There was a storm of grief. The waves were tossing high upon the sea of life, and their crests were lifted far and wide, and dropping tears upon the deep. The solemn murmur was echoed all along the shore. It intruded upon the business thoughts. Its roar was heard above the noise of commerce, and the city’s hum. It was a melancholy sound, men for once were led to give up their eager haste, and ask, to what all this love of gain might tend. The serious affairs of life were brought to mind. The interests of eternity were compared to those of time. All eyes were directed to this wreck of life. All hearts were moved by this suddenness of death. But this wave of sorrow did not cease. When the storm was over, and men lost their wonder, the wave swept on. Long after the calamity had failed to engage the public ear, and had disappeared from the public press, the wave was spreading still, and while others had forgotten the great event, it moaned along the shore. It reached the most distant homes. It swept into many sorrowing hearts. It was a wave of grief.

A father had bidden his only son good bye, in a distant city of the east. He was a lovely youth. He was destined to the west. There were those whom he loved, in a central city; one awaited him there to whom he was betrothed. The morning news brought the sad tidings to both those cities, it sent a shock to those loving hearts.

Two husbands were, together, on the Pacific coast. Both were expecting their wives home, they (a mother and daughter, together with a son) were on that train. Eight months they had been away, on an eastern trip. They had a large circle of friends and relatives, on an island, on the coast of Maine. They were on their return. They bore with them, many gifts, from friends. Thirteen quilts, which had been pieced among the visiting circles, and many other valuable presents. It had been a happy summer to them among those friends. They had hoped to reach their home, by New Year’s day, but had been delayed. The father looked into the San Francisco papers and read the tidings of the horrible event. The son, who was saved, also telegraphed from the scene of the disaster. These were the startling words: “Mother and sister are both dead. My ribs are broken, my head is hurt, I have been robbed, and am penniless among strangers.” On that second night both those men were on their way to the scene of the disaster.

The Sabbath dawned. It did not seem like Sabbath. All time lost its marks. All days were alike in the sweeping grief.

There was a congregation gathered on that distant island. The news reached some at the hour of service. Tidings were conveyed to the church. The shock went through the house, and the grief was such that the services were broken up. The circle of friends embraced the whole community. Those who had been visiting, and had so recently left, were now stricken down by this sudden death. So the wave invaded the sanctuary of God. It overwhelmed the Sabbath sacredness.

That Sabbath passed. The survivors hardly realized it was a holy day. One looked out from his window, and wondered if there were any ministers in town, and inquired where the churches were, for he could see no spires, and only a few chimneys and the tops of houses. The bells rang out—“evening bells.” It was Sabbath evening. Yes, New Year’s eve! But, O how strange! The distant friends were on their way. Many of the dead were lying there. The festivities of the day were to be turned to mourning.

A father of a lovely girl, arrived that Sabbath evening. He had bidden her good bye only two nights before. She was a favorite child, everything had been done to make her education complete. No expense was spared. She had just finished school, and was now starting out for a winter’s visit. A few days before, there had been a wedding scene, her dearest friend was married, and she was the bridesmaid. It was a very accomplished circle and a delightful party. That daughter was dressed in white, her dress was trimmed with “Forget-me-nots.” Her picture was taken in that dress. Her friends remember her as thus “garlanded and adorned,” but it was a passing vision. The New Year was to have seen her in a distant city, a delightful circle awaited her there. The first circles of two cities were interchanging greetings, she was the bright messenger between the two. At either end of that treacherous track, there were garlands and greetings. The white feet passed out from the one circle but they never reached the other. Into the valley that form went down, in that ill-fated car she perished, and now the father is looking for, but can find her not, like a vision she has departed. The white garments and the shadowy feet belong to an angel now. They have passed out from earthly scenes into the Heavenly land. In a furnace of fire the Saviour walked, and took her to himself. His form was like to the Son of Man, and the smell of fire was not in her garments, but through the fire she passed into glory; and now the father seeks her, and can never find her—never! until, as an angel spirit, he beholds her there. Strangers meet him, and tell him it is all in vain; she was in that car, and no trace of her remains. His heart is crushed, but his ways are calm, self-controlled and courteous, in the midst of grief; he returns to his home, without his daughter. She has flown to other circles and he cannot find her, but his hair catches the light of her departure, for it turns white from grief. In the midst of the furnace, he receives something of a transforming power, and the tinge of the better land strikes across his brow.

In a city of Ohio was a public school, and in charge of it was one who had endeared himself to his pupils, and was well known as the superintendent. When news of the accident was first received, fears were excited, that Mr. Rogers might be on the train A dispatch was sent to Niagara Falls, where it was known he was to be. His bride was with him, for they were married on the Tuesday before, and preparations had been made for their reception at home. Tidings came back that both were on the ill fated train. There was most intense anxiety in the place. All classes felt upon the subject, and the least scrap of information was eagerly sought. Two gentlemen at once started for the scene, and on Sabbath a dispatch was read in church. The worst of fears were realized and the sorrow deepened. Again dispatches were received, that Mr. and Mrs. Rogers were burned to death and no portion of their bodies could be recovered. A special meeting of the school board was called for appropriate action, and “the most affecting and depressing sense of the great calamity came home to all.” “A deep gloom was cast over the whole city and mainly put an end to the festivities of the New Year’s day.”

There was a family in a distant place in the West. It was the family of a well known physician. A mother was there. She was the physician’s wife. The husband had left his home for the distant east to visit an aged parent, and was on his return. He had visited a brother-in-law on his way home. The tidings go out that he is lost, and the family is at once stricken with grief. The “whole community where he dwelt was moved.” The “sense of personal bereavement extends through the place” and reaches the surrounding towns. The deepest feeling was manifest and it “seemed as if all the citizens were mourners at once.” “All mourned as though one of their own household had fallen.” The church and community and even the country around were affected, and afterward gathered at the funeral with the expression of their regard and giving token of the friendship which he had acquired. Dr. Hubbard was dead. A fragment of his body was found, and his death was mourned by the vast assemblies which crowded two houses of worship in his village home. When laid away with public obsequies, and by the different orders to which he belonged, two cities were represented.

And so the wave swept on. It subsided from the public gaze, but its effects were felt. Widows, almost crushed, wept in secret for those they loved, and over their orphaned children, and lifted up their hands in agony of prayer. The letters as they came to the author only showed how wide was this silent, this unknown sorrow.

The friends would write from the distant cities and say, “how cruel had been the blow,” “how sad the case;” but no one could tell the silent loneliness which lingered in those homes. Bitterness was mingled with the grief; and the sweet love of woman was turned so as to almost curse the Company “which had left those dreadful pits for the destruction of those precious lives;” even “God’s forgiveness was asked” that the feeling of indignation was so intense.

The secret mourning which followed the terrible crash was even now the most melancholy result of all. The sad refrain must linger for many a day. Through all the noise of business and the sounds of mirth the plaintive note mingles, and the sad calamity has not lost its effect. The secret sorrow was the worst of all. At first the wave broke upon the shore and drew back a quick returning current. The friends came at once and public sympathy was moved, but long after they had returned and the event had sunk away from the public mind, there was a wave which swept into lonely hearts and echoed in unknown homes.