In
early days Iowa had an unenviable notoriety for wind storms: and undeservedly
so; for while a number of frightful storms have swept across the State, they
have not been greater in number nor more destructive in their results than in
other States.
One
of the most destructive tornadoes which ever passed through this latitude was
the one occurring on the 22nd of May, 1873. Certain portions of Keokuk county
were particularly unfortunate.
The
following account of that tornado, with a minute description of its effects in
this county, was written for the "Sigourney News," by John A. Donnell,
Esq., which we copy entire:
"The
most terrific whirlwind, simoon, tornado, cyclone—or whatever name you may
choose to call it—ever known, passed over a portion of this county on Thursday
last, leaving death, destruction, and utter ruin in its track.
"At
about 6 o'clock in the morning the rain came down in torrents, and in
less than thirty minutes the streams were 'on a tear,' and gave us new
high-water marks—the highest for many years. After it was over the people
gazed up into the heavens and wished for dry weather, with about as much
solicitude, I imagine, as Noah did, when the waters of the flood subsided, and
the dove was sent forth from the window of the ark to look for the top of the
mountain. The morning was warm and sultry; noon came, and up to that time,
neither wind, hail nor rain.
"At
about half-past 2 o'clock P. M., the clouds gathered in the west. More rain
was predicted. An ominous silence prevailed—not a bird sung, and not a leaf
fluttered in the air. The clouds passed over from the northwest to the
southeast—just as clouds often do—a few drops of rain came down at first, then
the bottom seemed to fall out and in a few minutes the streams were on another
"bender." But still there was no wind, and as yet but little hail. The
rain almost ceased, and Old Probabilities being absent, some of his lineal
descendants looked again into the heavens and prophesied fair weather, but a
yellowish tinge in the west and northwest caused many to shake their heads in
doubt.
"In
a few minutes the drops of rain began to fall again, with hail-stones the size
of a hazel-nut, and when one came down as large as an acorn, it was picked up
and displayed to the eager crowd as a trophy. Stories were remembered, that were
told by the grandfathers of the present generation, of hail-stones falling as
large as a hen's egg, in some other State. But Young America wouldn't believe
it. But they did believe it, for while these old stories were being repeated,
hail-stones came down thick and fast, weighing from two to eight ounces, and
measuring from three to four and a half inches in diameter. Some were round
and looked like white doorknobs; some were ragged and bad the appearance of
broken geodes; others looked like quartz, and many were egg-shaped; some had
the appearance of three or four hail-stones having been frozen or melted
together—and when they fell on the house, awnings or sidewalks, some would
bound like a "Star" ball, and others would break and fly like glass
into a thousand pieces. One hail-stone came down on the head of Dudley Buck,
who was standing on his porch, and started the "claret," but without
waiting for further ceremonies Mr. B. retired into the house, fully persuaded
that he could see just as well by standing a little back.
"During
this time, to the southwest of Sigourney about nine miles, two clouds were
seen—one above the other—darting hither and thither, backward and forward,
upward and downward, like one bird darts at another in the air, when suddenly,
with a whirl, the two came together, and then sailed forth in an easterly
direction at the rate of about twenty-five miles an hour, on an errand of death
and destruction.
"It
bore the resemblance of a funnel, with the small end down, or, perhaps, shaped
like the hopper of a grist or coffee-mill, but with this distinguishing
difference: in this whirlwind hopper the grist came in at the bottom and went
out at the top.
"When
it had broken in pieces and almost ground to powder everything it gathered in
its march, the centrifugal force carried the contents to the outer rim, and it
boiled over like soda-water. Sometimes it went up like a rocket fifty or sixty
feet high, and moved with the current for a mile, and then like a hawk, with
one fell swoop it came to the ground, and swept everything in its onward march
from the face of the earth.
"Without
a detailed description of the sad havoc done at the starting point west of
Haysville, about nine miles southwest of Sigourney, which was very great
indeed, let us drive to a point where the tornado crossed North Skunk river,
about eight miles southeast of Sigourney, and see what we can see in a two
hours' ride along the track to the northeast.
