Hurricane

In Path Of Pacific’S Worst

Terrifying Experience of French Trader's Family in New Hebrides Cyclone

IN February last, the central islands of the New Hebrides were ravaged by a great, terrifying hurricane—probably one of the worst in Pacific history. The area is credited by Australian meteorolo gists with at least one hurricane (1922) more severe than any other recorded in the South Seas, yet both Europeans and natives were emphatic that the February tornado surpassed even its fury.

The hurricane lasted a comparatively short time —the fiercest part of it a little more than an hour—but, as one New Hebrides resident who has encountered every cyclone in the Group since the be ginning of the century, expressed it: “For that hour, I really thought the last day had come—l have never seen anything like it!”

In the July “P.1.M.” was published the poignant story of a planter who lost everything he had worked for and ac cumulated during his lifetime, when the hurricane sweot through his property; and, in the August issue, photographs showed how the islarl of Emae had been devastated. We now have received the following graphic account of the experi ence of a French trader (Monsieur J.

Dupuy) and his family when the tornado hit Tongoa Island, SUNDAY, 5 p.m. (February 18): Baro metric pressure reads 28.7 (Note; M. Dupuy’s barometer needs about .4 inch added to make correct sea-level reading).

At 5.15 p.m.. barometric pressure 28.6.

The sea is calm and flat, like a mirror.

Strong squalls spin over the water, lift ing up wisps of sea-spray. And so we are warned—there will be a hurricane and, as always, in the night!

We take all precautions, but not hav ing complete confidence in the solidity of our house, we decide to take refuge in the store, as in a fort, to resist the assault of the winds. Barometer still falling; now 28.1.

At 2 a.m.. with the glass reading 27.1, the elements are unleashed. We discon nect the radio and pack it in its case.

Half an hour later, we rouse the child ren and, followed by our two “boys”, make our way with difficulty to the con crete store.

From this moment, it is “all tricks lost”!

The store, apparently so solid, was torn to pieces in less than five minutes. The roof gave way first, after some vertical gusts of wind from Lumbukuti valley, E.S.F., which were as shattering as a great battleship’s broadside. The rafters broke away, smashed lust like matches; and then the roofing flew off in a single ln which direction? Without doubt, into the sea, for to this day we have not recovered a single sheet of it!

Then the walls facing north and south hurled themselves down upon us, crush ing almost everything under their con siderable weight. We escaped certain death by a miracle. Outside, too. death was hovering near as we fled from the ruined store, my wife and children press ing close ta me: sheet-iron sailed through the air just above our heads, with a whistling sound like shrapnel. Around us, as we ran, coconut palms and other trees, including a huge uprooted mango, fell as at the touch of a giant, unseen hand. At last we reached the house which, to our astonishment, had weathered the “blow” very well.

It was then that a sudden and abso lute calm succeeded the infernal noise of the wind, which had blown, up to now, from the south-east. Thus we survived the first phase of the tempest.

DECEIVED by the misleading calm, my wife began to prepare a cup of tea, for we were all chilled from cold.

There was no breath of wind —not even enough to waver the spirit-flame burning in the cup of our “primus”—and we were beginning to joke light-heartedly about the intense terror we had just endured.

Suddenly, from the north, we heard a furious roar, similar to the nqises pre ceding an earthquake. In a few seconds the storm was upon us again, this time with unprecedented force and velocity. In a twinkling, the old house collapsed. We had time only to scramble under the floor, to a little corner somewhat sheltered by two pillars of concrete. There, flat on our stomachs, in this narrow corner of

tutelary refuge, we awaited the dawn of a better day.

That was the second phase of the hurricane—but not the end. Four days after the cataclysm, the wind had still not completed the round of the compass; it still kept blowing from the N.E., and the sea was still very disturbed.

In our life, already long, we have been eye-witnesses of four true hurricanes, al most as strong as this, but none behaved like this last one. They all commenced in the east or south-east and, after 12, 18 or 24 hours, the wind completed the turn of the compass and then, as in the old adage, “the calm succeeded the storm”.

THREE weeks later, on the morning of March 12, I went up to the plateau of Lumbukuti village, having arranged to meet the neighbouring British trader and make an inspection of the damaged native plantations. .As we could not possibly go around the whole island in one day together, we agreed to divide the task and walk in opposite dir ections. So we parted, to meet again on the morrow where my house formerly stood and to share our impressions.

We found that Lumbukuti plateau was the least affected. About 25 per cent, of the coconut palms had been destroyed, trees aged from 15 to 20 years. It appeared to us that the plantations of Tavakiki, Pakoa and all the others, as far as the village of Pele, cannot hope to make re covery under three to five years.

From Pele on, it was desolation, de struction, and utter ruin—so not to be taxed with exaggeration, I should say that 85 per cent, of the palms were devastated.

The village plantations at Lupalea, Woraviu, Ravehga, Kurumambe, Purau, Oriu, Itakoma, Euto and Mangarisu were in the same lamentable condition.

The crown of martyrdom, though, was awarded to the following villages: Meriu, Bongabonga and Panita—there, practi cally nothing remained. The trunks of the few trees that were standing re sembled dead men’s bones, for they had been stripped bare by the voracious winds.

As for my pretty station at the beach, with its concrete store, its comfortable house, its girdle of oranges, coconuts, nakavikas, and venerable mango trees, and its beautiful green turf, thick and short, that stretched like a carpet to the sea—what remains of it? Merely a cold heap of ruins!