The Storm’s Murderous Fury—People Stunned by the Staggering Blow—Heroic
Measures to Avert Pestilence—Thrilling Story of the Ursuline Convent.
While the story of Galveston’s woe can never be told, yet the demand
naturally should be that as much shall be told as the human mind is
capable of telling. The man does not live now, and the man never lived
who could draw the picture in all its horrible details. The greatest of
poets sang of the destruction of Troy. Tacitus, and later other
historians, have told of the deeds of the madman Nero. The contests
between Marius and Sulla have filled pages through all time. The
destruction of Pompeii has been vividly described by novelists and
historians.
The French revolution, with its September and August massacres, its
ravages, and its other fiendish details, have been in the hands of
Carlyle and a score of French writers; the Gordon riots have been
described by Dickens—but never a poet or historian or novelist has drawn
anything near as shocking a picture of any event in the past as this
stern and frightful reality.
Nearly every event of the past which has shocked humanity came about
through contests between men. But men tire and men, however bitter, at
last will abate their anger. In this case it was helpless humanity on
the one side. In this case it was terrible nature in all its fury and
strength on the other. There could be no appeal for mercy, because the
winds have no ears. There was no resistance, because the arms of the
waters were those of a giant demon. There were appeals, but they were
directed above the storm. There were struggles, but they were simply
those of the drowning. Those who survived were incoherent to a great
degree.
The wind shrieked; it did not whistle as winds do. They all agree on
that. The air was filled with spray, a blinding spray which affected the
nostrils and throat and begat an inordinate thirst. It was dark. Yet it
was light. They all agree on that. Was there a moon? No one saw it. Yet
even late at night they could see the clouds in the sky. The light, they
say was a silvery one—a sort of sheen—a strange, and yet to all a
fearful kind of light. Only one person ventured an explanation. She said
the air was filled with the finest spray, and that this was
phosphorescent. There is something in this idea.
HOUSE ROCKED LIKE A CRADLE.
Did the wind blow straight away or come in gusts? Here they differ
again. One man told me that his house rocked as a cradle rocked by a
mother getting her half-sleeping child to sleep. Dr. Fly described how
it blew in a way to be understood. He was in the Tremont Hotel, a brick
structure. He said that while it blew hard all the time gusts would come
every few seconds and the wind took the strong building in its teeth
then and shook it like a terrier would shake a rat.
There is sitting out on the mainland, not far from Texas City, a dredger
which was employed about the wharves at Galveston. This vessel is a mile
and a half or two miles from the water now. One of the men aboard told
me that the boat was anchored with a steel rope. The Kendall Castle, a
large iron steamer, dragged her anchor across this steel rope and cut it
as a thread.
“On my word,” said the man who told me this, “the moment the steel rope
was cut the dredger seemed lifted in the air, and it appeared scarcely a
minute till she was where she is now.”
The vessel had been carried for miles in that short period. And there is
nothing unreasonable in the story. The wind gauge at the office of the
Weather Bureau showed eighty-seven miles an hour when it went out of
business. They believe it blew 100 miles an hour after that. The people,
before their houses fell about their ears, nailed up their window
shutters and doors because no door latch and no windowpane ever made
could stand the strength of the wind. Every one knew that once the wind
entered the house, that moment the walls would be blown in every
direction. No one fought against the water. It was the wind they put
their feeble efforts against.
It will be remembered that the storm began to become serious early in
the afternoon, and hence no one had undressed for bed when the climax
came. The female survivors, or at least those who were upon the waters,
came out naked. I asked a lady whether it was the waves or the flying
timbers that did it. She said it was the wind. “Why, on the raft with me
and my baby was a colored woman. The raft seemed to me to be the ceiling
of a house because it was white. We had to lie as flat on it as we could
without placing our faces in the water. The colored woman became tired
and raised in a half-sitting posture. The moment she did it the wind
stripped her of every stitch of clothing.”
CLOTHES TORN TO SHREDS.
The men, too, were deprived in a great measure of their clothes, but not
to the extent of the women. Their clothes were torn from them now and
then by the wreckage, but nearly all the corpses had on some garment.
The reason of this was probably that the women’s apparel was of weaker
texture. People ask why the people did not move when the storm came from
unsafe houses to safe houses. The answer is twofold. In the first place,
death was on them before they realized their danger. The Galveston mind
had for years been firmly convinced that Galveston Island and Galveston
houses could weather any storm.
An illustration of this confidence is in order. A woman who lived at one
of the numerous corner groceries said the water was almost to her neck
before she left her place. She waded to the house of a near neighbor,
where many of the people in the locality had assembled, because all
thought it a perfectly safe house, as it proved itself to be. Here, she
said, they chatted and even joked as the building rocked in the hands of
the storm. When the people saw that their lives were in danger, it was
then too late to try for other houses. They remained where they were
till the buildings either fell and parts were being torn away and they
were assured that they would soon fall.
The air was filled with every conceivable missile. Great beams and
sleepers of houses went through the air like arrows. Slates from the
roofs hurtled over the heads. One of these would have cut off the head
of a man as easily as a guillotine. There are thousands of mangled and
wounded people in the town. One poor fellow was picked up alive at Texas
City. He was cut in fifty places on his body. The tendons of his arms
and legs were exposed. Others were hacked as if they had been laid down
and scored as cooks score their meats. One-half the dead, perhaps, were
relieved of their agony through these missiles of the storm.
