From 1862 to 1880, the reservoir was empty, and the property, containing something more than five hundred acres, was a waste. In 1875 it was bought by Congressman John Reilly, and was by him, four years later, transferred to the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club. This was an association of three gentlemen; suggested and organized by Colonel B. F. Ruff, a successful railroad and tunnel contractor. All these parties had ceased from membership in the club prior to the great disaster.
The original dam, constructed with care and solidity, had involved an expenditure of $240,000. It was built in regular layers and solidly rammed, and when finished was higher in the middle than at the ends, having a spill-way cut through rock in the side of the hill. The cost of reconstruction was no more than $17,000. No engineer, good or bad, had charge of the work. The material used was, for the most part, not more substantial than shale and earth and straw. The pipes at the bottom were permanently closed, and as the dam advanced, the water was discharged through a board flume over the top. It was at first intended to raise the new dam to a height of no more than forty feet, but it was presently discovered that to cut down the spill-way through rock would cost more than to construct the dam to the original elevation. This was accordingly done, though not perfectly, as the dam was two or three feet lower than the old one, and had, besides, a sag in the middle. A fatal mistake, if once the water should begin to flow over the crest.
Another mistake was the obstruction of the spill-way with an iron grating placed to retain the fish, without taking the precaution at the same time to enlarge the passage. This would have been expensive; and here, as in the construction of the dam, it is apparent that economy was consulted.
The sum of the mistakes made in the summer of 1880, and which culminated in the disaster of 1889, were, according to the report of a corps of engineers, who made a careful survey, “the lowering of the crest, the dishing, or central sag of the crest, the closing of the bottom culvert, and the obstruction of the spill-way.”
The people of the towns below had often discussed the possible rupture of the dam, but they scarcely feared it. Had it not been built by men who understood their business; and might not these be trusted, as men trust their lives to the doctor and their souls to the priest? Had it not resisted the flood of June, 1887—the highest ever known—and why then should it yield to any other? It is certain that in the towns below some were not thinking of the reservoir at all; while, in case it should give way, few had formed the remotest conception of the possible disaster. On the very day of the awful calamity, when the streets and sidewalks of Johnstown were already under water, a leading citizen, to the question, “How much higher do you think the water will rise if the reservoir should burst?” answered quietly, “About two feet;” and we have not heard that any ventured to correct the estimate.
Unsuspecting souls were they, and yet wholly like other men. Those long resident by the volcano have ceased to fear its fires. Familiarity, even with danger, breeds contempt. The evil which still delays, we fondly believe will never come. And as to the consequences, if those who build dams know so little, why should simple townsmen be expected to know more? Had they guaged that reservoir, and did they know that up there in the mountains were six hundred and forty millions of cubic feet of water, enough to make a veritable Niagara, for more than half an hour, ready to rush down upon them? Had they calculated the awful energy of twenty millions of tons of water falling four hundred and fifty feet in a progress of a dozen miles; and this progress down a pent-up valley, in some places not more than three hundred feet in width? Had they considered that the flow of a mountain of water, sixty feet high at starting, must be far more rapid on the top than at the bottom? That the base, entangled among obstructions, and overspreading them, would furnish to the water above, an inclined plane, smooth as glass, along which it would shoot with the speed of an arrow, to fall over the edge of the retarded water beneath, and furnish in its turn a ready passage for the water above and behind? That in consequence of this law, the flood would come not by a gradual rise, giving time for escape, but like a rolling mountain, to smite with the impact of a falling asteroid, and crush in an instant everything in its way? Had they reflected that such a body of water would outrun the swiftest Paul Revere who might mount steed to fly with the warning to the towns below? That to the doomed, the first announcement of danger would be the stroke of the destroyer? That to the living there would be absolutely no more time for flight than to the sinner, of preparation for judgment after Gabriel shall have blown his trumpet? It is safe to say that few, if any, had even remotely conceived the possibilities in the case. Men learn by experience, and even from experience they fail to learn; for the lesson of to-day is forgotten to-morrow: and human heedlessness is perpetual.
The crest of the dam stood four or five feet above the spill-way. Towards noon of the 31st, persons on the watch saw the water of the reservoir rising at the rate of a foot an hour. Meanwhile a rumor had spread that the dam was leaking, and this attracted other observers. Some declared that jets of water were leaping from the lower side to a distance of thirty feet. Somewhere about half-past two o’clock water began to run over the top. The structure was then evidently doomed; for, though riprapped with stone on both slopes, no rampart of earth could long withstand the abrasion of a torrent running over its crest, and down its lower face. A South Fork pastor reached the spot at ten minutes before three. A foot of water was then running over the dam. A few minutes later a break was made “large enough to admit the passage of a train of cars;” then presently the whole thing dissolved almost instantly, like a phantom. A breach was made four hundred and twenty-nine feet wide clean down to the bottom, and with the noise of seven thunders and a tread that shook the hills like a young earthquake, out rushed a mountain of water “tree-top high.” At such a sight the awed spectator could only gasp, “God have mercy on the people in the vale below.” Rushing onward a mile in three minutes, or as some have claimed, twice or thrice as fast, in an instant down went a mill, two houses and some barns, up went an iron bridge tossed like a thing of straw, and a moment later the flood was at South Fork. Two trains, a passenger and a freight, detained by a wash-out further up the road, were standing at the station. Warned by the awful roar, the passenger train sprang out just in time to save the lives of the people on board. The engineer of the freight, seeing it impossible to move with his heavy train, unhitched the locomotive, opened the throttle-valve, and with the fireman, flew for life. The seething mountain leaped on the train and dragged it away, regardless
