by Tom McCarthy
Some conception of Galveston can be formed by supposing the business district of Chicago—say from Lake to Twenty-Second Street—were to extend out into the lake on a pier for a distance of three miles and at a height above the water varying from three to seven and possibly, in some places, nine feet. My own observation of Galveston induced my taking hold of the nearest eligible elevated locality for residences, which is North Galveston, sixteen miles from the city proper. It has an elevation above the water of fifteen to twenty feet more than Galveston and is free from inundation. No news has reached me from North Galveston, and though damage may have been done by wind, I am confident none can be done by water or waves.
Storms which move with the velocity of that which swept Galveston and which are common to the southern and southeastern coasts of the United States invariably originate, according to Weather Forecaster H. J. Cox of the United States Weather Bureau at Chicago, in “the doldrums,” or that region in the ocean where calms abound. In this particular instance, the place was south of the West Indies and north of the equator. The region of the doldrums varies in breadth from sixty to several hundred miles and at different seasons shifts its extreme limits between five degrees south and fifteen degrees north. It is always overhung by a belt of clouds, which is gathered by opposing currents of the trade winds.
“The storm which swept Galveston and the surrounding country, I should say, originated at a considerable distance south of the West Indies, in this belt of calms,” said Forecaster Cox the Monday night following the catastrophe.
It was caused by two strong currents meeting at an angle, and this caused the whirling motion which finally spent its force on the coast of Texas. It is seldom that a storm originating in the doldrums moves so far inland as did this one, but it is not, however, unprecedented. The reason this storm reached so far as Galveston was that the northwesterly wind moved about twice as fast as it usually does before reaching land. Usually the force of these winds are spent on the coast of Florida, and sometimes they reach as far north as North Carolina. When they strike the land at these points, they are given a northeasterly direction.
This storm missed the eastern coast of the United States and consequently was deflected to the west. Thunderstorms are prevailing in Kansas and all the district just north of the course of the storm, which is the natural result after such commotion of the elements. The conditions of the land are such about Galveston that, when the storm reached that far, it had no possible means of escape and hence the dire results. If there had been a chance for the wind to move further west along the coast, it would in all probability have passed Galveston, giving the place no more than a severe shaking up. In this event the worst effect would in all probability have been felt on the eastern coast of Mexico.
It was an absolute impossibility for anyone to form an idea of the extent and magnitude of the disaster within a week of its occurrence. The morning of Sunday, when the wind and the waves had subsided, the streets of the city were found clogged with debris of all sorts. The people of Galveston could not realize for several days what had happened. Four thousand houses had been entirely demolished, and hardly a building in the city was fit for habitation.
The people were apathetic; they wandered around the streets in an aimless sort of way, unable to do anything or make preparations to repair the great damage done. The Monday following the catastrophe, Galveston was practically in the hands of thieves, thugs, ghouls, vampires, and bandits, some of them women, who robbed the dead, mutilated the corpses which were lying everywhere, ransacked business houses and residences, and created a reign of terror, which lasted until the officers in command of the force of regulars stationed at the beach barracks sent a company of men to patrol the streets. The governor of the state ordered out all the regiments of the National Guard, and various associations of businessmen also supplied men, who assisted the soldiers in doing patrol duty in the city and suburbs.
The depredations of the lawless element were of an inconceivably brutal character. Unprotected women, whether found upon the streets or in their houses, were subjected to outrage or assault and robbed of their clothing and jewelry. Pedestrians were held up on the public thoroughfare in broad daylight and compelled to give up all valuables in their possession. The bodies of the dead were despoiled of everything, and in their haste to secure valuables, the ghouls would mutilate the corpses, cutting off fingers to obtain the rings thereon and amputating the ears of the women to get the earrings worn therein.
The majority of the thieves and vampires belonged in the city of Galveston and were reinforced by desperadoes from outside towns, like Houston, Austin, and New Orleans, who took advantage of the rush to the city immediately after the disaster, obtaining free transportation on the railroad and steamers upon a pretense that they were going to Galveston for the purpose of working with relief parties and the gangs assigned for burial of the dead. Their outrages became so flagrant and the people of the city became so terrified in consequence of their depredations that the city authorities, unable to cope with them, most of the officers of the police department having been victims of the flood, that an appeal was made to the governor to send state troops and procure the preservation of order. Captain Rafferty, commanding Battery O of the First Regiment of Artillery, USA, was also implored to lend his aid in putting down the lawless bands, and he accordingly sent all the men in his command who had not met death in the gale.
There was some delay in getting the state troops to Galveston because so many miles of railroad had been washed away, the adjutant general being compelled to notify some companies of militia by courier, but Captain Rafferty ordered his men on duty at once, with instructions to promptly shoot all persons found despoiling the dead.
