people are
of Johnstown. People of Johnstown do not have time to come to look for
friends, and they give the morgue a wide berth. Those who do come have
that dazed, miserable look that has fallen to all the residents of the
unhappy town. They walk through slowly and look at the bodies and go
away looking no sadder nor any less perplexed than when they came in.
One of the doctors in charge at the morgue told me that many of these
people had come in and looked at the bodies of their own fathers and
brothers and gone away without recognizing them, though not at all
disfigured.


"That's Jim."

In some instances it had been necessary for other persons, who knew the
people, to point out the dead to the living and assure them positively
of the identification before they could be aroused. I saw a railroad
laborer who had come in to look for a friend. He walked up and down the
aisles like a man in a trance. He looked at the bodies, and took no
apparent interest in any of them. At last he stopped before one of them
which he had passed twice before, muttered, "That's Jim," and went out
just as he had come in. Two other identifications I saw during the hour
I was there were just like this. There was no shedding of tears nor
other showing of emotion. They gazed upon the features of their dead as
if they were totally unable to comprehend it all, and reported their
identification to the attendants and watched the body as it was put into
a coffin and went away. Many came to look for their loved ones, but I
did not see one show more grief or realization of the dreadful character
of their errand than this. Arrangements with the morgues are complete
and efficient. The bodies are properly prepared and embalmed and a
description of the clothing is placed upon each.


Hospital Arrangements.

The same praise cannot be given the hospital arrangements. The only
hospital is a small wooden church, in which apartments have been roughly
improvised, with blankets for partitions. Only twenty patients can be
cared for here, and the list of wounded is more than two hundred. The
rest have been taken to the private houses that were not overcrowded
with the homeless survivors, to farmers in the country and to outlying
towns. Two have died. It did not occur to any one until lately to get
any nurses from other places to take care of the patients, and even now
most of the nurses are Johnstown people who have lost relatives and have
their own cares. These persons sought out the hospital and volunteered
for the work.


A Procession of Coffins.

A sight most painful to behold was presented to view about noon to-day,
when a procession of fifty unidentified coffined bodies started up the
hill above the railroad to be buried in the improvised cemetery there.
Not a relation, not a mourner was present. In fact, it is doubtful if
these dead have any surviving relatives.

The different graveyards are now so crowded that it will take several
days to bury all the bodies that have been deposited in them. This was
the day appointed by the Citizens' Committee for burying all the
unidentified dead that have been laying in the different morgues since
Sunday morning, and about three hundred bodies were taken to the
cemeteries to-day.

It was not an unusual sight to see two or three coffins going along, one
after another. It is impossible to secure wagons or conveyances of any
kind, consequently all funeral processions are on foot.

Several yellow flags were noticed sticking up from the black wreckage
above the stone bridge. This was a new plan adopted by the sanitary
corps to indicate at what points bodies had been located. As it grows
dark the flags are still up, and another day will dawn upon the
imprisoned remains. People who had lost friends, and supposed they had
drifted into this fatal place, peered down into the charred mass in a
vain endeavor to recognize beloved features.


Unrecognizable Victims of Fire.

There are now nearly two thousand men employed in different parts of the
valley clearing up the ruins and prosecuting diligent search for the
undiscovered dead, and bodies are discovered with undiminished
frequency. It becomes hourly more and more apparent that not a single
vestige will ever be recognized of hundreds that were roasted in the
flames above the bridge.

A party of searchers have just unearthed a charred and unsightly mass
from the smouldering debris. The leader of the gang pronounced the
remains to be a blackened leg, and it required the authoritative verdict
of a physician to demonstrate that the ghastly discovery was the charred
remains of a human being. Only the trunk remained, and that was roasted
beyond all semblance to flesh. Five minutes' search revealed fragments
of a skull that at once disintegrated of its own weight when exposed to
air, no single piece being larger than a half dollar, and the whole
resembling the remnants of shattered charcoal.

Within the last hour a half dozen discoveries in no way less horrifying
than this ghastly find have been made by searchers as they rake with
sticks and hooks in the smouldering ruins. So difficult is it at times
to determine whether the remains are those of human beings that it is
apparent that hundreds must be burned to ashes. The number that have
found a last resting place beneath these ruins can at the best never be
more than approximated.


A Vast Charnel House.

Every moment now the body of some poor victim is taken from the debris,
and the town, or rather the remnants of it, is one vast charnel house.
The scenes at the extemporized morgue are beyond powers of description
in their ghastliness, while the moans and groans of the suffering
survivors, tossing in agony, with bruised and mangled bodies, or
screaming in a delirium of fever as they issue from the numerous
temporary hospitals, make even the stoutest hearted quail with terror.
Nearly two thousand bodies have already been recovered, and as the work
of examining the wreckage progresses the conviction grows that the
magnitude of the calamity has not yet been approximated.


The Pile of Debris Still Burning.

The debris wedged against the big Pennsylvania Railroad stone bridge is
still burning, and the efforts of the firemen to quench or stay the
progress of the flames are as futile as were those of Gulliver's
Lilliputian firemen. The mass, which unquestionably forms a funeral pyre
for thousands of victims who lie buried beneath it, is likely to burn
for weeks to come. The flames are not active, but burn away in a sullen,
determined fashion.

There are twenty-six firemen here now--all level-headed fellows--who
keep their unwieldy and almost exhausted forces under masterful control.

Although they were scattered all over the waste places to-day, the heavy
work was done in the Point district, where a couple hundred mansions lie
in solid heaps of brick, stone and timbers.


One Corpse Every Five Minutes.

Here the labors of the searchers were rewarded by the discovery of a
corpse about every five minutes. As a general thing the bodies were
mangled and unrecognizable unless by marks or letters on their persons.
In every case decomposition has set in and the work of the searchers is
becoming one that will test their stomachs as well as their hearts.
Wherever one turns Pittsburghers of prominence are encountered. They
are busy, determined men, rendering valuable service.

Chief Evans, of the Pittsburgh Fire Department, was hustling around with
a force of twenty-four more firemen, just brought up to relieve those
who have been working so heroically since Saturday. Morris M. Mead,
superintendent of the Bureau of Electricity, headed a force of sixteen
sanitary inspectors from Pittsburgh, who are doing great work among the
dead.


How Bodies are Treated.

There are six improvised morgues now in Johnstown. They are in churches
and school-houses, the largest one being in the Fourth Ward
school-house, where planks have been laid over the tops of desks, on
which the remains are placed. A corpse is dug from the bank. It is
covered with mud. It is taken to the anteroom of the school, where it is
placed under a hydrant and the muck and slime washed off. With the slash
of a knife the clothes are ripped open and an attendant searches the
pockets for valuables or papers that would lead to identification. Four
men lift the corpse on a rude table, and there it is thoroughly washed
and an embalming fluid injected in the arm. With other grim bodies the
corpse lies in a larger room until it is identified or becomes
offensive. In the latter case it is hurried to the large grave, a grave
that will hereafter have a monument over it bearing the inscription
"Unknown Dead."

The number of the latter is growing hourly, because pestilence stalks
in Johnstown, and the bloated, disfigured masses of flesh cannot be held
much longer.


Levelled by Death.

Bodies of stalwart workmen lie beside the remains of refined ladies,
many of whom are still decked with costly earrings and have jewels
glittering on the fingers. Rich and poor throng these quarters and gaze
with awe-struck faces at the masses of mutilations in the hope of
recognizing a missing one, so as to accord the body a decent burial.


From Death's Gaping Jaws.

We give here the awful narrative of George Irwin's experience. Irwin is
a resident of Hillside, Westmoreland county, and was discovered in a
dying condition in a clump of bushes just above the tracks of the
Pennsylvania Railroad, about a mile below Johnstown. When stretched upon
two railroad ties near the track his tongue protruded from his mouth and
he gasped as if death was at hand. With the assistance of brandy and
other stimulants he was in a degree revived. He then told the following
story:

"I was visiting friends in Johnstown on Friday when the flood came up.
We were submerged without a moment's warning. I was taken from the
window of the house in which I was then a prisoner by Mr. Hay, the
druggist at Johnstown, but lost my footing and was not rescued. I clung
to a saw log until I struck the works of the Cambria Iron Company, when
I caught on the roof of the building. I remained there for nearly an
hour, when I was knocked again from my position by a piece of a raft. I
floated on top of this until I got down here and I stuck in an apple
tree.


Preferred Death to Such Sights.

"I saw and heard a number of other unfortunate victims when swept by me
appealing for some one to save them. One woman and two children were
floating along in apparent safety; then they struck the corner of a
building and all went down together.

"I would rather have died than have been compelled to witness that
sight.

"I have not had a bit to eat since Friday night, but I don't feel
hungry. I am afraid my stomach is gone and I am about done for."

He was taken to a hospital by several soldiers and railroad men who
rescued him.


A Young Lady's Experiences.

Miss Sue Caddick, of Indiana, who was stopping at the Brunswick Hotel,
on Washington street, and was rescued late Friday evening, returned home
to-day. She said she had a premonition of danger all day and had tried
to get Mrs. Murphy to take her children and leave the house, but the
lady had laughed at her fears and partially dissipated them.

Miss Caddick was standing at the head of the second flight of stairs
when the flood burst upon the house. She screamed to the
Murphys--father, mother and seven children--to save themselves. She ran
up stairs and got into a higher room, in which the little children, the
oldest of whom was fourteen years, also ran. The mother and father were
caught and whirled into the flood and drowned in an instant.

The waters came up and the children clung to the young lady, who saw
that she must save herself, and she was compelled to push the little
ones aside and cling to pieces of the building, which by this time had
collapsed and was disintegrating. All of the children were drowned save
the oldest boy, who caught a tree and was taken out almost unhurt near
Blairsville. Miss Caddick clung to her fraction of the building, which
was pushed into the water out of the swirl, and in an hour she was taken
out safe. She said her agony in having to cut away from the children was
greater than her fear after she got into the water.


An Old Lady's Great Peril.

Mrs. Ramsey, mother of William Ramsey and aunt of Lawyer Cassidy, of
Pittsburgh, was alone in her house when the flood came. She ran to the
third story, and although the house was twisted off its foundation, it
remained intact, and the old lady was rescued after being tossed about
for twenty-four hours.

James Hines, Jr., of Indiana, one of the survivors, to-day said that he
and twelve of the other guests took refuge on the top of the Merchants'
Hotel. They were swept off and were carried a mile down the stream, then
thrown on the shore. One of the party, James Ziegler, he said, was
drowned while trying to get to the top of the building.

One hundred and seventy-five of the corpses brought to Nineveh by the
flood were buried this afternoon and to-night on the crest of a hill
behind the town. Three trenches were dug two hundred feet long, seven
feet wide and four feet deep. The coffins were packed in very much as
grocers' boxes are stored in a warehouse. Of the two hundred bodies
picked up in the fields after the waters subsided 117 were unidentified
and were buried marked "Unknown." Twenty-five were shipped to relatives
at outside points. In many cases friends of those who were recognized
were unable to do anything to prevent their consignment to the trenches.
Altogether twenty-seven were identified to-day. The bodies as fast as
they were found were taken to the storehouse of Theodore F. Nimawaker,
the station agent here, and laid out on boards. It was impossible on
account of their condition to keep them any longer. The County
Commissioners bought an acre of ground for $100, out of which they made
a cemetery.


By Locomotive Headlights.

It was sad to see the coffins going up the steep hill on farm wagons,
two or three on each wagon. No tender mourners followed the mud-covered
hearses. Enough laborers sat on each load to handle it when it reached
its destination. The Commissioners of Cumberland county have certainly
behaved very handsomely. The coffins ordered were of the best. Some
economical citizens suggested that they buy an acre of marsh land by the
river, which could be had for a few dollars, but they declared that the
remains should be placed in dry ground. The lifeless clay reposes now
far out of the reach of the deadly waters which go suddenly down the
Conemaugh Valley. It is a pretty spot, this cemetery, and one that a
poet would choose for a resting place. Mountains well wooded are on
every hand; no black factory smoke defaces the sky line.

Two locomotive headlights shed their rays over the cemetery to-night and
gave enough light for the men to work by. They rapidly shoveled in the
dirt. No priests were there to consecrate the ground or say a prayer
over the cold limbs of the unknown. Upon the coffins I noticed such
inscriptions as these: "No. 61, unknown girl, aged eight years, supposed
to be Sarah Windser." "No. 72, unknown man, black hair, aged about
thirty-five years, smooth face." Some of the bodies were more
specifically described as "fat," "lean," and to one I saw the term
"lusty" applied.




CHAPTER XII.

Pathetic Scenes.


Some of the really pathetic scenes of the flood are just coming to the
public ear. John Henderson, his wife, his three children, and the mother
of Mrs. Henderson remained in their house until they were carried out by
the flood, when they succeeded in getting upon some drift. Mr. Henderson
took the babe from his wife, but the little thing soon succumbed to the
cold and the child died in its father's arms. He clung to it until it
grew cold and stiff and then, kissing it, let it drop into the water.
His mother-in-law, an aged lady, was almost as fragile as the babe, and
in a few minutes Mr. Henderson, who had managed to get near to the board
upon which she was floating saw that she, too, was dying. He did what
little he could to help her, but the cold and the shock combined were
too much. Assuring himself that the old lady was dead, Mr. Henderson
turned his attention to his own safety and allowed the body to float
down the stream.

In the meantime Mrs. Henderson, who had become separated from her
husband, had continued to keep her other two children for some time, but
finally a great wave dashed them from her arms and out of her sight.
They were clinging to some driftwood, however, and providentially were
driven into the very arms of their father, who was some distance down
the stream quite unconscious of the proximity of his loved ones. Another
whirl of the flood and all were driven over into some eddying water in
Stony Creek and carried by backing water to Kernville, where all were
rescued. Mrs. Henderson had nearly the same experience.


Dr. Holland's Awful Plunge.

Dr. Holland, a physician who lived on Vine street, saw both of his
children drown before his eyes, but they were not washed out of the
building. He took both of them in his arms and bore them to the roof,
caring nothing for the moment for the rising water. Finally composing
himself, he kissed them both and watched them float away. His father
arrived here to-day to assist his son and take home with him the bodies
of the children, which have been recovered. Dr. Holland, after the death
of his children, was carried out into the flood and finally to a
building, in the window of which a man was standing. The doctor held up
his hands; the man seized them and dextrously slipping a valuable ring
from the finger of one hand, brutally threw him out into the current
again. The physician was saved, however, and has been looking for the
thief and would-be murderer ever since.


Crushed in His Own House.

David Dixon, an engineer in the employ of the Cambria Iron Works, was
with his family in his house on Cinder Street, when the flood struck the
city. The shock overturned his house against that of his neighbor,
Evans, and he, with his infant daughter, Edith, was pinned between the
houses as a result of the upturning. Both houses were carried down
against the viaduct of the Pennsylvania Railroad and there, in sight of
his wife and children, excepting a 15-year-old lad, he was drowned, the
water rising and smothering him because of his inability to get from
between the buildings. His wife was badly crushed and it is thought will
be an invalid the remainder of her days. The children, including the
babe in its father's arms, were all saved, and the other boy, Joe, one
of the brightest, bravest, handsomest little fellows in the world, was
in his news-stand near the Pennsylvania passenger station, and was
rescued with difficulty by Edward Decker, another boy, just as the
driftwood struck the little store and lifted it high off its foundation.


Babies who Died Together.

This morning two little children apparently not over three and four
years old, were taken from the water clasped in each other's arms so
tightly that they could not be separated, and they were coffined and
buried together.

A bright girl, in a gingham sun-bonnet and a faded calico dress came out
of the ruins of a fine old brick house next the Catholic church on
Jackson street this afternoon. She had a big platter under her arm and
announced to a bevy of other girls that the china was all right in the
cupboard, but there was so much water in there that she didn't dare go
in. She chatted away quite volubly about the fire in the Catholic
church, which also destroyed the house of her own mother, Mrs. Foster.
"I know the church took fire after the flood," she said, "for mother
looked out of the window and said: 'My God! Not only flood, but fire!'"
It was a burning house from Conemaugh that struck the house the other
side of the church and set it on fire.


Aunt Tabby's Trunk.

"I didn't think last Tuesday I'd be begging to-day, Emma," interrupted a
young man from across the stream of water which ran down the centre of
Main Street. "I'm sitting on your aunt Tabby's trunk." The girl gave a
cry, half of pained remembrance, half of pleasure. "Oh, my dear Aunt
Tabby!" she cried, and, rushing across the rivulet, she threw herself
across the battered leather trunk--sole surviving relic of Aunt Tabby;
but Aunt Tabby and the finding thereof was a light among other shadows
of the day.


Nothing but a Baby.

Gruesome incidents came oftener than pathetic ones or serio-comic.
General Axline, the Adjutant General of Ohio, was walking down the
station platform this afternoon, when a boy came sauntering up from the
viaduct with a bundle in a handkerchief. The handkerchief dripped water.
"What have you there, my boy?" asked the General. The boy cowered a
minute, though the General's tone was kindly, for the boy, like every
one else in Johnstown, was prepared for a gruff accostal every five
minutes from some official, from Adjutant General to constable. Finally
he answered: "Nothing but a baby, sir," and began to open his bundle in
proof of the truth of his statement. But the big soldier did not put him
to the proof. He turned away sick at heart. He did not even ask the boy
if he knew whose baby it was.


How the Coffins Were Carried.

A strangely utilitarian device was that of a Pittsburgh sergeant of
Battery B. With one train from the West came several hundred of the
morbidly curious, bent upon all the horrors which they could stomach. A
crowd of them crossed the viaduct and stopped to gaze round-eyed upon a
pile of empty coffins meant for the bodies of the identified dead found
up and across the river in the ruins of Johnstown proper. As they gazed
the Sergeant, seeking transportation for the coffins, came along. A
somewhat malicious inspiration of military genius lighted his eye. With
the best imitation possible of a regular army man, he shouted to the
idlers, "Each of you men take a coffin." The idlers eyed him.

"What for?" one asked.

"You want to go into town, don't you?" replied the Sergeant. "Well, not
one of you goes unless he takes a coffin with him."

In ten minutes time way was made at the ticklish rope bridge for a file
of sixteen coffins, each borne by two of the Sergeant's unwilling
conscripts, while the Sergeant closed up the rear.

Some of the scenes witnessed here were heartrending in the extreme. In
one case a beautiful girl came down on the roof of a building which was
swung in near the tower. She screamed to the operator to save her and
one big, brave fellow walked as far into the river as he could and
shouted to her to try to guide herself into the shore with a bit of
plank. She was a plucky girl, full of nerve and energy, and stood upon
her frail support in evident obedience to the command of the operator.
She made two or three bold strokes and actually stopped the course of
the raft for an instant.

Then it swerved and went out from under her. She tried to swim ashore,
but in a few seconds she was lost. Something hit her, for she lay
quietly on her back, with face pallid and expressionless. Men and women
in dozens, in pairs and singly; children, boys, big and little, and wee
babies were there in among the awful confusion of water, drowning,
gasping, struggling and fighting desperately for life.

Two men on a tiny raft shot into the swiftest part of the current. They
crouched stolidly, looking at the shores, while between them, dressed in
white and kneeling with her face turned heavenward was a girl seven
years old. She seemed stricken with paralysis until she came opposite
the tower and then she turned her face to the operator. She was so close
they could see big tears on her cheeks and her pallor was as death. The
helpless men on shore shouted to her to keep up courage, and she resumed
her devout attitude and disappeared under the trees of a projection a
short distance below. "We could not see her come out again," said the
operator, "and that was all of it."

"Do you see that fringe of trees?" said the operator, pointing to the
place where the little girl had gone out of sight.

"Well, we saw scores of children swept in there. I believe that when the
time comes they will find almost a hundred bodies of children in there
among those bushes."


Floated to their Death.

A bit of heroism is related by one of the telegraph operators at
Bolivar. He says: "I was standing on the river bank about 7.30 last
evening when a raft swept into view. It must have been the floor of a
dismantled house. Upon it were grouped two women and a man. They were
evidently his mother and sister, for both clung to him as though
stupefied with fear as they were whirled under the bridge here. The man
could save himself if he had wished by simply reaching up his hand and
catching the timber of the structure. He apparently saw this himself,
and the temptation must have been strong for him to do so, but in one
second more he was seen to resolutely shake his head and clasp the women
tighter around the waist.

"On they sped. Ropes were thrown out from the tree tops, but they were
unable to catch them, though they grasped for the lines eagerly enough.
Then a tree caught in their raft and dragged after them. In this way
they swept out of view."

Still finding bodies by scores in the burning debris; still burying the
dead and caring for the wounded; still feeding the famishing and housing
the homeless, and this on the fourth day following the one on which
Johnstown was swept away. The situation of horror has not changed; there
are hundreds, and it is feared thousands, still buried beneath the
scattered ruins that disfigure the V-shaped valley in which Johnstown
stood. A perfect stream of wagons bearing the dead as fast as they are
discovered is constantly filing to the improvised morgues, where the
bodies are taken for identification. Hundreds of people are constantly
crowding to these temporary houses, one of which is located in each of
the suburban boroughs that surround Johnstown. Men armed with muskets,
uniformed sentinels, constituting the force that guard the city while it
is practically under martial law, stand at the doors and admit the crowd
by tens.


In the Central Dead House.

In the Central dead house in Johnstown proper, as early as 9 o'clock
to-day there lay two rows of ghastly dead. To the right were twenty
bodies that had been identified. They were mostly women and children and
they were entirely covered with white sheets, and a piece of paper
bearing the name was pinned at the feet. To the left were eighteen
bodies of the unknown dead. As the people passed they were hurried along
by an attendant and gazed at the uncovered faces seeking to identify
them. All applicants for admission if it is thought they are prompted
by idle curiosity, are not allowed to enter. The central morgue was
formerly a school-house, and the desks are used as biers for the dead
bodies. Three of the former pupils yesterday lay on the desks dead, with
white pieces of paper pinned on to the white sheets that covered them,
giving their names.


Looking for Their Loved Ones.

But what touching scenes are enacted every hour about this mournful
building. Outside the sharp voices of the sentinels are constantly
shouting: "Move on." Inside, weeping women and sad-faced, hollow-eyed
men are bending over loved and familiar faces. Back on the steep grassy
hill which rises abruptly on the other side of the street are crowds of
curious people who come in from the country round about to look at the
wreckage strewn around where Johnstown was. "Oh, Mr. Jones," a
pale-faced woman asks, walking up, sobbing, "can't you tell me where we
can get a coffin to bury Johnnie's body?"

"Do you know," asks a tottering old man, as the pale-faced woman turns
away, "whether they have found Jennie and the children?"

"Jennie's body has just been found at the bridge," is the answer, "but
the children can't be found." Jennie is the old man's married daughter,
and she was drowned, with her two children, while her husband was at
work over at the Cambria Mills.


They Ran for Their Lives.

Miss Jennie Paulson, who was on the Chicago day express, is dead. She
was seen to go back with a companion into the doomed section of the day
express in the Conemaugh Valley, and is swept away in the flood.

Last evening, after the evening train had just left Johnstown for
Pittsburgh, it was learned that quite a number of the survivors of the
wrecked train, who have been at Altoona since last Saturday, were on
board. After a short search they were located, and quite an interesting
talk was the result. Probably the most interesting interview, at least
to Pittsburghers, was that had with Mrs. Montgomery Wilcox, of
Philadelphia, who was on one of the Pullman sleepers attached to the
lost express train. She tells a most exciting tale and confirms beyond
the shadow of a doubt the story of Miss Jennie Paulson's tragic death.


A Fatal Pair of Rubbers.

She says: "We had been making but slow progress all the day. Our train
laid at Johnstown nearly the whole day of Friday. We then proceeded as
far as Conemaugh, and had stopped for some cause or other, probably on
account of the flood. Miss Paulson and a Miss Bryan were seated in front
of me. Miss Paulson had on a plaid dress with shirred waist of red cloth
goods. Her companion was dressed in black. Both had lovely corsage
bouquets of roses. I had heard that they had been attending a wedding
before they left Pittsburgh. The Pittsburgh lady was reading a novel.
Miss Bryan was looking out of the window. When the alarm came we all
sprang toward the door, leaving everything behind us. I had just
reached the door when poor Miss Paulson and her friend, who were behind
me, decided to return for their rubbers, which they did.


Chased as by a Serpent.

"I sprang from the car into a ditch next the hillside in which the water
was already a foot and a half deep and with the others climbed up the
mountainside for our very lives. We had to do so as the water glided up
after us like a huge serpent. Any one ten feet behind us would have been
lost beyond a doubt. I glanced back at the train when I had reached a
place of safety, but the water already covered it and the Pullman car in
which the ladies were was already rolling down the valley in the grasp
of the angry waters. Quite a number of us reached the house of a Mr.
Swenzel, or some such name, one of the railroad men, whom we afterward
learned had lost two daughters at Johnstown. We made ourselves as
comfortable as possible until the next day, when we proceeded by
conveyances as far as Altoona, having no doubt but what we could
certainly proceed east from that point. We found the middle division of
the Pennsylvania Railroad was, if anything, in a worse condition than
the western, so we determined to go as far as Ebensburg by train, whence
we reached Johnstown to-day by wagon."


Mrs. G.W. Childs' Escape.

Mrs. George W. Childs, of Philadelphia, was also a member of the party.
She was on her way West, and reached Altoona on Friday, after untold
difficulties. She is almost prostrated by the severe ordeal through
which she and many others have passed, and therefore had but little to
say, only averring that Mrs. Wilcox and her friends, who were on the
lost train, had passed through perils beside which her own sank into
insignificance.

[Illustration: SWEPT AWAY ON THE TRAIN.]

Assistant Superintendent Crump telegraphs from Blairsville Junction that
the day express, eastbound from Chicago to New York, and the mail train
from Pittsburgh bound east, were put on the back tracks in the yard at
Conemaugh when the flooded condition of the main tracks made it
apparently unsafe to proceed further. When the continued rise of the
water made their danger apparent, the frightened passengers fled from
the two trains to the hills near by. Many in their wild excitement threw
themselves into the raging current and were drowned. It is supposed that
about fifteen persons lost their lives in this way.

After the people had deserted the cars, the railroad officials state,
the two Pullman cars attached to the day express were set on fire and
entirely consumed. A car of lime was standing near the train. When the
water reached the lime it set fire to the car and the flames reaching
the sleepers they were entirely consumed.


Exhuming the Dead.

Three hundred bodies were exhumed to-day. In one spot at Main and Market
streets the workmen came upon thirty, among whom were nine members of
the Fitzparis family--the father, mother, seven children and the
grandfather. Only one child, a little girl of nine years, is left out of
a family of ten. She is now being cared for by the citizens' committee.
The body of a beautiful young girl was found at the office of the
Cambria Iron Company. When the corpse was conveyed to the morgue a man
entered in search of some relatives. The first body he came to he
exclaimed: "That's my wife," and a few feet further off he recognized in
the young girl found at the Cambria Iron Company's office his daughter,
Theresa Downs. Both bodies had been found within a hundred yards of each
other.

A dozen instances have occurred where people have claimed bodies and
were mistaken. This is due to the over-zeal of people to get their
relatives and bury them. Nine children walked into one of the relief
stations this morning, led by a girl of sixteen years. They said that
their father, mother and two other children had been swallowed up by the
flood, the family having originally comprised thirteen persons in all.
Their story was investigated by Officer Fowler, of Pittsburgh, and it
was found to be true. Near Main street the body of a woman was taken out
with three children lying on her. She was about to become a mother.


Nursing Their Sorrows.

The afflicted people quietly bear their crosses. The calamity has been
so general that the sufferers feel that everybody has been treated
alike. Grouped together, the sorrows of each other assist in keeping up
the strength and courage of all. In the excitement and hurry of the
present, loss of friends is forgotten, but the time will come when it is
all over and the world gradually drifts back to business, forgetful that
such a town as Johnstown ever existed.

Then it is that sufferers will realize what they have lost. Hearts will
then be full of grief and despair and the time for sympathy will be at
hand. Michael Martin was one of those on the hillside when the water was
rushing through the town. The spectacle was appalling. Women on the
hills were shrieking and ringing their hands--in fact, people beyond
reach of the flood made more noise than those unfortunate creatures
struggling in the water. The latter in trying to save themselves hadn't
time to shriek.

Michael Martin said: "I was on the hillside and watched the flood. You
ask me what it looked like. I can't tell. I never saw such a scene
before and never expect to again. On one of the first houses that struck
the bridge there was standing a woman wearing a white shawl. When the
house struck the bridge she threw up her hands and fell back into the
water. A little boy and girl came floating down on a raft from South
Fork. The water turned the raft toward the Kernville hill and as soon as
it struck the bank he jumped on the hill, dragging his little sister
with him. Both were saved.

"I saw three men and three women on the roof of a house. When they were
passing the Cambria Iron Works the men jumped off and the women were
lost. Mr. Overbeck left his family in McM. row and swam to the club
house, then he tried to swim to Morrell's residence and was drowned. His
family was saved. At the corner of the company's store a man called for
help for two days, but no one could reach him. The voice finally ceased
and I suppose he died.


A Brave Girl.

"Rose Clark was fastened in the debris at the bridge. Her coolness was
remarkable and she was more calm than the people trying to get her out.
She begged the men to cut her leg off. One man worked six hours before
she was released. She had an arm and leg broken. I saw three men strike
the bridge and go down. William Walter was saved. He was anchored on
Main street and he saw about two hundred people in the water. He
believes two-thirds of them were drowned. A frightened woman clung to a
bush near him and her long hair stood straight out. About twenty people
were holding to those in the neighborhood, but most of them were lost.

