CHAPTER IV.
The course of the torrent from the broken dam at the foot of
the lake to Johnstown is almost eighteen miles, and with the exception
of one point, the water passed through a narrow V-shaped valley.
Four miles below the dam lay the town of South Fork, where the
South Fork itself empties into the Conemaugh river. The town contained
about 2000 inhabitants. About four-fifths of it has been swept
away. Four miles further down on the Conemaugh river, which runs
parallel with the main line of the Pennsylvania Railroad, was
the town of Mineral Point. It had 800 inhabitants, 90 percent
of the houses being on a flat and close to the river. Terrible
as it may seem, very few of them have escaped. Six miles further
down was the town of Conemaugh, and here alone there was a topographical
possibilitythe spreading of the flood and the breaking of
its force. It contained 2500 inhabitants, and has been almost
wholly devastated. Woodvale, with 2000 people, lay a mile below
Conemaugh in the flat, and one mile further down were Johnstown
and its suburbsCambria City and Conemaugh borough, with
a population of 30,000. On made ground, and stretched along right
at the river's verge, were the immense iron works of the Cambria
Iron and Steel Company, who have $5,000,000 invested in their
plant. Besides this there are many other large industrial establishments
on the bank of the river.
The stream of human beings that was swept before the angry
floods was something most pitiful to behold. Men, women and children
were carried along frantically shrieking for help, but their cries
availed them nothing. 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. Houses, outbuildings, trees and barns were carried
on the angry flood of waters as so much chaff. Cattle standing
in the fields were overwhelmed, and their carcasses strewed the
tide. The railroad tracks converging on the town were washed out,
and wires in all directions were prostrated.
Down through the Packsaddle came the rushing waters. Clinging
to improvised rafts, constructed in the death battle from floating
boards and timbers, were agonized men, women and children, their
heart-rending shrieks for help striking horror to the breasts
of the onlookers. Their cries were of no avail. Carried along
at a railway speed on the breast of this rushing torrent, no human
ingenuity could devise a means of rescue.
It is impossible to describe briefly the suddenness with which
the disaster came. A warning sound was heard at Conemaugh a few
minutes before the rush of water came, but it was attributed to
some meteorological disturbance and no trouble was borrowed because
of the thing unseen. As the low, rumbling noise increased in volume,
however, and came nearer, a suspicion of danger began to force
itself even upon the bravest, which was increased to a certainty
a few minutes later, when, with a rush, the mighty stream spread
out in width, and when there was no time to do anything to save
themselves many of the unfortunates were whirled into the middle
of the stream before they could turn around; men, women and children
were struggling in the streets, and it is thought that many of
them never reached Johnstown, only a mile or two below.
At Johnstown a similar scene was enacted, only on a much larger
scale. The population is greater and the sweeping whirlpool rushed
into a denser mass of humanity. The imagination of the reader
can better depict the spectacle than the pen of the writer can
give it. It was a twilight of terror, and the gathering shades
of evening closed in on a panorama of horrors that has few parallels
in the history of casualties.
When the great wave from Conemaugh lake, behind the dam, came
down the Conemaugh Valley, the first obstacle it struck was the
great viaduct over the South Fork. This viaduct was a State work,
built to carry the old Portage road across the Fork. The Pennsylvania
Railroad parallels the Portage road for a long distance, and runs
over the Fork. Besides sweeping the viaduct down, the bore, or
smaller bores on its wings, washed out the Portage road for miles.
One of the small bores went down the bed of a brook which comes
into the Conemaugh at the village of South Fork, which is some
distance above the viaduct. The big bore backed the river above
the village. The small bore was thus checked in its course and
flowed into the village.
The obstruction below being removed, the backed-up water swept
the village of South Fork away. The flood came down. It moved
steadily, but with a velocity never yet attained by an engine
moved by power controllable by man. It accommodated itself to
the character of the breaks in the hill. It filled every one,
whether narrow or broad. Its thrust was sideways and downward
as well as forward. By side thrusts it scoured every cave and
bend in the line of the mountains, lessening its direct force
to exert power laterally, but at the same time moving its centre
straight on Johnstown. It is well to state that the Conemaugh
river is tortuous, like most streams of its kind. Wherever the
mountains retreat, flats make out from them to the channel of
the stream. It was on such flats that South Fork and Mineral Point
villages and the boroughs of Conemaugh, Franklin, Woodvale, East
Conemaugh and Johnstown were built.
After emerging from the South Fork, with the ruins of the great
viaduct in its maw, it swept down a narrow valley until just above
the village of Mineral Point. There it widened, and, thrusting
its right wing into the hollow where the village nestled, it swept
away every house on the flat. These were soon welded into a compact
mass, with trees and logs and general drift stuff. This mass followed
the bore. What the bore could not budge, its follower took up
and carried.
