. . . Elder William C. Dunbar, now a resident of the Twentieth Ward, Salt Lake City, who narrowly escaped with his life from the ill-fated Saluda, and who lost his wife and two children in the terrible catastrophe: [STATES]

"When the Kennebec passengers arrived in St. Louis, we were met by Elder David J. Ross, who had emigrated in a previous company; he told me personally that a boat called the Saluda, had been chartered to bring a company of Saints up the river, and that she was now waiting to complete her list of passengers. She was not represented as one of the best boats on the river by any means, but had been secured on cheap terms, which was an important consideration for the Saints who were nearly all short of means, and as the first [p.410] class boats would not start out for some time to come, because of the immense masses of drift ice in the river, and the Saluda would, a number of the new arrivals deemed it best to take advantage of this opportunity and go on for fear that the Saints by tarrying in St. Louis might be compelled to spend their last money there, and thus be unable to continue the journey to the Bluffs and Valley the season.

Going to the conference office in St. Louis, I met my old friend, Brother Duncan Campbell, who, like myself, was a native of Scotland, and after consulting with him for some time, we both concluded, though somewhat reluctantly, to engage our passage, together with our families, in the Saluda. After giving in our names, Brothers Ross Campbell and myself went down to the river to see the boat. On entering the hold a most horrible feeling came over us, and without knowing the cause of it, we had an impression that something awful was going to happen somehow or other. We looked at each other in silence, then turned away in opposite directions, and when our eyes again met, we saw tears coursing their way down each other cheeks. Hurrying away from the boat, I remarked to Brother Campbell that if I had not already given in my name to go with that steamer, I would not do so now; but under the circumstances we almost felt in duty bound to go, so as not to disappoint the officers of the boat, nor the elders who had chartered her.

As the "Saluda" was going to start the next day, I hastened up in the city to purchase my outfit, and the merchant of whom I bought it, promised that he would have it sent on board early the next morning. This, however, he failed to do, and although the sailing of the vessel was deferred another day, owning to the ice still floating down the river, the goods had not arrived when the boat was getting up steam preparatory to staring. Not wishing to go on board till my outfit had arrived, I lingered behind until finally the goods were sent down, after which I started for the boat with my family. When we got within a few blocks of where the Saluda lay, we heard her bell ringing, as a signal for starting, and quickening our steps I reached the boat with on e of our children in my arms, just as they were throwing off the gangway, and starting. Looking back I saw my wife carrying our other child, hurrying out a fast as she could, but still some distance away. Consequently, the boat started without us. Although I did not understand it then, I am perfectly satisfied now that some friendly unseen power was at work in my behalf, trying to prevent me from going on board with my family on that ill-fated steamer.

Two days after the departure of the Saluda from St. Louis. I and family took passage on a first class steamer with the understanding that her captain would stop and put us on board the "Saluda" whenever we should overtake her. The Saluda being a slow boat, we soon caught up with her, but at the point where we did so, the river was so full of ice, and the boats so far apart (being on opposite sides of the river,) that our captain refused to cross over to make the promised transfer. Consequently, after the two boats had passed and repassed each other several times, the vessel we were on continued up the river until we got to within a short distance of St. Joseph. By this time our boat was so badly damaged by the floating ice, that she was compelled to haul to, and the passengers were cooly invited to leave the vessel. They were consequently dumped off on the east side of the river. I, however, refused to leave the boat, insisting that the Captain should redeem his promise and put me and my family on board the Saluda. To this he finally consented, after which the boat was allowed to drift back to Lexington, where we in the evening of April 8, the day before the terrible catastrophe took place, boarded the Saluda, which had tied up at the port of Lexington, waiting for the ice to clear away.

