The Frankfort roundabout. [volume] (Frankfort, Ky.) 1882-1908, 1900-09-22
FRANKFORT, KY. SATURDAY SEPT %. 1900

A hOSlOCS Cdn Oiiiy Ut lutitlhCu w
their hair. DecompCsitionsis so faI
advanced that bodies can be ham
died only with ropes, hooks and
boards. When the ground is dry
enough they are buried in shallow
trenches, two to twenty or more in
place. Where it is too wet to dig
they are drawn to some dryer
point, piled up like logs of wood
and burned with coal oil and wood
from the wreckage. One can not
! conceive of the appearance of these
poor creatures. Some-many-are
without thread of clothing. Some
have money and valuables-rings,
ETC., etc.-but all look alike in
death. Identification. except by
some trinket, dress or something
of the sort, is out of the question.
Some 700 were carried out to sea,
but that was too slow, and the
other process adopted.
Square miles of territory are bar
rem as a floor where one week ago
thousands of happy homes were
located. Some of the people were
fortunate to be saved, but not %
per cent. escaped on the south or
gulf side of the city. About four
tiers of blocks are entirely gone
from east to west end; the ground
is as bare as in the primeval state.
Inside this margin. every house is
damaged. Most of them are moved,
turned around, twisted, unroofed,
windows and doors broken, or other
conditions denOting their acquaintt
ance with the demon. More to the
north and business part the scenes
are not so terrible, and loss of life
much lighter, but not single house
that is not marked. The island,
from western city limits on to the
end, 30 miles, is stripped of every
thing; only very few people live to
tell stories of their miraculous
escapes. Some went out in the gull
on house tops, or something else,
for miles, then when the wind
changed floated back over the
island ten to twenty-five miles
across kthe mainland, which was
overlooked to that distance.
Il No one can make even tolerably
good estimate of the number killed
and drowned. Thousands can not
be remembered, for they represent
every nationality under the sun,
and every condition in life. The
work of searching the wreckage,
which is piled in every street, is
developing hundreds of bodies
every day. Smoke from funeral
pyres is seen in all directions in the
city as well as outside. Supplies
are abundant for feeding and cloth
ing and nursing, but gaunt poverty
stalks abroad, gazing from sad,
lustreless eyes, sunk deep in hope
less faces. Every minute you meet
some one who has lost all or several
of his or her family. Tears are
dried in the agony of despair. Sem
timent lives deep down in broken
hearts, sheltering its tender in
stincts i'm the shadow of grief too
sacred, too stunning for outward
expression. Personally am blessed
beyond degree. All my people, ia r
and near, escaped without loss of
life or serious damage TO property.
During the crucial hours of the
storm my heart continually thanked
God that my baby girls were safe
in the country, far away from the
shade of death that lowered and
howled so remorselessly about the
dear ones around me, and my soul
was bouyed almost to resignation
that my sainted wife was spared
the passage through horrors the 1iv-
ing were called upon to endure.
l might extend this indefinitely,
for the subject has no boundary,
but I've told enough. Excuse the
hurried manner of construction and
all Inaccuracies.
| L. J. COX.
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