THE MOVING DEATH.

King Country Chronicle, Volume VII, Issue 544, 22 February 1913, Page 7

THE MOVING DEATH.

HORRORS OF A BOG-SLIDE. A bog-slide is caused by the water, in which every bog rests, becoming so augmented by rains and thaws as to float the peat over its boundaries. Few can appreciate the horror of a bog-slide except the poor people | who happen to liva in the track of that moving death. I have lived through one. It occurred on the i banks of the River Shannon, and it happened at night, in December. The little Irish cottages to be found in this district are practically of a universal pattern, about thirty feet long by fifteen wide. You enter the house through the kitchen door, and find yourself in the largest room of the house. It is living, dining, and reception room, as well as kitchen. The floor is of trodden earth, the walls of rough masonry, and the roof of thatch. All the poor people have of this world's goods is stored beneath this roof, and when this goes, then they have lost their all. THE NIGHT ALARM. We had retired to bed at about 9 p.m., our usual hour. I had done a hard day's work in the turnip-field, and was soon asleep. Suddenly I woke up, to find my bed sliding into the earth. I was almost standing up, for the foot of my bed had sunk into the soft earth, and the front wall of the house appeared to be literally leaning over the head. I jumped out on what used to be the floor, but found myself up to my waist in mould, and the house was rocking violently. Then there was a crash, as the flood struck the front of the house, and the roof fell in with a loud ','sog" that told me that my parents in the little room on the other side of the 1 kitchen were doomed if I did not get to them quickly. Two beams had struck slanting against the wall, and saved me. I reached up, and tore a hole in the Toot, and, as well as I could, I ploughed my way through the twirling, muddy waters, and saw at a glance that all my people were doomed. Everything within my short range of vision was swamped. Landmarks I toad known from childhood were now no more ; all was swept away by that merciless and all-destroy-ing flood. I made my way, half swimming, half-floundering, through the surging bog until I came to a little mound. It was not more than a quarter of a mile away, but, as far ae I can judge, it took me the best part of two hours to reach it. After I had thrown myself down on the top—for I was very young, and quite exhausted—l could hardly realise the awful extent of the calamity. Here I was, only sixteen years old, and alone in the world, with all I had to love and care for swept away by this sudden upheaval o f Nature. ATTEMPTS AT RESCUE. But over on my left was old Biddy Murphy's cottage. Was she gone, too ? Where were the Rileys and the Gradys ? Oh, would morning never come ? I was stiff with cold, and my heart was frozen with despair. And now I heard a cry. Once heard, and it never will be forgotten. It was the "keen," or "Irish cry." Over the desolate waste of moving bog it came, and as the sound reached my ears, I was forced to' join. Soon I heard the sound taken up on every side, and as I turned to look I saw a cart come floating on the n*i*ddy waters, and, sitting and holding on with tenacity of death, were two people. I shouted. There was no response, and in a moment the cart, with its grim cargo, went floating and swirling past my haven. But the longest night has an end, and as soon as the day dawned I could see that the face of the country for miles round was all changed. Not a house was visible, not a tree or clump of peat, or sign of a road could I see. All —all was swallowed up in that moving, death-dealing quagmire. Presently there was a shout from the direction of the River Shannon, and I coultl see one of Guinness's &t:amers making its way in the direction of the spot where I stood. I waited in agony, for I was wet through, and my clothes were frozen together. Horror had almost driven me mad, and I remembered wondering, in a stupid sort of way, if the •steamer would reach the spot where I stood. Of course, had I been properly sane, I would have known that she could not sail through an ocean of thick mud. SAVED AT LAST! However, about noon the mud and peat settled down. The movement had stopped, and I could just see the top of our little chimney sticking out of the river of mud. The police, brave fellows ! —made their way towards me by means of lanks. They laid down one, went to the end, and laid down another. It was a hard job, but by 9 a.m I was on board the steamer —saved ! Luckily, there were not many cottages on that portion of the bog which moved, and my parents, with all their stock, together with poor Biddy Murphy, were all that perished. We found the cart four days after. Judge of my anguish when I saw that the bodies, which lay half naked on its rough bottom, were those of my poor father and mother. May God give them peace ! They had escaped, only to be frozen to death on the wild desolation of the bog.—"Answers."