The Awakening Coast: An Anthology of Moravian Writings from Mosquitia and Eastern Nicaragua, 1849-1899

5. The Hurricane of October 1865

5 The Hurricane of October 1865 Extracts from Four Letters Describing the Hurricane of October 18–19, 1865, Periodical Accounts Relating to the Missions of the Church of the United Brethren 25 (1866): 568–72. Fall hurricanes are a predictable and destructive reality in the northern Caribbean basin. As shallow seas heat up by the end of summer, upward drafts of warm air create convective cells that pull in cooler air from the east. If conditions are right, intense tropical weather systems develop and move into the Caribbean basin, the Gulf of Mexico, Central America, and southern portions of North America. If these systems sustain wind speeds above seventy-four miles per hour they are called hurricanes; sadly, they are a regular feature in Mosquitia. Between 1849 and 1899 four devastating hurricanes struck the region in the month of October in 1865, 1870, 1882, and 1892.1 In recognition of this regularity, the Miskito call the October moon prari kati, the hurricane moon. Whenever hurricanes strike the Mosquitia, land and life are torn asunder as winds carry away roofs, flatten houses, rip trees from their roots, level forests, destroy farms, and rearrange coastal landscapes and river channels. Without reliable sources of food or water, all living things suffer. The four simultaneously published reports presented here came in the wake of the hurricane that struck the Mosquitia on the night on October 18–19, 1865, and attest to the utter destruction of Bluefields and nearby villages. Limited communication following the hurricane, further restricted by the wreckage of the Moravian boat Messenger of Peace, created an air of uncertainty and a feeling of helplessness among the survivors. While coastal communities often soak up the The Hurricane of October 1865 | 103 brunt of the winds and tidal surges, as Tasbapauni and Pearl Lagoon did in October 1865, upland villages are equally punished as rivers spill their banks, become blocked up, and cut off villages from the outside world. Such times were common enough in the fall that the Miskito and Mayangna regularly prepared several soured foods from bananas, pejibaye palm, or tubers in anticipation of flood-induced scarcity. The most common of these pastes, bisbaya, which literally means “smells bad,” is made by wrapping foods in large leaves and burying them in well-lined earthen pits upon a nearby hill that served the village as a flood refuge. These foods could last up to six months in the earth but did not taste very good.2 Traditionally, the sukia was charged with redirecting the path of hurricanes or, short of that, warning people in advance of their arrival. The sukia’s skills were also called upon after a hurricane struck, as waterborne diseases spread and contributed to many post-hurricane deaths. Although sukias and missionaries had roughly equal success in warning people about hurricanes in the nineteenth century, the missionaries had the upper hand in treating people afterward. Not only did the missionaries have some of the best-built homes in any community that could serve as safe havens for refugees, but they also had access to foreign medicines and understood the need to drink only clean water. Moreover, aid that did arrive to villages in the nineteenth century was often channeled through the missionaries, giving Mosquitians a reason to trust them. As the reports here testify, the Moravians viewed hurricanes as punishment for transgressions by a merciful God. Brother Grunewald writes: “The Lord’s hand has been heavy upon us, for we have sinned. Yet, in judgment He remembered mercy, for He has spared our lives.” From Br. E. Lundberg, Bluefields, November 8, 1865 Dear Brother, The weather in October was very sultry and calm, indeed, much more so than usual, so that we often wondered at it. But no one had the smallest 104 | The Hurricane of October 1865 idea that we should learn by sad experience what it is to have a severe hurricane sweeping along the coast. I happened to be at Ramah on the night between the eighteenth and nineteenth of October. The wind became alarmingly strong about nine o’clock in the evening, and the rain fell in torrents. The work of destruction began about ten o’clock, when house after house fell, and trees of the largest dimensions were either broke off like little sticks, or rooted up. The thunder and lightning were awful, an earthquake was likewise felt. We however could not distinguish...