"We
stop where the hospitable mansion of Joseph Kohlhans stood a few days since, only a quarter of a mile
north of where the tornado crossed the river. At a glance we can tell that,
prior to the coming of the Storm King, long, weary years of toil and patient
waiting had brought Mr. K. a competence of this world's goods, but in less than
fifteen minutes time his riches had taken wings and flown to the uttermost
parts of the earth. His dwelling, saw-mill, out-buildings, fences, in the
track of the storm, are all gone. Some of the castings of the mill were picked
up two miles away: The water in the pond between the mill and the river, was
scooped up as with a dipper, and rolled up to the summit of the hill where his
house, stood, at least forty feet above the level of the pond.
"Ducks
were sucked up out of the pond, and their feathers picked off as clean as they
are picked for a barbecue, and they were dumped out 'dead ducks' half a mile
away. Down the river bank, great elms and hackberry trees were snapped asunder
like pipe-stems, and their standing stumps; stripped of their bark, are white
and ghostly. Hazel-brush, crab-apple trees, and white thorns are bruised and
twisted, and lean to every point of the compass. Fence-stakes, boards, and
two-by-four pieces of every variety and length, are sticking in the ground
almost as thick as the stakes in Waite's vineyard.
"We
went to the spot where the house once stood. There, on the hillside, fronting
to the south, we found the cellar only, used by the family of Mr. K. as a
residence, and Mrs. K. "at home," ready to receive us and tell us her
story. She is as blue in the face as indigo, and rolling up the sleeve of her
dress, she showed us an arm, bruised and blackened from the shoulder to the
hand. She was otherwise injured, and from her personal appearance we wonder
that she escaped alive.
"We
asked her if she saw the storm coming.
"Mrs.
K.—'Yes, sir; we saw it about half an hour before the storm reached us. The
air was black with dirt and missiles, and looked dike, flocks of geese flying.'
"When
your house went down, who was in it?
"Mrs.
K.–'My husband and myself, John Gross, our son-in-law, my son Casper, my
daughter Mary, and Lewis Kinsel. Five of us were more or less hurt, but none
seriously but John Gross, and he will get well again. Dr. Cook, of Sigourney,
comes to see us. We are very thankful that we were not killed; but everything
we had is all gone—our house, our mill, our clothing and fences, all gone, and
it will take $3,000, or more, to fix up our place again.'
"At
this Mrs. K. grew silent. She tried to speak on, but could not; her eyes filled
with tears as she looked upon the ruins of her once beautiful home—fitted up
only after twenty years of unremitting care and toil.
"We
strolled over, say forty acres of the farm, and here is a part of what we saw: The
ground was strewn with rails, logs, sills, pieces of roof; studding, pieces of
pumps, pieces of work-benches, pieces of walking-plows, pieces of chains,
spokes, castings, hubs, pieces of brick-bats, pieces of stoves, bedsteads,
wagon tires, the rim of wagon wheels, with tire and fellows only, chickens,
ducks and turkeys with every feather blown off, rats, rabbits, wool,
plowshares, pieces of clothing, and a piece of every kind of farm machinery and
bedsteads sold or offered for sale in this county. The ground itself is
literally punched full of holes by falling timbers, and in many places the
grass and growing wheat seemed torn out by the roots. One field, planted with
corn, is well seeded with wheat, oats and rye, and it is now coming up as thick
as it can stand. Apple trees eighteen inches through are twisted off or
entirely uprooted, and the grape vines lie broken and bleeding on the ground. From
Mr. Kohlhaus' we drove to Peter Marshe's farm, a distance of about three miles
to the northeast. On the way we passed the farm of George Starr, who had
twelve head of fat cattle, three and four-year old, taken up into the air with
the ease that a strong man would toss up his baby, and after being carried an
incredible distance, they were dropped to the ground with broken limbs and
broken necks. They were burned the next day in one common funeral pile. The
little groves by the roadside were stripped of every leaf, and they remind us
very much of the bundles of wheat in olden times after they were used to stop
the cylinder of a tumbling-shaft threshing machine. We passed by the ruins of
a new barn, just completed by Mr. Leutz, at a cost of $1,000, and in a few minutes
were at the residence of Gray, now converted into a hospital. Here we find
Peter Marsh, his wife and two children, all seriously injured, the wife
fatally. The little babe was killed in its father's arms. One-quarter of a
mile northwest of George Gray's stand the ruins of the house and barn of Peter
Marsh, where the whirlwind wrought such great ruin. The house and barn seemed
to stand in the center of the track, and as we drove towards them the debris
was piled up by the neighbors in piles until the entire portion of the farm
traversed by the tornado had the appearance of a meadow thickly studded with
shocks of hay. The barn was a good one, with a stone basement, and not a stone
or piece of lumber can be found above the ground. Three horses were killed
outright in this barn, and of two hundred chickens, before the storm, only
thirteen remain, and seven of these had the feathers blown from their heads and
necks. The house, which stood about thirty yards distant to the southwest, was
built of hewed logs, about fifteen feet square, with frame porch to the front
on the south. Standing on the ruins, we met Wendell Horace, the father of Mrs.
Marsh, and with him we walked over the grounds and heard his story.
"How
far do you live from here, Mr. Horace ?
"Mr.
H.—'Over there, about half a mile.'
"Where
were you during the storm?
"Mr.
H.—'I was at home; but as soon as it was over I came down here to look for my
children. Mrs. Marsh is my daughter. Here, where we stand, is where the house
stood. Come with me and I will show you where we found my daughter and her
children.'
"We
went with Mr. H. about thirty yards to the southwest, in the direction that
the tornado came from, and in a slough we stepped upon some house logs, and
Mr. Horace continued:
"Here
are some of the logs of the house, and here they were all found. When the
storm was coming, Mr. Marsh walked out on the porch and looked southwest, and
saw Mr. Lentz' new barn go down, and fearing his own house might go, he went
back into the house and wanted to leave it with his family. He picked up his
little babe, about six months old, and started out, but his children were
afraid to follow, and he returned, closed the door and tried to hold it, but
something struck it, and all he knows about it is that the house came down, or
went up, and, with the child in his arms, he was taken up and let down three
different times. The last time he fell here in the slough, and something
struck him with great force, and killed the child in his arms. He looked down
and saw his wife with her arms around the two other children—all under those
house-logs, and how the babe escaped from his arms he cannot tell, but he
remembers that he lifted the logs off his wife and children, and turned to pick
up the babe, but found it was gone. Every particle of clothing was blown from
Mr. Marsh and his family, and when rescued by their neighbors they were covered
with mud.'
"Did
you find the baby afterward ?
"Mr.
H.—'Yes, I found it myself, over there, about seventy-five yards to the
southeast, dead, and covered with mud. Its head was all broken. I brought it
here and washed it, and the next day it was buried. Mr. Marsh, and the rest of
the family, are now over at Mr. Gray's, and they will all get well, may be,
except my daughter, I don't know, but I guess she will die. The doctor thinks
she is very bad.'
"Mrs.
Engledinger was your daughter too, was she not?
"
Mr. H.—'Yes, sir, she was my daughter too, and she and her little child were
killed over there, about three miles from here. My daughter was blown all to
pieces. We gathered up what we could find of her a mile around, and buried her
and the baby next day. We could not find all.'
"Here
the strong heart of Mr. Horace gave way, and he sobbed like a child. He is a
kind-hearted, generous German, and with tearful eyes and subdued voice, he
uttered these words; I tell you, gentlemens, it been mighty hard on me—loose my
children so,' and he turned away in his declining years heart broken and
desolate.
"We
spoke a few words of sympathy, and passed on. Within a few feet of the spot
where Mr. Marsh and his family were picked up, we saw in the muddy debris just
as the tornado left it, house-logs, pieces of chains, dishes and crockery,
pieces of stoves and stove furniture, plane-bits, sickle-bars, bridle-snaps,
hoop-iron, wagon-tires curled like shavings, pieces of corn plows and reapers,
a cross-cut saw, and a thousand and one pieces of boards and lumber of all
kinds, all sizes, and all lengths. Who could go up in a whirlwind with all
these things and come down alive? And yet we have said nothing of the fat
cattle, wagon wheels and plow-shares, that were in that same mill a part of the
time. Immediately south of this the growing oats were blown out of the ground,
and shelled corn is scattered sufficient for all pigeons in Iowa for a month. The
grape-vines were twisted off, and the apple trees, about six inches in
diameter, were bruised and broken and twisted and lean in whirls to-day, just
as the whirlwind left them. Standing upon the ruins of Marsh's house, and
looking at the complete ruin wrought, we thought the whirlwind must have been
something like a huge augur two hundred yards across the bit, that went driving
through the air, whirling as it went.
"Mr.
Marsh's loss of property will exceed $2,500. From Mr. Marsh's we went to
Murphy place, about half a mile to the northeast, passing as we went the ruins
of Michael Fuh's house, and barn, and out-houses. His loss is heavy. When his
house went down, one of his boys started to his uncle's about two miles distant
to the east, and the wind helped him along at intervals about half the
distance. When found, one of his eyes were out and his arm broken. At the
Murphy place, owned by Mr. Harris about two weeks only, the storm did the
wildest kind of work. The tall cottonwood trees that stand like sentinels
around the front yard, are stripped of branches, bark and leaves; the house and
household goods were probably blown to Halifax, or some other seaport. Rails,
sills, and all the muddy debris like that to be found at Newhouse's and
Marsh's, strew the ground as far the eye can reach, and the top of the hedge
fence is riddled in pieces, and looks like a row of old-fashioned split
scrub-brooms.
It
is said that everything that grows is of some use; and at this place we found
out what a wild gooseberry bush is fit for. When the house came down with five
boys and one girl in it, one of the boys crawled under the wild gooseberry
bush, and by clinging to it was saved. Two others of the boys were found in the
cellar with logs on them, and the remaining two boys, one fourteen and the
other twelve years of age, were found with their heads in a No. 8 Loyal
cook-stove, with lumber and trash piled upon them so high they could not get
out without assistance. We saw one of the boys to-day kindle a fire in the same
cook-stove, and he is as sound as a trout, and happy as a king. At this place
three horses, one cow, one yearling calf and five hogs were killed, and other
stock seriously hurt. Mr. Harris' loss will exceed $2,000.
"But
the story is not yet half told and never can be. Further on in the track lies
the farm of Paul Pfeifer, whose remodeled house looks like a new one not yet
painted. He sustains a loss of about $1,500.
"Mr.
Kortch's loss is perhaps the greatest in property destroyed of any of the
sufferers in this county. He can not replace it with $5,000 in cash, and the
loss of Engledinger will amount to not less than $2,000.
"To
these sums add $500 for the loss sustained by Mr. Beevin, $1,000 for the loss
sustained by Geo. Starr, and $10,000 for the loss in Lancaster township,
and we have an aggregate of $27,500 for the loss in Keokuk county, and this
large sum will not near cover it.
"The
following is a list of the killed and wounded, as far as known:
"Killed—Mrs. Engledinger and child; child of Mr. Marsh, Mrs. Marsh—died
to-day.
"Wounded—Mr.
Marsh severely, and two children slightly; Mrs. Kohlhaus, Mr. Kohlhaus, John
Gross, Casper Kohlhaus, Mary Kohlhaus, Mr. Lowe, child of Mr. Fuhs, two boys of
Mr. Hamis, Mrs. and Mr. Kortch, and some others, were all more or less injured,
but none seriously except Jno. Gross.
"We
returned from the sad scene thankful that the storm did not visit our city in
its fury. Had it done so, the comfortable houses we now enjoy, our brick
blocks and public buildings, and everything in the track of the wild destroyer,
would have gone down with a crash, and the mangled forms of many that we love
would have been borne to their last resting places beneath the cypress and the
willow.
"And
now, at the close of this article, pardon one suggestion; 'tis this: Would it
not be well for our people—of town and country—to unite in a petition to the
board of supervisors of our county, and ask a liberal appropriation for the
relief of those who were so unfortunate as to live in the track of the storm,
and who lost not only houses and loved ones, but the savings of a life-time, in
a few moments. Besides this, let us give of our substance as it hath been given
to us.
In
accordance with the suggestion made in the closing paragraph of the foregoing
article, the board of supervisors, at the June session, passed the following
order:
"The
board of supervisors having been asked by petitions numerously signed, to make
and appropriation from the county funds for the relief of such of our citizens
as had their homes destroyed by the tornado which recently passed over a
portion of our county, May 23, 1873, and who are in a suffering and destitute
condition; therefore,
"Resolved,
That William Jackson, T. McCoy and Mathias Blaise be appointed to investigate
into the condition and circumstances of said sufferers to ascertain the extent
of their necessities and to extend to those whose condition require it, relief
from the county fund to any amount not to exceed $1,500; and the auditor is
authorized to draw warrants for said purpose in favor of said committee, or on
their order to said sufferers in such amounts as may be desirable to effect the
object, not to exceed in the aggregate of fifteen hundred dollars."
