May 10th.—Reports the “Fall of the Yarmouth Suspension Bridge,” (with a wood-cut of the wreck of that structure), which had happened on Friday, the 2nd inst. The following is extracted from such report:—
On the afternoon of the day on which this narration bears date, Nelson, the Clown at Mr. Cooke’s Circus, had undertaken to swim in a tub, drawn by four geese, from the drawbridge on the Quay to the Suspension Bridge across the North river—a foolish exhibition—but it was one which, from its novelty in Yarmouth, was calculated to attract the multitude. As early as five o’clock, when the train arrived from Norwich, although raining smartly, thousands of spectators had already assembled to witness the feat on both sides of the river. The Bridge was then comparatively clear. The Clown commenced his feat with the flood tide at the drawbridge, and had entered the North river. There were many persons on the Bridge, and as he drew near, the multitude upon it endeavoured to obtain a full view as he should pass underneath. Already had he reached Bessey’s Wharf, not far from the Bridge, when one or two of the rods were observed to give way; an instant alarm was given to quit the bridge. Alas! the caution came too late. The chains broke, and quick as the passing thought, one entire side fell, and the whole mass of the human beings, whose numbers were estimated from three to four hundred, were swept into the river below. The traffic road of the Bridge, which but an instant before was horizontal, had become nearly perpendicular.
The children, poor little things, of whom there were very many, and had naturally gathered to the balustrade, were of course the first to sink, while the force with which the whole fell, caused those who were in the background to be hurled with terrific force into the water beneath, crushing and annihilating those under them.
Oh! who shall paint the one mighty simultaneous agonizing death-scream which burst upon the affrighted multitude around—re-echoing from earth to heaven—may the appeal not be made in vain. One instant and all was hushed, save the struggling of a few whose lives it pleased their Maker in his mercy to spare. The waters, we are told, as if gifted with a sudden impulse of horror, at this fell swoop of death, recoiled in the impetus of the fall and “boiled up” at the back of the Bridge, which hung perpendicularly below the surface of the river. As suddenly the struggle for life was past to all but a few.
Then came a scene scarcely less heartrending. With an energy, activity, and stern determination of purpose, which are among the wise and merciful provisions of the Almighty, twenty-seven children, all girls, were immediately rescued alive on the West side of the river, and as instantly put to bed at the “Vauxhall Gardens,” who as soon as revived were replaced by others equally beneficially spared, or by some never to be recalled. Some scrambled out and rushed home to their own houses, not a few fainting after arriving safe at home. On the East side numbers of bodies were taken into the adjoining houses, where all the assistance which medical skill, humane attention, in short all the aid which humanity would teach everyone to offer, was brought to bear. Alas how often in vain. In one house alone, at nine o’clock at night, out of sixty-eight bodies carried in only three were revived.
Many a touching scene was witnessed as the anxious mother, and the hardly less excited father or friend, recognised some missing one safely emerging from the crowd. Thousands thronged the North Quay—messengers were despatched in all directions to procure medical aid, and the communication with the West side of the water being cut off, hundreds were left in painful suspense respecting those who were safe on the opposite shore. Nothing could exceed the promptitude, activity, and attention of the surgeons and medical men of the town, all of whom were in immediate attendance doing all they could to afford relief to the sufferers, where the slightest chance of resuscitation appeared. Mr. Lacon and a number of the persons employed in his brewery were exceedingly active in supplying hot water for baths, which is not far distant. All the blankets from the Union House that could possibly be spared were in requisition.
The scene now presented is still most agonising. Children, mothers, and fathers, seeking one or other of their families, tracing and discovering in the pale face of some of the dead, one of their dearest ties. In every street are to be seen one or more bodies extended on biers, returning to that home from which but short minutes before they had passed in health and life. The consternation—the agony of the town is not to be described—it is as if some dread punishment was felt to have fallen upon its inhabitants—every face is horror-stricken—every eye is dim.
Never since the devastating plague in 1664, which swept off 2000 of its inhabitants, has Yarmouth, notwithstanding its numberless shipwrecks, been visited with so dire a calamity, occurring too at the very moment a public meeting was about to be held to make arrangements for the distribution of the funds which have been received for the widows and families of the Beachmen who were lost in January last. How many are there added to this list? We dare not anticipate—Time will show.
Numbers, it is believed, are entangled with the rods and other portions of the broken Bridge. At this hour it is impossible to say how many or who are called to their dread accounts. The escape of some was miraculous. One woman, of the name of Gillings, the wife of a carpenter, was on the Bridge with her child; when she was hurled into the water, with extraordinary presence of mind she seized her child’s clothes with her teeth—thus preventing the rush of water, and paddled herself to a place of safety.
On the East side of the Bridge the greater number were taken to the “Norwich Arms Inn,” where there were at one time fifty-three corpses. Others were taken to the “Admiral Collingwood” and to the “Swan,” and many to their own houses. Not a few of those who first got out of the water went away unnoticed, and their number is unknown. Up to a late hour last night, it was ascertained that seventy-five dead bodies had been taken out of the water; and up to midnight, from the enquiries made, it was ascertained that forty-five others were missing.
By far the greater number of those lost were females and children. James Marshall, 16, escaped with a wound in the scalp. Two boys named Honorley, aged twelve and seventeen, were taken home, the younger died last evening, the elder is likely to recover.
The inquest on the bodies of the drowned was held next day at the “Church Hall,” before W. S. Ferrier, Esq., coroner, when the following gentlemen were sworn on the Jury:—Samuel Palmer, Esq., (foreman), and Messrs. John Norman, John Orfeur, John Fenn, G. B. Palmer, William Smith, William Spillings, Charles Barber, Charles Woolverton, Joseph Davy, James Emms, William Haylett, Mark Blowers, J. E. Laws, John Stagg, E. Garrod, Thomas Davy, and James Pratt, and after hearing evidence as to the identification of the bodies of the drowned was adjourned sine die. The following list of the victims is given:—
The following is the list of persons who were rescued, as far as ascertained:—
Sarah Ann Thorpe, aged 13, who continues very ill.
Mary Ann Arnold, with child in her arms.
Mrs. Thomas Money, reported to be in great danger.
Rebecca Page.
Mary Church, was taken out near the lime kiln.
Hannah Eliza Lake, an infant.