There is no stronger testimony to the overwhelmingly destructive character of the blizzard of March, 1891, than that afforded by the spectacle of thousands of forest trees, that had, in numerous instances, withstood the storms of centuries, lying, some with their roots above ground, others snapped short off or twisted asunder, but all mercilessly and hopelessly wrecked. Many of these fallen monarchs had experienced heavier gales undoubtedly, but they had not been so rapidly laden with the heavy burden of clinging snow that caused them to sway and stagger, and rendered them helpless victims to the fury of the blast. The effects of this blizzard-like nature of the storm are apparent in the peculiar form the havoc in the parks and forests has assumed—some trees appearing as if the tops had been wrenched off, and in other instances a trunk being left standing—a mere bare pole—denuded of all its branches. Many trees that were old and feeble weathered the storm best, the apparent cause being that their stronger brethren sheltered them from the fatal garment of snow as much as from the gale, and that when the protector at last fell the fury of the blast was spent.

The manner in which the snow clung to, rather than fell upon, all objects that it encountered, is strikingly shown in the accompanying illustration of Membland after the storm. The illustration is from a photograph of a water-colour drawing. The photograph, and the following narrative, have been courteously supplied to us by one who was a deeply interested spectator of the scene:—

"At Membland, Lord Revelstoke's place ten miles from Plymouth at the mouth of the Yealm, the devastation and havoc caused by the storm of the 9th of March are indescribable.

"The appearance of the house on the Wednesday following, the 11th, will not easily be forgotten by its inmates. That Wednesday was a glorious day of sunshine. The house was entirely, to all appearance, snowed up to the top storey; the wind in its fierceness having flung the snow against the house, where it froze on the windows, giving a weird look; a pane of glass here and there coming out in relief, and prismatic colours darting across, in and out of the snow where the sun shone in full power.

"Where the ivy covers the north side, the effect was very beautiful: each leaf covered as it were with a bell of crystal, and festoons of crystal hanging down in every direction. Outside the front door the snow was fourteen feet deep. From eight to ten on that memorable Monday evening when the storm was at its height, the gardener, Mr. Baker, stood out and saw the trees right and left, here rooted up, there felled down with the rapidity and report of a volley of musketry. Over a thousand trees are down, among them the finest trees surrounding the house, and which can ill be spared, such as the Insignis, the Ilex, &c. Every orchard is laid low.

"The two plantations near the house present the appearance of hundreds of trees felled down for the advance of an invading and cruel enemy. On the carriage-drive you come across a huge tree torn up by the roots, leaving the whole road cracked as from an earthquake! By the side of this devastation, at every turn, you see the most curious sight of all,—a tree frail from age or extreme youth left untouched! The drift at the lodge was from fifteen to twenty feet deep. The lodge-keeper took one hour and three-quarters getting from the lodge to the house, on Tuesday, the 10th; a distance under three-quarters of a mile. Mr. Methyrell, a tenant of Lord Revelstoke's, residing one mile from Membland, lost fifty of his sheep. Lord Revelstoke was fortunate in not losing more than seventeen sheep and one black lamb. The village of Noss Mayo, situated in the estuary of the Yealm, in the parish of Revelstoke, has sadly lost in beauty and picturesqueness from the destruction of trees, these falling headlong in some instances on the boats of the inhabitants, and causing distress and ruin.

"Lord Revelstoke was in London—Lady Revelstoke was alone in the house with her niece, Miss Bulteel: the experience of being cut off from all communication with the neighbouring villages, the impossibility of procuring the services of Dr. Adkins were it a matter of life or death, the cessation of all postal or telegraphic communications, being told the last portion of flour was exhausted—this lasting from Monday until Saturday—all the different incidents arising from this "Great Unforeseen" are recollections which will never be effaced from the memories of the inhabitants of the parish of Revelstoke. The postman from Plymouth to Yealmpton and Newton Ferrers, including the parish of Revelstoke, deserves praise. His return was looked for anxiously by the inhabitants of Noss Mayo and Newton, morning after morning. He got to Yealmpton, and sallied forth like the dove after the flood to try and find his way to Newton, but was forced to turn back. He succeeded on the Saturday, and was hailed with delight.

