Coast of South Carolina.

It is probable that there are few instances on record where a movement toward relief of such magnitude, commenced under circumstances so new, so unexpected, so unprepared and so adverse, was ever carried on for such a length of time and closed with results so entirely satisfactory to both those served and those serving, as this disaster, which, if remembered at all at the present day, is designated as the “Hurricane and Tidal Wave of the Sea Islands off the Coast of South Carolina.” The descriptions of this fearful catastrophe I shall leave to the reports of those who saw, shared its dangers and lived within its tide of death. They will tell how from 3,000 to 5,000 human beings (for no one knew the number) went down in a night; how in the blackness of despair they clung to the swaying tree tops till the roots gave way, and together they were covered in the sands or washed out to the reckless billows of the great mad ocean that had sent for them; of the want, woe and nothingness that the ensuing days revealed when the winds were hushed, the waters stilled and the frightened survivors began to look for the lost home and the loved ones, and hunger presaged the gaunt figure of famine that silently drew near and stared them in the face. How, with all vegetable growth destroyed, all animals, even to fowls, swept away, all fresh water turned to salt—not even a sweet well remaining—not one little house in five hundred left upright, if left at all; the victims with the clothing torn and washed off them, till they were more nearly naked than clothed—how these 30,000 people patiently stood and faced this silent second messenger of death threatening them hour by hour. Largely ignorant, knowing nothing of the world, with no real dependencies upon any section of its people, they could only wait its charity, its pity, its rescue and its care—wait and pray—does anyone who knows the negro characteristics and attributes doubt this latter? Surely, if angels do listen, they heard pleading enough in those hours of agony to save even the last man and woman and the helpless babe. Something saved them, for there is no record of one who died of starvation or perished through lack of care.

I have promised to leave these descriptions to those who saw. I will also leave the descriptions of the work of relief done at the field to those who so faithfully performed it, the members of my working staff and the volunteer workers of other fields who came to their assistance on this.

I place here the more important of the reports made to me at the time, but which have until now remained under seal, no general report of that field having been made. The main interest of these reports will consist in showing the methods of work adopted, not only to preserve so many people in life with so small means as we had at hand, but to preserve them as well from habits of begging and conditions of pauperism; to teach them self-dependence, economy, thrift; how to provide for themselves and against future want, and help to fit them for the citizenship which, wisely or unwisely, we had endowed them with. I will then, with the reader’s kind permission, simply show the open doorway through which we were called to enter that field and introduce the nationally renowned advocates and escorts who personally conducted us and placed its work in our hands.

About the twenty-eighth or twenty-ninth of August, 1893, the press commenced to give notice, such as it could get over wrecked roads and broken wires, of a fearful storm coming up from the West Indies that had struck our coast in the region of South Carolina, sweeping entirely over its adjacent range of islands, known as the Old Port Royal group, covering them from the sea to a depth of sixteen feet, with the wind at a rate of one hundred and twenty miles an hour—that its destructive power was so great that it had not only swept the islands, but had extended several miles onto the mainland of the State.

WOMEN CUTTING POTATOES FOR PLANTING—SEA ISLAND RELIEF, S.C., FEBRUARY, 1894.

A WINDFALL FOR ST. HELENA.—WRECK OF THE “CITY OF SAVANNAH.”

I chanced to be familiar with the geography and topography of that group of islands, having lived on them in the capacity of war relief many months during the siege of Charleston in 1863–64. Knowing that they scarcely averaged four feet rise above the sea level, with no mountains, not even hills that could be called such, that the soft, sandy soil could not be trusted to hold its tree roots firm, that the habitations were only huts, to be washed away like little piles of boards—I thought I saw no escape for the inhabitants and that all must have perished; and so replied to all inquiries at first made as to whether this were not a disaster for the Red Cross to relieve, “No, there was nothing left to relieve.” Later and more reliable news brought the astonishing fact that it was estimated that from thirty to forty thousand had survived and were in the direst need. Was not this a call for the Red Cross? Still more emphatically, “No; if that is the case, it is beyond the Red Cross. Only the State of South Carolina or the general government can cope with that;” and again we closed our ears and proceeded with our work.

But the first week of September brought pitiful paragraphs from various Southern sources—one I recall from the governor of the State, in which he proclaimed his perplexity and great distress at the condition of these poor people, needing everything, and who, at that season of the year, with crops all destroyed, would continue to need; and closed by wondering “if the Red Cross could perhaps do anything for them.”

It would not do to close our ears or eyes against this suggestion, and I at once sought our congressional neighbor, General M.C. Butler, of South Carolina, then in the Senate, now on the Cuban Commission, asking his views. The response was such as would not have been looked for in that busy, hard-worked Senator, surrounded by a network of political wires, some of them only too likely to be “live;” he dropped all business, telegraphed at once to Governor Tillman at Columbia to learn the conditions and urgently requested us to go, and he would even leave his seat and go with us as soon as we could be ready. Time is never a question with the Red Cross, and the next night, in a dark cheerless September mist, with only two assistants, I closed a door behind me for ten months, went to the station to meet General Butler, prompt and kind, and proceeded on our way. At Columbia we were joyfully surprised at meeting Governor Tillman, prepared to accompany us, with a member of his staff, and thus powerfully reinforced we made our entrance into Beaufort.

The work of relief had been wisely placed at first in the hands of committees from both Beaufort and Charleston, comprising the best business men of each city—its lawyers, merchants, bankers, all men of prominence and known practical ability. They had done and were doing all possible for them to do, with hearts full of pity, hands full of work, themselves large losers by the storm, business nearly wrecked, and needing every remaining energy for the repairing of their own damages and those of the citizens about them.

The governor, at whose request they had formed, realizing the necessities of the case, sought to release them, calling them together in each city and successively relieving them, placing the Red Cross in full charge of the relief. With the little knowledge we had of the conditions and surroundings, it would have been madness to accept, at least until both more knowledge and more numerical force were gained, and the refusal was as prompt as the proffer had been. We however promised to remain in Beaufort, meet with the committee each day, advise with them, study the situation and report our conclusions when we could safely arrive at them.

Thus we remained until the first day of October, when, realizing that the relief coming in from outside would soon diminish, as the excitement should wear away, that the sum in hand was painfully small, that the number of destitute was steadily increasing, that the winter was approaching and they must be carried through in some manner till the next year’s crops could grow; and that, in order to do this a fixed system of relief must be adopted, a rigid economy enforced and every person who could do so must be made to work for his food and receive food and raiment only in return for labor; that this could only come from persons who had no interests but these to subserve and with the light of all experience that could be called to the task. Even then a successful result was questionable; but there was no question of the fatal result of any other course, and after a thoughtful council of our official board (which had meanwhile become nearly filled) on the night of September thirtieth it was decided that the Red Cross would accept the appointment of the governor and enter upon its duties the following day.

Accordingly, at the meeting of the next day, October 1, 4 p. m., the Beaufort Relief Commission, as appointed by the governor, was formally released as a committee and immediately re-elected by the Red Cross as its “advisory board,” to meet and advise with us as we had done with them.

Through all these years the tenderness springs to my heart and gathers in my eyes as I recall the kindly and affectionate intercourse of months, without one break, that grew up between us. And although some have been called to higher service and greener fields, I am confident that none of us will ever seek on this side a better, more trusted, kindlier association than were found in these.

I desire to supplement the foregoing allusions to the storm by the full and ably rendered account of commodore, now admiral, Beardslee, then in command of the naval forces of that section, with headquarters at Paris Island. The admiral and his charming wife were our neighbors, and most efficient helpers through all our work: