OTHER TORNADOES.
“From the dark earth impervious vapors rise,
Increase the darkness and involve the skies.
At once the rushing winds, with roaring sound,
Burst from th’ Æolian caves and rend the ground;
With equal rage their airy quarrel try,
And win by turns the kingdom of the sky.
But with a thicker night black Auster shrouds
The heavens, and drives on heaps the rolling clouds,
From whose dark womb a rattling tempest pours,
Which the cold north congeals to haily showers.
From pole to pole the thunder roars aloud,
And broken lightnings flash from every cloud.
Now smokes with showers the misty mountain ground,
And floated fields lie undistinguished ’round.
Where late was dust, now rapid torrents play--
Rush through the mounds, and bear the dams away.
Old limbs of trees, from crackling forests torn,
Are whirled in air, and on the winds are borne.”
A casual glance at the papers during the last days of March would have
satisfied any one that the storm which passed over the country was
anything but insignificant. So far, we have given only the story of a
single neighborhood; while a score of others suffered more or less. A
brief account of some of these will be of interest, and will give us a
far better idea of the character of great storms and tornadoes.
The farthest point west touched by a tornado on that memorable day was a
strip near the line between Missouri and Kansas, some fifty or sixty
miles south of Kansas City. Here, a small tornado made its appearance
about five o’clock in the afternoon, demolishing some fences and
[Illustration: LOOKING WEST FROM TENTH AND MAIN, LOUISVILLE.]
barns, and breaking down a few trees: but, so far as known, no one was
hurt. Meanwhile, the main storm had passed eastward much earlier in the
afternoon.
Shortly after the storm reached St. Louis, violent cyclonic movements
were excited in southeast Missouri, upwards of a hundred miles away. At
3 P.M. the little town of Bloomsdale was struck, and five houses were
instantly prostrated. The occupants of four of them were, at the time,
in the Catholic church, and the family who occupied the fifth escaped
unhurt. Two sides of their house were blown away; while one side was
blown inward, and would have crushed them but for chairs and tables
which sustained its weight. The church suffered the loss of its steeple,
and was otherwise damaged. A stable containing seven horses was blown
away, and not one of the horses was injured.
A cloud gathered, and a cyclone seemed to form at, or over, Charleston.
It followed the Cairo branch of the Iron Mountain Road eastward. Four
miles from Charleston it struck the flag-station known as Hough’s,
having on the way demolished one or two farm-houses, and made havoc of
the forest. The little hamlet of Hough’s was razed from the earth, not a
house being left intact. One dwelling was blown two hundred feet across
the railway track and smashed. The owner, his wife and son were killed,
and another son was badly injured. The three-year-old baby was taken up
unharmed. Another family lived near by in a log house. It was blown
away, and they were left sitting on the floor, wondering.
Such a case as this is by no means rare. It is one of the many freaks of
the wind not easily understood. In the great cyclone of forty or fifty
miles in diameter, the wind comes in gusts or waves, and such effects
might be readily understood; but in the case of the tornado, of at most
but a few Hundred yards in diameter, its passage is too rapid for those
in its path to learn definitely whether it be uniform or not.
Other peculiar feats were noticed at Hough’s. A girl seventeen years old
was blown one hundred and fifty yards into a pond, but was rescued in
time to save her from drowning; and it is said that a man and woman were
blown across a sixty-acre wheat field, and picked up insensible. The
further statement that the bark was peeled clean from the trees, though
seemingly most incredible of all, is very probably true; for the writer
has a vivid recollection of precisely the same phenomenon on the theater
of the Marshfield cyclone in southwest Missouri. In that instance the
bark was peeled from hundreds of hickory saplings, almost from the roots
to their topmost twigs. This effect was inconceivable from any cause
that could be thought of. It was done by missiles flying through the
air, or the trees were bent over and threshed against the ground, or
there was some unknown force prevalent in the storm, similar, perhaps,
to that which shatters the bark or body of a thunder-smitten oak. To an
observer on the ground the first two suppositions seemed to be excluded.
