“Many who passed through the recent storm will leave, but commerce knows no such thing as an insurmountable obstacle. The commerce of the West demands the port; Galveston will be rebuilt, by new people largely, seeking and embracing the business opportunities offered. Lots will be staked out, houses more substantial in structure erected. The whole Atlantic Ocean might roll over New York and it would roll off again, leaving the city unscathed. Manhattan island originally was no more secure than Galveston island, and Galveston island in time will be rendered just as safe as Manhattan is to-day.”
CHAPTER XXI.
Unparalleled Bombardment of Waves—Wonderful Courage Shown by the Survivors—Letter From Clara Barton.
A visitor to Galveston thus gives his impressions on the 12th day after the great flood:
“For two days after the great catastrophe, the people of the city of Galveston were stunned. They seem to be dazed. It is a remarkable thing that there were no signs of outward grief in the way of tears and groans to mark the misery that raged in the breasts of the people. Only when some person who was thought to have been dead, appeared to a relative living who had mourned for him or her, were there any tears. There was a callousness about all this that attracted the attention of those who had just come to the unfortunate place. There was a stoicism in it. But it was unexplainable. It indicated no lack of appreciation of what had occurred.
“It demonstrated no lack of affection for those who had gone. Nature, generous in this instance, came to their relief in a way and made them dull to the seriousness of what had occurred, to an extent which prevented them from becoming maniacs. For, if the grief which comes to a mortal when he loses a dear one, had come to this whole community, the island would have been filled with raving maniacs. In case of individual losses, there is always some one near to give consolation. Had the grief came to the whole island, there could have been no consolation, for every soul on it had lost in some way that which was dear to it.
“‘The case is just like the afterthoughts of those who have participated in a great battle,’ said an old soldier to me. ‘If a popular man was lost on the picket line, there were tears for him, but when the time came for all to be mowed down, the horror of it dulled the sensibilities of those who survived.’
“I was talking to an estimable and bright woman on the subject. She had lost members of her family, though not immediate ones. She said to me: ‘I study myself and am overcome at myself. I know what has happened. I know the losses. I have lost some of the members of my family, though they are not blood kin. I have lost the dearest friends of my life. And yet I have not shed a tear. My eyes are hot. I would give anything to cry, but it looks as if the fountains were dried. I am ashamed of my seeming indifference to this horrible thing and the loss of those who were so dear to me. But I cannot cry. I know that I suffer, but it looks so cruel to sit here with dry eyes and without any other evidence of the deep sorrow that fills my bosom.’
“I talked to one man and asked him how many people he had lost. He had saved his daughter and her child. All the rest, amounting to three souls, were gone. But they were dry. He spoke in a low voice, but it did not tremble. He was agonized—I saw that—but his mind was unable to grasp the true meaning of his loss, and when he had finished he asked if I had a match about me.”
THE SAME BELL.
“Up to Thursday night there had been no sleep in the city. True, exhausted nature had thrown men and women and children on their beds and they had closed their eyes and the physical strain had been to some degree relieved, but the mental strain was still at the breaking point. One man said that on Thursday morning he was awakened by the convent bell summoning the living to mass. It was the same bell that had rung or tinkled in the tone since the day of the storm.