"John Reese, a policeman, got out on the roof of his house. In a second
afterward the building fell in on his wife and drowned her. She waved a
kiss to her husband and then died. Two servant girls were burned in the
Catholic priest's house. The church was also consumed."


Along the Valley of Death.

Fifteen miles by raft and on foot along the banks of the raging
Conemaugh and in the refugee trains between Johnstown and Pittsburgh.
Such was the trip, fraught with great danger, but prolific of results,
which the writer has just completed. All along the line events of
thrilling interest mingled with those of heartrending sadness
transpired, demonstrating more than ever the magnitude of the horrible
tragedy of last Friday.

Just as the day was dawning I left the desolate city of Johnstown, and,
wending my way along the shore of the winding Conemaugh to Sheridan, I
succeeded in persuading a number of brave and stout-hearted men, who had
constructed a raft and were about to start on an extended search for the
lost who are known to be strewn all along this fated stream, to take me
with them.

The river is still very high, and while the current is not remarkably
swift, the still flowing debris made the expedition one of peril.
Between the starting point and Nineveh several bodies were recovered.
They were mostly imbedded in the sand close to the shore, which had to
be hugged for safety all the way. Indeed the greater part of the trip
was made on foot, the raft being towed along from the water's edge by
the tireless rescuers.

Just above Sang Hollow the party stopped to assist a little knot of men
who were engaged in searching amid the ruins of a hut which lay wedged
between a mass of trees on the higher ground. A man's hat and coat were
fished out, but there was no trace of the human being to whom they once
belonged. Perhaps he is alive; perhaps his remains are among the
hundreds of unidentified dead, and perhaps he sleeps beneath the waters
between here and the gulf. Who can tell?


Died in Harness.

A little farther down we came across two horses and a wagon lying in the
middle of the river. The dumb animals had literally died in harness. Of
their driver nothing is known. At this point an old wooden rocker was
fished out of the water and taken on shore.

Here three women were working in the ruins of what had once been their
happy home. When one of them spied the chair it brought back to her a
wealth of memory and for the first time, probably, since the flood
occurred she gave way to a flood of tears, tears as welcome as sunshine
from heaven, for they opened up her whole soul and allowed pent-up
grief within to flow freely out and away.


One Touch of Nature.

"Where in the name of God," she sobbed, "did you get that chair? It was
mine--no, I don't want it. Keep it and find for me, if you can, my
album; in it are the faces of my dead husband and little girl." When the
rough men who have worked days in the valley of death turned away from
this scene there was not a dry eye in the crowd. One touch of nature,
and the thought of little ones at home, welded them in heart and
sympathy to this Niobe of the valley.

At Sang Hollow we came up with a train-load of refugees en route for
Pittsburgh. As I entered the car I was struck by two things. The first
was an old man, whose silvered locks betokened his four-score years, and
the second was a little clump of children, three in number, playing on a
seat in the upper end of the coach.


Judge Potts' Escape.

The white-haired patriarch was Judge James Potts, aged 80, one of the
best known residents of Johnstown, who escaped the flood's ravages in a
most remarkable manner. Beside him was his daughter, while opposite sat
his son. There was one missing to complete the family party, Jennie, the
youngest daughter, who went down with the tide and whose remains have
not yet been found. The thrilling yet pathetic story of the escape of
the old Judge is best told in his own language. Said he:

"You ask me how I was saved. I answer, God alone knows. With my little
family I lived on Walnut street, next door to the residence of President
McMillan, of the Cambria Iron Company. When the waters surrounded us we
made our way to the third floor, and huddled together in one room,
determined, if die we must, to perish together.


Encircled by Water.

"Higher and higher rose the flood, while our house was almost knocked
from its foundations by the ever-increasing mountain of debris floating
along. At last the bridge at Woodvale, which had given way a short time
before, struck the house and split it asunder, as a knife might have
split a piece of paper.

"The force of the shock carried us out upon the debris, and we floated
around upon it for hours, finally landing near the bridge. When we
looked about for Jennie (here the old man broke down and sobbed
bitterly) she was nowhere to be seen. She had obeyed the Master's
summons."


A Miraculous Escape.

The three little girls, to whom I have referred, were the children of
Austin Lountz, a plasterer, living back of Water street. They were as
happy as happy could be and cut up in childish fashion all the way down.
Their good spirits were easily accounted for when it was learned that
father, mother, children and all had a miraculous escape, when it looked
as if all would be lost. The entire family floated about for hours on
the roof of a house, finally landing high upon the hillside.

Elmer G. Speck, traveling salesman of Pittsburgh, was at the Merchants'
Hotel when the flood occurred, having left the Hurlburt House but a few
hours before. He said:

"With a number of others I got from the hotel to the hill in a wagon.
The sight from our eminence was one that I shall never forget--that I
can never fully describe. The whole world appeared to be topsy-turvy and
at the mercy of an angry and destroying demon of the elements. People
were floating about on housetops and in wagons, and hundreds were
clinging to tree-trunks, logs and furniture of every imaginable
description.

"My sister, Miss Nina, together with my step-brother and his wife, whom
she was visiting, drifted with the tide on the roof of a house a
distance of two blocks, where they were rescued. With a number of others
I built a raft and in a short time had pulled eleven persons from the
very jaws of death. Continuing, Mr. Speck related how a number of folks
from Woodvale had all come down upon their housetops. Mr. Curtis
Williams and his family picked their way from house to house, finally
being pulled in the Catholic church window by ropes."


Three of a Family Drowned.

William Hinchman, with his wife and two children, reached the stone
bridge in safety. Here one of the babies was swept away through the
arches. The others were also swept with the current, and when they came
out on the other side the remaining child was missing, while below Mrs.
Hinchman disappeared, leaving her husband the sole survivor of a family
of four.

"Did your folks all escape alive?" I asked of George W. Hamilton, late
assistant superintendent of the Cambria Iron Company, whom I met on the
road near New Florence.

"Oh, no" was his reply. "Out of a family of sixteen seven are lost. My
brother, his wife, two children, my sister, her husband and one child,
all are gone; that tells the tale. I escaped with my wife by jumping
from a second story window onto the moving debris. We landed back of the
Morrell Institute safe and sound."


Hairbreadth Escapes.

The stories of hairbreadth escapes and the annihilation of families
continue to be told. Here is one of them. J. Paul Kirchmann, a young
man, boarded with George Schroeder's family in the heart of the town,
and when the flood came the house toppled over and went rushing away in
the swirling current. There were seven in all in the party and Kirchmann
found himself wedged in between two houses, with his head under water.
He dived down, and when he again came to the surface succeeded in
getting on the roof of one of them. The others had preceded him there,
and the house floated to the cemetery, over a mile and a half away,
where all of them were rescued. Kirchmann, however, had fainted, and for
seven or eight hours was supposed to be dead. He recovered, and is now
assisting to get at the bodies buried in the ruins.

Saloon-keeper Fitzharris and his family of six had the lives crushed out
of them when their house collapsed, and early this morning all of them,
the father, mother and five children were taken from the wreck, and are
now at the morgue. Emil Young, a jeweler, lived with mother, wife, three
sons and daughter over his store on Clinton street, near Main. They were
all in the house when the wild rush of water surrounded their home,
lifted it from its foundation and carried it away. Young and his
daughter were drowned and it was then that his mother and wife showed
their heroism and saved the life of the other members of the family.

The mother is 80 years of age, but her orders were so promptly given and
so ably executed by the younger Mrs. Young that when the house floated
near another in which was a family of nine all were taken off and
eventually saved. Even after this trying ordeal the younger woman washed
the bodies of her husband and nineteen others and prepared them for
burial.


The Whole Family Escaped.

Another remarkable escape of a whole family was that of William H.
Rosensteel, a tanner, of Woodvale, a suburb of Johnstown. His house was
in the track of the storm, and, with his two daughters, Tillie and
Mamie, his granddaughter and a dog, he was carried down on the kitchen
roof. They floated into the Bon Ton Clothing House, a mile and a half
away, on Main street. Here they remained all night, but were taken off
by Mrs. Emil Young and went to Pittsburgh.

Jacob I. Horner and his family of eight had their house in Hornerstown
thrown down by the water and took refuge in a tree. After awhile they
returned to their overturned house, but again got into the tree, from
which they were rescued after an enforced stay of a number of hours.

Charles Barnes, a real estate dealer on Main street, was worth $10,000
last Friday and had around him a family of four. To-day all his loved
ones are dead and he has only $6 in his pockets.

The family of John Higson, consisting of himself, wife, and young son,
lived at 123 Walnut street. Miss Sarah Thomas, of Cumberland, was a
visitor, and a hired man, a Swede, also lived in the house. The water
had backed up to the rear second-story windows before the great wave
came, and about 5 o'clock they heard the screaching of a number of
whistles on the Conemaugh. Rushing to the windows they saw what they
thought to be a big cloud approaching them. Before they could reach a
place of safety the building was lifted up and carried up Stony creek
for about one-quarter of a mile. As the water rushed they turned into
the river and were carried about three-quarters of a mile further on.
All the people were in the attic and as the house was hurled with
terrific force against the wreckage piled up against the Pennsylvania
Railroad bridge Higson called to them to jump. They failed to do so,
but at the second command Miss Thomas leaped through the window, the
others followed, and after a dangerous walk over fifty yards of broken
houses safely reached the shore.

[Illustration: CHILD FOUND THUMPING ON A WRECKED PIANO.]




CHAPTER XIII.

Digging for the Dead.


A party started in early exploring the huge mass of debris banked
against the Pennsylvania Railroad bridge. This collection, consisting of
trees, sides of houses, timber and innumerable articles, varies in
thickness from three or four feet to twenty feet. It is about four
hundred yards long, and as wide as the river. There are thousands of
tons in this vast pile. How many bodies are buried there it is
impossible to say, but conservative estimates place it at one thousand
at least.

The corps of workmen who were searching the ruins near the Methodist
Church late this evening were horrified by unearthing one hundred
additional bodies. The great number at this spot shows what may be
expected when all have been recovered.

When the mass which blazed several days was extinguished it was simple
to recover the bodies on the surface. It is now a question, however, of
delving into the almost impenetrable collection to get at those lodged
within. The grinding tree trunks doubtless crushed those beneath into
mere unrecognizable masses of flesh. Those on the surface were nearly
all so much burned as to resemble nothing human.

Meanwhile the searchers after bodies, armed with spikes, hooks and
crowbars, pry up the debris and unearth what they can. Bodies, or rather
fractions of them, are found in abundance near the surface.


Tracing Bodies by the Smell.

I was here when the gang came across one of the upper stories of a
house. It was merely a pile of boards apparently, but small pieces of a
bureau and a bed spring from which the clothes had been burned showed
the nature of the find. A faint odor of burned flesh prevailed exactly
at this spot. "Dig here," said the physician to the men. "There is one
body at least quite close to the surface." The men started in with a
will. A large pile of underclothes and household linen was brought up
first. It was of fine quality and evidently such as would be stored in
the bedroom of a house occupied by people quite well to do. Shovels full
of jumbled rubbish were thrown up, and the odor of flesh became more
pronounced. Presently one of the men exposed a charred lump of flesh and
lifted it up on the end of a pitchfork. It was all that remained of some
poor creature who had met an awful death between water and fire.

The trunk was put on a cloth, the ends were looped up making a bag of
it, and the thing was taken to the river bank. It weighed probably
thirty pounds. A stake was driven in the ground to which a tag was
attached giving a description of the remains. This is done in many cases
to the burned bodies, and they lay covered with cloths upon the bank
until men came with coffins to remove them. Then the tag was taken from
the stakes and tacked on the coffin lid, which was immediately closed
up, as identification was of course out of the question. There is a
stack of coffins by the railroad bridge. Sometimes a coffin is carried
to the spot on the charred debris where the find is made.


Prodding Corpses with Canes.

The searchers by thrusting down a stick or fork are pretty sure to find
a corpse. I saw a man run a cane in the debris down to the hilt and it
came up with human flesh sticking to it. Another ran a stick into the
thoroughly cooked skull of a little boy two feet below the surface.
There are bodies probably as far down as seventy feet in some cases, and
it does not seem plain now how they are to be recovered. One plan would
be to take away the top layers of wood with derricks, and of course the
mass beneath will rise closer to the surface. The weather is cold
to-day, and the offensive smell that was so troublesome on the warm days
is not noticeable at a distance.


Saved From Disfiguration.

The workers began on the wreck on Main street just opposite the First
National Bank, one of the busiest parts of the city. A large number of
people were lost here, the houses being crushed on one side of the
street and being almost untouched on the other, a most remarkable thing
considering the terrific force of the flood. Twenty-one bodies were
taken out in the early morning and removed to the morgue. They were not
very much injured, considering the weight of lumber above them. In many
instances they were wedged in crevices. They were all in a good state
of preservation, and when they were embalmed they looked almost
lifelike. In this central part of the city examination is sure to result
in the unearthing of bodies in every corner. Cottages which are still
standing are banked up with lumber and driftwood, and it is like mining
to make any kind of a clear space. I have seen relations of people who
are missing, and who are supposed to be in the ruins of their homes,
waiting patiently by the hour for men to come and take away the debris.

When bodies are found, the location of which was known, there are
frequently two or three friends on the spot to see them dug up. Four and
five of the same family have been taken from a space of ten feet square.
In one part of the river gorge this afternoon were found the bodies of a
woman and a child. They were close together and they were probably
mother and infant. Not far away was the corpse of a man looking like a
gnarled and mis-shapen section of a root of a tree. The bodies from the
fire often seem to have been twisted up, as if the victims died in great
agony.


Rapidly Burying the Dead.

The order that was issued last night that all unidentified dead be
buried to-day is being rapidly carried out. The Rev. Mr. Beall, who has
charge of the morgue at the Fourth ward school-house, which is the chief
place, says that a large force of men has been put at work digging
graves, and at the close of the afternoon the remains will be laid away
as rapidly as it can be done.

In the midst of this scene of death and desolation, a relenting
Providence seems to be exerting a subduing influence. Six days have
elapsed since the great disaster, and the temperature still remains low
and chilly in the Conemaugh Valley. When it is remembered that in the
ordinary June weather of this locality from two to three days are
sufficient to bring an unattended body to a state of decay and
putrefaction that would render it almost impossible to prevent the
spread of disease throughout the valley, the inestimable benefits of
this cool weather are almost beyond appreciation.

The emanations from the half mile of debris above the bridge are but
little more offensive than yesterday, and should this cool weather
continue a few days longer it is possible hundreds of bodies may yet be
recovered from the wreck in such a state of preservation as to render
identification possible. Many hundreds of victims, however, will be
roasted and charred into such shapeless masses as to preclude a hope of
recognition by their nearest relative.


Getting Down to Systematic Work.

The work of clearing up the wreck and recovering the bodies is now being
done most systematically. Over six thousand men are at work in the
various portions of the valley, and each little gang of twenty men is
directed by a foreman, who is under orders from the general
headquarters. As the rubbish is gone over and the bodies and scattered
articles of value are recovered, the debris is piled up in one high
mass and the torch applied. In this way the valley is assuming a less
devastated condition. In twenty-four hours more every mass of rubbish
will probably have been searched, and the investigations will be
confined to the smoking wreck above Johnstown bridge.

The Westmoreland Relief Committee complained of the Indiana county
authorities for not having a committee to search the shores on that side
for bodies. They say that all that is being done is by parties who are
hunting for anything valuable they can find.

Up to two o'clock this afternoon only eight bodies had been taken out of
the drift above the bridge. None of them was recognized. The work of
pulling it out goes on very slowly. It has been suggested that a
stationary engine should be planted on the east side of the pile and a
rope and pulley worked on it.

The Keystone Hotel, a huge frame structure, was rapidly being pulled to
pieces this morning, and when this has been done the work of taking out
the bodies will be begun at this point.

The immense wreck will most undoubtedly yield up many bodies. The bodies
of a woman and three children were taken from the debris in front of the
First National Bank at ten o'clock this morning. The woman was the
mother of the three children, ranging in age from one to five years, and
she had them all clasped in her arms.

Booth & Flinn, the Pittsburgh contractors, have just put to work another
large force of men. They have divided the town into districts, and the
work is being conducted in a systematic manner. Main street is being
rapidly opened up, and scores of bodies have been taken out this morning
from under the Hurlburt House.


Only Found One of Her Family.

The first body taken from the ruins was that of a boy named Davis, who
was found in the debris near the bridge. He was badly bruised and
burned. The remains were taken to the undertaking rooms at the
Pennsylvania Railroad station, where they were identified as those of
William Davis. The boy's mother has been making a tour of the different
morgues for the past few days, and was just going through the
undertaking rooms when she saw the remains of her boy being brought in.
She ran up to the remains and demanded the child. She seemed to have
lost her mind, and caused quite a scene by her actions. She stated that
she had lost her husband and six children in the flood, and that this
was the first one of the family that had been recovered. At the First
Presbyterian Church, which is being used as a morgue, seventeen bodies
taken from the debris and river have been brought in.

The relief corps from Altoona found a body near Stony Bridge this
morning. On his person was found a gold watch and chain, and $250 in
money, which was turned over to the proper authorities. This corps took
out some thirty-two bodies or more from the ruins yesterday.

A.J. Hayes, whose wife's body was taken out of the river last night,
had the body taken up into the mountains where he dug her grave and
said:--"I buried all that is dear to me. As for myself I don't care how
soon death overtakes me."

At quarter past one this afternoon, fifty bodies had been taken from the
debris in front of the Catholic Church in Johnstown borough. About forty
of the bodies were those of women. They were immediately removed to the
morgue for identification.

Dr. Beall, who has the supervision of the morgues in Johnstown, said
that so far 2,300 bodies had been recovered in Johnstown proper, most of
which had been identified and buried.


Dynamite and Derricks Used.

At one o'clock this afternoon the use of dynamite was resumed to burst
the logs so that the debris in the dam at the bridge can be loosened and
floated down the river. The dynamite is placed in holes bored into the
massive timbers. When the log has been broken a chain is attached to its
parts and it is then hoisted by a machine on the bridge and dropped into
the current of the river. Contractor Kirk has abandoned the idea of
constructing a dam to overflow the mass of ruins at the bridge. The
water has fallen and cannot be raised to a serviceable height. A
powerful windlass has been constructed at a point about one hundred feet
below the bridge, and a rope attached to it is fastened to logs at the
edge of the debris. In this way the course between one of the six spans
of the railroad bridge has been cleared out. Where dynamite has been
used to burst the logs another span has been freed of the debris, a
space of about twenty by forty feet being cleared. The men are now well
supplied with tools, but the force is not large enough to make rapid
headway. It is believed that many more bodies will be found when the
debris is loosened and started down the river.


Dynamite Tears the Bodies.

Thirteen bodies were taken from the burning debris at the stone bridge
at one time this afternoon. None of the bodies were recognizable, and
they were put in coffins and buried immediately. They were so badly
decomposed that it was impossible to keep them until they could be
identified. During a blast at the bridge this afternoon two bodies were
almost blown to pieces. The blasting has had the effect of opening the
channel under the central portion of the bridge.


In Unwholesome Company.

I came up here from Nineveh last night with the most disreputable crowd
I ever traveled with. They were human buzzards flocking to the scene of
horrors.

There was danger of a fight every moment, and if one had been started
there is little doubt that it would have been short and bloody, for the
conduct of the rowdy portion of the travellers had enraged the decent
persons, to whom the thought of drunkenness and ribaldry at such a time
was abhorrent, and they were quite ready to undertake the work of
pitching the demoralized beings off the cars.

Wedged in here and there between intoxicated ruffians, who were
indulging in the foulest jests about the corpses on which they were
about to feast their eyes, were pale faced women, sad and red eyed, who
looked as if they had had little sleep since the horrible collapse of
the dam. Some of them were bound for Johnstown to claim and bring back
bodies already identified, while others were on a trip for the ruins to
commence a long and perhaps fruitless search for whatever might be left
of their relatives. Some of those who misbehaved were friends of the
lost, who, worn out with loss of sleep, had taken to drink and become
madmen, but the greater part were merely sight-seers or robbers of the
dead.


Avaricious Tramps.

There were many tramps whose avarice had been stimulated by hearing of
diamond rings and watches found on the dead. There was one little
drunken hunchback who told those in the car who listened to him that
years ago he had quarrelled with his parents in Johnstown and had not
seen them since. He was on the way now to see if anything was left of
them. One moment he was in maudlin tears and the next he was cracking
some miserable joke about the disaster. He went about the car shaking
dice with other inebriated passengers, and in the course of half an hour
had won $6. Over this he exhibited almost the glee of a maniac, and the
fate of his people was lost sight of. Then he would presently forget his
gains and go sobbing up the aisle looking for listeners to his pitiful
story.

There were two sinister looking Hungarians in the smoking car and their
presence excited the anger of a handful of drunken maniacs. They made
loud speeches, denouncing the conduct of Hungarians who robbed the
Johnstown dead, levelling their remarks at the particular two. As they
grew more excited they demanded that the passengers make a move and
lynch the fellows. A great deal of trouble would have ensued, doubtless,
if the train had not at that moment stopped at Sang Hollow, four miles
from Johnstown. The conductor shouted out that the passengers must leave
the car and walk along the track the remainder of the distance.


A Strange Procession.

We started out in the fast gathering darkness and the loiterers who held
back made a long string. The drunken ruffians staggered along the
tracks, howling with glee and talking about corpses, showing what their
object was in coming. The tired out and disheartened women crowded under
the shelter of the more respectable men. There was one member of the
Pennsylvania National Guard in the troop with his bayonet, and he seemed
to be the rallying point for the timid.

[Illustration: MAP OF THE DISTRICT SWEPT BY THE FLOOD.]

When the mob reached the outskirts of Johnstown they came across a
little camp of military with outposts. I had been told that soldiers
were keeping people who had no business there out of the lost city, and
to insure my passage through the lines I had procured an order from Mr.
McCreery, chairman of the Chamber of Commerce Committee at Pittsburgh,
stating that I was entitled to go through. I knew that the drunken
lunatics behind me could have no such documents, and I imagined the
soldiers would stop them. Nothing of the kind happened. Whole troops
surged through the line. No passes were asked from them and they showed
none. They only quieted down for a moment when they saw the uniforms of
the National Guard.


Reinforcing Disorder.

The mob merely helped to swell the host of thieves, cutthroats and
pickpockets with which the region is infested.

The trains which had passed us, going from Johnstown to Pittsburgh
looked as if they might be made up of joyous excursionists. The cars
were crowded to the platforms, and for some reason or other dozens of
the inebriated passengers thought it appropriate to cheer and yell,
though God knows the whole surroundings were calculated to make a human
being shed tears of anguish. The sight of the coffins in the baggage
cars, some of them containing the dead, had no dampening effect upon the
spirit of these roysterers.

The reaction from debauches and excitement is terrible, and there can be
little doubt that many minds will give way under the strain. One of the
wonders of the disaster is the absence of suicide and the apparently
calm way in which the most wofully bereaved support themselves under
their terrible loss. It must be an unnatural calm. Men have quietly told
me that they have lost their entire families and then have suddenly
changed the subject and talked of some absurdly trivial matter with an
air of great interest, but it was easy to see that there was some
numbing influence over the mechanism of the mind. It is unnatural and
awful. It is almost impossible to realize that the troops of workmen
leisurely digging in the ruins as if engaged in everyday employment are
really digging for the dead, and it is only in the actual sight of death
and its emblems that one can persuade one's self that it is all true.
The want of sleep conduces to an unnatural condition of the mind, under
which these awful facts are bearable to the bereaved.


Picketing the Ruins.

It was like a military camp here last night. So many citizens have been
knocked down and robbed that the soldiers had special instructions to
see that no queer characters got through to the centre of the town. I
had an excellent chance of seeing how impossible it was for an
unauthorized person to move about the town easily, although he could get
into the interior. I had been kindly invited to sleep on a wisp of hay
in a neighboring barn, but being detained late in the valley reached the
press headquarters after my host had left. It was a question of hunting
shelter or sleeping on the ground.

A gentleman whom I met told me that he was living in a Baltimore and
Ohio day passenger coach about a mile out, and that if we could find our
way there I was welcome to a soft place on the floor. We spoke to the
nearest picket. He told us that it would be madness to try to cross one
part of the ground unless we had revolvers, because a gang of Huns were
in hiding ready to knock down passengers and hold up any one who seemed
defenceless. However, after a little cogitating, he said that he would
escort us to General Hastings' headquarters, and we started, picking our
way over the remains of streets and passing over great obstructions that
had been left by the torrent. Ruin and wreck were on every hand. You
could not tell where one street began and another left off, and in some
places there was only soft mud, as devoid of evidence of the former
presence of buildings as a meadow is, though they had been the sites of
business blocks. It was washed clean.


A Weird Journey.

Our guide told us the details of the capture of five marauders who had
been robbing the dead. They had cut off the head of a woman found in the
debris to get her earrings. He said that a number of deputy sheriffs had
declared that at dawn they would march to the place where the prisoners
were and take them out and hang them. My military friend said that he
and his comrades would not be particularly anxious to interfere. The
scene as we picked our way was lighted up by camp fires, around which
sat groups of deputy sheriffs in slouch hats. They were a grim looking
set, armed with clubs and guns. A few had rifles and some wore revolvers
in their belts in regular leather cowboy pockets. The camp fires were
about two hundred yards apart and to pass them without being challenged
was impossible. At the adjutant general's office we got a pass entitling
us to pass the pickets, and bidding our guardsman good-night we started
off escorted by a deputy sheriff. There were long lines of camp fires
and every few rods we had to produce credentials. It was a pretty effect
that was produced by the blazing logs. They lighted up the valley for
some distance, throwing in relief the windowless ruins of what were once
fine residences, bank buildings or factories. Embedded in the mud were
packages of merchandise, such as sugar in barrels, etc., and over these
we stumbled continually.


A Muddy Desert.

Streams were running through the principal streets of the city. In some
parts all that was left of the thoroughfares were the cobble stones--by
which it was possible to trace streets for a short distance--and the
street railway tracks remaining in places for spaces of a hundred feet
or so. There were some buildings outside of the track of the full force
of the torrent, the roofs of which seemed not to have been reached.
Others had been on fire and had lost parts of their walls. It was a
dismal sight, this desolation, as shown up by the fitful camp fires. It
was only after climbing over perilous places, crossing streams and
narrowly escaping with our necks, that we came within sight of the car
at two o'clock this morning. We passed by a school house used as a
morgue. Several people were inside gazing by lamp light at the silent
bodies in a hunt for lost ones. Piles of coffins, brown and white, were
in the school playground, which resounded not many days ago with the
shouts of children, some of whom lie there now. There are heaps of
coffins everywhere throughout the city. Conversation with the deputy
sheriffs showed a deep-rooted hatred against the Huns, and a
determination to shoot them down like dogs if they were caught prowling
about near the exposed property. While we were toiling over debris we
heard three shots about a quarter of a mile off. We could learn nothing
of their report. The service done by the deputy sheriffs was excellent.


Mistaken Identification.

At St. Columba's Catholic Church the scenes were striking in their
individual peculiarities. One woman came in and identified a body as
that of Katie Frank. The undertakers labeled it accordingly, but in a
few moments another woman entered the church, raised the lid of the
coffin, scanned the face of the corpse, and then tore the label from the
casket. The undertakers were then warned by the woman to be more careful
in labelling coffins in the future. She then began to weep, and left the
church in despair. She was Katie's mother, and Katie is yet among the
wreck in the river below.

The lot of bodies held and coffined at Morrellville presented a
different feature. The mud was six inches deep, and the drizzling rain
added gloom to the scene. Here and there could be seen, kneeling in the
mud, broken hearted wives and mothers who sobbed and prayed. The
incidents here were heartrending.

At the Fourth ward school-house morgue a woman from Erie, whose name
could not be learned, went to the morgue in search of some one, but
fainted on seeing the long line of coffins. At the Kernville morgue one
little boy named Elrod, on finding his father and mother both dead,
seized a hatchet, and for some time would let no one enter the place,
claiming that the people were lying to him and wanted to rob him of his
father and mother.

One sad incident was the sight of two coffins lying in the Gautier
graveyard with nobody to bury them. A solitary woman was gazing at them
in a dazed manner, while the rain beat on her unprotected head.




CHAPTER XIV.

Hairbreadth Escapes.


So vast is the field of destruction that to get an adequate idea from
any point level with the town is simply impossible. It must be viewed
from a height. From the top of Kernville Mountain just at the east of
the town the whole strange panorama can be seen.

Looking down from that height many strange things about the flood that
appear inexplicable from below are perfectly plain. How so many houses
happened to be so queerly twisted, for instance, as if the water had a
whirling instead of a straight motion, was made perfectly clear.

The town was built in an almost equilateral triangle, with one angle
pointed squarely up the Conemaugh Valley to the east, from which the
flood came. At the northerly angle was the junction of the Conemaugh and
Stony creeks. The Southern angle pointed up the Stony Creek Valley. Now
about one-half of the triangle, formerly densely covered with buildings,
is swept as clean as a platter, except for three or four big brick
buildings that stand near the angle which points up the Conemaugh.


Course of the Flood.

