THE DAY THE DAM BROKE

words & images: Dan Bisbee

Three miles above Williamsburg, Massachusetts, a mile up a foot path, is a series of stone walls on both sides of a small stream. It doesn’t look like much now, but a century and a half ago, it powered the economy of the Mill River valley. That abruptly changed on May 16, 1874.

In the 1860s, Williamsburg was a thriving mill town thanks to the Mill River. It’s falling water provided power for two dozen or so mills

through the villages of Williamsburg, Skinnerville, Haydenville, Leeds, Florence and Northampton before emptying into the Connecticut River. The villages were strung out along the river, each one a mile or so below the one above it. The mills produced a range of items for local consumption – grist mills and various machine shops. Other mills produced goods for markets nationwide, among them cotton, wool, silk, buttons and brass fixtures.

During dry spells, the mills were idle due to a lack of water flow. Two reservoirs in Goshen helped and the mill owners reasoned that a third reservoir, this one on the east branch of the river, would keep the mill turbines spinning profitably for most of the year.

A committee was formed, money was promised, a site was selected and land rights granted. At the time, there was no official oversite on how to construct a dam and the $90,000.00 proposed design seemed excessive to the mill-ownersnow-turned-reservoir-owners. The price tag was trimmed and reworked and the earthen dam was built for less than $30,000.00. It was 40 feet tall, 600 feet long and 144 feet thick at the base. It had a stone core and held back nearly 600 million gallons of water.

Once filled, the dam began leaking almost immediately. Soil was added and patches were made until the dam was considered safe and filled to capacity. A keeper was hired to oversee the dam and open or close the gate valve depending on downstream water demand. For nearly a decade, it worked as designed.

May 16, 1874 was another rainy day and the reservoir was already at capacity. Around 7:00AM, a large section of soil slumped away from the downstream side of the dam and water began leaking. George Cheney, the dam keeper, opened the outlet gate to relieve some of the pressure but he soon realized his actions were futile. He grabbed his horse and raced three miles into town to spread the alarm.

He stopped first at the home of Onslow Spelman, one of the dam’s owners. Spelman argued that the dam was safe before relenting and lending Cheney a horse. Collin Graves overheard the conversation and raced downstream with his milk wagon. By the time Cheney had a fresh horse saddled up, the water had risen to a point where he could not continue. Graves warned around 50 people already at work in the woolen mill and another 100 workers at the silk mill in Skinnerville. When he arrived at the Brassworks in Haydenville, he was rebuffed. Graves admitted to not actually seeing the flood waters and sheepishly began retreating to Williamsburg when he met Jerome Hillman riding at full speed yelling about the dam giving way. They returned to the Brassworks and this time the workers headed for higher ground.

Myron Day, riding from Leeds to Haydenville saw the commotion and beat a hasty retreat through the narrow gorge to Leeds. He was able to warn

Page 34 BACKROADS • SEPTEMBER 2021 workers at the Nonotuck silk mill, the Emery wheel company and the button shop in Leeds.

Meanwhile, the dam had failed catastrophically sending 600 million gallons of water downstream. The 20-foot-tall wave pushed everything in its path: trees, brush, buildings. It smashed into Onslow Spelman’s button shop first and then pushed away the Mill Street Bridge in an instant. The wave plowed through Williamsburg tearing houses from foundations and ripping trees from the ground. The churning mass reached Skinnerville and swept the silk mill away. In Haydenville, the tumult battered the brick Brassworks building before it tumbled into the river. The narrows above Leeds bottled up the flood for a few precious minutes before bearing down on the village. People were still filing out of the button mill when the flood flattened the factory. Below Leeds, the flood spread out across Florence meadows, turning lush farmland into a tangle of shrubs, silt, buildings and bodies. The water continued down through Florence and Northampton at a more sedate pace before emptying into the Connecticut River. In less than 60 minutes the reservoir thundered through the villages, altering them forever. 139 people died and 740 were homeless. Property losses were estimated to be $1,000,000.00 (around $26,000,000.00 today). There was no Red Cross or other agency to help people cope with this sort of disaster and survivors had to deal with the carnage. Makeshift hospitals and morgues were set up in townhalls and meeting houses. At the trial, the blame was spread between the mill owners, the design company, the construction company, the County commissioners and the State legislature. In the end, nobody was held accountable. Many of the mills were rebuilt but the river had carved some new channels and the water power was not as reliable as before the flood. Some mill owners added steam engine power plants to complement the water power. But the times were changing and the prominence of Williamsburg and the Mill River valley as a manufacturing center declined.

The button shop in Leeds lasted until 1886, the woolen mill closed in 1891. Joel Hayden rebuilt his Brassworks in Haydenville but ended up going bankrupt. The Brassworks continued under a series of owners before closing for good in 1954. In Skinnerville, the devastation was total and William Skinner ended up starting a new silk mill from scratch 20 miles away in Holyoke. He prospered and, at one point, had the largest silk mill in the world under one roof.

Today Williamsburg is a vibrant community despite, or perhaps because, the industry moved out. The Mill River still flows through the village, though it’s hemmed in by granite walls behind buildings and businesses on Main Street, almost as though the town has turned its back on the river that once powered it. The rebuilt Brassworks in Haydenville still stands next to the river and water still flows over the mill dam. In Leeds, the rebuilt silk mill is now an apartment house. Skinnerville has been reduced to a footnote.

Today, it’s possible to ride the entire length of the flood. On the side of Ashfield Road there is a small sign for the Historic Dam Trail and it’s about a mile hike up to the stone ruins. The series of odd-looking stone walls are the remains of the dam’s stone core. A plaque is there as well. After leaving the dam site, you can ride down the road next to the river. In Williamsburg, the river joins with the west branch right near Mill Street. In front of the Historical Society building, a plaque lists the names of those killed by the flood. Farther downstream, where Skinnerville used to be, a plaque stands in the parking lot of a greenhouse. The rebuilt Brassworks building in Haydenville is still an impressive building, where office space can be rented. In front of the town office building, a small plaque simply reads “In Memory of those citizens of Haydenville who were drowned in the Mill River Disaster May 16, 1874.” A second marker nearby lists the victims. You can cross the Mill River here and ride down River Road as it curves through a narrow pass to Leeds. There, in a small park adjacent to the river, another plaque lists those from Leeds who perished in the flood. 139 people died but, if not for the heroics of George Cheney, Colin Graves, Jerome Hillman and Myron Day, the toll would have been much higher. The following year Massachusetts enacted the first laws regarding dam construction. The Mill River Disaster was the worst flood catastrophe in the country up to that time. That distinction was eclipsed 15 years later by the flood in Johnstown Pennsylvania.