CRUSHED BY A PIECE OF TIMBER.
One poor woman was carrying her child and its head was crushed by a
piece of timber. It did not even whimper, yet she carried the dead
infant at her breast for three long hours before it was torn from her
grasp. When one sees the debris piled twenty feet high, in many places
on the backbone of the island—that is, along Q street, running east and
west—and when one sees the broad prairies for miles and miles covered
with the wreckage that came from Galveston across the bay, the wonder
with him will be that anything out on the waters that fearful night
escaped to look, not tell, the story of that fearful night. For few can
tell it; all look it.
Something of the strength of the winds and waves can be known when it is
stated that along the beach at Texas cities I saw dead turtles even.
Fish floated dead in the bay. They may have come from some wrecked
fishing smack, and I am inclined to take this view of it, but there they
were, covering a large space with their dead bodies. There were
thousands of rats floating about. I saw even dead snakes along the
shores. The chickens which lined the beach along the mainland were
entirely denuded of their feathers. Not a buzzard or bird was to be
seen. Not a mosquito was heard. The wind had carried all winged things
away.
Down in some parts of the debris the planks and beams and sills of
houses had been thrown together with such force that they were driven
into each other and made as solid a mass as the most skilled workmen
could join two pieces of timber. The foreman of one of the working gangs
said it was impossible to remove certain portions of the mass except by
clipping it away with axes or by burning it. If such a wind had struck
Dallas or any other town in the State, it would not have lasted a
moment.
Another thing I have been asked by the people of the interior was why
the resort to the ocean as a burial ground was had, and why burning was
afterward resorted to. When day broke after that night of horror, the
people could not realize the immensity of their woe. It required but a
short time for them to know it. The first on the streets were the first
greeted by the corpses.
They fled hither and thither, wringing their hands. Others stood still
and stared in a dumb way. Some cooler citizens suggested that the bells
be rung and the people assembled to grapple with the situation. And lo,
there was not a bell in town to sound the alarm. It was suggested that
the steam whistles be blown. And lo, there was not a whistle with steam
to give it note on all the island. Then they went up and down the
streets, crying, “Fall in, people; for God’s sake, fall in.” They got a
few people together in this way. As they had gone about, more corpses
appeared.
THE NUMBER GROWS LARGER.
What should be done with them? Strange to say, the suggestion was made
that inquests must be held on the bodies and the law complied with. But
the corpses began to grow larger in number. Inquests now were no longer
discussed. Those who could work began to gather the dead bodies and
carry them to the undertaker shops. There was confusion, but all were
doing their best. The purpose now was to place the dead in coffins. But
the number increased. The idea was abandoned because, simply, it could
not be done. Seven hundred putrid bodies were piled up in the building.
Something must be done.
Then it was suggested that they be taken to the sea. The substitute was
offered that they be burned. But where burn the latter? It could be done
on the beach where the debris was, but how get there? Every street
running across the island to the beach was blocked. The substitute
suggestion was abandoned. But how get the bodies to the sea? Then it was
that the law was laid aside.
Martial law was declared in fact, whether according to law or not. Men
armed themselves and went on the streets in posses. They captured negro
men and forced them to take hold of the bodies. Whisky was poured into
them—argument was made to them. They were nauseated with the work, but
more whisky was poured into them. They piled the bodies on floats and
drays and every kind of vehicle and thus took them to the wharf.
A GHASTLY SPECTACLE.
Here they were placed on barges. The poor living creatures, wild with
liquor, bestialized by it, because they could not have done it, embarked
with the putrifying cargo. The white men retched and vomited. The
negroes did the same. Yet more work had to be done and now they pleaded
for whisky to dull them more for their horrible work. It was given them.
No man in all the world can tell of the horrors of this trip. Those who
were not wild shrunk in agony from it. Those who were mad stumbled over
the corpses and laid with them in drunken stupor—but beyond the jetties
the cargo was tossed into the sea.
It is claimed that they were sunk with weights. This may be partly true.
This disposition of the corpses was found impracticable. The work was
too slow. The sea would give up its dead. As time passed the difficulty
of transporting the bodies became greater. Then the burning began. The
corpses wherever found were burned on the spot. If the fire might be
dangerous they were pulled to an open space.
Where several were found in close proximity they were placed together
for the final act. Kerosene was poured over them. Planks, lumber,
anything combustible were placed upon them and the torch applied. The
incineration was never complete enough to completely destroy the bones.
But the flesh, breeding a pestilence, was gone. Many were buried. But
the graves were only deep enough to receive the bloated bodies. The sand
was full of water. Graves could be dug no deeper than as mentioned.
A shudder will go through the world when some one properly tells of how
the beloved ones found their last resting-place. For it is horrible to
think of disposing of human corpses in this way. But what could be done?
