Unhappily the departure of the storm was not so sudden as its advent. The Tuesday following the night of tempest was an indescribably wretched day, and the barometer fell to 29·180. Wednesday brought sunshine and hope with it, and afforded the one bright spot in this gloomy record by showing up many effects of wonderful beauty in the snow-covered landscapes. Still the wind was never at rest, though the thermometer went up to 120° in the sun. Thursday followed with more snow, and occasional sharp and ominous squalls, and some apprehension was felt that a repetition of Monday's experience was in the air, but fortunately the week wore away without further calamity, and the work of repairing to some extent the damage done, and thereby making existence for man and beast possible, a task hitherto carried on under tremendous difficulties, was vigorously pushed forward.
A letter, which will be found interesting, was, on the day after the storm, written to the editor of the Western Morning News, and published in that paper, by Captain Andrew Haggard, of the King's Own Scottish Borderers, now stationed at Devonport. The writer is a brother of Mr. Rider Haggard, and himself a novelist of repute. This letter was as follows:—
"Sir,—The cyclonic nature of the blizzard that has been annoying us all so much, and causing such a frightful amount of damage during the last two days, may be judged by the following observations taken by several officers in the South Raglan Barracks on the evening of the 9th instant. From these observations it would seem as if for a time the South Raglan Barracks were in the exact centre of the storm, being left for varying periods in a complete calm in consequence. Here are the notes we made:—At 8·12 P.M. the storm was raging so furiously that the solid old Raglan was shaken to its foundations, the fire was roaring up the chimney as if in a blast furnace, and the noise made by the blizzard generally was such that it was difficult to hear one's neighbour speak. But at 8·13 suddenly came a complete lull. The elements ceased to wage war, the fire assumed its normal demeanour, and an officer who went out to see what had happened came in and reported that it was so calm he was able to light matches outside. For thirteen minutes did this calm last. At 8·26 with a roar like thunder, the wind returned, and once more we were dreading that the armies of the chimney pots would fall upon us in their fury. Only for twenty minutes, though, did the hurricane scream and yell, and as before make itself generally obnoxious. At 8·46 there was another absolute cessation of wind until 8·53, when it 'blizzed' worse than before. And shortly afterward everyone started forth to put out fires, when all the amateur meteorologists discovered to their grief that whatever the cyclone might do in the way of lulling occasionally down at the Raglan, on the top of Stoke Hill it blizzed all night with perfect impartiality.
Yours truly,
"Andrew Haggard.
"Devonport, March 10th."
[CHAPTER II.]
THE BLIZZARD.
Soon after daylight, on the morning of Monday, March 9th, over the whole of the West of England, the fine weather that had prevailed for several weeks past gave place to a most unpleasant condition of affairs. The temperature fell, almost suddenly, and in the neighbourhood of Plymouth, Devonport, and Stonehouse, snow was falling fitfully from about an hour before noon. There was a gradually rising wind, that assumed menacing proportions as the afternoon wore on, while the snow that had, for the first few hours, thawed as soon as it fell upon the yet warm ground, was rapidly forming a white covering on every position exposed to the sky. At six o'clock, in the three towns some four or five inches of snow lay upon the ground, and the wind had increased to a hurricane. Slates began to start from the roofs of houses, and chimneys to fall, and in a very short time the streets assumed a deserted appearance, and all vehicular traffic was stopped. Advertisement hoardings were hurled from their positions with some terrible crashes, and in many instances the splinters were promptly seized by a thrifty populace and taken away for firewood. Many trees were blown down in the early part of the night. In Buckland Street, Plymouth, a tree of sufficient size to block the roadway fell at about eight o'clock, and not long after another heavy tree fell from Athenæum Garden across Athenæum Street, the main road to the Great Western Railway Station, completely closing the thoroughfare. Our illustration, reproduced from a photograph taken by Mr. Heath of George Street, Plymouth, on the morning after the storm, gives a realistic idea of the condition of Plymouth streets, and of the quantity of snow that was blown about during the night.
On Plymouth Hoe, iron seats were blown from their fastenings and rolled over and over, the ironwork in many instances being curiously bent. The statue of Drake, the Armada Memorial, and the Smeaton Tower looked, however, none the worse for the wild night. Perhaps, when the sun shone upon them on Wednesday they may be described as having looked better for the patches of glistening snow that clung to them in most picturesque form. Strange to say, the Pavilion Pier sustained no damage beyond a smashed pane or two of glass. Exposed as it must have been to the full fury of the gale, it stood the turmoil gallantly, and this fact speaks well for the soundness of the structure, and for the good workmanship and material used in its erection.
Trees were uprooted or snapped short off at Woodside, the residence of Mr. Bewes, at Portland Square, and in many other parts of Plymouth. Of these irreparable losses much more will be said in the course of this record. Concerning the damage wrought among houses and homesteads, and the marvellous escapes from injury to life and limb, our limited pages would not permit of the chronicling of one hundredth part of those that were met with in the Three Towns alone during that night. At Clifton Place, Plymouth, a chimney fell through the roof into a bedroom occupied by three little girls, and completely buried them, two being so badly injured as to necessitate their removal to the hospital. In this instance the staircase was blocked by the débris, and access to the terrified children could only be obtained by means of ladders, and with the greatest difficulty.
