The scenes at Heanemyer’s planing-mill at Nineveh, where the dead bodies are lying, are never to be forgotten. The torn, bruised, and mutilated bodies of the victims are lying in a row on the floor of the planing-mill, which looks more like the field of Bull Run after that disastrous battle than a workshop. The majority of the bodies are nude, their clothing having been torn off. All along the river bits of clothing—a tiny shoe, a baby dress, a mother’s evening wrapper, a father’s coat—and, in fact, every article of wearing apparel imaginable, may be seen hanging to stumps of trees and scattered on the bank.
One of the most pitiful sights of this terrible disaster came to notice when the body of a young lady was taken out of the Conemaugh River. The woman was apparently quite young, though her features were terribly disfigured. Nearly all the clothing excepting the shoes was torn off the body. The corpse was that of a mother, for, although cold in death, she clasped a young male babe, apparently not more than a year old, tightly in her arms. The little one was huddled close up to the face of the mother, who, when she realized their terrible fate, had evidently raised it to her lips to imprint upon its lips the last kiss it was to receive in this world. The sight forced many a stout heart to shed tears. The limp bodies, with matted hair, some with holes in their heads, eyes knocked out, and all bespattered with blood were a ghastly spectacle.
Mr. J. M. Fronheiser, one of the Superintendents in the Cambria Iron Works, lived on Main Street. His house was one of the first to go, and he himself, his wife, two daughters, son, and baby were thrown into the raging torrent. His wife and eldest daughter were lost. He, with the baby, reached a place of safety, and his ten-year-old boy and twelve-year-old girl floated near enough to be reached. He caught the little girl, but she cried:
“Let me go, papa, and save brother; my leg is broken and my foot is caught below.”
When he told her he was determined to rescue her, she exclaimed:
“Then, papa, get a sharp knife and cut my leg off. I can stand it.”
The little fellow cried to his father: “You can’t save me, papa. Both my feet are caught fast, and I can’t hold out any longer. Please get a pistol and shoot me.”
Captain Gageby, of the army, and some neighbors helped to rescue both children. The girl displayed Spartan fortitude and pluck. All night long she lay in a bed without a mattress or medical attention in a garret, the water reaching to the floor below, without a murmur or a whimper. In the morning she was carried down-stairs, her leg dangling under her, but when she saw her father at the foot of the stairs, she whispered to Captain Gageby:
“Poor papa; he is so sad.” Then, turning to her father, she threw a kiss with her hands and laughingly said, “Good morning, papa; I’m all right.”
The Pennsylvania Railroad Company’s operators at Switch Corner, “S. Q.,” which is near Sang Hollow, tell thrilling stories of the scenes witnessed by them on Friday afternoon and evening. Said one of them: