The week began with a search for relics. It was a difficult task. The wind was cold; the water was deep and frozen over. Snow and ashes filled the air. A confused heap of iron, tin roofs, broken trucks, and other debris were mingled into one mass of ruins.

A company was organized for the work, with the train-dispatcher at the head. Men were hired, police were stationed, the ice was broken, great iron beams and rails and rods were drawn out, trucks and wheels and brakes and bolts were moved away, and every spot was searched for traces of the dead. Watches, jewels, shreds of clothing, hands of women and arms of men were found. It was a place where diamonds lay; a stream where nuggets of gold were washed; a mine where they dug for treasures, all that men seek in distant lands, but there were human lives which could not be found. Everything was closely scanned. Curiosity was fed by the constant search, and yet, to friends, the results were meagre.

A single bone was found, around which a chain was wound. It was the remains of a lady’s arm.

A watch was found, the gold was melted, the works were lost, but it bore the number and the pattern which proved it to belong to Rev. Dr. Washburn, the Rector of Grace Church, Cleveland.

A gentleman made diligent search for some remains or relics of Dr. Hubbard, of Des Moines, Iowa, and at last found a shawl strap and check which bore his name. The Doctor’s brother arrived from Boston, bringing his aged mother’s description of his clothing: Woolen socks (which she had knit for him), and two pairs of drawers, one worn inside of his socks. By this description a limb which had been saved from burning with the remainder of the body, by lying in the water, was identified as his, and taken home for burial.

A cap was found which proved that a young man named Marvin was lost. He was the only son of a widow, and her only support.

A simple string was all that another had, to prove that a body was that of a mother. It was a present from a daughter, and was tied about the hair, and had not been burned.

A key, identified by a duplicate sent by his partner from Chicago, was the proof that E.P. Rogers was on the train.

A coat was recognized as belonging to Mr. J. Rice, of Lowell.

A pair of initial sleeve buttons were found which proved that Boyd Russell, of Auburn, N.Y., was among the lost. The body had burned, diamond pins and badges and valuable jewelry had disappeared, but these remained.

The father and friends of Miss Minnie Mixer after long search had given up all hope of finding a single trace of her remains. At last her mother came and identified a chain which had been her daughter’s. The watch of Mr. G. Kepler, of Ashtabula, was identified.

A wife did not know her husband was on the train. She missed his letters. She heard that he had gone to Dunkirk. She searched the relics and found his knife.

A lady from Toronto, a Mrs. Smith, came searching for her husband from whom she had heard just as he left Buffalo for Detroit. He had seven thousand dollars on his person. A pocket was fished up from the stream. It contained the pocket-book and the name and a bank certificate, but the money was not there. A letter was discovered among the relics. It bore no name except that of the writer, as the envelope was gone. A brother from Massachusetts came. He found no trace except the letter. He went to Chicago and sought some of the survivors and still did not satisfy himself. He returned and consulted the author of this book. Only two persons were saved from the car which he was in. They described the occupants of the car one by one. “In one seat,” said they, “was a gentlemanly man, quiet in manner, and intelligent.” He was going to “South America by way of California.” “That’s my brother,” was the tearful answer. In a low toned voice and tender accents we talked, and it seemed as if the brother could not rest until all was told. Yet there was but little to be said.

An old lady was on the train who was from the east. She was described as sitting in the middle of the car, a young man with her. He was teaching school at the time in Illinois, and had spent his vacation in going after her. She was seventy-nine years of age. Her angular features and loud voice had attracted the attention of passengers. The same lady was described to the author. A description of her given by two young men on the train was recognized by the friends, and a photograph of the young man shown to them was recognized in turn. Thus two more were identified as being on the train.

A family, consisting of a gentleman and his wife and two children, were in the drawing-room car. They were described to the author as “neither stylish nor very plain,” “just a comfortable, respectable and happy family.” Mr. T. C. Wright, of Tennessee, had noticed them as they sat together, and was impressed, and told what a happy family they were. They were sitting in the state-room and enjoying one another’s company. The little girl was described as having “light hair and curls which hung round her face and was very pretty, but had poor teeth.” This description was sent to the “Inter-Ocean” of Chicago by the author. A letter was afterwards received from Mrs. H.H. Gray, of Darlington, Wis., enquiring about a family which was lost (“annihilated” it was written). No one could find any trace of them. An answer was returned, “Look into the ‘Inter-Ocean’ of January 16 and read my letter.” The next letter received was from the administrator of the estate. It described the gentleman as a man of “extensive business, very energetic and honorable,” and contained the photographs of two children. “This whole family were on their way from Bethlehem, Pa., to Gratiot, Wis.”

The only survivor from the drawing-room car, was a Mr. Ormsbee, from Boston, who was nearsighted and could not tell much about those in the car. Mr. Wright, who was in the smoker at the time of the fall, belonged in this car. His description had already been recognized by the author, but the photographs were shown to Mr. Ormsbee, and he, after close examination, with solemnity said, “They were the children who were in my car.” Another photograph of the whole family was afterwards sent to Mr. Wright, of Nashville, and was recognized as the likeness of the family which he had noticed in that state-room.

There is an affecting story about this family: It is supposed that they were in the state-room at the time of the fall and by some means the wife and children were held in the wreck and could not be extricated. The father tried to save them but the flames arose. He could escape himself and actually did get out of the car and away from the flames, but the little girl cried out, “Papa! oh, Papa! take me!” and he went back, exclaiming, “I would rather perish with my family; I can’t live without them,” and so all perished together.