Now! Then! A local poet recounts the fate of some of his 81 neighbours drowned this morning in Holmfirth Flood through the miserliness of the mill-owners

5 February 1852: A local poet recounts the fate of some of his 81 neighbours drowned this morning in Holmfirth Flood through the miserliness of the mill-owners

Charles Robinson. 1853. Poetry on the Holmfirth Flood, Occasioned by the Bursting of the Bilberry Reservoir, Which Occurred on the Morning of Thursday, February 5th, 1852. Holmfirth Flood, 4th Ed. Huddersfield: G. and J. Brook. Get it:

Excerpt

And now, the next place in the fatal lot,
Is Hinchliffe mill, that well remember’d spot;
For here the midnight cry was made too late,
And the first loss of life was in Fold Gate.

Th’ alarm was given,-but, oh! the flood was there,
This cruel foe allowed no time for prayer.
Poor Booth and Wife, no doubt, got up to try,
By means unknown to us, from death to fly;

But lo, the flood rush’d in, and fill’d the room,
And oh! my friends, think of their awful doom;
The heart and lungs would leap for precious air,
But it was water, mixed with black despair.

Hark! hark! the smother’d shriek and dreadful moan,
The mighty struggle and the dying groan;
But soon the bitterness of death was past,
And their once throbbing hearts were still at last.

Where are the spirits of this drowned pair?
The God of mercy hath them in His care;
Leave to the Judge of all, who will do right,
All those who suffered on that dreadful night.

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To facilitate reading, the spelling and punctuation of elderly excerpts have generally been modernised, and distracting excision scars concealed. My selections, translations, and editions are copyright.

Abbreviations

Comment

James Winter emphasizes the predictability of the disaster:

In spite of this evidence in the 1850s that high dams made of clay, earth, and gravel were, in areas where rainfall was heavy, apt to disintegrate unless painstakingly built up and constantly maintained, they continued to be so constructed in Britain long after the use of masonry and concrete had become common elsewhere.24 Thomas Hawksley, one of the most prolific of the dam builders, consistently refused to use concrete even for the cutoff trenches or for grouting in the stone footings, although Bateman began to apply portland cement occasionally after the 1870s to places that needed to be especially watertight.25 In France engineers did not use earthwork dams if the height was more than forty feet.26 Earthen reservoir dams in Victorian Britain frequently were more than double that height. Conservatism about adopting new materials and methods in a country that had so long an experience in constructing canal and water mill reservoirs may have been a factor, but it seems much more likely that tight budgets forced engineers to follow customary procedures. Ratepayers in localities might be persuaded to support long-term investment in new water supplies, but there were limits to that revenue source, and, except for private enterprise, there were no other sources.

Municipalities, on the other hand, could make such investments at favorable rates by offering local taxes as collateral. The more enlightened among the municipal governments were willing to realize profits, not from the utility itself, but from its indirect benefits to the economy and society as a whole. From the midcentury on, other cities followed Manchester’s lead and took control over their water supplies, so that by the end of the century about eighty percent of the water companies were owned by the cities they supplied. This represented a major investment of public funds. However, there were constraints imposed by the necessity to raise large sums locally so that engineers like Bateman were restricted in their use of new construction technology.
(Winter 2002)

The volume contains a full list of the dead. The above poem sold so well that Robinson published a epic sequel of hair-raising escapes. Several samples:

The men of Digley saw its foaming crest,
They saw the spray fly up into a mist.

For fear kept them awake that awful night,
And each and all stood ready for the flight;
Long they had watched the waters rapid rise,
Which filled them all with terror and surprise.

Had they in that precious hour of time
Arranged themselves into a speaking line,
The telegraphic sound had roused the dale,
And check’d the horrors of my former tale.

[…]

Young Metterick stands first upon the list,
Whom God preserv’d, for death’s sharp arrows miss’d.

When he arose, the house was tumbling down,
He with his bed into the flood was thrown;
And now commenced a most tremendous strife,
Nature, with all her powers, fought for life.

