Dec. 18. 1891] 
FOREST AND STREAM.^ 
488 
when the wind had fallen 1 made a circuit through 5the 
woods to explore a little, and inside of a half mile found 
over a hundred trees that had been broken short off that 
day. 
On Monday morning we crossed Ripergenous Lake to the 
carry, and then we had work before us, as the carry was 
three miles lontr. and we had six loads, necessitating three 
trips apipce. When we were about half way over we were 
overtaken by two Indians who had been guiding a party 
near Moosehead Lake and were on their way home to Old 
Town. I engaged them and consequently we were across in 
a very short time. We pitched camp at tlje lower end of this 
carry, and I walked up the stream to take some photographs. 
The three miles between Ohesuncook and Ripergenous lakes 
contain the wildest scenery on the West Branch. In some 
spots the river passes between cliffs which, although not 
very high, ate only about 15ft. apart. The next morning 
we were again on the West Branch, but after going a mile 
and a half we had another carry of a quarter of a mile 
around Gulliver Falls to the Horse Race. The Horse Race 
is two miles long and will keep any man busy with his pole 
to run it in safety. I walked along the shore and my guide 
ran through without accident except that he broke his pole. 
Below the Horse Race we come to Nesoudnehonk Dead- 
watet. We had two miles of dead water, then a quarter of 
a mile carry around Nesoudnehonk Falls, where we camped 
that night. The next morning, Oct. 19, we loaded our canoe 
and were soon on our way, but after going about 200yds. we 
were again obliged to unload and carry about 100ft., as we 
could not get through the rocks. We then had three miles 
of fairly good running to Katahdin Brook, where we 
camped. 
As we had breakfasted early that morning and it was 
about 10:30 when we reached Katahdin Brook, we had 
lunch, and afterward I told Lon that while he was pitching 
the tent and getting wood, etc., Iwould take the trail toward 
Katahdin Mountain and see if I could get a buck. He said 
it was of no use to go there, as Joe Frances (one of the best- 
known Indian guides in Maine) was camped directly oppo- 
site us, and with him were twenty-one men. (sportsmen and 
guides), and there would be very little show for any one 
else. I laughingly told him that they would start the deer 
and I would pick the one I wanted. He put me across the 
stream., and I walked up the trail about a mile and a half, 
when I heard something stepping on the leaves, which were 
vfel^y dry. I stopped and Waited, and in a few moments a 
very handsome four-pronged buck walked out in front of 
me, and I hit him right in the sticking point. He was not 
very large, weighing, I should judge, about 2001bs., but had 
a very pretty head, the horns being even and perfect. I had 
considerable trouble hanging him up, as the pole I had him on 
insisted on turning around so as to bring the notches under- 
neath, so the buck would slide to the ground. After three or 
four failures I cut down a small birch that was a little 
crooked, and after notching it I managed to hang him on 
that so as to clear the ground. It took me just an hour and 
a quarter to dress him and hang him up. I returned to 
camp and Lon said, '-Well, did you get your buck?" I said, 
"Why, of course ; that is what I went for. " He would hardly 
believe it at first, until he saw that my hands and knife were 
pretty well covered with blood (there being no water handy 
to wash them). 
The next day I climbed Mt. Katahdin. It is just about 
seven milts from the West Branch at the mouth of Katahdin 
Brook to the top of the mountain. The lirst five miles lies 
through the woods, gradually ascending to the foot of an 
old landslide. It is nothing but loose sand and rocks, and 
very steep, about an angle of 45°. The last half mile is 
simply climbing oter large rocks. The way is marked out 
by small stones placed on the top of the larger tocks. At 
the top you are obliged to crawl through a hole, or tunnel, 
Underneath two very large rocks, and then you are on top of 
Mt. Katahdin, over 5,000ft. high. From the top T could see 
almost 100 miles in any direction, and there were within 
sight fully 200 lakes. 1 carried my camera with me, also a 
rifle, as 1 thought I might see some caribou on the summit 
of the mou.ntaiD, that part being perfectly level for about a 
half mile in diameter- and covered with rocks and moss. 
The caribou climb up to feed on the moss, particularly in 
winter, when everything is covered with snow below, as the 
snow never stays on top of the mountain, the wind blowing 
it off before it has fairly time to settle. In this level spot on 
the mountain there is a clear spring that never runs dry, 
even in the hottest days of summer. While I was there 
there was 2in. of ice on it. Crossing this level part, I climbed 
the further end, which is the highest (I believe 5,380ft. 
above the sea), and added a stone to one of the monuments 
that has been built by each one who climbs the mountain, 
adding a stone to a circular pile about 4ft. in diameter. It 
was just about as high as 1 could reach, and very soon they 
will be obliged to build steps tD build it higher or start 
another one. From the highest point the mountain drops 
off almost perpendicular, and a misstep at that point would 
send any one down almost 3,000ft. 
