Louisiana’s vanished paradise

• By GREG LANGLEY
• Books editor
• Published: Jun 7, 2009

• Print
• Email
• Save
• Reprints
• Twitter
• Share

• Del.icio.us
• Digg
• Facebook
• Reddit
• 

THE LAST DAYS OF LAST ISLAND, THE HURRICANE OF 1856, LOUISIANA’S FIRST GREAT STORM
By Bill Dixon
University of Louisiana at Lafayette Press, $30; 290 pp.

ISLAND IN A STORM, A RISING SEA, A VANISHING COAST, AND A NINETEETH CENTURY DISASTER THAT WARNS OF A WARMER WORLD
By Abby Sallenger
Public Affairs, $24.95; 272 pp.

It’s not unusual for a single tragic event to spawn more than one book offering at the same time. Look at the piles of books that came after Sept. 11 and Katrina. It’s rare, though, for something that happened almost 143 years ago to be treated in two books simultaneously. That Dixon and Sallenger both chose the 1856 Isle Derniere Hurricane for their subject speaks to the historical importance of that event.

Isle Derniere (Last Island) was a scimitar-shaped coastal barrier island on the coast of Terrebonne Parish. In 1856, it was about 22 miles long and varied from about a mile to a mile and an half in width. Last Island was low and flat, no more that about 5 feet above sea level at its highest point. At the back of the island, there was a thin strip of marsh, then 5 to 10 miles of Caillou Bay before reaching the coast and more miles of marsh and swamp threaded with bayous. It wasn’t much of an island, but it boasted a wide, flat sand beach that was perfect for watching waves roll in, swimming and strolling.

Probably the most important thing about Last Island was that it fronted the Gulf of Mexico and was constantly in the path of cooling sea breezes. It was close to New Orleans and the inland plantations of the Attakapas and German Coast, easily accessible by the new railroad to Brashear City (Morgan City) and by steamboat. For all these reasons, it became a resort that boasted a small settlement of summer homes, Last Island Village; a modest hotel, Last Island Hotel; a harbor and landing and all sorts of diversions for the wealthy sugar planters who came there to escape the inland heat and mosquitoes.

“On August 10, 1856, the Gulf’s first documented Category Four hurricane slammed into the southeast Louisiana coastline,” Dixon writes. “The Last Island storm devastated one of the Old South’s most popular watering spots and in the process ripped apart the lives of hundreds of Louisiana’s most distinguished families.”

Indeed, of the 400 or so persons Dixon estimates were on the island when the storm hit, almost half perished. Additionally, at least two large ships were sunken in the storm just off the island, taking as many as 150 more lives. The exact death toll is hard to pin down. Dixon offers an estimate of 331 lives lost on or around Last Island.

It’s not just how many died and were affected by the storm, but who. Among the Louisianians at the resort at the time of the storm were wealthy planters like Michael Schlatre of Iberville Parish and his brother-in-law John Dardenne. Schlatre’s Last Island home was right next to the homes of former Gov. Paul Hebert and planter Thomas Mille. All had large families who were with them at the resort. Former Speaker of the Louisiana House of Representatives Col. William Whitmell Pugh also was there in his summer residence. The list goes on and on. Last Island was a playground for the wealthy. Most paid the price for their leisure. Some paid dearly. All of Schlatre’s family died except him.

At the height of the storm, the water of the surge washed completely over the island. Many islanders were washed out into the Gulf or across Caillou Bay into the marshes. It was a horrific experience.

“Alfred Duperier of New Iberia had been staying at the Last Island Hotel. The young physician watched in shocked amazement as the storm winds and surging waves carried away everything in sight. ‘The water … commenced rising so rapidly … that there could be (no) longer any doubt that the island would be submerged. Men, women, and children were seen running in every direction, in search of some means of salvation.’” Duperier was washed out into the Gulf then hours later back onto the island when the wind direction changed.

Badly injured trying to rescue a woman from the surf, Schlatre watched as his seven children were carried off by the wild water, Dixon writes, quoting Schlatre’s own account:
“As I left the floor, my poor little girl gave one scream and jumped and caught me around the neck with both arms and held fast, pell mell we all went from the floor amidst pieces of the wreck and all sorts of floating timbers. I now rolled over and over drinking in the hated fluid by great mouthfuls.

“The dear child still fastened to me; when I thought … that I must be near gone. I put my hands over those of my child and broke her hold of me.

“God only knows what became of the dear one.”