Charlie looked harder at the street. The water didn’t look like a bunch of puddles. It looked like … a river.
He imagined that Sarah was right next to him. He heard her voice in his head.
Think about it … where could that water be coming from?
Before Charlie even knew what he was doing, he had rushed out the front door.
“What are you —” Mama called as the door closed behind him.
There were more little brown frogs out here, all over the front porch. They seemed to stare at Charlie as he carefully made his way down the porch steps, trying not to slip. He pushed against the wind and stepped onto the street.
He was shocked to find himself in water halfway up his thighs. It was rushing so fast Charlie almost fell over.
This definitely was not a puddle.
The wind and rain raked at Charlie’s face. His heart pounded. What is happening? And then he had an idea, something Sarah would definitely do.
He dipped his finger in the water, stuck it in his mouth.
His finger tasted salty. Just like he’d guessed — and feared — it would.
Now Charlie was sure. This water wasn’t coming from the sky. It was coming from the Gulf.
But how was that possible? The Gulf was nearly a mile from here. As Charlie looked around him, he remembered what Mr. Early had said. The wind howled, but Charlie could still hear the old man’s words in his mind.
“Water was everywhere, even where it had never gone before.”
“Charlie!” Papa bellowed from the porch. “Come in!”
Charlie rushed back up the steps, and Papa pulled him inside, closing the door tight.
“It’s salt water!” Charlie said breathlessly as water streamed down his face. Mama grabbed the blanket again and wrapped it around Charlie’s shoulders.
“It’s coming from the Gulf!” Charlie went on. “It’s an overflow. An overflow reached all the way here!”
Papa put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “That’s not possible,” he said.
“Papa! I’m telling you!” Charlie said. “I tasted the water! It’s salty!”
“Maybe the wind has carried some sea spray …” Papa said.
Charlie stepped forward,
“I saw Mr. Early this morning. He said that a bad hurricane hit here in 1837, before Galveston was even a city. What if that’s happening again?”
Papa was actually starting to look annoyed, which was rare.
“Charlie,” he said, clearly trying to keep his voice low. “Remember what Mr. Cline says about hurricanes. He’s an expert. And Mr. Early …”
“Mr. Early has become very confused, sweetheart,” Mama said gently.
“So was Grandpa!” Charlie said. “But he never made anything up!”
Charlie just realized this now. He explained it to Mama and Papa — how, yes, Grandpa was very confused in the months before he died. He didn’t know where he was, or who was who.
“But he remembered all the important things that happened to him,” Charlie said, “especially memories from when he was a little boy. And all those stories about the Revolution.”
Just a week before he died, Grandpa had told Charlie his favorite story — from when he’d fought in the famous battle of San Jacinto. That was the battle that won the Revolution. It made Texas its own country for a few years until it became an American state in 1845.
“He told me that story a million times …” Charlie remembered how Grandpa had described cannonballs and bullets flying through the air. “He always told it the exact same way — even that last time. Not one detail was missing!”
Charlie paused. Mama and Papa were just staring at him. How could Charlie make them understand? Because with each passing second, Charlie felt more and more certain.
“This is a hurricane!” he cried.
And as if the wind agreed with Charlie, a powerful gust shook the house. The walls trembled. And then …
PLOOF.
A big chunk of plaster fell from the sitting room ceiling and landed in a powdery clump on the floor.
Papa ran over and stared at it. He looked from the plaster to Charlie to the window. Then back at the plaster again.
The next thing Charlie knew, Papa was out the front door.
“William!” Mama called after him, but Papa rushed down the porch steps. Mama and Charlie watched from the doorway as Papa waded into the street — like Charlie had. He tasted the water — like Charlie had.
He came back inside. Water streamed from his beard. Charlie took off his blanket and put it around Papa.
It was very quiet for a moment — even the wind seemed to be holding its breath. And then Papa looked at Charlie.
