center at right with spiral bands showing. Radar is located at center
of picture with surrounding clouds showing as dense white mass due to
heavy nearby echo return. Echo from opposite side of typhoon is faint._]
[Illustration: _Official U. S. Navy Photograph_
_Looking down into the eye of Hurricane Edna (foreground) on September
7, 1954._]
[Illustration: _U. S. Air Force Photo_
_Looking down at the central region of Typhoon Marge in 1951._]
[Illustration: _Weather officer in nose of aircraft talking to pilot
(left) and radar operator._]
[Illustration: _Official Photo U. S. A. F._
_The engineer in a B-29 on hurricane reconnaissance._]
_The two scanners ready to signal engine trouble the instant it shows
up._
[Illustration: _Official Defense Department Photograph_]
[Illustration: _Official Photo U. S. A. F._]
[Illustration: _The new plane (B-50) to be used by the Air Force for
hurricane reconnaissance._]
Some of the most dangerous of the extratropical storms begin as small
companions or secondary centers of huge disturbances, generally on the
south side, where they grow rapidly in fury and merge with the original
cyclones to produce winds of tremendous destructive power. This often
happens in the so-called "windy corners" of the world. One of these, and
a good example, is Cape Hatteras, on the eastern coast of North
Carolina. It is a sort of way station for both the tropical and
extratropical varieties. Hurricanes heading northwestward from the
Caribbean and curving to follow the coastline, sweep over the Cape,
which juts into the ocean at the point where the northward-moving storms
still retain great force. In winter, big extratropical cyclones passing
eastward across the region of the Great Lakes tend to produce small
companions or secondaries in the southeastern states and some of them
develop gales of hurricane force by the time they reach Hatteras. Here
the cold air masses of the continent, guided by storm winds, are thrown
against the warm, moist air from the Gulf Stream. In the reaction, there
are towering seas and hazardous gales that are well known to seamen.
As these big storms roar past Cape Hatteras, the winds shift to
northwest and the sky clears, unless you happen to be on shipboard and
the tops of big waves are being torn off by the wind and thrown into the
air, to pass overhead in streaks or splatter on the decks. In the days
of the sailing ship, the master was not surprised when he got into
trouble in the area between Bermuda and Hatteras. Here many merchantmen
from far places passed, en route to or from New York or other Atlantic
ports. Slowed by cross seas and dirty weather hatched over the Gulf
Stream, they were soon reduced to storm stay-sails. As the gales
mounted, the crews could see other ships rising on the billows in one
instant before slithering into a great trough where, in the next
instant, they could see nothing but jagged peaks of water and a welter
of foam. On the Hatteras side, especially, the master could get into a
rendezvous with death, for he often had only two choices. He could run
full tilt toward the west and try to get around the front of a hurricane
moving northward, but this maneuver would take him toward Hatteras,
where he might find company in the wrecks of countless other ships that
had failed in the effort and had been thrown against the coast. The
other choice was no better. He could make such progress as was possible
toward the east and hope that he would not be caught in the dangerous
sector of the oncoming hurricane, a course which more likely than not
would lead to disaster.
As has been noted, however, it was the tragic losses caused by
extratropical cyclones that induced governments to take over the job of
hunting storms and issuing warnings. In France, the first country to
take positive action, the immediate cause was the catastrophe which
struck the allied fleets in the harbor at Balaclava in 1854, during the
Crimean War. Ships of England and France were caught in this desperate
position because of jealousies and hatreds which have abounded in Europe
for centuries. In this case, the Tsar of Russia seized a pretext to try
to gain control of a part of Turkey. This was not unexpected. Russia
always has looked with covetous eyes at the Bosporus and the
Dardanelles, which lead through the Black Sea to the Mediterranean. On
this score Europe is perpetually uneasy. France and England, who had
been enemies, now joined forces and planned a campaign against Russia.
