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.”