to the narrow range over which its track extended. As a storm widens in extent it loses in power, much as a river flows more sluggishly where its stream widens than where it has to make its way along a narrow channel. It is for this reason that certain regions suffer more from storms than others. Thus in the West Indies that great storm-breeder the Gulf Stream is at its narrowest. Here, therefore, the whirling storms, generated by the rush toward the channel of rare and warm air above the Gulf Stream, attain their greatest intensity, and have worked most terrible destruction. The Great Storm of 1780 affords an illustration, but many others might be cited. Flammarion relates that "at Guadaloupe, on July 25, 1825, solidly constructed houses were demolished, and a new building, belonging to the State, had one wing completely blown down. The wind had imparted such a rate of speed to the tiles that many of them penetrated through thick doors. A piece of deal 39 inches long, 10 inches wide, and nearly 1 inch thick, moved through the air so rapidly that it went right through a palm-tree 18 inches in diameter. A piece of wood about 18 inches wide, and 4 or 5 yards long, projected by the wind along a hard road, was driven a yard deep into the ground. A large iron railing in front of the Governor's palace was shattered to pieces. A quantity of the débris from Guadaloupe was carried to Montserrat, over an arm of the sea 50 miles wide. Three twenty-four-pounders were blown from one end of a battery to the other. The vessels which were in the harbour of Basseterre disappeared, and one of the captains, who had escaped, said that his ship was lifted by the hurricane out of the sea, and was, so to speak, "shipwrecked in the air." The last-mentioned event is, however, "rather a large order," as our American cousins would say; probably that captain was too confused by the turmoil going on all round him when his ship was destroyed, to note with strict scientific accuracy what took place. Ships have been carried by the force of a gale upon the crest of a high roller, and have acquired such velocity that they have been flung some distance beyond the range reached by the wave itself. Thus in 1681 an Antigua vessel was carried out of the water to a point ten feet above the highest known tide. But nothing, we believe, has ever yet happened to a ship, even during the fiercest hurricane, which could properly be described in the words used by the Basseterre captain. His description probably bore the same relation to the facts as Maury's account of "great guns carried in the air like chaff." Probably when a storm really blows great guns in this way, it may lift ships out of the sea and shipwreck them in the air; but "in such a" when "we write a never."

The delta of the Ganges is another region where wind-storms acquire unusual intensity because of the way in which their range is narrowed. It seems probable that the whole of this delta forms a region of indraught, and the disposition of the land and mountain ranges helps to intensify the storms generated in the movement of air towards this region, especially in October and November, near the "changes of the

monsoons." "During the interregnum," says Maury, "the fiends of the storm hold their terrific sway." Becalmed often for a day or two, seamen hear moaning sounds in the air forewarning them of the coming storm. Then suddenly the winds break loose from the forces which have for a while controlled them, and seem to rage with a fury that would "break up the fountains of the deep." In 1823 a cyclone about a mile in diameter passed near Calcutta, during which 1,239 fishermen's houses were blown down. It serves to give some idea of the force of the wind to mention that a piece of bamboo was driven through a wall five feet in thickness. In other hurricanes in this region vessels have been carried from the sea far inland, not of course by being flung bodily out of the water, but carried along by the waters which have burst their usual bounds. Although this region has been the scene of many terrible catastrophes, none can be compared for a moment in destructiveness with the storm of October 31st last. "Those who remember," remarks a writer in the Bombay Gazette, "the cyclone which took place more than a dozen years ago will be able to recall vividly to their recollection the dreadful aspects which the storm presented. Houses were blown down, panes of glass were smashed by the atmospheric pressure, ships were lifted bodily out of the water” (again!) “and hurled upon the shore, where they were smashed. Many lives were lost and much property destroyed. But that cyclone was but a pleasant breeze compared with the disastrous storm-wave which has devastated the delta of the Ganges."

The region where the cyclone of last October worked most terrible destruction is the eastern part of the great Ganges delta, where the river Megna (formed by the confluence of the Ganges and the Brahmapootra) pours its waters into the Bay of Bengal. The volume of water carried down by this river is greater than is discharged by any other Asiatic river into the sea, a point which must be remembered in considering the circumstances of the late catastrophe. We have here an enormous estuary discharging nearly 150,000 cubic feet of water per second southwards, between the low-lying districts of Dacca on the west and Bulloah on the east. Farther on it reaches the archipelago of which the three chief islands are Dakhan Shabazpore, Hattiah, and Sundeep, in order eastwards. Opposite the first-named is the district of Backergunge (the Ganges flowing between); opposite the last-named is the district of Chittagong.