The course of the flood from the exact point where it issued from the
Conemaugh Valley to where it disappeared below in a turn in the river
and above by spreading itself over the flat district of five or six
miles, is clearly defined. The whole body of water issued straight from
the valley in a solid wave and tore across the village of Woodvale and
so on to the business part of Johnstown at the lower part of the
triangle. Here a cluster of solid brick blocks, aided by the
conformation of the land, evidently divided the stream. The greater part
turned to the north, swept up the brick block and then mixed with the
ruins of the villages above down to the stone arch bridge. The other
stream shot across the triangle, was turned southward by the bluffs and
went up the valley of Stony Creek. The stone arch bridge in the meantime
acted as a dam and turned part of the current back toward the south,
where it finished the work of the triangle, turning again to the
northward and back to the stone arch bridge. The stream that went up
Stony Creek was turned back by the rising ground and then was reinforced
by the back water from the bridge again and started south, where it
reached a mile and a half and spent its force on a little settlement
called Grubbtown.


Work of the Water.

The frequent turning of this stream, forced against the buildings and
then the bluffs, gave it a regular whirling motion from right to left
and made a tremendous eddy, whose centrifugal force twisted everything
it touched. This accounts for the comparatively narrow path of the flood
through the southern part of the town, where its course through the
thickly clustered frame dwelling houses is as plain as a highway. The
force of the stream diminished gradually as it went south, for at the
place where the currents separated every building is ground to pieces
and carried away, and at the end the houses were only turned a little on
their foundations. In the middle of the course they are turned over on
their sides or upside down. Further down they are not single, but great
heaps of ground lumber that look like nothing so much as enormous pith
balls.

To the north the work of the waters is of a different sort. It picked up
everything except the big buildings that divided the current and piled
the fragments down about the stone bridge or swept them over and soon
down the river for miles. This left the great yellow, sandy and barren
plain so often spoken of in the despatches where stood the best
buildings in Johnstown--the opera house, the big hotel, many wholesale
warehouses, shops and the finest residences. In this plain there are now
only the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad train, a school-house, the Morrell
Company's stores and an adjoining warehouse and the few buildings at the
point of the triangle. One big residence, badly shattered, is also
standing.


Houses Changed Base.

These structures do not relieve the shocking picture of ruin spread out
below the mountain, but by contrast making it more striking. That part
of the town to the south where the flood tore the narrow path there
used to be a separate village which was called Kernville. It is now
known as the South Side. Some of the queerest sights of the wreck are
there, though few persons have gone to see them. Many of the houses that
are there, scattered helter skelter, thrown on their sides and standing
on their roofs, were never in that neighborhood nor anywhere near it
before. They came down on the breast of the wave from as far up as
Franklin, were carried safely by the factories and the bridges, by the
big buildings at the dividing line, up and down on the flood and finally
settled in their new resting places little injured. A row of them,
packed closely together and every one tipped over at about the same
angle, is only one of the queer freaks the water played.

I got into one of these houses in my walk through the town to-day. The
lower story had been filled with water, and everything in it had been
torn out. The carpet had been split into strips on the floor by the
sheer force of the rushing tide. Heaps of mud stood in the corners.
There was not a vestige of furniture. The walls dripped with moisture.
The ceiling was gone, the windows were out, and the cold rain blew in
and the only thing that was left intact was one of those worked worsted
mottoes that you always expect to find in the homes of working people.
It still hung to the wall, and though much awry the glass and frame were
unbroken. The motto looked grimly and sadly sarcastic. It was:--

     "There is no place like home."

A melancholy wreck of a home that motto looked down upon.


A Tree in a House.

I saw a wagon in the middle of a side street sticking tongue, and all,
straight up into the air, resting on its tail board, with the hind
wheels almost completely buried in the mud. I saw a house standing
exactly in the middle of Napoleon street, the side stove in by crashing
against some other house and in the hole the coffin of its owner was
placed. Some scholar's library had been strewn over the street in the
last stage of the flood, for there was a trail of good books left half
sticking in the mud and reaching for over a block. One house had been
lifted over two others in some mysterious way and then had settled down
between them and there it stuck, high up in the air, so its former
occupants might have got into it again with ladders.

Down at the lower end of the course of the stream, where its force was
greater, there was a house lying on one corner and held there by being
fastened in the deep mud. Through its side the trunk of a tree had been
driven like a lance, and there it stayed sticking out straight in the
air. In the muck was the case and key board of a square piano, and far
down the river, near the debris about the stone bridge, were its legs.
An upright piano, with all its inside apparatus cleanly taken out, stood
straight up a little way off. What was once a set of costly furniture
was strewn all about it, and the house that contained it was nowhere.

The remarkable stories that have been told about people floating a mile
up the river and then back two or three times are easily credible after
seeing the evidences of the strange course the flood took in this part
of the town. People who stood near the ruins of Poplar Bridge saw four
women on a roof float up on the stream, turn a short distance above and
come back and go past again and once more return. Then they went far
down on the current to the lower part of the town and were rescued as
they passed the second story window of a school house. A man who was
imprisoned in the attic of his house put his wife and two children on a
roof that was eddying past and stayed behind to die alone. They floated
up the stream and then back and got upon the roof of the very house they
had left, and the whole family was saved.

At Grubbtown there is a house that came all the way from Woodvale. On it
was a man who lived near Grubbtown, but was working at Woodvale when the
flood came. He was carried right past his own house and coolly told the
people at the bridge to bid his wife good-bye for him. The house passed
the bridge three times, the man carrying on a conversation with the
people on shore and giving directions for his burial if his body should
be found. The third time the house went up it grounded at Grubbtown, and
in an hour or two the man was safe at home. Three girls who went by on a
roof crawled into the branches of a tree and had to stay there all night
before they could make any one understand where they were. At one time
scores of floating houses were wedged in together near the ruins of
Poplar street bridge. Four brave men went out from the shore, and,
stepping from house roof to house roof, brought in twelve women and
children.


Starvation Overcomes Modesty.

Some women crawled from roofs into the attics of houses. In their
struggles with the flood most of their clothes had been torn from them,
and rather than appear on the streets they stayed where they were until
hunger forced them to shout out of the windows for help. At this stage
of the flood more persons were lost by being crushed to death than by
drowning. As they floated by on roofs or doors the toppling houses fell
over upon them and killed them.


Nineveh was Spared.

The valley of death, twenty-three miles long, practically ends at
Nineveh. It begins at Woodvale, where the dam broke, and for the entire
distance to this point the mountains make a canyon--a water trap, from
which escape was impossible. The first intimation this city had of the
impending destruction was at noon on Friday, when Station Agent
Nunamaker got this despatch:--

"We just received word from South Fork that water is coming over dam at
Conemaugh Lake, and is liable to burst at any moment. Notify people to
look out."

"J.C. WAUKEMSHAW,
Despatcher at Conemaugh."

Nunamaker started on a dead run to the water front, along which most of
the houses are situated, crying:--

"The dam is breaking. Run for your lives!"

Every spring, the station agent tells me, there have been a score of
such alarms, and when the people heard Nunamaker they laughed and called
him an old fogy for his pains. They had run too often to the mountains
to escape some imaginary flood to be scared by anything less than the
actual din of the torrent in their ears. Two hours and a half later a
despatch came saying that the dam had indeed broken.

Again the station agent went on a trot to the residential part of the
town. That same despatch had gone thundering down the whole valley.
Johnstown heard the news and so did Conemaugh. No one believed it. It
was what they called "a chestnut." But the cry had put the people a
little on the alert. One hour after the despatch came the first warning
note of the disaster. Mr. Nunamaker tells me that it took really more
than that time for the head of the leaping cataract to travel the
twenty-three miles. If that is so the people of Johnstown must have had
half an hour's warning at least, for Johnstown is half way between here
and the fatal dam.


Awful Scenes.

Nineveh is very flat on the river side where the people live, though,
fortunately, the main force of the current was not directed on this side
of the stream. In a second the river rose two feet at a jump. It then
reared up like a thing of life, then it steadily rose inches at a time,
flooding the whole town. But the people had had warning and saved
themselves. Pitiful cries were heard soon from the river. People were
floating down on barrels, roofs, beds, anything that was handy. There
were pitiful shrieks from despairing women. The people of Nineveh could
do nothing. No boat could have stemmed the cataract. During the night
there were shrieks heard from the flooded meadows. Next morning at nine
o'clock the flood had fallen three feet. Bodies could be seen on the
trees by the Nineveh people, who stayed up all night in the hope of
being able to do some act of humanity.


The Living and the Dead.

Only twenty-five were taken alive from the trees and drift on this side.
Across the stream a score were secured and forty-seven corpses taken
out. This, with the 200 corpses here, makes a total of 300 people who
are known to have come down to this point. There are perhaps a hundred
and fifty bodies within a mile. Only a few were actually taken from the
river bed. They sank in deep water. It is only when they have swollen by
the effect of the water that they rise to the surface. Most of those
recovered were found almost on dry land or buried in drift. There are
tons of wood, furniture, trees, trunks, and everything that is ever
likely to float in a river, that must be "dug over." It will be work of
the hardest kind to get at the remaining corpses. I went over the whole
ground along the river bank between here and Johnstown to-day.


The Force of the Flood.

The trees on the banks were levelled as if by battering rams, telegraph
poles were snapped off as a boy breaks a sugar stick, and parts of the
Pennsylvania Railroad track were wrenched, torn and destroyed.

Jerry McNeilly, of this place, says he was at the Johnstown station when
the flood came down, preceded by a sort of cloud or fog. He saw people
smoking at their windows up to the last moment, and even when the water
flooded their floors they laughed and seemed to think that the river had
risen a few feet and that was all. Jerry, however, ran to the hills and
saved himself while the water rose and did its awful work. Some houses
were bowled over like ninepins. Some floated to the surface and started
with the flood; others stood their ground and were submerged inch by
inch, the occupants climbing from story to story, from the top story to
the roof, only to be swept away from their foothold sooner or later.


The Dam's History.

I asked a gathering of men here in what light they had been accustomed
to look upon the dam. They say that from the time it was built,
somewhere about 1831, by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania to collect
water for the canals, it has been the "bogie" of the district. Babies
were frightened when naughty by being told the dam would break. Time and
time again the people of Nineveh have risen from their beds in the
night and perched upon the mountains through fear. A body of water seven
miles or more long, from eighty to one hundred and twenty feet deep, and
about a mile wide, was indeed something to be dreaded. This lake had a
circumference of about eighteen miles, which gives some idea of the
volume of water that menaced the population. The dam was thick enough
for two carriages to drive abreast on its top, but the people always
doubted the stability of that pile of masonry and earth.

Morrellville was for a few days in a state of starvation, but Sheridan,
Sang Hollow and this town are in no distress.

Nineveh has lost no life, although wild rumors said it had. Though the
damage to property is very great, the Huns have been kept away, and
robbers and marauders find nothing to tempt them.


What "Chal" Dick Saw.

"I'll kill the first man that dares to cross the bridge."

"Chal" Dick, lawyer, burgess and deputy sheriff and sportsman, sat upon
his horse with a Winchester rifle across his saddle and a thousand or
two of fiends dancing a war dance in his eyes. Down in Johnstown proper
they think "Chal" Dick is either drunk or crazy. Two newspaper men
bunked with him last night and found he was not afflicted in either
sense. He is the only recognized head in the borough of Kernville, where
every man, woman and child know him as "Chal," and greet him as he
passes by.

"Yes," he said to me last night, "I saw it all. My house was on
Somerset street. On Thursday night it rained very hard. My wife woke me
and called my attention to the way the water was coming down. I said
nothing, but I got up about five o'clock and took a look around. In a
little while Stony Creek had risen three feet. I then knew that we were
going to have a flood, but I did not apprehend any danger. The water
soon flooded the streets, and boards and logs began coming down.


Sport Before Sorrow.

"A lot of us turned in to have some sport. I gave my watch and what
money I had to a neighbor and began riding logs down the stream. I had
lots of company. Old men acted like boys, and shouted and shouted and
splashed about in the water like mad. Finally the water began to rise so
rapidly that I became alarmed. I went home and told my wife that it was
full time to get out. She was somewhat incredulous, but I made her get
ready, and we took the children and we went to the house of Mr. Bergman,
on Napoleon street, just on the rise of Kernville. I got wet from head
to foot fooling in the water, and when I got to Bergman's I took a
chill. I undressed and went to bed and fell asleep. The first thing I
knew I was pulled out of bed on to the floor, by Mr. Bergman, who
yelled, 'the dam has burst.' I got up, pulled on my pantaloons and
rushed down stairs. I got my youngest child and told my wife to follow
with the two others. This time the water was three feet in the house
and rising rapidly. We waded up to our waists out through it, up the
hill, far beyond the reach of danger.


A Stupendous Sight.

"From the time I left Bergman's till I stopped is a blank. I remember
nothing. I turned and looked, and may my eyes never rest on another such
sight. The water was above the houses from the direction of the railroad
bridge. There came a wave that appeared to be about twelve feet high. It
was perpendicular in its face and moved in a mist. I have heard them
speak of the death mist, but I then first appreciated what the phrase
meant. It came on up Stony Creek carrying on its surface house after
house and moving along faster than any horse could go. In the water
there bobbed up and down and twisted and twirled the heads of people
making ripples after the manner of shot dropped into the water. The wave
struck houses not yet submerged and cut them down. The frames rose to
the surface, but the bricks, of course, were lost to sight. When the
force of the water spent itself and began retracing its course, then the
awfulness of the scene increased in intensity. I have a little nerve,
but my heart broke at the sight. Houses, going and coming, crashed up
against each other and began grinding each other to pieces. The
buildings creaked and groaned as they let go their fastenings and fairly
melted.

"At the windows of the dwellings there appeared the faces of people
equally as ill-fated as the rest. God forbid that I should ever again
look upon such intensity of anguish. Oh, how white and horror-stricken
those faces were, and such appeals for help that could not come. The
woman wrung their hands in their despair and prayed aloud for
deliverance. Down stream went houses and people at the rate of
twenty-five miles an hour and stopped, a conglomerate mass, at the stone
abutment of the railroad bridge. The first buildings that struck the
bridge took fire, and those that came after were swept into a sea of
flame. I thought I had already witnessed the greatest possible climax of
anguish, but the scene that followed exceeded in awfulness anything I
had before looked upon. The flames grew, hundreds of people were wedged
in the driftwood and imprisoned in the houses. Rapidly the fire
approached them, and then they began to cry for aid, and hundreds of
others stood on the bank, powerless to extend a single comfort.


Judgment Day.

"As the fire licked up house after house and pile after pile, I could
see men and women bid each other good-by, and fathers and mothers kiss
their children. The flames swallowed them up and hid them from my view,
but I could hear their shrieks as they roasted alive. The shrieks
mellowed into groans, and the groans into silence, only to be followed
by more shrieks, more groans and more silence, as the fire caught up and
destroyed its victims. Heavens! but I was glad when the end came. My
only anxiety was to have it come quickly, and I prayed that it might
come, oh! so quick! It was a splendid realization of the judgment day.
It was a magnificent realization of the impotency of man in a battle
with such a combination of fire and flood."


Some Have Cause for Joy.

In the midst of the confusion of the disaster and the strain of
excitement which followed it was but natural that every one who could
not readily be found was reported dead. Amid the throng of mourners now
an occasional soul is made happy by finding that some loved one has
escaped death. To-day a few of the living had time to notify their
friends throughout the country of their safety.

General Lew Wallace, now at West Point, telegraphed President Harrison,
in response to an inquiry last night, that his wife was "coming out of
the great calamity at Johnstown safe." Several reports have been sent
out from Johnstown, one as late as last night, to the effect that Mrs.
Wallace was believed to be among the victims of the disaster. Private
Secretary Halford received a telegram this afternoon from his wife at
Altoona, announcing that Mrs. Lew Wallace was with her and safe.


Did Not Lose Their Presence of Mind.

A dispatch from Carthage, Ill., says:--"Mrs. M.J. Smith, a traveling
saleslady for a book concern in New York city, was at Johnstown at the
time of the flood and was swept away with others. Her brothers,
Lieutenant P. and James McKee, received the following telegram at
Carthage yesterday from Johnstown:

"Escaped with my life on housetop; am all right.

"M.J. SMITH.

"The lady is well known in this county."


Rich Made Poor.

John Kelly, the prominent Odd Fellow of Conemaugh, who was supposed to
be lost, escaped with his entire family, though his house and store were
swept down the river.

John Rowley, who stands high among the Masons and Odd Fellows, tells me
that out of $65,000 worth of property which he could call his own on
Friday last he found just two bricks on the site of his residence this
morning. He counts himself wealthy, however, in the possession of his
wife and children who were all saved. His wife, who was very ill, was
dragged through the water in her nightclothes. She is now in a critical
condition, but has the best of medical attendance and may pull through.

In a frame house which stood at No. 121 Union street, Johnstown, were
Mrs. O.W. Byrose, her daughters Elsie, Bessie and Emma, and sons Samuel
and Ray. When the flood struck the house they ran to the attic. The
house was washed from its foundation and carried with the rushing
waters. Mrs. Byrose and her children then clung to each other, expecting
every minute to meet death. As the house was borne along the chimney
fell and crashed through the floors, and the bricks were strewn along
the course of the river. The house was caught in the jam and held about
two hundred feet above the bridge and one hundred and fifty feet from
the shore. The terrified inmates did not lose all presence of mind, and
they made their escape to the hole made by the fallen chimney. They were
seen by those on shore, and after much difficulty each was rescued. A
few minutes later the house caught fire from the burning buildings, and
was soon consumed.


Swept from His Side.

At ten o'clock this morning an old gray bearded man stood amid the
blackened logs and ashes through which the polluted water of the
Conemaugh made its way, wringing his hands and moaning in a way that
brought tears to the eyes of all about him. He was W.J. Gilmore, whose
residence had stood at the corner of Conemaugh and Main streets. Being
on low ground the house was flooded by the first rush of water and the
family, consisting of Mr. Gilmore, his brother Abraham, his wife, four
children and mother-in-law, ran to the second story, where they were
joined by Frances, the little daughter of Samuel Fields, and Grandmother
Maria Prosser. When the torrent from South Fork rushed through the town
the side of the house was torn out and the water poured into the second
floor. Mr. Gilmore scrambled upon some floating debris, and his brother
attempted to pass the women and children out to him. Before he could do
so, however, the building sank and Mr. Gilmore's family was swept from
his side. His brother disappeared for a moment under the water, but came
to the surface and was hauled upon the roof. The brothers then strove
frantically to tear a hole in the roof of the house with their bare
hands, but their efforts were, of course, unavailing, and they were soon
struggling for their own lives in the wreck at the viaduct. Both finally
reached the shore. The body of Mrs. Gilmore, when taken from the ruins
this morning, was but little mutilated, although her body was bloated by
the water. Two of the children had been almost burned to cinders, their
arms and legs alone being something like their original shape.


Statue of the Virgin.

St. Mary's German Catholic Church, which is badly wrecked, was
temporarily used as a morgue, but a singular circumstance connected with
the wrecking having been noticed, the duty of becoming a receptacle for
the dead is transferred to the Church of St. Columba. The windows of St.
Mary's are all destroyed. The floor for one-third of its extent on St.
Mary's side is torn up to the chancel rail in one piece by the water and
raised toward the wall. One-half the chancel rail is gone, the mud is
eighteen inches deep on the floor, St. Joseph's altar is displaced and
the statue gone. The main altar, with its furniture for Easter, is
covered with mud, and some fine potted flowers are destroyed. Nearly all
the other ornaments are in place, even to the candlesticks. Strange to
relate, the statue of the Virgin in her attire is unsoiled; the white
vestments with silken embroidery are untarnished. This discovery led to
the change of morgue. The matter being bruited abroad the desolated
women of Cambria and Johnstown, as well as those who had not been
sufferers from the flood, visited the church, and with most affecting
devoutness adored the shrine. Some men also were among the devout, and
not one of those who offered their prayers but did it in tears. For
several hours this continued to be the wonder of the parishioners of the
Catholic churches.

The entire family of Mr. Howe, the wealthiest man in Cambria, with some
visitors from Pittsburgh and Ohio, were hurried to death by the collapse
of their residence on that fatal Friday night.

In the rubbish heaped high on the shore near the stone arch bridge is a
flat freight car banged and shattered and with a hole stove in its side.
One of the workmen who were examining the debris to-day got into the car
and found a framed and glazed picture of the Saviour. It was resting
against the side of the car, right side up. Neither frame nor glass were
injured. When this incident got noised about among the workmen they
dropped their pickaxes and ran to look at the wonderful sight with their
hats off.


Saved His Mother and Sister.

A man who came up from Lockport to-day told this:--"On the roof of a
house were a young man, his mother and a young girl apparently his
sister. As they passed the Lockport bridge, where the youth hung in an
eddy for a moment, the men on the bridge threw them a rope. The young
man on the house caught and tried to make it fast around his mother and
then around his sister. They were afraid to use it or they were
unwilling to leave him, for they would not take the rope. They tried to
make him take it, but he threw it away and stayed on the roof with them.
The house was swept onward and in another moment was lodged against a
tree. The youth seized his mother and sister and placed them in safety
among the branches. The next instant the house started again. The young
man's foot slipped. He fell into the water and was not seen again."


Where Death Lay In Wait.

A great deal has been written and published about the terrible disaster,
but in all the accounts nothing has been said about South Fork, where in
proportion to its size as much damage has been done as at any other
point.

For the purpose of ascertaining how the place looked which in the annals
of history will always be referred to as the starting point of this
great calamity, I came here from Johnstown. I left on Monday morning at
half-past six, and being unable to secure a conveyance of any character
was compelled to walk the entire distance. Thinking the people of
Johnstown knew whereof they spoke, I started over the Edensburg
turnpike, and tramped, as a result, six more miles than was absolutely
necessary. After I left Johnstown it began raining and continued until I
reached South Fork.

Two miles out from Johnstown I passed the Altoona Relief Committee in
carriages, with their supply train following, and from that until I
reached Fair View, where I turned off toward the Conemaugh river, it
was a continuous line of vehicles of all kinds, some containing
supplies, others passengers, many of whom were ladies. I followed a
cow-path along the mountain until I reached Mineral Point. Here is where
the flood did its first bad work after leaving South Fork. There had
been thirty-three dwelling houses, a store and a large sawmill in the
village, and in less than one minute after the flood struck the head of
the place there were twenty-nine of these buildings wiped out; and so
sudden had been the coming of the water that but a few of the residents
succeeded in getting away.


As a Boy would Marbles.

Jacob Kohler, one of the residents of the place, said he had received a
telegram stating that the flood was coming, but paid no attention to it
as they did not understand its significance. "I saw it coming," he said,
"with the water reaching a height of at least twenty-five feet, tearing
trees up by the roots and dashing big rocks about as a boy would
marbles. I hardly had time to grab a child and run for the hills when it
was upon us, and in less time than it takes for me to tell it our
village was entirely wiped out and the inhabitants were struggling in
the water and were soon out of sight. I never want to see such a sight
again."

From Mineral Point another cow-path was taken over the mountains. I came
just below the viaduct within about one mile of South Fork, and here the
work of destruction had been as complete as it was possible for it to
be. The entire road-bed of the Pennsylvania Railroad had been washed
away.

At this point a freight train had been caught and all the men on it
perished, but the names could not be learned. The engine was turned
completely upside down and the box cars were lifted off the track and
carried two hundred feet to the side of the hill. Fifteen of them are
there with the trucks, about one hundred feet from the old road-bed, and
turned completely upside down.

Another freight train just ahead of it was also swept away in the same
manner, all excepting two cars and the engine. One of the cars was
loaded with two heavy boilers from the works of James Witherow,
Newcastle.


Rails Twisted Double.

Coming in to South Fork the work of destruction on the railroad was
found to be even greater, the rails being almost bent double. The large
iron bridge over the river at this point is gone, as is also one of the
piers. The lower portion of this place is completely wiped out, and two
men were lost. This is all the loss of life here, excepting two Italians
who were working at the lake proper. The loss in individual property to
the people of this place will reach $75,000, and at Mineral Point
$50,000.

For the purpose of seeing how the lake looked after all the water was
out of it, a trip was taken to it, fully three miles distant. The
driveway around it is fully thirty-five feet wide, and that was the
width at the point of the dam where the break occurred.


Like a Thunderbolt.

Imagine, if you can, a solid piece of ground, thirty-five feet wide and
over one hundred feet high, and then, again, that a space of two hundred
feet is cut out of it, through which is rushing over seven hundred acres
of water, and you can have only a faint conception of the terrible force
of the blow that came upon the people of this vicinity like a clap of
thunder out of a clear sky. It was irresistible in its power and carried
everything before it. After seeing the lake and the opening through the
dam it can be readily understood how that outbreak came to be so
destructive in its character.

The lake had been leaking, and a couple of Italians were at work just
over the point where the break occurred, and in an instant, without
warning, it gave way, and they were down in the whirling mass of water
and were swept into eternity. The people of this place had been told by
some of those who had been to the lake that it was leaking, but paid no
attention any more than to send telegrams to Johnstown and Mineral
Point.


Here's Another Paul Revere.

The first intimation the people had of the approach of the water was
from the seventeen-year-old son of John Baker. He was on the road on
horseback and noticed the water coming out of a cavity about five feet
in diameter, and not waiting to see any more he put spurs to his horse
and dashed for the town at breakneck speed. Some of the people of this
place saw him coming at great speed, waving his hat, and knowing
something was wrong at once gave the alarm, and grabbing their children
started for the high parts. When he arrived almost at Railroad street,
his own home, the water was already in the roadway, and in less than one
minute its whole bulk was coming, twisting trees and rolling rocks
before it.

[Illustration: RESCUES AT THE SIGNAL TOWER.]

In just eight minutes from the time he first saw it the water had
carried away the bridge and was on its career of death and destruction.
A train of Pullman cars for the East, due at South Fork at 2.55, was
standing on the track on the west side of the bridge waiting to pull
into the station. At first the engineer paid no attention to the wild
gesticulations of the station agent, but finally started out, pulling
slowly into the station, and not one moment too soon, for had he
remained where he was a minute longer all would have been swept away.


Thrilling Escapes.

A local freight train with a passenger coach attached, standing on the
east side of the track, was compelled to run into the rear end of the
passenger train so as to get out of the way of the flood. A young man
who was on the rear end of the train grabbed a young lady who was
floating by and thus saved her life. The house of an old man, eighty-two
years of age, was caught in the whirlpool, and he and his aged wife
climbed on the roof for safety. They were floating down the railroad
track to certain death, when their son-in-law, from the roof of the
Pennsylvania Railroad station-house, pulled them off and saved their
lives as the house was dashed to pieces.

Mr. Brown, a resident of this place, said: "I was just about opposite
the mouth of the lake when it broke. When I first saw it the water was
dashing over the top of the road just where it broke about a foot high,
and not eight or ten feet, as has been stated, and I told Mr. Fisher,
who lived there, that he had better get his family out at once, which he
did, going to the hillside, and it was lucky for him that he did,
because in a half minute after it broke his home was wiped away."


No Safety Outlet.

Mr. Burnett, who was born and raised a mile from the lake, and is now a
resident of Hazelwood, and who was at South Fork, said: "When the State
owned this lake they had a tower over the portion that gave way and a
number of pipes by which they were enabled to drive off the surplus
water, and had the present owners had an arrangement of that kind this
accident would not have occurred. The only outlet there was for the
water was a small waterway around to the right of the lake, which is
totally inadequate. The people of this valley have always been afraid of
this thing, and now that it is here it shows that they had every reason
for their fears."

In company with Mr. Burnett I walked all over the place, and am free to
confess that it looks strong, but experience shows the contrary.

Mr. Moore, who has done nearly all the hauling for the people who lived
at the lake in summer, said:--"About eight years ago this dam broke, but
there was not as much water in it as now, and when it broke they were
working at it and hauled cart load after cart load of dirt, stone and
logs, and finally about ten tons of hay, and by that means any further
damage was prevented. That was the time when they should have put forth
strenuous efforts to have that part strengthened where the break
occurred. This lake is about three miles long and about a mile wide and
fully ninety feet deep, and of course when an opening of any kind was
forced it was impossible to stop it.


Thirsting for Vengeance.

"The indignation here against the people who owned that place is
intense. I was afraid that if the people here were to hear that you were
from Pittsburgh they would jump to the conclusion that you were
connected with the association, and I was afraid they would pull you
from the carriage and kill you. That is the feeling that predominates
here, and we all believe justly."

Mr. Ferguson, of the firm of J.P. Stevenson & Co., said: "It is a
terrible affair, and shows the absolute necessity of people not fooling
with matters of that kind. We sent telegrams to Mineral Point, Johnstown
and Conemaugh, notifying them that the lake was leaking and the water
rising and we were liable to have trouble, and two minutes before the
flood reached here a telegram was sent to Mineral Point that the dam had
broken. But you see for the past five years so many alarms of that kind
have been sent that the people have not believed them."


Broke Forty-one Years Ago.

Mrs. McDonald, who lives between Johnstown and South Fork, said: "I am
an old woman and lived in Johnstown forty-two year ago, when there but
two or three houses here. I have always contended, ever since this club
of dudes took charge of this place, that it would end in a terrible loss
of life. It broke about forty-one years ago, and I was in my house
washing and it actually took my tub away and I only saved myself after a
desperate struggle. At that time there were no lives lost. On Friday
night, when it was raining so hard, I told my son not to go near
Johnstown, as it was sure, from the telegrams I heard of, which had come
in the afternoon, that there would be a terrible disaster.

"I was told that when the viaduct went a loud report was heard just as a
couple of freight cars were dashing against it, and the people say that
they were loaded with dynamite."

The Pennsylvania Railroad officials are rushing in all the men at this
point possible to repair the road and are working day and night, having
electric lights all along the road; but with all of that it looks as
though it will be utterly impossible to have even a single track ready
for business before ten days or two weeks, as there is not the slightest
vestige of a railroad track to be seen. The railroad people around here
are of the opinion that it will take as long as that. The railroad men
say that it is the most complete destruction of the kind that they have
ever witnessed.


