CHAPTER XV.

THE FLOOD OF 1890.

“And rearing Lindis backward pressed, Shook all her trembling bankes amaine, Then madly at the eygre’s breast Flung up her weltering walles againe, Then banks came down with ruin and rout, Then beaten foam flew round about, And all the mighty floods were out.

So farre, so fast the eygre drave; The heart had hardly time to beat, Before a shallow, seething wave, Sobbed in the grasses at our feet. The feet had hardly time to flee, Before it broke against the knee, And all the world was in the sea.”

The great flood of 1874 is remembered as the most destructive of human life in the history of the Mississippi valley. It came almost without warning. The rolling river rose rapidly, and the levees broke in many places before the masses suspected danger. Hundreds of people were drowned; and as for the losses of property, no attempt was made to estimate the amount. Certainly it amounted to many millions. Perhaps only the Chicago fire could compare with it in this respect. Another great year of high water was 1882: but the damage done was smaller, as the levees had been heightened and strengthened.

But the floods of this year, in area submerged, in long duration, in height of water, and in the pertinacity with which they were contested, eclipsed all records. There is no measuring the extent of the calamity. There is nothing in the recorded history of the Mississippi valley

to compare with it. In some places the gauges were completely overflowed. Levees that had withstood former waters, and had been strengthened since, snapped like whip-cords, under the tremendous strain.

Early in the present year, the Signal Service warned the people of the lower Mississippi that very high water might be expected, as the snows of the upper Ohio region had been very heavy, while the unusually early spring would bring the flood water into the lower river at the time of heavy spring rains. There the levees were carefully examined, and every precaution against high water taken. But the people, though expecting high water, had not reckoned upon such a flood as came. The river rose above the great flood of 1874, passing all previous records by two feet, and reaching a foot higher than the levees had been built to sustain.

On January 1, Cairo reported eighteen feet and rising, while the river was falling from Louisville up the Ohio, was falling at St. Louis, and stationary on the lower Mississippi. From the first day of the year the river rose at Cairo, and in ten days the river had risen thirteen feet.

From Cincinnati down the Ohio increased in volume for four days, and on January 16, at Cairo, it passed the danger line (forty feet) by three-tenths. The rise in sixteen days had been one and three-eighths feet a day. At that time the river was rising slowly from Evansville down, and falling above. A few days later came another rise in the Ohio, aided by the Tennessee and Cumberland, and by the 1st of February the water at Cairo was almost a flood. The volumes of water continued till the lower Mississippi was bank full. By the latter end of February, the danger point had been reached at Memphis, Shreveport, Vicksburg, and New Orleans. Cairo was already in trouble.

On March 12, Cairo reached its maximum, 48.9. The Signal Service Office had given out a prediction of fifty-one feet, but the failure of the upper Mississippi to rise, prevented that stage being reached. The river at St. Louis had then but five feet of water.

On March 14, Chief Signal Officer A. W. Greeley sent out a warning from Washington to the people living on the lower Mississippi. He told them that the rain they had had for four days had been drained into the tributaries of the great river and would swell it considerably. The greatest flood ever known might be expected within a few days. All stock and valuable movable property should be taken to the hills. New Orleans had then higher water than ever before.

The river was then rising in the lower Missouri, and St. Louis was reporting rapid increase in the stage of water. Cairo had fallen, but the upper Ohio and lower tributaries brought back the upper line of the flood to near the maximum stage.

The lower Mississippi tributaries began to swell. The Arkansas and Red Rivers overflowed their banks. Low levees grew weak and succumbed. Low lying towns and plantations were flooded.

Then came the nights and days of terrible struggle along lines of levee that protected vast tracts of lands. Men were pressed into service whether they liked the work or no, and the shotgun patrol was established for the protection of the safer levees from being cut. The upper Mississippi swelled rapidly, and while not reaching a dangerous stage itself, it added enormously to the peril below. Then came floods in Arkansas, Tennessee, Mississippi, and Louisiana.