I have often noticed accounts in the papers, and 1 have 
also heard from guides, that almost ever year, 'jand particu- 
larly last year, a party of young men would climb the moun- 
tain while there was deep snow to shoot caribou that they 
were sure to find at that time. One guide said that he had 
seen the carcasses of seventeen caribou that had been shot 
and left there. 1 did not see very many, but I saw bones 
enough and horns enough to convince me that somebody 
had been shooting caribou simply for fun, or they wouldn't 
have left the horns. Descending the mountain, I reached 
camp about 4 o'clock, stopping a few minutes on the way to 
watch a nice fat doe that walked out within easy shot. She 
was very fortunate, as we were in no need of meat. 
The nest morning, Oct. 21, we left Katahdin Brook and 
piddkd down the West Branch to Abell Falls. We had a 
half-mile carry around the falls to the dead water. We then 
had two miles of dead water to Pockwockamus falls. 
There we had another half-mile carry to Pocwockamus 
dead water, then we had three miles of dead water to Katep- 
skanegan Falls; there another half-mile carry to Katepskane- 
gan dead water. About two miles down the dead water we 
came to Joe Frances's home, and camped that night near by 
to see if we could find a caribou. The nest morning, after 
exploring the country for three or four hours and seeing no 
tracks, 1 concluded to give up caribou untU next year. We 
broke camp and paddled down to Passamagamock Falls, 
where we had another half-mile" carry. We then had two 
miles dead water to Umbajegus Falls, then another half- 
mile carry to ITmbajegus LaSe, where we expected to camp 
over Sunday. We camped there over night, but were m 
such a poor position that the next morning we broke camp 
and paddled three miles down to Pemmedumcook Lake. On 
Monday I explored the country around Pemmedumcook 
and Korth Twin lakes, and saw a great many fresh deer 
signs, but no moose. The next day, Tuesday the 24th, we 
came down North Twin Lake to Norcross, where I was to 
take the train for home. 
I was twenty-five days on my entire trip, and out of that 
time there were probably five days when it either rained or 
I did not go into the woods for some reason or other. In 
the other twenty days I saw sixty-two deer, three moose and 
one caribou. I got all the deer and moose the law allowed, 
and would have had all the caribou also if I had trusted my 
gun. Besides I could have killed just twenty deer, ae I had 
perfectly sure shots at that number. .1 notice^that there is 
some taik of reducing the number of deer that" each spcrts- 
man may kill, but I do not think that any change in the 
present law is needed, as even the way it is the deer are cer- 
tainly on the increase. Under the present law the sportsman 
may shoot one deer, so aa to have meat while in camp, and 
then get another to take home with him; but if the number 
were reduced he would either have to go without himself or 
would be unable to take any home. 
0. H. Stonebridge, 
THE CHESTNUT RIDGE 
And Alonsr Its Foot.— X. 
A SERIES of papers purportina: to be descriptive of the 
Chestnut Ridge region, that should leave out of the account 
the most striking event in its history, would seem to be 
aruilty of a strange omission. I refer to the great Johnstown 
flood of 1889. 
Johnstown lies mainly on a low point of land at the con- 
fluence of the Conemaugh River and Stony Creek. Nine 
miles above Johnstown a small stream called the South Fork 
joins the Conemaugh. About two miles above its mouth a 
dam was built across the stream by the State, in order to 
retain a supply of water for times of need in the days of 
canal navigation between Pittsburg and .Johnstown. The 
basin formed on the South Fork by this dam covered an area 
of 600 acres, and was calculated to contain 480,000.000 cubic 
feet of available water. This dam was completed in the 
year 1853. After the main line of public works nassed into 
the possession of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company, it 
soon fell into disuse and was neglected. In the summer of 
the year 1862 this dam partially gave way and the water es- 
caped ; but as the water was low at the time and the break 
-was hot large, no serious harm ensued. 
For some years after this the dam Jay thus dilapidated, 
and instead of the lake that had existed there was only a 
broad extent of low land with a small stream of water flow- 
ing through it. About the year 1879 a company of wealthy 
men bought the property containing the bed of this former 
lake. The dam was rebuilt and the lake was restored. It 
formed a beautiful sheet of water. A number of handsome 
cottages were built upon its margin, and the place was made 
a summer resort by the owners. Some of the citizens of 
Johnstown were always apprehensive of danger from this 
dam, but people generally were quite indifferent about it. 
