The 20th century’s worst storm — through a child’s eyes

Posted 9/20/18

AUTUMNAL EQUANOX – Half way to winter: September 21, 1938 – and tomorrow, September 21, 2018. Senior citizens recall that most devastating hurricane here in recorded history exactly 80 …

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The 20th century’s worst storm — through a child’s eyes

Posted

AUTUMNAL EQUANOX – Half way to winter: September 21, 1938 – and tomorrow, September 21, 2018. Senior citizens recall that most devastating hurricane here in recorded history exactly 80 years ago. You, the reader, may be interested in my own unique recall of “The Great Storm.”

In those days, there were no informed warnings of what were then often described just as great gales. So, my father Sid Herreshoff had no real warning information. But that day he did recognize the advent of very powerful southeast wind.

The direction was significant because Bristol on the right side of the hurricane center experienced winds combining the counterclockwise circulation approaching 100 knots plus the advance speed of the storm of about 15 knots (On the safer left side the advance subtracts from the ambient circulation, but no such luck for Bristol that time!). 

I, at just five years age, witnessed my father returning from securing additional lines for his boats along with loyal men from the Herreshoff shops. As my Dad ran in along our stone pier, a great tidal wave swept in, lifting him from the pier threatening to smash him or drown him. Dad grabbed the pier railing and managed to hang on until the wave receded. He then ran to our house located only 50 feet back from Bristol Harbor.

Our house has no under-grade basement, but rather a ground level cellar above which are the living quarters on two more floors. The rapid rise of water level above the full moon high tide, which corresponded exactly to the time of passage of the storm, plus the huge bay funnel effect of the powerful wind, was causing an amazing rise of water all around the house. Since my older brother Nat was next door at his grandmother’s house, my mother, Becky, assigned me to witness and report how many of the cellar stair steps were still dry. I could count and reported 10, 9, 8 … 3, 2, 1 to none. 

During this, even more scary was the breaking loose from the pier of our family power boat LANG SYNE heading straight for the house. Becky pulled her five-year-old son back from the harbor-front windows of the house because it seemed the yacht would smash into the plate glass front windows as the boat might crash into the house. But, miraculously the action of waves reflected from the front of the house caused LANG SYNE to veer to the west side for deposit in our side yard, with considerable damage. 

Then, after this and further emergency trauma, my grandfather, Captain Halsey Chase (for whom I am named) waded through our front yard into the house. All the adults decided they best get me out safely up to higher ground. So, as children will do, I perched on Papa Chase’s shoulders so he could grasp my feet as he waded out through the waves in our front yard. The water was well above the level of Hope Street. We stopped next door to rescue brother Nat, who grasped Papa’s hand for the walk up Walley Street to the High Street home of Dora Hasbrook, who cheerfully took us in, fed us by lamp light, and provided for the overnight stay. 

Of course, I shall never forget the terror and worry of this, my nearly first childhood memory. Nor will I ever forget the practical bravery of Sid and Becky Herreshoff and of Papa Chase to save us boys and to cope with aftermaths of the terrible 1938 hurricane. 

Halsey C. Herreshoff

Bristol

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