What else? Nothing—absolutely nothing, except what was done. The dead
threatened the living. Even if the living had desired to flee from the
dead, which they did not, they could not have done so—but on an island
were the living and the dead. There were no vessels to run from the
island to the mainland. There were no railroads or bridges. The hot sun
beat down and quickly decomposed the bodies. The bruised and maimed
could not work. What could be done? Nothing but what was done. ’Twas a
sad and horrible thing, but it was charity for the dead to do it, and
preservation to the living to do it.
It is utterly unreasonable for one to think that the people of Galveston
and the workers in the cause of cleaning can proceed rapidly. Not only
is it a task, but it is a task which has conditions existing which are
new to the people engaged in the work, and they cannot work with the
energy which is their wont.
FULL LIST CANNOT BE KNOWN.
As to the dead, as stated before, how the full list will be ever known
is hard to say. There are places in the city where for blocks and blocks
not a house remains, and no one can give an instance of having seen a
resident of the locality since the fury of the storm was spent. Whole
families were swept out to sea, and the survivors of the calamity are
too busy with their own and the work which must be done to remember whom
they knew when the Island City was in its prime.
Another point in the matter of the dead is that there were many visitors
in the city at the time whose names have never been reported either in
the list of the living or of the dead. Possibly few people knew they
were here, and in the confusion incident to the days following the storm
those who were cognizant of the presence of these visitors have been too
busy to think of the stranger in the land.
It is true that a clew to missing people is gained by the inquiries of
anxious friends or relatives, and these queries are answered either
“dead” or “alive.” But remember that in every city in the country there
are a certain number of people who are unknown beyond the limits of
their own home.
In this class also can be included many colored people. Colored people
always know each other, but it is in many instances that they know
nothing of surnames. There are servants whose names are not known beyond
Mary or Liza or by whatever appellation they are addressed, and it is
possible that a great many of these have been lost, increasing the
number of dead, but never getting upon the roll of those who were so
suddenly swept away.
STORY OF URSULINE.
The Ursuline Convent and Academy, in charge of the Sisters of St.
Angeli, proved a haven of refuge for nearly 1000 homeless and
storm-driven unfortunates. The stories of this one night within the
convent walls read like the wildest dream of a novelist, but the half
can never be told. Every man, woman and child who was brought to the
convent or drifted there on the raging torrent could tell of an
experience that would be well worth its publication.
The convent, with its many associate buildings, cottages, etc., occupies
four blocks of ground extending from Avenues N to O, and Rosenberg
avenue to Twenty-seventh street. The grounds are, or rather were,
surrounded by a ten-foot brick wall that has withstood the severest
storms in Galveston’s history up to the destructive hurricane that swept
the island last Saturday night. This wall is now a crumbled mass of
brick with the exception of a few small portions that stand like marking
pillars to show where the property line should be.
No one was refused admittance to the sheltering institution on this
night of nights. Negroes and whites were taken in without question, and
the asylum thrown open to all who sought its protecting wings. Angels of
mercy went through the army of sufferers whispering words of cheer,
offering what scant clothing could be found in this house of charity and
calmly admonishing the terror-stricken creatures to have faith in God
and say that His holy will be done.
In contrast with this quiet, saintly and loving spirit of the nuns, the
hundred or more negroes grew wild as the storm raged, and shouted and
sang in their camp-meeting style until the nerves of the other refugees
were shattered and a panic seemed imminent. It was then that Mother
Superioress Joseph rang the chapel bell and caused a hush of the
pandemonium. When quiet had been restored the Mother addressed the
negroes and told them that it was no time nor place for such scenes;
that if they wanted to pray they should do so from their hearts, and
that the creator of all things would hear their offerings above the roar
of the hurricane which raged with increased fury as she spoke to the
awe-stricken assemblage.
A SOLEMN CEREMONY.
The negroes listened attentively, and when the saintly woman told them
that all those who wished to be baptized or resign themselves to God
might do so, nearly every one of them asked that the sacrament be
administered.
The panic had been precipitated by the falling of the north wall or that
section of the building in which the negroes had sought refuge. Order
and silent prayer were brought about by this noble woman’s sweet
determination and great presence of mind.
Families that had been separated by this merciless and devastating
conflict of the elements were united by the cruel waters of the gulf
tossing them into this haven of refuge. What scenes, what heart-bleeding
pictures these unions presented as the half dead, mangled and bruised
wretches were rescued and dragged from the raging waters by the more
fortunate members of their own family, mourned as victims of the storm.
The academy was to have opened for the fall session on Tuesday, and
forty-two boarding scholars from all parts of the State had arrived at
the convent preparatory to resuming their studies on that day. The
community of nuns comprises forty sisters and they, too, were there
administering cheer and deeds of mercy to the sufferers, many of whom
were more dead than alive when brought into the shelter. Early in the
storm when people dragged themselves or swam to the convent and asked
for protection an attempt was made to keep a register of the
unfortunates.
Their register reached nearly a hundred names and then the storm-driven
humans began to arrive at the shelter in crowds of twenty and thirty.
They were taken in through the windows and some were dragged through
five feet of water into the basement, which long since had been
abandoned, by ropes from treetops and snatched from roofs and other
wreckage as it was hurled in the maddening torrents through the convent
yards.
LIVING TO TAKE PLACES OF THE DEAD.