Is this peculiar power of the tornado to be sought, like that of Keely’s
Motor, in some occult force?
From Hough’s Station the tornado may have bounded above the tree-tops
and descended again a few miles further on at Bird’s Point, opposite to
Cairo, Illinois. Anyhow, a tornado struck the former place at 4:35 P.M.
It was first seen above the trees, it showed a yellowish cast, and had
the usual funnel shape. About three hundred yards from the town it came
to the ground and commenced its work of destruction. Eight or ten houses
were blown to pieces, or badly damaged; a roof was carried two hundred
feet into the air; a yearling calf was thrown forty
[Illustration: VIEW IN THE RESIDENCE DISTRICT, LOUISVILLE.]
feet into a big ditch filled with, water, and--nobody was hurt.
At Cape Girardeau, on the Mississippi, fifty miles above Bird’s Point,
there was a tremendous hail, which broke thousands of windows, and a
gale lasting far into the night, with damage to timber, fences, and
buildings.
Illinois suffered far worse than Missouri. The southern part of the
state fared badly; and the further south, the worse. The storm which
struck St. Louis at 3 P.M., was, a few minutes later, giving the
Illinois towns on the other side a lively experience. Edwardsville,
O’Fallon and Centerville received a heavy gale. At Coulterville,
buildings, barns, and orchards suffered severely, and several persons
were injured. Sparta was struck about 3:15 P.M. From the second story of
the public school building, observers watched the approach of the storm.
Two black clouds from opposite quarters of the heavens came together, as
by attraction, and mingled with a rotary motion. The tornado passed
within a mile of the town on the northeast, and mowed a swath through
the heavy timber. No such rain, hail and wind, mingled with fire, had
ever been seen before. Many barns were destroyed; several houses were
blown to pieces; three or four persons were seriously hurt. A traveling
man was whisked out of his buggy by the wind, carried some distance, and
sustained severe injuries; the horses were thrown down, and the buggy
was completely wrecked.
At Grand Tower, on the Mississippi, forty miles above Cape Girardeau,
there was a terrific tornado at 4:30 P.M. It came from the west, and
swept houses, trees, trains--everything, in its course. Its track is
described as one of “extreme desolation.” Four or five persons, at
least, were killed, and as many injured. Twenty-seven dwelling-houses
were completely demolished, and a great many others unroofed, or
otherwise damaged.
At Murphysboro, Illinois, many windows were broken by the great hail;
while there came an unverified report of fifteen or more persons killed
about Shiloh, and to the north of Campbell Hill. South of Murphysboro,
several houses were blown down; two children were killed.
At Centralia, two and one-fourth inches of rain fell in twenty minutes,
changing later into snow. Farm buildings west of town suffered
considerable damage.
At Carbondale, the dreaded funnel appeared, and two blocks of houses
were unroofed.
Five miles southwest of Xenia, many out-buildings were blown down and
several houses destroyed. A school-house on the prairie was blown away,
and one of the sills carried nearly a quarter of a mile.
In the southern part of Union county, seven miles southwest of Anna, a
tornado swept a track about half a mile wide and four miles long, over
the richest farms, destroying stock, orchards, forests and houses. One
or two persons were fatally hurt. At Mt. Pleasant, twelve miles east of
Anna, there was extensive destruction of property.
At Braidwood, a number of houses and out-buildings were blown away;
trees were torn up, several persons severely injured, and two or three
children are said to have “disappeared.” The writer remembers an
instance that occurred some years ago, when a fourteen-year-old boy was
carried five miles and dropped into a stream: but such a case does not
occur in this country once in many years. One of the freaks told of the
wind at Braidwood is, that it rolled a man in the road and whisked a
watch out of his pocket. It does not appear that any funnel-shaped cloud
was seen here.
At Cairo, out of a fleet of shanty-boats, thirteen were destroyed, and
an old cripple was drowned.