It was July, 1853, when the Tsar, Nicholas I, mobilized his armies. As
his first overt act, he occupied the part of Turkey which lay north of
the Danube River. Soon afterward, the Russian fleet destroyed a Turkish
squadron in the Black Sea. Now the Tsar became more cautious because of
the threat of action by England and France, and especially because of
indications that Russia's ally, Austria, would desert her. The Tsar took
no further action. Now it required a long time in those days to get a
campaign under way, and it was a whole year later, July, 1854, when the
allies were ready to start the invasion of the Crimean Peninsula.
Meanwhile, Russia had withdrawn her troops from Turkey and there was no
real cause for conflict. But tempers had flared, the vast machinery of
war had been put in motion, and the allies drew stubbornly nearer to
disaster. They knew quite well that the time might be too short to
finish the campaign before the bitterly cold weather of the Russian
winter would creep out over the Peninsula. In fact, the Tsar had said
that his best generals were January and February, and that remark should
have carried ample warning.
Actually, the allied attack began in September, 1854. The British had
taken possession of the harbor at Balaclava and, in the beginning, the
invasion seemed to promise success. But in October the heroic but
ill-fated "Charge of the Light Brigade," made immortal by Tennyson,
marked the turning point. It was clear then that the campaign would have
to be resumed in the spring of 1855. By November, cold weather had
arrived, land action had ceased, and the allies were faced with the
problem they had hoped so earnestly to avoid--that of keeping their
fighting forces intact during winter in a hostile climate.
To understand the dire predicament of the allies when the big storm
struck, it is important to note that the harbor at Balaclava had proved
to be too small for a supply base. Many ships had to be anchored outside
and there was delay and confusion in moving in and out of the harbor.
Not only was there a difficult supply problem but the sick and wounded
were being transported across the Black Sea to Scutari, near
Constantinople, where hospital conditions were abominable. By October,
the plight of the army had become a scandal in England. Florence
Nightingale was sent to Scutari with authority over all the nurses and a
guarantee of co-operation from the medical staff. She arrived on
November 4. The remainder of her story is well known as one of the
bright pages of history.
Now the stage was set for catastrophe. An obscure winter storm blew its
way across Europe without anything happening until its southern center
crossed the Black Sea, on November 14. Suddenly, as secondaries often
do, it came to life. There was rain turning to snow as the disturbance
burst forth in gales of hurricane force. The congestion grew while the
signs of the storm intensified. The ghostly mountains around Balaclava
disappeared in the gloom, the near-by shore lines next were blotted out,
and impenetrable darkness settled down on the shuddering and grinding of
the battered remnants of the helpless fleet. Wreckage was strewn along
the coast and around the harbor. All the men-of-war survived, although
damaged, but nearly all of the vessels with essential stores were lost.
Misery, disease, and horror followed during the bitter winter. The death
rate in the hospitals reached forty-two per cent in February. Meanwhile,
in France, Napoleon III received news of the terrible gales at Balaclava
and brooded over the catastrophe. He determined to learn where this
deadly storm had originated, the path it followed, and to set up a plan
for tracking and predicting others of its kind in the future. And so he
called in the famous astronomer Leverrier and asked him to carry out the
investigation.
Urbain Leverrier, then forty-three years old, was known throughout the
world as the discoverer of the planet Neptune, in 1846. He knew of the
works of Redfield and Reid on hurricanes and by 1854 had noted the
efforts of other Americans and Britishers to track extratropical storms.
With their ideas in mind, he called on scientists in all European
countries to send him observations of the weather on the days from
November 12 to 16, preceding and following the day of the disaster at
Balaclava. Information moved slowly between countries in those days and,
though many scientists co-operated, it was February, 1855, before
Leverrier had gathered the data he needed. In developing his plan, he
was encouraged by the invention and spread of the electric telegraph in
the United States, and he hoped that the extension of lines in Europe
would provide fast-moving messages for his purpose.
