reet car companies could
operate.
Because of the lack of electric lights, and as a precaution against
looting, military notices were posted, forbidding citizens to be on the
streets between the hours of 6 P. M. and 5 A. M.
Word was received that a number of motor boats with men to operate them
were on the way from Cleveland and Cincinnati.
The water receded rapidly during the day. An occasional snow flurry and
biting gusts of wind added to the discomfort of the rescue crews, but
they remained steadily at work.
The Emergency Committee began publication of an official newspaper from
the plant of the National Cash Register Company. It was a one-sheet
poster designed for free circulation in all accessible parts of the
city. Its leading article warned the people to beware of thieves and
burglars.
A thief was caught robbing homes of flood victims who had been taken to
refuge stations. He was shot to death by state guardsmen.
The progress of the first canoe into the water-bound district was
greeted by appeals for bread and water. In nearly every house left
standing wistful faces were to be seen pressed against window panes. All
of these were asked whether there had been any deaths and with only a
few exceptions all replied that there had not.
Temporary morgues were established in the United Brethren Church and
also at Fifth and Eagle Streets. At these points many bodies were cared
for, chiefly those of women and children.
FALSE REPORT CAUSES PANIC
Needless suffering was caused during the day by an announcement of the
breaking of the Lewistown reservoir. Men rushed through the uptown
streets shouting:
"Run for your lives! The reservoir has broken!"
There was really no danger. The reservoir contained 17,000 acres of
water space, but it was pointed out that the flood extended over several
million acres and the worst possible effect of the breaking of the
reservoir would be to retard the rescues and could not cause a rise of
more than a foot. The waters at the time were seven feet lower than the
high water of Tuesday night.
The alarm was spread by a policeman who was posted on the edge of the
flood district. Others were quick to take up the cry.
Soon thousands of men and women crowded the streets. Many of them fled
for the hills, but hundreds hurled themselves past guards and into the
main office building of the National Cash Register Building, which was
already crowded.
Not until John H. Patters
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