Within this religious home and in cells of the nuns four babies came
into this world. Four mothers who had braved the treacherous elements
and were snatched from the jaws of tragic death lay on cots in the nuns’
cells and four little innocents came into this world of sorrow where the
world looked the blackest. Truly it could not be said that the quartette
of precious ones first saw the light of day in the cell of a nun on this
eventful night. It was the darkest and most terrible night in the lives
of their mothers, and yet the mingled sadness and joy attending the
birth of these angels was beyond the power of man to describe.
Mother Joseph, in speaking of the incidents of the night within the
convent walls, said she believed it was the first time in the history of
the world that a baby had been born in a nun’s cell in a convent. And
they were christened, for no one expected to live to see the light of
day, and it was voted that these jewels should not leave the world they
had just entered without baptism. Regardless of the religious belief of
the parents, a house dedicated to God and charity had afforded shelter
to the storm-victim mothers, and they felt in their hearts that the good
sisters should administer the baptism, which is administered in time of
great danger, the presence of clergymen not being required.
The names of the mothers and the children could not be learned, with the
exception of Mrs. William Henry Heldeman, who was one of the mothers,
and whose new-born baby was christened William Henry. The experiences of
this mother, if they could be reduced to words, would read like the
wildest fiction. Only a chapter was learned, as told by Mother Joseph.
Mrs. Heldeman was thrown on the mercies of the storm when her home went
down and was swept away. The family had been separated when they started
to abandon their home to the greed of the battling storm.
When Mrs. Heldeman was carried away on the roof of a wrecked cottage she
lost all trace of the other members of the family, but never lost faith
and courage. The roof struck some obstruction, and the next instant Mrs.
Heldeman was hurled from her improvised raft and landed in a trunk which
was rocked on the surging waters. Crumpled up in the trunk, the poor
woman was protected to a limited extent and was afforded much warmth. On
went the trunk, tossed high on the treacherous sea, bumping against
driftwood, until the crude bark was hurled against the Ursuline Convent
walls and was hauled into the building.
CLEARING THE STREETS.
The following report of the situation at Galveston bears date of
September 17th: The work of clearing the streets of debris and wreckage
is progressing steadily and with systematic rapidity. The military
authorities have gradually perfected the system and divided the labors
so that there is comparatively no interruption or delay in the gigantic
undertaking.
To-day the reports filed at General Scurry’s headquarters up to 9
o’clock to-night reported the recovery and disposition of but forty-five
bodies. A reporter, who made the rounds of about twenty gangs in charge
of removing debris, noted the finding of 130 bodies of men, women and
children and this report is known to be incomplete for the day’s work.
City Health Officer Wilkinson stated that he estimated that 40 per cent.
of the debris of every description had been removed from the streets;
that 95 per cent. of the dead bodies had been disposed of, and that 95
per cent. of the carcasses of animals had been removed from the city.
But as the work of removing debris goes on more bodies are being
unearthed every hour. There is still an immense amount of work to be
done in this respect and in some quarters hardly an impression has been
made in the mountains of wreckage piled up fifteen and twenty feet high.
Still the gruesome work of recovering the dead from the gigantic mass of
debris that lines the south side of what remains of the city goes on.
Yesterday 107 bodies were recovered and cremated. Among them was a
mother with a baby tightly clasped to her breast. As the body of the
mother was moved the body of the baby rolled off. In this imperative
necessity of the dispatch of the dead tragic scenes are witnessed that
move the stoutest hearts.
THE INDESCRIBABLE SUNDAY SERVICES.
The body of Major W. T. Levy, United States Immigrant Agent of this
district, was among the number. He made a gallant struggle to save his
wife and three children. All were lost, and the bodies of the wife and
children have not been recovered. They are still among the uninterred
dead, and when found will be disposed of as the father and husband has
been.
What pen can describe the religious service on Sunday? Houses of worship
ruined, congregations scattered and in despair, yet all those who
survived gathered in impromptu temples and in sorrow and grief prayed
for loved ones gone, and in humble thanksgiving offered up their hearts
for their own preservation. The scene at the little chapel in St. Mary’s
University was pitiful in the extreme, the Sacred Heart Church lying in
ruins, the Jesuit fathers threw open their private chapel to those who
formerly worshipped in this once magnificent church. Within this meagre
little chapel none could for a moment lose sight of what now existed
here; many of those who received the communion from the priests’ hands
know no home other than this same building; children came to this
sacrifice of the mass barefooted and hatless, even their expressions
showed the awe struck feeling which shrouded all.
At the low mass no sermon was preached, no word spoken, all prayer was
in silence, nothing but the words of the mass was heard, as each heart
poured forth in feeling deep and still their thanksgiving. The
environments there each told the sad, sad story. On the lower floor of
this chapel were the destitute waiting for the food supply to be given
them, this in itself the saddest picture the miseries of life can
sketch. On the same floor with the chapel are the priests’ rooms, now
the hospital wards, everywhere the sick being tended by skillful hands,
looked wistfully at the passer-by. Thus in this one corner of the
university, the whole effect of the tragedy is enacted; the hungry, the
homeless, the ill, and above all these earthly miseries, the kneeling
before the throne of God in submission and prayer.
