New Haven, CT Train Wreck, Sept 1913 - Grief Stricken Besiege Terminal, part 2

The lists were at first of the injured only, as none of the dead had been identified. Here was the second statement concerning the wreck, given out at the local offices of the railroad:

The two rear cars, the Pullman sleeper Chancellor from Kinee, Me., and the Kasota from Portland, Me., were demolished. There were nineteen passengers on the Kasota and twenty-two in the Chancellor. Another sleeper, the Chisholm, the third sleeper from the rear, was overturned and lies on its side on the track. No more bodies have been taken out as yet. One young man has been identified as R. A. Hotchkiss of New Haven, Conn. All the passengers were in their berths and in their nightclothes, which makes identification very difficult. All the bodies and the injured have been brought to New Haven and the injured have been taken to hospitals there.

This statement was followed soon by a verbal announcement, which dried the eyes of many of the mothers who had boys returning on the Bar Harbor express from Camp Cobbossee. This was that the killed had all been in the two rear cars, and that the boys were all together in the Chisholm.

An excited crowd gathered on the upper level of the terminal at 10:20 A. M., when the first section of the Bar Harbor express came in, three hours late. Roped were stretched to keep the crowd back from the exits, but these were swept aside and the railroad guard were overborne when the crowd rushed forward as the train arrived. Many did not know whether their relatives were in the first or second section, and were rejoiced to find them safe or thrown into despair by their absence. Some of the arrivals on the first section did no know why they were being laughed or wept over. Only vague reports of the accident to the second section of the Bar Harbor express the terminal officials saw that it was too large and too excited for them to control. When the train finally rolled in at 11:35 o'clock in the morning hundreds of persons had forced their way through the gates and were crowded so closely on the platform that it was a difficult and slow process for the passengers to diembark.[sic].

Mother Finds Her Boy.

One of the first off this train was a little boy carrying a grip with a canoe paddle slung over his shoulder. As he stepped to the platform he was swallowed up in the arms of a woman who screamed aloud in her joy. Few other mothers found their boys without minutes of heart-racking anxiety.

Cries of joy followed one another in quick succession as mothers recognized their boys and boys recognized their mothers. The two would fight their way through the dense crowd until they were in each other's arms.

The boys from Camp Cobbossee were between 9 and 19 years old, and most of them got off the train with part of their sporting equipment, baseball bats or gloves, paddles or guns, in their hands or on their back. Wherever anything of this kind appeared, there the searching mother would soon be. This scene continued for many minutes.

But that side of the picture did not always appear. Two persons in the crowd were Mr. and Mrs. Albert Green of 936 St. Nicholas Avenue, who were looking for their sons, Albert and Edward. The first person they recognized was Harry Rich Mooney, who was in charge of Camp Cobbossee. Mrs. Green caught his arm, exclaiming:

"Where are my boys?"

"You must thank God for Ned," replied Mooney. "He is safe. Albert is hurt seriously."

Mrs. Green burst into tears. While her husband was trying to comfort her Edward found them. He sprang into his mother's arms, and while they were clinging to each other Mr. Green learned the truth from the conductor of the camp. Albert was dead. Albert was an honor student at Columbia University and was 20 years old. He had been one of the instructors in the Cobbossee Camp and was on his way back to the city full of enthusiasm for "the most wonderful Summer of his life," as he described it two days ago in a letter to a friend. He was Vice President of his class and had taken an active part in athletics, having been a candidate for the crew and for the track team. He was a graduate of the De Witt Clinton High School, where he had been President of his class, and was graduated with the highest honors, and in all his examinations at Columbus he had gained distinction.

Mr. Mooney had another sad mission to perform. This was to tell Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Altschuler, who live in Norfolk, Va., that of their three boys who had been at the camp, William was dead, Sylvan was injured, and Herbert alone was unhurt.

The news of the death of the two boys came to the Greens and Altschuleres with special bitterness, because they had been under the impression that all the boys of the camp had been saved. Mrs. Altschuler was prostrated by the news of her son's death. A few minutes later her two other sons, Herbert and Sylvan, found her and attempted to comfort her. After she had been quieted, Sylvan, who was only slightly hurt, was taken in an ambulance to the Mount Sinai Hospital.

Sylvan Altschuler had been carried in the baggage car from New Haven so that his injured scalp could be treated. When he was lifted off the baggage car it was reported that other boys badly hurt were in there. Many women who had missed their children in the crowd ran to the baggage car and demanded admittance. They would not believe that there were no injured children inside. Finally they were permitted to climb upon trucks to see for themselves. Two of the women, while looking into the baggage cars from this elevation were recognized by their sons. One woman was lifted bodily from a truck by a youngster who outweighed her by 50 pounds, and her greeting to him was:

"God bless you, my little man."

A number of young women and girls arrived on Section 2 of the Bar Harbor Express from Camp Abena, near Belgrave, Me. They were all pupils of the Sidwell Friends School in Washington, D. C.

J. Pierpont Morgan and George S. Baker went to the office of the New Haven Railroad as soon as they heard of the wreck. Mr. Morgan and Mr. Baker are Directors of the New Haven. Mr. Morgan said he had no friends on board the train. All he would say of the wreck was:

"We don't like this sort of thing to happen."

The New York Times, New York, NY 3 Sept 1913