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  • History Weekend – The Galveston Hurricane, 1900

    Posted by Sgt. Mom on July 25th, 2015 (All posts by )

    To further the current work in progress (which will feature the heroine being in Galveston during the hurricane of 1900), I am re-reading Erik Larson’s Isaac’s Storm– a gripping and almost novelistic account of the hurricane which struck the Texas Gulf coast city of Galveston on Saturday, September 8th, 1900. The Isaac of the title is Isaac Cline, the resident meteorologist in Galveston for the U.S. Weather Bureau – who paid a devastating price – the loss of his heavily pregnant wife when his house was swept away at the height of the storm – for miscalculations made; miscalculations made both by himself and by the Weather Bureau headquarters policies in far-distant Washington DC.

    That 1900 storm still stands as the single deadliest natural disaster ever to strike the United States, with a death toll equal of all later storms combined; at least 6,000 in Galveston alone – a quarter of the population at the time – and along the Texas coast. The storm surge went for miles inland, and may have carried away another 2,000, whose bodies were never found – and never reported missing, as there was no one left to do so. Galveston Island – a coastal sand-bar, little more than eight feet above sea level at its highest point – was a busy and strategic port. At the turn of the last century, it was the largest city in Texas; a center of commerce, transportation hub and port of entry for immigrants coming into the Southwest by sea. Galveston was connected to the mainland across a normally placid lagoon by three railway trestles. Although the rival port city of Indianola, farther west along the Gulf Coast had been wiped out by a pair of hurricanes fifteen and twenty-five years before, generally the citizens of Galveston were complacent, comfortable in the belief that any storm – and they had easily weathered many of them – was readily survivable. And after all – this was a new century, one marked by unparalleled technologic and scientific advances! So a sea-wall proposed by certain concerned citizens was never built; indeed, Isaac Cline had written an article for the local newspaper in 1891, arguing that such a wall was not necessary; it was impossible for a storm of sufficient destructive intensity to strike Galveston. And he, of course, was an expert.

    And so were the U.S. Weather Bureau experts – and fiercely proud of it, although telegraphic reports of weather phenomena upon which authoritative forecasts were based tended to be spotty – especially when ocean-going ships and foreign countries were involved. For fear of the “crying wolf” effect the Weather Bureau also frowned on what they held to be overuse of terms such as “hurricane” or “tornado” lest those in the path of a project event be panicked unnecessarily – or to become blasé about such warnings. By the first few days of September, 1900, Isaac Cline’s office in Galveston began to get warnings regarding a tropical storm system moving in a northerly line over Cuba – but forecasters at the bureau believed the storm was moving in a curved, northerly line which would take it across Florida, up the east coast and then out into the Atlantic again. They disregarded predictions by weather observers in Cuba who insisted that the storm system would continue westerly, impacting against the Texas Gulf coast.

    The weather was warm, as it always is at this time of the year in Texas – the waters of the gulf were as warm as bathwater. And those existing yet relatively unnoticed conditions were enough to boost the tropical storm to lethal strength. On the morning of Saturday, September 8th, weather conditions seemed like nothing special; partly cloudy skies and heavy if not particularly frightening swells along the outer edge of the island. Perhaps at that point, no one was particularly worried, although in hind-sight, some residents did own to apprehensions. The movie director King Vidor, then just six years old, later wrote of how the water of the lagoon and the sea appeared to mound up on either side of the town by mid-morning as if Galveston were at the bottom of a bowl and the water about to spill over the rim.

