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About The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933 | View This Issue
3oG(i liver .Slacier.
HOOD RIVER, OR., JUNE 8, 1889.
(Continued from Fir!, page.)
like a catapult came down upon them
with such a rush ami resistless force
that the heavy trains, locomotives and
all, were overturned and swept down
tha torrent and lodged against the stone
viaduct, along with four locomotives
froru the, Johnstown roundhouse- the
heavy machinery and ponderous frame
work of the Gautier mill, and the accum
" tatlated debris of more than a thousand
houses, furnitnre, bridges, lumber, drift
and human beings.
T'he low arches of the stone viaduct
were choked up immediately, and the
water backed back over the entire level
of the valley upon which the city stood,
to a depth of what the water marks indi
cate, about thirty-eight feet. In the
great sea thus formed, thousands of peo
ple were struggling for life.
The scene today is one of the most
"heartrending possible for the imagina
tion of man to conceive. The accumu
lated drift gorged up at the viaduct to
to the height of forty feet, and then took
fire from the upsetting of stoves or
lamps. Then were strong men made
rck at the sight. As the flames crackled
and roared among the dry timber of
floating houses, human bodies were
seen pinioned between house roofs,
locomotives, iron beams, freight, pas
senger, Pullman and baggage cars, the
irreedy flames licking with haste their
diet of human flesh. The scene was
horrible beyond description.
Infants a few days old and the wasted
figures of age were burned before the
eyes of the beholders, and no rescue
from their fate was possible. Strong
men turned away with agonized expres
sions, and women shrieked at the hor
ror of the scene.
The' dead have been computed at not
less than 8000, and the number may
even exceed this estimate. This seems
incredible, but until the waters have
abated and the work of removing the
dead from this tremendous mass have
leen completed, it will be impossible to
tell how many lives have been lost.
The Associated Press correspondent
via the first man to cross to Johnstown
proper bv means of a basket suspended
from a cable. Once over he found the
scenes magnified in their horror.
Here were the residences of tho little
city's most wealthy and intelligent peo
ple; here were found the bodies of tho
most prominent citizens and those of
their entire families.
Cinder, Market, Locust and Washing
ton streets have been swept clean and
bare of all buildings of whatever charac
ter, and their inhabitants seemed to
have fled into the streets at the first
warning and rushed to their deaths, for
those who remained in their houses had
an opportunity to flee to the upper
stories, and when the houses were
frame they were floated from their foun
dations and many were saved.
, The Hotel Hulhert, a brick structure,
(bad sixty-five guests, and sixty-three of
these were killed by the falling in ot the
floors and walls.
At Morell, the Liberty schoolhouse,
Alma nail, the general stores and offices
of the iron company and one other
huilding are all of probably 2000 build
ings that have not been floated from
their foundations or caved in.
The stone viaduct is forty feet high
from the river bend at low water and
over this the waters rushed in a resist
less flood. On the west side is the
Hessemer and rail mills of tho Columbia
Although warned to flee to tho hill
sides, many of the men, resting in fan
cied Hecut ity, loitered aboutthc hills and
were engulfed instantly. Today their
l)odios are strewn along the Conemaugh
And Allegheny rivers, and are being
caught as far dwou the Ohio river as
; Helovv the mills was Cambria, a
suburb, in which district resided proba
bly 2000 people. , Tho scenes here are
hut a repetition of the other parts of the
1'I.UXUKRIXG THE HEAD.
Tales of indescribable horror have
come to light, and deeds of tho vilest
mfuro were perpetrated in the darkness
of night. Just as the shadows began to
fall upon the earth last evening, thirteen
Hungarians were noticed steathily pick
ing their way along the banks of the
Conemaugh towards Sang Hollow. Sus
picious of their purpose, several farmers
armed themselves and started in pur
suit. Soon their most horrible fears
were realized. The Hungarians were
out for plunder. Lying upon the shore
they came upon the dead and mangled
body of a woman. Upon her person
were a number of trinkets of jewelry and
two diamond rings. In their eagerness
to secure the plunder the Hungarians
got into a squabble, during which one
of their number severed the finger upon
which were the rings and started to run
with his fearful prize. The revolting
nature of the deed so wrought upon the
pursuing farmers, who by this time
were close at hand, that they gave im
mediate chase, Sorae'of the Hungarians
showed fight but being outnumbered
were compelled to flee for their lives.
Nine of the brutes escaped, but four
were literally driven into the surging
river and to their death, the inhuman
monster whose atrocious action has been
described being among the number of
Another incident of even greater
atrocity has just been brought to notice
TWO VIU.IANS LYNCHED.