The first great feat at carrying and lifting was done at East
Conemaugh. It tore up every building in the yard of the Pennsylvania
Railroad. It took locomotives and carried them down and dug holes
for their burials. It has been said that the flood had a downward
thrust. There was proof of this on the banks of the river, where
there was a sort of breakwater of concreted cinders, slag, and
other things, making a combination harder than stone.
Unable to get a grip directly on these banks, the flood jumped
over them, threw the whole weight of the mass of logs and broken
buildings down on the sand behind them, scooped this sand out,
and then, by backward blows, knocked the concrete to pieces. In
this it displayed almost the uttermost skill of human malice.
After crossing the flat of East Conemaugh and scooping out
of their situations sixty-five houses in two streets, as well
as tearing passenger trains to pieces, drowning an unknown number
of persons, and picking up others to dash against whatever obstacles
it encountered, it sent a force to the left, which cut across
the flat of Franklin borough, ripped thirty-two houses to pieces,
and cut a second channel for the Conemaugh river, leaving an island
to mark the place of division of the forces of the flood. The
strength of the eastern wing can be estimated from the fact that
the iron bars piled in heaps in the stock yard of the Cambria
Iron Company were swept away, and that some of them may be found
all along the river as far as Johnstown.
After this came the utter wiping out of the borough of Woodvale,
on the flat to the northeast of Johnstown and diagonally opposite
it. Woodvale had a population of nearly 3000 people. It requires
a large number of houses to shelter so many. Estimating 10 to
a family, which is a big estimate, there were 300 houses in Woodvale.
There were also a woolen mill, a flour mill, the Gautier Barb
Wire Mills of the Cambria Iron Company, and the tannery of W.
H. Rosenthal & Co. Only the flour mill and the middle section
of the bridge remain. The flat is bare otherwise. The stables
of the Woodvale Horse Railroad Company went out with the water;
every horse and car in them went also.
The change was wrought in five minutes. Robert Miller, who
lost two of his children and his mother-in-law, thus describes
the scene: "I was standing near the Woodvale Bridge, between
Maple avenue and Portage street, in Johnstown. The river was high,
and David Lucas and I were speculating about the bridges, whether
they would go down or not. Lucas said, 'I guess this bridge will
stand; it does not seem to be weakened.' Just then we saw a dark
object up the river. Over it was a white mist. It was high and
somehow dreadful, though we could not make it out. Dark smoke
seemed to form a background for the mist. We did not wait for
more. By instinct we knew the big dam hadburst and its water was
coming upon us. Lucas jumped on a car horse, rode across the bridge,
and went yelling into Johnstown. The flood overtook him, and he
had to abandon his horse and climb a high hill.
"I went straight to my house in Woodvale, warning everybody
as I ran. My wife and mother-in-law were ready to move, with my
five children, so we went for the hillside, but we were not speedy
enough. The water had come over the flat at its base and cut us
off. I and my wife climbed into a coal car with one of the children,
to get out of the water. I put two more children into the car
and looked around for my other children and my mother-in-law.
My mother-in-law was a stout woman, weighing about two hundred
and twelve pounds. She could not climb into a car. The train was
too long for her to go around it, so she tried to crawl under,
leading the children.
"The train was suddenly pushed forward by the flood, and
she was knocked down and crushed, so were my children, by the
same shock, My wife and children in the car were thrown down and
covered with coal. I was taken off by the water, but I swam to
the car and pulled them from under a lot of coal. A second blow
to the train threw our car against the hillside and us out of
it to firm earth. I never saw my two children and mother-in-law
after the flood first struck the train of coal cars. I have often
heard it said that the dam might break, but I never paid any attention
to it before. It was common talk whenever there was a freshet
or a big pack of ice."
The principal street of Woodvale was Maple avenue. The Conemaugh
river now rushes through it from one side of the flat to the other.
Its pavement is beautifully clean. It is doubtful that it will
ever be cleared by mortal agency again.