While struggling in the flood he felt dispair,
But up he leap’d to taste the precious air,
And as he leap’d he caught a floating plank,
Which could not bear his weight, so down he sank.

Now every sinew took an active part,
He rolled and felt death near unto his heart;
Once more he leap’d, and caught a block of wood,
Which kept his head above the raging flood.

He now commenced a most amazing ride,
Death and destruction floated by his side;
By God’s great mercy he did keep his hold,
While deadly things around his head were hurl’d.

Down into Bottom’s dam he now doth launch,
The infidel may say ’tis all a chance;
But providence still guides his floating raft,
And screens his head from every deadly shaft.

Away he sail’d until he felt the sand,
When off he leap’d, and soon escaped to land (Robinson 1853).

Other literature includes “a few facts bearing upon the geological question, and having reference to the transporting power of water” from April 1852 by Joseph Prestwich, the geologist-entrepreneur:

The broad tract of hilly country, which stretches north and south on the borders of Lancashire and Yorkshire, rises, in some places between Manchester and Huddersfield, to the height of nearly 2000 feet. The central ridge is here composed of the Millstone Grit Series, the elevated surfaces of which form extensive barren moors, and from which, owing to their lithological character and the large fall of rain, the surface-drainage is very considerable. On its eastern slope, the water is carried off by numerous small streams, falling into the various tributaries of the Humber. Their usual course is through narrow and picturesque valleys, which penetrate deep into the hills; amongst them is that of the Holme, which commences in the central range of hills, winds for nine miles east and north, and then joins the valley of the Colne at Huddersfield: it is well-wooded, and the scenery is generally bold and fine. At a short distance from the top of the valley, the Holme is joined by the Digley streamlet; the latter, however, being apparently the main stream, and draining, according to Capt. Moody, about 1920 acres of surface. It at first flows through a narrow and uncultivated ravine, which, three miles above the [?] town of Holmfirth, opens out into a narrow valley. This valley has always been subject to occasional floods, arising, however, from natural causes: one of the most disastrous occurred in 1777. The bottom of the valley shows beneath the turf an accumulation, several feet thick, of local gravel and rolled fragments of rocks. In some places debris of this description overlies 2 to 3 feet of imperfect peaty matter, which again appears to repose on similar detrital accumulations. This drift, however, is much water-worn, and does not seen to contain any masses of rock at all approaching to the dimensions those transported by the late flood.

[Area plan]

Between 1840 and 1844, an embankment 96 feet high (but which afterwards subsided to 87 feet), about 480 feet wide at base, 16 feet at top, and 340 feet in length, was thrown across the valley of the Digley, three miles above Holmfirth. By this means an artificial lake, known as the Bilberry Reservoir, about a quarter of a mile long, 300 to 400 feet broad, with a surface of rather more than 11 acres, and in the centre from 70 to 80 feet deep, was formed. It was calculated that, when full, this reservoir held 86,248,000 gallons of water. The dam was constructed of a wall of clay-puddle, 8 feet wide at top, and 16 feet at bottom, with a mass of the debris of the valley, consisting of earth and stones, on either side. The inner slope was paved with squared stone, and had a base 3 to 1; the outer slope, a base of 2 to 1.

[…]

The portion of the embankment destroyed extends to its full depth, and forms a gap about 140 feet in width at top, and 25 feet at bottom. The weight of the materials thus swept away, and scattered in gradually decreasing quantity for a distance of half a mile, cannot be much less than 40,000 to 50,000 tons.

[etc. etc.] (Prestwich 1852)

On the Sunday following the disaster, at Wibsey, Bradford, a prominent clergyman and activist-teetotaller, the Rev. Joshua Fawcett, preached a sermon (Fawcett 1852) based on Matthew 24:

But as the days of Noe were, so shall also the coming of the Son of man be. For as in the days that were before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noe entered into the ark, And knew not until the flood came, and took them all away; so shall also the coming of the Son of man be. Then shall two be in the field; the one shall be taken, and the other left. Two women shall be grinding at the mill; the one shall be taken, and the other left. Watch therefore: for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come. But know this, that if the goodman of the house had known in what watch the thief would come, he would have watched, and would not have suffered his house to be broken up. Therefore be ye also ready: for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.

