Galveston Hurricane of 1900

[Jessie Phallon]

Story untold
 
The story of Galveston's tragedy can never be written as it is. Since the cataclysm of Saturday night a force of faithful men have been struggling to convey to humanity from time to time some of the particulars of the tragedy.

They have told much, but it was impossible for them to tell all, and the world, at best, can never know all, for the thousands of tragedies written by the storm must forever remain mysteries until eternity shall reveal all.

Perhaps it were best that it should be so, for the horror and anguish of those fatal and fateful hours were mercifully lost in the screaming tempest and buried forever beneath the raging billows.

Only God knows, and for the rest let it remain forever in the boundlessness of His omniscience.

But in the realm of finity, the weak and staggered senses of mankind may gather fragments of the disaster, and may strive with inevitable incompleteness to convey the merest impression of the saddest story which ever engaged the efforts of a reporter.

- As published Sept. 13, 1900, in The Galveston Daily News
 
http://www.1900storm.com/storm/index.lasso

[Jessie Phallon]

The 1900 Storm: Tragedy and Triumph



One night of terror became
a lasting part of Galveston's identity



By HEIDI LUTZ
The Daily News

A Galveston Daily News reporter in 1900 said the story of the Sept. 8, 1900, hurricane could never truly be written.

Linda Macdonald's grandfather said nothing could ever make him forget the sounds of that night.

And for many, no words could ever be spoken again about the deadly hurricane that reshaped the Gulf Coast forever.

As Galvestonians and the rest of the country mark the centennial of the deadliest hurricane in U.S. history, its story continues to linger in the minds of virtually everyone who lives along a coast. It is the reminder of what can happen when the winds blow and the tides rise along the hurricane-prone coasts of America.

Its tale of death, devastation and eventual recovery is close to the hearts of Galvestonians. And as its centennial anniversary comes and goes, and its stories are passed on again, the 1900 Storm will become part of the history of another generation.

'The storm'

For locals, any reference to "the storm" is obvious. If someone says a house survived the storm, there is no doubt it predates Sept. 8, 1900.

If people say they had family who died or survived the storm, there is no doubt that they are referring to a family history that goes back more than 100 years.

For in Galveston, "the storm" always refers to the hurricane that tore across Galveston on Sept. 8, 1900, and left the city in ruins.

Those who managed, either by sheer luck or the grace of God, to survive the storm faced the challenge of moving forward.

In his memoirs, meteorologist Isaac Cline referred to the morning after the storm as "a most beautiful day."

It was indeed a sunny, warm day, the kind of day people came to Galveston for at the turn of the century. But few visitors would walk the sandy shores for months after the infamous hurricane.

Instead, bodies of the dead that were improperly buried at sea washed ashore on those beaches, leaving even more treacherous work for the cleanup crews.

The storm left behind a legacy that extends across the country. As families moved from the island, they carried with them the story of that night.

http://www.1900storm.com/storm/index.lasso

[Jessie Phallon]

Orphanage tragedy remembered



Sisters of Charity Orphanage, circa 1890s

The Sisters of Charity Orphanage

Wherever they are in the world on Sept. 8, the members of the Congregation of the Sisters of Charity of the Incarnate Word sing an old French hymn, "Queen of the Waves."

Whether in their ministry in rural Kenya, East Africa or one of the hospitals of the Sisters of Charity Health Care System, which they sponsor, the Sisters of Charity sing the same hymn that has been sung on that date every year since 1900.

The song provides the sisters and all those who co-minister with them an opportunity to pause and remember all who lost their lives in a devastating hurricane almost a century ago.

Striking Galveston on Sept. 8, 1900, the Great Storm is considered the worst natural disaster in the nation's history.

More than 6,000 men, women and children lost their lives. Among the dead were 10 sisters and 90 children from the St. Mary's Orphans Asylum, operated by the Sisters of Charity.

The sisters also operated St. Mary's Infirmary in Galveston. It was the first Catholic hospital in the state, established in 1867.

The sisters were called to Galveston by Catholic Bishop Claude M. Dubuis in 1866 to care for the many sick and infirm in what was the major port of entry for Texas. They were also charged with caring for orphaned children, most of whom had lost parents during yellow fever epidemics.

At first the Sisters of Charity opened an orphanage within the hospital, but later moved it three miles to the west on beach-front property on the former estate of Captain Farnifalia Green.

The location seemed ideal as it was far from town and the threat of yellow fever.

As Galveston entered the new millennium, it was one of the wealthiest cities per capita in the United States and one of the largest in the state.

It was a prosperous community with a bustling port. With a population of 36,000, Galveston appeared to be poised for greatness.

[Jessie Phallon]

And then one weekend in September in 1900, the same proximity to the sea that had made the community grow and prosper as a port city, was to change Galveston Island forever. On Sept. 8, Galveston became the victim of a powerful hurricane of such destructive force that whole blocks of homes were completely swept away and one sixth of population was killed.

