The deadliest hurricane in South Carolina history struck the Lowcountry on the night of August 27th, 1893. This massive storm swirled across the Atlantic Ocean, plowed through the Bahamas, and crashed into the coast between Savannah, Georgia, and Beaufort, South Carolina. It brought with it winds of at least 120 miles per hour and a devastating storm surge. While it is difficult to discern a precise death toll, at least 1,500 to 2,000 people, all but a couple dozen of whom were African American, perished that night. African Americans comprised the overwhelming majority of deaths in part because of the Lowcountry’s demography. For example, in Beaufort County, the epicenter of the hurricane’s damage, over 90% of the population was Black. However, African Americans also lived and worked in places that were exposed to the elements, and so many drowned because their locations of labor manufactured environmental vulnerability. This was largely due to historical patterns of settlement connected to the geography of slavery in the Lowcountry: African Americans lived on former plantations near or within former slave quarters, on whatever property they could afford after emancipation, and on land near their places of work along waterways. These properties and lands were often low-lying, whether near the tidal rivers that supported rice agriculture, on ocean-facing barrier islands where sea island cotton thrived, or marshes where phosphatic rocks could be scraped from the muck. The hurricane’s storm surge rushed into these places with such violence that survivors likened it to a “tidal wave.”
Of those Lowcountry residents who survived, tens of thousands faced conditions of deprivation, along with an enormity of grief. The African American sheriff of Beaufort County, George Reed, gave an account of the hurricane’s destruction that detailed the horrific toll it had taken on the Lowcountry. He had ridden the night out on his two-story home and emerged to the “screams, shrieks, and cries all over the town” as people began to learn of the death of loved ones. He heard stories from survivors who were “only saved by climbing to the tops of trees and lashing themselves there,” and, once he had collected himself, began to assist in finding and burying the bodies of the people who had perished in the storm. “By noon,” one newspaper reported, “every one on the chain of islands had become a grave-digger.” Lowcountry residents had lost family, loved ones, and community members, and these terrible losses were compounded by the destruction of the necessities of survival. Houses, barns, sheds, livestock, gardens, cash crops, sources of fresh water: the hurricane had inflicted damage on them all. The future was now more uncertain than before.
However, this is not an exhibit about the hurricane’s landfall in the South Carolina Lowcountry. Instead, this is an exhibit about how the American Red Cross interceded in one of the largest organized humanitarian efforts in U.S. history to that point, how Black residents of the Lowcountry worked to rebuild their communities, and how this largescale relief effort became entwined in the vituperative politics of South Carolina in the early years of Jim Crow. The exhibit primarily focuses on Beaufort County, South Carolina, which saw the brunt of the hurricane’s damage, from the storm’s landfall in late August 1893 to the Red Cross’s departure from the Lowcountry in summer 1894.
But to grasp the stakes of this disaster relief effort, first, one must understand the world with which the hurricane collided.