“The hideous horror of the whole thing has benumbed every one who saw it. No one tells the same story of the way the storm rose, or how it went. No two men tell the story of rescue quite alike. I have just heard of a little boy who was picked up floating on a plank. His mother and father and brothers and sisters were all lost in the storm. He tells a dozen different stories of his rescue on the night of the storm. “But the city is gradually getting back to a normal understanding of the situation, just as one comes out of a long fainting fit, and says: “Where am I?” “The Mayor is doing everything in his power to straighten matters out. Martial law is strictly enforced. The Chief of Police is busy, very busy. I caught him in the hotel rotunda this morning. There were five or six men around him, all trying to get permits. He would not listen to one of them. TOO BUSY TO TALK. “He transfixed me with a stony stare when I asked him for some information. He did not have time to bother with me. He was too busy feeding the hungry and comforting the destitute and taking care of thieves to care whether the outside world knew anything about him or his opinions or not. “The little parks are full of homeless people. The prairies around Galveston are dotted with little camp fires, where the homeless and destitute are trying to gather their scattered families together, and find out who among them are dead and who are living. “There are thousands and thousands of families in Galveston to-day without food or a place to lay their heads. “But oh, in pity’s name, in America’s name, do not delay help one single instant! Send help quickly, or it will be too late. “One week has passed since the awful calamity which laid low beautiful Galveston and the story has not yet been half told. The people against whom the appalling catastrophe was visited are just beginning to awake from the horrible nightmare which had its inception in the roaring torrents of the Gulf of Mexico. “With the awakening comes memory—remembrance of awful scenes following the storm which up to now have been untold. Accounts of personal experiences are just becoming available, and the narration of the different stories is like a long, hideous dream. “Quartered in the Chicago hospital in the Auditorium Theatre are persons whose minds were a blank all the week until the ministering of the ‘Chicago American’s’ nurses and physicians restored, at least partly, the shattered nerves and senses. During this morning’s early hours these unfortunates related their awful experiences. “The story of Thomas Klee was possibly the most pitiful. Klee lived near Eleventh and N streets. When the storm burst he was alone in his house with his two infant children. He seized one under each arm and rushed from the frail structure in time to cheat death among the falling timbers of his home. LODGED HIS CHILD IN A TREE.