Fortunately in the appendix he cites the Halifax Guardian:

It appears that some 14 or 15 years ago, an act of parliament was obtained for the construction of a large reservoir at the head of the Holme valley, in the neighbourhood of Holme Moss, for the supply of the mills erected along the course of the river during the dry seasons. The millowners were to be rated in proportion to the fall of water, and the affairs of the company conducted by a board of commissioners… The plan adopted was to erect an immense wall across the valley, and thus dam-up the two streams alluded to; Marsden Clough being to the right of the reservoir, Good Bent Clough to the left, and Good Bent hill separating the two streams. Everything, of course, depended upon the stability of this wall… Previous to this wall being commenced the foundation was puddled; and during this operation, we are informed, the contractor met with a spring of water, nearly in the centre where the embankment was to be thrown and which gave him an immense amount of trouble… Every scheme which ingenuity could devise was tried, but all to no purpose… With this difficulty unsurmounted … the contractor proceeded with his work! The reason we heard assigned by an old inhabitant, residing on the mountain, why this spring of water was not stopped-up, was – that the commissioners could not afford to lay out any more money in puddling!

[…]

This evident defection in the bur-wall was viewed with alarm by the mill-owners having property situated on the stream, until the imminent peril they were in, from a sudden rupture of this lateral wall, became a household word. This fear of a mighty inundation has reigned in the minds of the entire population in the valley; and upon several occasions, and especially during any sudden fall of rain, numbers of people have located themselves on the neigbouring hills, expecting to see the reservoir burst. This fear of the embankment giving way, became so great about four years ago, that a Mr. David Porter, contractor, was engaged to repair it. He opened the embankment and put in an immense amount of material for the purpose of preventing a rupture. Whether he ascertained the reason of the embankment giving way or not, we are not aware; but it is said he told the Commissioners he had not got down low enough, and that a further opening must be made, and more puddle put in, if the evil was remedied. Parsimony, it is said, again prevailed. The contractor declared his work not to be accomplished; but as further operations would be attended with more expense, he was ordered to desist; and with a full knowledge of the extremely dangerous state of the embankment, and in spite of the fact patent to every man, woman, and child in the district, that the reservoir never held water to the satisfaction of the mill-owners, no further steps were taken to avert what was sure to come to pass sooner or later. In fact, it resolved itself merely into a question of time as to how soon the spring of water would wash away the puddle, and let down the whole of the embankment.

Henry Denny explains geological drift with reference to the Holmfirth Flood:

As, to persons unacquainted with geological phenomena, it may appear a startling assertion to hear of large boulders travelling from Cumberland over the plains of Lancashire and Cheshire, or even to Bridgenorth, by the mere action of water, or of the continuous streams of boulders in Forfarshire, between three and four miles broad, and in a straight line for thirty miles, yet by no other agent than water has all this been accomplished. If, however, we still want actual evidence of what a comparatively small current can produce in one hour, we have only to refer to the effects of the Holmfirth flood, in February, 1852. The materials swept from the reservoir when it burst were supposed to weigh about 60,000 tons. The reservoir was not more than a quarter of a mile in length, with a surface of eleven acres, and contained about 86,248,000 gallons of water, yet the torrent tore up the sides of the valley in some places to a depth of 10 to 20 feet, and covered the meadows with fragments of rock, sand, and gravel for a considerable distance. Amongst the comparatively small masses, however, scattered about, there were three or four blocks of stone which deserve to be recorded,—the first, a mass 7 feet in length by 5 feet in breadth and 2 feet in depth, and weighing 5 or 6 tons, was transported half-a-mile; another, 12 feet by 6½ feet, and 2 feet deep, and weighing 7 or 8 tons; and lastly, in the middle of the valley, near Upper Digley Mill, about one third of a mile from the parent rock, was a block 22 feet long, 6 feet broad, and 3½ feet thick, and weighing about 20 tons. If, then, such were the effects of a temporary flood, caused by a body of water comparatively small, and along a valley where its force could not be maintained, we may easily form some conception of the enormous power which a more continuous flood, with more sustained action, would possess. But what are all these, however large we may consider them, compared with many which are still lying on the precipitous sides of the mountains in Switzerland? One block of granite behind Neufchatel, 850 feet above the lake, measures between 50 and 60 feet in length, by 20 feet in breadth, and 40 feet in height. Another, in the Canton of Berne, measures 61,000 cubic feet. The largest boulder I have seen turned up during the recent excavations, is one lying near Larchfield Foundry, in Hunslet-lane, about a yard long and nearly two feet broad (Denny 1853).

