In one of her letters, Caroline describes in rather vivid detail a storm that ravaged Bronson Village during the early morning hours of 18 October 1834. One can only imagine the fear that must have gripped this young child as such a violent storm swept through her village. Her recollections are as follows, unedited, save for a few [notes] added for clarity and additional paragraph breaks to aid readability.
“A terrible tornado, alluded to in my last, visited our town in 1834. Early in the morning we children were awakened by timbers falling upon our bed; rising and running down stairs in our night clothes, what a sight met our gaze.
“A large pantry or store room at the foot of the stairs, as we reached the landing, the door blew open, window fell with a crash, and a shower of cranberries (stored in large wooden bowls upon the upper shelves) came tumbling upon our heads. We could not get the door leading into the kitchen open, and there we stood, my younger brother, not four years old, clinging to me, and asking if the last day had come; neither of us thought of crying; dishes came tumbling down shattered in many pieces; milk, coffee in bags, tea, groceries and spices were in a promiscuous mass upon the floor; wind, hail and torrents of rain, beating upon us; thunder and lightning then midnight darkness.
“Suddenly the door opened, and Jim called, ‘children, get up and come down stairs.’ [Jim Donnelson was the resident cook at the hotel.] In his hand he held a lantern. He looked and found us crouched in a corner half dead with fright, and asked ‘why are you not dressed?’ To return up stairs was impossible. We did not speak. He took in the situation at a glance, and taking us by the hand, led the way to mother’s room, got our clothes and helped us dress. I went into the dining room, and such a tipping of tables I have never since seen.
“All the spirits of pandemonium seemed at work? Confusion reigned supreme; wind howled, hail stones immense fell thick and broke windows; thunder so terrible – I can hear it now – lightning blinding one instant and then blackness of darkness prevailed. I went into the kitchen to get warm. Mother and Jim were broiling chickens for breakfast by a large open fire place; the soot was falling now, and rain in torrents. Mother said, Oh! Jim, what will the boarders say?’ ‘Never mind, mama, a little soot will do them good. I heard some of them yesterday complain of their board, and there is not a better kept house between Detroit and Chicago!’
“We brought excellent help from Detroit and Sandstone [Jackson County], and two Bennett girls from near Marshall; had good clerks and the best of everything from Detroit, Ohio, and Buffalo, the markets afforded, but some would find fault.
“Timbers were carried from the roof of the Kalamazoo house barn, whirling in the air, and lodged near where the Southern depot now stands on Kalamazoo avenue. [Michigan Central Railroad Depot, 100 block of West Kalamazoo Avenue.]
“Breakfast ready, but no one thought of eating that morning; self preservation, ‘the first law of life,’ was in the mind of each individual. When the storm had spent its fury and abated in a measure, I asked Jim to take me out to see if we could aid any of the sick people.
“Jim liked to smoke, and depended upon me to furnish pipes; my father never used a pipe, but kept pipes and tobacco with groceries in the hotel, same as he did in the old Ben Woodworth house in Detroit, which he kept in 1832, and fled into the country to escape Asiatic cholera, which all old people know first visited this country in 1831.
“Jim never refused anything I asked, that my parents would allow, accordingly being well protected, we sallied forth. Old people now living here could describe the storm more accurate, as I was not six years old when it occurred, and have only the date of the year to aid my memory. What I witnessed that morning has left an indelible impression that time never can efface. It has been telling on my life since that day.
“As we passed down Main street the debris was so great that I had to be lifted over timbers, logs, and broken delf [pottery] thrown from tenements near our path; horses were neighing, cattle furious, and dogs in the street running and snapping at us as we passed. Looking beyond where the American now stands [American House, 300 block of East Michigan Avenue, west of Pitcher Street], toward the northeast, the wind had swept in that direction. There huddled together were dying and maimed animals pitiful in their moanings. We had no power to aid them; straw, hay, every kind of refuse and garbage had collected here; and the Arcadia, now swollen, was running in torrents. A fallen tree and remnants of a barn impeded its progress; an acre of ground or more, was now a lake, a dead sea, (all it lacked was asphaltites), piled high with this conglomeration.
“We passed on to Main street as far as Mr. Hays’, the present location of the Grand Rapids and Indiana depot [400 block of Michigan Ave, east of Pitcher Street]. The family were more or less hurt; taking refuge in the cellar, bricks fell upon them, and those who are living bear marks to this day. One daughter, now in Heaven, while we were girls at school, whenever a storm arose the gentle Lydia would turn pale, and our kind hearted teachers would soothe her, knowing the cause of her alarm.
“Mr. T.P. Sheldon, my honored life long friend, said he was standing by his well when the tornado began, and saw Mrs. C.’s shanty unroofed.
“I pray to our Heavenly Father that we may never witness a tornado like unto that of 1834.”
—Kalamazoo Gazette, 7 September 1880