Before the end of February, Leverrier handed his report to Napoleon III
and recommended that a system of weather messages and of issuing
warnings be established at once. The Emperor approved this within
twenty-four hours. Soon the French government was mapping the weather
and looking for storms. The British followed suit. Already Joseph Henry,
in the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, was trying a similar plan,
but it was not until February, 1870, that the Congress of the United
States appropriated funds and established a government weather service
in the Signal Corps of the Army.
The immediate reason for this legislation in the United States was
similar to that in France. At that time there was a rapidly growing
commerce on the Great Lakes, but storm disasters were all too frequent.
In 1869, nearly two thousand vessels were beached or sunk by gales on
the Lakes. On the seacoasts, the situation was almost equally bad. The
new service was soon in operation. The first storm warning by the United
States government was sent out in November, 1870.
During the next twenty years, blizzards, hail storms, tornadoes and
sudden wind storms of other kinds gave the new weather service a great
deal of trouble. They brought a vivid realization of the great variety
of surprises that lay in wait for the storm hunters. No sooner had they
found rules for the issuance of warnings than a new kind of peril came
along. The service had been in the Signal Corps of the Army, but in 1891
it was turned over to the Department of Agriculture because of its value
to the farmers. The desperate struggle against storms continued, with
many experienced weathermen feeling very discouraged about the whole
business. And then on February 15, 1898, the Battleship Maine was sunk
in Havana Harbor and war with Spain loomed on the horizon.
On April 25, the United States declared war. The Spanish fleet left the
Cape Verde Islands for Cuba and American warships departed for the West
Indies, to prepare the way for the movement of troops for the coming
campaign in Cuba. It was June 29, however, before the transports arrived
at Santiago, carrying seventeen thousand officers and men to support the
United States fleet. By that time, the commanders on both sides had
begun to worry about storms, for the first hurricanes had appeared as
early as June in some years, bringing destructive winds and torrential
rains to some parts of Cuba and the surrounding area.
Willis Moore was Chief of the Weather Bureau. He had been a sergeant in
the Signal Corps, transferred when the service was put in the Department
of Agriculture. He knew very well the difficulties of tracking storms
and especially in the West Indies, where only scattered weather reports
could be obtained by cable from some of the islands. A bad hurricane
could easily sneak up on the American forces through the broad waters of
the Caribbean, a predicament likely to arise if the Weather Bureau
depended on cable messages from native observers.
Moore carried his worries to James Wilson, Secretary of Agriculture, who
decided that they should go to the President. At the White House, they
soon had an audience with McKinley, and Wilson presented the case. Moore
had maps, charts and data on hurricanes and the disasters they had
caused in the West Indies. Also, he had sketched a plan for a cordon of
storm hunters on islands around the Caribbean, to protect the American
fleet. He said that armadas had been defeated, not by the enemy, but by
the weather. He thought it probable that as many warships had been sent
to the bottom by storms as by the fire of the enemy. The President
listened respectfully at first, then with impatience at the lengthy
discussion. He had made up his mind. Interrupting Moore, he got up, sat
on the corner of his desk and declared:
"Wilson, I am more afraid of a West Indian hurricane than I am of the
entire Spanish Navy. Get this service started at the earliest possible
moment."
Moore ventured to say, "Yes, indeed, Mr. President, but the Weather
Bureau will need the authority of Congress to organize a weather service
on foreign soil."
The President told Wilson: "Report to Chairman Cannon of the
Appropriations Committee at once. They are preparing a bill to give me
all necessary powers to conduct the war and this authority can be
included."
It was soon done. As a part of the plan, a fast cruiser was stationed at
Key West, to carry the news to the fleet immediately, in case the
Weather Bureau predicted a hurricane. In that event, the fleet might
have abandoned the blockade, to get sea room and avoid the center of the
storm.
With this authority, the Weather Bureau moved swiftly to station men and
equipment on the islands. Letters had to be written to European
countries for permission to send observers into their possessions. But
although the bill containing the authority only passed Congress on July
7, observers arrived as follows: July 21--Kingston, Santiago, Trinidad,
San Domingo, St. Thomas; August 11--Barranquilla; August 12--Barbados;
August 18--St. Kitts; August 29--Panama.
