d locks betokened his four-score years, and
the second was a little clump of children, three in number, playing on a
seat in the upper end of the coach.

Judge Potts' Escape.

The white-haired patriarch was Judge James Potts, aged 80, one of the
best known residents of Johnstown, who escaped the flood's ravages in a
most remarkable manner. Beside him was his daughter, while opposite sat
his son. There was one missing to complete the family party, Jennie, the
youngest daughter, who went down with the tide and whose remains have
not yet been found. The thrilling yet pathetic story of the escape of
the old Judge is best told in his own language. Said he:

"You ask me how I was saved. I answer, God alone knows. With my little
family I lived on Walnut street, next door to the residence of President
McMillan, of the Cambria Iron Company. When the waters surrounded us we
made our way to the third floor, and huddled together in one room,
determined, if die we must, to perish together.

Encircled by Water.

"Higher and higher rose the flood, while our house was almost knocked
from its foundations by the ever-increasing mountain of debris floating
along. At last the bridge at Woodvale, which had given way a short time
before, struck the house and split it asunder, as a knife might have
split a piece of paper.

"The force of the shock carried us out upon the debris, and we floated
around upon it for hours, finally landing near the bridge. When we
looked about for Jennie (here the old man broke down and sobbed
bitterly) she was nowhere to be seen. She had obeyed the Master's
summons."

A Miraculous Escape.

The three little girls, to whom I have referred, were the children of
Austin Lountz, a plasterer, living back of Water street. They were as
happy as happy could be and cut up in childish fashion all the way down.
Their good spirits were easily accounted for when it was learned that
father, mother, children and all had a miraculous escape, when it looked
as if all would be lost. The entire family floated about for hours on
the roof of a house, finally landing high upon the hillside.

Elmer G. Speck, traveling salesman of Pittsburgh, was at the Merchants'
Hotel when the flood occurred, having left the Hurlburt House but a few
hours before. He said:

"With a number of others I got from the hotel to the hill in a wagon.
The sight from our eminence was one that I shall never forget--that I
can never fully describe.