The Year Without Summer (16 page)

But the government would not permit them to complete their mission. There would be
no audience with the Prince Regent, for there could be no admission that either Liverpool’s
ministry or the Crown bore any responsibility for the nation’s economic difficulties.
As they neared London, the colliers—who conducted themselves “with the most perfect
order”—divided into two columns: one was met by magistrates and police at Henley-on-Thames,
and the other at St. Albans. The magistrates explained that the processions could
advance no farther, but they offered to purchase the coal and distribute it among
the poor; then they treated the marchers to beer and gave them money for their journey
home.

Through it all, the summer remained stubbornly cold and wet, even by English standards.
Spring temperatures had been nearly three degrees colder than average, and June and
July started off even further below the norm. In Northamptonshire, just north of London,
the high temperature had risen above 67 degrees only twice in the first three weeks
of July; most nights the lows sank into the 40s. “The season has been so unusually
and constantly cold that fires have been kept without intermission in almost every
house,” wrote United States Ambassador John Quincy Adams in his diary. Adams, who
had been meeting regularly with Castlereagh in London to implement the details of
the Treaty of Ghent, knew a thing or two about cold weather, having spent much of
his early life in Massachusetts. Yet even this native New Englander claimed that “I
have not yet ventured to throw aside my flannel waistcoat, nor as yet for one night
to discard the blanket from the bed.” Across the greater part of Europe, he concluded,
“the weather has been equally extraordinary.”

Indeed it had. The strong trans-Atlantic westerly winds that provided so effective
a barrier to Arctic air during the mild winter of 1815–16 began to slow during the
spring. Like a river whose course has been disrupted by fallen rocks or trees, the
Atlantic jet stream began to develop wide meanders to the north and south of its usual
track. Where the jet stream dipped south, Arctic air and frequent storms spilled into
the lower latitudes. In the ridges between these troughs, mild air flowed from the
south, higher pressure dominated, and conditions remained relatively stable. These
ridges formed what meteorologists call “omega blocks”—the distortion of the jet stream
around them resembles the Greek letter omega (Ω)—and stalled the progress of cyclones.

An analysis of weather records by H. H. Lamb suggests that one such block existed
across the central Atlantic in the summer of 1816. A second formed in eastern Europe
near the Ukraine, which experienced exceptionally hot conditions that were likely
due to the stagnant air that persisted within the ridge of high pressure. Between
these ridges, the jet stream veered far to the south, allowing air from Greenland
and Iceland (where ice-covered seas persisted into June) to sweep across Britain and
Ireland and into central Europe. Low-pressure systems cascaded down from Iceland along
this stream. Unable to penetrate the block to the east, they would continue to wreak
havoc over Europe for much of the summer. A second prolonged dip in the jet stream
formed upwind of the Atlantic block, affecting eastern Canada and New England; the
June snowstorms in that area resulted from a particularly severe southward excursion
of the jet stream.

The weaker trans-Atlantic westerly winds and meandering jet streams signaled a reduced
North Atlantic Oscillation Index. During the winter, the aerosol cloud from Tambora
had strengthened the Arctic cyclonic vortex; by springtime it had begun to have the
opposite effect on Atlantic pressure systems, and hence on the North Atlantic Oscillation
Index and the jet stream. As the aerosol cloud reflected sunlight, the temperatures
of the land and ocean cooled gradually, due to the heat stored under their surfaces.
By the summer, more than a year after the eruption, this cooling most likely had begun
to overtake the stratospheric warming. Since the tropics cooled more than the Arctic,
the temperature difference between the two narrowed, leading to reduced trans-Atlantic
westerly winds, a weaker and meandering jet stream with several blocks, and frequent
intrusions of Arctic air into North America and western Europe.