    And then it began to rain – at first much welcome – the temperature dropped and the winds picked up. Still no one worried, very much. Children were entranced by how streets paved with wooden blocks began to fill with water, which lifted and floated the paving blocks, a sea of bobbing corks. They splashed happily in that water, but by mid-morning, if anyone had begun to be frightened, it was already too late. Water from the gulf-side and the lagoon began flowing in the main streets, sheeting over the raised sidewalks in downtown Galveston. Heavy waves were already falling on the sand shore of the outside of the island, where protective dunes had been scraped away to fill in and level the rest of the island. Gusts of wind began slamming against storefronts with brutal force. Around midday the bathhouses, small restaurants, and souvenir stores along a boardwalk along the Gulf shore known as the Midway began disintegrating under the assault of the surf. People were a bit nervous at seeing the water in the streets rise so swiftly, at the destruction of the Midway – but for most residents, it seemed as if this was just another tropical storm, of which Galveston had weathered so many.

    Until the collapse of Ritter’s Café and Saloon, a popular eatery in the heart of Galveston’s commercial district. The café was on the ground floor of a substantial two-story building which housed a print-shop in the second floor. A particularly violent gust of wind ripped off the roof; the sudden decompression apparently bowed the second-story walls sufficiently for the floor beams to pop loose … and the heavy printing presses, beams and fittings of the print-shop crashed down on patrons of the café below. Five diners died instantly, another five injured so badly that the café’s owner sent a waiter for medical help … and the waiter drowned in fast-rising water. The morning train from Houston arrived, with considerable difficulty, inching across the railway trestle that spanned the lagoon, passengers watching nervously as the water washed back and forth under the rails. One of those passengers was David Benjamin, a senior executive of the Fred Harvey Company, who had business to do in town – where Fred Harvey maintained one of their popular rail-station restaurants; Mr. Benjamin had an appointment in town and went to make it, although to his exasperation, the man he was to meet did not. Mr. Benjamin returned to the Harvey House – considerably sobered by the sight of the body of a dead child, washing into the railway station.

    The second scheduled train, from Beaumont City, never even got that far, being stymied on arrival at the ferry landing, where a barge would carry the entire train; engine, coaches and all – from Bolivar Point across to the Island. The water was too violent for the captain of the ferry to dock and run the train onto it. The train reversed, going back the way it came, until stranded by rising water near to where the Point Bolivar Lighthouse stabbed a lonely finger into the sky. The inhabitants of Point Bolivar – all two hundred of them – had already taken refuge in the lighthouse, crammed two and three onto the narrow spiral staircase inside that stout tower. Ten passengers from the train braved the winds and increasingly higher waters, slogging the quarter mile or so in the flat open plain to join them, saving their own lives thereby, for the storm surge eventually overwhelmed the train; the remaining passengers and crew all were lost.

    By the middle of afternoon, anyone paying attention already suspected that things were about to get very, very bad. One of Mr. Benjamin’s fellow passengers taking shelter in the railway station had a pocket barometer in his luggage, and commenced to take readings, as his barometer – and that at Isaac Cline’s weather station on the roof of the Levy building began to fall, and fall, and fall even farther, to the point where some observers began to think the instruments must be defective. Long afterwards, weather experts estimated the winds to have blown at 150 miles per hour with gusts reaching 200. There was no way to be certain, as the Weather Bureau’s anemometer and rain gage were blown off the top of the Levy Building and destroyed early in the evening. The sky turned so dark that it seemed to some as if dusk had already fallen. The wind whipped slate tiles as if they were shrapnel. At about two in the afternoon, the wind shifted from a northerly direction to the northeast; over the next hours, the water came up and up, higher and higher, driving people into the second floor of whatever they had taken refuge in – assuming that they had a second floor. The streets and gardens of Galveston became seas, studded with wooden flotsam and wreckage … and just short of seven in the evening the water came up four feet in as many seconds. The meticulous observer Isaac Cline noted the rise of water against the dimensions of his own house, calculating that it was now over fifteen feet deep and still rising. But he was certain that his house would withstand the storm, constructed as it was on deep-driven pilings.