It did not seem probable that the dam would ever give way, 
or if it did, with such a wide outlet as the river Valley 
afforded the water could not possibly do any great dam- 
A widely extended and very heavy rainstorm set in in the 
night of May 30. 1889. It rained very hard during the 
night and much of the next day. The streams all over the 
State and parts of the adjacent States were greatly swollen 
with water. The railroad tracks in many places were washed 
out or covered with water, and trains could not run. But 
while much damage was done in many places, a most ap- 
palling calamity occurred at Johnstown. 
The streams at that place, which we have already men- 
tioned, were greatly swollen at an early hour of May 31. As 
the day advanced they rose higher and higher. The rain 
continued to descend. Great quantities of drift began to 
come down the Conemaugh and Stony Creek, and much of 
it lodged agdinst the piers of an immense railr lad bridge of 
stone that stood in the river just below the confluence of the 
two streams. The water was thus greatly obstructed in its 
flow, and began to back up into the town. By noon it had 
extended far up into the heart of the town, while the houses 
down near the point were standing half their height in the 
water. The inhabitants had betaken themselves to the 
upper stories of their houses. They were surrounded, and 
it was impossible for them to get away if they had so 
wished. 
Between the mouth of the South Fork and Johnstown, on 
the river, were several towns and villages : Mineral Point, 
East Conemaugh, Franklin, Woodvale, and Conemaugh 
Borough. The Pennsylvania Railroad tracks extend along 
the bank of the Conemaugh between Johnstown and South 
Fork. By the middle of the day the water had so seriously 
damaged the roadbed between these two points that trains 
could not proceed eastward any great distance beyond East 
Conemaugh, two miles above Johnstown. Several passenger 
trains were standing on the track at East Conemaugh, wait- 
ing, unable to pursue their way. 
Among the more thoughtful people there was a good deal 
of concern and uneasiness about the dam; but most of them 
thought little about it. People who live constantly in the 
presence of danger soon become accustomed to it and give 
it little thought. In the forenoon of that day the civil en- 
gineer in charge of the dam became alarmed at the height to 
which the water was rising, and he set men to work to open 
a sluiceway for its escape; but the water continued to rise 
so rapidly that he saw that his efforts would be in vain. At 
noon he rode down to the village of South Fork, at the 
mouth of that stream, and telegraphed a note of warning to 
the people in the valley below. By this time access to the 
telegraph office at Johnstown had been cut off by the water, 
so that people generally had little or no knowledge of this 
warning. Anyhow, few if any of them took advantage of 
it. This is not to be wondered at. It was cold and wet ; 
there was no place of safety except the barren hillsides, and 
no one could realize the real character of the danger. Be- 
sides, as we have seen, many of the inhabitants were im- 
prisoned in their houses and could not escape. All hoped 
for the best; perhaps the dam would not break, or if it did 
it would not do much harm. 
It was some time after 3 o'clock in the afternoon of May 
31 when the dam gave way. The long pent-up water 
rushed forth In a mighty torrent. It whirled down the 
narrow valley of the South Fork in a flood 50ft. high. 
Across the mouth of the South Pork stood a magnificent 
stone bridge upon which lay the tracks of the railroad. 
When the flood struck this bridge it was stayed for a mo- 
ment, when it rose to a height of 80ft. Under the pressure 
of this immense body of water the bridge yielded, and the 
fearful torrent rushed with the speed of an express train 
down the valley of the Conemaugh. The village of Mineral 
Point was the first one in its path, and it was immediately 
swept away. 
A few miputes later a locomotive that had been uO the 
road some distance above East Conemaugh came flying 
down the road at its utmost speed, its whistle screaming the 
wildest alarm, and only a few yards behind it came the 
flood. The face of this great wave was not less tha,n 40ft. 
high. "The waters did not seem to flow almg," says an 
eye-witness; "they appeared rather to be rolling over and 
over, as if the last could not wait on the first." The town 
of Eist Conemaugh shared the fate of Mineral Point. A 
large round house here, in which were about thirty locomo- 
tives, in a moment had entirely disappeared, and the loco- 
motives, some of them weighing nearly sixty tons, were 
taken up, whirled about like blocks of wood, and carried a 
mile away. The trains standing here were nearly all de- 
stroyed, and many of the passengers were lost. 
