New-York tribune., 1874-05-18
THE GREAT FLOOD.

The shocking catastrophe, of which our
columns contain the history this morning, Is by
no means the worst of its kind which modern
times have witnessed. The similar disaster
at Sheffield, England, in 1864, familiar to all
nOvel-readers through the powerful narrative
by the author Of Put Yourself in His Place."
was much more destructive in its effects. The
bursting of reservoir near HOlmfirth, ID
Yorkshire, in 1852, drowned nearly hundred
people and swept away about four million
dollars worth of property. Lorca, i'll Spain,
was demolished by the same sort OF an acci-
dent in 1902, and the loss of life on that
occasion is placed as high as one thousand.
The breaking of dykes and sluices in the
English Fen country and on the coasts Of
Holland has often resulted in frghtful mum
dations, submerging enormous tracts OF terri
tory. In the United States, flood and
freshet are common enough; but sudden
deluge like that which has fallen upon Mas
sachusetts has hardly any parallel in American
experience 1t stirs the mind with sense of
unequaled and almost unapproachable horror.
The awful torrent breaks from its boundaries
with one sudden leap and rushes down the
valley, bearing on its seething tide the tossing
remnants of houses, factories, machinery,
trees, bridges, rocks, dashing together and
rolling over and over with mangled and star
ing corpses. Death in manifold appalling
forms and devastation in its most hideous as
poets mark its pathway, and when it has
passed it leaves bitter legacy of suffering
and hunger to whole population.
1t seems strange indeed that Williamsburg,
and Haydenville, and Leeds should have lived
cOntentedly year after year, with the shadow
of this very catastrophe hanging over them,
the danger daily before their eyes. Every
man knows the awful.ris of penning up a
torrent among the hills and holding it sus
pended at the head of valley. Whenever
that is done there is an unceasing struggle
between the tremendous forces of nature and
the weak resistance of the art of man. The
imprisoned water is continually working,
beating, pushing for its release, trying an un-
guarded crevice on one side, undermining
secret channel on the other, rubbing at the
banks, Washing away little here and little
there. 1t presses upon the barriers with
force that almost defes appreciation, and
when it once makes a breach there
is no power on earth that can stop
it. We are told that the dam
above W Williamsburg was suspected long ago
to be unsafe 1t had been repaired and
strengthened, but it frequently leaked-and
the significance of leaks in reservoir at this
season of frequent rains and swollen streams
no engineer needs to be told. 1t is character
istic perhaps of our national recklessness that
men and women should have been willing to
trust their lives, and capitalists their entire
fortunes, underneath this totterng avalanche
of water. We drive our railway trains over
rotten rails and decayed bridges. We build
houses that can only stand by leaning against
one another. We go to sea in crazy ships
We sit over cracked boilers. We lack the
patience to make life safe or property secure.
We are all in hurry to get on, to win or to
spend. Our feversh haste takes no thought of
risk, or counts it only as the great stake that
is played for a great gain. Life among us
after all is nothing but a speculation. The
active American, whether he builds a factory,
or sets up a steam engine, or runs a railway,
or races a steamboat is playing for a fortune.
with Death for his antagonist.
But whatever the explanation Of the present