“This is different from 1886 — from any storm I’ve seen,” he said. “That water in the streets — it’s not from the rain. It’s from the Gulf. You’re right, son. This could very well be a hurricane. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before.”
Charlie felt a strange mix of feelings. Relieved that Papa believed him. But also scared.
Papa eyed the broken plaster from the ceiling again. “This house wasn’t built for a hurricane,” he said. “I know because I helped Grandpa build it.”
He took a breath. “We need to leave right away.”
Mama nodded. “I’ll get Lulu and pack some clothes.”
“Where will we go?” Charlie asked.
Mama and Papa looked at each other, and Charlie could see they didn’t have an answer.
Then Mama glanced at the plate of gingersnaps on the coffee table.
“I have an idea,” she said.
Fifteen minutes later, they were making their way along Avenue M, heading toward one of the biggest and sturdiest houses in Galveston. Normally the walk would take maybe fifteen minutes. But the weather was getting worse by the minute. It was dark and cold. The wind was fierce. The rain poured down.
Water filled the streets and sloshed onto the sidewalks. They had to zigzag around fallen wires and branches that blocked their way. Mama had wrapped Lulu in blankets and held her tight against her chest. Papa hovered over all of them, watching out for the bricks and roof tiles that were falling from buildings and blowing from rooftops.
Finally, they made it to the mansion on Broadway. It was built on top of thick stone pillars that lifted the house at least six feet off the ground.
Compared to their little house, this was a fortress. Mama and Papa were sure they’d be safe here. But as Papa knocked on the door, Charlie worried about what would be waiting for him inside.
Because this wasn’t just any big house.
It was Gordon Potts’s house.
Mrs. Potts welcomed them, and it was clear she would have invited them in even if Mama hadn’t brought her a tin of gingersnaps. She smiled at Mama and grabbed her hand.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she said. “We’ve opened the house to anyone who needs a safe place.”
She brushed some rain from Lulu’s curls and waved for them to follow her. “Let’s find you a place to change.”
Mrs. Potts took them upstairs to a room so they could change into the dry clothes Mama had packed. (Charlie had lost track of how many times he’d changed today.)
On the way back downstairs, Papa couldn’t resist peeping into the bathroom. They all stared at the toilet before moving on.
There were at least thirty people in the living room. But there was still plenty of space. The room was bigger than Charlie’s entire five-room house. Lulu gaped at the fancy couches and chairs, the paintings on the wall, the vases filled with flowers.
“Is this a castle?” she asked.
“Yes,” Charlie said.
And he meant it.
There were electric lamps all around the room, but they weren’t lit up; Charlie guessed that the electricity was out all over the city. Lanterns gave the room just enough light so that Charlie could see the faces of the people around him.
He recognized most of them — families of kids who wen
t to Charlie’s school, people from church. There was Mr. Lutz, their butcher, and his family. There was Mrs. Butler, the teacher Charlie had been hoping to get this year. Women rocked babies. Men stood at the windows.
Charlie spotted Mr. Potts, lurking in the doorway of the living room.
“He doesn’t look happy,” Papa said. That was for sure. Mr. Potts scanned the room suspiciously, like he was sure someone was about to pocket one of the silver cups that lined the shelves.
Mama shook her head. “I don’t know how Mrs. Potts lives with him. He is quite … unpleasant.”
So is his son, Charlie thought.
As for Gordon, Charlie didn’t see him anywhere. Probably he’d locked himself in his fancy bedroom and was eating his supper off a golden platter. Charlie hoped he’d stay there.
“The storm is getting stronger,” Papa said softly.
Charlie had been thinking the same.
The rain was banging harder against the roof, as though hundreds of carpenters were up there, all pounding hammers at once.
The wind had taken on a new sound, a kind of roaring shriek.
Whoooooo-eeeeeesh!
“What that noise?” Lulu said, her eyes widening.
Uh-oh.
