I Survived the Galveston Hurricane, 1900 Read online

  Then he would pull the cockroach from his pocket, wave it in front of Gordon’s eyes, and whip it right up next to Gordon’s ear. He’d make sure Gordon felt the creature’s spindly legs and antennae on his ear.

  But then Charlie would secretly let the cockroach slip back into his palm, a French drop. Gordon would think the cockroach had vanished — into his skull.

  Gordon would be good and spooked, and Charlie would finish off the trick.

  “I will remove the cockroach from your brain,” he’d say. “If you vow never to bother me again. I’ll give you five seconds to decide — before the cockroach can lay its eggs.”

  That egg-laying part — Charlie was especially proud of that touch.

  If — when — Gordon swore to leave Charlie alone, Charlie would reach up to Gordon’s ear and pretend to pluck something out. Finally, he would reveal the cockroach that had supposedly been inside Gordon’s skull.

  Charlie smiled to himself now as he made his way along the crowded sidewalk. He wasn’t even that scared. Still, his heart was really thumping. His whole body seemed to be vibrating. His ears echoed with a low, pounding boom.

  Ba-ROOM, ba-ROOM, ba-ROOM.

  But it wasn’t his heart.

  Charlie realized this as soon as the beach came into view. He stared ahead, his eyes wide. That sound … it was coming from the Gulf of Mexico. Even from ten blocks away, he could see them.

  Waves. Giant waves. Bigger even than in the pictures of Hawaii.

  He blinked hard, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks. Was this some kind of mirage?

  But no. They were waves, towering up, foaming, crashing down.

  Ba-ROOM.

  Ba-ROOM.

  Ba-ROOM.

  He stared in amazement, almost hypnotized. He’d been born in Galveston. He’d spent half his life on this beach. He’d been through dozens of storms.

  Bu he’d never seen anything like this.

  There was a big overflow, even bigger than the one that he and Sarah had played in a few days ago. People were lined up on the sidewalk on the edge of the water. Excited voices rose up over the thundering roar of the waves.

  “Look at those huge rollers!” a man shouted, pointing at the waves.

  “Incredible!” cried a woman.

  “Mama!” a little boy squealed. “Take me closer!”

  Each wave towered up — as tall as Charlie’s house — and then crashed down.

  Ba-ROOM!

  Ba-ROOM!

  Ba-ROOM!

  Kids weren’t splashing and floating in the street like last time. Today’s big game was to stand on the flooded beach, wait for the waves to rise up, and sprint away before a wave could crash down over you. Lots of kids were doing this, shrieking and laughing as they ran back and forth. A few bigger kids were at least halfway down the beach.

  It looked fun — but Charlie had to admit that the waves scared him a little. The entire Gulf looked different — churning, foaming, furious.

  He thought of Lulu’s cloud monster. And what Sarah had said about how people once blamed storms on angry gods and goddesses.

  Watching the crashing sea, it was easy for Charlie to imagine Poseidon standing above on a cloud, his long beard whipping in the wind, raising his arms to create each wave.

  Ba-ROOM!

  Ba-ROOM!

  Ba-ROOM!

  Charlie’s stomach did a flip. Poseidon seemed very angry.

  But no one else seemed worried. The whoops and claps of the excited crowd got louder with each enormous wave.

  Charlie felt almost hypnotized by the waves — until he spotted a tall, beefy kid in the middle of the beach, one of the risk-takers closer to the Gulf. Even from the back, Charlie could tell his chest was puffed out.

  Gordon.

  Before he could lose his nerve, Charlie reached into his pocket. He plucked a cockroach from the box. He tucked the insect into his palm, locking it into place like he’d practiced. His hand was shaking — bad.

  He waited for a lull between the waves — the big ones came every two minutes or so — then he took his chance. His knees wobbled as he waded onto the beach, where the water came up to his thighs.

  The wind pushed against his back like an invisible hand.

  Go. Go. Go.

  Before he knew it, he was standing behind Gordon Potts. He took a breath and tapped Gordon on the shoulder. Gordon looked at Charlie with surprise, and then his usual sneer.

