Isaac's Storm (47 page)

Most
U.S.
newspapers,
unaware
of
the
nuances
of
the
bureau's
performance
and
inclined
in
those
days
to
be
more
accepting
of
official
dogma,
adopted
Moore's
view.
The
Boston
Herald
applauded
the
bureau
for
its
"excellent
service."
The
Buffalo,
New
York,
Courier
said
the
bureau's
forecasts
testified
to
its
"advanced
efficiency."
The
Inter-Ocean
of
Chicago,
Illinois,
wrote,
"Simple
justice
demands
public
recognition
of
the
efficiency
of
the
Chief
of
the
Meteorological
Bureau
and
his
staff."

Few
asked
the
obvious
question:
If
the
bureau
had
done
such
a
great
job,
why
did
so
many
people
die?
More
people
perished
in
Galveston
than
in
any
previous
U.S.
natural
disaster
—
at
least
three
times
as
many
as
in
the
Johnstown
Flood.

SOON
AFTER
THE
storm,
Father
Gangoite
of
the
Belen
Observatory
discovered
William
Stockman's
patronizing
remarks
about
how
the
poor
ignorant
natives
of
the
islands
had
become
accustomed
to
learning
of
storms
"only
when
they
were
nearly
past."
Gangoite
brought
them
to
the
attention
of
the
Cuban
press.
In
the
wake
of
the
Galveston
storm,
Gangoite
and
Cuba's
editors
saw
the
remarks
as
highly
ironic.
The
Diario
de
la
Marina
noted
that
the
Cuban
public
always
gave
"greater
credence"
to
Gangoite's
forecasts,
and
that
the
facts
justified
this
attitude.

"An
example?"
the
editors
asked.
"Here
is
a
recent
one.
The
same
day
that
the
Weather
Bureau
published
in
the
newspapers
of
Havana
that
the
last
hurricane
had
reached
the
Atlantic,
the
Belen
Observatory
said
in
the
same
papers
that
the
center
had
crossed
the
eastern
portion
of
the
island
and
that
it
would
undoubtedly
reach
Texas.
A
few
hours
later
the
first
telegraphic
announcement
of
the
ravages
of
the
cyclone
in
Galveston
was
received."

The
editorial
concluded:
"As
this
occurrence
is
very
recent
it
affords
a
most
delightful
opportunity
for
the
verification
of
what
has
just
been
published
in
the
U.S.,
that
until
the
establishment
of
the
Weather
Bureau
in
Havana,
forecasts
relating
to
hurricanes
were
unknown
by
the
people
of
Cuba."

Six
days
after
the
storm,
the
War
Department,
apparendy
fed
up
with
Stockman
and
Colonel
Dunwoody,
revoked
the
ban
on
Cuban
weather
cables.
Moore
was
furious.
In
a
letter
to
the
secretary
of
agriculture,
he
fumed,
"I
know
that
there
have
been
many
secret
influences
at
work
to
embarrass
the
Weather
Bureau.
I
regret
that
the
restriction
that
heretofore
has
been
placed
on
the
transmission
of
private
observations
and
forecasts
over
the
Government
lines
has
been
removed."
He
turned
petulant.
"It
is
apparent
to
me
and
to
every
ranking
officer
...
in
the
West
Indies
that
the
people
do
not
appreciate
our
service,
that
the
only
thing
they
want
is
to
kick
us
and
say
good-bye."

By
way
of
retribution,
he
asked
permission
to
halt
the
bureau's
climate
and
crop
service
in
Cuba
and
to
move
the
headquarters
of
the
West
Indies
hurricane
network
out
of
Havana.
He
also
wanted
authorization
"not
to
issue
hurricane
warnings
to
any
part
of
Cuba
so
long
as
the
War
Department
permits
the
transmission
over
Government
lines
of
irresponsible
weather
information."

THERE
WAS
A
point
where
families
knew
their
missing
members
were
gone
for
good,
although
different
people
reached
that
point
at
different
times.
Children
reached
it
last
of
all.
There
were
miracles
still,
like
Anna
Delz,
sixteen
years
old,
who
had
been
washed
to
the
mainland
and
mourned
for
dead
until
a
week
later
she
finally
made
her
way
back
to
Galveston.
Stories
like
this
were
heartening,
especially
if
you
concentrated
on
the
joy
the
newfound
survivors
brought
to
their
families
and
friends,
but
they
also
were
distressing,
especially
for
parents
who
knew
their
spouses
were
dead
but
whose
children
saw
each
new
miracle
as
a
sign
that
their
own
mothers
or
fathers
might
also
return.

Isaac
knew
Cora
was
dead.
He
knew
it
on
a
rational,
scientific
level.
Even
so,
he
needed
to
find
her,
lest
a
part
of
him
always
wonder
where
she
was,
and
a
very
tiny
part
of
him
always
wonder
whether
she
was
even
dead.
He
needed
to
find
her
also
for
the
sake
of
his
children.
They
still
believed
their
mother
one
day
would
walk
through
the
door
and
scoop
them
into
her
arms.
Litde
Esther
was
the
most
open
about
it,
wondering
aloud
when
her
mama
would
come
home.
The
eldest,
Allie
May,
tried
to
act
adult
and
maternal,
but
Isaac
knew
that
on
some
level
she
too
believed
her
mother
would
come
back.
The
children
prayed
for
this.
At
night
he
often
woke
to
hear
one
or
another
of
his
daughters
crying
in
her
sleep.
Sometimes
they
cried
upon
wakening.
Freud
said,
"The
dreams
of
young
children
are
pure
wish-fulfillments
and
are
for
that
reason
quite
uninteresting
compared
with
the
dreams
of
adults.
They
raise
no
problems
for
solution."