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Original

Great God! what desolation do I see,
What havoc, wretchedness, and misery;
I ask the cause? it is the Flood! they say,
Which burst its bounds, and forced its midnight way.

Man raised a bank, the Bilberry stream to bind,
But down it rushed, like chaff before the wind, —
With speed, towards the sea, the water ran,
Taking before it house, and beast, and man.

The fearful flood got strength from step to step,
Sweeping the works of man at every leap;
Death and destruction mark’d its reckless course,
And rocks and trees were driven by its force.

The Bilberry mill was first to feel the blow,
And quickly it did lay this structure low:
Leaving a wreck to shew where once it stood,
Before it suffer’d in that fearful flood.

With gathering strength, it then rolled down the hill,
And soon arrived at Upper Digley mill,-
At once took down the barn, the horse, and cow,
And damaged th’ house and mill, which lay below.

To Lower Digley mill it swiftly flies,
Roaring as loud as thunder through the skies;
Observe!—the mill was built from hill to hill,
And did across that narrow passage fill.

But soon the flood, with an appalling clash,
Brought down the whole with one tremendous crash;
Then, armed with instruments of woe, away
It takes the wheels and boilers as its prey.

Away upon the mighty flood they fly,
Making a doleful sound and deathly cry,
Which all who heard, or saw, that dreadful night,
Will ne’er forget the awful, mournful sight,-

Again, with speed and power unknown to man,
Along the dale to Bank End mill it ran:
Part of this mill was carried by its force,
And part left trembling near the water course,-

Then down to Holm Bridge church with haste it flies,
It soon threw down the gates and filled the aisles;
And here it spread, as though the sea had found,
A subterraneous passage under ground.

‘Twas here the Holm Bridge torrent join’d to make
The rolling waters swell into a lake;
But soon it goes, with terror on its brow,
To take the lives of those who live below.

And now, the next place in the fatal lot,
Is Hinchliffe mill, that well remember’d spot;
For here the midnight cry was made too late,
And the first loss of life was in Fold Gate.

Th’ alarm was given,-but, oh! the flood was there,
This cruel foe allowed no time for prayer.
Poor Booth and Wife, no doubt, got up to try,
By means unknown to us, from death to fly;

But lo, the flood rush’d in, and fill’d the room,
And oh! my friends, think of their awful doom;
The heart and lungs would leap for precious air,
But it was water, mixed with black despair.

Hark! hark! the smother’d shriek and dreadful moan,
The mighty struggle and the dying groan;
But soon the bitterness of death was past,
And their once throbbing hearts were still at last.

Where are the spirits of this drowned pair?
The God of mercy hath them in His care;
Leave to the Judge of all, who will do right,
All those who suffered on that dreadful night.

But come, my friends, with trembling let us chase
This fearful torrent in its dreadful race;
For with a mighty and resistless power,
All that obstructs its course it doth devour.

And now the horrors of my mournful tale,
If rightly told, will turn the stoutest pale:
For the six families in Water Street
Thought not that death and they that night would meet.

But soon was heard a rushing, mighty sound,
Which broke the sleep of all who lived around;-
It was the flood! which came with such a force,
As swept the street into the water course.