"At Flete, Mr. Mildmay's place, three-and-a-half miles from Ivybridge, the damage is great, but the loss of trees not as irreparable as in other places. The family were away. But the snug little corner between Flete and Membland, at the mouth of the Erme, inhabited by Mr. Bulteel, was a haven chosen by this merciless blast upon which to vent its worst fury. The peaceful valley strewn with trees, and the beautiful laurels shattered.

"A little incident is worth recording to illustrate the friendliness and kind-heartedness of the neighbours. The town of Modbury is six miles from Pamflete. Mr. Bulteel has for years dealt with Mr. Coyte, the butcher. On Thursday, the 12th, Mr. Coyte feared Mr. Bulteel might run short of butcher's-meat; he accordingly started three men at 8 A.M. from Modbury, one man carrying a basket of meat, and the other two with shovels, for places found too impassable to ensure a footway.

"These men reached Pamflete (Mr. Bulteel's) at 6 P.M., after a struggle of ten hours to get there. It is needless to say they were welcomed by Mr. Bulteel, who was thoroughly grateful to Mr. Coyte for his kind thought."

Another account says:—"At Mount Edgcumbe Park, the principal seat of the Rt. Hon. Earl of Mount Edgcumbe, the wreck to the timber is enormous. So large are the gaps made in the groups and avenues of trees, that the unaccustomed open spaces are distinctly visible from Plymouth Hoe, and from even greater distances. Altogether, the Earl estimates his loss at two thousand trees (at Mount Edgcumbe alone), and calculates that it will take two years to sufficiently clear his park of fallen timber to enable him to again throw it open to visitors."

The reproduction of a photograph by Mr. Heath, of George-street, Plymouth, shows the entrance to Mount Edgcumbe Park. Here there are down three fine elms, each four hundred years old. One fell right across the path, the other two fell towards the lodge, which they only escaped by a few inches, the branches even sweeping off some of the slates from the roof of the building. Had the trees fallen but a little more to the north, the lodge must have been crushed like cardboard. All the way up the avenue leading to the house the trees are lying in every direction. In the private garden behind the house (the favourite resort of the Earl and his family), the beautiful cedars, known only to those who have had the privilege of visiting this retired spot, are all down or shivered where they stand. Particularly and painfully noticeable are a fine old lime, a chestnut tree, and a beautiful Turkey oak, not only rooted up but split to pieces. These the Earl describes as having been his favourite trees.

"On the hill overlooking the ruins of the old castle, all but one of the umbrella pines, so well known to all visitors to the park, are rooted up, and scattered. In the laurel walk, dozens of fine trees are down, quite obstructing the pathway, but the saddest scene of all in this portion of the park is the fall of a fine silver beech, which stood just at the end of the walk. Strange to say, this tree has fallen in the opposite direction to every tree in the park, as if its sole purpose had been to crush a beautiful camellia tree that stood exactly opposite, and that has yearly yielded a thousand blooms. Close by is still standing a fir, the tallest tree in all the park, looking as though, through all the stormy night and day, it had reared its proud head in defiance of the tempest.

"The greatest havoc of all is in that part of the park known as Beechwood, situated on a slope facing almost due east. This slope was exposed to the full fury of the gale, and quite four hundred trees were blown down. Our illustration, from a photo by Mr. Heath, pourtrays some of this fallen grandeur. A gardener, who lives in Beechwood Cottage, far more familiarly known as Lady Emma's Cottage, relates, that on Monday night, when the storm was at its height, which was between half-past seven and eight o'clock, he with his wife and young family were in the house in an awful state of suspense and apprehension. Momentarily they were dreading that a fallen tree would crush in their cottage, and yet they dared not venture out among the crashing timber, nor face the blast that would in all probability have blown them over the cliff into the sea. Their terror can be well understood when it is stated that from time to time the branches of falling trees actually brushed the walls of the cottage. As if by a merciful dispensation of Providence, a huge beech, standing almost due east to the house, remained standing, while other trees, less exposed, were blown down. If the beech had fallen, the fate of the cottage with its inmates must have been quickly determined.

"In the English and Italian gardens more disastrous wreckage meets the view. On the lawn, in the English garden, a splendid cork tree, and also a famous holly, were uprooted. The orangery in the Italian garden narrowly escaped damage by a falling elm."

