We saw what they were doing. The bodies brought in by the tide were being buried deep in the sand. Driving beyond the grave diggers we saw prostrate on the sand the stark and swollen forms of women and children and floating farther out in the tide were other bodies soon to be brought in to be buried. The waves were only the hearses bringing in the dead to be buried in the sand along the shore. It is the contemplation of such scenes as these that staggers consciousness and stings the human soul.
They told me with sad humor that what I had seen was as nothing to what I could have seen had I been here Sunday and Monday mornings. I am glad, then, that I did not come sooner, and I am sorry that I ever came at all. What I have seen has been sufficient to make me miserable to the longest day of my life, and what I have heard that I could not see and could not have seen had I been in the storm, will haunt me by day and night as long as my senses remain.
I am telling an incident repeated to me by one of the most prominent and distinguished citizens of Galveston. On Monday seven hundred bodies had been gathered in one house near the bay shore. Recognition of a single one was impossible. The bodies were swollen and decomposition was setting in rapidly. Indeed, the odor of death was on the air for blocks. What disposition should be made of this horrifying mass of human flesh was an imminent problem.
IMPOSSIBLE TO DISPOSE OF THE DEAD.
While the matter was under discussion, the committee was informed that there was no time to waste in deliberation, that some of the bodies were already bursting. It was impossible to bury them, and they could not be incinerated in that portion of the city without endangering more life and more property, as there was no water to extinguish a fire once started. It was decided to load the bodies on a barge, tow it out to sea and sink them with weights. That was the only thing to be done.
Men were called to perform this awful duty, but they quailed at the task. And who could blame them? They were told that quick action was necessary, or a pestilence might come and sweep off the balance of the living. Still they were immovable. It was no time for dallying.
A company of men with rifles at fixed bayonets were brought to the scene, and a force of men were compelled, at the point of the bayonet, to perform this sad, sad duty. One by one the dead were removed to the barge, everybody as naked as it had come into the world—men, women and children, black and white, all classes of society and station and condition, were represented in that putrid mass. The unwilling men who were performing this awful task were compelled to bind cloths about their nostrils while they were at work, and occasionally citizens passed whiskey among them to nerve them to their duty.
Who can conceive of the horror of this?
After awhile the seven hundred dead were piled upon the barge and a tug pulled them slowly out to sea. Eighteen miles out, where the sea was rolling high, amid the soughing white caps, with God’s benediction breathed in the moaning winds, all that was mortal of these seven hundred was consigned to the mystic caves of the deep.
And yet, this was but another incident of the sad tragedy of which we write.