"Every week or so, (during hurricane season), somewhere in the tropical
seas off the northwest coast of Africa, a cluster of clouds comes together
and takes on a sinister shape . . . Only one out of every ten will
intensify to hurricane force, and what makes one whorl of unstable air
grow into a hurricane for every nine that peter out is as much conjecture
as science. These incipient storms seem to be temperamental creatures, as
sensitive to their surroundings as orchids."
"Sudden Sea" is author R. A. Scotti's account of one maverick storm
that on September 4, 1938 whirled away from the fertile Cape Verde
breeding ground and swept across the ocean set on a collision course with
Florida.
On Monday, September 19 with the Category five hurricane poised to
strike Miami-Palm Beach, the whole country turned its attention south. The
New York Times ran a front-page story, HURRICANE IN ATLANTIC HEADS TOWARD
FLORIDA. Newspapers in New England printed the alarm as well.
Then, some strange, inexplicable phenomenon occurred. The weather
forecasters in Florida noted a capricious storm path hooking sharply
north. Florida was spared as the beast clawed its way north along the
coast. On Tuesday, September 20, the Great Hurricane was thought to be set
on the classic route to oblivion in the cooler waters of the open
Atlantic.
By 8:00 Tuesday night it curved north-northeast. Winds diminished to
138 miles an hour from a morning high of 155. Weather forecasters along
the eastern seaboard continued to believe the storm would turn westerly
again and spin itself out over open waters. Around two o'clock a.m. on
September 21, the storm began to accelerate. Traveling at more than 40
miles an hour, it sprinted up the coast in a northeasterly direction. This
was the first sign that the Great Hurricane of 1938 would not follow the
rules.
"Today the National Hurricane Center (NHC) is a meteorological CIA,
detecting and stalking nature's terrorists." In 1938 forecasters had to
rely on ship-to-shore communications to chart the track of hurricanes.
One ship, 150 miles north of Florida, encountered the unruly
widow-maker. The Carinthia, a 624 feet long by 73 feet wide ship was
designed for luxury. Nevertheless, the Carinthia took the hurricane
head-on. "The ocean brawled, the wind bayed and the old ship bowed to
them, tumbling into the sea, struggling out, tumbling in again . . . A
Mayday message would be a cry in the wilderness."
Before dawn, Wednesday morning, the weather battered ship staggered
free of the hurricane's clutches. "The stunned captain radioed to shore
that the barometer had dropped almost an inch to 27.85 in less than an
hour. It was one of the lowest recorded in the North Atlantic.
Everything in nature—temperature, tides, air currents, and seasonal
rainfall—conspired to make New England the perfect place for a hurricane
on 21 September 1938.
Drawing upon newspaper accounts, personal testimony of survivors, and
archival sources, "Sudden Sea" recounts that day in terrifying detail.
"The Moore family climbed up to the attic of their oceanfront home as the
waters rose, only to find themselves launched on a roiling ocean. Joseph
Matoes watched as the bus carrying his children home from school stalled
on the causeway just as the ocean surged into the bay. Three friends,
separated in the fury of the storm, found themselves reunited on a beach a
state away. These and other tales of heroism, terror, and survival form
the heart of this incredible account."
Scotti, in a breathtaking pace follows the storm as it reaches Long
Island, New York and ravages six New England states. "A safe harbor became
a cemetery; the family car, a tomb. Rooftops were rafts . . . Salvation
and destruction, redemption and death were as random as the flip of a
coin, and the air was so thick with salt and murky spray that day was as
blind as night."
The full rip of the storm was reserved for the southern shore of
Massachusetts, the eastern most beach towns of Connecticut, and all of
coastal Rhode Island. City by city, Scotti relentlessly tracks the path of
the hurricane creating such a sense of horror and devastation it is hard
to stay with the written words as the mind creates images too horrendous
to endure.
In Rhode Island "it has become an annual September ritual to make the
trek from Watch Hill to the old fort, to walk this now barren beach. It
was an idyll, once, until a capricious Wednesday, at the ragtag end of
summer, when a strange yellow light came off the ocean, an eerie, restless
siren filled the air, and a world broke apart. A paradise was lost."
Copyright September 2003 Patricia Ann Jones, All rights
reserved
Jones is a published writer and book reviewer for Tulsa
World newspaper.
The information compiled on this site is
Copyright 1999-2008 by Attard Communications, Inc. and by the individual authors.
Business Know-How is a woman-owned business and a registered trademark of Attard Communications, Inc.
Phone: 631-467-8883.