The regulars were put on duty on Tuesday night and before morning had shot several of the thugs, who were executed on the spot when found in the act of robbery. In every instance the pockets of the harpies slain by the United States troops were found filled with jewelry and other valuables. On Wednesday evening the government troops came across a gang of fifty desperadoes, who were despoiling the bodies of the dead found enmeshed in the debris of a large apartment house. With commendable promptness the regulars put the ghouls under arrest and, finding the proceeds of their robberies in their possession, lined them up against a brick wall and without ceremony shot every one of them. In cases where the villains were not killed at the first fire, the sergeant administered coup de grace. Many of the thugs begged piteously for mercy, but no attention was paid to their feelings, and they suffered the same stern fate as the rest.
When the state troops arrived in the city, they took the same severe measures, and the result was that within forty-eight hours the city was as safe as it had ever been. The police arrested every suspicious character, and the jail and cells at the police station were filled to overflowing. These people were deported as soon as possible and notified that if they returned they would be shot without warning. The temper of the citizens of Galveston was such that they would not temporize in any case with those who were neither criminals or inclined to work. Every able-bodied man in town was impressed for duty in relief and burial parties, and whenever an individual refused to do the work required, he was promptly shot. By Thursday morning all the men required had been obtained, and relief and burial parties were filled to the quota deemed necessary, and the work of disposing of the bodies of the dead, administering to the wants of the wounded, and the clearing of the streets of the debris was proceeding satisfactorily.
The dead lay in the streets and vacant places in hundreds, and the heat of the sun began to have its natural effect. Decomposition set in, and the stench became unbearable. At first an effort was made to identify the corpses, but it was soon found that work could not be proceeded with, as any delay imperiled the living. Fears entertained in regard to pestilence were speedily verified, and the people of the city were taken ill by scores. It was difficult to obtain men to perform
the duty of burying the bloated corpses of the victims of the catastrophe, and consequently the city authorities ordered that the dead be loaded on barges, taken a few miles out to sea, weighted, and thrown into the water. The ground had become so water-soaked that it was impossible to dig graves or trenches for the reception of the bodies, although in many instances people buried relatives and friends in their yards and the ground surrounding their residence. Along the beach hundreds of corpses were buried in the sand, but the majority of the burials were at sea. By Wednesday night 2,500 bodies had been cast into the water, while about 500 had been interred within the city limits. Precautions were taken, however, to mark the graves, and when the ground had dried sufficiently, the bodies were disinterred and taken to the various cemeteries, where, after burial, suitable memorials were erected to mark their last resting place. No attempts were made at identification after Wednesday, lists being simply made of the number of victims. The graves of those buried in the sand were marked by headboards with the inscriptions “White man, aged forty”; “White woman, aged twenty-five”; and “male” or “female” child, as the case might be.
So accustomed did the burial parties become to the handling of the dead that they treated the bodies as though they were merely carcasses of animals and not bodies of human beings, and they were dumped into the trenches prepared for their reception without ceremony of any kind. The excavations were then filled up as hurriedly as possible, the sand being packed down tightly. This might have seemed inhuman, unfeeling, and brutal, but the exigencies of the situation demanded that the corpses be put out of the way as speedily as possible. Great difficulty was experienced in securing men to transport bodies to the wharves where the barges lay.
Finally, however, patience ceased to be a virtue, and orders were given the guards to shoot any man who refused to do his duty under the circumstances. The result of this was that, the beginning of Wednesday, there was less delay in the matter of disposing of the dead. However, in spite of the activity of the burial parties, the work of clearing the streets of corpses was a most tedious one.
The forecast official of the United States Weather Bureau at Galveston made the following report, September 14, on the storm:
The local office of the United States Weather Bureau received the first message in regard to this storm at 4 p.m., September 4. It was then moving northward over Cuba. Each day thereafter, until the West India hurricane struck Galveston, bulletins were posted by the United States Weather Bureau officials giving the progressive movements of the disturbance.
September 6 the tropical storm had moved up over southern Florida; thence it changed its course and moved westward in the gulf and was central off the Louisiana coast the morning of the 7th, when northwest storm warnings were ordered up for Galveston. The morning of the 8th, the storm had increased in energy and was still moving westward, and at 10:10 a.m. the northwest storm warnings were changed to northeast. Then was when the entire island was in apparent danger. The telephone at the United States Weather Bureau office was busy until the wires went down; many could not get the use of the telephone on account of the line being busy. People came to the office in droves inquiring about the weather. About the same time the following information was given to all alike:
“The tropical storm is now in the gulf, south or southwest of us; the winds will shift to the northeast-east and probably to the southeast by morning, increasing in energy. If you reside in low parts of the city, move to higher grounds.”
“Prepare for the worst, which is yet to come,” were the only consoling words of the Weather Bureau officials at Galveston from morning until night of the 8th, when no information further could be given out.
