The history of Dubuque County, Iowa : containing a history of the county, its cities, towns, etc., Part 57

Author:
Publication date: 1880
Publisher: Chicago : Western Historical
Number of Pages: 964

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The storm, though, happily, unattended by loss of life, was equally severe in Dubuque and neighboring towns, and evidences of disaster were to be seen whithersoever the eye might gaze. The damage was almost beyond computa- tion, the avenues of travel centering in Dubuque were temporarily embargoed, and for a time nothing greeted the sight but the effects of the storm, unparal- leled since 1851. But, in time, repairs were completed, and the storm itself existed only in the memory of the witnesses of its violence.

[From another account published in the Times the following is taken :]

The centennial will long be remembered in Dubuque, not for the magnifi- cence of the daytime display, but for the dark, tragic history of the night. The day was comparatively pleasant, but coming on evening, suspicious electricity.

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laden clouds began to fleck the northwestern heavens, which gathered with muttering grumbling, which was continued until after 10 o'clock, when the rain commenced to descend, apparently increasing in quantity with the passing of hours. Darkness took possession of the earth, so deep, so impenetrable, that it seemed as if a curtain of blackness was spread across the face of nature. Nothing could be seen save when bright flashes of lightning blazed over the sky, and for an instant dispelled the darkness which appeared only the more intense when it again held sway. The thunders rolled almost incessantly, and peal after peal seemed to leap from hilltop to hilltop, or roll away on the hillsides, shaking the earth as they passed, as if nature was in her death throes. It is said that there is something terrifically grand in the flash of the glaring lightning and the peal of loud-mouthed thunder; but in the storm of last Tuesday night there was that which inspired the heart with awe, and sent a feeling of uneasiness through the soul of those who are not given to fear. The earth trembled like an aspen leaf, as bolt followed bolt, and belt of heavenly flame succeeded belt, as if to light the waters tumbling from the heavens, en masse, on their errand of destruction. The hills quivered, and the most firmly seated houses trembled until one might well remember historic accounts of cities deluged, and the houses of men laid waste and leveled to the earth, by the irresistible hand of an unseen power. At or about 10 o'clock the rain began, and by 11 it poured in streams from the overburdened clouds, and thus it continued for hours, with no intermission. When day dawned a bright sun burst, but ah, how black, how fearful, how rending was the picture that it rose upon ! Desolation was spread broadcast everywhere, as if some avenging hand had swept with insatiable thirst and far-reaching scourge. Throughout the city and in all this vicinity there are many monuments of the dreadful power of the storm king- but nowhere is that power so terribly, so painfully, so shockingly demonstrated as at Rockdale. Here, just on the confines of the city, two miles distant, was the little village, known to every resident of Dubuque. Here stood eight houses, a blacksmith-shop and the Rockdale Mills. On Centennial day the little village stood there the home of happy fathers and mothers, the birthplace of their children. Ere the day dawned again these homes were swept away as if with a besom of destruction, and instead of the little village in which so many happy hearts welcomed the Centennial day, nothing was left but the heart- piercing wreck of what had been.

Every building in the little town, save the Catfish Mill, was washed from its foundation, and torn into wreck that quite defies description. The dozen buildings-all that were located on the bottom lands of the Catfish, save the mill-were carried off as if they were so many cockle-shells, and whirled down the surging and boiling current, crushing them into fragments. With two exceptions, all are torn into splinters, and scarcely a fragment can be recognized as belonging to this or that building ; all are in indistinguishable ruin scattered for a mile along the borders of the stream. Stores, shops, dwellings, barns, every- thing fell before the terrible torrent that came rolling in great surges down the ten miles of valley through which the Catfish runs. Where eighteen hours ago was a quiet and unsuspecting and happy little rural hamlet, is now only a waste of waters, timbers, the wreck of buildings, of households, merchandise, mud and up-rooted trees. For a full mile down the stream these fragments are strewn along the banks, or piled in gorges, from a few feet to twenty feet high.