Up until now, Lulu had been amazingly calm. It really was just thunder that scared her, and so far there hadn’t been a single boom.
But with each shrieking gust of wind, Lulu’s eyes were getting wider, and her lip was starting to quiver. They sat down on the floor. She climbed on Charlie’s lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. Any second, Lulu was going to start to wail. Charlie had to think of something.
Whoooooo-eeeeeesh!
“Listen to those fairies!” Charlie exclaimed.
It was worth a try … and it seemed to work.
Lulu let go of his neck.
“Fairies?”
“Yes,” Charlie said. “That’s the sound they make when they’re … uh … building a rainbow.”
Mama and Papa nodded along.
“We have to stay very calm,” Charlie went on. “Because if anyone cries or whines, we’ll scare the fairies away before they’re done.”
Lulu nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Mama gave Charlie’s leg a grateful pat.
More and more people came through the front door.
They brought stories of what was happening outside.
“I saw a huge pole flying through the sky. Like a stick.”
“Four horses swam down our street.”
“Houses are floating like boats.”
And then the front door blew open. A woman staggered into the living room. Charlie gasped and grabbed Lulu so she wouldn’t see. The woman was soaking wet and had blood dripping down her face. She stood there like a statue, her eyes wild with fear, her mouth frozen open like she was screaming. But no sound came out.
Mrs. Potts rushed over to her and quickly took her away.
The wind shrieked.
Whoooooo-eeeeeesh!
And it was at that moment when it truly hit Charlie — what this hurricane meant.
They were all safe inside this sturdy house. But how many people were still out there? What would happen to them? When the storm was finally over, what would be left of Galveston?
The answer came in Mr. Early’s voice, an echo in Charlie’s mind.
“Nothing left … nothing at all.”
Time crawled by. Babies were fussing. Beads of sweat dripped down Charlie’s neck — it was hot and sticky in the room.
Everyone else was getting restless, too. Someone had peeked outside and reported that water was now rushing along Broadway and creeping up the Pottses’ lawn.
“I don’t think that’s happened before,” Papa said quietly.
And the wind, those shrieking gusts, were getting stronger and stronger.
Whoooooo-eeeeeesh!
Whoooooo-eeeeeesh!
Whoooooo-eeeeeesh!
“Chowie, I don’t like those fairies!” Lulu cried after one terrible gust. “Make them go away!”
Charlie thought of Meraki on that stormy night at sea, doing magic tricks for the passengers as the ship was tossed by the waves. He’d brought his magic kit with him — it was in their bag upstairs. That’s how he could distract Lulu — it had worked during the last storm.
Charlie went upstairs. As he headed down the hallway, he heard what sounded like a little boy crying. A kid must have wandered upstairs and gotten lost, Charlie figured. Probably he’d wanted to look at the fancy toilet, like they had.
Charlie wanted to help the poor little kid. He followed the crying to a bedroom down the hall. The door wasn’t closed all the way. He peered inside.
It was not a lost little kid crying.
It was Gordon. He was sitting on his bed. Mr. Potts was standing in front of him.
“Stop your blubbering!” Mr. Potts scolded. “You know I detest crying!”
“I’m sorry, Papa! I’m just —”
“You’re so weak, son,” Mr. Potts said. “You need to toughen up. Come on. I want you downstairs now!”
Mr. Potts turned to leave the room. Charlie quickly ducked into the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the tub, his mind turning.
Stop your blubbering. You’re so weak.
Those were the exact same words Gordon used when he picked on Charlie. How many times had Mr. Potts yelled at him like this? Did he always speak to Gordon in such a nasty way?
Gordon hadn’t followed Mr. Potts downstairs; Charlie could still hear him crying.
Charlie’s stomach flopped. No matter how mad Papa got at Charlie, he’d never talked to him like that.