Many of the large trees, lying prostrate, and others completely wrecked, are depicted in the accompanying view, also from a photo by Mr. Heath.

Seriously as the noble owner of Mount Edgcumbe suffered at his principal seat, that was not, however, the extent of the calamity. The condition of the woods was described by one who visited the locality after the storm in the following terms:—

"At Cotehele, the devastation in the woods is beyond all description. Few, indeed, except the very oldest persons, have ever been able to see Cotehele House from the town of Calstock. This historic mansion is now, however, in full view, and the monarchs of the wood have fallen low to the extent of thousands. It is only as one goes through the woods that the vastness of the destruction can be comprehended. In the glade that fronts the house towards the Tamar, below the ornamental pond, the crash and fall has been so great as to make a tangled mass of roots, branches, and limbs. Most of the trees that are down are elms, though beeches, ashes, and sycamores have also given way to the gale. Oaks have held on at the roots, but the limbs have suffered, and firs have gone by the board. Most of this species of tree have broken short off, rather than have been uprooted. The beautiful walk from Cotehele Quay to the house is a wreck that fifty years will not set in the same form as it existed before the 9th of March. Trees three feet through have been blown out of the ground as though they had been saplings, and in some cases the weight of the earth and stones around the roots must have been several tons." Not less than two thousand trees were blown down in Cotehele Woods, representing over 100,000 feet of timber. One tree alone contained over two hundred cubic feet.

Mr. W. Coulter, the highly respected house-steward of the Earl of Mount Edgcumbe, at Cotehele, and who resides in Cotehele House, has favoured us with the following graphic account of what took place during the early part of this eventful week:—

"The wind, having blown a gale the whole day, continued to increase in violence as evening approached, and from 7 till 9 o'clock P.M., accomplished, if not all, the greater part of the devastation to house and woods. The noise of the storm resembled the frantic yells and fiendish laughter of millions of liberated maniacs, broken, at frequent intervals, by what sounded like deafening and rapid volleys of heavy artillery, and, as these died away, louder and louder again rose the appalling screams of the storm, with slight intervals of lull and perfect calm, only to return with tenfold violence, which made the whole house tremble and vibrate. At 7 P.M. two heavy skylights were blown from their position on the roof of the kitchen, and from the chimney of the same building a huge metal plate was hurled into the court below, carrying the masonry through the roof and into the room underneath.

"Several of the windows facing the east were swept in as easily as a spider's web; lead and glass, scattered all over the room, leaving only the shattered frames, through which rushed the resistless wind and blinding snow. One window, being almost new, the hinges and fastenings were snapped asunder like joints of thread, the snow lying in heavy wreaths over beds, furniture, and floor. Most of the windows on the weather-side were more or less broken evidently, in the first instance, by the scattered branches of fallen trees just in front of the house. Through the joints of doors and windows the cracks and crevices, before unknown to the eye, the drifting snow penetrated and piled up in ridges, so that rooms and passages had to be cleared like the pavement in the streets.

"It is absolutely impossible to picture the scene of desolation revealed at daybreak on the morning of the 10th all round the house. The ground was strewn and literally covered with fallen slates and branches of trees. The appearance of the courtyard, or quadrangle, presented that of a grave-yard, the slates in all shapes, sizes, and forms, standing on end, like grave-stones projecting above the snow.

"Notwithstanding the great number of huge trees levelled all round the house, neither the inmates of Cotehele, nor a single individual outside, once heard the crash of falling timber above the fierce howling of the blast.

"We inside the house, at much risk, and after much labour, managed to find and secure the displaced skylights, and from that time, 7 P.M. till 4 A.M., we were hard at work clearing rooms of the snow and barricading broken windows with whatever material came first to hand, such as packing-cases, door-mats, old books and cardboard, battened firmly into the granite mullions. Many times during the fierce cannonade we feared the whole building would collapse, but beyond shattered windows and roof, the granite walls remain intact, and during the storm fires had to be extinguished, smoke and flames being driven into the room and the occupants driven out.