The storm struck Nashville (Ill.) at 4 P.M. The rain,
[Illustration: RUINED DWELLINGS.]
changing to furious hail, fell so fast that one could scarcely see ten
feet. The wind blew with terrific force. The Prohibition Tabernacle and
a two-story brick cooper shop went down. Beginning six miles southeast
on Little Prairie, the damage was fearful, and ranged through a sweep,
to the northeast, of twenty miles. Not less than thirty houses were
destroyed, and twice that number badly damaged. Of numerous casualties,
one or two will illustrate the force of the wind at this place: One
family of seven were sitting in their house as the storm drew near. Two
of the little girls becoming frightened, ran out, when the wind caught
them up, carried them across a field a quarter of a mile wide, and
dropped them uninjured, save from violent pelting of the hail. As the
remaining members of the family were in the act of forsaking the house,
it fell, and all were more or less hurt.
This case would seem to indicate a lack of uniformity in the strength of
the wind; it being powerful enough at one point to carry away children,
while the house, only a few feet away at most, was still standing. One
or two other cases of persons being carried a considerable distance were
reported from Nashville.
All such instances show the powerful upward current of the tornado; for
wind of greater horizontal velocity is often observed, which produces no
such effects. To the uplifting force must be in some degree attributed
the fact that in many cases only roofs or upper stories are damaged.
This same force is responsible for not a few showers of objects that do
not pertain to the upper air: such as the occasionally reported showers
of fish and frogs.
A tornado swept up Bay Bottom in Pope county, accompanied by “rain and
hail in floods and volleys.” A partial report shows a school-house
dashed against a bluff a hundred feet away and reduced to kindling-wood.
A number of residences were destroyed, and several persons were killed.
In all the cases hitherto noted, the tornado, when seen, is reported as
about one-eighth of a mile wide. The next one on the list, while
powerful, is much smaller.
The southwest part of Olney was devastated by a cyclone at 5:35 P.M. Its
track was about a hundred yards wide and a mile long. It shattered or
destroyed the homes of, perhaps, five hundred people. Strange to relate,
only two or three persons were badly hurt. John Bourrell was voted the
wisest man. His house was blown to atoms; but he and his wife were safe
in their “cyclone cellar,” and absorbing much comfort from a $600
cyclone policy on their building.
But the climax of ruin for Illinois was reached at Metropolis, a town of
4,000 people, situated on the Ohio River, thirty-eight miles above
Cairo, and eleven miles below Paducah. A greenish tinge of the
approaching cloud was the only unusual portent. “Suddenly there came
from the southwest a rolling, apparently born of the union of two
clouds, which met in mid-air, and in a moment swooped down into the Ohio
river, now at flood-tide, and on lifting, there followed it a column of
water, estimated all the way from fifty to two hundred feet in height.”
This curious phenomenon swept onward, striking the river front like the
hammer of a Cyclop. In an instant, down went a large number of
buildings, including principal business houses, and the finest
residences of the city. A few persons were seriously hurt, and two or
three were killed. Of course, there were wonderful escapes. One
gentleman had a numerous array of little children; the house was swept
from over the family, and not a soul was hurt. In the country the
devastation was even more appalling. Residences, out-buildings,
churches, even grave-stones were wiped from the face of the earth.
A relief committee was organized. In their dispatch of two days later,
addressed to the St. Louis _Republic_ newspaper, and praying for help,
they say: “Hundreds of homes, the result of a life of labor, have been
swept away in less time than it takes to record it. All kinds of
property have been destroyed. The damage is estimated at over $200,000.”
[Illustration: PATH OF TORNADO--OLNEY, ILL.]
Such is a partial list of the more important casualties of the great
storm. Space is lacking to give detail to all the minor visitations and
incidents. Such storms only attract the attention of the public when
some thickly-settled region is visited. Numerous hamlets and small towns
might be named, of which nothing but the bare fact that a tornado passed
through is recorded. The rural districts are, of course, far more
frequently swept; but the narrowness and short path of the tornado
preclude its doing much damage among them.