Charlie felt sorry for Gordon. For half a second, he even wondered if should go in there, to see if Gordon was okay. But there was a big mirror in the bathroom. When Charlie stood up, he caught a glimpse of himself in the lantern light. His lip was mostly healed, but it still ached. He heard Gordon’s barking laugh.
Haw! Haw! Haw!
Why should Charlie feel sorry for the bully who’d aimed a pointed stick at him?
Charlie shook his head to clear his thoughts, then headed to get his magic kit. Which trick would he do first for Lu and the other kids? The French drop? The vanishing balls?
All of them, he decided. And I’ll start with —
Just then, panicked shouts erupted from downstairs.
“The water! It’s coming into the house!”
Charlie darted to the staircase and made it halfway down before he froze. To his shock, water was rushing across the floor below. And it was rising higher by the second.
Mr. Early’s voice echoed in his head.
“The sea suddenly rose up …”
And then a stream of panicked people came barreling up the stairs. Charlie was caught in the stampede. The crowd pushed him forward, down the hall. Charlie didn’t see Mama or Papa or Lulu anywhere.
A lantern went out, and now there was barely any light. In the rush of pushing and shoving, Charlie wound up in a dark room.
The wind let out an earsplitting shriek.
Whoo-eeeeeesh! Whoo-eeeeeesh! Whoo-eeeeeesh!
The lanterns were out in this room, too. Charlie fumbled around, pawing at the air until he hit a wall. He leaned against it, trying to brace himself as the house shook harder and harder.
Plaster rained down from the ceiling. He strained to see in the dark. Was he alone in here? Did he hear someone shouting? Or crying? Or was that just the wind?
And then came the strongest blast yet.
Whoo-eeeeeeeesh!
The wall behind him shuddered.
The sound was louder than anything Charlie had heard today.
There was another crack and the wall behind him was suddenly … gone.
The wind grabbed hold of Charlie and pulled him back.
“Mamaaaaa! Papaaaaa!”
Charlie was sucked out into the darkness, into the jaws of the storm.
SPLASH.
Charlie fell h
ard into the cold water. The waves grabbed him, tossed him, carried him away. He sank down until his feet touched something solid. He pushed off and shot back to the surface. He came up sputtering, coughing.
He looked around but could hardly see through the pelting rain. But he knew the water was filled with wreckage. He could feel it. Every second something smacked him, scraped him, stabbed him. A barrel, a wagon wheel, part of a fence.
Charlie protected himself as best he could, but the wreckage kept coming. A dresser. A metal sign from one of the shops downtown. They slammed into him from the left and right, from in front and behind. Charlie used his arms and body to push things away. He kicked his legs hard to keep his head above the waves.
But the water was too rough.
And then, suddenly, he couldn’t kick his legs. He was caught on something. With horror he wondered if it was snakes.
But no. It was rope. A piece of rope had wrapped around his legs. He kicked harder and harder, and clawed wildly at the water. But it was no use. He started to sink.
And then came a big gust of wind. Something massive smashed into Charlie’s leg — a tree branch, or a light pole, maybe.
A stabbing pain shot up and down Charlie’s body. He froze and couldn’t move. And next thing he knew the rope had fallen away. He burst up out of the water. He managed to grab a door that was floating by, and to haul himself on top. He rolled onto his side and vomited up seawater.
He found some strength to lift his head and peer through the darkness. He couldn’t see much. It was too dark. But for a few seconds, the moonlight broke through the swirl of clouds, and Charlie got a look at what was around him.
There was water, of course. But not like an overflow. Not like any flood he’d ever imagined. This was the ocean. Churning, raging ocean, for as far as he could see. It was just like Mr. Early said — Galveston swallowed up by the sea.
He saw some houses still standing, rising up out of the sea. He looked frantically for the Pottses’ house. Were Mama and Papa and Lulu still safe?
The moonlight disappeared, and it was pitch-black again.
Whhhooooossh-WOMP.
I Survived the Galveston Hurricane, 1900 Page 4