When we got on board the Saluda, we found that her hold was already crowded with passengers, hence some of them were given the privilege to sleep on the upper deck, in front of the cabin door, [p.411] and they were actually making their beds on the flooring which covered the boiler. Heavy canvass called tarpaulin water-proof, was put up to protect passengers from the winds and cold. On this upper deck, right on top of the boiler, I also made my family bed."On the morning of the fatal day, (Friday, April 9th, 1852,) I, together, with my previously named friends, Brothers Ross and Campbell, arose quite early to get breakfast. Hanging kettles on the stove to boil water, we stepped outside of the space encircled by the tar canvass, after I had told my wife, who together with our two children was just in the act of getting out of bed, that I would be back for breakfast in a few minutes. This was the last I ever said to my wife and children while they were alive. We were standing on the deck watching the labors of the crew in starting the boat, and I witnessed just two revolutions of the paddle wheels, when I remember nothing more till I found myself lying on the bank of the river within three yards of the water's edge, with my clothes drenching wet, and my head all covered with blood. I felt as if I was just waking up from a deep sleep.

I am of the opinion that I was blown in to the river by the explosion, and subsequently pulled out by some rescuing party, who then left men, thinking I was dead, but I have never been told by any one how it really happened. Brother Ross was thrown into the middle of the river, and the current brought him near the shore some distance below, where somebody reached him a pole; and he was rescued. Brother Campbell's dead body was picked up quite a ways down the stream.

As soon as I had regained consciousness and began to open my eyes, I looked around, and saw the mangled form of a child lying close by me. Recognizing its clothing I soon made the startling discovery that it was my own dear baby boy, whom I, a short time before, had seen in its mother's arms. I attempted to rise to go over to spot where my dead child lay, but found myself unable to do so, and I now also noticed a sharp pain in my back, as my spine had been severely hurt by being thrown so violently into the river; from the effects of this I have suffered with pains in my back ever since. My attempts to arise attracted the attention of two gentlemen, who immediately came to my assistance, and I was now carried by them to a neighboring store, which had hurriedly been turned into a temporary hospital to receive the wounded survivors of the terrible disaster. I arrived at this place just in time to see my wife, who was lying on the floor, breathe her last. She had been cast on shore by the explosion, and carried to the store in a dying condition. My other child, a little girl about five years old, was lying in the same room, among the dead, her body so mangled that I could scarcely recognize her, that a lady survivor also claimed her as her child. I have on several occasions since reasoned on the possibility of my being mistaken in identifying as that of my child, and wondered if it could be possible that my little girl was among those who fell into the hands of the special committee appointed by the citizens of Lexington to take care of the orphan children. Some of the people, into whose care these children were entrusted, were very reluctant to give them up when asked to do so by relatives or friends; and it is quite possible that one or two of them were never recovered. Some of the citizens, although extremely kind to the unfortunates, would perhaps be conscientious in believing they were doing a good deed in preventing them from being sent to Utah.

I had been in the store only a short time when a gentlemen brought a hack in which he took me to his private residence, where I was treated with much hospitality and kindness, although the man admitted that he was one of those who years ago had shouldered his gun to help drive out the "Mormons" out of Missouri. Owing to the injuries my back had sustained, I was unable to move for several days, but I finally got strong enough to walk about, when I was shown the spot where the earthly remains of [p.412] my wife and children were laid to rest. A few of the sick and wounded still remained in Lexington, when a boat came along on which I and others secured passage dup the river. Unlike some others who have expressed themselves freely on this point, I do not attach any great blame to the elders who chartered the "Saluda;" it was perhaps nothing but an overanxiety to get the Saints away from St. Louis, where so many of those who had previously stopped had apostatized, and never went to the Valley."

Bishop Henry Ballard, of Logan, who was one of the passengers on the ill-fated "Saluda," recorded in his journal under date of April 9th, 1852:

"I had just been on shore to buy some provisions for a family by the name of May, which I had under my charge, and we had set down on some boxes and commenced to eat breakfast, when without the least warning, the boiler of the old boat exploded with a terrific noise scattering death and destruction in all directions. The fore part of the boat was almost entirely blown away. I was thrown about two rods and landed under a bunk, together with a man who had his brains dashed out. I was stunned and remained unconscious for nearly half an hour with a hole in my head near the top of the brain. While in a semi-conscious condition, I was under the impression that I was floating down the river on broken pieces of plank, but I finally saw daylight through an opening, which proved to be the door of the paddle-wheels, and seeing a man running past, I followed him and jumped off the boat onto the land; but I soon found that I was unable to stand and consequently laid down upon some boards, lying on the bank of the river, while the blood was streaming down my face from the wound in my head. I soon learned that none of the family which I had charge of had been killed, and only one of them hurt at all.