    Unfortunately, he had not considered the effect of the storm – wind and water between them driving an irresistible moraine of debris into the residential area where his house stood – lumber and wreckage from other houses, reinforced with heavy timbers from the destroyed Midway, iron street-car rails, and uprooted trees. Every fresh wave pounded that mass farther and farther inland, a leviathan grinding up and adding more wreckage to the mass, until it towered almost two stories tall and stretched across the middle of town. Eventually, it overwhelmed the Cline residence, throwing Isaac, his wife and three daughters and his younger brother who also worked at the Weather Bureau into the turbulent water. They all survived, save Mrs. Cline, whose body was unearthed three weeks later. The merciless waves also destroyed the orphanage a little north of town, run by the Ursuline sisters; smashing the range of buildings, as the ten nuns herded the children into the upstairs dormitory farthest from the seashore. Each sister had lashed seven or eight children to themselves with clothesline, all in a line like ducklings after their mother, in a vain attempt to keep them together and safe, but the sea came into that last refuge and the only orphans to survive were three older boys who managed to scramble into a tree. At least 3,600 buildings were smashed, leaving those fortunate enough to survive without much shelter when Sunday morning came – a calm and mild day, considering the fury of the night before.

    The bridges to the mainland were gone, the telegraph lines destroyed, it took a small delegation of local men, traveling in one of the few ships in port which had survived the storm to limp across the bay and travel up to Houston, from where they could send telegrams to the governor, and the president of the US. Residents of Houston had already surmised the need for help, and sent rescue parties to Galveston. The first train to try reaching Galveston could come no closer than six miles from shore, reporting that the coastal prairie was strewn with debris and corpses, and a large steamship stranded two miles inland.
    Galveston did rebuild, of course. The seawall first suggested and rejected after the destruction of Indianola was constructed; sand was dredged from the bay and used to raise the level of the island nearly twenty feet. With a great deal of trouble and effort, 2,100 of the surviving buildings were elevated. All of this proved their worth when another hurricane struck dead on in 1915, with comparatively minor casualties. But dredging of the Houston Ship Channel to accommodate ocean-going ships spelled doom for Galveston as an important player in commerce and shipping. It’s still a nice seaside town, historic as all get-out, and with a pleasing situation – but not half the place it was on September 7, 1900.

     

    17 Responses to “History Weekend – The Galveston Hurricane, 1900”

    1. Gringo Says:

      The move to Houston with the 50 mile Ship Channel providing access to the sea, was a providential move- though hurricane damage also hits Houston. It would be difficult to compare relative abilities to cope with hurricanes today compared to then- more complicated, advanced infrastructure versus ability to repair same. But one thing for sure- many of those who live within 200-300 miles of Galveston have heard of the devastating Galveston hurricane. It can happen here.

    2. Sgt. Mom Says:

      It is interesting, Gringo, how certain it seems that in 1900 everyone was that “Oh, storms have happened everywhere else along the coast, but Galveston is special!” And even if the Weather Bureau had given any credit to the Cuban forecasters saying that the storm would hit the Gulf Coast — NOT go north along the Atlantic – it’s not certain what the city residents would have been able to do. knowing that a hurricane was coming. Evacuating the whole city was out of the question, and I think there was probably little that could be done to ‘harden’ structures and shelter people in them.

    3. Whitehall Says:

      Reminds me of Hurricane Camille of 1969. It hit the Mississippi coast but there were no un-evacuated cities on barrier islands in the way. Still, 259 died in that one. I was 120 miles east rom that one but saw little damage.

    4. IGotBupkis, "Si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses." Says:

      One other thing to realize was that the national population at the time was on the close order of 100 million. So, it’s not entirely out of line to suggest that you think of those life-losses instead of being 6000-8000, as 3x that, or 18000-24000. I think if, suddenly, something killed that many people, suddenly, unexpectedly, in this day and age — anywhere in the world, not just the USA — people would sit up and take notice. Such mass loss of human life is generally unthinkable.

