THE ANGER OF THE SEA.
The platform which supported the photograph gallery at the Pagoda bath house was washed away. This was not a part of the original structure, and was not as strongly built as the remainder of the bath house. The bath house proper and its pier, extending out to sea, were not at that time (Saturday noon) disturbed by the waves, although the high rollers at times dashed so near the flooring of this and the other bath houses that it looked like a rise of a few inches would punch up the flooring.
The scene at the beach was grand. The sea in its anger was a sight beautiful, though awe-inspiring, to behold. Notwithstanding the wind and the driving rain, thousands of people went to the beach to behold the maddened sea, and the street cars were kept quite busy. Down town, during the early morning, when the rain was not so heavy, there seemed no apparent necessity for getting into rainy day garb to make this trip to the beach, and many people went out in their best bibs and tuckers, to their sorrow. Well dressed men and women disembarked from the cars at the beach and picked their way amid swirling pools of water and the spent waves to get into midway and to pass along to places where a good view of the sea might be obtained.
For a few minutes they succeeded in keeping feet and bodies reasonably dry, but using umbrellas counted for naught, and were soon turned wrong side out or ripped into ribbons, and their owners getting partially wet, abandoned themselves to the inevitable and went around seeing the sights, caring not for the weather, nor worrying about their good duds. Some people, with abundant foresight, appeared on the scene in bathing suits, and, of course, they were right in it from the jump.
At Twenty-fifth street the big waves rolled up the shelving beach, crossed the street railway tracks, leaving the water impounded behind the embankment. These waters backed up in the ditches and the low places of the street as far as avenue N, and the supply being ever replenished, both from the sea and from the clouds, there was no opportunity for this water to run off.
IMPOSSIBLE TO NAVIGATE.
The shell man and others of the Midway folk moved their stocks out during the morning to be on the safe side, but others, who have long been acquainted with the sea and who were less timorous, stayed by their places and kept their goods and chattels there.
At that hour the water was on a level with the wharf at pier 23, and was rapidly rising. Later it was almost impossible to navigate along the wharf front on account of the deep water and the high wind. Of course, it was wholly out of the question for any vessels to move for any purpose, and equally impossible for steamers to make an entry into the harbor. The pilot boat would not have been able to get alongside, and if any vessel approached the harbor she would have to put to sea for fear of grounding if she came too close. Several vessels are due.
No attempt at doing any business was made after noon, for it was equally out of the question to load steamers as it was to move them. If damage was done it was the result of pounding. Some cement stored on the pier head was damaged by the water washing up under it in the morning, and as it was not practicable to move it, it is a total loss.
While working with a gang of men clearing the wreckage of a large number of houses on avenue O and Center street, Mr. John Vance found a live prairie dog locked in the drawer of a bureau. It is impossible to identify the house or the name of its former occupant, as several houses were piled together in a mass of brick and timber. The bureau was pulled out of the wreckage a few feet from the ground, where it had been buried beneath about ten feet of debris. The little animal seemed none the worse from its experience of four days locked up in a drawer beneath a mountain of wreckage. It was taken home and fed by Mr. Vance, who will hold the pet for its owner if the owner survived the storm.