By Lynne Hasselman, Special to The Oregonian/OregonLive

A monument to one of the worst catastrophes in Oregon history stands in a country cemetery off Route 31 in the small Lake County town of Silver Lake.

Oregon State Archives

Ten feet tall and carved from imposing dark marble, it is inscribed with the names and ages of 43 men, women, and children who died on Christmas Eve 124 years ago. Here, in this quiet place looking out over open rangeland to rugged buttes beyond, the meaning of community can still be felt.

The evening of Dec. 24, 1894, began joyfully as ranching families from as far as 70 miles away came by buggy and wagon to Silver Lake’s Christmas Eve celebration. In this remote area where it could be months before they were able to visit again, a night to gather for a holiday dinner, a program of skits, music, and singing, a gift exchange, and a dance was eagerly anticipated. An estimated 160 to 200 people participated.

Don't Edit

As they exchanged greetings and caught up on the news, they headed to the event’s location, J.H. Clayton Hall, on the second floor of the F.M. Chrisman store. The hall’s only entrance was up a narrow outside staircase.

Inside, the hall had been transformed by holiday decorations. Festive pine garlands were hung on the walls and a large Christmas tree was festooned with snowy white-pulled cotton, paper chains, strings of popcorn, and hanging presents. In the soft glow of the oil burning lamps, people took their seats on long wooden benches pushed closely together.

At 8 p.m. when the last Christmas carol had been sung and the Three Wise Men were about to begin their performance, George Payne, a popular 22-year-old from neighboring Summer Lake, stood up on the bench to see his way to the door. As he rose, his head accidentally hit a large hanging oil lamp and sent it swinging. Burning oil rained down, igniting his clothes and splashing onto the pine floor.

Don't Edit

Francis Chrisman, above

As Payne and those nearby tried desperately to extinguish the flames, Francis Chrisman, the store owner, rushed to pull the lamp down and run it out the door. When Chrisman had nearly reached the exit to throw it into the street, another man trying to smother the fire with his overcoat inadvertently knocked the flaming lamp out of his hands. Several people tried to kick it out the door, but it was too late. Nearly a gallon of burning oil had spattered onto the wood floor and walls.

Don't Edit

Gus Schroder, above

“It was just seconds after the lamp was hit that the place was a raging inferno,” Chrisman remembered.

The Christmas tree exploded and a kerosene lamp sitting on the organ was knocked over. A little girl fell but the chaotic stampede for the door continued. Her mother yelled, “Don’t trample my child!” and as she reached down to grab her, she was pushed down. Pushing and stumbling over the benches, the audience rushed to get out the one door. It only swung inward, further slowing their exit.

Those who made it to the door were crushed against it by the force of those behind. At the same time, people outside were trying to force their way in to help. It took precious seconds for the frightened crowd to back up so the door could be opened.

Flames now were racing across the side and rear of the building. Walter Duncan broke out the only accessible window, jumped onto the platform awning beneath, and began pulling people to safety. He helped 11 people out before the structure collapsed under their weight, spilling them 15 feet to the sidewalk. Miraculously, they all survived.

Still inside, Gus Schroder struggled through the smoke to find his wife, Lucinda, and their 2-year-old son, Eston. Caught in the terrified exodus, Gus was pushed out the door and over the side of the staircase. Falling to the ground, he stumbled to his feet and found a hose to attach to a hand pump. He and another man took turns spraying down those running out with their clothes and hair on fire. Realizing his wife and son were not there, Gus yelled for a ladder and climbed up to the hall to find them, helping pull two others out in the process.

“I kept hollering for Lucinda to come to the window but there was so much noise, I never heard a reply,” he recalled later. “I never caught her voice in that awful din of crackling flames and agonized shrieking.”

He was told Lucinda managed to hold the door open long enough to get her mother and several others out before the fire overtook her and her son.

Don't Edit

Bert Gowdy, above

Some children were dropped out the window into the arms of those waiting below. At 15 months old, Ernest Hamilton’s life was saved by a neighbor who grabbed him as he tumbled down. Another little girl clung outside to the window sill while those below tried to convince her to let go. She did and was safely rescued.