Just below East Conemaugh, on a broad flat, stood a 
beautiful town called Woodvale. This town shared the fate 
of East Conemaugh. The loss of life and property here 
was almost complete. Below Woodvale and extending up 
to it lay a large suburb of Johnstown, called Conemaugh 
Borough. At the connecting point between Conemaugh 
Borough and Woodvale, the valley, which at Woodvale 
opens out to a breadth of nearly half a mile, suddenly con- 
tracts by the coming down of a high bluff on each side of 
the river to a width of only a few hundred feet, and then 
immediately expands again into the broad basin in which 
lay Conemaugh Borough and Johnstown. These two places 
adjoined each other. Only an imaginary line separated 
them; they were geographically one town, and the destruc- 
tion of Johnstown implies the destruction of Conemaugh 
Borough. 
The mighty flood that had expanded across the Woodvale 
flat was now choked by this narrow passage, and crowded 
through in a torrent 80 or 40ft. high upon the devoted town. 
Its surface was a mass of debris. Almost the first obstacle 
in its way was the Gautier wire mill. This was an immense 
establishment; but in a moment it was swept away like a 
bubble. On rushed the flood, carrying: everything before it. 
'The largest brick houses seemed to melt away in an instant, 
so that afterward scarcely their foundations could be found. 
The frame houses were whirled along like chips upon the 
torrent, were dashed against each other and broken to pieces 
"I cannot describe the mad rush," says one who witnessed 
it. "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." 
This seething deluge of water, its surface covered with a 
mass of broken houses, logs, trees, floating furniture, and 
struggling and drowning creatures, was hurled madly and 
wildly through the devoted town until it struck the hea^y 
stone bridge. Here was soon collected an immense mass of 
ruins and human beings, mingled with rocks, earth, iron 
and almost every conceivable object. The water struck the 
bridge obliquely, dashed against" the foot of a high hill, was 
deflected from its course in the direction of the Stony Creek, 
and a mighty current set off up that stream, reversing its 
usual flow, bearing with it houses and their unhappy in- 
mates, and carrying havoc in its path. The ruins of build- 
ings that had stood at Woodvale, on the Conemaugh, were 
afterward found far up the Stony Creek. 
Meantime evening was closing in. The site of Johnstown 
was one great lake of water. The few houses that remained 
standing were filled with people who had struggled in from 
the flood. The embankment of earth at the eastern end of 
the stone bridge at length gave way, allowing the water to 
escape into the valley below. It receded slowly, and the 
survivors in the houses were prisoners for the night. To 
add infinitely to the horrors of the time, by some means the 
houses that were packed by hundreds against the bridge took 
fire. All night there was a raging conflagration there, and 
scores of unhappy people who had escaped drowning were 
consumed in the flames. It was a night of terror and doom 
in the Conemaugh Valley. The water was strewn with peo- 
ple crying for help. 'The hillsides were covered with the 
sad survivors, calling to each other through the darkness. 
Much damage was done and some lives were lost in the val- 
ley below Johnstown, but the Johnstown catastrophe eclipsed 
everything else. 
The Johnstown flood was a dreadful disaster. The rail- 
roads were destroyed, and travel through the valley was 
stopped. The telegraph lines were down, and all communi- 
cation was cut off. The whole civilized world stood aghast 
at the magnitude and suddenness of the calamity. It was a 
period of horror, of excitement and of uncertainty. Wild 
rumors and exaggerations were everywhere abroad, but 
exaggeration was not needed, the bare truth was shocking 
enough. The loss of life was about 3,000 persons; the loss 
of property was many millions of dollars. 
Johnstown was destroyed. Most of the inhabitants that 
had not perished were homeless, impoverished, without food 
or clothing. Scarcely a family that had not lost one or more 
of its members. Many families were utterly obliterated. 
The whole valley was filled with the dead. At Nineveh, ten 
miles below Johnstown, over 100 bodies had been drawn out 
of the water at an early hour the next day. 
This great calamity called forth the most magnificent ex- 
hibition of public charity in the history of the world. 
Every community, even remote parts of Europe, vied with 
each other in theii- efforts to alleviate the suffering at Johns- 
town. Train loads of provisions and clothing were instant- 
ly collected and on their way to the scene of the disaster. 
Hundreds of men set to work to bury the dead, to clear 
away the ruins and to erect homes for the survivors. Money 
contributions amounting to over $3,000,000 were made. 
• The ruined valley, through this noble charity, soon recov- 
ered from its desolation. Homes were rebuilt, business was 
resumed, the broken families were reunited as far as possi- 
ble, and the great Johnstown flood passed into history. It 
is a sad story, and we have told it reluclantly ; but it seemed 
necessary to tell it. T. J. Chapmak. 
Pittsburg, Pa. 
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