History's Mysteries

"Up to November 16, 1895, Cleveland had been singularly free from serious accidents on its street railroads, although its river and its viaducts, with their swing-bridges, were constant menaces. On that date, however, in an early hour of the evening, a car plunged through the open draw of the Central Viaduct, into the Cuyahoga River, 100 feet below. Seventeen deaths resulted, all from drowning, for there were no injuries on the bodies when they were recovered. The car was one on the Cedar and Jennings avenue line of the "Big Consolidated" system, and it was going to the South Side. The accident occurred at the north end of the draw. Its cause is uncertain, for the testimony before the coroner was at direct odds on the vital point. The bridge-tender swore that the bridge had been opened for a tug boat, that the warning red lights were displayed, and that the gates were closed and locked. The motorman, who jumped and was saved just as his car went over the brink, swore that the gates were open, and there were no lights. The conductor, who gave the signal to start after the car had stopped at the safety switch, was one of the drowned, and so his testimony, which would have been final, was lost. The coroner’s verdict was non-committal as to the placing of the responsibility. Augustus Rogers, the motorman who was held for manslaughter, was discharged. Only one passenger was saved. He went down with the car, but struggled out to the surface of the water and clung to a spile till rescued.

-- "A History of the City of Cleveland", by James Harrison Kennedy, page 508

16 July 1896:
"Another of the serious casualties that have shocked the city occurred on July 16th, 1896, when a scow, used as a ferry-boat, crossed the river, near the Willow Street bridge, loaded with laborers from the ore docks in that neighborhood. The craft held nearly forty persons, and, considering its age and size, was overloaded. It had left the dock but a few feet when two tugs, towing a large vessel, passed near it, the swash of which tossed the old boat with considerable violence. One of the men, apparently becoming pani-stricken, arose in the boat and began pulling off his coat, as if for the purpose of jumping into the river. His fears spread among the passengers, who, rushing to one side, canted it and turned it over in the water. In consequence of this nearly half of them sank into the river like lead. The heavy brogans on their feet, and their clothes weighted with the particles of iron ore, carried many of them immediately to the bottom, from which they did not rise, as is usual with drowning people. The men on shore, who might have taken some measures to rescue them had they dreamed of what was to come, supposing that the rocking of the boat was only an occasion for frolic, and considering it a joke, had no idea of the serious consequences until the victims were all in the water. Life preservers were thrown from one of the big vessels in the vicinity, and thereby some of those who did not swim were rescued; but fifteen of the unfortunate men were drowned, and one other victim, in his anxiety to reach the scene and see it, fell off the dock and was also drowned. Most of them left families dependent upon their labor. Very few of them could swim, and the fact that so many were saved was due to good fortune. The crowd was horrified by their shrieks and cries for help. "Oh, God save me." "Don't let me drown in this muddy river," and other like appeals for aid were heard. No one could be said to be to blame for the accident except the men themselves, who probably would not have been plunged into the water, or have jumped into it, had they kept their seats or not overloaded the boat in the first place."

-- "The World's" History of Cleveland", page 121

"Twenty lives lost by the overturning of a flat bottomed scow in the river," was the message that flashed over telephone wires shortly after 7 o'clock last evening and startled men in newspaper offices and police stations.

The disaster proved to be an appalling one. The occupants of the boat were mostly Germans. They crowded into the scow, which was lying at the C.& P. ore docks in the old river bed.

All were eager to get to their homes, where happy faces of wives and children were awaiting them, and there they could partake of the warm evening meal and then rest after the arduous labor of the day.

The scow started across the river, handled by a boy. Suddenly a tug hove into view, coming at a rapid rate. The men saw danger. They attempted to turn back to shore. There was great excitement. Everyone was giving orders at once.

The boat became unmanageable and her side turned to the tug. At this moment a big wave from the tug washed completely over her, filling her with water.

Men yelled and jumped and in a moment there was a struggling mass of humanity in the inky black waters of the Cuyahoga. Three minutes later all was a quiet as though nothing had happened. Except for a few heads barely above water, a few life preservers floating about, and a big scow bottom side up, the river at that point presented no unusual scene. But twenty lives or thereabouts, had gone to meet their God.

.....This river bed runs westward, paralleling the lake shore. Along its banks docks have been erected and a vast traffic has sprung up in the handling of ore.

Among the largest ore docks are those of the C.&P. Dock Co., almost at the foot of Pearl street. Fully 300 men are employed there in handling iron ore. Most of them are foreigners by birth. The people who live in the downtown portion of the West Side, are accustomed to see these men trudge, back and forth, to and from work, day after day. They are known by the peculiar brown or copper color, which their clothes, shoes, faces, hands and even dinner pails assume, from contact with the ore.

Many of these men live in pleasant little homes of their own, in the suburbs of the West Side. Some of them have worked on the dock for years.....

A tremendous steel vessel, the Henry Bessemer, lay at the C&P docks yesterday. Her stern faced eastward. So large is she that those standing on the dock, at her stern, cannot see what boats may be coming down the river from beyond her. It is almost impossible to get an unobstructed view of the river at this point until midstream is reached.

Toward evening the various gangs of men at work on the dock begin to put away their tools and leave for home. The boys who carry water to them during the day have also another duty--to row the men across the river when they come to work and when they quit work at night.

....When the scow started from shore the Lagonda and her tugs were just coming alongside the Bessemer, and they were hidden from the view of the men in the scow by the Bessemer. When the scow got about fifty feet from shore the danger of a collision was noted. The effect of the waves washed from the prow of the leading tug was also apparent in a rocking motion of the scow.

...The waves caused greater rocking of the boat. They also swung her around with broadside to the tug. The next wave washed completely over her and filled her with water. Heartrending cries went up from the men. In the face of the terrible danger there was hardly a cool man on board. The crews of the Bessemer and other boats lying near rushed on deck, with startled expressions on their faces, to learn the causes of the appal-ling appeal from drowning men "Help! Help!" But the men on the boats were powerless. The only boat which might have averted the terrible calamity - the tug which was causing the danger - did not stop, perhaps could not, with a big steamer sweeping onward, close behind it.

-- The Cleveland Plain Dealer -- July 17, 1896