At 8 :30 o'clock this morning an old
railroader, who had walked from Sang
Hollow, stepped up to a number of men
who were congregated on the platform
of the station at Saturnville and said :
"Gentlemen, had I a shotgun with me
half an hour ago I would now be a mur
derer, yet with no fear of evor havingjjto
sutler for my crime. Two miles below
here I watched three men going along
the banks stealing jewels from the bod
ies of tne dead wives and daughters of
men who have been robbed of all they
held dear on earth." He had no sooner
finished the last sentence than five burly
men were ou their way to the scene of
the plunder, one with a coil of rope and
and another with a revolver. In twenty
miiiutes they had overtaken two of their
victi ais, who were then in the act of cut
ting pieces from the ears and finger3
from the hands of two dead women.
With the revolver leveled at the scoun
drels, the leader ol the posse shouted,
'Ti.rovv up vour hands or I'll blow your
heads ofl'." With blanched faces and
trembling forms they obeyed the order
and begged for mercy. They were they
searched and as their' pockets were emp
tied of their ghastly finds the indigna
tion of the crowd intensified, and when
the bloody fineer of an infant child with
two tiny gold rings was found among the
plunder in the leader's. pocket, the cry
went up, "Lynch them! lynch them!"
Without a moment's delay ropes were
thrown about their necks and they were
dangling to the limbs of trees In the
branches of which an hour before was
entangled the bodies of a dead father
and son. Aftet the expiration of halt
an hour the roie3 were cut and the
bodies lowered and carried to a pile of
rocks in the forest on the hill above.
The Kanaaa Cyclone.
McPhkrsox, Kas., May 29. A cy
clone farmed about six miles southwest
of this city yesterday afternoon, passing
almost directly east through the country
and striking the earth three times in its
passage. Where it struck everything
Three miles east of Klyria it struck
John Nightingale's house, taking it
from its foundation with all its contents
and carrying it entirely away, not a ves
tige of it having been seen since. The
family escaped by taking refuge in the
cellar. 15. Katzlap's house was also de
stroyed, and the family were likewise
saved by taking refuge in the cellar.
Corn and wheat were taken out of the
ground. A few hail stones fell. One
that was picked up measure I thirteen
inches in circumference.
No lives were lost nor was any one
hurt. The only thing that saved de
struction was that no building was in its
track. Large quantities of machinery
were destroyed, alro timber.
Jail Break at Dayton.
Daytjx, W. T., May 30. Last even
ing 2d Music, incarcerated for stealing
money from B. M. W'ashburne six
months ago, awaiting trial, and J. W.
Sproole, for stealing a watch, escaped
from the county jail, by filing abar after
supper, while in the corridor. Officers
are in pursuit.
Large Investment of Engllxh Capital.
Lorisviu.E, May 30. An English
syndicate today consummated the pur
chase of 320,000 acres of vellowpine lan J
four sawmills, three planing mills and
thirty-six miles of railroad and equip
ments. The property is situated in Es
cambia county, Fla., and Baldwin
county, Ala., adjoining. The price was
Her Rival's Yalentine.
CHAPTEK I. i
A WOMAX'S MASK. i
"I hate her!" j
Alone in her room, Vida Moore, standing
before the pier-glass that reflected her sup
ple graceful figure at full length, allowed
tho anger of her heart thus to find vent in
She was dressed for dinner, but with a
sudden furious movement her white hands
had disarranged her dark hair, and with the
coils loosened, it hung in masses about her
face. : Iler eyes, lurid with the lightof fury,
flashed upon her own image in the glass,
and the picture she presented was that of a
fierce resentful woman a picture new and
startling even to herself.
"I could play the part of an avenging god
dess," she said, as she turned away with a
"oreed laugh. "I wonder what the gentle
Ruth would have thought had she seen her
loving cousin doing the tragedy business. It
was foolish and weak, even with myself for
the only spectator."
She walked to a smaller glass upon the
dressing-table, and swiftlyand skillfullyre-
arranged her hair.
"There," she said, "I don't think that
Chloe will suspect that her work has been
interfered with. A. simple maid with a sim
ple mistress, who graciously allows me to
share her services. Oh, how I hate these
simple people, and this life at Gordonfells.
Wrhat is there In It?"
For a moment it seemed as if anger would
again master her, but she calmed herself
with an effort, and sat down.
"Steady, Vida be steady 1" she murmur
ed. ,lYou must not allow your emotions to
play pranks with you. Your lot is to suffer,
and, to use the cant phrase, you must be
strong. Now, let me discipline myself."