Wealth Borne Away.

I had an interview to-night with Colonel James A. McMillan, the
consulting director and principal owner of the Cambria Iron Works. He
said:--

"What will be the total loss sustained by the Cambria Company is rather
hard to state with perfect accuracy just yet, but from the examinations
already made of our works I would place our loss at from $3,000,000 to
$4,000,000. That includes, of course, the loss of our Gautier Steel
Department, above Johnstown, which is completely swept away.

"Day before yesterday I took the liberty of determining the action which
the company will pursue in the matter of reconstruction and repairs. I
accordingly telegraphed for Mr. Lockhart, the secretary of the company.
He arrived here to-day and said to me: 'McMillan, I'm glad to see you
intend to stand by the company and push the work of repairs at once.'

"I think his words voice the sentiment of all the stockholders of the
company.


Reconstruction Begun.

"All day we have had at least eight hundred men cleaning away the debris
about our works, and we have made so much progress that you can say we
will have our entire clerical force at work to-morrow evening. Our large
pieces of machinery are uninjured, and we will have to send away for
only the smaller pieces of our machines and smaller pipes, which compose
an enormous system of pipe connections through the works. In from ten
to twelve days we will have our works in operation, and I feel confident
that we will be making rails at our works inside of fifty days. As we
employ about five thousand men, I think our renewal of operations will
give the people more encouragement than can be imagined. Besides, we
have half the amount of cash needed on deposit in our local bank here,
which was brought over by the Adams Express Company on Monday to pay our
men. This will be paid them as soon as we can get access to the bank.

"Our immediate work of reconstruction and repair will, of course, be
confined to the company's Cambria iron works proper, and not extended to
the Gautier steel works above."


Twelve Millions More.

The Colonel was then asked his estimate of the total loss sustained by
the towns of Mineral Point, Franklin borough, Woodvale, Conemaugh,
Johnstown, Cambria City, Coopersdale and Morrellville. He said:

"I should place it at nothing lower than $12,000,000, besides the loss
sustained by our company. That is only an estimate, but when you take
the different towns as they were before the flood, and knowing them as I
do, you could not fail to see that this is a very reasonable estimate of
the loss."

As to the South Fork dam, he said: "For the present I don't care to be
interviewed on that question as representing any one but myself.
Personally, I have always considered it a dangerous trap, which was
likely at any time to wipe us out. For the last ten years I have not
hesitated to express this opinion in regard to the dam, and I guess it
is pretty well understood that all of our leading citizens held similar
views. There is not a man in Johnstown who will deny that he has lived
for years in constant dread of its bursting down on us."


Fifteen Years to Recover.

"What do you think will be the time required for the Conemaugh Valley to
recover from the shock of the flood?"

"At least fifteen years, and vigilant efforts will be required at that.
I speak now from a financial stand-point. Of course we will never
recover fully from the terrible loss of life which is now being revealed
in its dreadful entirety."


Survivors in Camp.

There are two camps on the hillside to the north of Johnstown, and they
are almost side by side. One is a camp for the living, for the most
woebegone and unfortunate of the refugees from the Conemaugh Valley of
the shadow of death, and the other is for the dead. The camp of the
living is Camp Hastings and the ministering spirits are members of the
Americus Republican Club of Pittsburgh. The camp for the dead is the new
potters' field that was laid out on Monday for the bodies of unknown
victims. The former is populous and stirring, but the latter has more
mounds already than the other has living souls. The refugees are widely
scattered; some are in the hospital, some are packed as closely as the
logs and dead bodies at the stone bridge in the houses yet tenable, and
the rest are at Camp Hastings.

In the despairing panic and confusion of Saturday the first thought that
presented itself to those who were hurried in to give relief was to
prepare shelter for the survivors. The camp has been in operation ever
since, and will be for days and may be weeks to come.


Gloomy Pictures of Despair.

It looked desolate enough to-day after the soaking downpour of last
night, and groups of shivering mothers, with their little ones, stood
around a smoky fire at either end of the streets. The members of the
Americus Committee, for the time being cooks, waiters, grocery dealers
and dry goods men, were in striking contrast to their usual appearance
at home. Major W. Coffey, one of the refugees, who was washed seven
miles down the Conemaugh, was acting as officer of the guard, and limped
up and down on his wooden leg, which had been badly damaged by the
flood.

Palefaced women looked out through the flaps of tents on the scene, and
the only object that seemed to be taking things easy was a lean, black
dog, asleep in front of one of the fires.

In one of the tents a baby was born last night. The mother, whose
husband was lost in the flood, was herself rescued by being drawn up on
the roof of the Union Schoolhouse. One of the doctors of the Altoona
Relief Corps at the Cambria Hospital attended her, and mother and babe
are doing better than thousands of the flood sufferers who are
elsewhere. There are other babies in Camp Hastings, but none of them
receive half of the attention from the people in the camp that is
bestowed upon this little tot, whose life began just as so many lives
were ended. The baby will probably be named Johnstown Camp O'Connor.

The refugees who are living along the road get their supplies from the
camp. They pour into the wretched city of tents in a steady stream,
bearing baskets and buckets of food.


He Wanted Tobacco or Nothing.

An old Irishman walked up to the tent early in the day. "Well, what can
we do for you?" was asked.

"Have yez any tobaccy?"

"No, tobacco don't go here."

"I want tobaccy or nothin'. This is no relief to a mon at all, at all."

The aged refugee walked away in high dudgeon.

Just down the row from the clothing tent are located two little girls,
named Johnson, who lost both father and mother. They had a terrible
experience in the flood, and were two of the forty-three people pulled
in on the roof of the house of the late General Campbell and his two
sons, James and Curt.

"How do you fare?" one of the little girls was asked.

"Oh, very well, sir; only we are afraid of catching the measles," she
answered; and with a grimace she tossed her head toward a tent on the
other side and further up. A baby in the tent indicated has a slight
attack of the measles, but is getting better, and is next door to a tent
in which is a young woman shaking with the ague.


A Multitude to be Fed.

In the houses along the road above the camp are several hundreds of
refugees. In one of them are thirty or forty people rendered homeless by
the flood. These are all supplied with food from the camp. Some idea of
the number of people who have to be fed can be gathered from the fact
that 350 pounds of coffee have been given out since yesterday. In the
hills back of Cambria there are many hundreds of survivors. Dr. Findley,
of the Altoona Relief Corps, went there to-day and found that they were
without a physician. One from Baltimore had been there, but had gone
away. He found many people needing medical care, and they will be looked
after from day to day.

"Wherever we go," said one of the doctors yesterday, "we find that there
is an alarming spread of pneumonia." Of the refugees at the Cambria
Hospital but two have died.


Bayonets in Control.

The ruined city lies to-night within a girdle of steel--the bayonets of
the 14th regiment. The militia has captured Johnstown and to-night over
the desolate plain where the city proper stood, through the towering
wrecks and by the river passes, marches the patrol, crying "Halt" and
challenging vagabonds, vandals and ghouls, who cross their path. General
Hastings, being the highest officer in rank, is in command, and when the
survivors of the flood awake to-morrow morning, when the weary pickets
are relieved at sunrise a brigade headquarters will be fully established
on the <DW72> of Prospect Hill overlooking the hundreds of white tents of
the regiments that will lie down below by the German Catholic Church.

[Illustration: ENCAMPMENT OF RELIEF PARTIES.]

First this afternoon arrived Governor Beaver's staff, mostly by way of
Harper's Ferry on the Baltimore and Ohio. All the officers in brilliant
uniform and trappings reported to General Hastings. They found their
commander in a slouch hat, a rough-looking cutaway and rubber boots.

The 14th Regiment, reinforced this morning until it is now 600 strong,
is still camped in freight cars beyond the depot, opposite the late city
proper. Space is being rapidly cleared for its tents, however, over by
the German Catholic Church, and near the ruins of the Irish Catholic
Church, which was on fire when the deluge came.

Early this morning the 14th Regiment went into service, but it was a
volunteer service of two young officers and three privates when at noon
they dragged gently from the rushing Conemaugh the body of a beautiful
young girl. She was tenderly borne through the lines by regimental
headquarters to the church house morgue, while the sentinels stood aside
with their bayonets and the corporal ordered "Halt!" Guards were placed
at the Johnstown stations and all the morgues.


Marched out of Camp.

During the day many people of questionable character, indeed all who
were challenged and could not satisfactorily explain their business
here, had a military escort to the city limits, where they were ordered
not to return. Every now and then two of the National Guard could be
seen marching along with a rough fellow between them to the post where
such beings are made exiles from the scene of desolation. To-night the
picket lines stretch from brigade headquarters down Prospect Hill past
General Hastings' quarters even to the river. The patrol across the
river is keeping sharp vigilance in town. At the eastern end of the
Pennsylvania Railroad's stone bridge you must stop and give the
countersign. If you don't no man can answer for your safety.


A Lieutenant's Disgrace.

Down the Cambria Road, past which the dead of the River Conemaugh swept
into Nineveh in awful numbers, was another scene to-day--that of a young
officer of the National Guard in full uniform and a poor deputy sheriff,
who had lost home, wife, children and all, clinched like madmen and
struggling for the former's revolver. If the officer of the Guard had
won, there might have been a tragedy, for he was drunk. The homeless
deputy sheriff with his wife and babies swept to death past the place
where they struggled was sober and in the right.

The officer of the National Guard came with his regiment into this
valley of distress to protect survivors from ruffianism and maintain the
peace and dignity of the State. The man with whom he fought for the
weapon was Peter Fitzpatrick, almost crazy in his own woe, but
singularly cool and self-possessed regarding the safety of those left
living.


A Man who had Suffered.

It was one o'clock this afternoon when I noticed on the Cambria road the
young officer with his long military coat cut open leaning heavily for
support upon two privates of Company G, Hawthorn and Stewart (boys). He
was crying in a maudlin way, "You just take me to a place and I'll drink
soft stuff." They entreated him to return at once to the regimental
quarters, even begged him, but he cast them aside and went staggering
down the road to the line, where he met the grave-faced deputy face to
face. The latter looked in the white of his eyes and said: "You can't
pass here, sir."

"Can't pass here?" he cried, waving his arms. "You challenge an officer?
Stand aside!"

"You can't pass here," this time quietly, but firmly; "not while you're
drunk."

"Stand aside," yelled the Lieutenant. "Do you you know who I am? You
talk to an officer of the National Guard."

"Yes; and listen," said the man in front of him so impatiently that it
hushed his antagonist's tirade; "I talk to an 'officer' of the National
Guard--I, who have lost my wife, my children and all in this flood no
man has yet described; we, who have seen our dead with their bodies
mutilated and their fingers cut from their hands by dirty foreigners for
a little gold, are not afraid to talk for what is right, even to an
officer of the National Guard."


A Big Man's Honest Rage.

While he spoke another great, dark, stout man, who looked as if he had
suffered, came up, and upon taking in the situation every vein in his
forehead swelled purple with rage.

"You dirty cur," he cried to the officer; "you dirty, drunken cur, if it
was not for the sake of peace I'd lay you out where you stand."

"Come on," yelled the Lieutenant, with an oath.

The big man sent out a terrible blow that would have left the
Lieutenant senseless had not one of the privates dashed in between,
receiving part of it and warding it off. The Lieutenant got out of his
military coat. The privates seized the big man and with another, who ran
to the scene, held him back. The Lieutenant put his hand to his pistol
pocket, the deputy Fitzpatrick seized him and the struggle for the
weapon began. For a moment it was fierce and desperate, then another
private came to the deputy's assistance. The revolver was wrested from
the drunken officer and he himself was pushed back panting to the
ground.


The Victor was Magnanimous.

Deputy Fitzpatrick seized the military coat he had thrown on the ground,
and with it and the weapon started to the regimental headquarters. Then
the privates got around him and begged him, one of them with tears in
his eyes, not to report their officer, saying that he was a good man
when he was sober. He studied a long while, standing in the road, while
the officer slunk away over the hill. Then he threw the disgraced
uniform to them, and said: "Here, give them to him; and, mind you, if he
does not go at once to his quarters, I'll take him there, dead or
alive."


Sanitarians at Work.

Dr. Benjamin Lee, secretary of the State Board of Health, has taken hold
with a grip upon the handle. When he surveyed the ground to-day he found
that there were no disinfectants in town, and no utensils in which to
distribute them had there been any disinfectants, so he sent a squad
across the river to the supply train, below the viaduct, and had all the
copperas and chloride of lime to be had carried across the bridges in
buckets. He sent another squad hunting the ruins for utensils, and in
the wreck of a general store on Main street they discovered pails,
sprinkling pots and kettles. The copperas and chloride were promptly set
heating in the kettles over the streets and in a short time a squad was
out sprinkling the debris which chokes Main street almost to the
housetops for three squares.

The reason of this was that a brief inspection had satisfied Dr. Lee
that under the wreckage were piled the bodies of scores of dead horses.
Meantime other men were at work collecting the bodies of other dead
horses, which were hauled to the fire and with the aid of rosin burned
to the number of sixty. A large number of dead horses were buried
yesterday, but this course did not meet the State Board's approval and
Dr. Lee has ordered their exhumation for burning.

Dr. R. Lowrie Sibbett, of Carlisle, was made medical inspector and sent
up through the boroughs up the river. To-morrow a house-to-house
inspection will be made of the remaining and inhabited portion of the
cities and boroughs. The overcrowding makes this necessary.

"It will take weeks of unremitting labor and thousands of men," said Dr.
Lee, "to remove the sources of danger to the public health which now
exist. The principal danger to people living here is, of course, from
the contamination of putrifying flesh. They have an excellent
water-supply from the hills, but there is a very grave danger to the
health of all the people who use the Allegheny river as a water-supply.
It is in the debris above the viaduct, which is full of decomposing
animal matter. Every ripple of water that passes through or under it
carries the germs of possible disease with it."


At the Schoolhouse Morgue.

Away from the devastation in the valley and the gloomy scenes along the
river, on Prospect Hill, stands the school-house, the morgue of the
unidentified dead. People do not go there unless they are hunting for a
friend or relative. They treat it as a pest house. They have seen enough
white faces in the valley and the living feel like fleeing from the
dead.

This afternoon at sunset every desk in every classroom supported a
coffin. Each coffin was numbered and each lid turned to show the face
within. On the blackboard in one of the rooms, between the pretty
drawing and neat writing of the school children, was scrawled the
bulletin "Hold No. '59' as long as possible; supposed to be Mrs.
Paulson, of Pittsburgh." "But '59' wasn't Mrs. Paulson," said a little
white-faced woman. "It is Miss Frances Wagner, of Market street,
Johnstown." Her brother found her here. "Fifty-nine" has gone--one of
the few identified to-day, and others had come to take its place.

Strongly appealing to the sympathies of even those looking for friends
and relatives was the difference in the size of the coffins. There were
some no larger than a violin case hidden below large boxes, telling of
the unknown babies perished, and there were coffins of children of all
years. On the blackboards were written such sentences as "Home sweet
home;" "Peace on earth, good will toward men." For all the people who
looked at their young faces knew, they might have stood by the coffin of
the child who helped to write them.

The bodies found each day are kept as long as possible and then are sent
away for burial with their numbers, where their names should be, on
rough boards, their only tombstones.

Just as a black storm-cloud was driving hard from the West over the
<DW72> of the hills yesterday the body of young Henry G. Rose, the
district attorney of Cambria County, was lowered into a temporary grave
beside unknown victims. Three people attended his burial--his
father-in-law, James A. Lane, who saw him lost while he himself was
struggling for life in their floating house; the Rev. Dr. H.L. Chapman,
of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and the Rev. L. Maguire. Dr. Chapman
read the funeral services, and while he prayed the thunder rumbled and
the cloud darkened the scene. The coffins are taken there in wagonloads,
lowered quickly and hidden from sight.

Miss Nina Speck, daughter of Rev. David Speck, pastor of the First
United Brethren Church of Chambersburg, was in Johnstown visiting her
brother last week and narrowly escaped death in the flood.

She arrived to-day clad in nondescript clothing, which had been
furnished by an old  washer-woman and told the following story of
the flood:

"Our house was in Kernville, a part of Johnstown, through which Stony
Creek ran. Although we were a square from the creek, the backwater from
the stream had flooded the streets in the morning and was up to our
front porch. At 4 o'clock on Friday afternoon we were sitting on the
front porch watching the flood, when we heard a roar as of a tornado or
mighty conflagration.

"We rushed upstairs and got out upon the bay-window. There an awful
sight met our eyes. Down the Conemaugh Valley was advancing a mighty
wall of flame and mist with a terrible roar. Before it were rolling
houses and buildings of all kinds, tossing over and over. We thought it
was a cyclone, the roar sounding like a tempest among forest trees. At
first we could see no water at all, but back of the mist and flames came
a mighty wall of water. We started downstairs and through the rear of
the house to escape to the hillside nearby. But before we could get
there the water was up to our necks and we could make no progress. We
turned back and were literally dashed by the current into the house,
which began to move off as soon as we were in it again. From the
second-story window I saw a young man drifting toward us. I broke the
glass from the frames with my hands and helped him in, and in a few
moments more I pulled in an old man, a neighbor, who had been sick.


Miraculous Escape.

"Our house moved rapidly down the stream and fortunately lodged against
a strong building. The water forced us out of the second story up into
the attic. Then we heard a lot of people on our roof begging us for
God's sake to let them in. I broke through the roof with a bed slat and
pulled them in. Soon we had thirteen in all crouched in the attic.

"Our house was rocking, and every now and then a building would crash
against us. Every moment we thought we would go down. The roofs of all
the houses drifting by us were covered with people, nearly all praying
and some singing hymns, and now and then a house would break apart and
all would go down. On Saturday at noon we were rescued, making our way
from one building to the next by crawling on narrow planks. I counted
hundreds of bodies lying in the debris, most of them covered over with
earth and showing only the outlines of the form."


A Sad Hospital Story.

On a cot in the hospital on Prospect Hill there lies at present a man
injured almost to death, but whose mental sufferings are far keener than
his bodily pains. His name is Vering. He has lost in the flood his whole
family--wife and five children. In an interview he said:

"I was at home with my wife and children when the alarm came. We
hurried from the house, leaving everything behind us. As we reached the
door a gentleman friend was running by. He grasped the two smaller
children, one under each arm, and hurried on ahead of us. I had my arm
around my wife, supporting her. Behind us we could hear the flood
rushing upon us. In one hurried glance, as I passed a corner, I could
see the fearful crunching and hear the crackling of the houses in its
fearful grasp. I then could see that there was no possibility of our
escape, as we were too far away from the hillside. In a few moments it
was upon us. In a flash I saw the three dear children licked up by it
and they disappeared from sight as I and my wife were thrown into the
air by the vanguard of the rushing ruins. We found ourselves in a lot of
drift, driving along with the speed of a race-horse. In a moment or two
we were thrown with a crash against a frame building whose walls gave
way before the flood as easily as if they were made of pie-crust, and
the timbers began to fall about us in all directions.

"Up to this time I had retained a firm hold upon my wife, but as I found
myself pinned between two heavy timbers the agony caused my senses to
leave me momentarily. I recovered instantly in time to see my wife's
head just disappearing under the water. Like lightning I grasped her by
the hair and as best I could, pinioned as I was above the water by the
timber, I raised her above it. The weight proved too much and she sank
again. Again I pulled her to the surface and again she sank. This I did
again and again with no avail. She drowned in my very grasp, and at last
she dropped from my nerveless hands to leave my sight forever. As if I
had not suffered enough, a few moments after I saw some objects whirling
around in an eddy which circled around, until, reaching the current
again, they floated past me. My God, man, would you believe me? it was
three of my children, dead. Their dear little faces are before me now,
distorted in a look of agony that, no matter what I do, haunts me. O, if
I could only have released myself at that time I would have willingly
died with them. I was rescued some time after, and have been here ever
since. I have since learned that my friend who so bravely endeavored to
save two of the children was lost with them."




CHAPTER XV.

Terrible Pictures of Woe.


The proportion of the living registered since the flood as against the
previous number of inhabitants is even less than was reported yesterday.
It was ascertained to-day that many of the names on the list were
entered more than once and that the total number of persons registered
is not more than 13,000 out of a former population of between 40,000 and
50,000.

A new and more exact method of determining the number of the lost was
inaugurated this morning. Men are sent out by the Relief Committee, who
will go to every abode and obtain the names of the survivors, and if
possible those of the dead.

The lack of identification of hundreds of bodies strengthens the
inference that the proportion of the dead to the living is appalling. It
is argued that the friends who might identify these unclaimed bodies are
themselves all gone.

Another significant fact is that so large a number of those whom one
meets in the streets or where the streets used to be are non-residents,
strangers who have come here out of humane or less creditable motives.
The question that is heard very often is, "Where are the inhabitants?"
The town does not appear to have at present a population of more than
10,000.

It is believed that many of the bodies of the dead have been borne down
into the Ohio, and perhaps into the Mississippi as well, and hence may
finally be deposited by the waters hundreds of miles apart, perhaps
never to be recovered or seen by man again.


The General Situation.

Under the blue haze of smoke that for a week has hung over this valley
of the shadow of death the work which is to resurrect this stricken city
has gone steadily forward. Here and there over the waste where Johnstown
stood in its pride black smoke arises from the bonfires on which
shattered house-walls, rafters, doors, broken furniture and all the
flotsam and jetsam of the great flood is cast.

Adjutant General Hastings, who believes in heroic measures, has been
quietly trying to persuade the "Dictator"--that is, the would-be
"Dictator"--to allow him to burn up the wrecked houses wholesale without
the tedious bother of pulling them down and handling the debris. The
timorous committees would not countenance such an idea. Nothing but
piecemeal tearing down of the wrecked houses tossed together by the
mighty force of the water and destruction by never-dying bonfires would
satisfy them. Yet all of them must come down. Most of the buildings
reached by the flood have been examined, found unsafe and condemned. Can
the job be done safely and successfully wholesale or not? That is the
real question for the powers that be to answer, and no sentiment should
enter into it.

Four thousand workmen are busy to-day with ropes and axe, pick and
shovel. But the task is vast, it is herculean, like unto the cleaning of
the Augean stables.

"To clean up this town properly," said General Hastings to-day, "we
shall need twenty thousand workmen for three months."

The force of the swollen river upturned the town in a half hour. These
same timorous managers weakened to-day, after having the facts before
their eyes brought home to their understanding by constant iteration.
They have found out that they have, vulgarly speaking, bitten off more
than they can chew. Poisons of the foulest kind pollute the water which
flows down the turgid Conemaugh into the Allegheny River, whence is
Pittsburgh's water-supply, and thence into the Ohio, the water-supply of
many cities and towns. Fears of a pestilence are not to be pooh-poohed
into the background. It is very serious, so long as the river flows
through the clogged and matted mass of the bridge so long it will
threaten the people along its course with pestilence. The committee
confess their inability to do this needed work, and to-day voted to ask
the Governors of the several States to co-operate in the establishment
of a national relief committee to grapple with the situation. Action
cannot and must not be delayed.


Hope Out of Despair.

The fears of an outbreak of fever or other zymotic diseases appear to be
based on the alleged presence of decomposed animal matter, human and of
lower type, concealed amid the debris. The alleged odor of burnt flesh
coming from the enormous mass of conglomerated timber and iron lodged in
the cul-de-sac formed by the Pennsylvania Railroad bridge is extremely
mythical. There is an unmistakable scent of burnt wood. It would not be
strange if the carcasses of domestic animals, which must be hidden in
the enormous mass, were finally to be realized by the olfactory organs
of the bystanders.

[Illustration: GENERAL HASTINGS DIRECTING THE POLICE.]


Blasting Continues.

All day long the blast of dynamite resounded among the hills. Cartridges
were let off in the debris, and a cloud of dust and flying spray marked
the result of the mining operation. The interlaced timbers in the
cul-de-sac yielded very slowly even to the mighty force of dynamite.
There were no finds of especial import. At the present rate of clearing,
the cul-de-sac will not be free from the wreckage in two months.

There was a sad spectacle presented this morning when the laborers were
engaged in pulling over a vast pile of timber and miscellaneous matter
on Main street. A young woman and a little puny baby girl were found
beneath the mass, which was as high as the second story windows of the
houses near by.


Together in Death.

The girl must have been handsome when in the flush of youth and health.
She had seized the helpless infant and endeavored to find safety by
flight. Her closely cut brown hair was filled with sand, and a piece of
brass wire was wound around the head and neck. A loose cashmere
house-gown was partially torn from her form, and one slipper, a little
bead embroidered affair, covered a silk-stockinged foot. Each arm was
tightly clasped around the baby. The rigidity of death should have
passed away, but the arms were fixed in their position as if composed of
an unbendable material instead of muscle and bone. The fingers were
imbedded in the sides of the little baby as if its protector had made a
final effort not to be separated and to save if possible the fragile
life. The faces of both were scarred and disfigured from contact with
floating debris. The single garment of the baby--a thin white slip--was
rent and frayed. The body of the young woman was identified, but the
babe remained unknown. Probably its father and mother were lost in the
flood, and it will never be claimed by friendly hands.


A Strange Discovery.

This is only one among the many pathetic incidents of the terrible
disaster. There were only nine unidentified bodies at the Adams street
morgue this afternoon, and three additions to the number were made after
ten o'clock. Two hundred and eight bodies have been received by the
embalmers in charge. The yard of the school house, which was converted
into a temporary abode of death, contains large piles of coffins of the
cheaper sort. They come from different cities within two or three
hundred miles of Johnstown, and after being stacked up they are pulled
out as needed. Coffins are to be seen everywhere about the valley, ready
for use when a body is found. A trio of bodies was found near the
Hurlburt House under peculiar circumstances. They were hidden beneath a
pile of wreckage at least twenty-five feet in height. They were a
father, a mother and son. Around the waist of each a quarter inch rope
was tied so that the three were bound together tightly. The hands of the
boy were clasped by those of the mother, and the father's arms were
extended as if to ward off danger. The father probably knotted the rope
during the awful moments of suspense intervening between the coming of
the flood and the final destruction of the house they occupied. The
united strength of the three could not resist the mighty force of the
inundation, and like so many straws they were swept on the boiling surge
until life was crushed out.


Child and Doll in One Coffin.

I beheld a touching spectacle when the corpse of a little girl was
extricated and placed on a stretcher for transportation to the morgue.
Clasped to her breast by her two waxen hands was a rag doll. It was a
cheap affair, evidently of domestic manufacture. To the child of poverty
the rag baby was a favorite toy. The little mother held fast to her
treasure and met her end without separating from it. The two, child and
doll, were not parted when the white coffin received them, and they will
moulder together.

I saw an old-fashioned cupboard dug out of a pile of rubbish. The top
shelf contained a quantity of jelly of domestic manufacture. Not a
glass jar was broken. Indeed there have been some remarkable instances
of the escape of fragile articles from destruction. In the debris near
the railroad bridge you may come upon all manner of things. The
water-tanks of three locomotives which were borne from the roundhouse at
Conemaugh, two miles away, are conspicuous. Amid the general wreck,
beneath one of these heavy iron tanks, a looking glass, two feet by one
foot in dimensions, was discovered intact, without even a scratch on the
quicksilver.

Johnstown people surviving the destruction appear to bewail the death of
the Fisher family. "Squire" Fisher was one of the old time public
functionaries of the borough. He and his six children were swept away.
One of the Fisher girls was at home under peculiar circumstances. She
had been away at school, and returned home to be married to her
betrothed. Then she was to return to school and take part in the
graduating exercises. Her body has not yet been recovered.


Something to be Thankful For.

There is much destitution felt by people whose pride prevents them from
asking for supplies from the relief committees. I saw a sad little
procession wending up the hill to the camp of the Americus Club. There
was a father, an honest, simple German, who had been employed at the
Cambria works during the past twelve years. Behind him trooped eight
children, from a girl of fourteen to a babe in the arms of the mother,
who brought up the rear. The woman and children were hatless, and
possessed only the calico garments worn at the moment of flight. Forlorn
and weary, they ranged in front of the relieving stand and implored
succor.

"We lost one only, thank God!" exclaimed the mother. "Our second
daughter is gone. We had a comfortable house which we owned. It was paid
for by our savings. Now all is gone." Then the unhappy woman sat down on
the wet ground and sobbed hysterically. The children crowded around
their mother and joined in her grief. You will behold many of these
scenes of domestic distress about the ruins of Johnstown in these
dolorous days.


Saw a Flood of Helpless Humanity.

Mr. L.D. Woodruff, the editor and proprietor of the Johnstown
_Democrat_, tells his experiences during the night of horrors. He was at
the office of the paper, which is in the upper portion of the Baltimore
and Ohio Railway station. This brick edifice stands almost in the centre
of the course of the flood, and its preservation from ruin is one of the
remarkable features of the occasion. A pile of freight cars lodged at
the corner of the building and the breakwater thus formed checked the
onslaught of floating battering rams. Mr. Woodruff, with his two sons,
remained in the building until the following day. The water came up to
the floor of the second story. All night long he witnessed people
floating past on the roofs of houses or on various kinds of wreckage. A
number of persons were rescued through the windows.

A man and his wife with three children were pulled in. After a while the
mother for the first time remembered that her baby of fifteen months was
left behind. Her grief was violent, and her cries were mingled with the
groans of her husband, who lay on the floor with a broken leg. The next
day the baby was found, when the waters subsided, on a pile of debris
outside and it was alive and uninjured.

During the first few hours Mr. Woodruff momentarily expected that the
building would go. As the night wore away it became evident the water
was going down. Not a vestige of Mr. Woodruff's dwelling has been found.

