by Clark Whelton
“Eighteen hundred and froze to death.” Genealogists sometimes notice that in 1817 or 1818 our New England ancestors suddenly moved from the northeast to locations farther west and south. In the last Bulletin I wrote about the short, violent life of Joel Clough, whose family moved from New Hampshire to New York in 1818. This westward move was typical for the time. Entire families – sometimes entire villages — suddenly picked up and moved from long-established homesteads, preferring the hardships and danger of the frontier to life in civilized New England.
In 1817 my wife’s forebears migrated from Massachusetts to western Pennsylvania, then continued west to Ohio, Indiana, and Iowa, a migration route followed by many of our Clough ancestors. Once these pioneers were 2 Could such an event happen again? Yes, it could. Somewhere in the world a volcano is bubbling and boiling right now. Crop failures today, however, would probably not be as devastating as they were back then. Today’s world is linked by air and sea. Food and aid can be moved quickly from one part of the planet to another. On the other hand, “quickly” may not be the right term to use for the aftermath of an explosion the size of Tambora. As the recent eruption in Iceland showed, volcanoes have the power to keep jet planes grounded. In the case of another Tambora, it could be years before the atmosphere is safe for jets. C. W. established in new homes, relatives and friends by the tens of thousands followed them west. In 1810, the population of Indiana was 24,500. Ten years later it was 147,000. The main cause of this massive migration was a devastating natural catastrophe that is largely forgotten today, a calamity our ancestors remembered with trepidation and dread as “the poverty year,” or “eighteen hundred and frozeto- death,” or more commonly, “the year without a summer.” The story of the disaster that changed America begins not within our borders, nor even in the western hemisphere. It begins halfway around the world, with the largest volcanic eruption in recorded history. Mount Tambora is located on the island of Sumbawa, some 700 miles east of Jakarta in the islands we know today as Indonesia. In 1815, Tambora’s volcanic peak towered 14,000 feet above the Java Sea. Except for minor emissions of steam, Tambora had been extinct for thousands of years. In early April of 1815, however, the volcano began to rumble. Lava flows illuminated the night. Churning clouds of ash boiled upward. Then, on the tenth of April, Tambora blew up. The tremendous explosion was heard in Sumatra, 1,200 miles away. An estimated 11,000 people living on nearby islands were killed immediately, and there was even worse to come. Pulverized by the gigantic force of an explosion that shortened Mt. Tambora by five thousand feet, 25 cubic miles of volcanic material was hurled into the stratosphere. High altitude winds carried thick clouds of dust and ash into the northern hemisphere, where – combined with atmospheric debris from smaller eruptions around the world – the ash blocked sunlight and altered weather patterns. In the spring of 1816, volcanic dust began settling on New England. It’s unlikely our ancestors knew the origin of the strange dry fog that clouded and reddened the sky. The solar disk was so dim that sunspots could been seen with the naked eye. Strangely cold weather in May gave way to an even colder June. Heavy snow fell on Boston and Albany, and across most of New England. A hard frost destroyed recently planted crops. In New Hampshire the ground was frozen solid and “icicles 12 inches long could be seen in the shade at noon day.” For New England farmers, who only have about five months between frosts, a late cold spell is disastrous. Every family was expected to fend for itself. Farmers hurried to replant, but the weather remained dry and cold. On the 4th of July, temperatures as far south as Savannah, Georgia dropped into the 40s. Finally the summer turned warmer. There was hope for a modestly successful harvest. But in August the sky – heavily dusted with Tambora sulfur – turned a sickly yellow. On the 21st a cold front came roaring in, bringing August snow and a hard frost that wiped out surviving crops all the way to North Carolina. In Pennsylvania, ice could be seen on ponds. On September 11th another hard frost descended on the desolate land. One observer wrote that the fields were “as empty and white as October.” A few lines of bitter verse circulated through the devastated farmlands. “The trees were all leafless, the mountains were brown The face of the country was scathed with a frown And bleak were the hills, and the foliage sere As had never been seen at that time of the year.”
In 1816 there was no way to transport sufficient quantities of grain and livestock from less devastated areas of the country. New Englanders faced the frightening prospect of eating their farm animals and seed corn to survive. Without hay, the animals would not survive the winter anyway. There was no comfort in the news that cold weather had hit Europe even harder. Famine, riots, and epidemics swept the continent. We can’t be sure how many people died of malnutrition and starvation during the winter of 1816-17. Global estimates run between 75,000 and 100,000. New Englanders suffered terribly and, when the spring of 1817 remained cold and dry, they began to leave the beloved land their ancestors had settled almost two centuries earlier. 3 By wagon, by oxcart, their children walking barefoot along roads dusted with Tambora ash, impoverished Yankees made their way west. In 1800, only 10 percent of the American population lived west of the Appalachians. By 1824, it was 30 percent, and climbing rapidly. Pushed by “the year without a summer,” the great New England diaspora had begun.