She drew a letter from her breast, opened
and smoothed it out, and laid it on the table
"There it is. His loving epistle to Ruth.
I have stolen it, and the poor li.'tle goose
wonders where she has lost it. 'Darling,'
reading the letter, 'I w"l be with you on the
eve of St. Valentine. I must Just look in at
Briarwood, but 1 will be with you in time
for dinner. Oh, my dear little Ruth, how
long it seems 1' "
Vida sprang up and crushed the letter In
"I cannot read it," she moaned, "it sets
my soul on tire. Oh, that he had written
thus to me, for I love him I love him I
love him V
She clasped her hands together passion
ately, and rocked to and fro for a few mo
ments in silence. Then her passion broke
"What is Ruth's love to mine?" she asked.
'A tiny rivulet, whilo mine is the mountain
torrent. Where can his eyes be? Is Basil
Brandreth blind and deaf when he is near
me, that he should have passed me by for
Again her jealous fury was mastering her,
and the dangerous light flashing in her eyes,
but a check came.
Somebody tapped lightly at the door.
"Who is there?" Vida asked in a tone so
soft that one previously listening would
have thought it was tiie voice of another be
in?. "It is I Ruth. May I come in?"
"Of course you may, Birdie."
Softly and musically the leave to enter
fell from her lips, and the door opening ad
mitted a golden-haired beauty of nineteen,
her soft dress rustling as she came.
Though bo unlike in feature, there was
something between the pair that told of
They were cousins, indeed, and bore the
same name that of tho Moores of Gordon
fells. But Ruth was the daughter of Abel Moore
living, and Vida the daughter of Reginald
Moore, dead these eighteen years.
Fatherless and motherless, the latter had
been brought to the family seat at an early
age and it had been her home.
The Moores were an amiable family.
Abel Moore was a loving husband and
father, a generous landlord, and a thorough
gentleman, Mrs. Moore kind almost to weak
ness, and Ruth favored with much of her
Villa was also supposed to be a Moore, for
the passionate nature that surged within
her she had successfully concealed, even iu
Here avain was a nature inherited from a
mother, lor U gimsl'.l Moore married a wo
man of Spanish birth, a woman of unbridled
passion, a fiery daughter of sunny Spain.
They were united abroad, and after a brief
hut stormy life together, she died in giving
birth to Vida.
Neither Abel nor Mrs. Moore ever saw
This much in needful introduction, and
now we will return to the society of the
cousins, allied in blood, hut widely apart in
"What makes my little Birdie so pale?"
asked Vida, taking Ruth's face between her
liaudswilha gentle womanly tenderness
that assuredly was not all assumed.
"Basil's letter-I cannot find it," replied
Ruth. "It is too stupid of me to lose it."
"You may find it by-and-by," said Vida
calmly. "What matters about the letter, so
long as Basil himself is coming? To-morrow
night, I think?"
"To-morrow," said Ruth with dreamy
eyes, "and lie has been away a whole year
so long I But he is not going again."
"You could not bear it, Birdie?"
"I think it would break my heart."
"Hearts," said Vida with a smile, "are
not so easily broken."
"You do not know, dearest," replied
Ruth, "for you have never been in love."
"No, never in love," calmly echoed Vida;
'never, Birdie. There goes the gong; we
shall be last down, as usual."
She put her arm round Ruth's waist, still,
thus lovingly linked, they passed through
the corridor and down the broad oaken staircase-one
of the show things of Gordonfells
and entered the drawing-room.
Mr. and Mrs. Moore were there, and the
former, looking at his watch, smiled and
"Chattering together until the last mo
ment we have been here ten minutes at
least Barker is late with the gong. He de
lays it for j'ou girls." '
He was a fine portly man of fifty, with a
handsome head, which, with the exception
of his iron-grey hair, showed no ravages of
time. Mrs. Moore was five years his junior
and would have passed for forty. She arose
as the cousins entered and surveyed them
with marked approval.
"What is it that we heard at the theatre
about the two roses?" she said:
'On like tbo roses when June and July meet,
Tbo other the opening bud sweet Mujr dls
clotioa, Both go unlike and yet alike In this
You nre two resec"
Mr. Moore laughingly helped her line by
line with the quotation, and just as he finish
ed Barker the butler entered and announced
dinner. There was no company that day,
and the husband gave his arm to Mrs. Moore
and led the way.
"I have had a letter from Kenard," said
Abel as the soup was passed rouruk
Vida and Ruth looked up one with af
fected and the other with real interest
"Dear old Kenard," said Ruth, "I hope he
is coming home."
