CHAPTER XX.

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.”