Now, we have noticed a dozen different localities, all experiencing much
the same sort of storms. The unthinking person might deem all this
devastation the work of a single storm. Such is the case: but a
distinction must be made between the storm itself, and the tornadoes
produced by it. That there were various tornadoes entirely distinct, or
independent of each other, the reader may clearly perceive, by examining
the foregoing pages. It will be noticed that in several cases the
tornado was seen to form near the spot devastated; and further may be
noted the hours at which the whirlwinds appeared. For instance, the one
which passed near Shawneetown, Missouri, came later than most of those
in Illinois; yet all moved toward the northeast. A brief review of the
main storm will be of interest, and show how the various tornadoes were
produced.
It has already been stated that the storm originated somewhere about the
southwest corner of Wyoming. Here, as early as Wednesday morning, the
Signal Service observed an area of very low barometer. It moved rapidly
eastward, with a trend toward the south, passing in the vicinity of
Denver, Kansas City, and St. Louis, thence northeast through the central
part of Indiana to Lake Erie. The central path of the storm was a
violent and progressive movement of the air, doing in its passage
trifling damage in some localities. The cyclonic movements which did the
principal mischief, were all to the south of the storm center, and were
local and violent motions of the air about an axis, while yet there was
a progressive movement from southwest to northeast.
Now, these lesser whirlwinds are produced in exactly the same way as the
great cyclones of many miles in diameter, which we have already seen do
not originate on land often, because of the irregularities of surface
that hinder. But the local currents of wind, in meeting, produce the
whirling motion. Compare with the moving of a current of water. Every
river forms eddies along the bank, which move a short distance down and
toward the main current, and then break up. Consider the great area of
low barometer moving eastward, and it will be seen that the local
tornadoes, suddenly forming and moving but a few miles, are simply
eddies on its edge. It is easy to watch these produced on a small scale;
for nature’s principles are the same in small and great: when we have
mastered the atom, we have mastered the whole object.
[Illustration: SCENE AT OLNEY, ILL.]
Let one observe a great fire in a forest or prairie. On the outskirts of
newly burned areas, when the air has been rarefied by heat, may be seen
sudden and violent movements about a point, as though there was a spirit
in the wind. In a moment it has lifted the ashes and scorched
[Illustration: WHIRLWIND FROM BURNT PRAIRIE.]
stalks, and whatever light matters were in its way, and circling,
perhaps, wider and stronger for a time, has borne them onward and upward
toward the heavens, where at length its force was dissipated, and it
mingled with the surrounding air. Similar movements were excited along
the southern limits of the storm area, which we are describing; and
hence, not one cyclone, but more properly speaking, a multitude of
little cyclones--tornadoes independent of each other, but dependent on
the main current, or great eastward traveling storm center--swept
through points in Illinois, Missouri, Tennessee and Kentucky; all
rushing toward the line of the lowest barometrical depression, the
actual and advancing storm center. Not since the Signal Service had been
established had the barometer at St. Louis stood so low as 28.46, which,
reduced to sea-level, means 29.08. Toward this region of rarefied
air--this partial vacuum--the cyclonic movements from the south rushed
with inconceivable fury, and as the nucleus of the storm was rapidly
moving eastward, the cyclonic movements were turned from a north to a
northeast course. All these varied movements simply result from the
effort of a disturbed atmosphere to restore an equilibrium.
The illustration of the fire used above also affords a good example of
the way rotation may result from rising air. Any one who has watched a
great fire in calm weather knows that sparks and smoke do not rise
straight up, but in spirals and whirls, the warmer centers rising
faster, just as the middle of a stream flows faster than the edge.
But the powerful winds and the damage done were not all the work of the
marginal whirlwinds. A storm center moving so rapidly must necessarily
have carried a steady high wind. Leaving Wyoming, by Wednesday evening
the storm was in the middle of Colorado; on Wednesday night, it moved
well into Kansas; on Thursday, it crossed States of Missouri and
Illinois, and Thursday night it was passing over Indiana.
