Читать книгу The Ashtabula Disaster - Stephen D. Peet - Страница 5

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The scene of this direful event is situated on the Lake Shore Railway, midway between the cities of Cleveland and Erie, and about two miles from Lake Erie.

The village itself contains nearly thirty-five hundred inhabitants. At the mouth of the river is another small village, making in all a population of nearly four thousand. Between these points of the village and harbor many families of the poorer classes have made their homes, the most of them being Swedes, Germans and Irish. There are a few fine residences in this part of the town, but the homes of the more prominent citizens are at least a mile away. Near the depot there are several small places of business, two or three saloons, three hotels: The American House, the Culver House, and the Eagle Hotel, kept by Patrick Mulligan. It was one of the worst places for a railroad disaster. Near the depot, not six hundred yards away to the eastward, was a deep and lonely gorge. Across this the ill-fated bridge was hung. It was just at the point where the trains from the East were likely to slacken speed. Below that bridge the stream ran darkly. The only access to the gorge was by a long flight of stairs which was at the time of the calamity covered with a deep bank of snow. No road existed to it, and the spot could be reached by teams, only as a track was broken through gardens and down steep banks and across the valley and along the stream. A solitary building was in this gorge. It was the engine house. Here were the massive boiler and engine which were used for pumping water from the stream to the heights above, and so to the tanks at either side of the station house, in the distance. Situated close by the river, and almost under the shadow of the bridge itself, this lone house became to the wrecked travelers a refuge from the fire and storm. On the heights above towards the depot, another engine house was situated. It was the place where the “Lake Erie,” a hand fire engine stood. Two cisterns for the supply of water were located near, one on either side of the railroad track. It is difficult to picture a place more retired and lonely than this gorge. So near the busy station and yet isolated, inaccessible, and seldom visited. Its distance from the village, and the nature of the surroundings, will account for many things which occurred on that awful night; but it is a strange tale we have to tell. In the midst of the habitations of men untold sufferings took place, and the loss of life and fearful burning.

The fire department consisted of three companies, two at the village and one at the depot. There was only one steamer, and that was a mile from the depot. These companies were under the control of the chief fireman, Mr. G. W. Knapp, who is a tinner by trade, and a man slow and lymphatic in temperament, and one who, for a long time, had been addicted to the constant use of intoxicating liquors; a man every way unfit for so trying an emergency. The re-organization of the fire department had begun. Many intelligent and prominent citizens were members of it, but these had not been successful in securing the removal of the chief, as several years of association had made many of the fireman satisfied with his services. It was unfortunate that the control was at the time in such incompetent hands, but no one could have anticipated such an event, and no emergency had heretofore shown the necessity for a change.

THE OLD BRIDGE.

[From a Photograph by T. T. Sweeny, Cleveland.]