The newspapers of Johnstown came out of the flood fairly well. The
_Democrat_ lost only a job press, which was swept out of one corner of
the building.


The Flood's Awful Spoil.

In the broad field of debris at the Pennsylvania Railroad viaduct, where
the huge playthings of the flood were tossed only to be burned and
beaten to a solid, intricate mass, are seen the peculiar metal works of
two trains of cars. The wreck of the day express east, running in two
sections that fatal Friday, lie there about thirty yards above the
bridge. One mass of wreckage is unmistakably that of the Pullman car
section, made up of two baggage cars and six Pullman coaches, and the
other shows the irons of five day coaches and one Pullman car. These
trains were running in the same block at Johnstown and were struck by
the flood two miles above, torn from their tracks and carried tumbling
down the mighty torrents to their resting place in the big eddy.


Railroad Men Suppressing Information.

The train crew, who saw the waters coming, warned the passengers,
escaped, and went home on foot. Conductor Bell duly made his report, yet
for some unknown reasons one of Superintendent Pitcairn's sub-ordinates
has been doing his best to give out and prove by witnesses, to whom he
takes newspaper men, that only one car of that express was lost and with
it "two or three ladies who went back for overshoes and a very few
others not lively enough to escape after the warnings." That story went
well until the smoke rolled away from the wreckage and the bones of the
two sections of the day express east were disclosed. Another very
singular feature was the apparent inability of the conductor of the
express to tell how many passengers they had on board and just how many
were saved. It had been learned that the first section of the train
carried 180 passengers and the second 157. It may be stated as
undoubtedly true that of the number fifty, at least, swell the horrible
tale of the dead.

From the wreck where the trains burned there have been taken out
fifty-eight charred bodies, the features being unrecognizable. Of these
seven found together were the Gilmore family, whose house had floated
there. The others, all adults, which, with two or three exceptions,
swell the list of the unidentified dead, are undoubted corpses of the
ill-fated passengers of the east express.


The Church Loses a Missionary.

To-day another corpse was found in the ruins of a Pullman car badly
burned. It was fully identified as that of Miss Anna Clara Chrisman, of
Beauregard, Miss., a well-developed lady of about twenty-five years, who
was on her way to New York to fill a mission station in Brazil. Between
the leaves of her Greek testament was a telegram she had written,
expecting to send it at the first stop, addressed to the Methodist
Mission headquarters, No. 20 East Twelfth street, New York, saying that
she would arrive on "train 8" of the Pennsylvania Railroad, the day
express east. In her satchel were found photographs of friends and her
Bible, and from her neck hung a $20 gold piece, carefully sewn in a bag.

Is it possible that the Pennsylvania Railroad is keeping back the
knowledge in order simply to avoid a list of "passengers killed" in its
annual report, solely to keep its record as little stained as possible?
It can hardly be that they fear suits for damages, for the
responsibility of the wreck does not rest on them.

Two hundred bodies were recovered from the ruins yesterday. Some were
identified, but the great majority were not. This number includes all
the morgues--the one at the Pennsylvania Railroad station, the Fourth
ward school, Cambria city, Morrellville, Kernville and the Presbyterian
Church.

At the latter place a remarkable state of affairs exists. The first
floor has been washed out completely and the second, while submerged,
was badly damaged, but not ruined. The walls, floors and pews were
drenched, and the mud has collected on the matting and carpets an inch
deep. Walking is attended with much difficulty, and the undertakers and
attendants, with arms bared, slide about the slippery surface at a
tremendous rate. The chancel is filled with coffins, strips of muslin,
boards, and all undertaking accessories. Lying across the tops of the
pews are a dozen pine boxes, each containing a victim of the flood.
Printed cards are tacked on each. Upon them the sex and full description
of the enclosed body is written with the name, if known.


The Nameless Dead.

The great number of bodies not identified seems incredulous and
impossible. Some of these bodies have lain in the different morgues for
four days. Thousands of people from different sections of the State have
seen them, yet they remain unidentified.

At Nineveh they are burying all the unidentified dead, but in the
morgues in this vicinity no bodies have been buried unless they were
identified.

The First Presbyterian Church contains nine "unknown." Burials will have
to be made to-morrow. This morning workmen found three members of
Benjamin Hoffman's family, which occupied a large residence in the rear
of Lincoln street. Benjamin Hoffman, the head of the family, was found
seated on the edge of the bedstead. He was evidently preparing to retire
when the flood struck the building. He had his socks in his pocket. His
twenty-year-old daughter was found close by attired in a night-dress.
The youngest member of the family, a three-year-old infant, was also
found beside the bed.

[Illustration: CARRYING CHILDREN TO BURIAL.]


Where the Dead are Laid.

I made a tour of the cemeteries to-day to see how the dead were disposed
in their last resting place. There are six burying grounds--two to the
south of this place, one to the north, and three on Morrellsville to the
west. The principal one is Grand View, on the summit of Kernville Hill.

But the most remarkable, through the damage done by the flood, is Sandy
Vale Cemetery, at Hornersville, on Stony Creek, and about half a mile
from the city of Johnstown. It is a private institution in which most of
the people of the city buried their dead until two years ago, when the
public corporation of Grand View was established. Its grounds are level,
laid out in lots, and were quite picturesque, its dense foliage and
numerous monuments attracting the eyes of every passenger entering the
city by the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, which passes along one side the
creek forming its other boundary. The banks of the creek are twenty feet
high, and there was a nice sandy beach through its entire length.


A Sorry Scene.

When the floods came the first of the wreckage and the backwater sent
hundreds of houses, immense quantities of logs and cut lumber over it
and into the borough of Hornersville. As the angry waters subsided the
pretty cemetery was wrecked as badly as was the city, a portion of the
debris of which has destroyed its symmetry. To make way for the burial
of the numerous bodies sent there by the town committees it became
necessary to burn some of the debris. This was commenced at the nearest
or southern end, and at the time of my visit I had, like the corpses, to
pass through an avenue of fire and over live ashes to make my
inspection. There were no unknown dead sent here, consequently they were
interred in lots, and here and there, as the cleared spots would allow,
a body was deposited and the grave made to look as decently as four or
five inches of mud on the surface and the clay soil would allow.


Masses of Debris.

Scarcely a monument was left standing. Tall columns were broken like
pipe-stems, and fences and evergreen bowers were almost a thing of the
past. Whole houses on their sides, with their roofs on the ground,
covered the lots, the beach, or blocked up the pathways, while other
houses in fragments strewed the surface of the ground from one end to
the other of the cemetery, once the pride of Johnstown. I found that
some of the trees which were standing had feather beds or articles of
furniture up in their boughs. Here and there a dead cow or a horse, two
or three wagons, a railroad baggage car. Add to this several thousand
logs, heaps of lumber, piled just as they left the yards, and still
other single planks by the hundred thousand of feet, and some idea of
the surroundings of the victims of the flood placed at rest here can be
obtained.


On Kernville Hill.

Grand View Cemetery, a beautiful spot, was started as a citizens'
cemetery and incorporated two years ago, and is now the finest burying
place in this section of Pennsylvania. It is situated on the summit of
Kernville hill, between six hundred and seven hundred feet above the
town. It is approached by a zigzag roadway about one mile and a half in
length, and a magnificent view of the valley is obtained from the
grounds, making it well worth a visit under any circumstances. Here
those whose relatives did not hold lots are to be buried in trenches
four feet deep, sixty bodies to a trench. At present the trenches are
not complete, and their encoffined bodies are stored in the beautiful
stone chapel at the entrance. Of the other bodies they are entombed in
the lots, where more than one were buried together. A wide grave was dug
to hold them side by side. A single grave was made for Squire Fisher's
family, one grave and one mound holding eight of them.


Snatched from the Flood.

One of the most thrilling incidents of narrow escapes is that told by
Miss Minnie Chambers. She had been to see a friend in the morning and
was returning to her home on Main street, when the suddenly rising
waters caused her to quicken her steps. Before she could reach her home
or seek shelter at any point, the water had risen so high and the
current became so strong that she was swept from her feet and carried
along in the flood. Fortunately her skirts served to support her on the
surface for a time, but at last as they became soaked she gave up all
hope of being saved.

Just as she was going under a box car that had been torn from its trucks
floated past her and she managed by a desperate effort to get hold of it
and crawled inside the open doorway. Here she remained, expecting every
moment her shelter would be dashed to pieces by the buildings and other
obstructions that it struck. Through the door she could see the mass of
angry, swirling waters, filled with all manner of things that could be
well imagined.


An Ark of Refuge.

Men, women and children, many of them dead and dying, were being whirled
along. Several of them tried to get refuge in the car with her, but were
torn away by the rushing waters before they could secure an entrance.
Finally a man did make his way into the car. On went the strange boat,
while all about it seemed to be a perfect pandemonium. Shrieks and cries
from the thousands outside who were being driven to their death filled
the air.

Miss Chambers says it was a scene that will haunt her as long as she
lives. Many who floated by her could be seen kneeling on the wreckage
that bore them, with clasped hands and upturned faces as though in
prayer. Others wore a look of awful despair on their faces. Suddenly, as
the car was turned around, the stone bridge could be seen just ahead of
them. The man that was in the car called to her to jump out in the flood
or she would be dashed to pieces. She refused to go.

He seized a plank and sprang into the water. In an instant the eddying
current had torn the plank from him, and as it twisted around struck him
on the head, causing him to throw out his arms and sink beneath the
water never to reappear again. Miss Chambers covered her face to avoid
seeing any more of the horrible sight, when with an awful crash the car
struck one of the stone piers. The entire side of it was knocked out. As
the car lodged against the pier the water rushed through it and carried
Miss Chambers away. Again she gave herself up as lost, when she felt
herself knocked against an obstruction, and instinctively threw out her
hand and clutched it.

Here she remained until the water subsided, when she found that she was
on the roof of one of the Cambria mills, and had been saved by holding
on to a pipe that came through the roof.


A Night of Agony.

All through that awful night she remained there, almost freezing to
death, and enveloped in a dense mass of smoke from the burning drift on
the other side of the bridge. The cries of those being roasted to death
were heard plainly by her. On Saturday some men succeeded in getting her
from the perilous position she occupied and took her to the house of
friends on Prospect Hill. Strange to say that with the exception of a
few bruises she escaped without any other injuries.

Another survivor who told a pathetic story was John C. Peterson. He is a
small man but he was wearing clothes large enough for a giant. He lost
his own and secured those he had on from friends.

"I'm the only one left," he said in a voice trembling with emotion. "My
poor old mother, my sister, Mrs. Ann Walker, and her son David, aged
fourteen, of Bedford county, who were visiting us, were swept away
before my eyes and I was powerless to aid them.

"The water had been rising all day, and along in the afternoon flooded
the first story of our house, at the corner of Twenty-eighth and Walnut
streets. I was employed by Charles Mun as a cigarmaker, and early on
Friday afternoon went home to move furniture and carpets to the second
story of the house.

"As near as I can tell it was about four o'clock when the whistle at the
Gautier steel mill blew. About the same time the Catholic church bell
rang. I knew what that meant and I turned to mother and sister and said,
'My God, we are lost!'


Here's A Hero.

"I looked out of the window and saw the flood, a wall of water thirty
feet high, strike the steel works, and it melted quicker than I tell it.
The man who stopped to blow the warning whistle must have been crushed
to death by the falling roof and chimneys. He might have saved himself,
but stopped to give the warning. He died a hero. Four minutes after the
whistle blew the water was in our second story.

"We started to carry mother to the attic, but the water rose faster than
we could climb the stairs. There was no window in our attic, and we were
bidding each other good-by when a tall chimney on the house adjoining
fell on our roof and broke a hole through it. We then climbed out on the
roof, and in another moment our house floated away. It started down with
the other stuff, crashing, twisting and quivering. I thought every
minute it would go to pieces.

"Finally it was shoved over into water less swift and near another
house.

"I found that less drift was forced against it than against ours, and
decided to get on it. I climbed up on the roof, and in looking up saw a
big house coming down directly toward ours, I called to sister to be
quick. She was lifting mother up to me. I could barely reach the tips of
her fingers when her arms were raised up while I lay on my stomach
reaching down. At that moment the house struck ours and my loved ones
were carried away and crushed by the big house. It was useless for me to
follow, for they sank out of sight. I floated down to the bridge, then
back with the current and landed at Vine street.

"I saw hundreds of people crushed and drowned. It is my opinion that
fully fifteen thousand people perished."

When the whistles of the Gautier Steel Mill of the Cambria Iron Company
blew for the shutting down of the works at 10 o'clock last Friday
morning nearly 1400 men walked out of the establishment and went to
their homes, which were a few hours later wiped off the face of the
earth. When the men to-day answered the notice that all should present
themselves ready for work only 487 reported. That shows more clearly
than anything else that has yet been known the terrible nature of the
fatality of the Conemaugh. The mortality wrought among these men in a
few hours is thus shown to have been greater than that in either of the
armies that contended for three days at Gettysburg.

"Report at 9 o'clock to-morrow morning ready for work," the notice
posted read. It did not say where, but everybody knew it was not at the
great Gautier Mill that covered half a dozen acres, for the reason that
no mill is there. By a natural impulse the survivors of the working
force of the steel plant began to move from all directions, before the
hour named, toward the general office of the company.


What the Superintendent Saw.

This office is located in Johnstown proper and is the only building in
that section of the town left standing uninjured. It is a large brick
building, three stories high, with massive brick walls. L.L. Smith, the
commercial agent of the company, arrived at eight o'clock to await the
gathering of the men, pausing a minute in the doorway to look at two
things. One was an enormous pile of debris, bricks, iron girders and
timbers almost in front of the office door which swarmed with 200 men
engaged in clearing it away. This is the ruins of the Johnstown Free
Library, presented to the town by the Cambria Iron Company, the late
I.V. Williamson and others, and beneath it Mr. Smith knew many of his
most intimate friends were buried. The other thing he looked at was his
handsome residence partly in ruins, a few hundred yards away. When he
entered the office he found that the men who had been shoveling the mud
out of the office had finished their work and the floor was dark and
sticky. A fire blazed in the open grate. A table was quickly rigged up
and with three clerks to assist him, Mr. Smith prepared to make up the
roster of the Gautier forces.


The Survivor's Advance Corps.

Soon they began to come like the first reformed platoon of an army after
fleeing from disaster. The leader of the platoon was a small boy. His
hat was pulled down over his eyes and he looked as if he were sorely
afraid. After him came half a dozen men with shambling gait. One was an
Irishman, two were English, one was a German and one a <DW52> man. Two
of them carried pickaxes in their hands, which they had been using to
clear away the wreckage across the street.

"Say, mister," stammered the abashed small boy, "is this the place?"

"Are you a Gautier man?" asked Mr. Smith kindly.

"Yes, sir, me and me father, but he's gone."

"Give us your name, my boy, and report at the lower works at 4 o'clock.
Now, my men, we want to get to work and pull each other out of the hole,
this dreadful calamity has put us in. It's no use having vain regrets.
It's all over and we must put a good face to the front. At first it was
intended that we should go up to the former site of the Gautier Mill and
clean up and get out all the steel we could. Mr. Stackhouse now wants us
to get to work and clear the way from the lower mills right up the
valley. We will rebuild the bridge back of the office here and push the
railroad clear up to where it was before."


Not Anxious to Turn In.

The men listened attentively, and then one of them asked: "But, Mr.
Smith, if we don't feel just like turning in to-day we don't have to, do
we?"

"Nobody will have to work at all," was the answer, "but we do want all
the men to lend a hand to help us out as soon as they can."

While Mr. Smith was speaking several other workmen came in. They, too,
were Gautier employees, and they had pickaxes on their shoulders. They
heard the agent's last remark, and one of them, stepping forward, said:
"A good many of us are working cleaning up the town. Do you want us to
leave that?"

"It isn't necessary for you to work cleaning up the town," was the
reply. "There are plenty of people from the outside to do that who came
here for that purpose. Now, boys, just give your names so we can find
out how many of our men are left, and all of you that can, go down and
report at the lower office."

All the time the members of the decimated Gautier army were filing into
the muddy-floored office. They came in twos and threes and dozens, and
some bore out the idea of an army reforming after disaster, because they
bore grievous wounds. One man had a deep cut in the back of his head,
another limped along on a heavy stick, one had lost a finger and had an
ugly bruise on his cheek. J.N. Short, who was the foreman of the
cold-rolled steel shafting department, sat in the office, and many of
the men who filed past had been under him in the works.


Mutual Congratulations.

There were handshakes all the more hearty and congratulations all the
more sincere because of what all had passed through. When the wall of
water seventy-five feet high struck the mill and whipped it away like
shot Mr. Short was safe on higher ground, but many of the men had feared
he was lost.

"I tell you, Mr. Short," said J.T. Miller, "I'm glad to see you're
safe."

"And how did you make out, old man?"

"All right, thank God."

Then came another man bolder than all and apparently a general favorite.
He rushed forward and shook Mr. Smith's hand. "Mr. Smith," he exclaimed,
"good morning, good morning."

"So you got out of it, did you, after all?" asked Mr. Smith.

"Indeed I did, but Lord bless my soul, I thought the wife and babies
were gone." The man gave his name and hurried away, brushing a tear from
his eye.

Mr. Shellenberger, one of the foremen, brought up the rear of the next
platoon to enter. He caught sight of Mr. Smith and shouted: "Oh, Mr.
Smith: good for you. I'm glad to see you safe."

"Here to you, my hearty," was the answer. "Did you all get off?"

"Every blessed one of us," with a bright smile. "We were too high on the
hill."


He was Tired of Johnstown.

A little bit later another man came in. He looked as if he had been
weeping. He hesitated in front of the desk. "I am a Gautier employee,"
he said, speaking slowly, "and I have reported according to orders."

"Well, give us your name and go to work down at the lower works,"
suggested Mr. Smith.

"No, sir, I think not," he muttered, after a pause. "I am not staying in
this town any longer than I can help, I guess. I've lost two children
and they will be buried to-day."

"All right, my man, but if you want work we have plenty of it for you."

The reporting of names and these quiet mutual congratulations of the men
went on rapidly, but expected faces did not appear. This led Mr. Smith
to ask, "How about George Thompson? Is he alive?"

"I do not know," answered the man addressed. "I do not think so."

"Who do you know are alive?" asked Mr. Smith, turning to another man.
Mr. Smith never once asked who was dead.

"Well," answered the man speaking reflectively, "I'm pretty sure Frank
Smith is alive. John Dagdale is alive. Tom Sweet is alive, and I don't
know any more, for I've been away--at Nineveh." The speaker had been at
Nineveh looking for the body of his son. Not another word was said to
him.

"Say, boys," exclaimed Mr. Smith suddenly, a few minutes after he had
looked over the list, "Pullman hasn't reported yet."

"But Pullman's all right," said a man quickly, "I was up at his sister's
house last night and he was there. That's more than I can say of the
other men in Pullman's shift though," added the speaker in a low tone.
Mr. Short took this man aside, "That is a fact," said he, "yesterday I
knew of a family in which five out of six were lost. To-day I find out
there were twenty people in the house mostly our men and only three
escaped."


Each Thought the Other Dead.

Just then two men met at the door and fairly fell on each other's necks.
One wore a Grand Army badge and the other was a young fellow of
twenty-three or thereabouts. They had been fast friends in the same
department, and each thought the other dead. They knew no better till
they met at the office door. "Well, I heard your body had been found at
Nineveh," said the old man.

"And I was told you had been burned to death at the bridge," answered
the other. Then the two men solemnly shook hands and walked away
together.

A pale-faced woman with a shawl over her shoulders entered and stood at
the table. "My husband cannot report," she said simply, in almost a
whisper. "He worked for the Gautier Mill?" she was asked. She nodded,
bent forward and murmured something. The man at the desk said: "Make a
note of that; so-and-so's wife reports him as gone, and his wages due
are to be paid to her."

The work of recording the men went on until nearly one o'clock. Then,
after waiting for a long time, Mr. Smith said, "Out of 1400 men we now
have 487. It may be there are 200 who either did not see the notice or
who are too busy to come. Anyway, I hope so--my God, I hope so." All
afternoon the greater part of the 487 men were swinging pickaxes and
shovels, clearing the way for the railroad leading up to the Gautier
Steel Works of the future.


The Morbidly Curious.

To-day the order "Halt!" rang out in earnest at the footbridge over the
rushing river into Johnstown. It was the result of a cry as early as the
reveille, that came from among the ruins and from the hoarse throats of
the contractors--"For God's sake, keep the morbid people out of here;
they're in the way!"

General Hastings ordered the picket out on the high embankment east of
the freight depot, where every man, woman and child must pass to reach
the bridge. Colonel Perchment detailed Captain Hamilton, of G Company,
there with an ample guard, and all who came without General Hastings'
pass in the morning were turned aside. This afternoon a new difficulty
was encountered. When you flashed your military pass on the sentinel who
cried "Halt!" he would throw his gun slantwise across your body, so that
the butt grazed your right hip and the bayonet your left ear and say:
"No good unless signed by the sheriff." The civil authorities had taken
the bridge out of the hands of the militia, and the sheriff sat on a
camp stool overlooking the desolate city all the forenoon making out
passes and approving the General's.


No Conflict of Authority.

The military men say there was no conflict of authority, and it was
deemed proper that the civil authorities should still control the pass
there. The sheriff came near getting shot in Cambria City this morning
during a clash with one of his deputies over a buggy. Yet he looked calm
and serene. Some beg him for passes to hunt for their dead. One man
cried: "I've just gotten here, and my wife and children are in that
town;" another said, "I belong in Conemaugh and was carried off by the
flood," while an aged, trembling man behind him whispered, "Sheriff, I
just wanted to look where the old home stood." When four peaceful faced
sisters in convent garb, on their mission of mercy, came that way the
sentinels stood back a pace and no voice ordered "Halt!"

At noon the crane belonging to the Pennsylvania Railroad was taken away
from the debris at the bridge, and Mr. Kirk had to depend on dynamite
alone. Later it was ordered back, and after that the work went on
rapidly. An opening 400 feet long, which runs back in some places fifty
feet, was made during the afternoon. A relief party yesterday found a
ladies' hand satchel containing $91 in cash, deeds for $26,000 in
property and about $10,000 in insurance policies. Mrs. Lizzie Dignom was
the owner, and both she and her husband perished in the flood.


Remembering the Orphans.

Miss H.W. Hinckley and Miss E. Hanover, agent of the Children's Aid
Society and Bureau of Information of Philadelphia, arrived here this
morning, and in twenty minutes had established a transfer agency. Miss
Hinckley said:

"There are hundreds of children here who are apparently without parents.
We want all of them given to us, and we will send them to the various
homes and orphanages of the State, where they shall be maintained for
several months to await the possibility of the reappearance of their
parents when they will be returned to them. If after the lapse of a
month they do not reclaim their little ones, we shall do more than we
ordinarily do in the way of providing good homes for children in their
cases. Think of it, in the house adjoining us are seven orphans, all of
one family. We have been here only a half hour, but we have already
found scores. We shall stay right here till every child has been
provided for."

There is no denying that a great deal of ill-feeling is breeding here
between the survivors of the flood over the distribution of the relief
supplies. The supplies are spread along the railroad track down as far
as Morrellville in great stacks; provisions, clothing, shoes, and
everything else. The people come for them in swarms with baskets and
other means of conveyance. Lines are drawn, which are kept in trim by
the pickets, and in this way they pass along in turn to the point where
the stock is distributed.

It was not unusual yesterday to hear women's tongues lashing each other
and complaining that the real sufferers were being robbed and turned
away, while those who had not fared badly by flood or fire were getting
lots of everything from the committee. One woman made this complaint to
a corporal.

"Prove it; prove it," he said, and walked away. She cried after him,
"The pretty women are getting more than they can carry."

Twice the line of basket-carriers was broken by the guard to put out
wranglers, and all through the streets of Cambria City could be heard
murmurs of dissension. There is no doubt but that a strong guard will be
kept in the town day and night, for in their deplorable condition the
husbands may take up the quarrel of their wives.


Danger of Insanity.

The _Medical News_, of Philadelphia, with rare enterprise, despatched a
member of its staff to Johnstown, and he telegraphed as follows for the
next issue of that paper:

"The mental condition of almost every former resident of Johnstown is
one of the gravest character, and the reaction which will set in when
the reality of the whole affair is fully comprehended can scarcely fail
to produce many cases of permanent or temporary insanity. Most of the
faces that one meets, both male and female, are those of the most
profound melancholia, associated with an almost absolute disregard of
the future. The nervous system shows the strain it has borne by a
tremulousness of the hand and of the lip, in man as well as in woman.
This nervous state is further evidenced by a peculiar intonation of
words, the persons speaking mechanically, while the voices of many
rough-looking men are changed into such tremulous notes of so high a
pitch, as to make one imagine that a child, on the verge of tears, is
speaking. Crying is so rare that your correspondent saw not a tear on
any face in Johnstown, but the women that are left are haggard, with
pinched features and heavy, dark lines under their eyes.

"The State Board of Health should warn the people of the portions of the
country supplied by the Conemaugh of the danger of drinking its waters
for weeks to come."


The Women and Children.

New Johnstown will be largely a city of childless widowers. One of the
peculiar things a stranger notices is the comparatively small number of
women seen in the streets. Of the throngs who walked about the place
searching for dear 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--their black robes the only instance in which the conventional
badge of mourning is 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 rarety in Johnstown now. This is not a
natural peculiarity of Johnstown nor a mere coincidence, but a fact with
a terrible 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
to every one 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.


An Almost Childless City.

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 Flood on the Flat.

The flood, with a front of twenty feet high, bristling with all manner
of debris, struck straight across the flat, as though the river's course
had always been that way. It cut off the outer two-thirds of the city
with a line as true and straight as could have been drawn by a survey.
On the part over which it swept there remains standing but one building,
the brewery. With this exception, not only the houses and stores, but
the pavements, sidewalks and curbstones, and the earth beneath for
several feet are washed away. The pavements were of cinders from the
Iron Works; a bed six inches thick and as hard as stone and with a
surface like macadam. Over west of the washed-out portion of the city
not even the broken fragments of these pavements are left.

Aside from the few logs and timbers left by the afterwash of the flood,
there is nothing remaining upon the outer edge of the flat, including
two of the four long streets of the city, except the brewery mentioned
before and a grand piano. The water-marks on the brewery walls show the
flood reached twenty feet up its sides and it stood on a little higher
ground than buildings around it at that.


Thieves Had Rifled His Safe.

Mr. Steires, who on last Friday was the wealthiest man in town, on
Sunday was compelled to borrow the dress which clothed his wife. When
the flood began to threaten he removed some of the most valuable papers
from his safe and moved them to the upper story of the building to keep
them from getting wet. When the dam burst and Conemaugh Lake came down
these, of course, went with the building. He got his safe Monday, but
found that thieves had been before him, they having chiseled it open and
taken everything but $65 in a drawer which they overlooked. Mr. Steires
said to-day: "I am terribly crippled financially, but my family were all
saved and I am ready to begin over again."


Rebuilding Going On Apace.

Oklahoma is not rising more quickly than the temporary buildings of the
workmen's city, which includes 5,000 men at least, and who are mingling
the sounds of hammers on the buildings they are putting up for their
temporary accommodation, with the crash of the buildings they are
tearing down. It seemed almost a waste of energy two days ago, but the
different gangs are already eating their way towards the heart of the
great masses of wreckage that block the streets in every direction.

A dummy engine has already been placed in position on what was the main
street, and all the large logs and rafters that the men can not move
are fastened with ropes and chains, and drawn out by the engine into a
clear space, where they are surrounded by smaller pieces of wood and
burned. Carloads of pickaxes, shovels and barrows are arriving from
Baltimore for the workmen.


First Store Opened.

The first store was opened to-day by a grocer named W.A. Kramer, whose
stock, though covered with mud and still wet from the flood, has been
preserved intact. So far the greater part of his things have been bought
for relics. The other storekeepers are dragging out the debris in their
shops and shoveling the mud from the upper stories upon inclined boards
that shoot it into the street, but with all this energy it will be weeks
before the streets are brought to sight again.

As a proof of this, there was found this morning a passenger car fully
half a mile from its depot, completely buried beneath the floor and
roofs of other houses. All that could be seen of it by peering through
intercepting rafters was one of the end windows over which was painted
the impotent warning of "Any person injuring this car will be dealt with
according to law."


Curious Finds of Workmen.

The workmen find many curious things among the ruins, and are, it should
be said to their credit, particularly punctilious about leaving them
alone. One man picked up a baseball catcher's mask under a great pile
of machinery, and the decorated front of the balcony circle of the Opera
House was found with the chairs still immediately about its semi-circle,
a quarter of a mile from the theatre's site.

The mahogany bar of a saloon, with its nickel-plated rail, lies under
another heap in the city park, and thousands of cigars from a
manufactory are piled high in Vine street, and are used as the only dry
part of the roadway. Those of the people who can locate their homes have
gathered what furniture and ornaments they can find together, and sit
beside them looking like evicted tenants.

The Grand Army of the Republic, represented by Department Commander
Thomas J. Stewart, have placed a couple of tents at the head of Main
street for the distribution of food and clothing. A census of the people
will be taken and the city divided into districts, each worthy applicant
will be furnished with a ticket giving his or her number and the number
of the district.


The Post-office Uniforms.

Across the street from the Grand Army tents is the temporary
post-office, which is now in fairly good working order. One of the
distributing clerks hunted up a newspaper correspondent to tell him that
the post-office uniforms sent from Philadelphia by the employees of that
city's office have arrived safely and that the men want to return thanks
through this paper.