But the worst is not told. Thirty-nine human beings were hurriedly swept from life into the great maelstrom of death. Men, women and children to that number were drowned, and their stiff bodies-those of the thirty that have been

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rescued up to this hour-were ranged side by side along the shady side of the mill, awaiting the last sad funeral rites. In one instance, we saw an entire family of four, all lying dead. In another, every member of the family but one lay dead. The bodies of some were found in the debris of the crushed build- ings, near the scene of their death, while others-and the greater part of tliem all-were found along the banks from a few rods to a mile down the stream. Some were almost entirely hid from view by the floods of mud that had been swept along by the maddened waters, with perhaps a hand only exposed to sight, or a foot, or a portion of the face, or perhaps only a small portion of their clothing. A large number of little children, boys and girls, ranging from three to twelve years old, comprise this dread holocaust, and altogether the scene was a most sickening one. One young man, Charles Thimmisch, who escaped from Horn's store by stripping and swimming to the store, informed us that two of his uncles, one aunt and seven of his cousins were drowned.

Through the day, the people of the village had joined more or less in the festivities of the Centennial Fourth. In the evening, the rain began to fall, and all took shelter in their homes, or at the stores or saloon. At about half an hour after midnight, the Catfish was discovered to have become so swollen that the streets were overflowing, and escape to the surrounding highlands cut

off. Higher and higher rose the rushing waters, while the storm kept pitilessly on. Down rolled the surging water in great waves, several feet high, and soon the smaller buildings were swept away. At about 1 o'clock, a portion of the dam gave way, and this was followed by the crash of the railroad bridge, the fragments of which went tearing down, striking the hotel and Horn's store. Both of these were capsized, the former being torn in pieces, and the latter swung against a large tree standing but a few feet away, against which it lodged, resting upon its side. Now the stream had grown to 2,000 feet wide, and fully 20 feet deep. As the buildings were swept into wreck, the inmates were hurled into the surging current, their voices crying out for help amidst the roar of thunder, and storm and crash, while lurid lightnings flashed every minute, light- ing up the dreadful scene for an instant, leaving it blacker than before.

All who are familiar with the location of the village will remember that the stream on which the dam is built is turned from a direct path by the dam, and makes a channel running westward as it goes southward, forming a bend as it winds its way around to the rock bridge which spans the wagon-road and pursues its course backward of the village. At an ordinary stage of water, it was content to keep this winding, indirect route, but, when it was swollen to madness, it rushed headlong, and, spurning the barriers which had been thrown up to con- fine it to a given course, it leaped over the corner of the dam and tumbled solid masonry, yard after yard, rod after rod, in a confused mass out of its way, just as if they were piled-up bricks. Stones weighing tons, tied together with cement and braced in their position by solid banks of clay, overlaid with a cap- work of time-fixed macadamizing-all these were lifted and driven before the enraged water, as drift is hurled on the tide. Nay, more, it even picked up a long string of railroad iron, which it had wrenched from its spiked ties, and stretched it for a distance of perhaps fifty yards down the torrent path, where it now lies, a strange witness of the wonderful power of unrestrained water. Across the corner of the dam, next to the mill, the water launched itself, and, in an incon- ceivably short space of time, had made an outlet for itself across the street near the corner of the mill, a deep, wide, terrible-looking track, over which the agent of destruction ran rampant in the darkness, and through which, for the greater part of the day yesterday, it fretted and foamed, and lashed itself against the

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huge rocks which had been washed in during the night before. Here was one foaming, seething, boiling, infuriated barrier to cut off escape on the south side of the village, while to the north the waters that could not find an outlet by the new passage tumbled down and piled themselves up, until they raised them- selves above the approach to the bridge which spans the road as the village is approached from this city. Even this alarming condition of things existed before the storm had yet attained its great fury. The waters swelled grad- ually for a while, and then, after the midnight hour had passed, and when the lightnings flashed and the thunders shook the earth as if some terrible subter- ranean influence was striving to rend it-when the blackness. of the heavens was not more black than the despair which seized upon the doomed of that little village, the final burst of wrath came. A rumbling, warning, mysterious sound was heard. Wave after wave of water, many feet high, came in succession, as with the weight of molten iron and the erectness of a wall, and house after house went whirling and spinning, and tumbling and crashing, on the mad avalanches of water which tossed them like things of air, onward and down- ward. The first building that yielded was the Rockdale House, a two-story frame tavern, kept by C. W. Kingsley. The building was 60x40 feet, with additions extending at the rear of the building. This stood nearest to the stream on the west side of the road. The water rapidly raised until the lower story, which stood some two or three feet above the level of the street, was invaded, and then one fearful bulk of torrent rushed at the railroad bridge, lifted it from its abutments, twisted it and hurled it onward, leaving a passage for the sea-like billow to dash against the corner of the tavern. Almost instantly it was wrenched from its foundations and darted across the street, driven down, down, and tossed by the torrent until it was shattered in pieces, and went down the current in fragments. And there its human freight, con- sisting of Mr. Kingsley and wife, and Peter Kapp, his wife and seven chil- dren, were committed to the merciless water; how merciless, a husband bereft of his wife, and those bright little boys-left orphans almost in an instant-best can feel. Mr. Kingsley and his wife, and Mr. Kapp and his family, hoped for safety ; from it Mrs. Kingsley, and Mr. Kapp and his wife and four chil- dren entered eternity.

