While the hurricane raged above and a sea of water dashed wildly below, Mrs. Davis clung to her 6–month-old babe with one arm, while with the other she held fast to her precarious haven of refuge. The minister held a baby of 18 months in the same manner, and while the little one cried for food he prayed. In other trees the family he had rescued from drowning found a precarious footing. When the night had passed and the water receded, wreckage, dead animals and the corpses of parishioners surrounded the devoted party. There was nothing to eat, and, nearly dead with exhaustion, the preacher and his little flock set out on foot to seek assistance. They were too weak to continue far, and sank down on the plain, while Mr. Davis pushed on alone. Five miles away a farmhouse was found, partially intact, and securing a team, Davis returned for his half-dead party. SUBSISTED ON RAW MEAT. For two days they remained at the home of the hospitable farmer, and then set out afoot to find a hamlet or make their way over the desert-like peninsula to Bolivar Point. In the heat of the burning sun they plodded on along the water front, subsisting upon a steer which they killed and devoured raw, until finally they came upon an abandoned and overturned sailboat high on the beach. With a united effort they succeeded in launching the boat, and with improvised distress signals displayed, managed to sail to Galveston. There, because of red tape, they were unable to secure clothing, although they were given a little food and transportation to Houston. Clad in an old pair of trousers, a tattered shirt and torn shoes, with his family in even worse plight, the circuit rider of the Patton Beach, Johnston’s Bethel, Bolivar Point and High Island Methodist Churches rode into Houston, dirty, weak and half-starved. Here the family were sent to a hospital and cared for. Bolivar reported that up to date 220 bodies had been found and buried, and many were still lying on the sands. Assistance was needed at once. It is a fact generally commented upon, and merely emphasized by the clergyman’s experience, that while succor is being rushed to Galveston, other sufferers are neglected. The relief trains en route from Houston to Galveston traverse a storm-swept section, where famishing and nearly naked survivors sit on the wrecks of their homes and hungrily watch tons of provisions whirling past them, while there is little prospect of aid reaching them. Winifred Black, a lady journalist, furnishes the following vivid account of her experiences in reaching Galveston: “I begged, cajoled and cried my way through the line of soldiers with drawn swords, who guard the wharf at Texas City, and sailed across the bay on a little boat, which is making irregular trips to meet the relief trains from Houston.