Beginning early on the morning of Saturday, Sept. 8, 1900, the winds began coming in strongly from the north. Despite the opposing winds, the tides of the southern gulf waters also rose sending large crashing waves upon the beach front.

Sister Elizabeth Ryan, one of 10 sisters at St. Mary's Orphanage, had come into town that morning to collect food. Despite pleas from Mother Gabriel, the assistant superior at St. Mary's Infirmary, for her to stay at the hospital until the storm passed, Sister Elizabeth said she had to return to the orphanage.

Sister Elizabeth said that she had the provisions in the wagon and if she did not return the children would have no supper. She didn't know that whether she returned or not there would be no more suppers at the orphanage.

During the afternoon the winds and rain continued to increase. The tides of the gulf rose higher and higher with fierce waves crashing on the beach sending flood waters into the residential areas.

St. Mary's Orphanage consisted of two large two-story dormitories just off the beach behind a row of tall sand dunes that were supported by salt cedar trees. The buildings had balconies facing the gulf.

According to one of the boys at the orphanage, the rising tides began eroding the sand dunes "as though they were made of flour." Soon the waters of the gulf reached the dormitories.

The Sisters at the orphanage brought all of the children into the girls' dormitory because it was the newer and stronger of the two. In the first floor chapel, they tried to calm the children by having them sing "Queen of the Waves." The waters continued to rise.

Taking the children to the second story of the dormitory, the Sisters had Henry Esquior, a worker, collect clothesline rope. Again they had the boys and girls sing "Queen of the Waves."

One of the boys later said that the children were very frightened and the Sisters were very brave.

By 6 p.m. the wind was gusting past 100 miles per hour and the waters of the gulf and bay had met, completely flooding the city. Residents climbed to the second stories, attics and even roofs of their homes. Flying debris struck many who dared venture outside their homes.

Around 7:30 p.m. the main tidal surge struck the south shore.

Houses along the beach front were lifted from their foundations and sent like battering rams into other houses. Houses fell upon houses.

At St. Mary's Infirmary the flood waters filled the first floor. From the second story balcony, the sisters pulled refugees in as they floated by and brought them into the over-crowded hospital. Almost every window in the facility was broken out sending the wind and rain whipping through the building.

At the orphanage, the children and sisters heard the crash of the boys dormitory as it collapsed and was carried away by the flood waters.

The sisters cut the clothesline rope into sections and used it to tie the children to the cinctures which they wore around their waists. Each Sister tied to herself between six to eight children.

It was a valiant, yet sacrificial effort to save the children. Some of the older children climbed onto the roof of the orphanage.

Eventually the dormitory building that had been the sanctuary for the children and sisters was lifted from its foundation. The bottom fell out and the roof came crashing down trapping those inside.

Only three boys from the orphanage survived: William Murney, Frank Madera and Albert Campbell. Miraculously all three ended up together in a tree in the water. After floating for more than a day, they were eventually able to make their way into town where they told the sisters what had happened at the orphanage.

One of the boys remembered a sister tightly holding two small children in her arms, promising not to let go.

The sisters were buried wherever they were found, with the children still attached to them. Two of the sisters were found together across the bay on the Mainland. One of them was tightly holding two small children in her arms. Even in death she had kept her promise not to let go.

The death and destruction in Galveston was unbelievable. More than 6,000 were dead and their bodies were littered throughout the city. It would be months before some would be uncovered. A complete list of the dead was never made.

It is estimated that the winds reached 150 mph or maybe even 200. The tidal surge has been estimated at from 15 to 20 feet.

Whole blocks of homes had been completely destroyed leaving little more than a brick or two. In all more than 3,600 homes had been destroyed.

A great wall of debris wrapped itself around St. Mary's Infirmary on the eastern end of the city and then zigzagged through the city to the beach. At places the wall was two stories tall.

Inside this great wall were destroyed houses, pieces of furniture, pots, pans, cats, dogs and people. Those who were dead and those who were dying.

At St. Mary's Infirmary, there was no food or water. While the main hospital building was still standing, the adjacent structures, had been destroyed.

The hospital was packed with those who were injured and those who had no where else to go. Two of the Sisters walked about the area until they found crackers and cookies that had been soaked in the water. They brought them back to the hospital and over a fire they built in the street they dried the food and served it to those in need at the infirmary.

Firmly committed to the healing ministry of Jesus Christ, the Sisters repaired St. Mary's Infirmary and, one year later, opened a new orphanage. Today the sisters have extended their ministry to other states and foreign countries.

On Sept. 8, 1994, a Texas Historical Marker was placed at 69th Street and Seawall Boulevard, marking the site of the former orphanage.

The descendants of two of the survivors, Will Murny and Frank Madera, returned to participate in the marker dedication.

As part of the ceremony, "Queen of the Waves" was again sung at the same time and place as it was during the Great 1900 Storm. And, as it continues to be each Sept. 8 by the Sisters of Charity of the Incarnate Word.

