Still the gruesome work of recovering the dead from the gigantic mass of debris that lines the south side of what remains of the city goes on. Yesterday 107 bodies were recovered and cremated. Among them was a mother with a baby tightly clasped to her breast. As the body of the mother was moved the body of the baby rolled off. In this imperative necessity of the dispatch of the dead tragic scenes are witnessed that move the stoutest hearts.
THE INDESCRIBABLE SUNDAY SERVICES.
The body of Major W. T. Levy, United States Immigrant Agent of this district, was among the number. He made a gallant struggle to save his wife and three children. All were lost, and the bodies of the wife and children have not been recovered. They are still among the uninterred dead, and when found will be disposed of as the father and husband has been.
What pen can describe the religious service on Sunday? Houses of worship ruined, congregations scattered and in despair, yet all those who survived gathered in impromptu temples and in sorrow and grief prayed for loved ones gone, and in humble thanksgiving offered up their hearts for their own preservation. The scene at the little chapel in St. Mary’s University was pitiful in the extreme, the Sacred Heart Church lying in ruins, the Jesuit fathers threw open their private chapel to those who formerly worshipped in this once magnificent church. Within this meagre little chapel none could for a moment lose sight of what now existed here; many of those who received the communion from the priests’ hands know no home other than this same building; children came to this sacrifice of the mass barefooted and hatless, even their expressions showed the awe struck feeling which shrouded all.
At the low mass no sermon was preached, no word spoken, all prayer was in silence, nothing but the words of the mass was heard, as each heart poured forth in feeling deep and still their thanksgiving. The environments there each told the sad, sad story. On the lower floor of this chapel were the destitute waiting for the food supply to be given them, this in itself the saddest picture the miseries of life can sketch. On the same floor with the chapel are the priests’ rooms, now the hospital wards, everywhere the sick being tended by skillful hands, looked wistfully at the passer-by. Thus in this one corner of the university, the whole effect of the tragedy is enacted; the hungry, the homeless, the ill, and above all these earthly miseries, the kneeling before the throne of God in submission and prayer.
A GLORIOUS RECORD.
There has yet to come to light any tale of brutality; those who spent the night of the storm battling the waves never witnessed a selfish act; this in itself is a glorious record to hallow the event. Man after man secure in his own house, hearing the cry for help plunged out in the fury to rescue the helpless ones; oftentimes this was attended with loss of life to the rescuer. There was no question of kin or color that awful night, the ties of a common sorrow united all, and not only was man with his intellect and strength the courageous one; children who could have been rescued would not be taken from their loving ones, and as for the mothers who sought death with their little ones such tales as these are as manifold as the waves of the sea.
Nor were the humbler animals forgotten, many instances are known where men wading waist deep in water holding their wives and children above the water, found hands somewhere for the household dog. One young lady, a society girl, when forced to abandon her home gave no thought to silken finery and jewels, but waded in water nearly to her shoulders holding fast in her arms a large sized sky-terrier. Nor was this devotion only from man to animal, it was equal if only all were known.
One dog, we call him “Hero,” as there is none to tell us otherwise, is truly a hero worthy the Legion of Honor. This four-footed hero is a small-sized Newfoundland, and in the storm he was cast adrift on Seventh and Broadway, with his master, an old gentleman about seventy years of age. Around Hero’s neck is a stout black collar; to this the old gentleman clung. Hero did the rest, he swam pulling along his old master from Seventh to Fourteenth streets, where they found a house standing with veranda piled with debris but intact, and into a sheltered corner of this the dog dragged the man for safety. Both were alive, the old gentleman was much bruised, but his mind was active, and his only grief was for the loss of his wife and daughter, for save the dog he had no one.