Within six minutes, the stairway had collapsed, the hall was completely on fire, and the only way out was to jump. Rancher Bert Gowdy stayed as long as he could to help others evacuate. When it became clear he would die if he didn’t find a way out, he leapt from the window, knocking out his two front teeth when he hit the ground. His hands were badly burned but he survived.

Don't Edit

Don't Edit

James and Elizabeth Horning lost their child

Others went back to try to save family members. Bob Snelling, age 25, ran through the flames to help his mother. Never finding her, he died of his burns 24 days later. Newlywed Woody Hurst came back for his wife, Ada. They were both killed along with Ada’s two siblings, her mother, and her grandmother. Twenty-two-year-old Bruce Owsley also sacrificed his life trying to reach his mother. He was heard saying, “I will save her or die with her” as he headed inside. They were last seen kneeling in prayer together as the ceiling caved in.

Within an hour, the building was smoking ruins. Forty people inside were dead and between 30 to 40 others were injured. The town doctor, W.M. Thompson, was making a house call 50 miles away, and the supply of pain remedies and topical treatments kept in the store had been destroyed. Silver Lake was miles from the nearest telegraph machine and railroad, and the stagecoach that took the mail wouldn’t arrive for several days.

On this freezing, snowy evening filled with despair, all the residents of Silver Lake had were each other.

Don't Edit

The saloon across the street from the hall was turned into a first aid station, and those living close by ran home to rip up their sheets and pillow cases for bandages. Plans were quickly made to find medical care. While one man rode to bring back Thompson, Ed O’Farrell, a 22-year-old cowboy, left on his horse to find another physician, Bernard Daly, who was nearly 100 miles away in the town of Lakeview. O’Farrell switched horses four times along the way, fresh horses offered without question by ranchers along the way. Braving temperatures of 20 degrees below zero and snow up to four feet deep, he arrived in Lakeview 15 hours later and found the doctor.

Daly swiftly gathered his supplies, and with another man, took off in a buggy drawn by two of the best horses in the area. Men on horseback broke a trail through the snow in front of them so they could make faster time. Daly arrived in Silver Lake at 6 a.m. Dec. 26. Thompson had returned two hours earlier.

Volunteers from the town of Paisley, 50 miles away, help collected the remains of the victims, all of whom had been cremated in the fire. Bone fragments were placed in a common casket.

It took four days for the news of the disaster to reach Portland and cities throughout the state. A donation fund was set up by The Oregonian to respond to the needs of the survivors, and $300 was raised. When the money was delivered to Silver Lake, it came as a surprise to its residents.

“Silver Lake asked for not a dollar of money, an article of clothing or a pound of food,” the newspaper wrote. “The money was accepted gratefully but with unmistakable regret that anyone should have thought Silver Lake an object of charity, and with a plain intimation that no more was needed. The surviving citizens are both able and willing to supply all the material wants of their stricken townspeople and think it is their highest privilege to do so.”

Don't Edit

The contributions were halted at the request of the citizens. The physicians didn’t charge for their services, and townspeople and nurses worked in shifts around the clock to help the injured. Those who traveled to help were lodged in people’s homes. Food or provisions that were needed were shared.

Don't Edit

Marietta Buck and her son died/Silver Lake Reunion

Five days after the disaster, the residents of Silver Lake and the vicinity gathered again, this time to bury their loved ones. Forty people including two boys between the ages of 8 to 10, and 16 babies and young children had been killed. Almost everyone in the vicinity had lost a loved one. One family lost 15 members.

Don't Edit

Three more people died later from their wounds. One of them was George Payne, the young man who accidentally started the fire. He lingered for two months and two days with terrible burns that exposed three of his ribs and part of his spine. His mother, aunt and uncle, and 5-year-old twin cousins had all perished.

Payne’s casket was placed next to the one containing the remains of the other victims so they could be remembered together. Three years later, the marble monument was erected as their final memorial.

For years afterward, the community of Silver Lake came to the cemetery every Christmas Eve to pay their respects and remember.

Lynne Hasselman is a writer from southern Oregon.

Don't Edit