Linda Macdonald is Director of Communications, Congregation of the Sisters of Charity of the Incarnate Word in Houston.

http://www.1900storm.com/orphanage.lasso

[Jessie Phallon]

Isaac's Storm: A Man, A Time,
and the Deadliest Hurricane in History

 

Isaac's Storm:
A Man, a Time,
and the Deadliest Hurricane in History
By Erik Larson
 
"An absurd delusion," is how Isaac Cline, a dedicated and highly trained first-generation employee of the new U.S. Weather Bureau, characterized the fear that any hurricane posed a serious danger to the burgeoning city of Galveston, Texas.

Based partly on Cline's expert opinion, Galveston dismissed a proposal to erect a seawall, claiming it a needless, wasteful expense. In 1900, Cline's words reflected not only his own opinion but also the spirit -- what would one day be seen as the hubris -- of his time.

At the turn of the century, Galveston was booming. It was the nation's biggest cotton port, its third-busiest port overall, and the second-most-heavily-traversed entry for immigrants arriving from Europe, nicknamed the "Western Ellis Island." The city had more millionaires, street for street, than any other in America.

The nation, too, was bursting at its borders with optimism and confidence. Victory in the Spanish-American War granted the U.S. a heady new status as a global power. The nation was also being transformed in other ways, from an agrarian culture to an industrial one, from rural to urban, from scientific backwater to technological powerhouse.

Nothing seemed impossible. American warships steamed to China. American engineers prepared to take over construction of the Panama Canal.

Even weather itself seemed at last under the control of man. The recently established U.S. Weather Bureau oversaw a weather monitoring network that included 158 regular observatories, 132 river outposts, 48 rainfall monitors, 2,562 volunteer observers, 12 West Indies stations, 9 coastal stations, and 96 railway posts throughout the country. One newspaper editorialist in 1900 called weather prediction "a complete science."

It wasn't. The hard lesson that nature cannot be predicted, especially at the extremes of its behavior, was delivered to Isaac Cline, to the city of Galveston, and to the entire nation on September 8, 1900. On the evening of that day, the worst natural disaster in U.S. history roared out of the Gulf of Mexico and confronted Galveston with its own powerlessness in the face of nature's fury.

The unnamed storm was born as a small plume of warm air off the African coast. As it moved deliberately but inexorably across the ocean it fed on the heat of the summer waters, drinking in energy until it had grown huge with the potential for destruction. On September 7, cables started arriving in the Weather Bureau's Washington headquarters, relaying ships' encounters with the growing storm in an area off Cuba.

The storm then crossed Florida and arrived in the Gulf, but instead of meandering in the manner of most Gulf storms, it turned and aimed straight for Galveston. The track allowed its winds to blow unobstructed for hundreds of miles over waters made unusually warm by a particularly tropical summer. The storm added to its vast store of energy and pushed a huge wall of water along its leading edge.

On the evening of September 8, the tempest of wind and water slammed into Galveston. In the language of today's National Weather Service, it would be called an extreme hurricane, or X-storm. Within a few hours of making landfall, the storm had scoured vast sections of the city clean of any man-made structure, deposited towering walls of debris in other areas, and killed upward of 10,000 people. Among the dead was Isaac Cline's wife.

The Galveston storm remains the worst natural disaster ever to strike the U.S., its death toll eclipsing the combined carnage of the Johnstown Flood of 1889 and the San Francisco Earthquake of 1906.

Isaac's Storm is a fascinating look at the physics and meteorology of hurricanes (especially the X-storms that scientists say are a statistical certainty in our own future), a suspenseful re-creation of the track of the 1900 Galveston storm, and an electrifying account of the day the storm released its unfathomable fury on Galveston.

Most of all, it is an appreciation of the human face of the tragedy, as focused in the story of Isaac Cline, whose pride was the pride of his nation and his time, and whose education in the unpredictable power of nature is one that if we forget today we do so at our peril.

http://www.1900storm.com/isaaccline/isaacsstorm.lasso

[Jessie Phallon]

The History of The Great Storm in Pictures



Survivors search the debris of a collapsed house.

[Jessie Phallon]

A home lies in ruins at 15th Street and Avenue K following The 1900 Storm.

[Jessie Phallon]

Several houses lie torn and scattered near 16th Street and Avenue M.

[Jessie Phallon]

Storm surge moved this house at 19th Street and Avenue N and 1/2 nearly 30 yards. 

[Jessie Phallon]

Houses lie together in a mountain of timber at 19th Street.

[Jessie Phallon]

A body lies half buried among the ruins at 21st Street and Avenue O in Galveston.

[Jessie Phallon]

A view of the destruction looking north from 27th Street and Avenue M.

[Jessie Phallon]

A four block wide area stretching for a half mile long is wiped clean by the storm.

[Jessie Phallon]

A sea of broken timber stretches for as far as the eye can see on 5th Street.

[Jessie Phallon]

Lucas Terrace lies collapsed inward amidst a field of debris.