“EVERYONE IS PRAYING...”
NORTH DAYTON
North Dayton was the hardest hit section of the city. As the flood waters rose, houses were torn from their foundations, people climbed to their second floors, then their attics, and finally onto roofs to escape drowning, only to be buffeted by cold winds and snow.
KATHERINE KENNEDY BROWN
Taken from the diary of Katherine Kennedy Brown. She was marooned with the rest of her family at their home on Keowee and Webster Streets.
March Tuesday 25 1913
The Flood. 7:30 arose – Breakfasted – water had already broken down back and side cement wall – nearer and nearer it came – now it is on the walk by the house – Shèry and I flee to the cellar and begin shoveling coal into all receptacles – carrying it up into kitchen – now dumping it on kitchen floor – next time carried goods and now the water is entering the cellar – hurry with the canoe. The boys (Charlie Brookie and Shèry) smash a window and push it out. Now I rush upstairs order the boys to take up the rugs, furniture – typewriter books – now the Tiffany goes – every piece is upstairs except piano – now we heap clothes baskets with books
9:00 A.M. Water above one’s waist and rising. Agnes works on gasoline stoves. A boatload try to land but can’t.
Evening – The Brooks come. Fires in distance
March Wednesday 26 1913
Such a night. 12, 1, 2, 3 o’clock – terrific fear – a storm raging without. Will the rain never stop – and yet see the fires – coal cars in the R.R. are burning – the heart of Dayton seems one awful blaze.
Morning – the house is cold – the smell of oil comes from downstairs. We have watched and counted the steps all night in the hall to see how the water is moving – 9 steps out of water only and so for hours. The whistles downtown are blowing every little bit – What signal are they giving? How they jar. Do they mean that the water is rising?
Everyone is praying – walking the floor
The fires still rage in distance
March Thursday 27 1913
Slept or tried to in grandma’s room on couch. Dressed in winter clothes – cloth dress and white polo coat – with comforts over me and not very warm.
Anxious faces in morning but a little brighter. All of us go downstairs and begin cleaning off the silt and mud.
4 P.M. or so Boys bring word that Reservoir has broken – Terror – Panic – we grab up a few more things and wonder and fear what more is coming.
Supper eaten (still in sewing room) with drawn faces
Managed to make fire in cook-stove. Agnes stands on ironing boards and cooks.
Candle light –
March Friday 28 1913
Same as other nights – wrapped in comforts – fully dressed – shoes and all
Digging mud downstairs
Report comes that N.C.R. are making boats – 1 a minute – for rescue work – militia are arriving.
March Sunday 30, 1913
Joe Martin greets us when we come down into kitchen – a sorry sight we are – chilled and unnerved. I am still wearing the soiled white polo coat.
Shèry walks to town and N.C.R. Brings back awful tales of the sights – smells
April Sunday 6 1913
Sherwood starts for New Haven. Now I must do the forging – stand in the bread line etc.
Mrs. O. R. SMITH
Recounting of Mrs. O. R. Smith, who was boarding with the Welchans family at 25 McDaniel Street in Riverdale when the levee broke. She spent three days in the attic of the home before being rescued.
Tuesday morning the warning was sounded in Riverdale, but we did not hear it. Fifteen minutes later we were aroused and commenced to move rugs and other light articles to the second floor. At 8 o’clock water was up to the landing of the stairs and at noon Tuesday we had two feet on the second floor, causing us to go to the attic. There five of us spent the time until our rescue. We could see the glare of fire. It seemed as though it came from the heavens. We gave up all thought of rescue and believed the end was only a matter of time.
After being rescued I took two of the little Welchans to the relief station and because I had on an expensive coat the man wanted me to pay for the food. I was penniless and told him so. Another man gave us the food.
JOHN STONE
John rescued a Mrs. Clemens from the second story of her house on Linwood Street. Mrs. Clemens insisted on bringing with her a snow shovel. Clutching the shovel to her breast, she sat in the stern of the boat and began to sing hymns, then laugh hysterically. While rounding a street corner where the water poured in strongly from a cross street, the boat struck an electric light pole and Stone lost his paddle.
“God told me!” shouted the woman. “He told me. Now use the shovel.”
Stone was able to paddle the boat with the shovel to a place of safety.
MARY AUSCHUTZ
Two weeks after the flood had subsided, local teacher Mary Aushutz sent a letter to her friend Mrs. Joseph W. Ridgeway of Long Island, NY. Mary was living at 536 Valley Street at the time.
