Texas as seen through the eye of its hurricanes. 1886-1900.
“It is simply unparalleled and even those who went through the experience of the storm and survived are so dazed they can hardly realize the enormity of the loss.”
Hurricanes devastated Texas prior to 1886. But that year marked the first hurricane my great-grandfather lived through. At the time, he lived and worked in Brownwood, where his brickmaking business had been destroyed by drought.
He moved to Houston in 1892, where gumbo and mud are plentiful. He would have no clue that all that water could be just as destructive to brickmaking as drought.
These are excerpts from One Family’s Houston, my nonfiction book about our immigrant family’s story.
August 19, 1886 – Indianola
While my great-grandfather Martin suffered through Texas’ awful drought of 1886 in Brownwood, one of the five worst hurricanes to make landfall in the United States came ashore at Indianola, Texas on Matagorda Bay near Victoria. With winds of 150 mph and landfall pressure of 925 mbar, the unnamed hurricane flattened everything in its path. It caused fewer deaths than a similar hurricane eleven years earlier, primarily because Indianola’s population had drastically decreased after 400 residents were killed by the storm of 1875.
In 2011 on the 125th anniversary of the hurricane, Melony Overton of The Port Lavaca Wave noted that budget cuts in Washington, DC played a role in the destruction that befell Indianola in 1886. Congress had eliminated observation stations in Cuba and the Yucatan. Although Indianola’s signal office received notification that a cyclone was headed into the Gulf of Mexico and could possibly bring “gales” with it, no hurricane warning (a red flag with black rectangle in its center) was issued until it was too late.
That flag would not be raised until the evening of August 19, 1886, after many (if not most) residents had retired to their homes and bed. By the time they arose on the morning of August 20, the storm was there. Those 150 mph winds made it impossible to escape to high ground.
At 3 p.m. on August 20, a fifteen foot wall of water roared through Indianola. Overton wrote that the public servant at the signal office – the man responsible for hoisting the flag at Washington’s instructions – was among the first to die, as he and the town doctor were crushed as they tried to flee the collapsing office.
In one of those ironies that seems counter-intuitive, but is familiar to anyone who has survived a hurricane, the worse destruction came not from the winds or water, but from the fires started as lamps toppled and wood-frame buildings were set ablaze. With winds of that magnitude fueling the flames, building after building burned to the ground.
“The crackling of the flames, the crash of the water, the roar of the wind and the peoples’ fearful screams must have produced a cacophony of sound, a hellish symphony,” wrote Overton.
September 16, 1886 – Indianola
Indianola’s suffering in 1886 did not end on August 20, 1886. A month later, a tropical storm made landfall at Brownsville, bringing waist-deep floods to Indianola.
Indianola was obliterated and never rebuilt.
September 8, 1900 – Galveston
On Saturday, September 8, 1900, one of the worst natural disasters ever to hit the United States of America came ashore. Hurricanes were still unnamed, but more than one hundred years later, one only has to say “The Galveston Hurricane of 1900” – and it’s clear which storm that was. The Post’s Galveston correspondent survived the hurricane and filed this account of events on September 10, 1900:
The most terrific storm in the history of this city struck here in full force about 1 p.m. yesterday afternoon and raged with unabated violence until 9:30. The wind reached a velocity of eighty-four miles per hour when the gage broke in the weather bureau. The waves of the bay and gulf met in the west end of the city about 3 o’clock and by 4 o’clock the water was about for (sic) feet deep all over the island. At 6 o’clock the water was twenty-six inches deep in the lobby of the Tremont hotel, while the water on the streets was from eight to fourteen feet in depth.
South did not try to estimate loss of life. He knew it would be “appalling,” but could not tell who had survived. He reported that at least 75% of the buildings had been destroyed.
But that report was not published until two days after the storm devastated Galveston. On September 9, the headline had proclaimed, GALVESTON ISOLATED. Completely Cut Off From Communication With the Outside. ALL TELEGRAPH AND TELEPHONE WIRES ARE DOWN.