The first serious trouble from the Mississippi in Arkansas occurred in Phillips county, above the mouth of the White River, where some five hundred people were driven from their homes to the highest points by the backwater, and the cattle, gaunt, wild-eyed, starving, were forced to subsist on cane, twigs of cotton wood and other trees felled for them. Three times the backwater and heavy local rains flooded this region, while the retiring flood left a deposit of mud from one to five feet in depth, precluding the possibility of turning the hungry cattle upon the land for two or three weeks, and rendering it impossible to raise a crop of corn or more than half a crop of cotton. At Cairo, the rivers were one hundred miles in width, covering fifty miles of Missouri lowlands, and extending to the hills in Kentucky; while Cairo itself was partially flooded. The railroads in that section were forced to stop, and the people fled to the hills for their lives. Steady rains fell in Arkansas, Ohio and lower Missouri River valleys, and by the time these began to subside, the floods in the streams below had passed previous records.

The greatest danger and trouble was in the valley from Arkansas City southward. Heavy rains produced a break in the levee at that place. March 28, the levees broke at two points on the eastern shore, between Arkansas City and Memphis, Tennessee, submerging many thousands of acres of land, and sweeping southeastward to the Yazoo River. Greenville, Mississippi, a city of 10,000, is partially protected by a high ridge through the city; but there was no means of holding back the enemy in the rear. The town is situated at the extremity of a sharp eastward curve, and a violent storm at length aided the rapid current in cutting away the front defense, and the town was forced to yield. Strenuous efforts to close the breaks above completely failed; and all that could be done was to secure the ends of the crevasses to prevent their widening. Cattle were herded for a time on the levees and embankments,

but these gradually yielded, and the animals were drowned in droves. Defenses yielded where least expected. By April 3, there was two feet of water in the streets of Greenville. There was nothing left but to make the best of the situation. People took to the upper floors, and appeals for state, national and individual aid were sent out. The telephone lines leading out of the city were destroyed, and communication with the outer world was greatly hindered. Occasional reports of destitution and suffering came from Greenville, but these were contradicted by meetings of leading citizens, who said, “there is no destitution here that home people can not relieve. If the negroes want to wait for government rations and refuse from $1.50 to $2.50 per day to work on levees, their starving arouses no sympathy. While all these sensational reports of destitution are traveling about, the steamboats are running into Memphis and Vicksburg begging for levee hands, and the native negro is sitting on the levee fishing.”

The water swept rapidly southward, submerging almost the entire region between the Yazoo and Mississippi. Meanwhile, the trouble in Louisiana was just beginning. The banks began caving near the levee in Madison Parish Front, compelling the erection of a new levee in the rear of the old one. But the fight went on stubbornly for three weeks, both along the river front and along the bayous in the interior. Atchafalaya River was forty-five feet above low water. The contest for the levees there was as bitter as along the main stream. Occasional breaks occurred, but they were closed or kept from spreading by the twenty thousand men who labored day and night along the stream between Bayou Sara and New Orleans.

Ere long it appeared that the greatest danger was along the Concordia and Pointe Coupee parish fronts. (A parish in Louisiana coincides with what is known as a county elsewhere). Considerable appropriations were made, and the head of the third district levee system, Captain D. C. Kingman, conducted the fight on the Pointe Coupee front in person. The battle ended here in disastrous defeat. The men held their ground manfully till April 20, no serious breaks having then occurred. All that day the men were compelled to work in a drenching rain storm that

was beating fiercely against the already overburdened and sodden levees on the west bank of the river. The danger at the great Morganza bend grew excessive. It was hoped that during the night the storm would cease, or at least that the wind might shift to some other quarter, but when the morning broke there were the same leaden skies overhead, with darker masses still scurrying to the westward before a fierce easterly gale that was as fresh and strong as ever, and which hurled storms of white-capped waves upon the rain-soaked earthworks. Bags of earth and sand were piled up along the levee, to prevent the waves from washing over. Wilder and more furious raged the storm: higher and higher beat the waves, as the day passed. “In the teeth of drenching surf and blinding rain, the battle with rising flood went bravely on. Sacks were piled upon sacks and revetments of plank and jute bagging were carried up till the superstructure upon the crown of the levee looked like a fair-sized levee itself. Not only the men, but even the women and children fought bravely for their homes in the teeth of that wild furious storm.