Joining the tavern stcod the residence of Mr. Kapp-the front part of which was used as a meat-shop by Peter Becker. This, too, was lifted from its founda- tion, but not carried away. It is the only one of all the houses which stood upon the doomed ground in which safety might have been found, but Mr. Kapp, becoming alarmed, and deeming tlie tavern the safest, deserted it with his family of seven children for the tavern, thus flying with his wife and lovely family from possible salvation to certain death.

Joining Mr. Kapp's house was Thomas Blenkiron's store and dwelling. This appears to have been struck by a mountain of water, which uprooted it and laid it over on its side as completely as if it had been lifted into tlre heavens, turned and dropped sideways.

Near Blenkiron's stood Thomas Coates' blacksmith-shop, which was totally swept away.

On the opposite side of the street was Mr. Carey's two-story frame saloon and dwelling. This was wrenched from its rock foundation and hurled down stream with four inmates, Mrs. Carey and her three children, who sank beneath the foaming water, Mr. Carey having. escaped by taking refuge in a tree.

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HISTORY OF DUBUQUE COUNTY.

Then Peter Becker's house followed in the vortex and went down, with Mr. Becker, his five children, Mrs. Lucy A. Bowers, his housekeeper, and her two little girls, Minnie and Lizzie.

Adjoining this was the dwelling and saloon of Joseph Becker, brother of Peter, which was toppled over, burying with it as it fell under the swallowing water the bodies of eleven human beings-Mr. Becker, his wife and six chil- dren, Mr. Pearce, his wife and two daughters, who were on their way to their home not far distant, but stopped for shelter from the storm, and William Brad- bury.

The last morsel that was left for the hungry flood, among all the houses that stood there, was the store of Mr. G. Horn, which swayed for a while in the surging water, and then went down with a crash, careening sideways and crush- ing down until its roof was nearly upon a level with the water. Such a picture of desolation cannot be conceived without seeing it.

A short distance below these houses stood that of John Klasson, the mill- cooper, who, with his wife and five of his six children, was hurled to death while their home went to destruction. The barn of the tavern, a large build- ing, was tossed up into the street near the bridge at the north side of the vil- lage, and the barn of the mill company, in size 60x30 feet, with sheds and corn crib, located at a distance of over five hundred yards from the stream, was torn to atoms and much of it piled up against the railroad track, near where the bridge stood. This was the scene of devastation presented by the destruction of buildings, startling enough to contemplate, but it dwindles into insignificance when the number of the human victims of the flood are thought of, and this is the sad record : Joseph Becker, his wife Ellen and two children ; James Pearce, Emma his wife, and two daughters; Peter Becker and five children, and Mrs. Bowers, his housekeeper, and her two daughters, Minnie and Lizzie; Mrs. Carey and three children; John Klasson, his wife and five children; Peter Kapp, his wife and four children; Mrs. Kingsley, Thomas Blenkiron, Oliver Blenkiron, William Bradbury and Richard Burke.

This is the sad record in human life for less than one hour on that fearful night. Thirty-nine victims-fathers, mothers, boys and girls at the door of man and woman hood, and sweet-faced, innocent little things whose feet had never touched the path of sin, all buried under the same death-sheet, the turbid water. Of these thirty-nine, thirty-one had been recovered up to 6 o'clock last evening, the cruel waters still hiding the faces of the other eight.