That September 9 (a Sunday), the editorial staff concentrated on damage in Houston. Trolleys were not running because the electric power grid had been knocked out – a good thing, since otherwise, more people could have been electrocuted and more fires could have been started, they wrote. Floods had been terrible. The cornice of a downtown building had been forcibly removed. Many structures suffered significant damage. (The Binz Building survived the storm intact.)
In general, Houston had come through this storm mostly unscathed. Other than a hack driver who had been killed by flying debris, there were few storm-related deaths to report.
Now the staff of the Post waited for news out of Galveston. Last word received had been at 4 o’clock in the morning on Sunday, and even that had been fleeting. They had tried to send personnel down to Galveston by train, but the trains had returned because track and bridges had been wiped out.
“What damage has been done is unknown. For once both the telegraph companies were knocked out and not a word could be secured from Galveston, or other points on the coast. The long-distance telephone had no wires to coast points standing and communication was utterly cut off.
“Galveston was completely isolated from the outside world, and all kinds of sensational and alarming reports were in circulation.”
Despite those “sensational and alarming reports,” the Post editors could not believe that it could be all that bad. Probably lots of exaggeration, they assumed, so they toned down Sunday’s reporting.
They noted that “the gulf waters were encroaching rapidly on the beach and that the water had extended into the residence portion of the city for several blocks; the waves were very high and boisterous in the bay, and considerable damage was being done to small craft, though none of the big boats were in any danger.” They further attributed news of flooding to Galveston’s poor sewer system – rain had nowhere to go, so it overflowed into the streets, they surmised.
“The people were not especially alarmed, as they have had similar bad experiences. Inland there has undoubtedly been much damage to the cotton crop in the interior, the lint being blown from the open bolls, and the rice crop has probably suffered severely, as it was nearly ready for harvesting.”
The Sunday paper carried other news, stories that even now are fairly common in late summer Texas. Heavy rains on Saturday the 8th were making it hard to pick cotton in Victoria and Hearne. The man on the street worried that rain from the cyclone would ruin the crop, and therefore their livelihoods.
On page nine, the Post also reported that “on account of the bad weather,” a baseball game between firefighters of Houston and Galveston had been cancelled.
And Sour Lake ran its usual ad, still noting the wonderful weather they were having.
No one had a clue just how disastrous the Galveston hurricane had been.
All of that changed once Mr. Tom South arrived at the offices of the Houston Daily Post at 3 o’clock in the morning of Monday, September 10, 1900. He had chartered a small boat and set out across the still-choppy bay for Texas City. It capsized several times, but was always righted and pressed on. South carried with him his notes from the wee hours of the morning on September 9, notes that recorded the track of the storm and its immediate effects.
“No pen could depict or language adequately describe the hideousness of the situation,” he said. “It is simply unparalleled and even those who went through the experience of the storm and survived are so dazed they can hardly realize the enormity of the loss.”
Damage to home and property was “beyond computation,” and he could not begin to estimate lives lost. Maybe 600 – 1000, he said. From Tremont to the beach, no homes were left standing. Residents seemed stunned. Twenty-four hours after the storm had blown through Galveston, people still had not recovered from the shock. South saw women wandering the debris-covered streets, holding dead babies in their arms.
He saw how survivors climbed atop flotsam, only to be severely hurt by flying telephone poles, glass, or timber. One physician had been killed while heading to the Rosenberg school building to attend to the injured. As Mr. South walked through whatever streets lay above the receding flood waters, he witnessed one building after another collapse.
But no matter what he had seen with his own eyes, Mr. South remained skeptical that once the waters abated and debris was cleared, Galveston would be damaged to the extent of speculation that abounded. “All kinds of wild and evidently unreliable rumors are in circulation,” he wrote. The Houston Daily Post dutifully curbed any emotional response to the tragedy.
After all, the partial list of the dead published that day amounted to no more than thirty-six souls. They had a long way to go to achieve the 600 – 1,000 dead of Mr. South’s story.