On the evening of October 31 nothing suggested danger. "The weather had been a little windy, hazy, and hot; but there was nothing to excite the suspicions" of the inhabitants of the three islands and the districts surrounding the mouths of the Megna and the Ganges. To use the Lieutenant-Governor's words, "a million or thereabouts of souls retired to rest apprehending nothing." At about eleven o'clock the wind freshened, but not to a noteworthy degree, and "the sleepers slept on." Suddenly, at about midnight, a mighty wave, glittering in the starlight, was seen

rushing in landwards, and in a few moments houses and lands were engulfed, and masses of human beings and débris were swept away on the top of the flood." We seem to be reading of one of those mighty waves which have been raised in mid ocean during the throes of some tremendous earthquake: but it was the wind which had driven before it this great mass of water. Driven onwards, it rushed into the estuary of the Megna, spreading over the surrounding shores and over the two eastern islands to a depth of several feet in many places. The worst was yet to come, however. The wave which had come in from the sea had been a long roller, and though it had contracted, increasing in height in so doing, as it rushed into the narrowing estuary, yet it was not until it had passed' into the Megna that it acquired its full height. Pressed onwards by the cyclone, it gathered volume, until at length its weight overcame the pressure of the wind, when it swept back in one mighty and deep wave round the western channel, between Dakhan Shabazpore and Backergunge, inundating the island to a depth of twenty feet in many places, and spreading inland over Backergunge to a distance of from six to twelve miles from the shore. It had entered the estuary from the south-east, and now rushed outwards, almost dead against the wind, from the north-east.

A remarkable illustration of the terribly sudden nature of the disaster is afforded by the experience of Mr. Higgins, the Inspecting Postmaster at Noakolly. On the night of October 31st he was in his travelling barge, in a creek near Noakolly, about ten miles from the river Megna. "He had gone to bed at eleven without any fear or anxiety whatever. His boatman had gone on shore, but four native servants were with him on board. Shortly before midnight he was awakened by a cry of 'The waters are up!' Jumping up; he looked out, and saw a high wave, with its crest and top gleaming in the starlight; it seemed like a flash; in an instant his boats were rising up on high; he fastened on a life-belt in a few moments; another wave came rolling on, and the barge capsized; he paddled about in the water all the rest of the night. with the help of the life-belt; the native servants clung to spars. Three were saved and one was lost. The water felt warm to the body, but the air was bitterly cold to the head or hands above the surface."

The total destruction of life probably surpassed any which has been produced in the same space of time since the world was peopled. Sir Richard Temple, after a personal inspection of the afflicted districts, has come to the conclusion that not less than 215,000 persons lost their lives. He distributes the fatality as follows:-Backergunge, with the island of Dakhan Shabazpore, possessing a population of 437,000, has lost about a fourth of that number; Noakolly, with a population of 403,000, has lost 90,000; and Chittagong, with a population of 222,000, has lost 20,000. So that, out of a total population of 1,062,000 persons, more than one fifth have perished. To this terrible human mortality must be added a tremendous destruction of animal life, which, as Sir Richard Temple remarks, "though it may not be felt acutely at the present moment, will

form a serious obstacle to agricultural operations by the survivors a few months hence." "Well may the Government of India," remarks the Bombay Gazette, "express the opinion that the calamity is scarcely paralleled in the annals of history. It will take many years before the afflicted districts will be able to recover from its effects, and it will be a landmark in the history of even this country of great calamities. The swiftness of the catastrophe must have been terrific, and one may almost gather from Sir Richard Temple's minute that the great waves literally flashed out over the land, and that simultaneously the vast destruction of life was completed. . . . When the sun rose next morning it shone upon a desolate country and a shivering terror-stricken band of survivors, who were not yet able to realise what kind of calamity it was that had overwhelmed them so suddenly and mysteriously in the darkness. Many had been snatched from imminent death in wonderful ways; some had been able instinctively to catch hold of a friendly piece of wood floating past them, and many had been swept into trees, where they were held tightly by the thorns and the branches until the waters had subsided. Villagers were astonished with the appearance of the corpses of strangers in the midst of their villages, and it was not until the extent of the calamity became widely known that it was found there were few homesteads or villages that had not had dead bodies washed into them from a distance."

