Annie Laurie

San Francisco Examiner/September 17, 1900

Surgeons and Nurses Doing Heroic Work

We took care of 150 people at Houston Hospital last night. Out of these 150 people 100 are seriously ill and 50 were hungry, dazed and worn out with the days of misery and distress. We are only just beginning to find out what this awful calamity has been to people in this vicinity.

The first shock is wearing off, the long lists of dead and missing are getting to be an old story now and the sick and suffering are crawling into our places of refuge. Some of them have been sleeping on the open prairies ever since the storm—most of them, in fact; men with broken arms and broken legs, sick women and ailing children. They crawl out of the wreck of their homes and lie down on the bare ground to die. 

Our relief corps are finding them and bringing them as fast as they can. Dr. Johnson and his party came in from the Galveston district last night and reported that they found over 5,000 people and attended medically about 200 patients. While we were standing at the door of the hospital talking things over a man rode up on horseback. He threw his arm up to attract our attention. 

“Is this the ‘Journal’ Relief Hospital?” he said. 

Dr. Johnson told him that it was.

“I’ve come in from Brazos Bottoms,” he said. “The folks there are starving. There is not a pound of flour left and the children are crying for milk. There are so many sick people there that we don’t know what to do. Can you send someone down?” 

Dr. Johnson had not slept for twenty-four hours. He had not had time to get a decent meal for thirty-six hours. He was worn out and travel-stained, but he heard what the man told him.

 “All right,” he said. He picked up his coat, put on his hat and turned to his assistants.

“Come, boys,” he said, “let us go down and get the cars into shape. We’ll get down to your place, my man, just as fast as the Lord will let us.” 

The man on horseback leaned over his saddle and tried to speak. Something in his face frightened me. I called in two doctors. They ran out and caught him. He was in a dead faint. When we had brought him to he laughed sheepishly.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” he said. “Ain’t never been taken this way before.” 

The doctors looked at each other and smiled, but the nurse’s eyes were full of tears. The man had not tasted food for thirty-six hours, and he had ridden fifty miles in the broiling sun of Texas. 

Dr. Crossways and his men are down the island, relieving the sick and burying the dead. 

“Alkali Ike” they called Dr. Crossways. That is because he is tall and rawboned and comes from Texas himself. 

If a man gets a nickname in this part or the world you may know that he is loved. The women and children who came from the district where “Alkali Ike” is working know his name, and their eyes fill with grateful tears at the mention of it. 

The hospital at Galveston is well started. The corps is effectively organized, and we hear from Herd that they are doing splendid work. Our own hospital here in Houston is in shipshape condition. 

This is no ordinary hospital work. People come crowding to the doors, and nearly all night they come. Some of them are hungry, some of them are sick, some of them are hunting for missing friends, and some are merely curious. Some are neighbors who come to offer help, some are women bringing delicacies to offer to the sick. It takes the entire time of three persons to attend to this crowd of visitors intelligently. We are keeping records of every case entered at the hospital—the name and age and final disposition of the case. These names and the facts concerning them are kept on the books for reference, so that people are easily identified, and so that anyone who has contributed to the fund can investigate and find out just exactly what became of the money he gave. 

It is hard to pick out a case in the hospital which does not deserve special attention. A man was brought in yesterday with three ribs broken. They were broken the night of the storm, he having been working ever since, burying the dead. A young man was carried to the hospital on a stretcher late last night who had been wandering up and down the island for the last three days trying to find the body of his young wife. He found and buried over forty bodies which had been overlooked by the burying committee, but he did not find his wife. He is lying out at the hospital now in a merciful stupor. 

A boy of twelve was brought in who has been suffering untold agony from an injury for four days. He has not had a soul to help or to speak to him and all he has had to eat in that time was a handful of crackers. A woman came in at 11 o’clock last night. She had a baby in her arms and three children hanging to her skirts. They had none of them tasted food for nearly three days. 

A young girl was brought in by one of the outside corps at 9 o’clock last night. The relief corps found her huddled up in an empty freight car, laughing and singing to amuse herself. The doctors say food and care is all she needs to restore her to reason. 

Three-fourths of the people who come in are mentally dull. The physicians say with proper care that most of them can be cured.

Dr. Muller of Chicago has gone to Galveston this morning to organize a stretcher brigade to carry those who are unable to sit up out of Galveston. A man from Galveston told me this morning that “The Examiner,” “Journal” and “American” forces had done more good there in one day than all the unorganized efforts had been able to achieve in a week. 

Dr. Mortimer Frank has charge of transportation in and out of Houston. He and his corps of men are stationed at the depots. They meet all trains and take charge of any who need attention. Dr. Frank treated six patients at the station in one hour’s time yesterday. He has charge of all the ambulances and he sees that all incoming patients are promptly sent to the hospital. People know our men now. The moment any one is taken sick in a crowd from the train the bystanders begin to shout, “Where’s the ‘Journal’ doctor?”

At a conservative estimate it is believed that the corps have already saved hundreds of lives; there are 50,000 sick and wounded people in Galveston to be taken care of. The scattered villages of the storm-swept coast are only just beginning to be heard from. The inhabitants hail our relief trains as messengers almost of divinity.