Land fighting continued in the West Indies until August 12, but the
Spanish fleet was destroyed on the morning of July 3. They made a
desperate effort to escape from the harbor at Santiago, were shelled by
American warships, and all were disabled or beached. Up to that time
there had been no tropical disturbances in the region. A small one hit
near Tampa on August 3. Another small but vicious hurricane swept the
coast of Georgia on August 31. The first big one of the 1898 season
raked Barbados, St. Vincent and St. Lucia on September 10 to 11, and
disappeared east of the Bahamas.
The stations set up by the storm hunters in 1898 formed the backbone of
the hurricane warning service which exists today as a greatly improved
system, including squadrons of aircraft that fly into tropical storms to
obtain essential data for the forecasters. Before storm hunting could be
operated on a practical basis, however, it was necessary to find new
means of communication. Dependence on messages by cable from scattered
islands was not good enough.
_5._ RADIO HELPS--THEN HINDERS
"_Make it clear that I would veto the bill again._"
--F. D. R.
In the 1930's there was a strange turn of affairs in hurricane hunting.
It had long been the purpose to keep ships out of trouble, first by
giving the mariner a law of storms and then by sending warnings by
radio. One morning in August, 1932, an indignant citizen came into a
Weather Bureau office on the Gulf Coast and wanted to know where the
hurricane was. The weatherman told him that there were no ship reports
in the area but the center seemed to be somewhere in the central Gulf.
"What's the matter with the radio reports from boats?" he asked.
"Because of the warnings we issued yesterday, all the ships got out of
the area and apparently there are no ships close enough this morning to
do any good," the weatherman explained.
"Say, what kind of a deal is this?" demanded the citizen. "The only way
we can tell where the center is located is to get radio reports from
boats out there and you fellows chase all the boats away from the
storm."
"Well, that's our business," replied the Weather Bureau man in
astonishment. "We are required by law to give warnings to shipping."
"I don't see it. I'm going to write to my Congressman and to the White
House, if necessary, to get this straightened out. What we ought to do
is send boats out there to give reports when we need them," was the
final declaration by the citizen who had one time been a shipmaster
himself. And he did write to Congress and the White House. Others joined
him. The argument over legislation began.
Long before the use of radio on shipboard, the location, intensity, and
movement of hurricanes over the Atlantic, Caribbean, and Gulf, and along
the coasts and between the islands in the West Indies had been judged by
careful observations of the wind, sea and sky. In the latter part of the
nineteenth century, the storm hunters had become quite expert at it.
Among the best were the Jesuits in the West Indies and in the Far East.
They watched the high clouds moving out in advance of the tropical
storm, the sea swells that are stirred up by the big winds and travel
rapidly ahead, and, finally, as the storm center drew near, they studied
the winds in the outer edges when they began to be felt locally. One of
the pioneers in this work in the West Indies was Father Benito Viñes, at
Havana. He began giving out warnings as early as 1875 and by the end of
the century was an authority on the precursory signs of hurricanes, both
for land observers and for men on shipboard. By that time many of the
Weather Bureau men along the coasts had become experts and, after the
Spanish War, they began work on the islands in the West Indies.
Observations from the islands came in by cable and from the American
coasts they came by telegraph. In some areas this information served
very well, but far from land--in the open Atlantic, Caribbean, or
Gulf--there was not much to go on. Along the Gulf and Atlantic coasts,
the last resort before putting up the red flags with black centers was
the experienced observer who had an unobstructed view of the open sea.
Even with the best of such reports, there was always a question as to
whether it was a big storm with its center far out or a small storm with
its center close by. This fact, plus the rate of forward motion of the
storm, could make a vital difference. A big, slow-moving storm gave
plenty of warning but a small, fast-moving one brought destructive winds
and tides almost as soon as the warnings could be sent out and the flags
hoisted.