The bodies recovered were, Oliver Blenkiron, Christy Klasson, Peter Kapp, Matthew Kapp, Joseph Kapp, William Bradbury, John Klassen, James Pearce, Frank Casey, Joseph Becker, Henry Becker, Albert Becker, Henry Becker, son of Peter Becker, Thomas Blenkiron, Mrs. Carey, Elizabeth Carey, Jennie Carey, Mrs. Pearce, Ida Pearce, Mrs. Joseph Becker, Alice, daughter of Peter Becker, Mrs. Kapp, Mrs. Kingsley, Maggie Klassen, Mary Klassen, Mrs. Lucy A. Bowers, Mrs. Kapp's little daughter, and Mrs. Klassen.

There is the holocaust that death claimed and the waters gave up, and no pen is equal to the task of describing the sickening, heart-touching sight that presented itself as they were drawn, one by one, from the water. Here one was drawn from the seething water; there another was found nearly hidden under the black mud. Here a father was drawn forth; there a tender little son, with eyes closed in death; here a mother, and there the little darling, that, perhaps, she clasped to her bosom or kissed good-night but a few hours before. All along the bank, for a distance of a mile, they were found. On an island below the railroad bridge, which seemed to throw out arms of mercy, a number

1. Hampstead

DU BUQUE.

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were stopped and held until the hands of charitable men could take them from the terrible water and restore them to friends, if they had them, or if not, to the bosom of the earth. From the house of Joseph Becker eleven bodies were taken, men, women and children ; a heart-rending sight to look upon. As the bodies were recovered, one by one, they were carried into the mill, where, acting under the instructions of Mr. Coates, Chairman of the Board ; Mr. John Carson, assisted by Richard Winsor, E. O. Duncan, Bissell Case, Asa Davis, John Deggendorf, G. H. Stevens, and J. Barron, took charge of the male por- tion of the dead, washed them and laid them aside, to be claimed by friends or prepared for the coffin. Here they accumulated until they numbered fourteen. The father lay beside his little boy, and one father was there whose family were, perhaps, in ignorance of the fact that he was lost to them forever. It was enough to melt a heart of iron to look upon that floor thick with dead bodies-to see one man with a son on each side of him, and another with a sweet-faced little boy, who smiled in death, at his very arm, as he often was in life. Oh, such a picture teaches how often hearts may suffer, and also how much those have escaped, who never have known the terrible visitation of a sudden death among those they loved.

The females were brought, as they were found, to a carpenter-shop on the south side of the mill, where they were washed by noble-hearted women, and then brought into a neighboring house-all, save the family of Mr. Klassen, who were placed in the house of his cousin, Mr. Mosh, where they were laid side by side, the father, mother, one son eighteen years of age, and three daughters, the youngest of whom was only five years old, a round-faced, sweet little angel, one glance at which was enough to bring tears to the eye. One of the children, a daughter, aged sixteen, has not yet been found, and the only one saved out of the whole family was the little five-year-old boy, who floated on a board down the creek over a mile, passing safely through the railroad bridge, on which houses had been dashed to pieces, and rescued, while on the frail plank, in the morning. The son, aged eighteen, whose body was recovered, was badly cut on the face and forehead, and crushed on the back of the head, as if he had been jammed between timbers, and may have met his death thus. It is not possible to portray the sight presented by that dead family ; the father, mother and children, side by side, close together in death, as they are said to have been in life.

In the next house were eleven more women and children, all of whom left some aching heart behind them. A sad sight for any one to look upon.

In the afternoon, the coroner complied with the forms of law in holding an inquest, having summoned Thomas W. Johnson, Francis Coates and Abram S. Bunting as a jury. After hearing the statements of a couple of witnesses, they returned a verdict of accidental drowning, when the friends of some of the parties were permitted to take their dead away. For the purpose of getting as full a history of the calamity as possible, we conversed with several who were painful witnesses to it. Mr. Gustav Horn says that he, his wife and four chil- dren, went to bed about 11 o'clock, after friends who had been visiting them had gone home. The hard rain caused him to get up and go down-stairs to look after his goods. He started to go to the house in the yard, in which he kept his stock of powder, for the purpose of saving it, but discovered that it was sur- rounded by water, which was rapidly rising. He had just time to throw one sack of coffee on the counter, when he went up-stairs. He saw a breast of water after that rush toward his house, and called to his wife to get up. Heard Charles Thimmisch rapping on his roof, and asking to be let into his window.