“As Monday night closed in, the situation was more gloomy than ever. The heavy leaden sky was deeply shadowed by low hanging clouds of dull slaty black, driven before the fierce gale that was sweeping up the reach, thrashing it into long ribs of foam that every now and then broke clear over the levees all along the New Texas system, and beat savagely against the great Morganza, just below them.

“A nightfall dark and wild with wind and storm was followed by a night black and tempestuous, and still the desperate fight went on. Here and there ruddy, flaring torches struggled with the murky gloom, but within their dim halos could be seen the big breakers hungrily licking the tops of the sodden barriers that throbbed and quivered beneath every cruel blow.

“Planters’ wives and daughters stood ankle-deep in mud, filling sacks and helping to lift them upon the shoulders of the men who were carrying them to the levee. Two bold Creoles stood at one weak place, though they felt the levee dissolving beneath their feet. They sank to their knees in the mud and water, but still they stood stubbornly on the sinking dike, piling sacks in the breach, though again and again the flood seemed to be in the very act of overpowering and sweeping them away in the very center of a crevasse. It was a bloodless battle, but many a man has won fame on a gory battle-field who never turned a more steadfast, unflinching gaze into the very jaws of death than did those brave defenders of their homes during that terrible night.”

Suddenly there was a wild outcry and a hurried mustering of forces at the old Morganza levee. But men and materials were no longer of any use. The dull yellow flood poured through the gap like a mighty cataract. Four hundred feet of the embankment were gone in a few moments.

At once there was a _sauve qui peut_. The volunteer forces of the neighborhood hurried away to save what they could. As the Morganza levee was backed by a wide uninhabited swamp, there was little danger of any lives being lost by the sudden breach, though the people had clung to their homes to the last.

Meanwhile, numerous other breaks were occasioned by the storm. The first occurred at Bayou Sara, and others followed so rapidly that within twenty-four hours fifteen huge crevasses were pouring their torrents upon the land. Two other breaks occurred in the Morganza; and so vast was the volume of water drawn out by the three that the river at Bayou Sara, a few miles below, fell a foot in twenty-four hours, while the decline above was but an inch or two. Despite the gloomy outlook, the men toiled wearily on and finally succeeded in closing most of the breaks; but the great Morganza crevasses defied every effort. Then came breaks in the Atchafalaya, and the turbid waters united and swept southward one hundred miles to the sea. Some towns were abandoned to the snakes and frogs; in others the people put false floors in their dwellings and prepared

for a siege. Government steamers plied up and down the country, picking up the refugees and all accessible livestock. The effort to keep back the water was at an end, and all that could be done of any especial use was in the way of salvage. The only remaining question was that of providing for the destitute. Appropriations from the State treasury were made, and corporations and private individuals contributed liberally. On April 24, two great breaks occurred in Concordia Parish, north of Pointe Coupee, thus much increasing the submerged area. From the items given, and the fact of breaks in east Baton Rouge, and the Nita crevasse, and twenty or more below New Orleans, the reader may see that a large portion of eastern Louisiana lay more or less under water. By the end of April there was no fear of further danger, simply because there was little harm left to do. The continual east wind added to the distress on the lower river by sweeping Lake Pontchartrain and the gulf water across the land, up to the levees on the river.

The one peculiar feature of the recent flood is that but few lives were lost--perhaps not a dozen, all told. The warning of the Signal Service put people on their guard, and there was no occasion for surprise.