Anecdotal tales of loss and rescue took on a subdued tone. “United States Marshal Darragh saved his family by swimming.” Or, “Lucas Terrace’s big rooming house collapsed and it is thought fifty were lost there.” Or, “The Pagoda, Olympia, and all the bath houses were washed away.”
Once the Post was able to get more reporters on the ground, the stories became less dispassionate. On September 11, rumors became facts, and these facts had names and faces. “An old man by the name of Robinson tied himself to a tree in Clear Lake and floated to the shore alive. He saw the bodies of Mrs. Mellhenny, Mrs. Flayer and little girl come up on the drift wood. The little girl slipped off four times, but swam to her mother. The fifth time she did not reappear.”
The Repsdorph family that owned the Seabrook Hotel all drowned. Mrs. Flayer’s body was eventually recovered in Seabrook. Postmaster Larrabee of Seabrook had survived the hurricane, but died Sunday night “from exhaustion.” Half Moon Lighthouse had been destroyed. News was still a trickle, but its awful features captured the attention of the nation, if not the world.
By that Tuesday, September 11 – three days after the storm hit, one day after news of the tragedy had broken – money began to pour into Houston for Galveston relief. The official relief committee of Galveston had not yet had time to issue a formal appeal for assistance, neither to Governor Sayers in Austin, nor to the federal government in Washington, DC. The lack of formal appeal did not matter. People from across the nation offered aid.
Five full trains – not five railcars, but five trains – were dispatched by the nation’s largest newspapers. William Randolph Hearst’s Chicago news empire was first, followed closely by the New York Herald, the New York Journal, the Philadelphia Inquirer, and the New York World. The newspapers filled the trains with physicians, nurses, food, medicines, “delicacies,” and disinfectants.
Texas cities were the first to respond with financial contributions. By September 11, Dallas had sent $2500 plus food and supplies; they raised $1000 in thirty minutes, as soon as news of the devastation reached the city. Waco similarly collected $500 by noon of the day they announced their Galveston relief fund. McKinney, Denison, Bonham, Waxahachie – all notified Governor Sayers that they had money they wished to contribute to the citizens of Galveston.
Bryan, Texas wired the governor that they did not have funds they could donate, but whatever Galveston needed in the way of able-bodied men, they would gladly supply. The relief committee in Galveston, together with the coordinating bodies in Houston and Austin, were doubtless thrilled by that offer.
Other U.S. cities joined in the relief effort. Delta Manufacturing in Chicago offered 100 large tents to house 3000 persons. San Francisco and Cincinnati started a Galveston relief fund.
And without the proper formal request, the federal government nevertheless ordered “all possible aid to the flood sufferers of Texas.” On September 10 (reported on September 11), forts in San Antonio were ordered to prepare shipments of tents and supplies for Galveston and to ready themselves for deployment to the city. Additionally, two cutters were ordered to Mobile, Alabama where they would be loaded with even more provisions.
The Galveston relief committee focused on more mundane things, reaching excellent decisions by consensus that surely saved lives and enabled reconstruction to proceed. They first drafted a letter to be published in newspapers – not that formal appeal for government assistance, but rather an explanation of the disaster that had befallen them.
Then they immediately addressed the overwhelming matter of the thousands of dead bodies floating in still-standing water and in the bay. The relief committee, headed by Galveston’s mayor Walter G. Jones, called an emergency city council meeting and temporarily suspended city requirements for autopsies and coroner’s inquest.
With that nicety behind them, the committee settled on a gruesome but practical way to avert “pestilence” from rotting corpses. “[The] unidentified dead were to be taken to sea, weighted and consigned to the deep. This was found the only way to dispose of the dead with safety to the health of the community.”
That principle guided everything the relief committee undertook. For a brief time, the sanctity of death would be violated to protect the living.
Galveston was placed under martial law. The police force (decimated by death) was supplemented by “United States regulars and volunteers.” Looting was to be stopped, property was to be guarded, survivors were to be aided. The committee closed all saloons, and alcohol decreed accessible only for medicinal purposes.