    5. renminbi Says:

      “Science is belief in the ignorance of experts”
      Richard Feynman

    6. Michael Hiteshew Says:

      I’ve only experienced one Hurricane in the South, Charley in 2004. I was passing through Daytona Beach at the time and I drove into it while I was still on I-95. Horizon to horizon it was midnight blue and driving into the leading edge was like driving into hell. Lightning all around, rain so hard you couldn’t see, instant flooding, and wind that wanted to blow me off the road. I pulled off the first exit and checked into a hotel (concrete). We lost power and water pressure around midnight. I remember palm trees with all their fronds pointed downwind and bent over in the gusts. The winds are fascinating. They blow increasing hard to a maximum, stay there for a few minutes, then die down to a calm, then blow increasing hard back up to maximum. It goes on and on like that. Really intense winds you have to see to believe and raining like a banshee. Florida was wreck the next day.

      I will say they were prepared. I passed convoys of electric power trucks from northern states heading into Florida, as well as heavy mulchers and front end loaders. It looked an army headed into a war zone.

    7. Clinton Machann Says:

      The Galveston Hurricane of 1900 was a terrible tragedy, and, because of Galveston’s position as a port of entry to Texas and the United States, I am reminded of the terrible sacrifices of various immigrant groups who were devastated by storms on the way. In our book “Perilous Voyages” (Texas A&M University Press, 2004), Larry Konecny and I include the story of a Czech immigrant group in 1873 that rode out a hurricane in the Bahamas before continuing to Galveston and, finally, the peaceful farmlands of central Texas.

      Clinton Machann

    8. Sgt. Mom Says:

      I rode out a typhoon at Misawa AB some time in the late 1970s. All the aircraft at the base were sent out to southern Japan, or possibly to the PI – and for the duration (a day and a night?) we were all confined to quarters. The rain came down in floods, and the winds were over 100 MPH … possibly gusts to higher? I don’t think we lost power during it, but the roof of the base gym was peeled off halfway, like the lid on a can of sardines, the kind you used to open with a metal key. The noise of the wind was horrific. When they allowed us to leave quarters after the worst had passed, three of us were bored of staying indoors, and decided to walk over to the base post office. The winds had dropped to 65-70 MPH, but oh, was it hard to walk against it, across an open space.

    9. Mike K Says:

      My one experience with a hurricane was sailing. We were going to Manzanillo in 1977 and about 1/2 way, while we were at about Cabo San Lazaro I noticed that the northeast swell had reversed. The wind was still northeast at about 15 knots and that normally determines the swell but the swell was now coming at us in spite of the wind. I got on the radio and learned that all Mexican fishing boats were in Cabo San Lucas and seeking shelter. Mexico is not big on weather reports, or navigation marks, for that matter.

      By 9 PM, were were down to jib alone and the boom was lashed down to the cabin top, We had a #4 jib up and were beating into wind that gradually grew until the wind speed indicator was pegged at 60 knots. The swells by midnight were so high that, when we were in the trough between swells, the wind would be almost calm and the boat would stand up straight. When we were on the top of the swell, we were heeled over about 50 degrees.

      The boat that I had in those days, a Yankee 38 was almost bullet proof. We rode out the small (12 hours) hurricane without serious damage. The main accommodation ladder into the cabin collapsed when somebody was standing on it and the PVC tube in the mast that protected wiring from chafe on halyards sheared all its rivets and fell to the mast step, pulling the wires out of the mast head.

      When we got home, I discovered all the bottom paint had been wiped off by the pounding.

      That boat is the same design as the boat in one of my (few) favorite sailing novels, The Shipkiller in which the protagonist is stalking a huge oil tanker than ran down his previous sailboat and drowned his wife. The author knows a lot about sailing and his description of sailing that design is right on.

      Mexican hurricanes tend to be small but we just had one reach southern California last week and we got 4 inches of rain.

    10. Mike K Says:

      Sorry, that was the 1977 La Paz Race.