"A somewhat remarkable incident in reference to this may here be recorded. Perched on the extreme point of an abrupt and precipitous rock, overhanging the river Tamar, stands the venerable old fane, better known as Sir Richard Edgcumbe's Chapel. Right and left of the building, nearly the whole of the timber was levelled, but the Chapel itself and a small clump of sturdy oaks surrounding the spot are, with the building, left intact, save one small insignificant tree whose roots and fangs were clinging to an almost barren piece of rock.

"On an examination of the Cotehele Woods, the scene presented gives one the idea of an earthquake rather than that of a storm. The majority of the hundreds of trees vary from two to three hundred years and even older, torn up by the roots, and tearing up like so much turf yards of macadamized road and huge blocks of strong stone walls, leaving their ponderous roots standing erect, to which may be seen clinging several tons of huge rock firmly clasped by root and soil, and in many instances, these giants of the forest are found lying athwart each other, shewing the storm to have practised all the antics of a whirlwind." A huge fallen tree, lying prone across a pathway in the woods, may be seen in the above illustration, which is from a photograph taken by Mr. Rowe, public librarian, Devonport.

A description of another scene of melancholy devastation, written in April, some weeks after the storm, said:—

"At Maristowe, the seat of the Right Hon. Sir Massey Lopes, Bart., the storm did irreparable damage on Monday. The grounds presented on Tuesday a scene of terrible desolation, and even now it can be seen that the beauties of Maristowe are all destroyed. Mr. Merson, steward to Sir Massey, states that fifty thousand trees are down, and that the respected owner is much affected by his loss. Nearly all the lime trees in the avenue leading from the croquet and tennis lawns to the garden, and which formed the chief attraction to visitors, are lying in hopeless confusion, and the avenue, considered the most beautiful walk in all Devonshire, is now utterly impassable and destroyed for ever. In the main coach road, from the gamekeeper's lodge to the mansion, fifty beautiful beeches have fallen.

"The greatest portion of the damage within the park itself, occurred in the immediate vicinity of Mr. Merson's house, the occupants of which expected every moment that it would be crushed by falling trees.

"A strange incident occurred in connection with the sycamore trees. It appears that on the Saturday previous to the storm Sir Massey decided that two old and decayed trees of this kind, which were somewhat in the way of contemplated improvements to the steward's residence, should be cut down, and gave Mr. Merson instructions accordingly. The gale came on, and hundreds of stately trees, one a monarch elm of unusual size, and another a stately macrocarphus fir, sixty feet high, and of exceptional beauty, succumbed within a short distance of the spot where the two old and despised sycamores still reared their heads. The storm could not destroy them, but they have since been sawn down. Near this same spot some very choice laurels and rhododendrons were torn up by the roots and hurled fifty yards away, being discovered days afterwards buried under from twelve to twenty feet of snow. In the fir wood, facing the mansion, on the opposite side of the Tavy, quite half the trees are blown down, while the plantation close to the main entrance on Roborough Down is almost entirely destroyed. The plantation adjoins the residence of Dr. Clay, of Plymouth, and contained about three thousand very fine firs and pines of which only about one hundred remain.

"Looking towards the woods opposite Maristowe House, the owner must witness such a wreck as never was before seen since the house has stood there. From the entrance of the road from Beer Ferris to Lopwell, trees of every description lie twisted and thrown in every direction, and the road itself must, for some time, be only available for traffic with care. The great trees in falling have crashed through others, and thousands of broken limbs are visible on every hand. On the other side of the Tavy towards Denham Bridge, the damage is great, and in the hollows, here and there, more than three weeks after the storm, were considerable quantities of snow. At Denham Bridge several very fine firs have gone, broken off short some five to eight feet above the ground in most cases, and in the Tavy here and there are other trees. On the road from Beer Alston to Tavistock one plantation of black firs, consisting of several hundred trees, has lost to the extent of nine trees out of every ten, and the cutoff ends of the trees jutting on the highway present a remarkable appearance. A little further away, on the road to Milton Abbot, another fir plantation has nearly every tree down."

