urday the first thought that
presented itself to those who were hurried in to give relief was to
prepare shelter for the survivors. The camp has been in operation ever
since, and will be for days and may be weeks to come.

Gloomy Pictures of Despair.

It looked desolate enough to-day after the soaking downpour of last
night, and groups of shivering mothers, with their little ones, stood
around a smoky fire at either end of the streets. The members of the
Americus Committee, for the time being cooks, waiters, grocery dealers
and dry goods men, were in striking contrast to their usual appearance
at home. Major W. Coffey, one of the refugees, who was washed seven
miles down the Conemaugh, was acting as officer of the guard, and limped
up and down on his wooden leg, which had been badly damaged by the
flood.

Palefaced women looked out through the flaps of tents on the scene, and
the only object that seemed to be taking things easy was a lean, black
dog, asleep in front of one of the fires.

In one of the tents a baby was born last night. The mother, whose
husband was lost in the flood, was herself rescued by being drawn up on
the roof of the Union Schoolhouse. One of the doctors of the Altoona
Relief Corps at the Cambria Hospital attended her, and mother and babe
are doing better than thousands of the flood sufferers who are
elsewhere. There are other babies in Camp Hastings, but none of them
receive half of the attention from the people in the camp that is
bestowed upon this little tot, whose life began just as so many lives
were ended. The baby will probably be named Johnstown Camp O'Connor.

The refugees who are living along the road get their supplies from the
camp. They pour into the wretched city of tents in a steady stream,
bearing baskets and buckets of food.

He Wanted Tobacco or Nothing.

An old Irishman walked up to the tent early in the day. "Well, what can
we do for you?" was asked.

"Have yez any tobaccy?"

"No, tobacco don't go here."

"I want tobaccy or nothin'. This is no relief to a mon at all, at all."

The aged refugee walked away in high dudgeon.

Just down the row from the clothing tent are located two little girls,
named Johnson, who lost both father and mother. They had a terrible
experience in the flood, and were two of the forty-three people pulled
in on the roof of the house of the late General Campbell and his two
sons, James and Curt.

"How do you fare?" one of the little g