A Minister’s Eyewitness Account of the Great Flood of 1913 from North Dayton

I often hear from Dayton Vistas readers who send me personal memories and family experiences connected to Dayton’s past.

But today I’m excited to share one of the most remarkable original sources I’ve come across: a firsthand account of the Great Flood of 1913.

Joe Hartman reached out to share his grandfather’s ten-page, handwritten account of the flood.

J. Edwin Hartman, born in 1875 in Tamaqua, PA, was a Presbyterian minister who briefly served in Dayton as an assistant pastor at the First Presbyterian Church.

Written even before mail service was restored, the letter captures the urgency of the fast-moving flood, and how Hartman was fortunate to be able to take refuge in his attic loft.

Although his address is unknown, Hartman was writing from Old North Dayton, and describes his two-story house in the letter and explains that “there are very few higher buildings than ours in N Dayton.”

Hartman is also documented as pastor at the Bethel Chapel that was located at Webster and Herbert during 1913, although the full timeline of his time in Dayton remains uncertain.

I’m grateful to Joe Hartman for sharing his grandfather’s letter so that this firsthand voice from Dayton’s past can be preserved and remembered.

Dayton Flood-personal account of J.Ewin Hartman Download

The following is a typed copy of the account made by Joe Hartman’s niece Lorri McCown:

Rev. J E. Hartman
Mount Pleasant, PA

Dayton, O., March 28-13

Dear Parents & all:

“When thru the deep waters I cause
Thee to go
The Rivers of Sorrow shall not overflow”

I am writing this today, but when it can possibly be mailed is hard to tell. I write you now because as soon as possible there will be so much else to do that there will be little leisure to write. No doubt you have for days known about our general situation better than we. Only today faint rumors begin to reach us of the magnitude of the calamity. But yet we have very vague ideas of conditions. But what you will be most interested in, is the very inside. That we know all about.

The first we knew of what was to be the most fearful experience of all our miseries, was the alarm whistle of the Platt Iron works, at 4 or 5 o’clock Tuesday morning. I got up and looked out the window and saw men hurrying to the Mad River about two blocks away. I wakened Cora and we dressed. I went down to see the river. I had to go ankle deep thru the water and found the banks brimful and spilling over. I came home and we packed our goods with the purpose of hurrying to Eckis. By the time we were ready – in half an hour we were warned that the bridge was already impassable. Se we went inside and moved all we could of our rugs and furniture to the second floor. We had hardly finished when the alarm whistled again. We looked north and in a minute we saw the terrible wall of water rushing toward us swift as a train. In a few minutes the water came up thru the floor. We started upstairs. Steadily the water followed us.

Soon we heard the sound of hammers beating the roofs out of the cottages and people climbing to their house-tops. Whisles blowing – bells rining, guns cracking – and mixed in with the rest, the pitiful cry in every direction – “Help Help!” Then a few boats appeared and folks were helped from the roofs of the lower houses into the windows of the higher ones. Soon we opened our window to welcome some of our neighbors. But the water kept rising. Three inches an hour: my how long an inch and how short an hour began to be! Our house is only two stories high. But we are built pretty well up from the ground. Over our second floor is a loft almost two feet at the highest part sloping off to the sides.

This loft was accessible from a closet. Into that with the help of our neighbors we worked our mattresses and all our bedding. Also an oil lamp – a lard can filled with what eatables we could snatch up hastily and a six quart tea kettle filled with clean water. There was also a dish pan and a few other dishes etc

Just before the torrent arrived I had run to the grocer’s for a two gallon can of oil and a few things to eat. When I got home I got our (oil-cook slirr?) up from the basement, carried it up-stairs; a one gallon oil-can; and another 2 gal can of oil.

It was soon plain that the water would be on us – 3 inches an hour. We calculated that within two hours we’d need to climb to our loft. And in less time it happened so. With a monkey wrench and a pocket knife we made a hole in the roof over us. Our quarters, tho very low, were rather commodious – say almost 25ft by 40ft. We spread out the mattress and distributed comforters and quilts. The roof over head was so low that lying down was the only position approaching anything like comfort. In the meantime rain and thunder. At intervals we would climb out on the roof and see miles of water in every direction. It was about noon when we went to the loft.

A boat house periodically floated down to near our house and tilted over; here men in other boats rescued a number of sea worthy shells. We manned them with what bed slats we had, to use as oars – since the oars proper were locked. This little event saved many lives in north Dayton.

The flood kept rising; we were in our last refuge save one – the roof. North Dayton is located in a flat tongue of land between the Miami and Mad rivers.

How far north the land continues flat and low, I can’t say.. Probably for miles. So there was no hope of getting away. Boats could do no more than transfer to higher buildings. It was utterly impossible to cross the raging rivers into the city where the sky-scrapers are. There are very few higher buildings than ours in N Dayton. So we had a square look into the face of death. There was nine or ten feet between us and eternity and lessening at the rate of three inches an hour! My valuable papers – all our good clothes were packed into suit cases and on the “attic” with us. I made this memorandum about one p.m.. You may be interested in a quotation or two as it was intended for you and others under possible different circumstances: “We heard the fist alarm about five a.m. At 7 our first floor was beginning to b endangered. We moved to the second floor; a dozen neighbors sought refuge at the chapel. The terrible cries of folks all around us is beyond description. At 12 we climb to the loft as the water begins to enter the second floor, – mattresses – water – Eatables. Water still rising. We can’t imagine where all the water came from. Has there been some disaster to the north of us? As the possibility and almost the probability of our failure to escape increases, I seem to be calmer and reconciled -and even almost glad to go. Etc” This last is an interesting psychological experience with which religion has much to do.

