In the morning Charlie came home from town; told me he could not get to Johnstown office for high water, and then it was eight feet at Sandy Vale Cemetery. I was not surprised at all, knowing that was a most frequent occurrence. So we waited and watched the water until in the afternoon (Charlie staying at home). Then I proposed that the children and myself go up to Canan’s to see what the water looked like. It was then coming into my yard. It was all the dry ground on that side of the street. The thought struck me that I had better make ourselves comfortable, for we might not get back; yet at the same time I never dreamed that we would be washed out. But I paid attention to the monitor and made us all comfortable, and the clothes we put on we wore for weeks after.

We were sitting on the porch, waiting and watching for what was to come. I looked over the hill above Conemaugh (after the whistle blew), but did not speak. When Charlie asked what that noise was, I heard it and thought it was hail. Told all that were on the porch to come in quick, that we might be killed by what I thought was hail. We went in at once and upstairs. Looked out; saw one man wade across the street in water to his waist. I then looked up to the corner of Dibert and Morris Sts.; saw a man trying to catch a tree. The water was up to his neck, and with the same glance I saw two men and a woman trying to climb the electric-light pole. They were partly under water. Then I heard the call to come to the attic, which we all did with one accord. We had just reached it when I heard a terrible scream and breaking of glass. It was Miss Ida Hamilton, who screamed. She came to the attic, fell on her knees and thanked God for her escape, and also that her mother had been saved (in the house at the other side of theirs). She was a Catholic Christian.

We had not been in the attic fifteen minutes when some one said: “There is Mrs. Tittle on a roof.” Then began the work of breaking the windows. Some of the men got a plank across to Mr. Joseph’s roof, their house having moved some twenty feet, but could not strike us, for the reason that we were on a terraced lot, four feet above the street. Who were the first brought in I cannot tell, but in a very short time the attic was full. Some cried, some prayed, and I waited, feeling that this was God’s time now. We, I then thought, had had our time. Dick, Albert, and Anna were standing with me. Dick asked: “Mother, will we die?” I answered: “I cannot tell; but one thing I do know, that God does all things well, and if He wanted us tonight He will take us; if not, He will find a way for our escape. We will go and sit down, and see what the Lord will do,” which we did, and Dick never asked another question.

Mrs. Henry, from Market Street, and her family, made a very narrow escape. Just as their house, with the family on the roof, came past the market-house, it fell, throwing them so that they were not over it for weeks. Mrs. McClay had left one of her servants, Mary Manealy, behind, which they lamented very much. Mrs. Henry insisted that, as their house came past Mrs. McClay’s, they saw some one in the attic, on her knees; and about 4 o’clock, or just as soon as they could see, Mr. Murphy went across the roofs and found old Mary Manealy, safe and sound, wrapped up in Lizzie Tittle’s fur-lined circular.

The little boy of B. F. Hills fretted all night for his papa and sister (she being drowned). He found his father next day on the hill. Mrs. Tittle brought in with her two little children, who had been taken in the afternoon at her house for safety; so when the big wave came she kept them. Their parents found them next day. Mr. and Mrs. Canan divided with every one that was brought in.

When we came out the next morning, we walked on planks laid on the sideboard, the upholstered chairs and extension tables through Mrs. Harshberger’s house, over the roofs of some of the houses that were broken up. As I went I looked across to the hill that we were going to for refuge, and same some men carrying someone on a stretcher. They were to where I was going, and upon inquiry I found she was the wife of Mahlon Speck, who had been confined Thursday night; and on Friday, when the big wave came, she had to be taken to the attic. She lay there all night without a light and no one with her but her husband. Saturday morning some men carried her out over the roofs of the houses; and when I left her, on Monday morning, she was doing well.

In Mr. Canan’s attic there were sixty-nine persons. Of this number there were eighteen or twenty children. One of the men went out and got a load of dry bread, which was divided among the little ones and it was from Friday morning until Saturday noon that no food crosses our lips.