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He told him it was not safe. Then he placed his wife and four children in the collar braces of the rafters, and presently heard the house settle down and fall over into the water, while the roof almost flattened at one end. He got his wife and children to the window of the side which was now nearly on top, and to that they hung until an hour after sunrise, when William McCarty and Mar- tin Carey helped him and his family out. There they had been for long hours while death ruled with riot hand around them ; many saw them, but could not help them. Their escape was almost miraculous.

Charles Thimmisch was bar-keeper for W. J. Becker. He heard the roar of waters, and felt that there was danger; kept cool and tried to calm the children and others in the house. He went to the front window, saw that the tavern was swept away, and then felt the house in which he was start off. He divested himself of his clothing, expecting to have to swim for his life, jumped upon the adjoining roof, climbed from that to Horn's, and, when this was about to topple, sprang into the seething flood and struck out for the shore, which he reached safely, but badly bruised on his breast by striking something while in the water. While he was springing through the window, Mrs. Becker attempted to hold him, lest he should be lost. Poor thing-she sank.

Mr. Kingsley, the proprietor of the tavern, was alarmed by the fearful noise, which he could not comprehend. He went to the door to look out, but the water rushed in upon the floor. He told his wife to come up-stairs, and pres- ently Mr. Rapp and his family-who had fled from their own house-came up. By the flashes of lightning he saw Peter Becker and Martin Carey's house go, and saw the water raise over the railroad bridge. He got the women out of the bed- room, and then into a larger room at the back of the building, thinking they would not hear the storm so plainly, and would be less frightened; saw the bridge go, and felt it strike his house and drive it onward. He felt that the crisis had come, and told his wife to get ready and he wonld assist her. They all reached for the same window, and caught hold of each other. He got out through the window on to the roof, took hold of his wife's hand for the purpose of helping her, when the house careened, and a wave washed him off. In fall- ing, he broke his wife's arm. He succeeded in getting into a tree, and was saved. His wife, and Mr. Kapp and his wife and four children, who were in the house, were lost. His wife was found, and her arm was found to be broken.

Johnny Rapp, one of the little boys who was saved out of the Kingsley House, says when the house went to pieces he got on a piece of the roof. His brother, aged eleven, was in the stream swimming with his brother, aged five. They got to a piece of roof, on which the elder brother pulled the younger by the hair. They floated against trees near together, and the brave little fellow who had swam with his little brother, pushed him up into a tree and held him in his arms until morning. Then the innocent little one, who appeared not to know his danger, got cold and began to cry, and, when the water had fallen, the elder one got down and lifted the little darling with tenderness upon a piece of roof, where they stayed until help came to them in the morning. The little boys are brave ones, and that little eleven-year-old, who clung to his little brother when fifteen feet of water screamed its wild death-yell into his ear, in mockery of the shrieks of despair heard on all sides, has a soul in him that is a jewel. That boy should not be friendless. They have an uncle in Chicago, one in Chickasaw County, and a grandfather and grandmother near Rockdale.

Thomas Coates was sitting up in bed, he thinks about 2 o'clock ; says Matt Mosh ran up to call him, telling him that all Rockdale was swept away. He hurried over and met Thimmisch, but could not afford any relief. He could

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but listen to the wail of the terrified and the crash of the houses, without the ability to lend a helping hand. We have received statements from Mr. Mosh, cousin of Mr. Klassen, the packer in the mill, which also give a gloomy account of the outlook. He rushed down to save the flour in the mill base- ment, which was flooded, and soon heard the crash of houses going down with the flood and carrying death with them. Mr. C. J. Caffall also reached the scene, but was not able to help those in the houses. He and Mr. William McCarty rescued the three Kapp boys, and took them to his house, where they were provided with dry clothing and food.

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The history of Dubuque County, Iowa : containing a history of the county, its cities, towns, etc., Part 57

Author: Publication date: 1880 Publisher: Chicago : Western Historical Number of Pages: 964

Author:
Publication date: 1880
Publisher: Chicago : Western Historical
Number of Pages: 964