The climax of energy was apparently not attained until the storm reached
Illinois. In Missouri, more or less damage was done to fences and
buildings, from Sedalia to St. Louis. At the former place, a roof or two
was blown off, and the teachers in one of the schools were so alarmed
that they dismissed the children. Jefferson City, sixty miles further
on, made a record of damaged roofs and shattered windows. At St. Louis,
there was a deluge of rain at three o’clock in the afternoon, lasting a
half hour; and the wind blew with fury during the evening and greater
part of the night. It drove in and smashed some plate-glass windows,
blew off an occasional roof, and from the top of the corner of St.
Patrick’s School, hurled to the sidewalk a stone weighing, probably,
four hundred pounds.
The story of the Louisville tornado serves to well illustrate all the
peculiar features of the local whirlwinds produced by great storms. They
seldom travel more than thirty miles; usually much less. Sometimes as
large as two miles in diameter, they seldom exceed five hundred yards;
and one of but fifty yards in diameter may be powerful enough to wreck a
house.
Often it is possible to trace the path of a tornado through the forest a
century or more after its passage; for the reason that trees once
destroyed are usually replaced by different varieties. But the tornado
usually originates in the open country, though after its formation it
may sweep through heavy timber.
[Illustration: TORNADO FOLLOWED BY RAIN STORM.]
So far as loss of life is concerned, the tornado is much more to be
feared than lightning. About two thousand people have been killed in
this country within ten years by these rotary storms. Yet, all over the
land, people put up rods that are expensive, and often worse than
useless, as a precaution against lightning, when a small “cyclone
cellar” could be dug that would be far more useful, and less expensive.
While intense electrical displays accompany the tornado, there is no
authentic record of lightning striking during one; and as will be seen
in another place, the amount of electricity present seems to be rather
an effect than a cause: for rapid motion of gases may be made to
produce powerful electric currents.
While the tornado is justly feared in this country, yet, as a
destructive agent, it is far surpassed by a number of
[Illustration: Instantaneous View of a Tornado.]
others whose ravages are less dreaded. It would be comparatively easy to
show, we think, that more persons have been killed in one way or another
by railways in ten years past than by tornadoes.
The one that has been so carefully examined must not be considered as
the worst our country has known. An examination of records of the past
century will show a number that were more destructive to life and
property. Doubtless, an account of some of these would interest the
reader. Place is given to a few.
The tornado has been observed, to some extent, in this country for more
than a century: but only when our central states were well peopled did
it attract very great attention. It is not common in the eastern states,
and but one has ever been recorded west of Dodge City, Kansas. It is not
unknown in Europe, though far less common than with us, having been
noticed a few times in France. In general, it is so rare that a tornado
that passed through Monville in 1845 attracted such attention as to be
noticed in French text-books on physics. To the American, there is
nothing unusual in the conduct of this storm.
Perhaps the earliest detail of a storm of this sort among us is that of
a double one in South Carolina, on the afternoon of May 2, 1761:
“The tornado crossed the Ashley River and swooped down upon the shipping
at Rebellion Wharf with such fury as to threaten the destruction of the
entire fleet. From the city, it was seen coming at first rapidly toward
Wappo Creek, like a column of smoke, with a very irregular and
tumultuous movement. The quantity of vapor which composed this column,
and its prodigious velocity, produced such intense commotion that it
agitated Ashley River to its depths and left the channel bare. The ebb
and flow made the shipping float off to a great distance. When it struck
the river, it made a noise like continuous thunder; its diameter, at
that moment, was estimated at fifteen hundred feet, and its height, as
seen at Charleston,
[Illustration: TORNADO AT MONVILLE.]