The cyclone is simply a whirlwind on a large scale. What we have said respecting the destructiveness of cyclones varying inversely with their range must not, of course, be understood as signifying that a large cyclone is necessarily less destructive than a small one, or a small cyclone less destructive than a whirlwind. We there referred to any the same cyclone. As a cyclone contracts it circles more swiftly, and becomes more destructive; as it expands, it loses power. But it is the contraction of a large cyclone which produces the most terrible effects. A cyclone which is small when first formed can only become destructive by contracting till it is yet smaller, and then, of course, the range of its destructive action is limited to a narrow track. Some cyclones have been so small that when they have so narrowed as to work mischief their track has been a mere lane compared with the broad highways of destruction traversed by their larger brethren. Such are the cyclonic storms generated in the valley of the Mississippi. A large river may be compared to an ocean current as a storm-breeder, but, being much narrower, the cyclonic storms generated by a river are much more limited in extent. "The track of these tornadoes," says Maury, "is called a 'windroad,' because they make an avenue through the woods straight along, and as clear of trees as if the old denizens of the forest had been cleared away with an axe. I have seen these trees, three or four feet in diameter, torn up by the roots, and the top with its limbs lying next the hole whence the root came." Fortunately, it happens not unfrequently that the chief fury of these whirlwinds is expended in the upper air. Indeed, very often, terrible

storms are raging high in air, as can be seen by the behaviour of the fleecy clouds, when it is calm or but a slight breeze is blowing at the surface. The upper parts of forest trees have been torn off while the lower branches have scarcely moved, and houses placed on a hill have been wrecked when others in a valley scarce a hundred feet lower have not suffered at all. Jameson thus describes the progress of a storm in the valley of the Ohio: "I heard a distant murmuring sound of an extraordinary nature. As I rose to my feet, and looked towards the southwest, I observed a yellowish oval spot, the appearance of which was quite new to me. Little time was left me for consideration, as the next moment a smart breeze began to agitate the taller trees. It increased to an unexpected degree, and already the smaller branches and twigs were seen falling in a slanting direction towards the ground. Two minutes had scarcely elapsed when the whole forest before me was in fearful motion. Turning instinctively toward the direction from which the wind blew, I saw, to my great astonishment, that the noblest trees of the forest bent their lofty heads for awhile, and, unable to stand against the blast, were falling into pieces. First, the branches were broken off with a crackling noise, then went the upper parts of the massy trunks, and in many places whole trees of gigantic size were falling entire to the ground. So rapid was the progress of the storm that, before I could think of taking measures to insure my safety, the hurricane was passing opposite the place where I stood. Never can I forget the scene which at that moment presented itself. The tops of the trees were seen moving, in the strangest manner, in the central current of the tempest, which carried along with it a mingled mass of twigs and foliage that completely obscured the view. Some of the largest trees were seen bending and writhing under the gale, others suddenly snapped across, and many, after a momentary resistance, fell uprooted to the earth. The mass of twigs, branches, foliage, and dust that moved through the air, was whirling onward like a cloud of feathers, and, on passing, disclosed a wide space filled with broken trees, naked stumps, and heaps of shapeless ruins, which marked the path of the tempest. This space was about one fourth of a mile in breadth, and to my imagination resembled the dried-up bed of the Mississippi, with its thousands of snags and sawyers strewed in the sand and inclined in various degrees. The horrible noise resembled that of the great cataracts of Niagara, and as it howled along in the track of the desolating tempest produced a feeling in my mind which it were impossible to describe. The principal force of the hurricane was now over, although millions of twigs and small branches that had been brought from a great distance were seen following the blast as if drawn onwards by some mysterious power. They even floated in the air for some hours after."... After crossing the track of the storm to his own house, which stood close by, he found to his surprise "that there had been little wind in the neighbourhood, although in the streets and gardens many twigs and branches had fallen in a manner which excited great surprise."