But in real life there is very little excuse for the vessel to be caught anywhere near the disastrous center of the storm. Indeed, for generations sea-captains have known how to escape the deadly eye. By watching the barometer and noticing in which direction the wind is working round they can tell the course to a nicety and estimate its speed. Then the wise ones run the other way for even the Olympics and Imperators of the sea are cowed by the might of the West Indian.
The typhoons of the West Pacific are similar manifestations.
The hurricane moves off from its birthplace so slowly that our Weather Bureau has an opportunity to size it up, to chart its probable course, and to warn shipping interests. The ship-owners, as a class, appreciate the service of the Bureau and obey its warnings. Vessels with cargoes of a total value of $30,000,000 were known to have been detained in port on the Atlantic coast by the Bureau’s warnings of a single hurricane. Now that a much vaster commerce will steam through these dangerous waters toward the Panama Canal the warnings will assume an even greater importance.
The best description of a hurricane that it has been my fortune to read is in a story entitled “Chita,” one of the remarkable fictions of Lafcadio Hearn. As truthfully as a scientist and with great beauty of style he has pictured the long days of burning sun, the foreboding calm, the thickening haze, the ominous increasing swell of the ocean, a breathless night with the lightning glowing from between piling towers of cloud, the startling suddenness of the wind’s attack, its fury, the hissing rain, the shrill crescendo of the gale.
CLOUDBURST
It is the American tendency to exaggerate. We call every snowstorm a blizzard, every breeze a gale, every shower a cloudburst. In our generous vocabulary it never rains but it pours. Consequently if we, in the East, ever had a real blizzard or a real cloudburst we should be at a considerable loss to find words for an unprofane description. I do not know how they manage out West where these things occur.
A genuine cloudburst must be an amazing spectacle. It is caused by a furious updraft of wind keeping a rainstorm in suspense until so much water has accumulated that it has to let go all at once and the accumulation descends like a wet blanket.
This phenomenon is staged in the mountains; most often in the Rockies where melting snow and desert-hot ravines provide the necessary extremes of temperature. Wind blowing up a mountain-side can maintain considerable force,—so much that a man cannot possibly walk against it. Black thunder clouds brew on the peaks. Suddenly the collapse, and the person who tells the story afterward finds himself struggling in a torrent that a minute before had been a dry gulch. The moral of the story seems to be that if you are camping in the mountains and there is a strong upstream wind blowing and the clouds darken about the hill-tops and the thunder mumbles then don’t make your bed in the creek-bottom lands. The high water marks of former freshets, but not of cloudbursts, show on the side of the stream.
Even in the less impulsive East a couple of inches of rain make a surprising rise in a little creek.
THE HALO