"He will he here on the 10th," rejoined
the baronet, "and I think we had better have
a party to meet him no wine at present
Barker, thank you and I must leave it to
you girls to say who we shall have."
Kenard was Abel's only son, 'two years
older than Ruth, and, of course, heir to the
title and estates. Having been in somewhat
delicate health the doctors suggested his go
ing abroad, and he had been away six
months, "knocking about the Continent,
as our young men say.
I "His health," said Mrs. Moore, "is much
Improved. He will make a strong man yet"
"I never had any doubt of it," said Vida
quietly, "he has a little too much mind,
I "I suppose he is clever," said Abel.
"He is shrewder than any of the men of
his age wo know," said Vida.
"It is a case of mutual admiration' said
Mrs. Moore ; "Kenard Used to say that you
have too much brain for a woman."
"His way of dealing a blow to the sex
generally." remarked Ruth. "Well, 1 sup
pose our strength lies in our weakness."
"Women are at a disadvantage every
way," said Vida. "Men make our laws,
give us our position, and settle that they
hall take the lead in everything."
"Somebody must lead," hinted Mr. Moore,
"and 1 do hope.' my dear Vida, that you are
not going in for women's rights and that
lort of thing."
"I am going in for nothing," she answer
ed, "but the quiet, peaceful, happy life I
have had under your kindly care." '
"if I have i!o::e anything for you," said
Mr. Moore, "which I am not prepared to admit-
at least, not anything worth mention
ing, I am more than repaid by your Jove." -
I Vida requ'red ail the self-control she was
mistress of to hide the sting these kindly
I WOl'ris llMPOlwi'iiutyhr iriHifhifl Klin Invml
her uncle in her way, and was grateful to
him. She knew her own baseness also, but
passion urged her on.
All things went down before it But
twelve short months ago, and she had loved
Ruth as tenderly as if they had been twin
sisters, but now tho words that escaped her
lips in the solitude of her room, but half an
hour before, were terribly true.
Yes, she hated the beautiful girl who sat
facing her, unconscious of having wronged
a living being. Basil Brandreth had come,
and wooed, and won her, without a word or
look beyond friendship for Vida.
There had been no rivalry, no outward
enmity, no struggle for the handsome heir
of Briarwood and its rent-roll of eight thou
sand a year. Vida's secret Mas kept well
hidden in her breast.
She chatted gaily at the dinner-table, sang
sweetly in the drawing-room, and later on
spent the sweet gossiping hour with Ruth
before the fire in her bedroom.
Ruth, seated on the hearthrug of soft thick
otter-skin, with her head resting in her
cousin's lap, speaking of Basil's coining as
one speaks of the opening of anew and
glorious existence, and Vida listened with
out a sign of the volcano raging in her breast
But when at last she was alone it rushed
forth in broken passionate sobs and hot
words, that she only half stifled as they fell
from her lips. Prone by the fire she lay for
hour3, until only cold ashes in the grate re
mained. "Oh, would that my love was no more
than this," she said, as she stood erect with
her eyes on the dull black hearth; "but it
bums-burns! It tears me, rends me, con
sumes me. I have dreaded this time. I have
seen in it the dark shadow of something I
am only now beginning to face. He must
not come here. Perish all things first Let
there be chaos, but Ruth must not be Basil
That night sleep held aloof front her.
All the evening a desperata deadly thought
had hovered over her, like a dusky pall
fluttering in the dim starlight. Now it be
gan to take shape and form, and ere the
dawn came it was a tangible substantial
Hideous, awful, but her only resource, un
less she would consent to suffer in secret,
and be strong.
But Vida Moore was a woman of passion
ate mould, and passion is a hunger that
must be appeased, a madness that whips
and spurs its victims on, though at tho end
of the journey dishonor and even death may
A BITTER BABQAiy.
It was barely daylight when Vida wrap
ped in a fur-lined cloak, came down into
the hail, where Sonte of the lower domestics
were engaged in dusting and cleaning.
She glanced front one to the other quickly,
and singling out a strong brown-faced coun
try lass, asked if she could take a message
"If you please, miss," replied the girl,
"Then tell Plnebe that I am going out for
a walk," said Vida, "through the village
nd if Miss Moore is coiincout she had. bet
ter take the road past tne oia rr.::
'I must haye no bungling," Vida mutter
ed, as she ventured out, "no chance inter
roption. And now for my gipsy-lover-my
dark-eyed audacious scoundrel of tho tents,
who has honored me with a confession in
looks ho dared not put in words."
