The Great Galveston Hurricane of 1900

This September marks 125 years since the deadliest natural disaster in United States history—the Great Galveston Hurricane. On September 8, 1900, a category 4 hurricane roared ashore on this urbanized sand bar off the coast of Texas, quickly overwhelming the island. Sandwiched in between two rapidly rising bodies of water—the Gulf of Mexico and Galveston Bay—the entirety of the small spit of land was soon underwater, with the city’s buildings become battering rams, tossed about by waves and destroying any structures not taken down by the sea itself. By the time the sun rose on September 9, over 10,000 people were dead, with the estimated cost of destruction an eye-boggling $30 million (over $700 million in today’s currency). And, while it’s easy to attribute the tragedy to a lack of modern forecasting and building standards, the true failures behind the storm are much more complex.

Photo Credit: Galveston Historical Society

As early as Sunday, September 3—nearly a full week before the storm made landfall in Texas—meteorologists in Cuba were tracking the cyclone. Having already unleashed heavy rain and damaging winds on Antigua and Jamaica, the tempest had only intensified as it made its way through the Caribbean. Father Lorenzo Gangoite, a Jesuit priest and head of the Belen Meteorological and Magnetic Observatory in Havana, recognized the storm for what it was: a hurricane. At the time, Cuban meteorologists were at the helm of some of the most cutting-edge storm prediction science; through the years, they had learned to accurately predict both the timing and track of hurricanes based on cloud formation. However, Cuba was also a land of political unrest and upheaval. The Cuban fight for independence had spilled American blood when the U.S.S. Maine, sent by President McKinley to protect Americans living in the city, exploded and sank in Havana harbor in 1898. Soon afterwards, the United States declared war and blockaded Havana. It was a conflict still very much heated in September 1900, when Father Gangoite first observed the hurricane and deduced its tracks north and west…right toward the coast of Texas. However, the U.S. War Department had severed all telegraph lines between Havana and weather offices within the United States; Father Gangoite’s only option was to send his forecast directly to Washington, D.C.

Where it was promptly ignored. 

Forecasters in Washington, including head of the U.S. Bureau of Weather Willis Moore, believed the Cubans to be inferior in their reporting, primitive and given to flights of hysterical panic. So, instead, Washington’s forecast to Galveston that week, though mentioning the storm (but still refusing to call it a hurricane), maintained it would fall victim to the law of “recurve,” which prevented storms from the Caribbean from heading northwest. It would instead head northeast, toward Florida and the Atlantic states, weakening as it went. Storm warnings went up along the east coast…but not in Galveston.

But the failure of the day’s leading scientists wasn’t limited to Washington. 

Galveston population and economy were growing by the day. However, the island had already been hit by a number of storms. Though the damage had been minimal, many businesses deemed the city too risky for investment. To stem growing anxiety, a group known as the Deep Water Committee was formed. It proposed building a breakwater out in the gulf to hinder the roughest of waves. It also expressed interest in building a seawall on the beach to keep storm surges at bay. But, the cost of such projects would be astronomical so, before undertaking, the men decided to consult an expert. 

But Isaac Cline, head of the Texas section of the U.S. Weather Bureau in Galveston and one of the country’s leading authorities on storms, assured the men, in no uncertain terms, that if a storm ever pushed the gulf onto the island, it would merely flow over the city, into the bay, and onto mainland Texas. The coastline was too shallow, he said. It would fragment any incoming surf. “It would be impossible,” he wrote, “for any cyclone to create a storm wave which could materially injure the city.” And besides, he wrote, hurricanes didn’t strike Texas anyway. He called anyone who believed otherwise “delusional.”

No seawall was built. 

Unfortunately, Cline was wrong on both accounts. Not only did a hurricane strike Galveston in September of 1900, but the bay did not act as a kind of “release valve” for the rising Gulf. Instead, it had the opposite effect; both bodies of water rose simultaneously, trapping Galveston in the middle. The highest point on the island was only 8.7 feet above sea level; meteorologists estimate the storm surge at 15.7. Coupled with rotating winds that reached 140 mph, the city—and its inhabitants—never stood a chance. 

Photo Credit: Galveston Historical Society 

Photo Credit: Galveston Historical Society

Remarkably, however, despite the devastation, the island rebuilt quickly. With the assistance of many of the United States’ wealthiest tycoons, and aided by the American Red Cross, Galvestonians began the arduous task of disposing of the dead while simultaneously restoring the island for the living. Though some citizens fled, never to return, over half the population remained…and became steadfast in their determination to prevent another such tragedy. The previously “unnecessary” seawall was built, rising 17 feet above the beach, to protect the city from future storm surges. In addition, the people took on the astounding task of raising the elevation of the island itself by painstakingly, block-by-block, lifting every single building, street, and utility pipe up on jacks, filling the ground beneath it with sand, and then returning the structures to their places on the now higher ground. Most of current day Galveston Island now sits at least seven feet above sea level, compared to zero in 1900.

Still the legacy of the 1900 storm still lingers, reminding the residents of Galveston—and the United States—of the dangerous combination of arrogance and Mother Nature, a topic I explore in depth in my new novel, Last Light Over Galveston, available now from Tyndale House.  

Jennifer L. Wright grew up wanting to be a reporter, but it only took a few short months of working in journalism for her to abandon those aspirations for fiction writing instead. She loves to reimagine and explore forgotten eras in history, showcasing God's light amidst humanity's darkest days. Her books have won multiple awards, including Golden Scroll and Angel awards. She currently lives in New Mexico with her husband, two kids, a couple of hyperactive dachshunds, and an ever-growing herd of guinea pigs.