at twenty-five degrees. It was met at White Point by another whirlwind,
which descended Cooper River, but was not equal to the first. When they
came together, the commotion in the air was much greater still; the foam
and the vapor seemed to be thrown to the height of forty degrees, while
the clouds that hurried from all directions toward that point seemed to
rush thither and whirl about at one and the same time, with incredible
velocity. The meteor then darted on the shipping in the roadstead, and
reached them in three minutes, although the distance was nearly six
miles. Out of forty-five vessels, five were sunk on the spot; the state
ship, Dolphin, and eleven others were dismasted. The damage, estimated
at more than £200,000, was done in a moment, and even the vessels that
sank were swallowed up so rapidly that the people who were below had
scarcely time to scramble up on deck. The whirlwind of Cooper River
changed the course of the one that came from Wappo Creek, which, had it
not been for that, would, proceeding in the same direction, have swept
away the city of Charleston before it like so much straw.
“This terrible column was first perceived about noon, at more than fifty
miles southwest of the roads. It destroyed everything in its way, making
a complete avenue when it passed through the woods. The loss of the five
ships was so sudden that it is not known whether it was the weight of
the column of wind, or the mass of water driven upon them that made them
go down.”
The tornado occasionally originates at sea and whirls up a heavy column
of water for a few feet, which, meeting the dark funnel from above,
presents the appearance of a pillar of water reaching the clouds. Not a
few ignorant people once imagined that all rain originated from the
water thus sucked up. These columns, or “water-spouts,” are generally a
few feet in diameter, and may sometimes be broken by firing a
cannon-ball through them. They are not ordinarily considered dangerous:
but there are some exceptions, and it is not improbable that many a ship
that left port, never to be heard of again, has been overwhelmed by some
gigantic water-spout.
Of the most destructive tornadoes in the United States, Mississippi
records the two leading ones. The first came on May 7, 1840, and Natchez
was the principal sufferer, though other portions of Adams county were
swept. The day began warm and cloudy, with the wind south, veering to
east. At 2:15 P.M., the sky became a lurid yellow; the storm striking
the river six or seven miles below the city, did not reach it until 2
P.M. The rush of the wind did not last five minutes, and the destructive
blast only a few seconds. Houses were burst outward; three hundred and
seventeen persons were killed in the city and on the river. Sheet tin
was carried twenty miles, and windows thirty miles. One hundred and nine
persons were badly injured, and property to the value of $1,260,000
destroyed. Most of the deaths resulted from drowning; two steamers and
sixty flatboats were sunk, while the city was flooded with nine inches
of rain. Enormous hail-stones fell. A desk fastened with three locks,
was blown open by the explosive force of the expanding air within.
Another curious freak of this expansive power occurred in a tornado at
New Brunswick. A towel hanging on the wall was found apparently blown
nearly through it. The expanding air had driven the towel in a large
crevice which opened in the wall behind it; and the crevice closed as
the storm passed on, holding the towel to puzzle the neighborhood.
The next great tornado visited Natchez, June 16, 1842, and killed five
hundred people.
Next to these, in destruction of life, is the famous
[Illustration: WATER-SPOUT AT SEA.]