Computer simulations of the effects of volcanic eruptions on climate provide evidence
for this strengthening of the Atlantic jet stream in the first winter after the eruption,
with a delayed weakening of the jet that can last for up to a decade, depending on
the strength of the eruption and the lifetime of the stratospheric aerosol veil. The
timing of the weakening varies among the simulations, however, even for the same volcanic
eruption. While all simulations produce global cooling and a weaker Atlantic jet,
some produce stronger cooling than others or delay the appearance of the negative
North Atlantic Oscillation. The disagreements between these studies on the precise
details of the climatic response to volcanic aerosols demonstrates that, even almost
two hundred years after Tambora, there are still unanswered questions about how strongly
the eruption affected the weather. A study by Drew Shindell and his colleagues, for
example, concluded that the negative North Atlantic Oscillation Index did not emerge
until two or three years after Tambora erupted. The exceptionally cold and stormy
weather in Europe and North America in the summer of 1816, combined with the jet displacements
noted by H. H. Lamb, however, argues that Tambora caused a transition to a negative
North Atlantic Oscillation Index and a meandering jet stream within one year.

As July slid and splashed to its sodden conclusion, British newspapers echoed the
concerns of their American counterparts about the effects of the unusual weather on
the coming harvest. “The continuance of the present very unseasonable weather has
been attended with the most baneful effects in various parts of the country,” reported
The Times
of London on July 20. In the southern counties, incessant rain already had ruined
the hay and clover crops. Farmers in that area feared that if the heavy rains continued,
their wheat crops might fail as well, “and the effects of such a calamity and at such
a time [i.e., during the economic downturn] cannot be otherwise than ruinous to the
farmers, and even to the people at large.” As in the United States, reliable historical
temperature records were scarce, and so
The Times
, too, resorted to comparisons through anecdotal evidence: “Such an inclement summer,”
it ventured, “is scarcely remembered by the oldest inhabitant of London or its environs.”
And on the Corn Exchange in London, the price of wheat continued to rise due to “the
quantity of fine Wheat at market being small, and the weather continuing unsettled.”

From Sweden to northern Italy, and Switzerland to Spain, great rain-bearing clouds
seemed to darken the skies every day. “Melancholy accounts have been received from
all parts of the Continent of the unusual wetness of the season,” mourned the
Norfolk Chronicle
; “property in consequence swept away by inundation, and irretrievable injuries done
to the vine yards and corn crops.” Some of the worst damage occurred in the Netherlands.
In the province of Guelderland, a region of rich grasslands crisscrossed by numerous
rivers that was already suffering from the postwar agricultural depression, the rains
had destroyed so much of the hay and grain crops usually used for fodder that farmers
already had begun to kill their livestock, knowing they could not feed the cattle
through the winter. Nor was there sufficient food for the human population. “An indescribable
misery has taken place,” reported one observer, “so that the lower classes of people
have been obliged to feed on herbage and grains.” Facing insufficient supplies of
bread and potatoes, the governor of the province asked local magistrates to establish
relief kitchens (at public expense) to provide their needy residents with what was
known as Rumford’s soup—an inexpensive, filling, and reasonably nutritious concoction
made from dried peas, vegetables, and sour beer. (Rumford’s soup had been invented
about twenty years earlier by an American physicist and entrepreneur named Benjamin
Thompson, who lived most of his adult life in Europe under the name Count Rumford.)

During the first week of July, the Rhine rose at Arnhem “to the almost, at this season,
unparalleled height of 15 feet, 7 inches,” and still the rain poured down. “In every
part of the neighbouring country, where the lands are rather low, they are in a state
of inundation,” read a report in
The Times
of London. The districts along the Maas and Waal Rivers were almost entirely under
water. In Zutphen, northeast of Arnhem, farmers reportedly had given up any hope of
saving even a portion of their crops. “Our rich grass lands are already under water,”
reported one correspondent, “and the grass which is not yet spoiled can only be got
at by mowing in boats, for the immediate use of the cattle, which we have been obliged
to stall.”

Along the river Yssel, “the grass which was cut on Tuesday last the farmers have been
obliged to pick up with boats on the following day, to give their cattle food: in
many places they have been obliged to cut the corn for that purpose: and as there
is no fodder, such corn as can be got at must be cut, or the cattle will have nothing
to subsist on.” Some desperate farmers reached into their stores of winter seed corn
to feed their cattle, thereby endangering next year’s harvest as well. Dispatches
from Overyssel and Friesland provinces were equally alarming. “Even if the weather
were to take a favourable turn,” noted
The Times
of London, “the injury already sustained, and the calamitous consequences of a summer
inundation, cannot be repaired.… This appears certain—that an unusual scarcity and
high price of all provisions must be the consequence.”