Among other amiable qualities which dis
tinguished Mr. Moore, lie was very tolerant
with nomadic people, and his estate was a
veritable happy hunting-ground for the
There was always one or more of their
camps pitched in some sequestered spot in
the woods, and just then there was abodyof
them known as "Hecate's tribe" located in
the Bluebell Dell.
At the head of them was an old woman
who claimed to have enjoyed a hundred
years' existence, and was probably near that
age, and she was the Hecate from which the
tribe look its name. ...
Several men with wives, well on in years
were her sons, and their children in turn
had married, and had sons and daughters
nd there was a fourth generation of little'
One of the elder men, the youngest son of
Hecate, was known as Jirn tho showman,
he having by industry and thrift arrived &t
the dignity of possessing a traveling-van.
He was a man about Mr. Moore's age, and
he had a wife, who, in her style, was as
handsome as Mrs. Moore, witli the same ad
vantage of lingering youth in appearance.
These two were the aristocratic portion
of the tribe, and the objects of Hecate's un
"My darling Jim and Sabina," she called
There had been a darling younger daugh
ter once, but she had lain for a score years
or more under the greensward fifty miles
away. Her story was a sad one.
She had given her heart to a "house-dweller,"
a man of rank and wealth who had
wooed her selfishly and left her basely.
When ho had been gone six months a lit
tle baby came into tho world, and his moth
er called him Bardolph.
She died, and he became old Hecate's
care. Tho old woman doted on him, and he
grew up to handsome manhood.
Ere this, however, lie had wheedled out
of the old gipsy the story of his birth, and
he boldly took upon himself his father'k
While Randolph Dimsey wasted his sub
stance in riotous living among the rich and
great, Bardolph Dimsey, his unrecognised
son, developed into the scapegrace of the
He was a daring boy and a reckless man,
but he had done nothing more daring than
his failing in love with Vida Moore, and let
ting her know by his looks that he admired
He had done as much when she with Ruth
had visited the camp, and she, womanlike,
had read his face, but her pride would not
allow her to resent it.
She simply ignored him as if lie had been
He felt the sting of her contempt, and fed
his passion by brooding. He took to haunt
ing her favorite resorts, but never dared to
speak to her. At last She had learnt to lotX "
upon his audacious love with amusement
But now it suddenly occurred to her that
he was a man who might be made useful.and
her object in going out early in the morning
was to meet him and mould him to her will.
Experience told her that he was watching
for her coming, and ere she had traversed
the shrubbery she heard a "stling behind
her that revealed hij presence. She did not
go to the village, but bent her way to an ad
joining wood, and entered it by a narrow
Suddenly she faced about.
He was within a few yards of her, and
had no time to hide even if he desired to
escape detection. He met her gaze with
mingled audacity and abashed humility.
"This is not the first time you have dog
ged my footsteps," she said.
"No, my lady," ho answered in a low
tone, "it isn't."
"What do you mean by it?" she asked.
"How dare you subject ma to such an im
pertinence?" "My lady," said he, drawing a deep breath,
"is it impertinence for your dog to follow
"Then I ask no more than to be your dog."
"There must be an end to this folly," said
Vida. "If my uncle tolerates you gipsies "
"My lady," interposed Bardolph, drawing
himself up, "I am not a gipsy." ,
"What are you then?"
"Randolph Dimsey is my father."
The cold contempt in Vida'seyes mado
Mm shiver, and he was as abject as a dog
indeed. With his hands clasped together,
and his head hanging a little, he waited for
her to speak.
"You need not tell your mother's wretch
ed story to me," she said, "I have nothing
to do with it. I ask you why you follow
"If I were to tell you, I know what would
happen," he said.
"What is that?"
"I should he whipped off the Gordonfells."
And then there was a silence. Ho stand
ing with his head hanging, and she looking
at him straight, scanning his very soul.
"What makes such a cur of you?" Vida
"I am not a cur," lie answered.
"Lift up your head then."
He laised it, and tried to look at her d
fiantiy. But she was smiling, and ho stared
at her amazed.
"Upon my word," she said liehtlv. "I
think that you are in love with me."
"As there is a sun in the sky," he cried
passionately, "I am !"
"Well, don't shriek it all over the woods,"
said Vida. "Now, being in love with me,
what would you do for me?"
It was boldly put, but he did not yet feel
encouraged. He only stared at her with
amazement in his dark wicked eyes,
"What would I do for you?" he said slow
ly. "Why, anything."
"Easily said," Vida replied in abantering
tone. "But SUPOOSe I trv vnn-nut von to.
(Continued next xretk.)
re able to
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