On the morning of the 9th of March, 1891, when inhabitants of the three westernmost counties in England set about preparing for the routine duties of daily life, nothing seemed to indicate that, with the approach of nightfall, the gravest atmospheric disturbance of the century—in that part of the world, at all events—would come to spread terror and destruction throughout town and country. The month, so far, had not been a gentle one. Following in the footsteps of a memorably genial February, March had been somewhat harsh and cold, without yielding the rain that was by this time greatly needed. There were rumours of "a change of some sort," of an approaching "fall of something," and other vaticinations of the same familiar character floating about, but in the west country these wise sayings fall so thick and fast and frequently as to possess little more significance than the most oft-repeated household words. When the day drew on, and signs of a rising gale were uncomfortably apparent on every hand, recollections of a promised storm from the Observatories of the United States began to be awakened, but it was found on sifting the matter, that if this were the disturbance indicated, it had come about a fortnight too soon. Students of "Old Moore's Almanack" were better informed, and it is probable that if this ill wind blew good to anybody, it was in the shape of discovery that by virtue of the truth of his forecast, a favourite and venerable prophet was deserving of honour at the hands of the people of his own country. Unhappily, however, there is nothing to show that advantage had been taken of this warning, in any practical sense. On the contrary, the blast came down swiftly upon a community that was almost wholly unprepared to receive it, and one of the saddest parts of the story of its fury will be the account of the devastation wrought among the unprotected flocks and herds.

On referring to the remarks on the subject of the weather published in the local press, and obtained from official scientific authorities, it will be found that at an early hour on the morning of March 9th the barometer had been rising slightly, and that the day "promised to be fine." Other accounts hinted at the probability of some snow showers, and snow was reported as falling heavily in North Wales, but north and north-easterly winds, light and moderate, were anticipated. Nothing was said about a great fall of snow, accompanied by a hurricane fierce enough to send it down in powder, without even allowing time for the formation of snow-flakes.

According to one Plymouth correspondent, whose observations are both reliable and valuable, the only intimation of the coming storm was by the barometer falling to 29·69 on the evening of the 9th, with an E.N.E. wind. The hygrometer was thick and heavy—a sign of rough weather. During the night the glass fell to 29·39. On Tuesday it fell to 29·180. Another account says that it has not, perhaps, occurred in the experience of many, except those who have known tropical storms, that the movement in an ordinary column barometer might be seen during the progress of a gale. Such, however, was possible in the case under notice. Though the glass had been falling during the day, yet there were no indications of any serious disturbance of the weather. On many occasions there have been greater falls in the barometer than on this occasion. When this storm was at its height, the barometer at Devonport was observed to be at 29·27, but in the course of half an hour pressure was indicated by 29·20, the rise being, of course, a considerable and sudden one. Within an hour of this register being made, a fall had again occurred to 29·25, and even a little below this was marked, at which point the column remained until the early hours of the morning.

It is clear that during the whole progress of the storm the temperature was never very low. The great cold came from the strength of the wind. During the storm, and in the course of the severe days that followed, not more than five or six degrees of frost were registered, and on one day of the week, when there was snow on every hand, the thermometer never rose higher than freezing point. The wind, however, was terrific, its maximum force during the night being 10, and 12 is the highest possible. To this extraordinary velocity is due the fact that the visitation is best describable by the term "blizzard." With a less violent wind, there would have been a great fall of snow, as great probably as that of January, 1881, when difficulties and disasters painfully comparable with those of the present year were spread broadcast over not only the western portion, but the whole of England, but it would have been a snowstorm and not a blizzard, and many of the phenomenal aspects of the visitation under notice would have been absent. In the course of the present narrative many remarkable effects due to the powdery nature of the snow will have to be recorded. Before concluding the meteorological portion of the subject, and getting on with the story, it may be well to observe that according to the best authorities a blizzard is caused by the fierceness of the wind, which blows the cold into the vapour in the atmosphere and consolidates it into fine snow without allowing time for the formation of a snow-flake. We are accustomed to associate ideas of gentleness and beauty and stillness with the fall of snow. The blizzard, which is apparently—but, of course, only in name—a new acquaintance, shews us the reverse side of the picture, and suggests nothing beyond merciless fury and destructiveness.

As to the quantity of snow that fell, accounts differ. There were huge drifts in most places; in others there was a comparatively level covering of many feet in thickness. The condition of a part of George Street, Plymouth, which received a very fair quantity, is artistically portrayed in the accompanying illustration, copied from a photograph taken on the morning of Tuesday by Mr. Heath, photographer, of Plymouth. According to observations made by Dr. Merrifield, of Plymouth, the value of whose scientific researches into the mysteries of matters meteorological are beyond question, the quantity of snow and rain that fell between Monday evening and early on Wednesday morning was ·68. This was registered at the doctor's residence, which stands 125 feet above the level of the sea, and faces S.S.E. With the depth of snow in other places, this record will deal in due course.

During the whole time the blizzard was raging, the wind varied from N.E. to S.E. The changes were very rapid, but this was the widest range. Along the coast the greatest severity appears to have been experienced from a point or two eastward of Teignmouth to Falmouth Bay, many towns exposed to the sea having to bear their share of the burden, and unhappily many valuable lives being lost through disastrous wrecks. If a map of the three counties of Devon, Cornwall, and Somerset be consulted, it will be found that, taking this portion of the coast as an opening through which the broad shaft of a hurricane entered, now sweeping in a north-easterly, and now in a south-easterly direction, the area of country that has sustained the heaviest damage will be embraced, the intensity of the violence inflicted gradually diminishing the further one travels towards the east, north, and west. Dartmoor forms a kind of centre of the chief scene of desolation, and Plymouth, being well within the range, has suffered far more severely than any other large town in the three counties. To the eastward, in particular, it is clear that the effects of the gale are not nearly so serious, though the fall of snow was pretty abundant all over the southern part of England. Outside of Devon and West Cornwall there are no great lots of timber down, though here and there a fallen tree is observable.

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."