The damage to property can not be estimated. Three thousand square miles of land were more or less flooded in Louisiana alone; and while much of this was useless swamp land, the larger part comprised some of the most valuable sugar plantations in the State. Fifty thousand people were directly affected by the flood in this region. All the railroads in this district suffered severely from wash outs and loss of time and custom. Any estimate of the damage done to planters should include not only real estate and personal property, but also the amount of loss from inability to raise the customary crops. This single item would be very large. But when we consider the terrible havoc committed in other lands and attended by fearful loss of life, we may be devoutly thankful that things were no worse with us.

The levee system is attended by peculiar perils. There must be constant watching and repairing. At seasons of danger, patrols are needed, even when the levees are

sound; for human nature is full of rank selfishness, and people who find their property endangered are apt to cut the levee upon the opposite side above them, to relieve themselves by flooding others. Hungry wolves will eat a wounded companion; but man is almost the only animal that seeks an opportunity for wounding his fellow that he may have a pretext for devouring him.

The craw-fish is another persistent enemy of the planter, undermining levees with his numerous tunnels, and even penetrating the low lying fields at a distance from the river, not infrequently damaging the roots of growing crops. The ground becomes like a sponge, and water oozes from the levees in countless places.

There are other objections to the levee system; and while the Mississippi River Commission, and a majority of engineers endorse it, there are not a few equally capable men who denounce it as false in theory, and mischievous in practice. The problem remains a puzzling one. If the floods are unrestrained, a large portion of the river bottom becomes uninhabitable a considerable portion of each year. As to controlling them, a man of much experience said at the time of the flood in 1882, “I have lived on the river for thirty years, and I have studied it, for it was my business to do so. I have been steam-boating all that time. I am now certain that I don’t know anything about it, or about what ought to be done to it.”

Another said, “When God put the river into this valley, He told it to go wherever it pleased, and it always has done so, and always will.”

Yet, the problem can not be considered hopeless, though mere experiments are dangerous. There is little doubt that the levees would have withstood the unprecedented high water of the present year, had it not been aided by the severe and protracted easterly storm. But the levees must remain a constant expense. More than $90,000,000 have already been spent upon them, and the question is an even more vital one than ever.

The chief opponents of the levee system advocate the increase of outlets. A glance at a large-scale map of Louisiana will show the reader how very narrow the mouths of the river are in comparison with its breadth above; and when it is remembered that these passages required deepening ere large vessels could reach New Orleans, it is clear that the outlet men have good reasons for asserting that the proper thing to do is to open as many outlets to the sea as possible. Yet, the majority of engineers declare this to be unscientific, and radically wrong. The levee men propose to narrow the channel and to rely upon the “scour” of the water to keep the river bottom free enough to afford a clear passage to the sea. The “scour” is aided as far as possible by clearing away obstructions where it is desired to maintain a channel, and by placing other obstructions in places where natural shallows have been formed. This is the work carried on by the commission, and is one in theory with that executed by Captain Eads in the South Pass of the Delta. He claimed that if the water flowing through the pass should be confined within comparatively narrow banks, it would scour out the bottom, and so deepen its own bed. The primary result was exactly opposite to this. The water refused to do the work expected of it, and following the law of nature, sought the line of least resistance. Finding the South Pass obstructed, or rather narrowed, much of it turned aside and poured through the Southwest Pass and the Pas a l’Outre, and instead of scouring out the South Pass, scoured the other two to the depth of two feet below where their beds had formerly been. As soon as this was discovered, the two passes were partially dammed up, and the water thus forced through the South Pass.

It is evident, at a glance, that the amount of “scour” will only be as much as will permit ready exit of the water at ordinary stages. The moment that point is reached, the “scour” ceases, and does not again act unless the river be still further narrowed. Hence, this plan, while increasing facility of navigation, only robs Peter to pay Paul, so far as protection is concerned; for what is gained in depth and speed, is necessarily lost in breadth. The “scour” system has even failed to hold its own, and has had to be reinforced by dredging machines.