Aside from these indications, the storm hunters depended heavily on the
behavior of tropical storms in different parts of the season. They had
average tracks by months, showing how storms had moved both in direction
and speed, and much other information on their normal behavior. But all
too often hurricanes took an erratic course, and now and then the center
of a big one described a loop or a track shaped like a hairpin. A few of
the storm hunters thought that some upper air movement--a "steering
current"--controlled the hurricane's path. The most obvious influence of
this kind is the general air circulation over the Atlantic--the large
anticyclone nearly always centered over the ocean near the Azores but
often extending westward to Bermuda or even to the American mainland.
In the central regions of the Atlantic High, the modern sailor, unlike
his predecessor in the sailing ship, is delighted by calms or gentle
breezes and fair weather. On its northern edge, storms pass from America
to Europe, stirring the northern regions of the ocean. On its southern
edge, we find the trade winds reaching down into the tropics and turning
westward across the West Indies and the Bahamas. A chart of these
prevailing winds gives a fairly good indication of the ocean currents.
Some of the surface waters are cold, some warm. And where they wander
through the tropics as equatorial currents or counter-currents, they are
hot and, other things being favorable, we find a birthplace of storms.
In some other tropical regions, the waters are cold and no hurricanes
form there.
Near the equator, the earth is girdled by a belt of heat, calms,
oppressive humidity, and persistent showers. This belt is called the
"doldrums." The trade winds of the Northern Hemisphere reach to its
northern edge, while the trades below the equator brush its southern
margin. Tropical storms form now and then in and along the doldrum belt
at certain seasons--just why, no one knows, for there are hundreds of
days when everything seems right for a cyclone but nothing happens
except showers and the miserable sultriness of the torrid atmosphere.
Stripped to his waist, the sailor sits on his bunk at night without the
slightest exertion while perspiration descends in rivulets from his head
and shoulders. Nothing seems capable of making any appreciable change in
this monotonous regime. But eight or ten times a year on the Atlantic,
in summer or autumn, a storm rears its head in this oppressive
atmosphere. Its winds turn against the motions of the hands of a clock,
seemingly geared to the edges of the vast, fair-weather whirlwind
centered in mid-ocean. Around the southern and western margins of this
great whirl the storm moves majestically, gaining in power which it
takes in some manner from the heat and humidity--a power which would
drain the energies of a thousand atom bombs. The crowning clouds push to
enormous heights and deploy ahead of the monster--a foreboding of
destruction in its path. Here is one of the great mysteries of the sea.
Its heated surface lets loose great quantities of moisture which somehow
feed the monster--that we know--but what sets it off is almost as much
of a mystery as it was in the time of Columbus.
Until lately, the investigators trying to study the hurricane in motion
across the earth were as handicapped as if they had been stricken blind
and dumb when its great cloud shield enveloped them. The darkening scud
and rain shut off all view of the upper regions by day and left them in
utter darkness by night. No word came from ships caught in its inward
tentacles until long afterward, when the survivors had come into port.
Balloons tracing its winds disappeared in the clouds and were carried
away. A method of following them above the clouds would have helped in
the understanding of the upper regions in the same way that reports from
sailing ships had helped in the study of the surface winds. This was the
situation at the end of the Spanish War. But a new era was opening.
As the century came to a close, Marconi was getting ready to span the
far reaches of the Atlantic with his wireless apparatus. Already the
miracle of the telephone carrying the human voice by wire had become a
practical reality, with more than a million subscribers in the United
States, but it was not destined to be used across the ocean for many
years. Even that accomplishment would not have afforded much help to the
storm hunters. They had tried transoceanic messages for weather
reporting when submarine cables were laid across the Atlantic. Some
weathermen thought at first that it would be possible to pick up reports
of storms on the American Coast and, allowing a certain number of days
for them to cross the Atlantic, to predict their arrival in Europe. This
failed to work, for many storms die or merge with others en route, and
so many new disturbances are born in mid-Atlantic that it is necessary
to have reports every day from all parts of the ocean to tell when
storms are likely to approach European shores.