A GLORIOUS RECORD.
There has yet to come to light any tale of brutality; those who spent
the night of the storm battling the waves never witnessed a selfish act;
this in itself is a glorious record to hallow the event. Man after man
secure in his own house, hearing the cry for help plunged out in the
fury to rescue the helpless ones; oftentimes this was attended with loss
of life to the rescuer. There was no question of kin or color that awful
night, the ties of a common sorrow united all, and not only was man with
his intellect and strength the courageous one; children who could have
been rescued would not be taken from their loving ones, and as for the
mothers who sought death with their little ones such tales as these are
as manifold as the waves of the sea.
Nor were the humbler animals forgotten, many instances are known where
men wading waist deep in water holding their wives and children above
the water, found hands somewhere for the household dog. One young lady,
a society girl, when forced to abandon her home gave no thought to
silken finery and jewels, but waded in water nearly to her shoulders
holding fast in her arms a large sized sky-terrier. Nor was this
devotion only from man to animal, it was equal if only all were known.
One dog, we call him “Hero,” as there is none to tell us otherwise, is
truly a hero worthy the Legion of Honor. This four-footed hero is a
small-sized Newfoundland, and in the storm he was cast adrift on Seventh
and Broadway, with his master, an old gentleman about seventy years of
age. Around Hero’s neck is a stout black collar; to this the old
gentleman clung. Hero did the rest, he swam pulling along his old master
from Seventh to Fourteenth streets, where they found a house standing
with veranda piled with debris but intact, and into a sheltered corner
of this the dog dragged the man for safety. Both were alive, the old
gentleman was much bruised, but his mind was active, and his only grief
was for the loss of his wife and daughter, for save the dog he had no
one.
A DOG’S DEVOTION.
Kind hands did for him all that could be done, and while feeble and
heart-broken he appeared to suffer no pain. The dog never left him
there, the two throughout that fateful Sunday clung together. Toward 3
o’clock in the afternoon the old man, still sitting in a rocking-chair,
covered in blankets, no dry bed being available, appeared drowsy. This
was only natural from fatigue and age, but when the head gently bent
forward it was the sleep of death. However, such a gentle passing away
of the soul could not be termed by such a harsh name; it was more a
caress, in which the transition of the soul was wafted from the body.
The dog all these hours had nestled close to the old man’s feet under
the blanket, never sleeping, but guarding carefully the master. When the
feet became cold, then the four-footed hero scented trouble. He tried to
lie on them with his body. This not answering, he licked the cold feet;
still no warmth. Then he sprang into the rocking-chair in which the
corpse sat, carefully covered in sheets, tried to warm the body by
covering it as much as possible with his own shaggy hair. By force the
dog had to be taken away and locked up, for in his instinct he scented
something wrong with the old man and strove to make things right by
supplying the warmth of his own body. Such scenes as this old man’s
beautiful death and the dog’s deep devotion are among the sublime
lessons.
Photographers are hourly taking views of the ruins. However, there is a
picture about the debris which demands a sketch to itself. The Sacred
Heart Church before the storm had in the right aisle, near the altar,
erected to the mother of Christ, a large crucifix affixed to a pillar.
Now all the sides of this church are demolished save where this crucifix
in this pillar stands and the crucifix untouched. It is a sight not to
be forgotten to see this image of the Man of Sorrows looking down upon
the ruin everywhere.
THE WORST EXPERIENCES.
Naturally one would say that the living through the experience of the
storm was the worst part of the catastrophe, but those who had their
families here but were themselves away affirm that the suspense and
anxiety they underwent to learn the fate of their loved ones could not
have been worse. Mr. Frank Gresham shows this. He was at Cornell College
when the news that Galveston had been swept off the earth reached him.
At first these reports seemed exaggeration, but when the truth became
known the Galvestonian became panic-stricken. Mr. Gresham tried to
communicate with his family, but as no word was received, his fears grew
worse.
Deeming it not a time for thinking, but action, he came south
immediately. En route he said the fast trains which make no stops would
wait two or three hours for Galveston people, and trains having
passengers for this city had the right of way over all lines. The sight
of this panic-stricken crowd, eager to reach home or hear of friends and
family was pitiful indeed.
At St. Louis one lady, already in heavy mourning, was greeted with a
telegram saying her entire family had been washed away, and thus it was
all along the road. Several ladies personally known to Mr. Gresham were
on the train, but all were in tears from nervousness and anxiety. Words
of recognition were hardly exchanged; it was a case where the heart was
too full for utterance.
Two Galvestonians were on the Mallory steamer from New York which came
in Saturday, after having been abroad since June. The news of
Galveston’s disaster did not reach the boat till they touched Key West.
Up to this time all was joy on board, but when the news was received the
vessel seemed to drag until this port could be reached. The passengers
tried to wire from Key West to some one in Houston for information, but
were greeted with the information that there were thousands ahead of
them and no word could be received.
THE RESPONSE FOR RELIEF.
Thus the suspense had to be borne till the pilot reached the boat, and
at this junction only the confirmation of their worst fears were
realized. Only the passengers who were Galvestonians, all of whom agreed
to work upon their arrival, were allowed to come in; the others were
sent to Texas City, from which place they reached their various homes.
