New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1886-09-04


| people packed like sardnes. The streets were
| filled with people hurrying to and fro with bag
| gage and bedcothes always walking In the mdd q
| of the street. At every hand we met mothers car
rying babies fathers carrying bedcothes and chill
| dren carrying themselves and seeking the tents
| in the parks. sinister effect was produced
by the fact that there was not light in the second
story Of any building. On the first floor 1t was usu
ally dark above the first floor invariably The
| final impression after two hours ride was that
mortal blow had been struck the brave old city
and that she was staggering onutoward very des-
perate future The piles Of debris in front OF brick
buildings was continuous, indicating that none
had escaped. Many immense buildings had crum-
bled and fallen, such as the store of W. NJ Bird.
which is a total wreck. talked with many people
and caught the discussion in the crowds. Mr..
Brenner, the veteran superintendent Of the West
ern Union, who has for forty years been among
these scenes, said to me
"The Lord did Charleston fifty times moro harm
In ffteen-second shake than the war did in five
years. l walked through this town by the light of
the fire of '61, and the damage is twenty times
greater now than then. have spent the day ex-
amnng, and have seen but one brck house
George w. WilIiams's new house-that is not in-
jured. The city unsettled and cracked that it
will be necessary to tear the houses down and re-
build them. You can find no words to fifty describe
the situation"
Let us take the case of Mr.. 0Driscoll, manager
of the Western Union in this city lie had
not had his clothes of since Monday
night Last night he eft o MS WORK 10 i4r tbs
Savannah Office, having relieved him. lasked HIM
where he gOngf
40 my wife and children. who are now sleeping
on the grass in the church lot,' said he. e added:
when we tumbled out of our house my wife was
in her night clothes without even her shoes on.
She and my children slept thus un protected 0D the
go now and lie down on the grass by their side and
sleep"
"On the grass"
And where the night afteri'
God pleasing on the grass"
"YOu have no plans for the future y
None, except never to take my family back into
one of those brick bouscs. The walls of my house
are very thick, but have barely dared to steal In
and get few blankets. The full horror of this
thing will be disclosed when we have storm.
These unsettled walls will then come tumbling i'll
and they shall not catch my family"
This Is the feeling OF the people in general. The
demand for the Government tents promised me
Ae,cs and Courier Is as overwhelming as If they
were new houses Of approved strength. The
Charestonians committed to the grass and
tents and nothing but repairs and winter Will drive
them indoors again.
day than up toward S0mmervllle. Only one slight
shock was felt late and that came about $50 and
erected little excitement A puzzling thing here
IS the casting up OF blue mud through hssuIes IN
the asnd. The gray sand parts and dlscl0ses a
crack through which the lava-like mud oozes up
until it piled in orderly lines from one to two
feet above the assure. making strange contrast
and effect. There is uuder current of despair IN
all that said or done here. The people ale dazed
and full Of uncertainty. One never estimates the
damage or discusses the future The nam gues-
ton is: Where is it safest to sleep tonight " l
think the Investigations OF three days have deep
ened the sense of damage to buildings. II is
doubtful if there, is a store or dwelling
in the city that its owner feels
safe in. omitting any fear of future shocks There
are palld faces on all sides, the exhaustion and
tension of the past three days and nights intensity
ing the pallor while 1t qulets the tumult. Charles
ton IS worn and weary city. AS we drove toward
the telegraph Office last night policeman stopped
our carriage.
That street is full of beds and people. You can't
90 down it," he said.
At the Charleston Hotel. the most massive look.
ing hotel in tho city, only fourteen rooms out of
175 are considered teuable. The Mills House is
abandoned.
Early this morning I made a tour Of the city.
Everything was quiet and steady. The singing
had abated and the prayers had died on the lips
of the people. An occasional brick or cornlce
tumbing to the sidewalk broke the stiffness of the
morning. cool breeze swept through the tents
II. w. GRADY.