The local forecast official and one observer stayed at the office throughout the entire storm, although the building was wrecked. The forecast official and one observer were out taking tide observations about 4 a.m., September 9. Another observer left after he had sent the last telegram which could be gotten off, it being filed at Houston over the telephone wires about 4 p.m. of the 8th. Over half the city was covered with tide water by 3 p.m. One of the observers left for home at about 4 p.m., after he had done all he could, as telephone wires were then going down. The entire city was then covered with water from one to five feet deep. On his way home, he saw hundreds of people, and he informed all he could that the worst was still to come, and people who could not hear his voice on account of the distance, he motioned them to go downtown.
The lowest barometer by observation was 28.53 inches at 8:10 p.m., September 8, but the barometer went slightly lower than this, according to the barograph. The tide at about 8 p.m. stood from six to fifteen feet deep throughout the city, with the wind blowing slightly over a hundred miles an hour. The highest wind velocity by the anemometer was ninety-six miles from the northeast at 5:15 p.m., and the extreme velocity was a hundred miles an hour at about that time. The anemometer blew down at this time, and the wind was still higher later, when it shifted to the east and southeast, when the observer estimated that it blew a gale of between 110 and 120 miles. There was an apparent tidal wave of from four to six feet about 8 p.m., when the wind shifted to the east and southeast and carried off many houses which had stood the tide up to that time.
The observer believed from the records he managed to save that the hurricane moved inland near Galveston, going up the Brazos Valley.
The warnings of the United States Weather Bureau were the means of thousands of lives being saved through the hurricane. It was so severe, however, that it was impossible to prepare for such destruction. The observer of the United States Weather Bureau at Galveston, to relieve apprehension, stated on September 14 that the barometer had gone up to about the normal, and there were no indications of another storm following.
The surviving people of Galveston did not awaken from sleep on Sunday morning, for they had not slept the night before. For many weary hours, they had stood face to face with death and knew that thousands had yielded up their lives and that millions of dollars’ worth of property had been destroyed.
There was not a building in Galveston which was not either entirely destroyed or damaged, and the people of the city lived in the valley of the shadow of death, helpless and hopeless, deprived of all hope and ambition—merely waiting for the appearance of the official death roll.
Confusion and chaos reigned everywhere; death and desolation were on all sides; wreck and ruin were the only things visible wherever the eye might rest; and with business entirely suspended and no other occupation than the search for and burial of the dead, it was strange that the thoroughfares and residence streets were not filled with insane victims of the hurricane’s frightful visit.
For days the people of Galveston knew there was danger ahead; they were warned repeatedly, but they laughed at all fears; business went on as usual; and, when the blow came, it found the city unprepared and without safeguards.
Owing to the stupefaction following the awful catastrophe, the people were in no condition, either physical or mental, to provide for themselves and therefore depended upon the outside world for food and clothing.
The inhabitants of Galveston needed immediate relief, but how they were to get it was a mystery, for Galveston was not yet in touch with the outside world by rail or sea. The city was sorely stricken and appealed to the country at large to send food, clothing, and water. The waterworks were in ruins and the cisterns all blown away, so that the lack of water was one of the most serious of the troubles.
Never did a storm work more cruelly. All the electric light and telegraph poles were prostrated, and the streets were littered with timbers, slate, glass, and every conceivable character of debris. There was hardly a habitable house in the entire city, and nearly every business house was either wrecked entirely or badly damaged.
On Monday there were deaths from hunger and exposure, and the list swelled rapidly. People were living as best they could—in the ruins of t
heir homes, in hotels, in schoolhouses, in railway stations, in churches, in the streets by the side of their beloved dead.
So great was the desolation one could not imagine a more sorrowful place. Streetcars were not running; no trains could reach the town; only sad-eyed men and women walked about the streets; the dead and wounded monopolized the attention of those capable of doing anything whatever, and the city was at the mercy of thieves and ruffians. All the fine churches were in ruins. From Tremont to P Street, thence to the beach, not a vestige of a residence was to be seen.
In the business section of the city, the water was from three to ten feet deep in stores, and stocks of all kinds, including foodstuffs, were total losses. It was a common spectacle—that of inhabitants of the fated city wandering around in a forsaken and forlorn way, indifferent to everything around them and paying no attention to inquiries of friends and relatives.
God forbid that such scenes are enacted again in this country.
It was thought the vengeance of the fates had been visited in its most appalling shape upon the place which had unwittingly incurred its wrath.
It was fortunate after all, however, that those compelled to endure such trials were temporarily deprived of their understanding, were so stunned that they could not appreciate the enormity of the punishment.
The first loss of life reported was at Rietter’s Saloon in the Strand, where three of the most prominent citizens of the town—Stanley G. Spencer, Charles Kellner, and Richard Lord—lost their lives and many others were maimed and imprisoned. These three were sitting at a table on the first floor Saturday night, making light of the danger, when the roof suddenly caved in and came down with a crash, killing them. Those in the lower part of the building escaped with their lives in a miraculous manner, as the falling roof and flooring caught on the bar, enabling the people standing near it to crawl under the debris. It required several hours of hard work to get them out.