The papers show how letters, telegrams and cables are daily coming in by
thousands; also how the whole world has responded to the cry for help.
Even the actors in New York, Philadelphia and all the large cities gave
performances for the benefit of the sufferers.
One lady writes to a newspaper as follows: “While so many deeds of
heroism shown during this late storm are being told I deem it one of my
greatest privileges to be able to mention the names of Mr. Clark Fisher,
Mr. Sam Robertson and Mr. Clarence Anglen, who, by their daring and
courage, so heroically saved my family of six ladies with their large
raft on East Avenue I, during the fiercest part of the storm. We had
drifted with our house until it had become dismembered and then were
thrown upon the mercy of the waves and strong current. These young
gentlemen all cleverly proved by their coolness and bravery what was in
them.”
Another lady writes: “September 8, at about 4 o’clock, things began to
be alarming at my place, at Seventeenth and O, and houses were leaving
before that. I hoped my little home was an ark. It proved to be until
the water began to pour wildly into the windows. I and an old man named
Inco, who rented a rear room from me, got over the stair-casing and
climbed until our heads were at the ceiling. He said to me: ‘We die here
together; good bye.’
“At the same moment the house separated. I climbed over the door through
the transom and on to the roof, thence from one timber to another,
always keeping to the top. A dog always kept by me and caused me a great
struggle. It was about Twentieth street and O½ that something hit my
head, which seemed either to give me courage or ease. I remember laying
my head down on the raft and felt indifferent.
“About 4 o’clock the next morning I rejoiced to see where the gulf and
island separated. I was resting not extremely uncomfortable at the top
of drifts of a two-story house at Twenty-fifth and beach. Some Italians
came along, looked unconcernedly at me. They were hunting someone and
went on. I still halloed until I heard Mr. Beckman, who, with
assistance, took me to a house. They could find nothing to cover me, but
gave me whisky.
“Then came Mr. Womack, who left nothing undone to make me safe. He
carried me over lumber on a board, with blanket and pillows, to his
rooming house. From there I was taken to the Sealy Hospital, with the
two blankets and pillows.”
THE AWFUL STORY.
The following from the columns of a well-known journal has a mournful
interest:
“In Galveston there is mourning; in the city by the sea there is sobbing
and tears. When the young of us have grown old, when they, in their
turn, are grand’thers, when a century of years has drifted past as
sea-wreck drifts will the legend of Galveston be told and retold again,
and white-faced children, clinging to the granddames’ robes, will listen
to the story of how the storm-god came in rage, and how the gulf, beaten
by his thong, rushed in and did his bidding. They will hear the awful
story that will never die, the tale of how the tempest and the tide slew
men as pestilence slays; slew praying women and prattling babes as Herod
slew the boy-children twenty centuries ago; will hear of how the sea,
that once calmed at the Maker’s word, made war on the orphan’s home, as
if he who said ‘Suffer little children to come unto me,’ had repented of
his bargain.
“Men strive for the art of remembering—lo, now we beg that some great
magician may teach us how to forget. To forget the horror of it all; and
the sobbing and the prayers. To forget the wail of the mother bereft of
her young, and women’s prayers that came echoing back from the flinty
sky. To forget the death struggles of the legion of the dead, and the
cries of ‘Mamma! Mamma!’ as the screaming little ones were sucked into
the throat of the tide. To forget that the sweet-voiced nuns bound the
charity orphans together in lots and committed them to the care of
God—to forget that the reaper came with the storm in his heart and the
salt spray in his beard and gathered them by sheaves. Do not talk of
consolation—there is none. Try to forget. Muffle your clamoring church
bells—their noisy songs blend illy with the screams of despairing
mothers beating their breasts and calling to their dead. To-day your
prayers are useless, and the solemn organ’s mellow tide can be freighted
only with a requiem for the lost. O, for the sadness of it all; and the
sobbing and the tears; for the cries of women and the thunder of the
tide; for the shouting of men and the burials in the sea.”
LABORERS’ HEROIC WORK.
Under date of the 18th the condition of the city was stated to be as
follows:
Slowly but surely the streets are assuming a decent appearance, and in a
few days all evidence of the storm on the streets of the business
district will have been removed. A large force of men are working
systematically, and the beneficial result is shown in every quarter. The
greatest amount of wreckage is piled high along the beach and for
several blocks inland, where hundreds of homes fell victims to the rush
of waters and devastating hurricane that swept that portion of the city
bare. The amount of debris in the district extending from the extreme
eastern end of the island to the western city limits, and even beyond
that point, is incalculable, and the manner in which the storm packed
this long ridge of wreckage challenges the heroic efforts of the army of
laborers engaged in its removal.
But great progress has been made and is being made. The work cannot be
described in words, even as the devastation wrought by the awful storm
defies description. One must visit the scene and note the progress of
the work in order to gain an intelligent idea of what it was and what is
being done.
MORE VICTIMS EVERY HOUR.
As the force of wreckers make inroads into the mountains of debris the
bodies of more victims are unearthed every hour. And the end is not yet.