At 3 p.m. we are encompassed by a slow rise – and later by an apparent slight fall – if our hopes did not deceive us. So we waited as the horrible night fell. To the very dark we heard the cries of “Help.” The night was sleepless for me. Under the roof we heard the incessant fall of the rain drumming with increased emphasis. I placed the dish pan under the broken roof to catch the rain-water for use. Up to a little afer one, the thunder crashed and the rain poured. Then it ceased. I got out on the roof and saw what I thought must be a big fire over in the city, and another north. As soon as the rain slackened again we heard “Help – oh! Help!”- above the rest in every direction – was the wail of a woman and the “cry of children in the night”. Thousands spent that dreadful night in the rain on the house -tops.

Toward morning a (?rule) revealed a marked fall of eleven inches. Its maximum depth reached 22 inches over our second floor. We felt the danger over – but discomfort at hand. Thre was nothing to do but wait. About noon the water receded below the second floor and we found the floor covered with an inch of mud – over the rugs and all. We got brooms and swept the mud down the stairs. Then dipped of the flood and slushed the floors. This improved them very much. We cleaned up the bed spreads as well as possible and moved our mattresses down from the It was cold and damp and yet comfortable! In the meantime we ate of the few things we had saved.

During the first and second days we saw houses – barns – sheds – furnaces – anything and everything floating by. I saw two horses swimming and finally perish across the street. I don’t know how many hogs swam past. A rooster sailed past on a plank – and a rabbit on a barn. Some hogs are at home yet I guess on a roof around the house across the alley. N. Dayton is altogether disarranged. We have two stables right in front of our house. Houses are out of line, some turned over some entirely gone.

Since the second day we have been fed from boats. Yesterday, for the first, the militia have been here to help us. To-day the marines and life-savers of Cleveland have been about. Yesterday I was a bit hungry – just enough to be interesting; but to-day we have abundance. We could to-day for the first get on our first floor – after we had swept a path three a four inch mud.

Just now we heard that only yesterday – the third day a woman and some children were rescued form a roof where they were hanging to the rafters yet. I presume we are in blissful ignorance of the terrible misery of these day. We hear that north Dayton is fortunate compared to the main part of the city where it is expected 3000 perished by fire or water.

Our Noah’s ark company consists of ~~nine~~ eight souls brides, ourselves – in all six women – two men, two nearly grown boys and a mid-age Canadian carpenter. [Note – one of the boys is your great grandfather, John Hartman (Granny’s father)] This last chap is strong as a horse and has been a fine help to us. We spend most of our days in bed in order to keep warm. The oil cooker stood in the water. We drained it out, dried the wicks. The two gallon can of oil I found under my study table in o.k. condition. The one-gallon can was in another room lying over but almost full of oil. This stove has been a great comfort. We can cook our meals, warm drinks, soups etc. Most of our first provisions came in the form of can goods. To-day we got a fine basket of sandwiches – hard boiled eggs, boiled potates etc. – probably for Cleveland. I think we are the most fortunate gang of prisoners in N. Dayton. Our losses will be a less proportion of our total possessions than that of any others I know. Even my books – with possibly 50 exceptions are o.k. I set my most valuable volumes which stayed in the shelf on top of the case. Almost all the are sound. Most of our furniture, our rugs, silver-ware and linens are alright. The piano – dining – room table and library – table – morris-chair which we could not easily move up stairs – are completely ruined. Our best clothing – in fact all our clothes ae sound. It seemed we proceeded as if by a well-planned purpose. But it wasn’t. It looks like pure providence.

I must write several other letters today. I tried to get messages thru from the second day but it was impossible. It is very comfortable to be under martial law. For this is a veritable Sodom. Yesterday two ghouls were lined up along a building and shot. One man was caught with several suit cases filled with jewelry. There was only one proper thing to do to such a chap. Two women also were caught pilfering.

Outside of the cold we are as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. We try to make up for lack of fire with clothing. I have two suits on. I think by Sunday we may be able to get coal and a little slirr or something. If not we’ll just shift along the best we can.

We’ll never settle down here. As our boxes dry and our goods of seasons we’ll pack it and ship it to Lindsey. All our dishes are in good shape. I suppose our total loss will hardly reach $500 – not in salable value – but what we paid for it.

John Herman wants me to be sure to tell you that he is alright. But he doesn’t like floods. He had been sick; had the doctor for him Sunday; but since we are “prisoners of hope” he has been well. We save the last eatables for him.

I have given you but a sketch; you will know plenty when you are sure we are alright. But I’ll try to write soon again – about a week. I guess it will be useless for you to write us until the mail-service is in working order again.