Marshfield tornado of April, 1880, in which one hundred and one persons
were killed, and six hundred injured. The town of Marshfield was
literally wiped off the earth. This tornado is notable for its unusually
wide path, and the large area traversed. Four counties were swept; and
though the country was sparsely settled and comparatively little
improved, yet the damage to property was estimated at more than
$1,000,000. Gen. Greely, of the Signal Service, pronounces it one of the
most remarkable in the history of the United States. It formed at the
junction of two streams, a few miles southwest of Marshfield; and, like
the South Carolina tornado of 1761, owed its immense power to the union
of two lesser storms that had traveled down the valleys of the
respective streams. Such a tornado passing over a great city would equal
the earthquake in disastrous effects. Perhaps a better idea of its power
may be gathered from a comparison with the New Haven storm of 1878,
which killed but thirty-four people and destroyed $2,000,000 worth of
property--as much as the recent storm at Louisville. The remarkable
feature about every tornado--the very small destruction of life--may be
better understood when it is stated that, excluding the two Natchez
tornadoes, where the number of houses wrecked is not known, and the
Louisville storm, the twenty most destructive tornadoes in the United
States have killed six hundred and thirteen people, and destroyed over
three thousand houses. This brings us to the peculiar fact that but one
person is killed in every five houses. As the average house may be
counted as containing four persons, it appears that the chances that any
single individual in a wrecked house will not be killed, are nineteen to
one. While the mathematical calculation may be encouraging, yet few will
care to take the risk of a tornado, even though the odds be vastly in
their favor. People place little dependence in arithmetic as a life
preserver. The recent Louisville storm presents a high average, as about
fifty of the victims were taken from a single building. The lowest
average is shown by the tornado that struck Camden, New Jersey, August
3d, 1885, when five hundred houses were destroyed, and but six persons
killed: one for every eighty-three houses. In general, there seems to be
a prevalence of a one to ten rate: but a storm in a city usually vastly
increases the death rate by reason of the number of brick houses, which,
when wrecked, fall much more compactly than frame buildings.
[Illustration: MINNESOTA TORNADO, FORMING LATERAL SPURS.]
The greatest destruction of property has been in Ohio, where the
aggregate now amounts to about $9,000,000. Next is Minnesota with
$7,000,000, and Missouri and Mississippi with about $4,000,000 each.
Missouri is first in respect to loss of life, and Mississippi next. The
months most liable to tornadoes are May, April, June, and July, in
order; and the time of day the hottest; that is, from 3 to 5 P.M.
These data suffice to show the peculiar acts of the tornado in our land.
There is one case of a great storm attended by tornadoes on its
southeast border, that is even more noteworthy than the great one so
minutely detailed in the preceding pages. A storm center passing over a
wider region, on February 9, 1884, produced, after ten o’clock that day,
over sixty tornadoes in Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina,
Kentucky and Tennessee, and North Carolina. Over ten thousand buildings
were destroyed, eight hundred people killed, and twenty-five hundred
wounded. The damage done by any single one was small, while the
aggregate was fearful.
The tornado is occasionally seen in Europe: but in the few instances
recorded, it has been much smaller, and moved much slower than the same
sort of storm in America, though quite as powerful within the territory
traversed. One that was very formidable, was observed near Boulogne, in
1822. It moved about irregularly for an hour, tearing holes in the
ground, snapping off trees, and twisting down houses; yet, it was not
twenty-five feet in diameter. Another one in 1872, swept through a
little town in Italy, and was so powerful as to twist iron balcony
railings together like so many skeins of thread. Several persons were
killed.
In some portions of the Sahara and of Arabia, very numerous small
whirlwinds accompany desert storms, whirling up the fine sand in dense
columns, presenting the appearance of clouds in a region where clouds
are unknown. So many writhing columns, swaying like dancing serpents,
present a peculiarly terrifying aspect to the superstitious Arab, who
has only too good reason to fear them. Strange tales of their
destructiveness are rife. It is said that the army of Cambyses was
overwhelmed by one of these desert storms. This story must, however, be
taken “with a grain of salt.” But there is no doubt that a sand storm is
quite as dangerous as a Dakota blizzard.
[Illustration: SAND SPOUTS IN THE DESERT.]
In tropical regions the tornado or “land-spout,” as many Europeans call
it, gives place to the great cyclone. Still, it appears occasionally.
One which swept the suburbs of Calcutta, in 1838, was but a few yards in
diameter; but in its march of sixteen miles, it killed two hundred and
fifteen persons, wounded two hundred and thirty-three, and destroyed one
thousand two hundred and forty-five houses: thus displaying quite as
great power as any tornado observed in our own land. The speed of
rotation was so great that a bamboo cane was driven through a mud wall
five feet thick, faced on both sides with brick; as great penetrative
power as is usually given to a six-pound cannon-ball.