Breaking down the barbed steel wire mill and the tannery at
the bridge, the flood went across the regular channel of the river
and struck the Gautier Steel Works, made up of numerous stanch
brick buildings and one immense structure of iron, filled with
enormous boilers, fly wheels, and machinery generally. The buildings
are strewn through Johnstown. Near their sites are some bricks,
twisted iron beams, boilers, wheels, and engine bodies, bound
together with logs, driftwood, tree branches, and various other
things, woven in and out of one another marvelously. These aggregations
are of enormous size and weight. They were not too strong for
the immense power of the destroying agent, for a twenty-ton locomotive,
taken from the Gautier Works, now lies in Main street, three-quarters
of a mile away. It did not simply take a good grip upon them;
it was spreading out its line for a force by its left wing, and
hit simultaneously upon Johnstown flat, its people and houses,
while its right wing did whatever it could in the way of helping
the destructive work. The left wing scoured the flat to the base
of the mountain. With a portion of the centre it then rushed across
Stony creek. The remainder of the central force cleared several
paths in diverging directions through the town.
While the left and centre were tearing houses to pieces and
drowning untold lives, the right had been hurrying along the base
of the northern hills, in the channel of the Conemaugh river,
carrying down the houses, bridges, human beings and other drift
that had been picked up on the way from South Fork.
Thus far the destruction at Johnstown had not been one-quarter
what it is now. But the bed of the Conemaugh beyond Johnstown
is between high hills that come close together. The cut is bridged
by a viaduct. The right wing, with its plunder, was stopped by
the bridge and the bend. The left and centre came tearing down
Stony creek. There was a collision of forces. The men, women,
children, horses, other domestic animals, houses, bridges, railroad
cars, logs and tree branches were jammed together in a solid mass,
which only dynamite can break up. The outlet of Stony creek was
almost completely closed and the channel of the Conemaugh was
also choked. The water in both surged back. In Stony creek it
went along the curve of the base of the hill in front of which
Kernville is built. Dividing its strength, one part of the flood
went up Stony creek a short distance and moved around again into
Johnstown. It swept before it many more houses than before and
carried them around in a circle, until they met and crashed against
other houses, torn from the point of Johnstown flat by a similar
wave moving in a circle from the Conemaugh.
The two waves and their burdens went around and around in slowly-diminishing
circles, until most of the houses had been ground to pieces. There
are living men, women and children who circled in these frightful
vortices for an hour. Lawyer Rose, his wife, his two brothers
and his two sisters are among those. They were drawn out of their
house by the suction of the retreating water, and thus were started
on a frightful journey. Three times they went from the Kernville
side of the creek to the centre of the Johnstown flat and past
their own dwelling. They were dropped at last on the Kernville
shore. Mr. Rose had his collar bone broken, but the others were
hurt only by fright, wetting and some bruises.
Some of the back water went up the creek and did damage at
Grubtown and Hornerstown. More of it, following the line of the
mountain, rushed in at the back of Kernville. It cut a clear path
for itself from the lower end of the village to the upper end,
diagonally opposite, passing through the centre. It sent little
streams to topple homes over in side places and went on a round
trip into the higher part of Johnstown, between the creek and
the hill. It carried houses from Kernville to the Johnstown bank
of the creek, and left them there. Then it coursed down the bank,
overturning trains of the Baltimore and Ohio railroad, and also
houses, and keeping on until it had made the journey several times.
How so marvelous a force was exerted is illustrated in the
following statement from Jacob Reese, of Pittsburg, the inventor
of the basic process for manufacturing steel. Mr. Reese says:
"When the South Fork dam gave way, 16,000,000 tons of water
rushed down the mountain side, carrying thousands of tons of rocks,
logs and trees with it. When the flood reached the Conemaugh Valley
it struck the Pennsylvania Railroad at a point where they make
up the trains for ascending the Allegheny Mountains. Several trains
with their locomotives and loaded cars were swept down the valley
before the flood wave, which is said to have been fifty feet high.
Cars loaded with iron, cattle, and freight of all kinds, with
those mighty locomotives, weighing from seventy to one hundred
tons each, were pushed ahead of the flood, trucks and engines
rolling over and over like mere toys.
"Sixteen million tons of water gathering fences, barns,
houses, mills and shops into its maw. Down the valley for three
miles or more rushed this mighty avalanche of death, sweeping
everything before it, and leaving nothing but death and destruction
behind it. When it struck the railroad bridge at Johnstown,
and not being able to force its way through that stone structure,
the debris was gorged and the water dammed up fifty feet in ten
minutes. (see The Railroad Bridge That Held on another page).
"This avalanche was composed of more than 100,000 tons
of rocks, locomotives, freight cars, car trucks, iron, logs, trees
and other material pushed forward by 16,000,000 tons of water
falling 500 feet, and it was this that, sliding over the ground,
mowed down the houses, mills and factories as a mowing machine
does a field of grain. It swept down with a roaring, crushing
sound, at the rate of a mile a minute, and hurled 10,000 people
into the jaws of death in less than half an hour. And so the people
called it the avalanche of death."
Johnstown | Mother Nature 1
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