  “What do you want, twerp?” He practically spat the question.

  Charlie opened his mouth. But the words he’d practiced were all gummed up on his tongue.

  “Did you know … ?” His voice was high and squeaky. “An ancient trick … cockroaches …”

  Charlie’s hand was suddenly slick with sweat. The cockroach slipped out and plopped into the water.

  He looked up at Gordon, who seemed ready to pounce.

  What had Charlie been thinking? He needed to get out of here. Now!

  Some kids around them had the same idea. Most were laughing, but a few were shouting.

  “Look out!”

  “It’s a big one!”

  And then the sky seemed to disappear above Charlie as a giant wave towered up, bigger than any that had come before. It rose higher, higher, higher …

  Charlie and Gordon turned to run. But this wave was too fast and too big. Charlie barely had enough time to take a breath before the wall of water curled over and swallowed him up.

  The churning, gritty water was everywhere at once — over Charlie, under Charlie, up his nose, down his throat. The salt water stung his cut lip.

  Luckily the twisting ride didn’t last long. The wave spat him off the beach. He rolled. He stopped just before he smacked into the edge of the raised sidewalk. He pulled himself up, amazed he wasn’t hurt. He’d torn the knee of his trousers, but that was it.

  Three younger kids had also been swept here by the wave.

  “Let’s do that again!” screamed the littlest one, and they all took off back toward the beach.

  Charlie glanced nervously around — scanning for Gordon. But he didn’t spot him. Hopefully the wave had carried him all the way to Hawaii.

  But no. Gordon had to be somewhere close. A sickening feeling swirled in his stomach. He had to get out of here before Gordon found him.

  But first he had to catch his breath. Charlie climbed up onto the sidewalk and stood behind three young men. All around him, people were still cheering as the waves crashed down. These men screamed and clapped at each wave like they were at a baseball game.

  But then an angry shout interrupted them.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  Charlie turned as an old man in a green hat hobbled toward them. Charlie was surprised to see it was Mr. Early, Grandpa’s friend. He didn’t seem to notice Charlie.

  “This is a hurricane!” he scolded the men.

  The word — hurricane. It jarred Charlie, as if Mr. Early had cursed.

  The four men eyed one another.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” said the loudest of the group. “Hurricanes can’t hit us here in Galveston.” He was talking to Mr. Early as if the old man were a toddler like Lulu.

  “That’s dead wrong!” Mr. Early growled. He frowned, as if he’d argued about this before. “A hurricane nearly destroyed the whole island in 1837. That was before Galveston was even a city. But I was here back then. I was right here, and I remember it.”

  He looked off into the distance.

  “The wind tore houses apart. Water was everywhere, even where it had never gone before. And then the sea suddenly rose up, swallowed the entire island. So many lost …”

  Mr. Early’s voice trailed off. A strong gust of wind lifted his hat off his head, but the old man didn’t notice. He seemed like he was far away from here in his mind. Charlie reached up and snatched the hat from the air before it blew away.

  The men eyed Mr. Early impatiently — he’d interrupted their fun. The loud man signaled to his two budd
ies, and they moved farther down the sidewalk.

  Mr. Early didn’t notice that, either.

  “That tree — that’s how I got through. I climbed up. Somehow I managed to hang on until the sun came up. And when the storm was done, there was nothing left. Nothing at all.”

  He stood there, staring at the waves, his thin white hair blowing in the wind.

  Charlie waited until he was sure Mr. Early was done with his story.

  “Mr. Early,” Charlie said finally, speaking up over the gusts. “Here’s your hat.”

  Mr. Early looked surprised. He took his hat, put it on, and smiled at Charlie.

  “Do I know you, son?”

  Charlie didn’t know what to say. Of course Charlie knew him. Charlie had joined him and Grandpa on a few fishing trips. But then Charlie understood — Mr. Early’s memory must be slipping away from him. The same had happened to Grandpa before he passed away.

  I should help him get home, Charlie thought. But then Mr. Early tipped his hat and hobbled away. And before Charlie could go after him, a chorus of gasps rose up from the crowd.

  “The Pagoda!” a woman shouted.

  Charlie whipped around and stared out at the Pagoda … or what was left of it. Waves were attacking the building, clawing it, ripping it to pieces. The roof cracked apart. The long walkway twisted and split in two.

  Charlie remembered once seeing a pack of dogs fighting over the body of a squirrel. The terrible snarls and growls. The swiping claws and bared teeth. The hunks of fur that flew through the air.

  That’s what the ocean looked like now — a pack of wild beasts, devouring a carcass. Soon nothing would be left of the Pagoda but its scattered bones.

  A chill slowly rose through Charlie’s body.

  Mr. Early’s story … could it be true?

  The cheering had stopped, and it had started to rain.

  The wind gusted even harder.

  Whoosh!

  A wave crashed.

  Ba-ROOM.

  Mr. Cline said that it was impossible for a hurricane to hit Galveston. But Mr. Early said he’d lived through one. Charlie suddenly didn’t know what to think.

  He turned and ran.

  He had to get home, now.

  Charlie tried to walk fast, but the wind was getting stronger, and it was pushing hard against him. He shouldered his way forward, his head down. It had started to pour.

  But as he made his way farther from the beach, he noticed that everything seemed … normal. Carriages and buggies rattled by like always. Kids stomped through puddles. The streetcar’s jolly ding, ding, ding echoed from nearby.

  And back home it seemed like just a typical rainy Saturday. He found his family in the kitchen. Mama was baking her famous gingersnaps. Papa was sitting at the table, organizing his tools. He was getting ready to start a big new building job on Monday.

  Lulu was sitting next to Papa, her face sticky from the cookie-dough-covered spoon she was licking.

  “Chowie!” Lulu sang to him when he walked into the kitchen.

  Mama took one look at him and gasped. “Goodness! You’re soaked!” she exclaimed, rushing out quickly and returning with a blanket.

  “The Pagoda is gone,” Charlie said as Mama wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.

  “Gone?” Mama gasped. “What do you mean?”

  “The waves at the beach are … huge. I’ve never seen the Gulf so rough,” Charlie said. “They tore it apart.”

  He thought of those wild dogs again.

  “How terrible!” Mama said.

  Papa let out a long whistle and shook his head. He didn’t look shocked, though.

  “Every few years a big storm comes along,” he said. “Some buildings get damaged. A few might get swept away. It’s the price we pay for living on this beautiful island. They’ll rebuild right away. They’ll make the Pagoda even stronger. You’ll see.”

  Charlie still felt uneasy.

  “Could this be … a hurricane?” Charlie asked.

  “Of course not,” Papa said.

  “What that?” Lulu asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

  Mama raised her eyebrows with alarm, signaling to Papa and Charlie to stop the discussion — now. Of course she was right, Charlie knew. Hurricane was not a word any two-year-old needed to learn. Especially Lulu.

  Mama wiped Lulu’s hands and face and took her off for a nap.

  Charlie started to follow them. He felt silly. And he needed to change his clothes.

  But Papa waved for him to come back. He put down his screwdriver and pushed aside his big toolbox as Charlie sat next to him. He was cold, but being closer to Papa warmed him up.

  “You all right, son?”

  No, Charlie wanted to say. And he realized it wasn’t only those giant waves and the torn-apart Pagoda that was making him feel sick. It was Gordon. But he couldn’t tell Papa that.

  “Big storms can be fierce,” Papa said, taking hold of Charlie’s hand. “I’ve told you all about the big storm we had in 1886.”

  Charlie nodded — Papa told that story as often as Grandpa talked about the Texas Revolution. It was a huge storm. Streets all along the beach flooded. The bay flooded, too. There was so much water downtown that ships were sailing in the streets.

  “What I’ve never admitted to you, or anyone, is that I was completely terrified,” Papa said.

  He peeked out the doorway, like he wanted to make sure Mama wasn’t listening.

  “I was maybe seventeen years old. A big show-off. Nothing scared me!” He smiled a little and then shook his head. “But the sound of that wind, and all that water. I was so scared I got into bed and huddled under the covers.”

  He chuckled softly.

  “I was just like Lulu. I’m surprised I didn’t hide under the bed.”

  Charlie cracked a smile, even though he could tell Papa wasn’t kidding.

  “I somehow managed to fall asleep,” Papa went on. “And when I woke up? The sun was shining. We’d lost some tree branches. There was a mess in the yard. But we cleaned it all up.”

  The wind let out a big blast, and the window rattled.

  Papa looked at it and waved his hand like he was shooing a fly. “This will be over soon. Don’t worry.”

  Charlie took a breath. The air smelled like gingersnaps.

  “Now, hurry up and change out of those wet clothes,” Papa said. “Or Mama’s going to make you wipe all the water off the kitchen floor.”

  Charlie felt much better. He changed, ignoring the sounds of the pounding rain and howling wind. Luckily there was no thunder. He peeked in on Lulu — she’d fallen right to sleep.

  He figured he’d help Papa with his tools, but first he needed to use the privy. Never fun in weather like this. He opened the back door. The fierce wind sent a stinging spray of rain right into his eyes. He blinked hard as he took four steps to the privy and grabbed hold of the door handle.

  The wooden handle felt slimy and lumpy. He figured it was clumps of mud. But then the lumps started to squirm under his fingers … they were alive!

  Charlie jumped back in horror. Something shot toward him and slapped him on the cheek. It made a noise, a croaking hiss.

  “Ahhhhh!” Charlie cried out.

  He looked around, and now he could see that there were brown lumps everywhere. On every rock, tree stump, and stick. He looked down. There was one on his boot!

  It had big, bulging eyes.

  Charlie’s shouts brought Mama and Papa out the back door.

  Charlie stood there, pointing. “They’re … fffffrogs!”

  Small brown frogs. The kind they always saw in the grass or the fishing creeks or the street gutters after an overflow. There was nothing weird about seeing frogs — even three or four at once. But there were hundreds here!

  “Goodness!” Mama said.

  “Look at that!” Papa said. “I’m sure they’re just trying to get off the wet ground. This rain is really coming down.”

  Papa wasn’t worried, and even M
ama just shook her head.

  “Go quickly and come right back,” she said to Charlie.

  Charlie went into the privy and tried not to think about how many frogs might be watching him. He did his business — quick — and hurried inside. He went into his room and closed the door. He had to change again.

  Could this day get any weirder? He just wanted this storm to end. He decided to take Papa’s advice and get into bed. He lay there a long time — it seemed like hours. But he couldn’t fall asleep. So finally he cracked open his Meraki book. He turned to a random page and started reading about a young magician Meraki had met in New York City. His name was Harry Houdini.

  He calls himself an escape artist, and he has a remarkable act. He can free himself from any rope or chain, no matter how tightly it is knotted. I am certain he uses no blade or any tool. He wouldn’t tell his secret. But he did say one must not panic or struggle when trying to get free from a rope. That will only make a knot tighter.

  Whoooooosh!

  Wow! That was a big gust. The whole house shook. Charlie put the book down. Even Meraki couldn’t distract him from this storm. And it made him nervous lying here alone.

  He found Mama and Papa in the sitting room. Mama was mending Charlie’s torn trousers. Papa was now sorting through his box of nails. It was barely three o’clock, but it was so dark outside they’d lit the lanterns.

  “Gingersnaps are done,” Mama said, pointing to a small plate on the coffee table. “Help yourself.”

  Charlie felt too queasy to eat one.

  He went to the front window and peered out. Through the thick curtain of rain, he saw the dark steel-gray clouds tumbling around in the sky. They hung so low Charlie felt like he could reach up and grab one.

  Whooooooosh!

  The house shook, even harder than before. But Mama and Papa didn’t even look up from their work.

  Charlie peered out into the street. To his surprise, he saw rushing water. Had he ever seen so much water in the street in front of their house? Not that he could remember.

  “Papa,” he said. “There’s a lot of water in the street.”

  Papa glanced up from his nails. “Makes sense, son,” he said. “I haven’t seen it rain this hard in years. I’ll bet there are some pretty big puddles out there.”