    11. Ginny Says:

      Sgt Mom
      I’ve always wondered if the reason Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca called Galveston Malhado (our Norton text translates that as “The Island of Doom”) was because hurricanes had devastated the land not too long before they arrived. (The notes to Explore describe him as passing the “periphery” of a hurricane, moving across the gulf from Florida to Galveston and he remarks that the mourning customs hit the society harshly because so many had died lately. This was in the late 1520’s.)

    12. Sgt. Mom Says:

      Hi, Ginny – I wonder that, as well. A low-lying, coastal sand-bar island — yes, it would be vulnerable to heavy storms. But it seems that it went for so many decades without being hit full-on by a big storm, that I think that the conventional wisdom was to assume they had some kind of invulnerability-spell shielding them.
      Which assumption might have applicability in the American situation at large. In that whatever happens and has happened to everyone else — people who haven’t considered the situation very deeply are certain that WE will skate away in perfect security.

    13. Whitehall Says:

      What really jacked up the cost of hurricanes was LBJ’s federal flood insurance program.

      I grew up in Pensacola, Florida. It had a beautiful barrier island with a perfectly white sand beach. But it was relatively barren of development.

      The local wisdom was “Nobody but a fool or a damn Yankee built at the beach.”

      LBJ’s flood insurance changed all that. Beaches all around the Gulf and up the Atlantic are now covered with high rise apartments, beach houses, and the attendant commercial development. Now, when a hurricane hits, billions are washed and/or blown away.

      There have been recent corrections to coastal flood insurance including higher rates and stricter building codes but still, billions of dollars remain at risk.

    14. Gringo Says:

      Growing up in NE, 50 miles from the coast, I had a lot of experience with hurricanes. I recall how difficult it was to walk against the winds of Hurricane Donna in 1960. The creek/river by our house rose 10 feet during Hurricane Diane in 1955. Fortunately, the house was on a hill 20′ above the creek. The only time a tree got uprooted on the property was in 1972, and IIRC that was a tropical storm, not a hurricane. It was a very old tree that grew at an angle, not straight up or down.

    15. Will Says:

      They are terrifying, rode one out at sea in 76? or 77, due East of Hatteras (an interesting experience) but was otherwise lucky living 500 feet from the high water mark in Southern New England. The ’38 and ’54 hurricanes are still talked about locally and evidence of them can still be seen, or not seen, as in it disappeared. Early eighties we had one, the old homestead survived, but we had to chainsaw our way up the road once they cut power to the downed lines. I found floatsam two hundred feet into the woods along the marshes. As Gringo mentioned, walking was nearly impossible, I had a huge length of rope tied from the porch to the barn to enable me to get back and forth. Thanks for the Galveston chapter, those who live along the coast can relate.

    16. Tonestaple Says:

      Sgt. Mom, I will definitely get this book when it is published. My favorite existing hurricane novel is “Condominium” by John D. MacDonald (of Travis McGee fame). I expect Whitehall is correct about flood insurance resulting in the grotesque overdevelopment of Gulf beaches and that book is a story of the consequences.

      When we were kids in St. Pete, we were always jealous of our friends who lived out on the beaches. But our parents, bless them, were of the same opinion as Whitehall’s Pensacola locals: only fools build on the beach. As I recall, we were spared any devastating hits from hurricanes but we nevertheless always had sheets of plywood in the garage to board up the three sets of sliding glass doors, and I particularly remember one storm that resulted in the ping pong table and the lawnmower being brought into the house so we had room for both cars in the garage.

      Give me a hurricane any day – you get lots of warning; earthquakes absolutely terrify me, so of course I now live right smack in the Cascadia subduction zone.

    17. Sgt. Mom Says:

      Hi, Tonestaple — likely I will finish this book in time for the end of the year, when everyone is buying for Christmas (or, so I hope!) But I have about a half a chapter posted on my book website, http://www.celiahayes.com, so see if it interests you, as I develop it further.

      Me, I kind of prefer earthquakes … yeah, no warning and all, but the constant alerts, the build-up, the hurry to make ready and all – so nerve-wracking. One persons Mede is another’s Persian, I expect.