Some of the neighbours saw, with deepest grief,
The street go down, but could not give relief:
They heard the thrilling cry, for some to save,
But none could snatch them from the wat’ry grave.

Behold! the flood rush’d down with fearful speed,
And none could help them in the hour of need;
Th’ observers saw that death had struck this blow,
And none could rescue from his iron jaw.

But now the cry to save is heard no more,
For human aid no longer they implore :
Nature upheld the struggle to the last,
And now the horrid throes of death are past.

See, holy Angels hovering o’er the flood,
To guide these precious spirits unto God;
For He can save unto the uttermost,
All those who in their loving Saviour trust.

When morn arose, and chased away the night,
No tongue could tell, nor pencil paint the sight;
The street was gone in desolation’s train,
And its inhabitants ne’er to be seen again.

Their poor remains were carried with the flood,
And left in wreck, or buried in the mud:
Poor Joseph Marsden has not yet been found,
But still lies out of the burial ground.

A thirst for gain at first built up the bank,
Which was not founded safe, and soon it sank;
A thirst for gain, neglected its repair,
Which introduced, at length, this sad affair.

But come, my friends, we’ll hasten down the vale,
And try to shorten our distressing tale:
The next is Bottom’s mill, -see, there it stands,
But skill and cash will soon recall its hands.

So down in desolation’s track we’ll go,
And take a glance at what is done below:
For beds, and coats, and garments too, were seen,
Hung on the trees, or left upon the green.

Next is Victoria mill: she stood the best,
And in the raging flood she suffer’d least;
She stands the queen of all the mills around,
And suffer’d least, because on higher ground.

And here, a noble action I’ll record,
Which would have honour’d either duke or lord:-
As I have seen, three cottages there stood,
Near to this mill, before this awful flood.

When th’ inhabitants awaked from sleep,
They saw the flood roll on with fearful sweep,-
They cried for help, with terror in the sound,
Which brought the neighbours near unto the ground.

When Mr. Crosland saw their dangerous state,
He cried, “be quick, or we shall be too late;”
He saw a mason’s ladder fixed, hard by,
Tied fast with ropes, but soon he made them fly.

He called two active youths, “Go down,” he cried,
“And place the ladder by the cottage side;”
Away they ran, through water and through mud,
And placed the ladder where the inmates stood.

And one by one escaped the furious flood,
And soon, rejoicing, on safe ground they stood;
No sooner had they reached the little hill,
Than down the walls and all the building fell.

Hail! Crosland, hail! thy name shall live, brave man,
In carrying out with haste thy worthy plan;
Thou didst obtain more honour in that hour,
Than heroes who have conquered worlds by power.

For hadst thou lingered, and the moments fled,
The twenty, which thou saved, had now been dead.
But come, my friends, give God above the praise,
Who can deliver in ten thousand ways.

But we must leave this highly favour’d place,
If we intend this sad event to trace;
The next is Sandford’s house, oh! mournful sight,
Its wreck reminds us of that dreadful night.

Behold! this widower had retired to rest,
With health, and strength, and social comfort blest;
His children too, felt safe beneath his roof,
For of his love they had sufficient proof.

And thus reclining on their beds they lie,
Until sweet sleep had closed up every eye;
Soon the midnight hour had passed away,
Unconscious of the morn or coming day.

But oh! the flood was gaining weight and power,
From moorland stream and from the falling shower,
For down it came with a tremendous sweep,
And none were near to wake them from their sleep.

When they awoke, they heard its dreadful roar,
But now, alas! it was close at their door;
Another rush, and down the building fell,
But of their deathly struggle who can tell.

I think I hear the children loudly cry,
“Dear father, save, or we shall surely die;”
Alas! they felt, no power on earth could save,
And downward sank into a watery grave.

O come, ye daughters of the vale, draw near,
And for your sisters drop the parting tear;
Prepare to meet them on yon happy shore,
Where floods and sudden deaths are known no more.

And now we’ll take a glance at Sandford’s mill,
The loss is great, and all the wheels are still —
The loss, its former master will not know,
For he has done with all things here below.