The Red Cross Army people from Philadelphia have decided to remain,
notwithstanding General Hastings' cool reception, and they have taken up
their quarters in Kernville, where they say the destitution is as great
as in what was the city proper.


The Tale the Clocks Tell.

The clocks of the city in both public and private houses tell different
tales of the torrent that stopped them. Some of them ceased to tick the
moment the water reached them. In Dibert's banking-house the marble
time-piece on the mantel stopped at seven minutes after 4 o'clock. In
the house of the Hon. John M. Rose, on the bank of Stony Creek, was a
clock in every room of the mansion from the cellar to the attic. Mr.
Rose is a fine machinist, and the mechanism of clocks has a fascination
for him that is simply irresistible. He has bronze, marble, cuckoo,
corner or "grandfather" clocks--all in his house. One of them was
stopped exactly at 4 o'clock; still another at 4.10; another at 4.15,
and one was not stopped till 9 P.M. The "grandfather" clock did not stop
at all, and is still going.

The town clocks, that is the clocks in church towers, are all going and
were not injured by the water. The mantel piece clocks in nearly every
house show a "no tick" at times ranging from 3.40 to 4.15.


Dead in the Jail.

This morning a man, in wandering through the skirts of the city, came
upon the city jail, and finding the outer door open, went into the
gloomy structure. Hanging against the wall he found a bunch of keys and
fitting them in the doors opened them one after another. In one cell he
found a man lying on the floor in the mud in a condition of partial
decomposition. He looked more closely at the dead body and recognized it
as that of John McKee, son of Squire McKee, of this city, who had been
committed for a short term on Decoration Day for drunkenness. The
condition of the cell showed that the man had been overpowered and
smothered by the water, but not till he had made every effort that the
limits of his cell would allow to save himself. There were no other
prisoners in the jail.


Heroes of the Night.

Thomas Magee, the cashier of the Cambria Iron Company's general stores,
tells a thrilling story of the manner in which he and his fellow clerks
escaped from the waters themselves, saved the money drawers and rescued
the lives of nineteen other people during the progress of the flood. He
says:

It was 4.15 o'clock when the flood struck our building with a crash. It
seemed to pour in from every door and window on all sides, as well as
from the floors above us. I was standing by the safe, which was open at
the time, and snatched the tin box which contained over $12,000 in cash,
and with other clerks at my heels flew up the stairs to the second
floor. In about three minutes we were up to our waists in water, and
started to climb to the third floor of the building. Here we remained
with the money until Saturday morning, when we were taken out in boats.
Besides myself there were in the building Michael Maley, Frank
Balsinger, Chris Mintzmeyer, Joseph Berlin and Frank Burger, all of whom
escaped. All Friday night and Saturday morning we divided our time
between guarding the money, providing for our own safety and rescuing
the poor people floating by. We threw out ropes and gathered logs and
timbers together until we had enough to make a raft, which we bound
together with ropes and used in rescuing people. During the night we
rescued Henry Weaver, his wife and two children; Captain Carswell, wife
and three children, and three servant girls; Patrick Ravel, wife and one
child; A.M. Dobbins and two others whose names I have forgotten. Besides
this we cut large pieces of canvas and oilcloth and wrapped it around
bread and meat and other eatables and threw it or floated it out to
those who went by on housetops, rafts, etc., whom we could not rescue
without getting our raft in the drift and capsizing. We must have fed
100 people in this way alone.

When we were rescued ourselves we took the money over to Prospect Hill,
and sent to the justice of the peace, who swore us all in to keep guard
over our own money and that taken by Paymaster Barry from the Cambria
Iron Company's general offices, amounting to $4000, under precisely the
same circumstances that marked our escape. We remained on guard until
Monday night, when the soldiers came over and escorted us back to the
office of the Cambria Iron Company, where we placed the money in the
company's vault.

So far as known at this hour only eighteen bodies have been this
morning recovered in the Conemaugh Valley. One of these was a poor
remnant of humanity that was suddenly discovered by a teamster in the
centre of the road over which his wagons had been passing for the past
forty-eight hours. The heavy vehicles had sunk deeply in the sand and
broken nearly every bone in the putrefying body. It was quite impossible
to identify the corpse, and it was taken to the morgue and orders issued
for its burial after a few hours' exposure to the gaze of those who
still eagerly search for missing friends.

Only the hardiest can bear to enter the Morgue this morning, so
overwhelming is the dreadful stench. The undertakers even, after
hurriedly performing their task of washing a dead body and preparing it
for burial, retreat to the yard to await the arrival of the next ghastly
find. A strict order is now in force that all bodies should be interred
only when it becomes impossible to longer preserve them from absolute
putrefaction. There is no iron-clad rule. In some instances it is
necessary to inter some putrid body within a few hours, while others can
safely be preserved for several days. Every possible opportunity is
afforded for identification.

Four bodies were taken from the ruins at the Cambria Club House and the
company's store this morning. The first body was that of a girl about
seventeen years of age. She was found in the pantry and it is supposed
that she was one of the servants in the house. She was terribly bruised
and her face was crushed into a jelly. A boy about seven years of age
was taken from the same place. Two men and a woman were taken from in
front of a store on Main street. The remains were all bruised and in a
terrible condition. They had to be embalmed and buried immediately, and
it was impossible to have any one identify them.


Only Fifty Saved at Woodville.

The number of people missing from Woodville is almost incredible, and
from present indications it looks as if only about fifty people in the
borough were saved. Mrs. H.L. Peterson, who has been a resident at
Woodville for a number of years, is one of the survivors. While looking
for Miss Paulsen, of Pittsburg, of the drowned, she came to a coffin
which was marked "Mrs. H.L. Peterson, Woodville Borough, Pa., age about
forty, size five feet one inch, complexion dark, weight about two
hundred pounds." This was quite an accurate description of Mrs.
Peterson. She tore the card from the coffin and one of the officers was
about to arrest her. Her explanations were satisfactory and she was
released.

In speaking of the calamity afterward she said: "The people of Woodville
had plenty of time to get out of the town if they were so minded. We
received word shortly before two o'clock that the flood was coming, and
a Pennsylvania Railroad conductor went through the town notifying the
people. I stayed until half-past three o'clock, when the water commenced
to rise very rapidly, and I thought it was best to get out of town. I
told a number of women that they had better go to the hills, but they
refused, and the cause of this refusal was that their husbands would not
go with them and they refused to leave alone."


Terrific Experience of a Pullman Conductor.

Mr. John Barr, the conductor of the Pullman car on the day express train
that left Pittsburgh at eight o'clock, May 31, gave an account of his
experience in the Conemaugh Valley flood: "I was the last one saved on
the train," he said. "When the train arrived at Johnstown last Friday,
the water was up to the second story of the houses and people were going
about in boats. We went on to Conemaugh and had to halt there, as the
water had submerged the tracks and a part of the bridge had been washed
away. Two sections of the day express were run up to the most elevated
point.

"About four o'clock I was standing at the buffet when the whistle began
blowing a continuous blast--the relief signal. I went out and saw what
appeared to be a huge moving mountain rushing rapidly toward us. It
seemed to be surmounted by a tall cloud of foam.


Sounding the Alarm.

"I ran into the car and shouted to the passengers, 'For God's sake
follow me! Stop for nothing!'

"They all dashed out except two. Miss Paulsen and Miss Bryan left the
car, but returned for their overshoes. They put them on, and as they
again stepped from the car they were caught by the mighty wave and swept
away. Had they remained in the car they would have been saved, as two
passengers who stayed there escaped.

[Illustration: WRECK OF THE DAY EXPRESS.]

"One was Miss Virginia Maloney, a courageous, self-possessed young
woman. She tied securely about her neck a plush bag, so that her
identity could be established if she perished. Imprisoned in the car
with her was a maid employed by Mrs. McCullough. They attempted to leave
the car, but the water drove them back. They remained there until John
Waugh, the porter, and I waded through the water and rescued them.

"The only passengers I lost were the two unfortunate young ladies I have
named. I looked at the corpses of the luckless victims brought in during
the two days I remained in Johnstown, but the bodies of the two
passengers were not among them.

"At Conemaugh the people were extremely kind and hospitable. They threw
open their doors and provided us with a share of what little food they
had and gave us shelter.


Stripped of Her Clothing.

"While at Conemaugh, Miss Wayne, of Altoona, who had a miraculous
escape, was brought in. She was nude, every article of her clothing
having been torn from her by the furious flood. There was no female
apparel at hand, and she had to don trousers, coat, vest and hat.

"We had a severe task in reaching Ebensburg, eighteen miles from
Conemaugh. We started on Sunday and were nine hours in reaching our
destination. At Ebensburg we boarded the train which conveyed us to
Altoona, where we were cared for at the expense of the Pennsylvania
Railroad Company.

"I had a rough siege. I was in the water twelve hours. The force of the
flood can be imagined by the fact that seven or eight locomotives were
carried away and floated on the top of the angry stream as if they were
tiny chips."




CHAPTER XVI.

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 <DW72>s.

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 <DW72>, one and a half to one outside <DW72> 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 <DW36> 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 <DW36> 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 <DW36> 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.




CHAPTER XVII.

One Week After the Great Disaster.


By slow degrees and painful labor the barren place where Johnstown stood
begins again to look a little like the habitations of a civilized
community. Daily a little is added to the cleared space once filled with
the concrete rubbish of this town, daily the number of willing workers
who are helping the town to rise again increases. To-day the great
yellow plain which was filled with the best business blocks and
residences before the flood is covered with tents for soldiers and
laborers and gangs of men at work. The wrecks are being removed or
burned up. Those houses which were left only partially destroyed are
beginning to be repaired. Still, it will be months, very likely years,
before the pathway of the flood ceases to be perfectly plain through the
town. Its boundaries are as plainly marked now as if drawn on a map;
where the flood went it left its ineffaceable track. Nearly one-half of
the triangle in which Johnstown stood is plainly marked, one angle of
the triangle pointing to the east and directly up the Conemaugh Valley,
from which the flood descended. Its eastern side was formed by the line
of the river. The second angle pointed toward the big stone arch bridge,
which played such an important part in the tragedy. The western ran
along the base of the mountain on the bank of Stony Creek, and the third
angle was toward Stony Creek Valley.


Miles of Buildings in the Wreck.

Imagine that before the flood this triangle was thickly covered with
houses. The lower or northern part was filled with solid business
blocks, the upper or southern half with residences, for the most part
built of wood. Picture this triangle as a mile and a half in its
greatest length and three-quarters of a mile in its greatest breadth.
This was the way Johnstown was ten days ago. Now imagine that in the
lower half of this triangle, where the business blocks were, every
object has been utterly swept away with the exception of perhaps seven
scattered buildings. In their places is nothing but sand and heaps of
debris. Imagine that in the upper portion of this triangle the pathway
of destruction has been clearly cut. Along the pathway houses have been
torn to pieces, turned upside down, laid upon their sides or twisted on
their foundations. Put into the open space on the lower end of the
triangle the tents and the fires of burning rubbish and you will have
the picture of Johnstown to-day.


Unheeded Warnings.

The people had been warned enough about the dangers of their location.
They had been told again and again that the dam was unsafe, and whenever
the freshets were out there were stories and rumors of its probable
breaking. The freshets had been high for many days before that fatal
Friday. All the creeks were over their banks and their waters were
running on the streets. Cellars and pavements were flooded. Reports from
the dam showed that it was holding back more water than at any other
time in its history. A telegraph despatch early in the afternoon gave
startling information about the cracks in the dam, but it was the old
story of the wolf. They had heard it so often that they heard it this
time and did not care.

The first warning that the people had of their coming doom was the roar
of the advancing wave. It rushed out of the valley at four o'clock in
the afternoon with incredible swiftness. Those who saw it and are still
alive say that it seemed to be as high as an ordinary house. It carried
in its front an immense amount of battered wreckage, and over it hung a
cloud of what seemed to be fog, but was the dust from the buildings it
had destroyed. Straight across the river it rushed upon the apex of the
triangle. It struck the first houses and swept them away in fragments.
The cries and shrieks of the frightened people began to be heard above
the roar of the floods, and a few steps further the great wave struck
some unusually solid structure. Its force right in the centre was
already diminished. On these houses it split and the greater part of it
went on diagonally across the triangle, deflecting somewhat toward the
north and so on down to the stone arch bridge.


Nothing Could Withstand the Flood.

Wherever it went the houses tumbled down as if they were built of cards.
It was not alone the great volume of water, but the immense revolving
mass of lumber it carried, that gave it an additional and terrific
force, and houses, five bridges, railroad trains, boilers and factories
were whirling furiously about. What could stand against such an
instrument of destruction as this? It swept the triangle as clean as a
board. It tore up pavements. It dug out railroad tracks, and twisted
them into strange and fantastic shapes. It carried with it thousands of
human beings, crushing them against the fragments, and drove their
bodies into the thick mass of mud and sand which it carried at the
bottom. It went on and on straight as an arrow, and piled masses of all
it had gathered against and over the solid arches of the stone bridge.
The bridge sustained the shock. How it did it engineers who have seen
the effects and the marvellous strength of the flood in other places
wonder. An immense raft of houses and lumber and trees and rubbish of
every kind, acres in extent, collected here.


Roasted in the Debris.

In these houses were imprisoned people still alive, in numbers estimated
at two or three thousand, tossed about in the whirling flood which was
turned into strange eddies by the obstruction it had met. In some way
not explained a fire broke out.

The frame structures packed in closely together were like so much tinder
wood. Those who had escaped drowning died in their prisons a more
horrible death.

While this was going on that part of the divided stream which turned to
the south continued on its way. At first its violence was undiminished,
but as it went on the inclination of the land and the obstacles it met
somewhat broke its force. It swept across the triangle, inclining toward
the south, and was turned still further in that direction by the bed of
Stony Creek, at the foot of the mountain which forms the western barrier
of the basin in which Johnstown lies. Its course is plainly visible now,
as it was two hours afterward. Where it started everything is cleared
away.

A little further along the houses are still standing, but they are only
masses of lumber and laths. Still further to the north they are
overturned or lying upon their sides or corners, some curiously battered
and as full of great holes as if they had been shot at with cannon. They
are surrounded by driftwood and timbers, ground into splinters, railroad
cars, ties and beams, all in a wild, untraceable jumble.

The wave reached to the north at least a distance of a mile from the
point where it was divided. Then it swept backward. It carried with it
many houses that had come from every part of the river.


At the Mercy of the Waves.

Upon them and upon flooded roofs and doors and timbers were men, women
and children crying, beseeching and praying for help. Those on the shore
who were watching this never to be forgotten spectacle saw the sufferers
in the river go sweeping by, saw them come down again and still were
unable to give them the slightest assistance. The flood proceeded half
a mile or more, and then was met and reinforced by a wave started
backward from the eddy formed at the stone arch bridge. With redoubled
force it turned once more to the south and then it went half a mile
further, toppling over the houses, wrecking some and adding some to
those which it had brought down from other places. For the second time
it spent its force and turned back, swept to the south and to
destruction those who had four times been within sight of safety. This
time the whole mass of flooded wreckage was carried down to the stone
arch bridge and added to the collection there and at last to the fire
that was raging.


Hundreds Will Never Be Found.

The blackened timber left from this fire, wedged in tightly above the
bridge, is the only gorge at which workmen have labored all this week
with dynamite and monstrous cranes. In it and below it are unnumbered
hundreds of bodies. How many perished in that frightful fire will never
be known. Only a small proportion of the bodies can ever be found. Some
were burned so that nothing but a handful of ashes remained, and that
was swept away long ago with the torrent. Some were buried deep in the
sand, and some have been carried down and hidden in sand banks and
slews. Many will be destroyed by dynamite, and some will have
disappeared long before the great flood of rubbish can be removed. Of
all the horrible features of this dreadful story none is more
heartrending than the story of that fire. It began about five o'clock
that afternoon and went on all night and all the next day, and
smouldered until Monday noon. Its progress was retarded somewhat by the
rain and by the soaking of the material in the water, but this was only
an added horror, for it prolonged the anguish for those imprisoned in
the great raft who plainly saw their approaching death.

Those who saw this sight from the shore cannot speak of it now and will
hardly be able to speak of it as long as they live without tears.
Imagination could not picture a situation more harrowing to human
feeling than to stand there and watch that horrible scene without being
able to rescue the prisoners or even alleviate their sufferings.


Ruins Left to Tell the Tale.

Just below the stone bridge are the great works of the Cambria Iron
Company. They occupy the eastern bank of the stream for a distance of
half a mile. The flood, tearing over the bridge, descended upon these
works and tore the southernmost end of them to pieces. The rest of the
buildings escaped, but none of the works were swept away in the torrent.
An iron bridge used jointly by the public and by the iron company to
transport its coal from the mines across the river was caught by the
very front of the flood and tossed away as if built of toothpicks.

Looking from the stone arch bridge, the iron company's buildings, the
lower town school house, three of the buildings which divided the flood,
a church, part of a brick residence and a little cluster of brick
business houses, is all that can be seen above the yellow waste. Why
these buildings are left it is impossible to say. The school house,
except for most of the windows being battered in and the scars and dents
driven into it from the passing wreckage, is almost uninjured, although
it stands directly in the centre of the flood.


Locomotives Swimming in the Torrent.

It is plain from the appearance of the buildings that the direction of
the flood in many places was rotary, and the houses which still stand
may have escaped between the eddies. No other explanation seems
possible, for the force of the torrent was tremendous. It carried five
locomotives, with their tenders, several miles, and piled them up
against the stone bridge as easily as it carried a box of clothespins.
At the head of the iron company's works was a great pile of iron in
pieces eight feet long and a foot and a half thick either way. The flood
toppled these over. In the half charred raft above the bridge are found
great boilers, masses of iron, twisted beams and girders from bridges,
heavy safes, pieces of railroad track, a hundred car wheels, mixed with
every conceivable object of household use--pianos, sofas, dressing
cases, crockery, trunks and their contents.

Yet in all that mass it is impossible to find any trace of that pile of
bricks built into the business houses of the town; nor yet upon the
banks, nor in the heaps of sand which, when the flood went down, were
left here and there, is there any trace of the material of the building
except the lumber. In the opinion of experts, all this stuff must have
been ground into powder and swept down the river. Johnstown will never
resume its former importance. A curse will hang over this beautiful
valley as long as this generation lasts. The sanitary experts who have
examined the place say that in all probability it will be plague ridden
for years and years.


Decomposing Bodies in the Wreck.

The massive stone bridge of the Pennsylvania Railroad, opposite the
Cambria Iron Works, marks the point of demarcation between the borough
of Johnstown and that of Cambria City. The changes in the situation
which have occurred since the eventful Friday have not been numerous.
The wreckage impacted beneath the arches has been removed from three of
them, leaving four, which are closed by masses of timber and drift
material. I climbed over the debris in the famous cul-de-sac and reached
the second from the Johnstown side after half an hour's labor. The
appearance was singular. Beneath the conglomeration of timber which
filled the cavity of the arch to a distance of twenty-five feet from the
top the waters of the Conemaugh flowed swiftly.

There was a network of telegraph wires, iron rods and metal work of
Pullman cars stretched across from stone work to stone work on either
side. The gridiron, as it were, penetrated far down into the water, and
it had proved sufficiently strong to resist the onward rush of the
lighter flotsam which swept before the onrolling wave. Lodged in this
strange pile was the body of a horse. Deep among the meshes a terrible
spectacle presented itself. There were the bodies of three people--a
woman, a child and a laborer with hobnailed shoes. They were beyond the
reach of the workers who are clearing the wreck near to the bridge and
the latter will be unable to reach the corpses until a considerable
amount of blasting with dynamite has been done. There was a faint odor
of decomposition and another day will cause the vicinity of the viaduct
to suggest a charnel house to the olfactory senses. There are many other
bodies, no doubt, beneath the debris and prevented from floating down
the stream by the ruins.


Cambria City Paralyzed.

Conemaugh City was connected with the Cambria Iron Works, on the
opposite side of the Conemaugh, by a temporary suspension bridge of
steel wire. The bridge was originally for two railways--a narrow and a
broad gauge--and a footway. It was swept away before the reservoir
burst, according to all accounts. Cambria City, or rather a fringe of
houses along the higher ground of the bank, the remaining portion of a
once prosperous town, is absolutely paralyzed by the stunning blow which
has befallen it. There are but few people at work among the debris. The
clean sweep of the flood left little wreckage behind. A few sad-faced
women wandered about and poked in the sand and among the broken stone
which now covers the location of their former homes. The men who were
saved have returned to their work at the Cambria mills, and the
survivors among their families are stowed in the houses which remain
intact. There must have been at least one thousand lives lost from
Cambria City.

There has been no attempt to replace the bridge at "Ten Acre," as the
point below Cambria City is called. The banks of the Conemaugh remain
covered with debris. In many places the masses are piled twenty-five
feet high. The people are clearing their land by burning the unwonted
accumulations. Only an occasional body is found. Most of the 200 corpses
which have been buried at Nineveh were found in the bushes which fringe
the river. All the way to Freeport the accumulation of debris may be
seen.


Kindly Care for the Helpless.

There is to-day no lack of supplies, save at Cambria City, which has
been overlooked and neglected, but where the destitution is great. The
people there are in great want of food. Bread has given out, and ham is
about the only food to be obtained. In only one of the wrecked houses
left untouched by the flood I found from twenty to twenty-five refugees.
The commissary at the Pennsylvania Railroad depot is heaped so high with
stores that distribution goes on with difficulty. The Grubbtown
commissary is in the same condition. The Red Cross people got fairly to
work in their supply tent to-day, and during the morning alone
distributed five hundred packages of clothing. Their hospital on the
hill, back of Kernville, is in excellent order, and the patients
quartered in the village houses are comfortably situated. There have
been no deaths at the Cambria hospital. The doctors there have cared for
500 cases indoors and out. Even Grandma Teeter is doing well. She was
taken out of the wreck at the bridge on Saturday with her right arm
crushed. It had to be amputated, and the old woman--she is eighty-three
years of age--stood the operation finely.

Miss Hinckley, of Philadelphia, is busy in Kernville making known the
plans of the Children's Aid Society. She does an immense amount of
running about and visiting houses. Many children made orphans by the
flood are now being cared for. There are a hundred or more of them; just
how many no one knows.

"I have great difficulty," said Miss Hinckley to me to-day, "to persuade
the people who have taken children to care for that our society can be
trusted to take charge of what will surely be a burden to them. All my
work now is to inspire confidence. We have received hundreds of letters
from people anxious to adopt children. They are ready now in the first
flush of sympathy, but I am afraid that they will not be willing to take
the children when we are ready to place them."


Many Dead Still in the Ruins.

The ruins still shelter a ghastly load of dead. Every hour at least one
new body is uncovered and borne on a rough stretcher to some one of the
many morgues. The sight loses none of its sadness and pathos by its
commonness; only the horror is gone, giving place to apathy and stupor.
Stalwart men, in mud-stained, working clothes, bring up the body, the
face covered with a cloth. The crowds part and gaze at the burned corpse
as it passes. At the morgue it is examined for identification, washed
and prepared for burial. Not more than half of these recovered now are
identified.

The vast majority fill nameless but numbered graves, and the
descriptions are much too indefinite to hope for identification after
burial. What can you expect from a description like this, picked out at
random: "Woman, five feet four inches tall, long hair?" The body of
Eugene Hannon, twenty-two, found yesterday near the First Presbyterian
Church, was identified to-day by his father. He was a member of the
League of American Wheelmen, and his bicycle was found within a few
yards of his body. The father will lay the wrecked bicycle on the coffin
of his son.

Just now a woman, still young and poorly dressed, went by the shed where
I am writing, sobbing most pitifully. She lost her husband and children
in the flood and is on the verge of insanity.


Finding Solace in Work.

The day opened with heavy rain and an early morning thunder storm. The
hillside streams were filled to the banks and everything was dripping.
The air was chilly and damp, and daylight was slow in coming to this
valley of desolation and death. At an early hour the valley, where so
many have gone to rest, presented a most dismal scene. It looked,
indeed, like the valley of the dead. Nothing was moving, and all
remained within the meagre shelter offered them till the day had fairly
begun. As the day advanced, the tented hills began to show signs of
life, smoke arose from many a camp fire, and on every eminence
surrounding this valley of desolation could be seen the guards moving
among the tented villages.

The weather was most unpleasant for any one to be outdoors, but it
apparently had no effect on the people here, for as soon as the early
breakfast was over the thousands of workmen could be seen going to their
work, and soon the whole valley that in the early morning hours was
asleep was a teeming throng of life and activity. While the rain was far
from pleasant to the workers and many helpers, it was certainly
providential that the cool weather is continuing in order to prevent the
much-dreaded decomposition of the hundreds of human bodies yet
unrecovered and the thousands of animals that perished in the flood. The
air this morning, while tainted to some extent with the fumes arising
from the decaying bodies, was not near so bad as it would have been had
the morning been hot and sultry.


Working on the Stone Bridge Debris.

By seven o'clock the whole valley was full of people and the scene was a
most animated one. The various sections of the flooded territory were
full of men busy in searching for the dead, removing and burning the
debris. At eight o'clock this morning five bodies had been taken from
the mass at the stone bridge. A large force of men have been working all
day on this part of the wreck, but so great is the quantity of wreckage
to be gone over and removed that while much work is done very slow
progress is being made. The continued falling of the river renders the
removal of the debris every day more arduous, and where a few days ago
the timbers when loosened would float away, now they have to be moved by
hand, making the work very slow.

A most welcome arrival this morning was Dr. B. Bullen of disinfectant
fame. He brought with him fifty barrels more of his disinfectant. The
doctor will take charge of the disinfecting of the dangerous sections of
the flooded district and notably at the stone bridge. Twenty-five
barrels have already been used with most favorable results. Dr. Bullen
was a former resident of Johnstown and lost thirty relatives in the
flood, among them three brothers-in-law, three uncles and two aunts.


Clearing the Cambria Iron Works.

The Cambria Iron Company's Works presented a busy scene to-day. At least
nine hundred men are at work, and most rapid progress is being made in
clearing away the wreck. It is said that the works will start up in
about three weeks.

There is little change in the situation. Every one is working with the
one end in view, to clear away the wreckage and give the people of
Johnstown a chance to rebuild. The laborers working at the Cambria Iron
Works and on the Pennsylvania Railroad seem to be making rapid progress.
This is no doubt for the reason that these men are more used to this
kind of work. About ten o'clock the rain was over and the sun came out
with its fierce June heat.

A number of charges of dynamite were fired during the day, and each time
with good effect. The channels through to the bridge are almost clear of
debris, and each charge of dynamite has loosened large quantities of the
wreckage.

This is the eighth day since the demon of destruction swept down the
valley of the Conemaugh, but the desolation that marks its angry flight
is still visible in all its intensity and horror. The days that have
been spent by weary toilers whose efforts were steeled by grief have
done little to repair the devastation wrought in one short hour by the
potent fury of the elements. To the watchers on the mountain side all
seems yet chaos and confusion. The thousand fires that spot the valley
show that the torch is being used to complete the work of annihilation
where repair is impossible and the smoke curls upward. It reminds one of
the peace offerings of ancient Babylon.


Uncle Sam's Men on Hand.

The corps of government engineers that arrived last night has already
demonstrated the valuable assistance which it is capable of rendering in
these times of emergency. With but a few hours rest, those men were up
ere sunrise this morning, and by eight o'clock a pontoon bridge had been
stretched across the river at Kernville. Acting in conjunction with the
Pennsylvania military authorities they are pursuing their labors at
various other points, and by sundown it is confidently expected that
pontoon bridges will be erected at all places where the necessities of
traffic demand. It is the fact, probably not generally known, that the
great government of the United States owns only 500 feet of pontoon
bridges, and that these are the same that were used by the federal
forces in the civil war, twenty-five years ago. The bridges that are to
be used at Johnstown were brought from West Point and Willet's Point,
where they have been for years used in the ordinary course of
instruction in the military and engineer corps.


Secret Society Relief.

The following official announcements have been made:

A Masonic relief committee has been organized and solicits aid for
distressed Freemasons and their families.

WILLIAM A. DONALDSON, Chairman.

OFFICE OF SUPREME COMMANDER, KNIGHTS OF THE MYSTIC CHAIN, WILMINGTON,
DEL., June 8, 1889.--In view of the great calamity that has befallen our
brothers at Johnstown, Pa., and vicinity, I, H.G. Rettes, Supreme
Commander, request that wherever the Order of the Knights of the Mystic
Chain exists there be liberal donations made for our afflicted brothers.

Affairs at the tremendous stone bridge wreckage pile seem to have
resolved themselves into a state of almost hopelessness. It is amazing
the routine into which everything has fallen in this particular place.
Every morning at seven o'clock a score of Lilliputs come mechanically
from huts and tents or the bare hillside, and wearily and weakly go to
work clearing away this mass, and at the rate they are now proceeding it
will actually be months before the debris is cleared away and the last
body found. Fortunately the wind is blowing away from us or we would
have olfactory evidence that what is not found is far worse than what
has been exposed.

Then it may be good business and good policy to have these few workers
fool around the edge of the wreckage for five or ten minutes adjusting a
dynamite blast, then hastily scramble away and consume as much more time
before a tremendous roar announces the ugly work is done, but the
onlookers doubt it. Sometimes, when an extra large shot is used, the
water, bits of wood and iron, and other shapes more fearfully
suggestive, fly directly upward in a solid column at least three hundred
feet high, only to fall back again in almost the same spot, to be tugged
and pulled at or coaxed to float down an unwilling current that is
falling so rapidly now that even this poor mode of egress will soon be
shut entirely off.

