Isaac's Storm (24 page)

Doctors
have
long
been
tantalized
by
persistent
anecdotal
evidence
that
a
sudden,
severe
drop
in
atmospheric
pressure
can
trigger
premature
labor
and
cause
aneurysms
to
burst.
Seismologists
have
wondered
whether
such
a
decline
could
rupture
an
already-fragile
fault.
Early
observers
of
hurricanes
often
claimed
that
earthquakes
acccompanied
the
worst
storms,
but
William
Redfield
and
Lieutenant
Colonel
Reid
debunked
their
accounts,
attributing
the
tremors
to
the
interplay
of
thunder,
wind,
and
imagination.
One
later
incident,
however,
has
resisted
explanation.
On
September
1,
1923,
a
severe
typhoon
struck
Japan,
coming
ashore
first
at
Yokohama,
then
moving
to
Tokyo.
As
the
storm
raged,
an
intense
earthquake
occurred.
The
quake
crumpled
buildings
and
set
fires;
the
typhoon
whipped
the
fires
into
a
firestorm.
A
Weather
Bureau
meteorologist,
C.
F.
Brooks,
argued
that
low
pressure
and
high
water,
acting
in
concert,
might
have
caused
the
earthquake.
He
calculated
that
a
two-inch
drop
in
pressure
lessened
the
load
on
a
single
square
mile
of
land
by
roughly
two
million
tons.
At
the
same
time,
a
ten-foot
increase
in
the
depth
of
the
sea
caused
by
the
wind
pushing
water
toward
shore
increased
the
load
by
about
nine
million
tons.
The
sudden
differential,
he
argued,
might
have
been
enough
to
fracture
a
fault
line
already
stressed
to
its
limits.

The
storm
and
earthquake
together
killed
99,330
people.
Another
43,500
simply
disappeared.

No
one
in
Isaac's
time
would
have
believed
such
low
pressures
could
occur.
Until
September
1900,
any
measurement
under
29
inches
was
considered
an
error
until
proved
otherwise.

IN
GALVESTON,
THURSDAY,
Isaac
Cline
noted
in
the
station's
Daily
Journal
the
presence
of
scattered
clouds
and
fresh
northerly
winds.
He
noted,
too,
that
at
2:59
P.M.
75th
meridian
time
—
1:59
Galveston
time-he
had
received
an
advisory
from
Washington
stating
that
the
tropical
storm
was
now
"central
over
southern
Florida."
He
saw
no
cause
for
concern.

That
evening,
he
climbed
to
the
roof
of
the
Levy
Building
and
recorded
a
temperature
of
90.5,
the
highest
temperature
so
far
that
week.
The
wind,
he
saw,
was
from
the
north
at
thirteen
to
fifteen
miles
per
hour.
The
barometer
read
29.818
inches,
just
a
hair
lower
than
the
evening
before.
He
saw
scattered
clouds.
The
bureau
used
a
ten-point
cloud
scale,
with
ten
the
maximum.
He
rated
the
sky
at
four.

He
checked
to
make
sure
all
the
instruments
were
secure.
He
walked
down
to
the
office,
composed
a
coded
telegram
to
Washington,
and
gave
this
to
a
messenger.
Then
Isaac
walked
home.

Squadrons
of
fat
blue
dragonflies
zigzagged
across
his
path.
He
nodded
to
friends
and
acquaintances,
smiled
at
casual
quips
about
the
heat.
The
horses
especially
seemed
to
move
more
slowly.

Perhaps
he
felt
a
mixture
of
relief
and
disappointment.
The
tropical
storm
was
centered
over
Florida
—
that
meant
soon
it
would
cross
to
the
Atlantic,
where
it
would
become
the
concern
of
other
observers
in
Savannah,
Charleston,
and
Baltimore.
He
was
glad
it
was
gone.
Storms
brought
damage
and
extra
work,
and
extra
work
was
not
something
he
needed
right
now.

On
the
other
hand,
storms
were
exciting
and
gave
the
bureau
a
chance
to
prove
its
worth.
The
sight
of
the
red-and-black
storm
flag
raised
high
over
the
Levy
Building
never
failed
to
set
Isaac's
heart
pounding.

No
one
ever
remembered
a
nice
day.
But
no
one
ever
forgot
the
feel
of
a
paralyzed
fish,
the
thud
of
walnut-sized
hail
against
a
horse's
flank,
or
the
way
a
superheated
wind
could
turn
your
eyes
to
burlap.

THE
HURRICANE
HAD
begun
sculpting
the
Gulf
the
moment
it
left
Cuba
and
now
it
transmitted
storm
swells
toward
Galveston.
 

Waves
form
by
absorbing
energy
from
the
wind.
The
longer
the
"fetch,"
or
the
expanse
of
sea
over
which
the
wind
can
blow
without
obstruction,
the
taller
a
wave
gets.
The
taller
it
gets,
the
more
efficiendy
it
absorbs
additional
energy.
Generally,
its
maximum
height
will
equal
half
the
speed
of
the
wind.
Thus
a
wind
of
150
miles
an
hour
can
produce
waves
up
to
75
feet
tall.
Other
conditions,
such
as
the
chance
superimposition
of
two
or
more
waves,
can
cause
waves
to
grow
even
bigger.
The
tallest
wave
on
record
was
112
feet,
but
occurred
amid
steady
winds
of
only
75
miles
an
hour.

