Lindsey Graham

Imagine it's the afternoon of Sunday, September 9th, 1900, somewhere outside of League City, Texas.

You and five other men left Galveston on a boat this morning to begin a 50-mile journey to Houston in order to alert the world about yesterday's devastating hurricane.

Since reaching the mainland, you've been pumping your way north in a small rail handcart.

Your arms are sore from the work, but the repetitive motion is a helpful distraction from your shock and grief.

All right, keep going, boys.

Just a few more miles.

At first, you think the sun is playing tricks on you, but then you see a southbound passenger train rounding a bend ahead.

You straighten up and wave your arms.

Stop!

Stop!

We can't take a stop!

The train manages to slow to a halt and you climb off the handcart.

The conductor flings open the door.

What the hell are you men doing?

We're from Galveston.

We're heading to Houston to wire the governor and the president about the storm.

Galveston, huh?

I heard you got some rain.

It wasn't just rain.

It was a worse storm than anything you can imagine.