Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
“I told them that the dam would break sometime and cause just such a disaster as this.”
~ John Fulton, manager of Cambria Iron Works
Monty could hardly navigate the mass of bodies traveling through the wreckage, commissaries, cleanup crews, and committee stations.
Visitors wearing tailored suits or displaying outlandish beribboned hats and carrying parasols came to gawk at the disaster.
His stomach revolted at how many thought nothing of taking a meal from the commissary or of swiping a trinket they found protruding from the ground so they could return home with a souvenir from the Johnstown flood.
This town had made history, and where thousands across the nation scrambled to help, it also generated despicable behavior that made it difficult to live the Bible passages about patience and being slow to wrath.
Did these people not care that they were taking food away from those who’d already lost everything?
The noonday sun shone clear and bright above him, a welcome reprieve from the rain. It stirred a hope inside that the folks of Johnstown would prosper again. With all the volunteers and survivors working every daylight hour, he believed it would.
Hammers, picks, axes, and dynamite blasts filled the town, yet one voice around him rose higher than it all.
Monty scanned the landscape, searching for the owner.
On an embankment by the depot, where General Hastings had set up his headquarters, Reverend David Beale, open Bible in his hands, and another fellow appeared to be holding some kind of church service.
A small crowd had gathered round, and as Monty headed that direction, more curious people joined.
Beale stood on a packing box, the back corners sunken into the earth, making it a level and secure platform.
“Just yesterday, I overheard a visitor ask one of our small boys how bad things were here in Johnstown. The boy replied, ‘If I was the biggest liar on the face of the earth, I could not tell you half.’ ”
Murmured amens followed. A solemnness settled over the group.
“To tell the world how or what we felt when shoeless, hatless, many almost naked from the force of the water, some bruised and broken, we stood there and looked upon that scene of death and desolation, it’s near impossible to describe the true horrors of it.”
Reverend Beale continued by using examples of those who had lived through, and perished in, the waters.
He spoke of Noah and how God had used his family to start humanity again and, even then, sin had infiltrated their lives.
“We must live these days with caution. Our behavior, our character, and even our faith have all been tested and will be tested in the days to come.”
Drunkenness, thievery, greed, lust of all kinds—Monty had seen it all over the past ten days.
General Hastings’ men had seized liquor arriving on the trains and sent a good portion of it back to its origin to keep it from exacerbating the riotous brawls.
He kept small amounts at his headquarters for medicinal purposes and its disinfecting properties.
Prostitutes were another problem permeating the valley.
So were thieves, who made great promises to those who had money or possessions left to bargain with and left them more destitute.
The Hungarians and Swedes, called “Hunkies,” accused in the papers of mutilating the dead for their possessions, lived in fear of mobs hungry for justice.
A few of those accounts had been true but embellished, and many of the accounts printed had been lies.
General Hastings demanded the reporters print the truth and stop inflating tales to sell papers.
Monty had heard that a group of vigilantes had traveled up the mountain to South Fork and onto the fishing and hunting club property in search of club members.
But the summer season at the club didn’t begin until mid-June, and none of them would come now with no lake to sail on or fish in.
Any club members present when the dam collapsed had already fled.
“‘Wherefore,’ ” the reverend said, pointing to a passage in his Bible, “‘have I seen them dismayed and turned away back? And their mighty ones are beaten down, and are fled apace, and look not back: for fear was round about, saith the Lord. Let not the swift flee away, nor the mighty man escape; they shall stumble, and fall toward the north by the river Euphrates.’ ”
“Or Lake Conemaugh,” someone from the group yelled.
Agreeing voices took over. Reverend Beale silenced the crowd with a raised palm then finished reading. “‘Who is this that cometh up as a flood, whose waters are moved as the rivers?’ Let us not forget folks, ‘The Lord sitteth upon the flood; yea, the Lord sitteth King for ever.’ ”
Both men and women shouted. Hands waved in the air.
John Fulton of the Cambria Iron Works joined Reverend Beale on his dais. His hair had grayed considerably since Monty had seen the man last. “Rest assured, each and every Cambria shop will rebuild.”