In
a
cyclonic
system,
the
wind
spirals
to
the
left,
but
the
waves
continue
forward
along
their
original
paths
at
speeds
far
faster
than
the
storm's
overall
forward
velocity.
The
forward
speed
of
the
storm
of
1900
was
probably
no
greater
than
ten
miles
an
hour,
but
it
produced
swells
that
moved
at
fifty
miles
an
hour,
and
began
reaching
the
Texas
coast
fifteen
hours
after
their
formation.

Soon
after
the
waves
left
the
cyclone,
they
changed
shape.
They
retained
their
energy,
but
lost
much
of
their
height
and
their
jagged
crests.
They
became
long,
easy
undulations,
like
the
grease-smooth
swells
that
Columbus
spotted
on
his
first
voyage.

As
soon
as
they
reached
the
Texas
coast,
however,
they
changed
shape
again.
Whenever
a
deep-sea
swell
enters
shallow
water
its
leading
edge
slows.
Water
piles
up
behind
it.
The
wave
grows
again.
It
is
this
effect
that
makes
earthquake-spawned
tsunamis
so
deceptive
and
so
deadly.
A
tsunami
travels
across
the
ocean
as
a
small
hump
of
water
but
at
speeds
as
high
as
five
hundred
miles
an
hour.
When
it
reaches
land,
it
explodes.
 

CAPT.
J.
W.
SIMMONS,
master
of
the
steamship
Pensacola,
had
just
as
little
regard
for
weather
as
the
Louisiana's
Captain
Halsey.
He
was
a
veteran
of
eight
hundred
trips
across
the
Gulf
and
commanded
a
staunch
and
sturdy
ship,
a
1,069-ton
steel-hulled
screw-driven
steam
freighter
built
twelve
years
earlier
in
West
Hardepool,
England,
and
now
owned
by
the
Louisville
and
Nashville
Railroad
Company.
Friday
morning
the
ship
was
docked
at
the
north
end
of
34th
Street,
in
the
company
of
scores
of
other
ships,
including
the
big
Mallory
liner
Alamo,
at
2,237
tons,
and
the
usual
large
complement
of
British
ships,
which
on
Friday
included
the
Comino,
Hilarius,
Kendal
Castle,
Mexican,
Noma,
Red
Cross,
Taunton,
and
the
stately
Roma
in
from
Boston
with
its
Captain
Storms.
As
the
Pensacola's
twenty-one-man
crew
readied
the
ship
for
its
voyage
to
the
city
of
Pensacola
on
Florida's
Gulf
Coast,
two
men
came
aboard
as
Captain
Simmons's
personal
guests:
a
harbor
pilot
named
R.
T.
Carroll
and
Galveston's
Pilot
Commissioner
J.
M.
O.
Menard,
from
one
of
the
city's
oldest
families.

At
7:00
A.M.,
Captain
Simmons
ordered
the
crew
to
raise
steam
and
make
for
the
Bolivar
Roads,
the
channel
at
the
east
end
of
Galveston
Island
that
connected
the
bay
to
the
Gulf.
A
left
turn
would
have
taken
him
toward
Houston.
He
turned
right
and
entered
the
Gulf.

The
weather
was
clear
but
hot.
Excessively
hot,
especially
considering
the
early
hour.
Simmons
pulled
out
a
handkerchief
and
wiped
the
sweat
from
his
face.
By
habit
he
checked
the
weather
display
tower
at
the
island's
east
end
for
a
storm
flag.
He
saw
nothing.

He
did
note,
however,
that
the
Pensacola
was
alone
in
the
Roads.

AT
9:35
A.M.
Galveston
time,
two
and
a
half
hours
after
the
Pensacola's
departure,
Willis
Moore
telegraphed
Isaac
with
an
order
to
hoist
a
conventional
storm
warning.
The
telegram
reached
Isaac
at
10:30.
Five
minutes
later,
Isaac
raised
the
flag.

The
bureau's
forecasters
in
Washington
had
changed
their
minds,
and
now
believed
the
storm
would
not
reach
the
Atlantic
after
all.
They
still
considered
it
a
storm
of
only
moderate
energy,
but
now
seemed
to
think
it
was
still
in
the
Gulf,
moving
toward
the
northwest.

The
Atlantic
theory
had
been
a
compelling
one,
however
—
so
much
so
that
a
vestige
of
it
survived
at
the
Galveston
station
well
into
Saturday
morning,
despite
Isaac's
experience
on
the
beach.
Shortly
after
nine
o'clock
Saturday
morning,
Capt.
George
B.
Hix,
master
of
the
Alamo,
walked
to
the
Levy
Building
to
inquire
personally
about
the
weather,
as
captains
often
did
whenever
the
atmosphere
seemed
unsetded.
Since
dawn,
Hix
had
watched
the
silvery
shaft
of
mercury
in
his
barometer
get
shorter
and
shorter.

In
the
weather
office,
an
observer
told
him
there
was
"no
cause
for
uneasiness."
A
storm
was
indeed
approaching,
but
it
was
only
an
"offspur"
of
a
storm
that
had
struck
the
Florida
coast
a
few
days
earlier.