The fact of the matter is simply this: They are not attempting to
recover bodies at the bridge, but as one blast tears yards of stuff into
flinders it is shoved indifferently into the water, be it human or
brute, stone, wood or iron, to float down toward Pittsburgh or to sink
to the bottom, may be a few yards from where it was pushed off from the
main pile.

Up in the centre of the town the debris is piled even higher than at the
stone bridge, but the work is going on fairly well. The men seem to be
working more together and enter into the spirit of the thing. Besides
this, horses and wagons can get at the wrecks, and it really looks as if
this part of the ruins has been exaggerated, and some of the foremen
there say that at the present rate of work going on through the town all
the bodies that ever will be recovered will be found within the next ten
days. As to the condition these bodies are in, that has become almost a
matter of indifference, except as to the effect upon the health of the
living.


Compared with other Calamities.

An eye-witness writes as follows:

The scene is one that cannot be described in outline--it must be told in
detail to become intelligible. Never before in this country, at least,
was there a disaster so stupendous, so overwhelming, so terrible in its
fierce and unheralded onset and so sorrowful in its death-dealing work.
I traversed the Mill River Valley the day after the bursting of the Mill
River dam. I went over Wallingford, in Connecticut, a few hours after
that terrible cyclone had swept through the beautiful New England
village. I stood on the broken walls of the Brooklyn Theatre and looked
down upon hecatombs of dead sacrificed in that holocaust to Momus. Each
of these was in itself a terrible calamity, but here is not only what
was most terrible in all these, but every horrifying feature of the Mill
River flood, the Wallingford cyclone and the Brooklyn Theatre fire is
here magnified tenfold, nay, a hundred fold. And what is even more
terrible than the scenes of devastation, the piles of dead that have
been unearthed from the ruins and the mangled human bodies that still
remain buried in the debris, is the simple but startling fact that this
disaster ought not to have happened.

The flood was not due to the rains. This calamity is not the work of the
unprovoked fury of the angry elements. This fair town and the populous
valley above it, all the varied industries of this thriving city, all
these precious lives are a sacrifice to the selfishness of a few men
whose purses were bigger than their hearts. There would have been no
flood if these rich men had not built an artificial pond in which to
catch fish.

The now famous dam was only a mud bank. For years it was a constant
menace to Johnstown and the Conemaugh Valley. It has long been only a
question of time when the calamity that has befallen these people should
befall them. It came at last because the arrogance of the purse and the
pleasure-seeking selfishness of wealth were blind to the safety of a
populous community.

The cause of the Johnstown disaster was wholly due to the South Fork
Fishing and Hunting Club. This club was specially chartered by the
Legislature, and notwithstanding there was some opposition at the time,
it was accorded the privilege of making an artificial lake and fish pond
by means of an embankment. The site chosen was the old dam on South Fork
Creek, about two miles above the village of South Fork, on the Conemaugh
river. This dam was built by the Pennsylvania Canal in 1830 as a feeder
to the canal below Johnstown. When the canal was finally abandoned,
after passing into the hands of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company, the
dam was sold to a private buyer for the very reasonable sum of $700. By
him it was afterwards conveyed to the Fishing and Hunting Club for
$1,400. This was about twenty years ago. The club spent $22,000 in
rebuilding the dam and erected a beautiful club house on the west bank
of the artificial lake. Beside the club house there are from twelve to
fifteen cottages, the summer residences of members of the club, all
built since the acquisition of the property twenty years ago. Ten of
these cottages are visible from the embankment where the break occurred.
It was a beautiful spot before the disaster, but this artificial lake in
its placid beauty was a menace to the lives and property of the people
in the Conemaugh Valley from its completion to its destruction.

The South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club was a very aristocratic and
exclusive organization. Not even Tuxedo puts on more airs. It was
composed of about seventy members, a baker's dozen of them Pittsburgh
millionaires.

These wealthy gentlemen and their associates never so much as recognized
the existence of the common clay of South Fork, except to warn all
intruders to keep off the land and water of the South Fork Fishing and
Hunting Club. Their placards still stare sight-seers in the face. One of
these reads:

  PRIVATE PROPERTY.

  ALL TRESPASSERS FOUND HUNTING OR FISHING ON
  THESE GROUNDS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE
  FULL EXTENT OF THE LAW.

Another is as follows:

  PRIVATE PROPERTY.

  NO FISHING OR HUNTING ON THESE PREMISES, UNDER
  PENALTY OF THE LAW, $100.
  SOUTH FORK HUNTING AND FISHING CLUB.


Only an Earthwork.

Strenuously as the club insisted upon exacting the full penalties and
extent of the law for encroachments upon its privileges, it was quite
heedless of the rights of others. There probably never was in the world
a case of such blind fatuity as that of the South Fork Fishing and
Hunting Club in building and maintaining its dam. From the first it must
have been known to every member of the club, as it certainly was to
every resident of the South Fork and Conemaugh Valleys, that if the
water ever began to run over the breast of the dam the dam itself would
give way. The dam was only a clay embankment. There was no masonry
whatever--at least there is none visible in the break. The bottom was of
brushwood and earth--some people in the South Fork valley say hay and
sand. In consequence, the people below the dam who knew how it was built
have always regarded it as a menace to their safety. Indeed, one man
employed in its construction was discharged by the club or its
contractor for protesting against the dam as insecure. His crime
consisted in declaring that an embankment made in that way could not
resist the force of an overflow. He was telling the simple truth, which
was clear to every one except men disposed to take chances.




CHAPTER XVIII.

A Walk Through the Valley of Death.


In the following graphic narrative one of the eye-witnesses of the
fearful ruin and slaughter represents himself as a guide, and if the
reader will consider himself as the party whom the guide is conducting,
a vivid impression of the scene of the great destruction may be
obtained.

"Hello, where on earth did you come from? And what are you doing here,
anyhow? Oh! you just dropped in to see the sights, eh? Well, there are
plenty of them and you won't see the like of them again if you live a
century. What's that? You have been wandering around and got tangled up
in the ruins and don't know where you are? Well, that's not strange. I
have been lost myself a dozen times. It's a wonder you haven't got
roasted by some of those huge bonfires. But here, you come with me. Let
me be your guide for the afternoon and I'll put you in the way of seeing
what is left of Johnstown.

"First, let's climb up this bluff just before us and we shall have a
first-rate view of things. Skip across this little temporary bridge over
this babbling brook and now--climb! Whew! that takes your breath,
doesn't it? But it is worth the trouble. Now you see we are standing on
an embankment perhaps thirty feet high. We are in the midst, too, of a
lot of tents. It is here that the soldier boys are encamped. Off to one
side you see the freight depot of the Pennsylvania Railroad and the
tracks, you notice, run along on the top of this embankment. It is in
that freight depot that Adjutant General Hastings has his headquarters.
We will walk over there presently, but first let's take a look at our
surroundings.


Prospect Hill.

"You notice, I suppose, that this flat spreading out before us at the
bottom of the embankment is inclosed on all sides by mountains. They are
shaped something like a triangle and we are standing at the base. Here,
let me make a rough sketch of it on the back of this envelope. It will
help us out a little. There! That figure 1 is the freight depot, near
which we are standing. Towering up above us are houses and up there a
canvas city for refugees. There is a temporary hospital there, too, and
a graveyard, where many a poor victim of the flood lies. The background
is a high hill. The people here call it Prospect Hill. The flood!
Gracious! what a view the people up the hill must have had of it as it
whirled, and eddied, and roared and rushed through the town, for this
great flat before us was where the main portion of Johnstown stood.

[Illustration]

"You notice that there are gaps in the mountain chains which form the
sides of the triangle. Through the gap at our left comes the Conemaugh
River, flowing from the mountain on its way westward. River, did I say?
I don't wonder you smile. It doesn't look much like a river--that little
bubbling stream. Can you imagine it swelling into a mighty sea, that
puny thing, that is smiling in its glee over the awful havoc it has
created? Now you are beginning to understand how it is that Johnstown
proper lies within the forks of two streams. The Conemaugh runs by us at
our feet to the right. See, there is a wrecked and overturned car down
there. If thrown across the stream it would almost bridge it. That is
Stony Creek on the other side of the flat, running down through that
gap which forms the apex of the triangle. It skirts the mountains on the
right and the two streams meet. You can't see the meeting point from
here, for our embankment curves, but they do meet around that curve, and
then the united rivers flow under the now famous stone bridge, which was
built to carry this railroad across the stream. Oh! yes, we will go down
there, for that bridge formed the gorge which proved so destructive.


Savage Fury.

"I would like to take you away up to the dam if we had time and point
out the destruction all along down the valley until the flood rushed
through that gap to the left and then spread over Johnstown. But it is
too late in the day for that, and the walk is a most tiresome one, so
you will have to take my word for it. Of course, you have read that the
dam was constructed in a most outrageous manner. Well, that is true. It
is a wonder the valley wasn't swept long ago. No, the loss of life
wasn't great in the upper part of the valley because the people took the
warning which the Johnstonians refused and mostly escaped. The little
town of South Fork was badly shattered and Mineral Point was swept away.

"But the real fury of the flood is seen in its marks on the soil.
Gracious! how it leveled forests, swept away bowlders, cut out new
channels and destroyed everything in its path. I cannot begin to give
you even an idea of the wonderful power of that flood. At East
Conemaugh not a vestige of the place was left. Where once stood a row of
houses the river now runs, and the former river-bed is now filled with
dirt and stones. It was in this vicinity, you know, where so many
engines and cars were wrecked--smashed, twisted, broken and scattered
along the valley for half a mile. It was here, too, where the passengers
in the two trains met such a thrilling experience, and where so many of
them were killed. The body of one of the passengers, Miss Bryan, of
Germantown, was found away down here in Johnstown.

"It took but a few minutes for the flood to rush down upon Woodvale and
sweep it out of existence, and then it made a mad break through that gap
over there on the extreme left. The houses which you see on the hillside
over there--figure 6--belong to Conemaugh borough, a different place
from East Conemaugh, you understand. The borough also extended down over
the flat. By the way, there is something very funny about all these
separate boroughs. Most all of them are naturally parts of
Johnstown--such as Conemaugh, Kernville, Cambria City, Prospect and the
like, but there have been so many petty jealousies that they have
refused to unite. But that is neither here nor there now, for in the
common calamity they are one.


Laughing at Danger.

"Now you would have thought that the people on the Johnstown flat would
have got out of the way when warned of danger, wouldn't you? But they
simply laughed. You must remember that a good portion of the place was
flooded long before the dam broke. The rise of the two rivers did that.
The water ran from two to five or six feet high in some of the houses.
But, bless you, that was nothing. The place had been flooded so many
times and escaped that everybody actually howled down all suggestions of
danger. Telegrams had been coming into town all the afternoon and they
were received by Miss Ogle, the brave lady operator, who stuck to her
post to the last, but they might as well never have been sent for all
the good they did.

"Well, now with Johnstown spread out before you you can readily
understand what happened when the flood burst through the gap. There was
no time to run then. No time to pray, even. You notice the river makes a
sharp curve, and naturally enough the impetus of the water spread it
over a wide territory. The Conemaugh houses on the flat went down like
so many pasteboard houses. A portion of the flood followed the stream
and the other portion went tearing along the line of the hills which
form the left side of the triangle.


Wiped Out of Existence.

"Now look away over to the left and then away over to the hills on the
right, and what do you see? That distance is how great? Two miles, do
you say? Yes, fully that and probably more. Well, now for two or three
squares inland from this stream at our feet there is nothing but a
barren waste of sand--looks like a desert, doesn't it? Can you imagine
that all that immense strip was covered with stores, business houses and
dwellings? Where are they now? Why, just look at that circular hole just
beneath us on the other side of the stream. That was the gas works once.
The great iron receiver, or whatever you call it, went rolling, dashing,
crashing away before the flood, and not a vestige of it has been found
yet. Can you ask, then, what became of the houses? Simply wiped out of
existence.

"There! I put down the figure 2 on the map. It is a brick building, as
you see, but there is a big hole knocked in it. That is the B. and O.
depot. Figure 3--Two more brick buildings with one end completely gone.
These are the Cambria Iron Company's offices and the company's stores.
What else can you see? Just around the curve where I mark down figure 4
is another brick building--the Millvale school-house. It is out of range
from this point, but you shall see it by and by. These buildings are
actually the only ones left standing in all that desert of sand, a
covering four or five feet deep left by the flood and hiding whatever is
underneath as effectually as the ashes of Mt. Vesuvius blotted out
Pompeii. There may be a thousand bodies under that sand for all that
anybody knows. Just ahead of us in the great area roughly shown by this
figure 5 lie the tents of the workmen engaged in putting Johnstown in
order. Now, if you draw a line from the Conemaugh hills right down back
of the B. and O. depot through the camp of the workmen, and thence to
Stony Creek, the only buildings you will find standing between us and
that imaginary line are these I have already marked with figures as 2, 3
and 4 on the map. Did you ever see anything so destructive in your life?


A Famous Morgue.

"You say you see a good many buildings in what appears to be the centre
of the town. So you do, but just wait until you stroll among them. There
are many there, it is true, but after all, how many are good for
anything? Oh! the water has been doing a tremendous amount of damage.
Why, over there, up to the very foot of the hills--I will mark the spot
No. 7--behind the buildings which you see, it has simply torn things up
by the roots. That is the Fourth Ward, and the ruins are full of the
dead, and the Fourth Ward Morgue has had more bodies in it than any of
the others.

"You remember that I told you that one current swept over that way. It
caught up houses and they began to drift all over the place, crashing
into each other and grinding people between the timbers. All this time
the houses down here by the Conemaugh had been floating toward the
bridge. Logs, boards, lumber and houses from the banks of Stony Creek
had been coming down, too, and thus formed that tremendous jam above the
stone bridge, which actually turned the current of the creek back upon
itself. Some of the houses from the centre of the city and from the
Fourth ward got into Stony Creek and actually went up the stream. Others
floated all over town in circles and finally, having reached the
Conemaugh, got caught in the jam at last and were destroyed by the fire
which broke out there. After a time, too, the pressure at the bridge
became so tremendous that the river burst a new channel for itself and
then many houses came down again.

[Illustration: SELLING DAMAGED GOODS.]

"But I am anticipating. Let us walk down to the bridge--it is not
far--for the bridge is the key to the situation. We must pass the
freight depot, for we follow the track. You see it is a busy place. You
know we have had a change of administration here, and Adjutant General
Hastings is in command. We are all heartily glad of it, too, for the
worst kind of red tapeism prevailed under the Pittsburgh regime.

"And then the deputies--a lot of brutes appointed by the Sheriff. What
an ignorant set they were. Most of them couldn't even read. They were
the only toughs in town. They had captured all the tomato cans left over
from the great flood which the Bible tells about and had cut out tin
stars to decorate themselves with. Anybody who could find a piece of tin
could be a deputy. And how they did bulldoze.

"But all this is changed now. The deputies--we called them the tin
policemen--have been bounced and the place is now guarded by the
soldiers. Business has taken the place of red tape, and General Hastings
has turned the freight depot into offices for his various departments,
for a system has been established which will reach all the victims, bury
all the dead, discover all the living and clean up the town. There is
now a central bureau, into which reports are turned, and the old
haphazard way of doing things has been swept as clean as the sand before
us. There is General Hastings' horse standing at the steps, for the
general is in the saddle most of the time, here, there, everywhere,
directing and ordering.

"Dinner! hello, dinner is ready. Now you will see how the officers at
headquarters live. You see, the table has been spread on the platform
facing the railroad tracks. Ah! there is Hastings himself--white slouch
hat, white shirt, blue flannel trousers, and boots. He looks every inch
a soldier, doesn't he? There! he is beckoning to us. What do you suppose
he wants. Oh! he wants us to dine with him. Shall we? It will be plain
fare, but as good as can be found. A dudish society reporter from
Philadelphia dropped into town the other morning. He met a brother
reporter from the same paper.

"'Oh!' he groaned. 'Where can I find a restaurant?'

"'Restaurant!' shrieked the other. 'Where do you think we are?
Restaurant! You come with me and I'll try to steal you a ham sandwich,
and you'll be mighty lucky to get that.'

"'Oh! but I am so hungry. Can you direct me to the nearest hack stand?'

"The brother reporter turned and fled in dismay, and the society man
hasn't been seen around here since. But it illustrates the time the boys
have been having getting anything to eat. So we had better accept the
general's invitation. What have we here? Oh! this is fine. You don't
mind tin plates and spoons and coffee cups, of course, especially as we
have ham and potatoes, bread and coffee for dinner. That's a right good
meal; but I tell you I have eaten enough ham to last me for a year, and
when I get out of Johnstown and get back to Philadelphia I am going to
make a break for the Bellevue and eat. And there won't be any ham in
that dinner, you can bet.


A Renowned Building.

"Now, have you had enough? Then we will continue our walk along the
tracks to the bridge. First we pass the Pennsylvania Railroad passenger
station. What a busy place it is! The tracks are filled with freight
cars packed with supplies, and the platform is filled with men and women
ready to take them. In this station a temporary morgue was established.
It has been moved now to the school-house, No. 4, you know, on the map.
Now, as we round the curve you see it. That is the famous building that
saved so many lives--the only one left in the great barren waste of
sand. You know the water formed an eddy about it, and thus, as house
after house floated and circled about it men and women would clutch the
roof and climb upon it. The water reached half way to the ceiling on the
second floor on a dead level.

"Now you can see where the two rivers come together. What a jam that
was. It extended from the fork down to the bridge--No. 10. When the
flames began to demolish it the pile towered far above the bridge. Now
it is level with the water, but so thickly is it packed that the river
runs beneath it. Let us stand here on the railroad embankment at the
approach to the bridge, and watch the workmen. You notice how high the
approaches are on either side, and you can readily understand how these
high banks caught the drift. The stone arches of the bridge are low,
you perceive. When the flood was at its height houses were actually
swept over the bridge. From the debris left in the river and on the
sides you can imagine what an immense dam it was that was formed, and
just how it happened that the rivers turned back on themselves. I met a
woman up Stony Creek early this morning. She was laughing over the
adventure she and her children had. They floated down the creek to the
bridge and then floated back again, and were finally rescued in boats. I
asked her how she could joke about it.

"'Oh!' she said, 'I am never bothered about anything. I was as cool then
as I am now, and rather enjoyed it.'

"But she wasn't very cool. She was bordering on the hysterical. She and
her children are now living with friends, for their house was completely
wrecked.


A Telegraph Office.

"A good many people had experiences similar to hers before the river
broke through the railroad embankment just above the bridge here and
swept tracks and everything else down upon the Cambria Iron Works. There
they are, just behind us. I will mark them on the map--No. 11. Then the
flow rushed through Cambria City, just below. That place is in a
horrible condition--houses wrecked and streets full of debris. But there
is no necessity of going there. You can see all the horrors you want
right here.

"Look across the bridge, up the hill a little way. Do you see that old,
tumble-down coal shed? It is where the Western Union established its
office, and in that neighborhood most of the reporters have been
living--sleeping in brick-kilns, hay lofts, tents, anywhere in fact.
What a nice time they have had of it. They have suffered as much as the
flood victims.

"Phew! What a stench. It comes from the debris in the river. It is full
of the dead bodies of horses, dogs; yes, and of human beings. We hear
stories occasionally of women being taken from that mass alive. They are
false, of course, but there was one instance that is authentic. A woman
was found one week after the flood still breathing. She had been caught
in some miraculous way. She was taken to Pittsburgh, where she died. I
was kicking about over the debris a day or two ago, and heard a cat
mewing under the debris somewhere. I know half a dozen people who have
rescued kittens and are caring for them tenderly. A flood cat will
command a premium before long, I have no doubt.

"Ha! What's that? Yes, it is a body. The sight is so common now that
people pay no attention to it. We have been living in the midst of so
much death, of so many scenes of a similar character, that I suppose the
sensibilities have become hardened to them. There, they are placing the
body on a window shutter and are carrying it up to the school-house. It
will be laid on a board placed over the tops of the children's desks.
You will notice coffins piled up all about the school-house. Of course,
the body is awfully disfigured and cannot be identified. The clothing
will be described and the body hurried away to its nameless grave.


Fragment of a Bible.

"Have you enough? Then let us walk back toward headquarters and go down
upon the flat into the centre of the town. What is that you have there?
A piece of a Bible? Yes, you will find lots of leaves lying around.
There is a story--I don't know how true it is--that many people have
thrown their Bibles away since the flood, declaring that their belief,
after the horrors they have witnessed, is at an end. I can hardly credit
this. But there is one curious thing that is certain, and everybody has
noticed it. Books and Bibles have been found in the rubbish all over the
town, and in a great many instances they are open at some passage
calling attention to flood and disaster. I have found these myself a
dozen times. It is a remarkable coincidence, to say the least.

"Some people may find a warning in all this. I don't pretend to say, but
as we walk along here let me tell you of a conversation I had with a man
who was worth nearly $20,000 before the flood. He has lost every cent,
and is glad enough to get his daily meals from the supplies sent here.

"'I don't know what to think of Johnstown,' he said. 'We have been
called a wicked place. Perhaps all this is a judgment. Just when we have
been most prosperous some calamity has come upon us. We were never more
prosperous than when this flood overwhelmed us.'

"Well here we are back at General Hastings' headquarters. Now we will
go down the embankment, cross the river and plunge ahead into town.

"Over this loose sand we will trudge and strike in by the Baltimore and
Ohio depot. Now we are in the camp of the workingmen. Here are the
stalls for the horses, too. The men, you see, live in tents. There are
not as many of them as there will be; probably not over fifteen hundred
to-day, but there will be twice that to-morrow, and five thousand men
will be employed here steadily for a long time to come. Now let us jump
right into Main street. It is the worst one in town. Just see! There is
the post-office, looking as if it never would be able to pull itself out
of the wreck. Across the street is the bank, with the soldiers guarding
it. There, just ahead, you see a tall brick building lifting its head
out of the midst of a pile of ruins. There is where many people were
saved. The current carried scores of men, women and children past it,
and those who had strength deserted their rafts and wrecks of houses and
crawled into its windows.

"Now our progress is blocked. That immense pile of wreckage is by no
means as high as it was; but you don't want to crawl over it yet. Phew!
Let's get out of this. How those piles of rubbish do smell. You know the
Board of Health says there is nothing the matter with Johnstown, but if
the Board of Health would only take the trouble to nose about a bit it
might learn a thing or two. You notice there have been grocery stores
and markets around here, and you notice, too, the pile of decaying
vegetable matter from them. These are worse than the dead bodies.


Horrible Scenes.

"Are there bodies under these ruins? Lots of them. There! what do you
see this minute? Those workmen have discovered one in the ruins of the
Merchants' Hotel. Poor fellow. He was pinned by falling walls, probably.
A man was found there the other day with his pockets full of money. He
had tried to save his fortune and lost his life. Near by a man was found
alive after an experience of a week in the debris. He called for water,
but never drank it. His tongue was too stiff, and he had not strength to
move a muscle. He died almost as soon as he was found.

"Well, did you ever see such a mass of wreckage? It doesn't look as if
there were twenty houses fit to live in all over this flat. But a good
many will be patched up after a fashion, no doubt. And this is only one
street out of several in the same condition.

"Hello! Those workmen are digging out of a cellar some barrels of
whisky. That liquor will be guarded, for the old policemen and the 'tin'
deputies have been having high old times with the liquor they have
unearthed. There were formerly forty-five saloons in this town. Do you
know how many there are left? Three. That's all. One saloon-keeper found
$1,700 in the ruins of his place.

"Gracious! There is a freight car. It was caught up half a mile or more
away and dumped down in this street. And there is a piano sticking out.
Hello! What have you found there? Oh, a looking glass. Yes, you find
plenty of them in the rubbish almost as good as new. A friend of mine
pulled out a glass pitcher and two goblets from that terrible mass at
the bridge, and there wasn't a crack upon them. Queer, isn't it? But so
it goes. Fragile things are not injured and stoves and iron are twisted
and broken. The vagaries of this flood are many.


'I Thought You Were Dead.'

"Turn this corner. Now, will you look at that? There is a house with the
back all knocked out. The furniture has disappeared, but on the wall you
see a picture hanging, and as I am alive it is a picture of a flood.
What did I tell you a little while ago? Here is a house with its walls
nearly intact. Next it is nothing but a heap of rubbish. Here is nothing
but a cellar full of debris. Next it is a wooden dwelling. A man sits on
the piazza with his clothing hung about him for an airing. And so it
goes right here in the neighborhood of the main street, but if we pull
out a bit from this place we shall see that the damage is a great deal
greater. Through this break you can see the Presbyterian church. It is
about ruined, but it still stands. If you go up stairs, what do you
think you will see in that cold, dark, damp room? Stretched upon the
tops of the pews are long boards, and stretched upon the boards are
corpses. They have been embalmed, and are awaiting identification. But
we won't go in there. All the morgues are alike, and we shall find
another before long.

"Hark! There are two women greeting each other. Let's hear what they
say.

"'Why, Eliza, I thought you were dead. How's all the folks? Are they all
saved?'

"'Yes; they are all saved--all but sister and her little girl.'

"Well, that was cool, wasn't it? But you hear that on every corner. As I
told you, in the presence of so much death the sensibilities are
blunted. People do not yet realize their great grief.

"There, we are safely by the main street with its dangers of pestilence,
for you noticed that it was reeking with filth and bad smells, and
safely by the falling walls, for the workmen are tearing down everything
shaky. Look out, there, or you will get scorched by that huge bonfire.
They are burning all over town. Everything that the men can lift is
dragged to these fires and burned. This is the plan for clearing the
town. You noticed it at the bridge and you notice it here. Men with axes
and saws are cutting timbers too big to be moved, and men with ropes and
horses and even stationary engines are pressed into service to tug at
the ruins. Slowly the debris is yielding to the flames.


An Awful Sepulchre.

"Ha! now we are getting over by the hills into what is known as the
Fourth Ward. Here it is on our map--No. 7. What a sight! Most of the
bodies are taken from the ruins here. As far as you can see there is
nothing but wreckage--yes, wreckage, from which the foulest odors are
continually rising and in the midst of which countless big fires are
burning. Are you not almost discouraged at the idea of clearing so many
acres up? Well, it does look like an endless task.

"There, you see that brick building? It is called the Fourth Ward School
House. Do you want to go in? Piled up at one side are coffins--little
coffins, medium sized coffins, large coffins--coffins for children,
women and men. Oh! what a gloomy, horrible place. Stretched on these
boards in this dismal room--what do you see? Corpses dragged from the
river and from the debris. See how distorted and swollen are the faces.
They are beyond recognition. Some have great bruises. Some are covered
with blood. Some are black. Turn your head away. Such a sight you never
saw before and pray God that you may never see it again. Nearly 250
bodies have been handled in this school house. Outside once more for a
breath of air! Oh! the delightful change. But you are not yet away from
the horrors. There is a tent in the school yard. What do you see? More
coffins. Yes, and each one has a victim. Each is ready for shipment or
burial.


20,000 to be Fed.

"Let's hurry along. Here on this corner is the temporary post-office.
Over there is a supply station. There are eleven such departments now
under the new management, and people are given not only provisions but
clothing. You ought to see the women coming down from the hills in the
morning for the supplies. Think of it! There are at least twenty
thousand people in the flooded district to be fed for many weeks to
come. You know there has been some comment because in the past all the
money has not been used for food. I think it is a mistake. Where is
charity to cease? In my opinion, the thing to do is to clean this town
up, and give the business men and mills a chance to start up again. When
this is done people can earn their own living, and charity ceases. I am
backed up in this statement by Irwin Hurrell, who is a burgess of
Johnstown, and knows everybody. Let me read you something from my note
book that he said to me:

"'The people up in the hills have never had a better time. They won't
work. They go around and get all the clothing they can and fill their
houses with provisions.'


Thieves and Idlers.

"The burgess speaks the exact truth. Some of these houses are packed
with flour and potatoes. The Hungarians and <DW52> men and the 'tin'
deputies, now out of a job, have been the real thieves. They pulled
trunks from the river, cut the locks and rifled them. There have been no
professional thieves here. The thieves live here. Most of the
respectable people were swept away by the flood, but nearly all the
'toughs' were left. Now if I had my way I would make the survivors
work. Some one said the other day: 'Why talk of sufferers? there are no
sufferers. They are all dead.' This is true in a great measure. It is
not charity to keep in idleness people who have lost nothing and won't
work. I'd hunt them out and put them at it.

"Well, we will pass this supply depot, strike the Baltimore and Ohio
track, and go up Stony Creek a bit. Notice the long lines of freight
cars loaded with supplies. On our right runs the little river. On our
left is Ward 7. I will note it as No. 8 on the map. You see there is a
little stretch of plateau and then the ground rises rapidly. See what
ravages the flood made on the plateau. The houses are wrecked and filled
with mud. The local name of this place is Hornertown. One man here had
$60,000 in his house. It was wrecked. He dug away at the ruins and found
$20,000. If we followed the stream up a mile or so we would come to the
Stonyvale Cemetery. It is covered with logs and wrecks of houses. It was
in one of these houses that the body of a woman was found last Saturday.
She was sitting at a table. The house had floated here on the back water
from down the river.


Red Cross Tents.

"There, I guess we have walked far enough. Here are the tents of the Red
Cross Society, and by the side of them are those of the United States
engineers. The engineers have thrown a pontoon bridge over the river,
you see, to a place called Kernville. Here you are, No. 9 on our little
map. Let us cross. By George! there is an old man on the bridge I have
seen before. He lost his wife and two children in the flood, but he
isn't crying for them. What bothers him most is the loss of a clock, but
in the clock was $1,600.

"You see there is nothing new in Kernville. It is the same old story.
Many lives have been lost here and the wreckage is something awful. The
houses that remain are filled with mud and the ceilings still drip with
water. People seem to have lost their senses. They are apparently
paralyzed by their troubles. They sit around waiting for some one to
come and clear the wreckage away.

"Well, it is a terrible sight and we will hurry through the place and
cross to Johnstown flat, over another pontoon bridge further down. It
brings us out, as you see, near the main street again. Hello! there is a
man; there is his name on the sign--Kramer, isn't it? who is getting his
grocery store open, the first in town. He was flooded, but carried some
of his goods to an upper floor and saved them. Lucky Kramer! Here is a
man selling photographs on the porch of a doctor's office. Dr. Brinkey.
Oh, yes, he was drowned. His body was found last Monday.

"Well, we'll hurry by and get up to headquarters once more. It is 6
o'clock. See, the workmen are knocking off and are going to the river to
wash up. Now, out comes the baseball, for recreation always follows work
here.

"Once more on the platform of the freight station. Dusk settles down
over the valley. An engine near by begins to throb and electric lights
spring up here and there. All over the town the flames of the great
bonfires leap out of the gloom. From the camps of the workmen come
ribald songs and jests, The presence of death has no effect on the
living.

"The songs gradually die away and the singers drop off into a deep
sleep. The town becomes as silent as the graveyards which have been
filled with its victims. Not a sound is heard save the crackling of the
flames and the challenges of the sentries to some belated newspaper man
or straggler.

"And thus another day draws to a close in ill-fated Johnstown."




CHAPTER XIX.

A Day of Work and Worship


Governor Beaver has assumed the command. He arrived in Johnstown
yesterday, the 8th, and will take personal charge of the work of
clearing the town and river. For that purpose $1,000,000 from the State
Treasury will be made available immediately. This action means that the
State will clear and clean the town.

It was a day of prayer but not a day of rest in Johnstown. Faith and
works went hand in hand. The flood-smitten people of the Conemaugh,
though they met in the very path of the torrent that swept their homes
and families into ruin, offered up their prayers to Almighty God and
besought His divine mercy. But all through the ruin-choked city the
sound of the pick and the shovel mingled with the voice of prayer, and
the challenge of the sentinel rang out above the voice of supplication.
There was no cessation in the great task the flood has left them with
its legacy of woe. Four charges of dynamite last night completed the
wreck of the Catholic Church of St. John, which had been left by the
flood in a worthless but dangerous condition.

The thousands of laborers continued their work just as on any week day,
except that there was no dynamite used on the gorge and that the
Cambria Iron Works were closed. There was the usual reward of the
gleaners in the harvest-field of death, fifty eight bodies having been
recovered. The most of those have been in Stony Creek, up which they
were carried by the back rush of the current after the bridge broke the
first wave.

Roman Catholic services were held in the open air.


Father Smith's Exhortation.

When the mass was over and Father Troutwine, who conducted it, had
retired, Father Smith stood before them. "We have had enough of death
lately," he said in a voice full of sympathy, "the calamity that has
visited us is the greatest in the history of the United States. You must
not be discouraged. Other places have been visited by disaster at times,
yet we know that they have risen again. You must not look on the fearful
past. The lives of the lost cannot be restored."

Here he paused because they were weeping around him, and his own voice
was broken, but continuing with an effort, he told them to reflect for
consolation upon the manner in which their friends had gone to death.
They had looked to God, he said, and wafted in prayers and acts of
contrition, their souls had left their bodies and appeared at the throne
in heaven. "Surely never such prayers fell save from the lips of saints,
and the lost of the valley are saints to-day while you mourn for them.
God, who measures the acts of men by their opportunities, had pardoned
their sins. You who are left living must go to work with a will. Be
men, be women. The eyes of the world are upon you, the eyes of all
civilized nature. They listen, they wait to see what you are going to
do."

Father Smith closed by telling them that the coming fast days of this
week need not be observed in the midst of such destitution as this, and
they might eat without sinning any food that would give them life and
strength. When the father had finished the congregation filed slowly out
past the high pile of coffins, for St. Columba's was a morgue in the
days just passed.


The Protestant Services.

Chaplain Maguire held service in the camp of the 14th to-day. His pulpit
was a drygoods box with the lid missing. It had been emptied of its
freight into the wide lap of suffering. Before him stood the blue-coated
guardsmen in a deep half circle. There was a shed at his back and a
group of flood survivors, some in old clothing of their own, some in the
new garments of charity. They were for the most part members of the
Methodist congregation of Johnstown to which he had preached for three
years.

"I hunted a long time yesterday for the foundations of my little home,"
he said, "but they were swept away, like the dear faces of the friends
who used to gather around my table. But God doesn't own this side alone;
He owns the other side too, and all is well whether we are on this side
or the other. Are your dear ones saved or lost? The only answer to that
question is found in whether they trusted in God or not. Trust in the
Lord and verily ye shall dwell in the land and be fed."

It was not a sermon. Nobody had words or voice for preaching. Others
spoke briefly and prayed. They sang, "Jesus, Lover of My Soul."


A Song in the Waters.

The shrill treble of the weeping women in the shed was almost lost in
the strong bass of the soldiers. "Cora Moses, who used to sing in our
church choir, sang that beautiful hymn as she drifted away to her death
amid the wreck," said the chaplain. "She died singing it. There was only
the crash of buildings between the interruption of the song of earth and
its continuation in heaven."


Dr. Beale's Address.

Dr. Beale, whose own Presbyterian Church was one of the first morgues
opened and who has lived among dead bodies ever since is the cheeriest
man in Johnstown. He made a prayer and an address. It was all
straight-from-the-shoulder kind of talk, garbed in homely phrase.

In the address he said: "I have been asked to say something about this
disaster and its magnitude, but I haven't the heart. Besides I haven't
the words. If I was the biggest truth teller in the world I could not
tell the tale."

Then the preacher went hammer and tongs at the practical teachings of
the flood. "That night in Alma Hall when we thought we would all die I
heard men call on God in prayer and pledge themselves to lead better
lives if life was given them. Since then I heard those same men cursing
and swearing in these streets. Brethren, there was no real prayer in any
of those petitions put up by those of godless lives that night. They
were merely crying out to a higher power for protection. They were like
the death-bed fears of the infidel, for I have seen seventeen infidels
die and everyone showed the white feather. Nay, those prayers were
unsanctified by the spirit, but let us who are here now living, dedicate
ourselves to the service of Almighty God. There were those who were to
be dedicated that night. I know one who, when it came, sent his family
up the staircase, and taking up his Bible from his parlor table, opened
at the 46th Psalm, first verse, and, following them, read, and the
waters followed him closely. And through the flood he read the word of
God and there was peace in that house while terror was all around it."


Mothering the Orphans.

Dr. Beale announced that Miss Walk wanted twenty-five children for the
Northern Home and then began shaking hands with his congregation and
pressing on them the lessons of his sermon. "Ah, old friend," he said,
to a sandy moustached man in the grand army uniform, "You came safe out
of the flood, now give that big heart of yours to Jesus."

The Baptist congregation also held an open-air service. The unfortunate
Episcopal congregation is quite disorganized by the loss of their church
and rector. They held no service, yet in a hundred temporary houses of
the homeless the beautiful old litany of the faith was read by the
devout churchmen.


The Soldiers' Sunday.

Sunday brought to the soldiers of the 14th no rest from the guard and
police work which makes the Johnstown tour of duty everything but
holiday soldiering. Even those who were in camp fared no better than
those who were mounted guards over banks, stores and supply trains, or
driving unwilling Italians to work down at Cambria City. There was no
shade nor a blade of grass in sight. The wreck of the city was all their
scenery, and the sun beat down upon their tents till they were like
ovens. They policed the camp thoroughly, sweeping the bare ground until
it was as clean as a Dutch kitchen. The boys had heard that Chaplain
Maguire was to preach and they didn't leave a straw or a chip in his
way.


A Young Guardsman's Suicide.

A sun-browned young soldier of C Company, 14th Regiment, sat on the
river bank in front of the camp this afternoon and watched across the
valley the fire-scarred tower of the Catholic Church, blown to complete
ruin under the force of dynamite. After the front had sunk into a brick
heap, he arose, looked down once at the sunny river and the groups of
many soldiers doing there week's washing at the foot of the bank, and
then strode slowly to his tent. A moment later there seemed to be a
lingering echo of the fall of the tower in C Company's street. Captain
Nesbitt, dozing in his quarters, heard the sound, and running in the
direction of it found that Private William B. Young, aged 28, of
Oakdale, had placed the muzzle of his rifle against his left temple and
gone to swell by one the interminable list of the Conemaugh Valley's
dead.

[Illustration: A RAILROAD TRAIN DELAYED BY THE FLOOD.]

Despondency, caused by a slight illness and doubtless intensified by a
night's guard duty among the gloomy ruins, is the only known cause of
the soldier's act. He had been somewhat blue for a day, but there seemed
to be no special weight upon his mind. His brother-in-law, private
Stimmler, of the same company, said that he was always despondent when
ill, but had never threatened or attempted his life. He was a farmhand,
and leaves a wife and two children.


The Dinner "Shad" Jones Cooked.

The Sunday dinner was a great success. The bill of fare was vegetable
soup, cold ham, beans, canned corn, pickled tripe and black coffee. It
is worthy of note that the table in the officers' quarters did not have
a delicacy upon it which was not shared by the men. The commissary ran
short and had to borrow from the workmen's supplies. The dinner to-day
was cooked by "Shad" Jones, a <DW52> man known to every traveling man
who has ever stopped at Johnstown for his ability to hold four eggs in
his mouth and swallow a drink of water without cracking a shell. He lost
his wife in the flood and the 14th has adopted him.

On this, the ninth day, the waters began to give up their dead. Stony
Creek first showed their white faces and lifeless bodies floating on
the surface, and men in skiffs went after them with their grappling
rods. Several of them were taken ashore during the afternoon and carried
to the Presbyterian Church morgue, which was the nearest. Then, too, the
dead among the wreckage on shore came to light just the same as on other
days. Their exhumation excites no notice here now. Dr. Beale, keeper of
the records of morgues, counted the numbers on his finger tips and said
there were more than fifty found to-day in Johnstown alone.

In one dead man's pocket was $3,133.62. He was Christopher Kimble, an
undertaker and finisher, who, when he saw the water coming, rushed down
stairs to the safe to save his gold and there he was lost. Several
bodies were taken from the human raft burned beyond all recognition.

The body of Miss Bessie Bryan, the young Philadelphian, was identified
to-day as it lay in a coffin by a grave from which it had been exhumed
in Grand View Cemetery. "Returning home from a wedding in Pittsburgh
with her friend, Miss Paulsen, caught by the flood on the day express,
found dead and buried twice," will be the brief record of her wild sad
fate.


Whiskey and Rioting.

Lieutenant Wright, Company I, with a detail of ninety-eight men, was
called to the banks of Stony Creek over the raft to-night, to protect
the employees of the Philadelphia Gas Company. There they found a gang
of rioters. The rioters this afternoon found a barrel of whiskey in the
field of debris, and before the militia could destroy it they had
managed to take a large quantity of it up on the mountain. To-night they
came down to the camp intoxicated, attacked the cook, cleared the supper
table and were managing things with a high hand when a messenger was
despatched for the guard. Before Lieutenant Wright's men reached there
they had escaped. The Beaver Falls gang was surprised this afternoon by
the militia, and gallons of whiskey, which they had hidden, were
destroyed. A dozen saloons were swept into the creek at the bridge, and
it is supposed that a hundred or more barrels are buried beneath the
raft.

Among the most interesting relics of the flood is a small gold locket
found in the ruins of the Hurlbut house yesterday. The locket contains a
small coil of dark brown hair, and has engraved on the inside the
following remarkable lines: "Lock of George Washington's hair, cut in
Philadelphia while on his way to Yorktown, 1781." Mr. Benford, one of
the proprietors of the house, states that the locket was the property of
his sister, who was lost in the flood, and was presented to her by an
old lady in Philadelphia, whose mother and herself cut the hair from the
head of the "Father of His Country."




CHAPTER XX.

Millions of Money for Johnstown.


Never before in our country has there been such a magnificent exhibition
of public sympathy and practical charity. As the occasion was the most
urgent ever known, so the response has been the greatest. All classes
have come to the rescue with a generosity, a thoughtfulness and
heartfelt pity sufficient to convince the most stubborn misanthrope that
religion is not dead and charity has not, like the fabled gods of
Greece, forsaken the earth.

The following lines, cut from one of our popular journals, aptly
represents the public feeling, and the warm sympathy that moved every
heart:

  I.

  I stood with a mournful throng
    On the brink of a gloomy grave,
  In a valley where grief had found relief
    On the breast of an angry wave!
  I heard a tearful song
    That told of an orphan's love--
  'Twas a song of woe from the valley below,
    To the Father of Heaven above!

  II.

  'Twas the wail of two lonely waifs--
    Two children who prayed for bread!
  'Twas a pitiful cry--a mournful sigh--
    From the home of the silent dead!
  'Twas a sad and soulful strain;
    It made the teardrops start;
  'Twas an echo of pain--a weird refrain--
    And a song that touched my heart.

  III.

  Poor, fatherless, motherless waifs,
    Come, dry your tearful eyes!
  Not in vain, not in vain, have ye sung your refrain;
    It's echo has pierced the skies!
  The angels are watching you there,
    For your "home" is now above,
  And your Father is He who forever shall be
    A Father of infinite love!

  IV.

  Blest be the noble throng,
    With generous impulse stirred,
  Who are bringing relief to the Valley of Grief,
    Where the orphan's song was heard!
  Peace to them while they live,
    Peace when their souls depart,
  For a friend in need is a friend indeed
    And a friend that reaches my heart!

Among the first to start a fund for the sufferers was the New York
_Herald_. The following is a specimen of the announcement made by that
journal from day to day:

Great interest is being taken in the _Herald_ fund for the Johnstown
sufferers. In the city, employees of all sorts of business houses, and
of railroad, steamboat and other companies, are striving to see who can
collect the most money.

In the country, ministers, little girls, school children and busy
workers are all collecting for the fund. It is being boomed by rich and
poor, far and near.

With the checks for hundreds of dollars yesterday came this note,
enclosing a dime:

"NEW YORK, June 8, 1889.

"MR. EDITOR:

"I am a little orphan girl. I saved ten cents, it is all I have, but I
should like to send it to the sufferers of the flood.

"ANNIE ABEL."

Another letter written in a lady's hand read this way:

"BROOKYN.

"DEAR HERALD:--

"Enclosed please find $1.17 left by little Hame Buckler in his purse
when he died last September. Also twenty-five cents from Albert Buckler
and twenty-five cents from Paul D. Buckler. Hoping their mites will help
to feed or clothe some little ones, I am, with sympathy for the
sufferers,

"S.A.B."

Felix Simonson, a twelve-year-old schoolboy, took it into his head on
Friday to go among his friends and get help for the sufferers. Here is
what he wrote on the top of his subscription paper:

"I am very sorry for the poor people who have lost everything by the
flood, and I am trying to collect some money to send to them. Would you
like to give something to help them?"

How Felix succeded is shown by a collection of $30.15 the first day.

A large amount of clothing for men, women and children is being sent to
the _Herald_ office, as well as liberal contributions of money.

The same story was, in effect, repeated from day to day. It only
indicated what was going on throughout the country; in fact, throughout
the world. London, Paris, and other European towns, were only a few
hours behind our American cities in starting funds for relief. The
enthusiasm with which these responses were made is indicated by the
following from one of the New York dailies:


Charity Running Rampant.

Everybody's business seems to be raising funds for Pennsylvania. The
Mayor's office has been transformed into a counting room. More than a
dozen clerks are employed in acknowledging the receipt of money for the
Pennsylvania sufferers. A large number, many of them of the poorer
class, bring their own contributions. Up to noon $145,257.18 had been
subscribed. This does not include sums subscribed but not paid in. All
the city departments are expected to respond nobly.

The Executive Committee of the Conemaugh Valley Relief Association met
in the Governor's room at the City Hall yesterday, with General W.T.
Sherman in the chair. Treasurer J. Edward Simmons announced that the
fund in the Fourth National Bank amounted to $145,000 and that Governor
Beaver's draft for $50,000 had been honored. John T. Crimmins reported
that more than $70,000 had been received at the Mayor's office during
the morning. He also reported that the Leake and Watts Orphan Asylum had
offered, through the Rev. Dr. Morgan Dix, to take twenty-five of
Johnstown's orphans, between the ages of five and twelve, and care for
them until they were sixteen and then provide them with homes. H.C.
Miner reported that many packages of clothing had been sent to Johnstown
and that the theatrical guild was arranging for benefit performances.

Under date of Paris, June 5th, the following despatch conveyed
intelligence of the gratifying response of Americans in that city:


Duty Nobly Done.

A meeting of Americans was held to-day at the United States Legation on
a call in the morning papers by Mr. Whitelaw Reid, the United States
Minister, to express the sympathy of the Americans in Paris with the
sufferers by the Johnstown calamity. In spite of the short notice the
rooms of the Legation were densely packed, and many went away unable to
gain admittance. Mr. Reid was called to the chair and Mr. Ernest Lambert
was appointed secretary. The following resolutions were offered by Mr.
Andrew Carnegie and seconded by Mr. James N. Otis:


A Sympathetic Message.

"Resolved, That we send across the Atlantic to our brethren overwhelmed
by the appalling disaster at Johnstown our most profound and heartfelt
sympathy. Over their lost ones we mourn with them, and in every pang of
all their misery we have our part.

"Resolved, That as American citizens we congratulate them upon and thank
them for the numerous acts of noble heroism displayed under
circumstances calculated to unnerve the bravest. Especially do we honor
and admire them for the capacity shown for local self-government upon
which the stability of republican institutions depends, the military
organizations sent from distant points to preserve order during the
chaos that supervened having been returned to their homes as no longer
required within forty-eight hours of the calamity. In these few hours
the civil power recreated and asserted itself and resumed sway without
the aid of counsel from distant authorities, but solely by and from the
inherent power which remains in the people of Johnstown themselves."

Brief and touching speeches were made by General Layton, late United
States Minister to Austria; Mr. Abram S. Hewitt, General Meredith Read
and others.


A Flow of Dollars.

The resolutions were then unanimously adopted and a committee was
appointed to receive subscriptions. About 40,000f. were subscribed on
the spot. The American bankers all agreed to open subscriptions the next
day at their banking houses. "Buffalo Bill" subscribed the entire
receipts of one entertainment to be given under the auspices of the
committee.

As a sequel to the foregoing the following will be of interest to the
reader:

NEW YORK, June 17.--John Monroe & Co. have received cable instructions
from United States Minister Reid, at Paris, to pay Messrs. Drexel & Co.,
of Philadelphia, an additional sum of $2,266, received from the
Treasurer of the Paris Johnstown Relief Committee. Of this sum $1066 are
the proceeds of a special performance by the Wild West show, and with
the previous contribution from Paris makes a total of $14,166.

The pathetic story of sympathy and generous aid from every town and
hamlet in the land can never be told; there is too much of it.

Philadelphia alone contributed over a million dollars, and New York
showed equal generosity. In Philadelphia it was not uncommon to see
glass jars in front of stores and at other places to receive
contributions from passers-by. In one of these an unknown man deposited
$500 one day; this is indicative of the feeling pervading the whole
community that stricken Johnstown must not suffer for houses, clothing,
nor bread.

[Illustration: CONTRIBUTING TO THE RELIEF FUND IN PHILADELPHIA.]

So rapidly did gifts pour in that within eight days after the disaster
the following statement was made from Harrisburg:

The Governor's fund for the relief of the survivors of the flood in the
Conemaugh Valley and other portions of the State is assuming large
proportions and the disposition to contribute appears to be on the
increase. To-day letters and telegrams were received requesting the
Governor to draw for $68,000 additional, swelling the aggregate sum at
his disposal to about $3,000,000. Many of the remittances are
accompanied with statements that more may be expected. Governor Beaver
telegraphed as follows from Johnstown:

"The situation is simply indescribable. The people have turned in with
courage and heroism unparalleled. A decided impression has been made on
the debris. The next week will do more, as they have many points opened
for work. Everything is very quiet. People are returning to work again
and gaining courage and hope as they return. There need be no fear of
too much being contributed for the relief of the people. There is a
long, steady pull ahead requiring every effort and determination on the
part of the people here, which is already assured, and the continued
systematic support and benefactions of this generous people."


Feeding the Hungry.

Three car loads of tents, enough to accommodate four thousand people,
were sent to Johnstown to-day from the State arsenal at the request of
General Hastings.

The following special dispatch bears date of June 5th:

Car loads of provisions and clothing are arriving hourly and being
distributed. The cynic who said that charity and gratitude were articles
seldom to be met with in Republics and among corporations would have had
ample reason afforded him to-day to alter his warped philosophy several
degrees had he been in this erstwhile town and seen train after train
hourly rolling in, on both the Baltimore and Ohio and the Pennsylvania
railroads, laden with clothing and provisions from every point of the
compass. Each train bore messengers sent especially to distribute funds
and provisions and clothing, volunteer physicians in large numbers,
trained nurses and a corps of surgeons equipped with all needed
instruments and medicines. Fortunately the latter are not needed.

Philadelphia's quota consists of clothes, boots, shoes, cotton sheeting,
hard breads, salt fish, canned goods, etc., all of which will be
gratefully received and supply the most pressing needs of the stricken
people.


Relief Systematized.

The relief work has been so systematized that there is no danger of any
confusion. At the several distributing depots hundreds assemble morning,
noon and night, and, forming in line, are supplied with provisions. Men
and women with families are given bread, butter, cheese, ham and canned
meats, tea or coffee and sugar, and unmarried applicants sliced bread
and butter or sandwiches.

The 900 army tents brought on by Adjutant-General Axline, of Ohio, have
been divided, and two white-walled villages now afford shelter to
nearly six thousand homeless people.


At the Main Commissary.

At the Johnstown station, on the east side of the river, everything is
quiet, and considerable work is being done. This is the chief commissary
station, and this morning by two o'clock 15,000 people were fed and
about six hundred families were furnished with provisions. Five carloads
of clothing were distributed, and now almost every one is provided with
clothing.

The good work done by the relief committees in caring for the destitute
can never be fully told. It was ready, generous and very successful.

The scenes at the distributing points through the week have been most
interesting. Monday and Tuesday saw lines of men, women and children in
the scantiest of clothing, blue with cold, unwashed and dishevelled, so
pitifully destitute a company as one would wish to see. Since the
clothing cars have come the people have assumed a more presentable
appearance and food has brought life back to them and warmth, but their
condition is still pitiful. The destitute ones are almost altogether
from the well-to-do people of Johnstown, who have lost all and are as
poor as the poorest.


Altoona to the Rescue.

Altoona has been so hemmed in by floods and the like, and her
representatives have been so busy, that they had but little to say of
the prompt action and excellent work done by open-handed citizens of
that beautiful interior Pennsylvania city. Altoona first became alarmed
by the non-arrival and reported loss of the day express east on the
Pennsylvania Railroad Friday afternoon. Soon the station was thronged
with an anxious crowd, and the excitement became intense as the scant
news came slowly in. Saturday the anxiety was relieved by a telegram
from Ebensburg, which a blundering telegraph operator made "three
hundred lost," instead of "three thousand." That was soon corrected by
later news, and the citizens immediately were called upon to meet for
action. The Mayor presided, and at once $2,600 was subscribed and
provisions offered. By three o'clock that afternoon a car had been
loaded and started for Ebensburg, thirty-two miles away in charge of a
committee. At Ebensburg that evening ten teams were secured after much
trouble and the supplies sent overland seventeen miles to the desolated
valley. The night was an awful one for the committee in charge. The
roads were badly washed and all but impassible. The hours dragged on. At
last, Sunday morning, the wagons drove into desolate Conemaugh. There
were no cheers to greet them, no cries of pleasure. The wretched
sufferers were too wretched, too dazed for that. They simply crowded
around the wagons, pitifully begging for bread or anything to eat.

The committee report: "Impostors have not bothered us much, and,
singular enough, the ones that have were chiefly women, though to-day
we sent away a man who we thought came too frequently. On questioning he
owned up to having fifteen sacks of flour and five hams in his house. On
Tuesday we began to keep a record of those who received supplies, and we
have given out supplies to fully 550 families, representing 2,500
homeless people. Our district is only for one side of the river. On the
other is a commissary on Adams street, near the Baltimore and Ohio
Railway station, another at Kernville, a third at Cambria City, a fourth
at Morrellville and a fifth at Cambria. The people are very patient,
though, of course, in their present condition they are apt to be
querelous.


Wanted A Better Dress.

"One woman who came for a dress indignantly refused the one I offered
her. 'I don't want that,' she said. 'I lost one that cost me $20, $15
for the cloth and $5 for making, and I want a $20 dress. You said you
would make our losses good;' and she did not take the dress.

"A clergyman came to me and begged for anything in the shape of foot
covering. I had nothing to give him. Men stand about ready to work, but
barefooted. The clothing since the first day or two, when we got only
worn stuff, fit only for bandages, has been good, and is now of
excellent quality. Most of the children's garments are outgrown clothes,
good for much service. Pittsburgh has sent from thirty to forty car
loads of supplies, all of good quality and available, and in charge of
local commissary men who had sense enough to go home when they turned
over their supplies and did not stay and eat up the provisions they
brought.


Ohio's Timely Work.

"But above all, I want to praise the supplies sent by the Ohio people in
Cleveland and Columbus. These cities forwarded eight cars each. These
were stocked with beautiful stuff, wisely chosen, and were in charge of
Adjutant General Axline, sent by Governor Foraker, who worked like a
wise man."


Grave Mental Conditions.

The mental condition of almost every former resident of Johnstown is one
of the gravest character, and the reaction which will set in when the
reality of the whole affair is fully comprehended can scarcely fail to
produce many cases of permanent or temporary insanity. Most of the faces
that one meets, both male and female, are those of the most profound
melancholia, associated with an almost absolute disregard of the future.
The nervous system shows the strain it has borne by a tremulousness of
the hand and of the lip in man as well as in woman. This nervous state
is further evidenced by a peculiar intonation of words, the persons
speaking mechanically, while the voices of many rough looking men are
changed into such tremulous notes of so high a pitch as to make one
imagine that a child on the verge of tears is speaking. Crying is so
rare that I saw not a tear on any face in Johnstown, but the women that
are left are haggard, with pinched features and heavy, dark lines under
their eyes. Indeed the evidence of systemic disturbance is so marked in
almost every individual who was present at the time of the catastrophe
that it is possible with the eye alone to separate the residents from
those outside.

Everything required in the way of surgical appliances seem to be on
hand, but medicines are scarce, and will probably be needed more in the
next few days than heretofore.

A fact in favor of the controlling of any malady is to be found in the
very general exodus of the town's people, who crowd the platforms of
departing trains. There can be no doubt that this movement should be
encouraged to the greatest possible extent, and it would be well if
places away from Johnstown, at no too great distance, could be opened
for the reception of those who, while not entirely disabled, are useless
at home. The scarcity of pure spring water which is not tainted by dead
animal matter is a pressing evil for consideration, but we doubt if this
is as important a fact at Johnstown as it is further down the river,
owing to the large amount of decomposing flesh in the water at this
latter point. No disinfectant can reach such a cause of disease save the
action of the large volume of water which dilutes all poisonous
materials.


The Torch for Safety.

There is a strong movement on foot in favor of applying the torch to the
wrecked buildings in Johnstown, and although the suggestion meets with
strong opposition at this time, there is little doubt the ultimate
solution of existing difficulties will be by this method. An army of men
have been for two days employed in clearing up the wreck in the city
proper, and although hundreds of bodies have been discovered, not
one-fifth of the ground has yet been gone over. In many places the
rubbish is piled twenty or thirty feet high, and not infrequently these
great drifts cover an area of nearly an acre. Narrow passages have been
cut through in every direction, but the herculean labor of removing the
rubbish has yet hardly begun.

At a meeting of the Central Relief Committee this afternoon General
Hastings suggested the advisability of drawing a cordon around the few
houses that are not in ruins and applying the torch to the remaining
great sea of waste. He explained briefly the great work yet to be
accomplished if it were hoped to thoroughly overhaul every portion of
the debris, and insisted that it would take 5,000 men to complete the
task. Of the hundreds of bodies buried beneath the rubbish, sand and
stones, the skeleton or putrid remains of many was all that could be
hoped to be recovered.

A motion was made that after forty-eight hours' further search the
debris of the city be consumed by fire, the engines to be on hand to
play upon any valuable building that despite previous precautions, might
become ignited by the general conflagration. This motion was debated pro
and con for nearly half an hour. Those whose relatives or friends still
rest beneath the wreck remonstrated strongly against any such summary
action. They insisted that all the talk of threatened epidemic was only
the sensation gossip of fertile brains and that the search for the
bodies should only be abandoned as a last extremity. The physicians in
attendance warned the committee that the further exposure of putrid
bodies in the valley could have but one result--the typhus or some other
epidemic equally fatal to its victims. It was a question whether the
living should be sacrificed to the dead, or whether the sway of
sentiment or the mandate of science should be the ruling impulse.
Although the proposition to burn the wreck was defeated, it was evident
that the movement was gaining many adherents, and the result will
doubtless be that in a few days the torch will be applied, not only to
the field of waste in Johnstown, but also to the avalanche of debris
that chokes the stream above the Pennsylvania bridge.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Johnstown Horror, by James Herbert Walker

*** 