A most conservative estimate of the dead and missing is enough to prove
that the wreckage yet undisturbed will reveal several hundred more dead
who perished in the storm. There is no doubt that at least 200 or 300,
perhaps many more, bodies were carried to sea, and that the number of
bodies recovered and to be recovered and accounted for will fall short
of the actual number of creatures who were hurled into eternity while
the storm raged.
The record kept shows that ninety-eight bodies were reported as having
been dug from the ruins yesterday. But it is known that this record is
not a complete list of the bodies found and disposed of. For the first
three days after the storm bodies were found by the score and disposed
of by the parties finding them. Some of these persons kept a sort of
record. Others, acting upon the impulse of the moment and what they
deemed their duty, stopped in their search along the beach to bury the
poor unfortunates whom they found in and about the ruins and debris.
Several important orders were issued from military headquarters,
Brigadier-General Scurry commanding. The most important, perhaps, to the
general public was an order which decrees that heroic measures are
necessary for the preservation of the health of the community. It is
ordered that all persons occupying houses within one block of debris
which is presumed to contain dead bodies will have to vacate the
premises temporarily.
This step has been taken by the military authorities in charge of the
city after deliberate consideration and consultation with the Board of
Health and the general committee charged with looking after the general
welfare of the citizens. Camps will be established and comfortable
quarters provided for all those who will be subjected to this ruling,
and ample notice will be served upon the tenants of such houses. It is
not compulsory that all such persons must accept tent accommodations, as
it will be discretionary with them to move into some other house or
other premises away from the forbidden district.
ADVISED TO LEAVE THE CITY.
In this regard it may be well to call attention to the advice given
early in the present military régime that all those who can leave the
city should do so; especially does this apply to women and children. A
month away from the scenes of the calamity would prove beneficial to
their general health, and would greatly aid in facilitating the work of
cleaning the city and putting it in a thorough sanitary condition. A man
who knows his family is enjoying good health away from Galveston can do
better work at home under existing conditions. Should any of his family
be taken sick here at home, he would necessarily be compelled to give
them his time and attention, and this would greatly interfere with the
progress of the good work so laudably commenced.
Another important order issued was one which establishes a cattle
corral, where idle cattle and horses will be cared for and fed and used
in public service if the emergency requires. There are a large number of
unclaimed and strayed stock running at large about the city. A number of
cows have been picked up by people who out of compassion for the
suffering beasts fed and cared for them. Several cases have been
reported where families leaving the city after the storm turned their
stock and horses loose on the streets, or, strictly speaking, who in
their haste to leave the city, failed to collect their stock which had
strayed away during the storm.
The work under the direction of the Health Department is pushed with
vigor. All the departments are working systematically and doing all that
is possible under the circumstances. As fast as disinfectants arrive
they are being distributed over the city, and large quantities are
arriving daily. Over a carload were taken from the wharves yesterday and
sent to the Health Department’s supply depot, and almost as much was
taken from that place and distributed over the city. As fast as it can
be done the city is being placed in a thoroughly sanitary condition.
Much was done yesterday in the way of removing debris and disposing of
animal remains.
The sick and wounded are receiving the best of treatment, and the
facilities are such now that any one needing medical treatment can have
it by letting the fact be known. Besides the other hospitals and medical
relief stations already in service, the marine hospital and refugee camp
was opened up yesterday afternoon and is in shape to care for a large
number of patients. A number of those able to travel have been taken
from the hospitals and sent in the revenue cutter and by other means of
transportation to Houston and other relief stations on the mainland. In
all the outlook from a health standpoint is very encouraging.
ANXIOUS ABOUT THE CITY’S HEALTH.
The Auxiliary Board of Health met at the usual time and place on the
18th with almost all the Board present. President Wilkinson called the
meeting to order, and after it had been decided to waive the regular
order of business and dispense with the reading of the minutes and the
reports from the committees, Dr. Trueheart offered the following
resolution and moved that it be adopted:
“Be it resolved by the Board of Health and the Auxiliary Health Board of
the city of Galveston, General Thomas Scurry in command, concurring,
that the surgeon in charge of each and every hospital, permanent or
temporary, and all camps and one and all of the medical relief stations
for the care of the sick and wounded within the corporate limits, are
hereby instructed and empowered to proceed without delay to thoroughly
cleanse, disinfect and place in as perfect sanitary condition as
practicable their respective hospitals, stations or camps and the
premises thereof for the care of the wounded and sick, and they are
hereby authorized to send in requisitions to the proper department for
such disinfections, etc., as may be required, and empowered to secure
the services, by impressment or otherwise, of such labor, implements or
vehicles as may be found necessary to fully carry out this order. This
is to be done without delay.”
The resolution was adopted and arrangements were made to carry it into
immediate effect.
RESTORATION OF GALVESTON.
An intelligent and well-posted citizen, writing to the leading journal
of the city, expressed the following sentiments:
“The restoration of Galveston is a question which does not alone
interest the people of the stricken city, but all Texas as well. The
discussion now going on is not confined to Galveston, but is on the lips
of every public-spirited citizen of the State. The preponderance of
opinion among the people of the interior is that the city will be
rebuilt or restored upon a scale of magnificence and stability far
superior to anything it has ever known. There are some, however, who
express the opinion that it would be worse than a waste of energy,
enterprise and money to do so, for the reason that it is liable to be
swept away at any time. This opinion is fallacious in the extreme.
