Burlington Free Press

Loss of the Western World—Thrilling Description by a Passenger.
From the New Orleans Picayune, Dec. 19

Another of those lamentable accidents which are of such painfully frequent occurrence in these waters, has taken place on the Mississippi.

On Tuesday, the 14th instant, at a quarter before 5 o'clock in the morning, the steamboat Western World, on her way down, came in collision at the bend just below Princetown, with the steamboat H. R. W. Hill. The collision was so slight as not in the least to alarm me, though I was lying awake in my berth.—

In a few seconds, however, hasty and frequent cries of "Get up! get up! get up! she's sinking!" resounded through the saloon. With solemn silence and hurried movement each sprang from his bed, and snatching hastily at what was within reach and of value rushed out.

The Hill was alongside. Some first threw their small valuables on her; some with a stronger impulse for self-preservation, sought only their individual safety. In less than five minutes the World careened partially over—

Some persons on her slid down the columns that support the saloon deck, tumbled in among the cattle on the lower deck, and scrambled on board the Hill as best they might. Finding that the World did not go over entirely, a gangway plank was run out from the Hill to her saloon.

Over this many more persons escaped. Some even returned to the World and saved their baggage. A solemn and awful silence reigned, except when broken by those on board the Hill ordering back the tribe of people who rushed to her side to witness the catastrophe.

Some ten minutes had elapsed from the moment the boats came in collision, when a frightful crash was heard, and careening completely over, the Western World went to pieces, the lurid light of torches revealing the death struggles of scores of the unfortunate cattle that had not been cast loose.

But was all human life saved? Who knew? How few cared? One at least could bear bitter testimony to a sad negative. He stood near the stove, a half naked infant in his arms, two others at his feet. Ten minutes had turned him from a man into an idiot. His mind is too far gone to exhibit grief—no heaving sighs and bursting sobs—all is vacancy to his wild, unmeaning stare. The wife of his bosom and two more of his children are buried in the dark waters of the Mississippi.

Others were lost—some twelve or fifteen—they were not saloon passengers or negroes; these had places in the upper part of the boat whence egress was easy by numerous doors.—

The helpless deck passengers, cribbed in below, stowed among freight with no chance of egress or escape in case of such a sudden accident of this nature, were the victims. Were they prepared for such a catastrophe? Such is the construction of the locality they are placed in, that few of the strongest and coolest can ever escape. One poor woman in this instance escaped by crawling through the running water under the feet of the cattle, whence she emerged covered with bruises.

It is said, and truly, that there is a great indifference to human life in these regions. I confess it was a painful sight to witness such a total absence of any proper feeling as was exhibited on this melancholy occasion. The bar of the H. R. W. Hill was the first place visited by many who had just escaped death, and even while the holy work of rescue was going on, the ribald jest circulated freely among those who sat drinking and smoking around the stove, unchecked even by the sight of the poor idiot and his three children, who, standing at the same fire, must have reminded them that though they were saved, others had been hurried but an instant before into eternity.