This last fact tends to confirm the arguments of the outlet advocates. They urge that the immense amount of silt carried by the river is destructive to the entire scheme. During flood time this silt is nearly equally distributed throughout the water. When an overflow occurs, the immense quantity is shown by the vast alluvial deposits left in the submerged region.

According to the believers in the anti-levee theory, if overflows are prevented, the earth held in suspension, instead of being deposited where it will enrich the land, will gradually sink to the bottom of the river. The result will be that the river-bed will be steadily raised until the surface of the water at ordinary stages will be as high as the present floodmarks. Levees will have to be built higher and higher, the river will be raised far above the adjacent country, and should a break occur at any point, the consequence will be disastrous in the extreme. As an example of the effect of confining a silt-bearing alluvial river to its bed, the Hoang-Ho in China is cited. By constant dyking the bottom of the stream has been raised above large tracts of the adjacent country and some of the most

terrible catastrophes in the history of floods have resulted from a break in the dykes during floods.

The natural result of the continual raising of the bottom is that where any serious breach occurs, it is simply impossible to repair it. So the great river has changed its channel entirely several times in the past two thousand years. In 1852 it burst through its banks three hundred and fifty miles from the sea, and cut a new channel through the northern part of the province of Shantung to the Gulf of Pechili, where it emptied nearly two hundred and seventy-five miles north of its former mouth in the Yellow Sea. The sharp angle at which it turned off is noticeable on the maps. This region being almost unknown to foreigners at that time, no one can say how many thousands or millions of lives were destroyed by “China’s Sorrow.”

But the greatest disaster of this sort occurred in 1887, when the heavy fall rains of the northwest provinces swelled the streams, and the Yellow River finally broke its banks at a sharp bend in the Ho-nan province, where the town of Cheng Chou is situated. Frantic efforts were made to close the gap, but in vain. It rapidly grew to a width of one thousand two hundred yards. Some distance away the yellow torrent turned into the valley of a small stream known as the Luchia, down which it rushed in an easterly direction, overwhelming everything in its path.

“Twenty miles from Cheng Chou it encountered Chungmou, a walled city of the third rank. Its thousands of inhabitants were attending to their usual pursuits. There was no telegraph to warn them, and the first intimation of disaster came with the muddy torrent that rolled down upon them. Within a short time only the tops of the high walls marked where a flourishing city had been. Three hundred villages in the district disappeared utterly, and the lands about three hundred other villages were inundated.

“The flood turned south from Chungmou, still keeping to the course of the Luchia, and stretched out in width for thirty miles. This vast body of water was from ten to twenty feet deep. Several miles south of Kaifeng the flood struck a large river which there joins the Luchia. The result was that the flood rose to a still greater height, and pouring into a low-lying and very fertile plain which was densely populated, submerged upward of one thousand five hundred villages.

“Not far beyond this locality the flood passed into the province of Anhui, where it spread very widely. The actual loss of life could not be computed accurately, but the lowest intelligent estimate placed it at one million five hundred thousand, and one authority placed it at seven million.”

The inundated provinces were under water four months. Two million survivors were left destitute. The mind quails at the appalling magnitude of such a catastrophe.

Such is the warning given by the Yellow River. It is urged that if the Mississippi is heavily leveed, the same results will follow. The Po is another instance. The bed of the stream has been raised by dykes until it is higher in many places than the tops of the houses, and such disasters as have befallen the dwellers near the Yellow River of China, have only been avoided because of the fact that the Po is a comparatively diminutive stream. It is said that the same state of affairs exists on a smaller scale still on the Tiber. But the opponents of the outlet theory ascribe the China floods to ignorant engineering--a charge that can not be easily made to stick, when it is remembered that the Chinese have some of the most remarkable specimens of engineering skill in existence.

