by Edward M. Sledge |
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Sister Elizabeth Ryan pulled the horses to a stop at the side of the road, looking over the weathered rail fence and down the stretch of beach to the crystal blue waters of the gulf. Another gorgeous day on God’s green Earth. She watched the early risers already down by the water, running through the high tide and leaping the crashing waves even though it was scarcely past nine. A sudden gust from the north caught the edge of her wimple and flipped the edge up over her head. Mr. and Mrs. Jenson walked past on their way to the beach as she fought to straighten the errant wimple out. With a smile, she waved to the young couple and lightly slapped the reigns against the horses’ rumps. “Hyah there, Faith. Git up, Charity,” she said. As the wagon rattled forward, she began to hum softly an old French hymn she hadn’t heard in ages. <> <> <> <> <> <> <>“But Mother Gabriel, I must go back,” Sister Elizabeth insisted, climbing up into the wagon seat, one hand firmly holding her wimple in place as she groped for the reigns. The wind had really come up while she was collecting the provisions for the orphanage. “I really think it best that you stay here at the Infirmary until this weather blows over,” Mother Gabriel said again from the doorway. Pages from that morning’s newspaper fluttered past and were plastered against a telephone pole before being ripped away by the furious gusts. The lines and wires overhead, first in the whole state of Texas, creaked and swayed. “If I do not go, there will be no supper for the children,” Sister Elizabeth reminded her, turning the wagon for St. Mary’s Orphans Asylum. “I will be fine.” “God be with you,” the assistant superior called after her as she rattled away. Head down, she trusted the horses to find their way down the familiar path. The crashing roar of the waves brought her head up as they passed the spot where they had paused that morning. The pleasant view of the sea was no longer as the waves raced up the beach, cutting away the low dunes and dragging the sand back to the depths. The tide was higher than she had ever seen it, the water more than halfway up the beach. If it rose any higher, the whole town could be flooded. The highest hill was only eight feet above the sea. Suddenly, Isaac Cline, Galveston’s meteorologist, thundered by on his chestnut horse, the mare’s hide dark with sweat. “Go home!” he shouted, waving his hat. “Get to higher ground!” Startled by the uncharacteristic behavior of this normally quiet and reserved man, Sister Elizabeth urged the horses go faster and they needed no second bidding. <> <> <> <> <> <> <>The sky had closed in, black clouds hanging low over the little island. Henry Esquior, one of the workers, rushed out to take the wagon and supplies the second Sister Elizabeth pulled the wagon up in front of the orphanage. “Get yourself inside quick, Sister,” he said. “I’ll take it from here. It’s looks to be a nasty squall.” She rushed inside, giving a sigh of relief and a silent prayer. The orphanage, with its warm wood paneling and cheery electric lamps, was a welcome sight after the gray and crashing seas reaching toward the road. The shouts and laughter of the children almost drowned out the screaming wind. “Oh, Sister, thank God you’re back!” Sister Sarah exclaimed, hurrying over to take her hands. “This wind is terrible. It shakes the boys’ dormitory something awful.” “It’ll pass, don’t worry. I got the supplies, so we can start on dinner. This storm will be over before bed, you’ll see.” She forced a smile to reassure the pale Sister. Just then, a great gust of wind rattled the windows, breaking loose a shutter to clap against the building before being ripped off. Glasses clinked against each other and pictures leaped off the walls, then the lights went out. The children screamed, Sister Sarah along with them, then silence swept through the orphanage. The wind moaned about the buildings, the weak, grainy light seeping around the shutters not quite enough light to see by. Sister Elizabeth felt her way across the room to where emergency candles and matches were set. She could hear Sisters in other rooms doing the same. The scratch of match heads echoed all around her as the golden light sprang to life. hands shaking, she lit a candle and handed it to Sister Sarah, then lit one for herself before the match went out. Candle in hand, Sister Elizabeth made her way through the first floor of the girls’ dormitory, lighting lamps as she went, until she came upon a group of girls gathered before the shutterless window. Shooing them away, she found a blanket to hang over the window, but the view through the glass nearly stopped her heart. The sea had risen right up to the dunes behind the orphanage. The waves ate away