Mark Bennett: Even 155 years ago, Hauteans knew the last eclipse was coming

Mar. 14—It's probably the reliance on horses.

They pulled buggies and wagons full of people and goods. They pulled hand-guided plows in rugged fields.

Humans know so much more today, right? We've got cars, trucks, buses and limousines to transport us and our stuff. Cellphones do our thinking. AI solves and creates problems. Nineteenth-century dwellers were clueless about the world by comparison, correct?

Those folks taking horse-and-buggy rides knew more than most of us realize.

Consider the opening passage in the lead story of the Monday, Aug. 9, 1869, edition of the Terre Haute Daily Express. "The solar eclipse of Saturday appeared promptly on time."

Yes, most people living 155 years ago were aware that Terre Haute would experience a total solar eclipse that day, with 2 minutes and 25 seconds of totality as the moon completely obscured the sun. Science hadn't yet yielded automobiles or airplanes, but it could calculate astronomical occurrences quite well.

Thus, a majority of Hauteans — notably, those who read newspapers — knew this strange, rare moment was coming. Those bygone Terre Haute residents have that foreknowledge in common with present-day Hauteans, who have been anticipating the upcoming April 8 total eclipse here for years.

"They were not surprised at all. They knew it," said Dan McGlaun, who operates the comprehensive eclipse website Eclipse2024.org from his home in Belleville, Ind. "We tend to forget how smart people were."

Astronomer Edmund Halley (the famous comet's namesake who lived from 1656 to 1742) dug into ancient records and predicted to within four minutes a total eclipse over his London home on May 3, 1715, McGlaun pointed out. Likewise, the 1887 book "Canon of Eclipses" charts more than 8,000 total solar eclipses into the future, building on an astronomy study that began with the ancient Babylonians.

"And 2024 is in it," McGlaun said of the 19th-century book.

Hauteans and Hoosiers, generally, understood that the eclipse they witnessed in the summer of 1869 was once in a lifetime — and their children's lifetimes. The Daily Express reporter, who chronicled the awesome event in detail, ended his story in the following Monday's newspaper with a melancholy observation.

"It was saddening to think that no such spectacle as this sublime 'voyage of the worlds' would ever again be imprinted upon the retina of the eye of the vast majority of those who beheld it," the reporter wrote.

The "imprinted upon the retina" line probably makes the eye doctors of today cringe. Eclipse observers, of course, need to wear proper eye protection to view it.

Eclipse watchers in 1869 shielded their eyes, but not as effectively as they believed. In downtown Terre Haute, vendors hawked pieces of stained glass and smoked glass to excited customers itching to witness the eclipse. They also sold telescopes, binoculars and opera glasses, which offered no eye protection.

Even the smoked glass light-filtering method was "ineffectual," according to a University of Northern Iowa study of the 1869 eclipse. Nonetheless, the glass pieces must've sold briskly in advance, according to the Terre Haute newspaper.

Newspapers previewed the eclipse extensively, according to the UNI study. In fact, the Greencastle Banner encouraged visitors to flock to the Putnam County seat because of its prime location. "Come to Greencastle next Saturday and see the great eclipse! It will be a free show, and is possibly the only exhibition of the kind that will be given here during the present century," the newspaper wrote on Aug. 5, 1869.

Indeed, it was a rare moment. This part of Indiana hadn't seen a total solar eclipse since Sept. 14, 1205, according to Ball State University. That's right, 1205. We're talking the Middle Ages.

So, just as eclipse-watchers are expected to flow into path-of-totality communities such as Terre Haute on April 8 this year, thousands traveled to see the eclipse 155 years ago. They ranged from scientists to college professors, professionals and curiosity seekers into large towns, like Springfield, Ill. "Selection of this city as a chief point of observation brought hundreds of visitors from a distance," the Illinois State Journal wrote.

Not everybody read newspapers, and the lack of information caused problems for some. Some were overwhelmed with fear and confusion, especially in small towns, thinking the world was ending. After all, unusual stuff happens during a total eclipse of the sun, and the summer of '69 — 1869, that is — was no different. Chickens went to roost as the sky darkened, and then when the sun broke through after the eclipse roosters crowed, a Shelbyville, Ky., newspaper reported.

Oddities unfolded in the strange midday darkness in Terre Haute, too. The Daily Express reporter told of cows heading into their barns, lightning bugs glowing, barn swallows fluttering in confusion. Overhead, Venus and Mars appeared with stars. Visibility dimmed to less than two blocks. Downtown shopkeepers turned on gas lamps. The temperature dropped from 76 degrees to 70. A man reading the newspaper itself closed it, unable to see the print. The Express reporter briefly joined a party of professors on the Terre Haute Female College's rooftop, where goers gazed through a telescope fitted with a tinted lens.

West of the Wabash, the Sisters of Providence watched the eclipse, too. "Little birds flew to rest, and several stars were plainly visible," Sister Eugenia Logan wrote at the time, in an account uncovered in the congregation's archives recently by Sister Marie Grace Molloy.

Almost all of Terre Haute and its surrounding communities observed the two-hour-long process.

"As the time drew near, the entire populace sought the open air, the housetops and every available position to get the best possible view," the reporter wrote.

Finally, the moon blotted out the sun above this town along the Wabash River.

"A great black cloud appeared to roll over the face of nature," the Daily Express explained, "and on looking up, the most magnificent spectacle ever presented upon earth was seen."

The writer of that eloquent description didn't get byline. It would be a noble thought that humility drove the omission. In reality, it was likely just standard procedure in the newspaper business at the time. Regardless, the scene painted in the story was enough to comprehend.

Like all total eclipses, once the few minutes of totality ended about 5:18 p.m. Aug. 7, 1869, the sun reappeared as a tiny but brilliant sliver.

"And one grand shout could be heard going up all over the city, awakening those who in speechless wonder sat watching the awe-inspiring spectacle," the Daily Express noted.

Yes, Hauteans in 1869 understood a special opportunity would happen. And they took advantage of it.

Mark Bennett can be reached at 812-231-4377 or mark.bennett@tribstar.com.