HOW A SMART OPERATOR WAS SQUELCHED--THE GALVESTON FLOOD
A little while after this "Stub" Hanigan, another operator, invited Dick
and me to go down to a chop house with him for lunch, and we accepted. I
say chop house when in reality it was one of those numerous little
hotels that abound all over New York where one can get a good meal for
very little money. Hanigan was a rattling good operator, but he was very
young and had a tendency to be too fresh on occasion.
He ordered us a fine lunch and while we were sitting there discussing
the good things, a big awkward looking chap came into the dining-room.
He was accompanied by a sweet, pretty looking little woman. She was a
regular beauty, and it needed but a glance to see that they were bride
and groom, and from the country. They had all the ear marks so apparent
in every bride and groom. They hesitated on the threshold a moment, and
the groom said very audibly:
"Dearest, this is the finest dining-room in the world," and "Dearest"
beamed on her liege lord in a manner that was very trustful and sweet.
Hanigan, idiot that he was, laughed outright. Dick and I both gave him a
savage kick under the table, but it didn't have any effect.
The head waiter brought the couple over and sat them down at our table,
and, say--that woman was as pretty as any that ever came down the pike.
Towards the end of the meal, Hanigan took his knife and fork and began
to telegraph to Stanley and me, making all sorts of fun about the
country pair. Now that is a pretty dangerous business, because there is
no telling who may be an operator. Dick growled at him savagely under
his breath and told him to shut up. Nay! Nay! Mr. Hanigan wouldn't shut
up worth a cent. Finally he made some scurrilous remark, and then
another knife and fork came into play. Mr. Bridegroom was doing the
talking now, and this is what he said to Hanigan:
"I happen to be an operator myself, and have heard and understood every
word you said. As long as you confined yourself to innocent remarks
about country brides and grooms, I haven't minded it a bit. In fact, I
have rather enjoyed it. But now you've gone too far, and in about five
seconds I'm going to have the pleasure of smashing your face."
Then, before we had time to do a thing, biff; and Hanigan got it
squarely on the jaw. We hustled him out of there as soon as we could,
but Mr. Bridegroom had all his Irish up and followed him out. Eventually
we succeeded in calming him down; "Stub" made a most abject apology, and
I don't believe he ever used his knife and fork for any such a purpose
again.
The gawky chap was Mr. Dave Harrison, one of the finest operators in the
profession.
Just about this time fall weather was coming on, and there was a
suggestion of an approaching winter in the chill morning air, and
receiving a letter from my old friend Clarke in Galveston, telling me
there was a good job waiting for me if I could come at once, I pulled up
stakes in New York, and sailed away on the Mallory Line ship "Comal,"
for my old stamping ground. I reached there the next week and was put to
work on the New York Duplex, which, by the way, was the longest string
in the United States. Mrs. Swanson had re-opened her boarding house on
Avenue M, everything looked lovely and I anticipated a very pleasant
winter. Up to September 18th, everything was as quiet and calm as a May
day. The weather had been beautiful, the surf bathing and concerts in
front of the Beach Hotel fine, and nothing was left to wish for.
I quit working on Thursday, September 18th, at five P. M., and went out
to the beach and had a plunge. The sky was clear, but there was a good
stiff breeze blowing, and it was increasing all the time. The tide was
flowing in, and the dashing of the waves and roar of the surf made a
picture long to be remembered. After my swim I went home, and when
supper was finished three of us again went out to the beach. The wind
had increased to a perfect gale, and already the water was over the car
tracks. The Pagoda and Surf bath houses were surrounded, while numerous
small shacks along the shore had been washed away. Inch by inch, foot by
foot, the water advanced until it began to look serious, but no one
dreamed of the flood that was to follow.
We went home at eight-thirty, and at ten I dropped into the realms of
the sand man, lulled to sleep by the roar of the distant surf, and the
whistling and moaning of the high wind.
Jimmie Swanson was again my roommate and about five o'clock he woke me
up and said:
"Mr. Bates, if this wind keeps up the whole island will be under water
in a very few hours more."
"Nonsense, Jimmie," I replied, "there is no danger of that," and I
turned over to have another snooze, when I heard a peculiar _swash_,
_swash_, _swash_, against the side of the house.
"Jimmie, what's the swash we hear?" I asked.
