A TOUCHING INCIDENT VERY TOUCHINGLY RELATED.
RED CROSS RELIEF STEAMER, "JOSH V. THROOP," OFF SHAWNEETOWN, ILLINOIS, OHIO RIVER, _March 18, 1884_, MR. M.E. CAMP, Editor of the Erie _Dispatch_:
At length, I have the happiness to inform you that I have placed the contribution of the brave Little Six to my own satisfaction, and, as I believe, to the satisfaction of the little donors and the friends interested in them as well. Your letter inclosing the touching article describing their pretty thought and act, and the check for the sum donated by them to the sufferers from the floods, came during the early days of hurry and confused activity. The entire matter was too beautiful and withal unique, to meet only a common fate in its results. I could not, for a moment, think to mingle the gift of the little dramatists with the common fund for general distribution, and sought through all these weeks for a fitting disposition to make of it, where it would all go in some special manner to relieve some special necessity. I wanted it to benefit some children who had "wept on the banks" of the river which in its madness had devoured their home. I watched carefully all the way down on this trip, and tried, last Sunday, at Smithland on our return to make a little "foundation" for a children's help and instruction at that town which had suffered so terribly; but I could not satisfy myself, and after telling the pretty story to the best people of the town assembled on our boat, I still declined to leave the appropriation, waiting in confidence for the real opportunity to present and which we have met in the last hour. As we neared that picturesque spot on the Illinois side of the Ohio, known as "Cave-in-Rock," we were hailed by a woman and her young daughter. The boat "rounded to" and made the landing and they came on board--a tall, thin worn woman in a tattered suit, with a good, but inexpressibly sad face, who wished to tell us that a package which we had left for her at the town on our way down had never reached her. She was a widow--Mrs. Plew--whose husband, a good river pilot, had died from overwork on a hard trip to New Orleans in the floods of the Mississippi two years before, leaving her with six children dependent upon her, the eldest a lad in his "teens," the youngest a little baby girl. They owned their home, just on the brink of the river, a little "farm" of two or three acres, two horses, three cows, thirty hogs and a half hundred fowls, and in spite of the bereavement they had gone on bravely, winning the esteem and commendation of all who knew them for thrift and honest endeavor. Last year the floods came heavily upon them, driving them from their home, and the two horses were lost. Next the cholera came among the hogs and all but three died. Still they worked on and held the home. This spring came the third flood. The water climbed up the bank, crept in at the door and filled the lower story of the house. They had nowhere to remove their household goods, and stored them in the garret carefully packed and went out to find a shelter in an old log house near by, used for a corn crib. Day by day they watched the house, hailed passing boats for the news of the rise and fall of the water above, always trusting the house would stand--"and it would," the mother said "(for it was a good, strong house), but for the storm." The wind came and the terrible gale that swept the valley like a tornado, with the water at its height, leveling whole towns, descended and beat upon that house and it fell. In the morning there was no house there and the waves in their fury rushed madly on. Then these little children "stood and wept on the banks of the river," and the desolation and fear in the careful mother's heart, none but herself and her God can know.