at the hills, tearing them down. This beach-front property was soon going to be without a beach. She quickly hung the blanket and hurried off to take care of her girls. <> <> <> <> <> <> <>“Hurry now, boys, quickly. Charlie, help Nathaniel, thank you.” Sister Rose herded the boys through the doorway, splashing rainwater everywhere. “We feared the boys’ dormitory wouldn’t hold up against this wind,” she explained to Sister Elizabeth. “A wise decision, Sister. This building it newer and stronger. Here, let’s take them into the chapel.” The ten sisters ushered the boys and girls into the chapel, the little room packed with the ninety children. They sat quietly, hands in laps, eyes wide and faces pale. It was unnatural. The scream of the wind whined in everyone’s ears. Some of the little ones started to cry. Sister Elizabeth felt like joining them. Instead, she began to sing. “Queen of the Waves, look forth across the ocean
It was the French hymn she had been humming earlier, Queen of the Waves. It seemed more than fitting. The children watched her, the little ones ceasing their crying. She motioned for the other Sisters to join in, their tremulous voices rising above the storm. Soon, the children began to sing, the older ones helping the younger with remembering the words. “But fear we not, tho' storm clouds round us gather,
Help, then sweet Queen, in our exceeding danger,
Up to the shrine we look and see the glimmer
Then joyful hearts shall kneel around thine altar
They finished the hymn with spirits much lifted, though the wind roared like never before. Suddenly, a cry rang out from the back of the chapel. Water was coming under the door. The first floor was being flooded, the dunes eaten up by the sea and waves still hungry for more. Quickly, everyone piled up to the second story, huddling in corners and under bedclothes as the shutters broke away and the wind beat at the window panes. God save us, Sister Elizabeth prayed silently, fear tearing at her like a wild thing, but she still put on a brave face. She started them singing the hymn again, the took Henry aside and told him to gather as much clothesline rope as he could find. The old wall clock was striking six when the first window shattered, flinging glass onto the screaming children. Rain streamed in like someone was pouring it out of a bucket. One by one, the windows broke, leaving less and less of the second floor dry. Luckily, only a few cuts and a lot of wet and frightened children resulted. Henry returned with the clothesline coiled around his arm and a report of two feet of water covering the first floor. The candles and lamps went out, leaving them to huddle in the cold and twilit gray. <> <> <> <> <> <> <>At half past seven the clock struck its last. A crashing roar shook the building as the storm surge rushed upon them. The unmistakable sound of the boys’ dormitory collapsing reached them over the storm and Sister Elizabeth braved the flying debris to watch it be swept away. The water swirled around their building as if there had never been a first floor. “Quickly,” she instructed the others over the storm, “take the line, cut it up, and use it to tie the children to your cinctures or they’ll be swept away. Little ones and girls first. The boys can climb to the roof.” She helped the Sisters tie six to eight children to themselves, then helped the older boys out the windows. Two small girls, hardly more than six, clung tightly to her, refusing to go with any of the others. There was no more rope. Sister Elizabeth took one in each arm and held on as tight as she could. “I won’t let you go,” she told them, “I promise.” The dormitory gave a great shudder and then lurched, the water lifting it from its foundation. It twisted, listing over at an angle, then the floor dropped out and the roof came down. In the dark and the cold, with the water churning all around and the dormitory crushing in on her, Sister Elizabeth held the tiny lives in her arms with all her might. <> <> <> <> <> <> <>After floating on a tree in the water for more than a day, William Murney, Frank Madera, and Albert Campbell made their way into what was left of Galveston and to the Infirmary to tell what had happened to the orphanage. They were the only survivors. Days later, people on the beach would discover the bodies of nuns and orphans half-buried in the sand. They would be laid to rest where they were found, with the children still attached. Two Sisters were found together across the bay on the mainland, Sister Rose and Sister Elizabeth, the two tiny children still held tight in Sister Elizabeth’s arms. Even in death, she had kept her promise. <> <> <> <> <> <> <>This story is based on the actual events of September 8th, 1900. Some details have been fictionalized. For the factual account, go to www.1900storm.com |