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.