At Buckland Abbey, famous as the ancestral home of Sir Francis Drake, the ruin is singularly disastrous. Messrs. Ward & Chowen, of Burnville, Bridestowe, have kindly forwarded an interesting communication which sets forth vividly some startling results of the blizzard. They write:—

"As agents to the Buckland Abbey property, our Mr. Chowen visited the Abbey on the Saturday after the storm, that being the first day it was possible to arrive at the nearest station, namely, Horrabridge, and in getting to the Abbey he had to walk over fifteen feet of snow in some parts, the average depth being about five feet. On reaching the North Lodge, he was astounded at the devastation which met his view. The whole of the Rookery between the North and South Lodges at the back of the farm-house, commonly known as Place Barton, was literally levelled—scarcely a tree remained standing, and the few that were left were completely shattered, partly by the storm, and partly by the falling of the other trees in their sudden descent.

"The fine old timber around the Abbey, which doubtless gave character to the place in the renowned Sir Francis Drake's time, has been more or less ruthlessly torn up by the roots by the effects of the disastrous storm, and a noble avenue of beech to the north of the Abbey grounds has suffered terribly, almost every alternate tree having succumbed. In the Abbey grounds, an interesting sycamore, centuries old, on the stock of which, at the point where the branches diverged, accommodation was afforded by seats and a centre table for a quiet tea-party, shared the fate of the others, and in its terrific descent crushed down another fine ornamental specimen as if it were a sapling. Many of the fine old cedars have been sadly mutilated, whilst some of the tulip trees have been destroyed, but the Abbey buildings have, most fortunately, escaped injury.

"Our Mr. Stevenson, at the North Lodge, has recounted a marvellous incident which took place on the Monday evening of the storm. It appears a neighbouring farmer and his wife paid a visit to their friends at the Barton, and discovering that the storm was increasing in violence, decided to leave early. In passing through the Rookery towards the North Lodge, the way by the South Lodge being already inaccessible, they had arrived just where the Rookery terminated at this point, when down came the last tree over them without warning, and, marvellous to relate, the horse, conveyance, and occupants were imprisoned between the large branches diverging from the stock without the slightest damage whatever being done. After great difficulty in clearing the branches, the party were rescued, but could get no further than the lodge, the horse having to be put up in the kitchen or living room, whilst the owners were accommodated in the sitting room, where they remained until the following Wednesday at midday. Immediately after this occurrence, the whole Rookery was swept down, completely covering the road which had been so recently passed over, and one of the trees was blown on the back roof of the farm-house, crushing in one of the bedrooms to within six inches of where a child was sleeping.

"In tracing the ravages of the storm it is most interesting to notice the vagaries of the current, as it affected everything with which it came in contact. In some cases the force would appear to descend vertically in gusts, seizing the top or tops of trees lying together and wrenching off the same as if turnip-tops, leaving the stock intact; whilst other trees within a few feet escaped untouched. Undoubtedly the force of the gale assumed a variety of forms. In some cases it could be seen that the extreme violence of the wind reached a breadth of an eighth of a mile, more or less, when in other places it was only a few yards wide, clearing everything before it. In other parts it assumed a circular or vortex form, and in its tortuous route decimated everything in its way, tearing up huge trees, as if telegraph poles, and even stripping off the thick bark of the Scotch fir, leaving it as clean as a rinded pole.

"So far as we know the buildings have pretty well escaped, only partial damage being done, and in some instances trees which might have smashed down dwelling-houses have been spared, whilst those immediately around the building have been stranded."

The Rev. Frederic T. W. Wintle, rector of Beerferris, who, in addition to severe damage to his residence suffered considerably from loss of trees, contributes the following information which was written on the Wednesday after the blizzard:—

