A Hurricane in the West Indies

The Great Hurricane of 10–16 October 1780, the deadliest storm in North Atlantic history, devastated the Lesser Antilles during the American War of Independence

The Great Hurricane that devastated the Lesser Antilles, Puerto Rico, Saint-Domingue and Bermuda from 10 to 16 October 1780 claimed between 22,000 and 27,000 lives. It remains the deadliest storm ever recorded in the North Atlantic.

  • Date: 11–12 October 1780
  • Location: Lesser Antilles (Martinique, Guadeloupe, Dominica, Grenada, Saint Vincent)
  • Casualties: between 22,000 and 27,000
  • Estimated winds: in excess of 320 km/h (200 mph)

It was reported that the violence of the winds stripped the bark from trees, which, according to modern meteorologists, indicates speeds in excess of 320 km/h. The marquis François-Claude-Amour de Bouillé, Governor General of the Windward Islands, was then in Martinique awaiting the arrival of a large convoy of troops and supplies from France. His testimony is all the more valuable as the marquis was renowned for his intrepid courage and was hardly inclined to exaggeration.

Testimony of the marquis de Bouillé

“On the evening of the 12th, in the afternoon, the head of the convoy, consisting of 52 vessels, appeared. The winds were already impetuous and blowing violently from the south-east, so that we were obliged, until they had calmed, to have the vessels anchor at Saint-Pierre, whose roadstead is very unsafe and where merchant ships are not permitted to remain during the hurricane season. M. de Bombelles’ frigate [the Cérès] and two prizes whose cargo was worth more than a million entered the bay of Fort Royal [now Fort-de-France]; the frigate had only just time to anchor in the harbour, while the prizes were forced to remain in the roadstead. Some merchant vessels and the frigate L’Inconstante could not enter even at Saint-Pierre and remained under sail. The vessels of this convoy were laden with recruits, provisions, and naval and military stores. The winds blew with great force all evening, their violence redoubled at midnight and lasted all night; they shifted to east-north-east. Several vessels, on the morning of the 11th [in fact the 12th], dragged their anchors and were followed by many others during the day, and by nightfall there remained in the roadstead of Saint-Pierre only 12 or 15 ships of the convoy and some thirty local coasting vessels.

Towards six o’clock, the winds changed and veered to east-south-east; they blew with extreme violence and went round the entire compass. The strongest trees were uprooted, all the roofs of houses carried away, and several houses themselves demolished; the sea rose to a height of 25 feet, entered the towns, and overthrew houses, fortifications, dykes, quays, and every obstacle in its path. The fury of the wind blowing with rage, the crash of waves striking and overturning doors, walls, and even houses, the earth trembling with repeated shocks, the thunder and the lightning illuminating this dreadful scene of nature in convulsion formed the most horrible spectacle one could witness or describe, and would have made me believe it was the end of the world, or at least the destruction of this wretched colony, had I not witnessed in 1766 a similar event, equally dreadful and disastrous. Sunrise revealed a frightful sight; the wind had calmed but the countryside presented a spectacle of horror and devastation: trees uprooted, houses demolished, all plantations destroyed, rivers overflowing, the very streets of Fort Royal covered by the sea, and the shore offering nothing but the wreckage of vessels dashed upon the coast and the corpses of the unfortunate sailors who had perished. Fortunately, the frigates and merchant ships anchored in the basin of Fort Royal, within the harbour, did not perish; some were merely cast upon the sand without great damage, but the two prizes that had anchored in the roadstead were thrown and smashed upon the rocks and their crews perished entirely. I was at Fort Royal where I busied myself having aid brought to the wretched souls still expiring whom the waves had carried to the shore, and giving orders to refloat the vessels that had run aground, as well as at the hospital where the sea had entered and where great difficulty had been experienced in saving the sick, several of whom drowned. I received letters from the commandant of Saint-Pierre announcing still sadder news: no trace remained of the convoy, all of whose vessels had disappeared, save two or three that had been smashed upon the rocks and whose crews had suffered the same fate.

The fort of Saint-Pierre, built nearly 100 years earlier and which was nothing more than a battery of 20 cannon with magazines, enclosed by a crenellated wall, had been carried away by the sea and no vestige of it remained. An entire street, containing more than 60 houses newly built along the seashore, had been overthrown by the waves and many inhabitants drowned. The town of Le Prêcheur, of considerable size, situated two leagues north of Saint-Pierre, had been almost entirely destroyed by the sea, including the church, solidly built of stone. In short, for several days all the news I received from the colony brought tidings of disasters of every kind. The islands of Guadeloupe and Dominica, and even Grenada, though the latter was less subject to storms, had suffered greatly.

L’Inconstante returned some days later, dismasted of all her masts, without giving me any news of the convoy of which she had formed the rear guard. I received letters from Saint Vincent; the governor informed me that the hurricane had been felt there with the utmost violence. The Junon, which I had sent to carry provisions there, had perished; fortunately the crew had been saved, save 5 or 6 men. The Fame, a prize I had purchased on behalf of the King, carrying 150 men including about 100 soldiers of my volunteer company, returning from Grenada and having anchored at that island on her way from Martinique, had perished and only 30 men had been saved. The provision stores, houses, and barracks had been destroyed, and if the disaster at sea was dreadful, on land it was no less so.

I learned that the English frigates Laurel and Andromeda, which had been cruising with the Janus off the windward coasts of Martinique, had perished off Trinidad. Some forty men from the crews of these frigates were saved on the coasts of Martinique; I had them cared for and clothed, restored their liberty, and sent them home, informing the commander of the English naval forces that I could not regard as prisoners of war wretches whom the storm and the accidents of the sea had delivered to us unarmed. A few days later, 6 vessels of the convoy returned, those that had not anchored at Martinique during the hurricane. I learned that four or five had been captured and taken to Jamaica, that three or four had perished off Puerto Rico where the crews had been saved, that two or three had arrived at Saint-Domingue, two at Saint Eustatius; of all the others, no news was ever received.

I also learned that an English warship had been dismasted of all her masts at Saint Lucia, and that a corvette had perished there with all hands…”

Enemy losses

In addition to the 28-gun frigates HMS Laurel and HMS Andromeda, the British fleet lost the 74-gun ship HMS Thunderer, lost with all hands, and the 64-gun HMS Stirling Castle, driven ashore at Saint-Domingue, the 44-gun frigate HMS Phoenix, wrecked off Cuba, the 36-gun HMS Blanche, which vanished without a trace, the 24-gun HMS Deal Castle and the 22-gun HMS Scarborough, lost at sea, as well as the sloops Barbadoes, Beaver’s Prize, Endeavour, and the brig Victor.

Philippe Henrat, member of the SAR History Committee

References