Dayton, O. Apr. 15 – 1913
My dear Jane –
Mother forwarded your note of inquiry to me and I hasten to assure you that I am safe and well and sane, though for the first few days I did feel as if I should go raving, screaming mad. It was a terrible, terrible experience and one which I hope never to repeat. Newspaper reports can give you no idea of actual conditions. It is very disheartening to be here in the midst of the wreckage and suffering but this is no time to shirk or I should have asked for leave of absence for the rest of the year. Our school has not yet opened but teachers not teaching are doing relief work under the Red Cross Society. Our school is one of the relief stations and I have been working there. We hope to resume our regular work Monday next. I hope so.
The water came in on the lower floor of the house where I board – we stayed in the house – lived upstairs – cooked on the grate. We were shut in from Tuesday till Thursday. I sent a telegram to the home folks Thursday afternoon, just as soon as I could get out, but the wires were so busy that they did not get it until Monday morning and they were just frantic. The cyclone in Terre Haute missed Frank by 3 squares but their message came even later than mine. Poor mother didn’t know whether she had any children left.
I left Dayton the Monday following the flood – was two days getting home as every railroad in the southern part of the state had bridges down & tracks washed out. Loveland, 6 miles from us and Morrow, where I was born, were just about washed off the map. I returned to D. – last Thursday as teachers were ordered to report. Most of the time at home was spent at my aunt’s who has been ill. She lives alone so I was nurse and maid of all work.
I appreciate your interest in my welfare. I didn’t know I had so many friends. Mother has been deluged with inquiries. Much love to you and your dear ones. As ever,
Aff. Yours,
Annie
Don’t wait until there is another flood before you write. – I may not escape next time.
CINCINNATI COMMERCIAL TRIBUNE
An uncredited reporter from the Cincinnati Commercial Tribune went to Dayton to report on conditions after the flood.
The naval militia on guard at the approaches of Riverdale were strict in their absolute refusal to allow any boats or pedestrians to even get near this great area of unknown. To reach North Dayton it was necessary to penetrate Riverdale.
By making a circuit of three miles it was found possible to arrive at the rear of the watchful guard and thus to the flooded edge of Riverdale.
Outside the lap of the small waves against the sides of the boat and the hiss of the still racing current there was, all about, the silence of the grave.
Bumping against the sides of cottages, rasping the bottom of the boat on submerged logs and fence poles, at last the outer confines of North Dayton were reached.
Here the scene was absolutely indescribable. Houses are piled on top of one another three, and, in one case, four high. In one place a small neat cottage, practically intact, was seen perched squarely upon the roof of a two-story brick. Trees protrude through the windows here, dead horses there. Strung along the telephone wires at irregular intervals is every article of clothing under the sun.
Mirrors, intact, are seen in the branches of trees. Beside them stream the rags of a carpet torn and fringed by the fierceness of the waters. Everywhere was seen the vagaries of a current that seemed to take a malicious delight in sparing the frail and wreaking its fury upon that which man regards as most durable and strong.
In a still street the boat was pushed against a second-story window, of which both sash and frame were gone. Looking within after the eyes had become accustomed to the change of light, two bodies were seen, that of a man and a woman. The man’s arms were twisted through the rungs of an overturned chair in a different corner of the room from where the woman lay.
But his widely staring eyes were turned toward the crumpled bloated form that had once evidently been his helpmate, as if even in the death agony he yet thought of her and wished, if not that they meet again, at least say goodbye.
A block or so farther along a cottage, altogether loose from its foundations, swayed and swept with the current. In one room were the bodies of two children, a little girl of maybe six and a boy of twelve. They were lying side by side, and in the loose water that swished from side to side over the floor of the room tossed and rolled their toys – a once gayly colored ball, a doll with broken face and matted flaxen hair, a Noah’s ark, now right side up, now the opposite, now all aground upon an uncertain Ararat.
In the dining room of the cottage were the bodies of seven adults. Some wore coats and wraps, while two, a man and a woman, did not. The whole tragic story was revealed – neighbors leaving their own habitations, probably lower down, and seeking what they fondly imagined was a haven that proved far otherwise.
In all, thirty-three bodies were counted. Three were in the water, five on porches and the rest imprisoned within their floating tombs.
And over all, the unheeding sun smile and smiled again; the first birds of spring twittered and hopped, and the fresh green buds of the trees and what bushes showed seemed to swell and grow visibly in the warm soft air. It was a contrast of death in life and life in death such as only a world’s tragedy such as this could furnish.
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