“I believe that all buildings will be of a more solid and enduring character than formerly. I think, too, that the streets along the water front will be built higher than they were. The city must be rebuilt. It is the only outlet worthy the name on the Gulf west of New Orleans. The government spent $6,000,000 to make a thirty-foot harbor there, and the shipping is so extensive that rebuilding the wrecked portions of the city is imperative.”
A tale of self sacrifice comes from the western part of the city. A young man by the name of Wash Masterson heard the cries of some people outside. They were calling for a rope. He had no rope, but improvised one from bed sheets, and started out to find the people who were calling. The wind and water soon tore his rope to shreds and he had to return to the house, where he made another and stronger rope.
THE CRIES OF THE PEOPLE.
The cries of the people still filled his ears. He went out a second time and after being gone for what seemed an hour or more to those who were waiting he returned with the people. They had clung to the branches of a salt cedar tree. Mr. Masterson was not satisfied with that, but went out for other people immediately, the water having begun to fall about that time, and worked all night.
A little black dog stood barking over a sand hill in the west end beyond Woollam’s lake. Those who endeavored to stop his barking by driving him away did not succeed for he returned as soon as they ceased their attempts. It was suggested that he was guarding a body, but others scouted the idea.
Finally they dug beneath the spot where the dog stood, and there they found the remains of a young girl whom they identified by the rings she wore as Miss Lena Everhart, a popular little lady, well known both in Galveston and Dallas. This whole family, with the exception of one son, Elmer Everhart, and a daughter, Mrs. Robert Brown, who lives near Dickinson and was there at the time, was lost. The father ran a dairy just southwest of Woollam’s lake.
At Twelfth and Sealy avenue there lived a colored man and his wife. There was a grocery on the corner and those who weathered the storm report that he stood near the beer keg in the bar room of the grocery drinking steadily until he was swept away, his idea evidently being to destroy consciousness before the storm did it for him. His body was picked out of a pile of debris between Twelfth and Thirteenth on Sealy avenue.
The Catholic Orphans’ Home on the beach at the west end of the city went some time after 5.30 o’clock Saturday evening. Mr. Harry Gray, who lived in Kinkead subdivision, just beyond the city limits, was compelled to leave his house at that hour and says the home was standing then. Now not a vestige of it remains. Eight nuns and all but one of ninety-five children were lost. This child, a little tot, was found on the north side of the island in a tree. “I’se been ’seep,” he lisped. “My head was in de water.”
MR. GRAY’S STORY.
Mr. Gray’s story is interesting. His house fell and he fought his way out with a wife who was just out of a sick bed. He managed to get to the next house with her. This was the home of Ed. Hunter. That house went between 6.30 and 7, and the Hunter family was lost. Mr. Gray caught a transom, put the arm of his wife through it, and soon found that the transom belonged to the side of the house, about 20×20 feet in size. It was nothing but the side of the house made of ordinary siding and studding. He swung onto this and even now does not understand how it stood up under them.