In support of the outlet theory, a number of experienced river captains and pilots assert that the bed of the river has been slowly rising during the past thirty years; that levees are needed at points where none were years ago, while at the same time there is less water in the channel at those points than formerly. At the time of this writing Captain Condon is urging that an outlet be made through Lake Borgne, from a point ten miles below New Orleans. His company is to assume all costs, only asking that if successful, they shall be paid $500,000 for every foot of reduction of the high water level. He asserts that one-fourth of the flood waters can be readily drained off by this means. This Lake Borgne idea, commendable as it appears, has been agitated, more or less, for forty years, without being tried. A noted government engineer, Charles Ellet, urged it at the time of the flood of 1853, without avail.

Whatever be the result of present deliberations, we must hope that no effort will be spared to thoroughly test the merits of any system agreed upon. But the long deliberations and the slow movements of the governmental committees are vexatious to those most vitally concerned. A prominent Louisianian says: “If the government and the people had raised $500,000, placed a larger force, and held that Morganza levee, it would have cost less than the mere relief expenditures, to say nothing of the millions of total loss of the flood.” And _Harper’s Weekly_ affirms that “in one respect the casual observer is moved to sarcastic reflections. When a flood does come, like the present one, or even one of much less dimensions, the work of the commission is of necessity suspended, and at first sight it seems extremely ridiculous to see engineers waiting for the water to subside before they can place confines many feet below the present surface, which confines are intended, in part at least, for the purpose of preventing similar overflows in the future.”

Holland, the land of windmills, is another region which has a continual struggle with this levee question. The native name of the country, “Nederlands,” or Netherlands, refers to the character of the region, which lies as an average, about on the sea level; while a great portion is even somewhat lower. The thrifty people who settled here, erected dykes to keep back the sea, and built windmills to pump out the water, thus reclaiming a fertile tract from the bottom of the sea. But the great dykes need incessant watching and repairing; and the expenditures upon them up to the present time, have been greater than would have been required to build them outright of solid copper. As the safety of the dykes involves all that pertains to temporal life and welfare, the people have learned not to trust to a single line of defenses. Second and third lines are erected in the rear of the first; and many large towns are completely girdled with defenses of their own.

Since the population of this region is nearly five hundred to the square mile, while our own land does not average over eighteen to the same area, it is at once clear that the breaking of the dykes is a far more serious and terrible matter than the rupture of our levees. Some fearful disasters in Holland are recorded. In 1421, the dykes gave way at Dort, and more than one hundred thousand people perished. In 1530, there was a general failure of the dykes, and the people, not dreaming of danger, were suddenly overwhelmed; four hundred thousand perished, and the loss of property was proportionate. Two great floods have occurred within this century, doing terrible damage.

The Dutch, though peaceful and phlegmatic, are a liberty-loving people, and have often shown themselves ready to sacrifice everything for their freedom. They have found more than once its safety in the loss of all else.

One of the most thrilling and memorable incidents of the sort occurred in 1574. Under the leadership of William the Silent, one of the noblest of men, the Dutch

were struggling to throw off the yoke of Spain. Leyden was besieged. The town was well fortified. The Spaniards endeavored to starve the city into surrender. They swarmed about the outworks and taunted the famished people as “beggars.” The contest grew daily more hopeless for the besieged. Hundreds were dead of starvation. But the survivors hurled defiance at the Spaniards. They were digging up every green thing, devouring roots of grass, old leather, offal, anything that could in the least aid to sustain life. But “so long as a dog barked in the city, the Spaniards might know they held out.” A few faint-hearted ones pleaded with the burgomaster to yield. But the brave Van der Werff, gaunt, pale, wearied with care and watching, told them they could only surrender when they had eaten him; so long as he lived, the city should not yield.

It was a terrible time. Scores crept into out-of-the-way places to die, that their misery might not be seen by their friends. The Dutch without wished to help their friends within--but the lines of the enemy were too strong. As the last resort, the “Silent Man” ordered the dykes cut. It was done. The country folk abandoned their homes. A fleet of two hundred vessels sailed in over the land fifteen miles. They reached the Landscheiding, a great dyke five miles from the city. Three quarters of a mile nearer the town was a second dyke, the Greenway; within that was the Kirkway.