"The barometer on Monday morning at 9 A.M. had risen from 29·60 on Sunday to 29·70. About 12 noon slight snow began and continued, but did not lie much until towards evening; the gale freshened towards sunset, and at 7·30 was furious. One of my chimney-stacks fell at that time, wrecking the roof and three rooms, and it blew a hurricane for some hours, with blinding drifts of fine snow. I dreaded daylight, but was quite unprepared for the horrible desolation around me. I had some fine fir trees, and others, almost everyone was blown down; and oak trees either uprooted or boughs twisted and broken in a remarkable way. I have nineteen good trees all down, and twenty apple trees in an adjacent orchard. Indeed, my garden, of which I was justly proud, is completely wrecked and ruined. The barometer had fallen to 29·20 yesterday (Tuesday) morning, and there was a high wind and fine snow partly falling, partly drifting, till after dark. The average depth is from five to seven inches, but deep drifts all about, five feet at least. This morning (Wednesday) we have a cloudless sky, calm, and barometer 29·60. Great destruction is everywhere. In one orchard over 100 trees are down, in another cherry orchard they are described as lying as if they were mown with a scythe. The roads are mostly impassable with huge drifts, so that we can get no communication at all. No post, no papers. The trains are all blocked beyond Tavistock, and the telegraph won't work. No doubt the accounts of the storm will reveal some curious details. Although the whole of my place suffered so extensively, in a field just outside there are several fine oaks which are untouched. I imagine the storm to have swept down from Dartmoor pretty well north-easterly, over a high hill and down upon us, and we must have been right in its vortex: the trees all show signs of twisting, as if there had been a circular force. I am curious to see how wide an area it grasped."

At Saltram House, a country seat of Lord Morley, four hundred trees were blown down, and damage was done to the farm buildings. The kitchen chimney at the mansion was also blown down, and crashed through the roof into that apartment.

The very fine beech avenue, leading from the entrance lodge to the mansion at Bickham, the residence of Reginald Gill, Esq., banker, of Tavistock, is totally destroyed.

At Warleigh, the residence of Walter Radcliffe, Esq., two thousand trees were blown down, and at Derriford, P. C. C. Radcliffe, Esq., lost sixty.

In the plantations at St. German's, between two and three hundred trees were uprooted or broken off. The park covers four hundred acres, and much of the damage is in the home plantations.

On the Kitley estate, near Yealmpton, over 1,500 trees were blown down, amongst them being some of the small leaf elm for which the property is noted, while on the Blatchford estate four hundred trees fell.

At Woodtown, near Tavistock, the residence of W. F. Collier, Esq., hundreds of large trees were blown down, amongst them being several exceptionally fine American conifers. At Foxhams, in the same district, M. Collier, Esq., lost some magnificent Scotch and silver firs and other trees, many of which had attained a great age. A large number of conifers and rhododendrons, planted by Mr. Collier himself some eighteen years ago, also perished.

Pentillie Castle suffered very severely; the house and the gardens both escaped with but little damage, but trees of all sizes and ages were blown down in all directions, from the majestic oaks of two centuries' growth to the more recently planted Pinus and other rare and ornamental trees and shrubs. So far all the strength of the woodman's establishment has been directed to the clearing of the roads and walks, which of itself is a herculean undertaking. The wreck may be cleared away in time, but restoration to its former state is impossible.

At Efford Manor, Plymouth, the blizzard struck with great force the edge of the lane on the eastern side of the house, and then recoiling, and turning right and left, uprooted about twenty trees on the northern side, and the same number on the southern side, leaving the house and grounds untouched.

At Greenbank, Plymouth, several very fine trees were lost, and others old and withered were left standing.

On Pitt Farm, near Ottery St. Mary, a magnificent Scotch fir, standing alone, and measuring fifty-six feet to the lowest branch, was blown down. This had for many years been a familiar landmark, and will be greatly missed in the neighbourhood.

What transpired at the Elms, Stoke, the residence of Dr. Metham, our illustration, next page, from a photograph by Mr. Rowe, Devonport, plainly shows.

To enumerate here the instances of lamentable destruction to woods, parks, and forests, all similar in character to the cases recorded above, would be an impossible task. It will be long before the extent of the damage is fully known, and where nearly every acre of ground on which trees stood, more particularly in Devon and West Cornwall, has been more or less rifled, anything like a comprehensive account is out of the question. The same remark applies to the loss of fruit-trees. We have hundreds of instances of farmers and fruit-growers who have to lament the destruction, in some cases, of whole orchards; others, not quite so unfortunate, having lost fruit-trees upon which for various reasons they placed an especial value. The few facts given are but typical of many scores of others, special reference to which the time at our disposal does not permit.

Generally speaking, the nurserymen have not met with any very great loss. Some glass has been broken, but in the winter season nearly all the valuable stock, with the exception of choice trees and shrubs, is protected. Among shrubs, many of the half-hardy specimens are destroyed, their strength permitting them to stand an ordinary western winter, but not one of the severity of that of the memorable blizzard year of 1891.