He got out of bed, limped over to the window, opened the blinds, looked
a minute and then yelled:
"Good Lord! the whole town is under water, and we are floating."
It needed but a glance to convince me that he spoke part truth. There we
were surrounded on all sides by water, but the house was still on its
foundation.
"Water, water, everywhere
Nor any drop to drink."
On account of the sandy nature of the soil on Galveston Island, most of
the houses were built up on piles, and the water was gently slopping all
over the first floor of our habitation. The streets were flowing waist
high, and filled with floating debris of all kinds;--beer kegs, boards,
doors, and tables _ad lib_. The wind soon began to quiet down, and when
our first fright was over we had a high old time swimming and splashing
around in the water. It's a great city that will bring salt water
bathing right up to the doors of its houses.
After a very skimpy breakfast, four of us made a raft, and paddled and
pushed it down to the office. Nary a wire was there in working order.
You see, Galveston is on a very flat island scarcely one mile wide, and
the only approach at this time was a low railroad bridge, three miles
long. Our wires were strung along the side of that, and at five o'clock
in the morning, every wire was under water, and the force on duty either
swam home or slept on the floor.
That day was about the easiest I ever spent in a telegraph office. There
was a Mexican cable from Galveston to Vera Cruz, but the flood had
washed away their terminals, and for that day, Galveston was entirely
isolated from the world.
Houston, fifty-five miles north, was the first big town adjacent, and as
all our wires ran through there, it was apparent they were having a hot
time doing the relaying all day. They had only a small force, and
evidently the business was delayed. The storm had finally blown itself
out, and at four o'clock Clarke called for volunteers to go to Houston
to help out until our wires came in shape again. The G. H. & H. railroad
people said they thought the water was low enough to permit an engine
to cross the bridge, and in response to Clarke's call eight of us
volunteered to attempt the trip. After reaching the mainland we would be
all right, but there was that confounded three mile bridge to cross. We
boarded engine 341, with Dad Duffy at the throttle, and at four-fifteen
he pulled out. Water was still over the track and we proceeded at a
snail-like pace. Just at the edge of the bridge we stopped; Dad looked
over the situation and said:
"The water is within two inches of the fire-box now, and it's doubtful
if we can get across, but here goes and God save us all."
The sensation when we first struck that bridge and realized that we were
literally on a water support, was anything but pleasant, and I reckon
most of us uttered the first prayer in many a day. Slowly we crept
along, and just as we were in the middle of the structure the draw
sagged a little, and _kersplash!_ out went the fire. A great cloud of
steam arose and floated away on the evening air, and then, there stood
that iron monster as helpless as a babe. Dad looked around at us eight
birds perched up on the tender and said:
"Well I reckon you fellers won't pound any brass in Houston to-night."
Pleasant fix to be in, wasn't it? A mile and a half from land, perched
up on a dead engine, surrounded on all sides by water, and no chance to
get away. There was no absolute danger, because the underpinning was
firm enough, but all the same, every man jack of us wished he hadn't
come. Night, black and dreary, settled over the waters, and still no
help. Finally, at eight o'clock, the water had receded so that the tops
of the rails could be seen, and two of us volunteered to go back on foot
to the yard office for help. That was just three miles away, but nothing
venture, nothing have, so we dropped off the hind end of the tender and
started on our tramp back over the water-covered ties. We had one
lantern, and after we had gone about a half of a mile, my companion who
was ahead, slipped and nearly fell. I caught him but good-bye to the
lantern, and the rest of the trip was made in utter darkness. To be
brief, after struggling for two hours and a half, we reached the yard
office, and an engine was sent out to help us. At twelve o'clock the
whole gang were back in the city, wet, weary and worn out.
The next day the water had entirely subsided and work was resumed. We
learned then of the horror of the flood. Sabine Pass had been
completely submerged, and some hundred and fifty or two hundred people
drowned. Indianola had been wiped out of existence, and the whole coast
lined with the wreckage of ships. That there were no casualties in
Galveston, was providential, and due, doubtless, to the fact that the
whole country for fifty miles back of it is as flat as a pan-cake, and
the water had room to spread.
I worked there until spring and then a longing for my first love, the
railroad, came over me and I gave up my place and bade good-bye to the
commercial business forever. I had had my fling at it and was
satisfied.