“We are not prepared to give precise historical data in support of the
assertion, but crossing the limits of the circle in which only exact
information is contained, and invading the circle in which conclusions
are only reached by a system of reasoning, it can be quite confidently
asserted that the island of Galveston has been standing since the waters
of the flood receded from the earth, and quite likely from the
foundation of the world, and though it has been swept by a thousand
storms, tossed by a thousand tidal waves and deluged a thousand times by
rains, it still stands securely where the Almighty Creator placed it a
million and perhaps a billion years ago.
“To successfully maintain the assertion that the island will be
ultimately swept away, it is necessary, first, to prove the assertion
that the storm, or tidal wave, that will do the work will be a thousand
times more furious than any the world has heretofore known. Any attempt
to support either proposition is absurd. It is admitted, however, that
the assertion that the island has been standing since the flood, or is a
part of the original creation, is a theory, and worth no more than any
other theory started from a proper predicate, but Galveston island has
been known for more than 400 years, and has a fairly well-authenticated
history since 1542. In 1541 De Soto is said to have landed on the Texas
coast near the island, established a base of operations and penetrated
the interior as far as the present site of the town of San Marcos.
“After his death a part of his exploring force settled on Galveston
island in 1542, and constructed some kind of fortifications to protect
themselves from the Indians and Spanish pirates or freebooters. This was
358 years ago. This undisputed historical fact proves beyond question
that the Spanish pirates and the American Indians were acquainted with
the island before De Soto’s men established themselves. Just how long is
not known, but a knowledge of the island strip may be contemporaneous
with the existence of the aborigines of America that were here during
the explorations of the Norsemen, who made several voyages in the ninth
century, 1000 years ago. In 1585, while La Salle was cruising around in
the Gulf of Mexico, he mentions having lost a man in the Maligu (Brazos)
River, and it is therefore very probable that he touched at Galveston
island.
A MATTER OF HISTORY.
“In 1715, Governor Caspardo Awaya established the Orquisaco mission on
Galveston bay and made a thorough exploration of the island. In 1816 the
Mexican envoy to the United States, General Herrera, and Commodore Ansy
took formal possession of Galveston island in the name of the Mexican
republic, and from that time until now the history of the island is a
connected, well-authenticated story, and as much is known of its
climate, soil, products, temperature, rainfall, wind storms, etc., as
any part of Texas. At that time the island was much lower than now, much
of it a mere marsh, entirely unprotected by improvements, and a thousand
times more liable to be swept by storms than now, and still it stood,
and still stands.
“When Commodore Ansy abandoned the island, Lafitte succeeded him in
possession and held it until 1821. Lafitte’s description of its
topography agrees with Commodore Ansy’s in every essential, and both
state much of the area was marshy and low-lying, and unfit for
settlement. Is there any man who will assert that during the past
eighty-eight years the altitude and stability of the island has not been
constantly improved or increased? If such is the case, and truth forbids
its denial, the conclusion is unavoidable that Galveston island may be
crossed by howling tornadoes every week, but it is just as secure as any
part of Texas from destruction.
MANY DESTRUCTIVE AGENCIES.
“In the excitement and for the moment men forget that there is any other
element or power, except water, that destroy towns, when in fact the
cities of the interior have suffered more destruction from cyclones and
storms than all the towns on the Texas coast from Sabine Pass to Brazos
Santiago. Fort Worth is as liable to destruction as Galveston. In fact
insecure residences in every section of the country is a harvest for
fires, floods or cyclones, as was demonstrated in Chicago, Boston, New
York, ’Cisco, Sherman, Plano and scores of cities and towns in Texas as
well as other states during the past decade.
“In the present deplorable disaster in Galveston the lamentable loss of
life was brought about, not from its hazardous or insecure location, but
largely on account of the unstable character of the buildings. True,
some fine structures were demolished, but much was also the case in
Brenham, Hempstead, Houston and Alvin. In Brenham 100 houses were blown
to pieces; of these a half dozen were substantially built. Eye-witnesses
state that about the same proportions hold good in Galveston and about
the same conditions prevail.
“Nearly every island city on earth, in its early life, has suffered just
as Galveston has suffered. People attracted by business opportunities
would rush in, and rush up cheap, insecure and temporary residences,
only to be devoured by the flame or swept from the earth by the first
blast. New York, Liverpool, Edinburg and other coast cities suffered in
this way, and learned lessons from such sad experiences that made them
prosperous, stable and great. So will Galveston.
“Many who passed through the recent storm will leave, but commerce knows
no such thing as an insurmountable obstacle. The commerce of the West
demands the port; Galveston will be rebuilt, by new people largely,
seeking and embracing the business opportunities offered. Lots will be
staked out, houses more substantial in structure erected. The whole
Atlantic Ocean might roll over New York and it would roll off again,
leaving the city unscathed. Manhattan island originally was no more
secure than Galveston island, and Galveston island in time will be
rendered just as safe as Manhattan is to-day.”