My friends, the loss of property is nought,
If weighed with life, it is not worth a thought.
We now will hasten down to Farrar’s mill,
The wreck is great, and all the works are still.

Ye who have suffer’d much, fresh courage take,
For christian sympathy is now awake,
Your case has raised the sympathizing sigh,
And soon the public will your wants supply.

Next is Scar Fold — with sorrow I relate,
Their loss of life and property was great;
Eight precious lives were taken by the flood,
And all the place in perfect ruin stood.

Poor Hellawell, dear man, I feel for thee,
Six in round numbers were thy family;
Thy great bereavement on that fatal morn,
Would make thee wish thou never hadst been born.

But thou, brave Woodcock, heardst the dread alarm,
Thou ran and caught two children in thy arms,-
Thou felt the floor give way on which thou stood,
But on thou rush’d, and so escap’d the flood.

Ah! where’s thy wife, thou urged her on to fly,
O hark, my friends, her resolute reply –
“If I my other children cannot save,
I’ll sink with them into a watery grave.”

And now she clasps two children to her breast,
Her love for them must undergo the test;
She felt the water rising round her waist,
And to a slender ladder now she hastes.

As she climb’d up, she feels the steps give way,
For on the floor she could no longer stay,
So up she rises to the topmost step,
She feels the water rising to her neck.

She keeps the babes held up above her head,
Although the hopes of life were almost fled;
Who can describe the anguish of her heart,
For she expected death would throw his dart.

But now she hears a noise above her head,
It breaks the gloom, which o’er her soul hath spread:
It was the neighbours, who were come to see,
If they could help her from the flood to flee.

Onwards they go, with energy and speed,
And soon were rejoic’d to see them all freed;
When their mother saw their escape was secure,
She felt her heart fill with joy sweet and pure.

And now she enquires, while trembling she stood,
“Are my other children sav’d from the flood?”
The answer she heard o’erwhelmed all her joy,
She heard from her friends the heart-rending reply;

That Alfred and Sarah were both swept away; –
She wrung her wet hands, and attempted to pray;
‘Tis prayer that must give to thee sweet relief,
It will heal thy aching heart of its grief.

Pray, and the Lord will be with thee in trouble,
Thou felt of his strength in thy dreadful struggle,
When, with a courage heroes never knew,
Two children from the jaws of death thou drew.

But at Scarfold I can no longer stay,
Into Holmfirth I now must wend my way;
I see the arch, at Upper Bridge, withstood,
The violent rushing of the dreadful flood.

The dreadful ruin that runs through the town,
Is seen in wreck and buildings tumbled down;
But what are buildings to the loss of life?
Ask those who heard their agonizing strife.

Ask Amor Bailey of that awful morn,
When wife and children from his breast were torn:
He heard the deadly struggles of his wife,-
Ask him if gold be more than human life.

Methinks, oh! Amor, thou wilt always feel
A pain within thy breast that nought will heal,
Thy wife and children, and their awful lot,
Where e’er thou art, will never be forgot.

But I must leave thee in thy mournful state,
And take a walk down to the Hollowgate:
Now here’s a place where once a Toll Bar stood,
Before the morning of the dreadful flood.

For Toll Bar loss the public will not care,
No sympathy for it they have to spare;
For the poor keeper and his wife they feel,
Their hearts and eyes with sympathy to fill.

For they were drowned in the awful flood,
And their dead bodies buried in the mud.
The next who suffer’d in the Hollowgate,
And on that morning met their deadly fate,

Was Master Ashall and his family,
They were all launch’d into eternity:
They cried for help, no man could do them good,
And down they sank into the awful flood.

The next who suffer’d were Fearns’ child and wife,
She was a mother, in the prime of life;
Her husband feels the ties of love are cut,
For her bright eyes are now for ever shut.

The next is Master Lee, an aged man,
His life had dwindled to the shortest span,
He had not strength to reach the chamber door,
He drank the bitter cup, and life was o’er.