At
the
office,
things
quickly
returned
to
normal.
Isaac,
Joseph,
and
John
Blagden
received
commendations;
Ernest
Kuhnel,
the
deserter,
was
dropped
from
the
rolls.
New
instruments
arrived
and
the
men
returned
to
making
their
routine
daily
observations.
Pyres
burned
everywhere.
Work
crews
erected
scores
of
new
homes.
The
Rollfings
found
one
and
moved
in.
The
scent
of
fresh-cut
lumber
diluted
the
scent
of
death.
Cotton
began
flowing
through
the
port,
no
doubt
to
Houston's
dismay.
Squads
of
men
hacked
away
at
the
immense
spine
of
debris
that
had
come
to
a
halt
on
Avenue
Q.
What
was
so
striking
was
the
quiet.
The
men
did
not
have
jackhammers
and
chain
saws,
of
course.
Only
axes,
hammers,
handsaws,
and
crowbars.
They
burned
the
wreck
in
segments,
after
salvaging
intact
sinks,
lamps,
stoves,
coffeepots,
pans,
even
commodes,
figuring
someone
might
need
them.
The
Red
Cross
gave
out
food
and
clothing,
but
found
much
of
its
supply
of
donated
clothing
unusable,
either
too
warm
for
the
climate
or
too
shabby,
clearly
the
discards
of
distant
souls
who
believed
survivors
were
in
no
position
to
be
picky.
Someone
donated
a
case
of
fancy
women's
shoes,
but
all
144
shoes
were
for
the
left
foot,
samples
once
carried
by
a
shoe-company
traveler.
Contributions
slowed.
Discord
rose.
Barton
was
accused
of
withholding
clothing
from
Galveston's
destitute
blacks,
and
of
squandering
money
in
payments
to
members
of
the
Relief
Committee.
The
Palmetto
Post
of
Port
Royal,
South
Carolina,
called
her
a
vulture.
None
of
it
fazed
her.
The
same
thing
occurred
at
every
disaster
she
attended.
"It
is,"
she
wrote,
"an
unfortunate
trait
in
the
human
character
to
assail
or
asperse
others
engaged
in
the
performance
of
humanitarian
acts."

Throughout
September,
bodies
emerged
from
the
wreckage
at
a
rate
of
over
one
hundred
per
day.
Two
hundred
seventy-three
bodies
came
forth
on
September
19.
The
next
day's
News
speculated,
"It
is
possible,
but
highly
improbable,
that
the
list
of
storm
victims
will
aggregate
6000
souls."
As
the
days
passed,
identification
became
impossible,
unless
the
dead
happened
to
wear
some
clearly
distinctive
piece
of
jewelry
or
clothing.

Toward
evening
on
September
30
a
demolition
gang
assigned
to
help
dismande
the
spine
of
wreckage
that
still
stretched
from
one
end
of
the
city
to
the
other
began
working
in
the
vicinity
of
28th
and
Avenue
P.
They
took
on
only
a
small
portion
at
a
time.
To
think
in
terms
of
the
whole
was
simply
too
disheartening.
They
saw
the
world
not
in
acres,
but
in
cubic
yards.

As
they
dug
through
the
rubble
the
now-familiar
scent
of
decomposition
became
stronger.
None
was
surprised
by
this.
The
spine
had
proven
from
the
start
to
be
a
rich
seam
of
corpses.

The
wall
of
a
house
had
come
to
rest
here.
They
disassembled
it
and
stacked
the
reusable
lumber
and
siding
in
a
great
pile.
Underneath
they
found
a
dress
tangled
in
the
debris,
and
within
the
clothing,
the
remains
of
a
woman.
The
woman
wore
a
wedding
ring,
and
a
diamond
engagement
ring.

What
happened
next
is
unclear.
It
is
possible
something
in
the
debris
signaled
to
the
men
that
the
house
had
belonged
to
Dr.
I.
M.
Cline,
the
weatherman,
and
that
the
men
then
dispatched
someone
to
bring
him
to
the
scene.
It
is
also
possible
Isaac
was
already
there,
waiting,
having
long
ago
considered
the
possibility
that
his
wife's
body
might
have
come
to
rest
near
where
he
and
the
children
had
floated
to
safety.
By
then
Isaac
would
have
established
a
routine
that
he
followed
every
day,
a
scientific
approach
to
the
search
that
began
with
the
News,
and
ended
each
evening
with
a
tour
of
likely
places
where
his
wife
might
have
lain.
He
probably
justified
it
as
good
exercise.

Isaac
recognized
the
ring.
Something
closed
in
his
heart
and
a
kind
of
peace
rose
within
him,
like
a
flush
of
embarrassment.
"Even
in
death,"
he
wrote,
years
later,
"she
had
traveled
with
us
and
near
us
through
the
storm."

The
work
crew
did
not
burn
her
body
—
further
evidence
that
Isaac
was
present
during
or
soon
after
its
discovery.
The
body
was
transported
to
the
city's
Lakeview
Cemetery.
On
October
4,
1900,
as
the
weather
began
to
cool,
Isaac
and
his
daughters,
and
Joseph,
gathered
on
the
cemetery's
grounds,
at
Block
47,
Lot
E,
1/2
of
3,
and
watched
as
a
coffin
bearing
Cora
May
Bellew
Cline
was
lowered
slowly
into
the
earth.