Conditions were no better in most of the German states. “We continue to receive the
most melancholy news from Germany on the extraordinary weather which afflicts nearly
the whole of Europe,” noted a correspondent in Paris. “The excessive abundance of
rain has caused disasters almost every where.” Crops in Saxony and Würzburg failed,
leaving farmers “in utter despair.” To the south, Upper Franconia—famous for its breweries
and grain—lay waste under “continual rains, torrents the like of which we have never
before seen, [and] storms followed by hail.” The Rhine and the Neckar Rivers rose
nine and a half feet above their usual level, flooding the area around Manheim and
leaving whole villages under water. “The hopes of a very fine harvest have been almost
ruined,” wrote one witness to the devastation. “The loss in hay, corn, tobacco, and
pulse is incalculable.”

Switzerland fared even worse. Frances, Lady Shelley (no relation to the poet), left
Paris in early July and headed for Switzerland with her husband, Sir John Shelley,
an English nobleman notorious for his self-indulgent lifestyle and his friendship
with the Prince Regent. As they approached the Swiss border after eight days of incessant
rain, Lady Shelley noted that “the country was flooded, and the crops everywhere suffering
from the unusually wet season. The hay in many places has been washed down the stream.”
On July 15 they reached Lac de Bienne, where Jean-Jacques Rousseau had lived, and
found “the whole country … completely inundated, and the three lakes now form but
one. The season has been calamitous. All the crops were destroyed, and much of the
beauty of the scenery has been spoiled by the wintry aspect of the meadows.”

From the canton of Glarus, a center of textile production in eastern Switzerland,
came word that the inhabitants, due largely to “the severity of the present season,
are sunk to the last degree of wretchedness.” The only glimmer of hope came from a
private charity which was trying to build a settlement for the poor on the banks of
the river Linth. In the plains of the canton of Basel, fields of wheat and potatoes
lay submerged in water as the Birsig overflowed its banks; only the crops planted
on higher ground held out any hope of survival. As the prospect of famine increased,
the government of the canton of Bern issued an ordinance prohibiting the export of
bread, flour, and grain.

Things seemed a little brighter in Austria. A report from Vienna on July 12 noted
that “the harvest, which has been delayed in Austria by the continuation of the cold
and bad weather, has at length begun every where.” Although the grain had been damaged
by late frosts and damp weather, it appeared as if the yield of wheat, barley, and
oats might actually exceed the diminished expectations in some regions. But the region
from Calabria to Tyrol was already suffering from “an unexampled dearth” of grain,
while the grape harvest throughout Austria “does not give any hopes either with respect
to quantity or quality.”

Vineyards in Burgundy were faring no better, as the Saône River flooded its banks:
“All the fine plain of the Saône is covered with water.” In Chancey, about one hundred
and fifty miles north of Geneva, rivers reportedly rose so high that rafts could pass
over the bridges. Facing a shortage of grain in the province of Lorraine, the prefect
of La Meurthe forbade the brewing of beer or the use of grain to make distilled liquor.
In Montauban in southwestern France, unusually large hailstones pelted crops in mid-July
and “completely destroyed the hopes of the harvest wherever this storm reached.” And
throughout France, landowners resigned to minimal harvests resisted the collection
of the land tax, which in turn exacerbated the government’s budget difficulties.

Like their American counterparts, many Europeans assumed that God could alter the
weather if He wished. As reports of the damage to grain and vineyards poured into
Paris—where the Seine rose eight feet over several days—priests directed their flocks
to pray for an end to the deluge, and so the cathedrals of Paris were filled with
suppliants praying for dry weather. John Quincy Adams similarly reported that “the
churches and chapels have been unusually crowded” in both England and France. In Sweden,
too, prayers were “offered up in the churches daily to the Deity for a favourable
change.”