After recovering somewhat, I returned to the boat to look for my baggage, but could find nothing. Two shepherd dogs that I had brought with me from England had been entirely blown away. I found the piece of bread I held in my hand when the explosion occurred and the tin cup from which I was in the act of taking a drink of coffee at the fatal moment; it was mashed flat as a dollar. I also picked up my knife covered with blood. The people of Lexington were kind to us, and especially to the wounded.

At the time of the explosion many of the passengers were asleep in their beds.The kind captain of the Isabel offered to take us to Council Bluffs free of charge, which offer many of the survivors accepted, myself included. I had lost nearly all my effects; one box which was in the hold of the vessel I afterwards found standing in the mud and water; but nearly all the contents were so badly damaged, that they were useless. Consequently, I left Lexington with what clothing I had on my back, without a hat and only one extra sock. Nor had I money wherewith to buy anything for myself or the family who was with me; but the Lord raised up the kind-hearted friends, who, although strangers to me; gave me money to buy provisions for the family to last till we got to the Bluffs. Arriving there a number of the Saints took sick and died of the cholera."

Elder Abraham O. Smoot, of Provo, writes, "I had a very narrow escape on the occasion of the "Saluda" disaster. I had purchased the supplies for my company to make its overland journey with, except cattle, at St. Louis and had decided to go farther up the river to buy the stock, when Eli B. Kelsey came to me to consult me in regard to chartering the Saluda to convey an independent company of Saints up the river. I went with him to examine the boat, and on finding that it was an old hulk of a freight boat, fitted up with a single engine, I strongly advised him against having anything to do with it. He seemed to be influenced in making choice of it entirely by fact he could get it cheaper than a better one; but in my opinion it seemed folly, for in [p.413] addition to the danger of accident, the length of time likely to be occupied in making the journey would more than counterbalance what might be saved in the charge of the transit. However, he decided to charter it, and then both he and the captain urged me strongly to take passage with them, offering to carry me free of cost if I would only go; but I could not feel satisfied to do so, I followed a few days afterwards on the Isabel and overtook the Saluda at Lexington, where she was stopped by the float-ice and unable to proceed farther. I went on board of her to visit the Saints, who were in charge of D. J. Ross, Eli B. Kelsey have gone ashore to purchase cattle and left just before the last plank was drawn in, preparatory to attempting to start. I had not walked to exceed two hundred yards after leaving the Saluda before the explosion occurred, and on turning to look in the direction of the ill-fated boat, I saw the bodies of many of the unfortunate passengers and various parts of the boat flying in the air in every direction. Fortunately for the Saints on board, they were mostly on the deck of the boat and pretty well towards the stern, and they consequently fared better than those below, or on the forepart of the boat, which was blown entirely to pieces. As it was, however, upwards of twenty of the Saints were lost or subsequently died of their wounds. My own preservation I can only attribute to the providence of the Almighty, for I had remained a moment on the wharf to see the boat start, as would have been very natural for a person to do, I would have been blown into eternity as those were who stood there.

I shall never forget the kindness of the Lexington in caring for the living and burying the dead. The Lord certainly inspired them to do all that sympathy and benevolence could suggest in aid of the afflicted. The city council set apart a piece of ground in which to bury the Saints who had died, and William H. Russell, the great government freighter, and many other prominent citizens did all they could to comfort and help the afflicted survivors. Besides their devoted attentions, their contributions in aid of the Saints amounted to thousands of dollars. I remained at Lexington about eight days looking after the interests of the Saints, and purchasing stock, after which I returned to St. Louis, where I met the company of Saints I was to conduct across the plains (Faith Promoting Series, 8 page 27.)" [p.414]

BIB: Dunbar, William C. [eye-witness account] in "Fifty-sixth Company," The Contributor 13:9 (July 1892), pp. 410-14 (CHL)
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