They recognized many acquaintances and friends riding on to death. They saw two little children, almost nude, clinging to one roof; four young ladies, in agonized embrace, clinging to another; houses for squares north and west torn from their places, and the whole drawn onward, to be crushed and jammed in the gorge below. Meanwhile, Capt. A. N. Hart, his wife and two children, were seen struggling in the wreckage which had drifted near the parsonage, and Mr. Beale, descending into the water in the second story, assisted them to enter through the window. Their arrival in the garret increased to fifteen the number of persons there collected. The parsonage now began to show evident signs of giving way, and it was decided to abandon it. After an unsuccessful attempt to gain the roof, the whole party were safely passed by means of a rope from the highest window to a floating roof below. They had hoped to reach the church, which still stood secure, a short distance away; but, on making the attempt, they found themselves confronted with fifty feet of water which could not be crossed. They now began a perilous journey over wreckage to Alma Hall, half a square away. This was a four-story building, the largest and strongest in the city. Their way lay over logs and roofs and houses, fixed or moving box cars, and various debris which often concealed them from one another. One of the young ladies, crossing open water on a scantling, fell and disappeared, all but her floating hair, by which she was caught and recovered. About dark they gained the hall, and found no less than two hundred and sixty fortunate unfortunates like themselves, rescued in wondrous ways from ghastly death. Then followed the long night of sleepless horror, unillumined, save from the burning church, and from the horrible holocaust at the bridge. The suppressed moans of those with bruised bodies and broken limbs, the crying of little children, cold and wet and hungry, and without a place to lay their heads, the anxiety for loved ones, the mourning for them that were certainly lost, the momentary dread lest the building should give way and yet overwhelm all with sudden death, conspired to make it a night never to be forgotten. Morning came at last, and then, as the sun rose above the hills, might have been seen a curious and mournful procession. Descending through a window, they walked and jumped, and crawled and clambered over several blocks, filled with broken buildings, cars, trees, furniture, bridges and dead bodies, till they reached the hill. What a spectacle of human misery was there presented! [Illustration: THE GORGE AT THE BRIDGE.]