“Amen!” someone shouted.
“Johnstown is going to be rebuilt.” Fulton’s almond-shaped eyes pierced the crowd with conviction.
A woman standing beside Monty, wearing a dress that would be better off used as rags, wiped a tear and said, “Thank God!”
“What about Gautier?” a man shouted.
Fulton’s broad shoulders left little room for the reverend. “I cannot speak for the Gautier works. However, I am certain they too will rebuild, and bigger than ever. The Cambria men will be taken care of, and if you still have your family left, then God bless your soul, man, you’re rich.”
A renewed energy seemed to take over their little corner. More spectators joined Monty, filling in as far back as the next street. Reverend Beale stepped off the platform, either allowing Fulton to give his own sermon or feeling he had no choice.
“Get to work,” Fulton continued. “Clean up your department. Set your lathes going again. The furnaces are all right. The steel works are all right. Get to work, I say. That’s the way to look at this sort of thing… . Think how much worse this could have been.”
Fulton’s voice and intensity rose with every sentence.
“Give thanks for that great stone bridge that saved hundreds of lives.
Yes, it took lives too, but had it not existed or the bridge collapsed, the whole town would have washed down the valley.
Give thanks that the flood did not come in the night. Trust in God.
“Johnstown had its day of woe and ruin. It will have its day of renewed prosperity. Labor, energy, capital—by God’s grace—shall make this city more thriving than ever in the past.”
“Amen!” Fists punched the air.
Reverend Beale clapped along with others in the crowd.
Unfortunately, Johnstown put more faith in the Cambria Company than in God.
Monty had learned that on his first day and had worked to flip their mindset the same as Reverend Beale, mostly to no avail.
Sure, faith abounded, but it fluctuated based on the success of the mills.
Monty gazed across the landscape, still in ruin. Fulton was right though. This was their home, and they must fight for it. The question was, how long would it take to get the town functioning once more?
“Now …” Fulton held up a paper crinkled in his hand. “I hold in my possession today—and I thank God that I do—my own report, made years ago, in which I told these people who, for purposes I will not mention, desired to seclude themselves in the mountains, that their dam was dangerous.”
Strained silence settled over the crowd. Bodies crowded closer to hear.
Fulton lowered his thick, dark eyebrows into a V. “I told them that the dam would break sometime and cause just such a disaster as this.”
With that, the thoughts that had been circulating in town for days were declared aloud.
And by one of the most respected men in Johnstown.
Fulton was the general manager and mining engineer for the Cambria Iron Works.
In the interest of his company, his family, and the people of Johnstown, he’d inspected the South Fork dam and had written a report declaring its flaws.
He’d been ridiculed by many club members, including Monty’s Uncle Henry, who’d casually joked at dinner about someone needing to “silence the man.” Monty had been fifteen and believed it an unthreatening statement.
In the years that followed, his Uncle Henry would squash any lingering naivete that he was bluffing when spouting threats, and the cold hard truth of his uncle’s darkness would cause Monty to flee Clayton.
Fulton went on to reveal that years earlier Daniel J.
Morrell, the former manager of the Cambria Iron Works, offered to invest money to stabilize the dam if the club would allow Cambria use of the water during times of drought.
Benjamin Ruff, the man who originally purchased the property from the Pennsylvania Railroad and later sold shares to create the club, promptly refused Morrell’s offer.
Morrell purchased a share in the club so he could monitor the dam and other events within the organization.
Both men had passed away a few years ago, and Morrell’s club membership transferred to Cyrus Elder.
Despite how Elder viewed the situation, the paper clutched in Fulton’s hand may very well be the link to holding the club accountable.
“Watch yo’self, Miss Worthington.”
Annamae gripped the bundle of mail tighter and shuffled out of the path of men carrying crates of disinfectant to the wagon.
The gentleman who had issued the warning was as thick and strong as an oak tree.
Cedric, as he’d introduced himself, had eyes and skin the same dark color and a laugh that coaxed one from those around him.
Although she was intimidated by his size upon first glance, his gentle, boyish grin and kind nature quickly set her at ease.