And others too, whom now I cannot name,
They had to drink the deadly cup the same.
But from the Hollowgate I’ll now depart,
I feel its sight has deeply touch’d my heart.

I at Mill Hill will take a solemn glance,
The flood was sudden as an avalanche;
When they awoke it was to leap for breath,
Alas ! alas! it was to fight with death.

Poor Shackleton, thy family and thee,
Were hurled with haste into eternity,
When thy children awoke, they could not cry,
Nor to their father or their mother fly.

Alas! no time for human help was given,
For house and all were by the torrent driven,
For all were drowned with one fearful sweep,
And lifeless sunk into the foaming deep.

The next who felt destruction’s horrid throes,
Whose house was shivered in its dreadful jaws,
Was Sydney Hartley, a man of real worth,
Who tried to bring his wife and children forth.

But ah! his efforts proved in vain,
And down he sunk, with honour on his name;
Four of his family he helped to save,
Before he sunk into a watery grave.

But who the children’s loss can calculate,
For they were plung’d into an orphan state,
Their parents and their home are swept away,
The loss they’ll feel unto their dying day.

They saw the flood around their mother roll,
They saw the fearful anguish of her soul;
When in her agony, she cried, farewell!
But what it is to die you cannot tell.

Now to ye orphans, a word I’ll give,
Strive in the fear and love of God to live,
And he will guide you through this wilderness,
And with eternal life your spirits bless.

Now I must leave this hill, and mournful town,
To look below at what is overthrown;
The flood has stopp’d the busy wheels of trade,
And for the consequence we feel afraid.

I feel my grief is stronger than my fears,
To see so many children, young in years,
Snatch’d from their cradles by the raging flood-
Brought to the pump, to wash away the mud.

Yes, more than twenty from this earth were torn,
By death, upon that ever fatal morn;
Their parents too, shared the same awful fate,
And all were sent into a future state.

But now this dreary dale I must descend,
And try my long and awful tale to end:
On Thongs Bridge dale I cast my mournful eye,
And think the sight would make a stoic cry.

Here eight dead bodies from the mud were drawn,
Their bodies mangled, and their night clothes torn,
And broken furniture of every kind,
Both in the wreck and ruins you may find.

And next at Mytholm Bridge I’ll take a glance,
For homewards now I must and will advance:
Part of the arch, I see, was swept away,
And road and fence in heaps of ruin lay.

But I am glad that human life was spared,
And skill and courage met their due reward;
For Shaw’s good wife now up the chimney crept,
And soon upon the slippery roof she stepped.

Spurred on by nature’s strongest ties, with fear,
Away the slates and laths she soon does tear;
Her husband now hands her the children out,
And all with safety to the ground were brought.

Their neighbour, Newsome, played an active part,
For down he jump’d into a swimming cart;
Lo! with a sailor’s skill away he steers,
And, with amazing joy, the flood he clears.

Now I will take a glance at Smithy place,
And then the flood I will no further trace:
Their’s wreck and ruin in its fearful swell,
But the amount of grief I cannot tell.

For it turned over, in its passage through,
The dyehouse, butcher’s shop, and smithy too:
But now a greater loss I must relate,
It is Elizabeth Heeley’s dreadful fate.

The poor mother made her escape the first,
With her dear youngest child clasp’d to her breast;
The father soon sprang forth out of the flood,
And placed the children where the mother stood.

Away he ran, to bring out the last pair,
But, oh! my friends, his horror and despair:
The flood had swept Elizabeth from the floor,
And forced its passage through the pantry door.

Her father tried, with all his strength and might,
To snatch her from the flood’s most rapid flight;
He would have gone, but for an active man,
Who drew him out, as through the house it ran.

Her poor remains were carried far below,
Near to a place that’s named Berry Brow;
But see her spirit rising from the flood,
And angels there to guide her home to God.

And now, my friend, a word before we part,
You’ve heard sufficient to affect your heart;
Fly to Christ Jesus, who alone can save,
And you’re prepared for an untimely grave.

3608 words.