Patrick Donovan

A young Irishman from Lynchburg, taken in the prime of his life.

Donovan died at his post that terrible night at Thaxton, which was something not too uncommon for the men who worked on the railroad in the 19th century. He seemed to love the work despite the risks of his profession. Tributes printed after his death noted his devotion to his work and the frequent promotions he had received while working for Norfolk & Western.¹ One paper mentioned that Donovan was “recognized as one of the most capable engineers in the service of the Norfolk and Western road.”² He was still in his early-thirties at the time of his death, but he had already made quite a career on the railroad.³

Patrick was still single, but tributes also made mention of his devotion to his family and described him more than once as “kind” and an “affectionate son”.⁴ Other adjectives used to describe him were “trusted”, “popular”, and “highly esteemed.”⁵ ⁶ Donovan’s father was a grocer in Lynchburg, and both he and the city had lost a beloved son in the rubble at Thaxton.⁷

After his body was recovered, it was taken to the Church of the Holy Cross in Lynchburg for funeral services. At the conclusion of the service, his remains were buried in what is now called the St. Francis Xavier Catholic Cemetery in Lynchburg.⁸ The church is still a part of the community and the website can be visited at http://www.holycrosslynchburg.org. You can view a photo of Donovan’s grave inscription here.

Do you have more information about Patrick Donovan? If you think he might have been an ancestor of yours, or if you have some additional information that you would like to share, I’d love to hear from you. Thanks!

Sources

“In Memoriam”, The Daily News (Lynchburg, VA), July 4, 1889, Volume 47, Number 144: p. 2.
“The Railroad Disaster”, The Daily News (Lynchburg, VA), July 3, 1889, Volume 47, Number 143, p. 3.
Census record for Patrick Donovan, Year: 1880; Census Place: Lynchburg, Campbell, Virginia; Roll: 1359; Family History Film: 1255359; Page: 324D; Enumeration District: 053.
Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers Monthly Journal, October, 1889, Volume XXIII, Number 10: p.846.
See note 1 above.
“Thirty Killed”, The Daily Virginian (Lynchburg, VA), July 3, 1889, p. 1.
J.H. Chataigne, Chataigne’s Lynchburg City Directory, 1885, p. 69.
“The Railroad Wreck”, The Daily News (Lynchburg, VA), July 4, 1889, Volume 47, Number 144, p.3.

I was greatly surprised to hear that an accident had occurred at this culvert, as I regarded it as one of the safest on the line.

The wrecked cars burned with a fierceness that could not have been equaled if every stick of timber had been soaked in oil.

In the morning we found that there were four or five houses around the wreck. We screamed and the men yelled, but nobody seemed to have come to our relief. With all the noise I don’t see why those people could sleep, anyhow

I will not leave, ladies, until I see you all safe; I am a Virginian.

The shrieks and groans of the imprisoned victims could be distinctly heard from the bank.

I have stood on the battlefield, and heard shot and shell rattling around me, and seen my comrades falling like leaves in autumn, but I have never seen anything that curdled my blood with horror or moved me to deeper depths of compassion than the scenes of that dreadful night.

There never was such a rain fell on me to my recollection. Yes, sir, it was a scary time.

Little pieces of bodies could be seen, and were gathered in, and in some cases ashes, though most of the burned bodies in the shape of ashes had been washed away.

We have no knowledge of Mr. H. B. Wheeler whatsoever. If he was on the train that was wrecked he has not been accounted for, and I presume has been lost. His body has not been recovered, but may have been burned in the wreck.

It rained so it looked like it would take my breath away.

When I visited the scene you could not find wood enough to make a door, so complete had been the wash away and consumption by fire.

We may not know where their ashes slumber, but God himself will keep a faithful watch over their sacred dust.

The air was very still when I came out and the rain was coming down very steadily, but from the direction of the mountain, I heard very distinctly a very loud noise, a heavy rumbling in the clouds, that sounded something like an earthquake.

I just stayed there and did not know what to do, but just think on the Lord and asked him to spare me.

It was different from any rain I ever saw in its violence, and duration.

I never passed through a more terrible experience in my life, and I assure you I have no desire to participate in such another.

It was the most horrible thing I ever witnessed.

The first I recollect when I came to my senses I was halloing for help.

Oh, to see the wounded—all is a picture before me continually, and I never will again travel in the night.

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