Next to disposal of corpses, restoration of the water works was the committee’s top priority. They recruited men to work on that facility, noting that “water is the first necessity for safety of life and property.”
Finally, the railroads were to organize and rebuild as quickly as possible. One railroad man stated that he could not begin that task until he had accounted for his employees. It appeared that almost all had died.
When the Comal steamer eventually docked in Galveston – to shocking scenes of devastation – its harried passengers told tales of dead bodies floating out to sea. Local residents confirmed the sightings, while others tried to bury dozens of corpses that washed ashore at points some distance from Galveston.
As horrible as the news had been on September 11, the next day’s paper finally began releasing a more accurate picture of what had transpired on and since September 8. James Hays Quarles, a “Post man,” returned to Houston so he could file his story.
‘Have the newspapers exaggerated the reports of the conditions existing at Galveston?’ is a question which has been asked me a hundred times since I returned from Galveston.
The newspapers have not told the story, they have not been able to portray the exact conditions, and the reports which have been published were far short of the true state of affairs.
He and a small band had boarded a “special train” on Monday morning – one that did not make it far, since they soon encountered washed-out tracks. They had then walked the rest of the way to Houston. Shoes had become a liability, but as they walked barefoot, the travelers sustained painful injuries.
They soon forgot these injuries at the spectacle of the landscape. From Galveston to Texas City to Houston, they encountered carcasses, some animal, some human. Most bodies were naked, clothes ripped off by the storm. All were unrecognizable from bloating and blunt force trauma. They met a dazed man named Mr. E. Gerloff, who evidently wanted them to do something about a pile of 125 bodies maybe half a mile from the roadway. Mr. Gerloff was starving, so someone in the throng of travelers gave him something to eat.
Where they saw trains or boats, almost always these vehicles – intended as means of escape – were filled with dead bodies, all rotting. The stench across the entire prairie was unbearable.
Quarles also told of the efforts of the relief committee in Galveston, which he highly applauded. He emphasized the benefits of the burials at sea to prevent disease among the living. On Monday alone, over 2000 bodies had been disposed of in this manner.
Mayor Jones and his committee had trouble recruiting men to do this work. While many were happy to clear debris, those who took on the job of moving corpses to the barge lasted a short time. “They could not stand the stench,” Quarles said. Father Kerwin of the Catholic church not only approved of the committee’s action; he also tried to enlist men. Even his efforts were in vain.
Quarles pointed to an aspect of the hurricane that was making it most difficult for survivors to live. The fifteen-foot wall of water that had submerged the island was salt water, not fresh. Therefore any foodstuffs, and most especially the water supply, had been hopelessly contaminated.
Lack of food and water contributed to the rising death toll and the inability of Galveston’s citizens to clear the streets. People were starving and dying of thirst. Quarles believed that at least 5000 had died, maybe as many as 7000. Without food and water, that number would grow.
“Families have been wiped out of existence,” Quarles said, “and the condition of the minds of people is such that they cannot remember who were their friends and neighbors, and they are thinking only of their own. Thus a great many will be lost sight of.”
He described the mental state of Galvestonians as “complete insanity.” Adding to their distress: They believed no one cared. Some even believed that Houston must have also been destroyed, otherwise someone would have already come to help. That belief then sparked even worse fears. If Houston had been “blown away,” no one in the entire world would know what had happened on September 8. Galvestonians despaired, and some gave up hope.
Quarles said, “They were relieved when informed of the arrangements being made to send them supplies.”
(Continued tomorrow…)
Part Two: September 10, 1900 - September 23, 1900
Part Three: April 18, 1906 - May 1910
Excerpted from One Family’s Houston, © 2012, 2024 Denise Elaine Heap. Please message me for permission to quote. And of course, please feel free to share!
My sources: Diary of my great-grandfather. Grandmother’s memories. Accounts of the Galveston hurricane as related in September 1900 by the Houston Post, New York Times, and other major news outlets. (Thanks to newspapers.com for such a valuable resource — started in Texas by University of North Texas in the early 2000s, carried on by Ancestry.)
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