The rising water frightened the Spaniards. But at ten inches, it stopped. The Spaniards renewed their taunts. Again it rose two feet; the vessels drew nearer: then they lay aground in sight of the famished citizens. Then arose a strong southwest wind--and after days of weary waiting, the fleet was close on the last line of fortifications. It was the first of October. In the morning the “beggars” of the sea would make a desperate attack upon the Spanish hordes.

In the night there came a terrible crash. The sea had undermined the wall. The citizens were filled with panic, fearing an immediate irruption of the enemy. They stood under arms through the weary night.

The morning came. Not a Spaniard was in sight. Fearing a sortie of the hunger-maddened people, they had fled in the darkness. The city was saved by the drowning of the land.

A story is told of Frederick the Great, illustrative of the same indomitable spirit. After establishing the supremacy of Prussia, he was suspected of designs upon the independence of the Netherlands. The Dutch envoy at his court, newly appointed, Frederick endeavored to overawe by a display of his power. A great military review was held; and Frederick, who took a peculiar delight in tall men, caused troop after troop of his gigantic grenadiers to file before the weazened little Dutchman, and asked his opinion. Of each one the envoy said: “Very good, _but not tall enough_.” Frederick, much nettled at this oft repeated criticism, asked the ambassador what he meant by it. “I mean,” he retorted, “_that we can flood our country twelve feet deep_!” Frederick left the Dutch in peace.

Though the most terrible calamities of any kind--whether from flood, famine, or earthquake--are to be found in the history of China, yet other nations have shared in disastrous floods. We mention a few:

A notable flood occurred on the coast of Lincolnshire, England, A. D., 245. It seems to have been a high tide, aided by the wind. Three thousand people and many cattle were drowned by a flood in Cheshire, A. D., 353. Four hundred families were drowned in Glasgow, A. D., 758, by an overflow of the Clyde. A tidal wave destroyed several English seaports in A. D., 1014. The Severn leaped its banks in 1483, submerging the adjacent lowlands, and drowning hundreds. Fifty thousand people perished in Catalonia, Spain, during a flood in 1617. In Yorkshire, England, occurred a remarkable outburst of subterranean waters in 1686.

“In September, 1687, mountain torrents inundated Navarre, and two thousand persons were drowned. Twice, in 1787 and in 1802, the Irish Liffey overran its banks and caused great damage. A reservoir in Lurca, a city of Spain, burst in 1802, in much the same way as did the dam at Johnstown, and as a result one thousand persons perished. Twenty-four villages near Presburg, and nearly all their inhabitants, were swept away in April, 1811, by an overflow of the Danube. Two years later, large provinces in Austria and Poland were flooded, and many lives were lost. In the same year a force of two thousand Turkish soldiers, who were stationed on a small island near Widdin, were surprised by a sudden overflow of the Danube and all were drowned. There were two more floods in this year, one in Silesia, where six thousand persons perished, and the French army met such losses and privations that its ruin was accelerated; and another in Poland, where four thousand persons were supposed to have been drowned. In 1816, the melting of the snow on the mountains surrounding Strabane, Ireland, caused destructive floods: and the overflow of the Vistula, in Germany, laid many villages under water. Floods that occasioned great suffering occurred in 1829, when severe rains caused the Spey and Findhorn to rise fifty feet above their ordinary level. The following year the Danube again overflowed its banks, and inundated the houses of 50,000 inhabitants of Vienna.” The Saone

overflowed in 1840 and poured its turbulent waters into the Rhine, flooding one hundred square miles of land, and drowning thousands. Another great flood in France occurred in 1856. In 1875, still another drowned a thousand people near Toulouse; while India, the same year lost many through floods.

But no such destruction of life ever visited our own land till within a year past, and the event is more to be deplored, in that it was caused by unexcusable negligence. That flood we must next consider.