A History of Science — Volume 5

by Henry Smith Williams; Edward Huntington Williams

I have said that the equipment of the college is somewhat primitive, but this must not be taken too comprehensively. Such instances as that of the beer-cask show, to be sure, an adaptation of means to ends on economical lines; yet, on the other hand, it should not be forgotten that the beer-cask serves its purpose admirably; and, in a word, it may be said that Professor Ramsay's laboratory contains everything that is needed to equip it fully for the special work to which it has been dedicated for some years past. In general, it looks like any other laboratory—glass tubes, Bunsen burners, retorts and jars being in more or less meaningless tangles; but there are two or three bits of apparatus pretty sure to attract the eye of the casual visitor which deserve special mention. One of these is a long, wooden, troughlike box which extends across the room near the ceiling and is accessible by means of steps and a platform at one end. Through this boxlike tube the chief expert in spectroscopy (Dr. Bay-ley) spies on the spectrum of the gas, and learns some of its innermost secrets. But an even more mystifying apparatus is an elaborate array of long glass tubes, some of them carried to the height of several feet, interspersed with cups of mercury and with thermometers of various sizes and shapes. The technical scientist would not make much of this description, but neither would an untechnical observer make much of the apparatus; yet to Dr. Travers, its inventor, it is capable of revealing such extraordinary things as the temperature of liquid hydrogen—a temperature far below that at which the contents of even an alcoholic thermometer are solidified; at which, indeed, the prime constituents of the air suffer a like fate. The responsible substance which plays the part of the familiar mercury, or alcohol, in Dr. Travers's marvellous thermometer is hydrogen gas. The principle by which it is utilized does not differ, in its rough essentials, from that of ordinary thermometers, but the details of its construction are much too intricate to be elaborated here.

But if you would see the most wonderful things in this laboratory—or rather, to be quite accurate, I should say, if you would stand in the presence of the most wonderful things—you must go with Professor Ramsay to his own private laboratory, and be introduced to some little test-tubes that stand inverted in cups of mercury decorating a shelf at one end. You would never notice these tubes of your own accord were you to browse ever so long about the room. Even when your attention is called to them you still see nothing remarkable. These are ordinary test-tubes inverted over ordinary mercury. They contain something, since the mercury does not rise in them completely, but if that something be other than ordinary air there is nothing about its appearance, or rather lack of appearance, to demonstrate it. But your interest will hardly fail to be arrested when Professor Ramsay, indicating one and another of these little tubes, says: "Here you see, or fail to see, all the krypton that has ever been in isolated existence in the world, and here all the neon, and here, again, all the zenon."

You will understand, of course, that krypton, neon, and zenon are the new gases of the atmosphere whose existence no one suspected until Professor Ramsay ferreted them out a few years ago and isolated them. In one sense there should be nothing mysterious about substances that every air-breathing creature on the globe has been imbibing pretty constantly ever since lungs came into fashion. But in another view the universal presence of these gases in the air makes it seem all the more wonderful that they could so long have evaded detection, considering that chemistry has been a precise science for more than a century. During that time thousands of chemists have made millions of experiments in the very midst of these atmospheric gases, yet not one of the experimenters, until recently, suspected their existence. This proves that these gases are no ordinary substances—common though they be. Personally I have examined many scientific exhibits in many lands, but nowhere have I seen anything that filled my imagination with so many scientific visions as these little harmless test-tubes at the back of Professor Ramsay's desk. Perhaps I shall attempt to visualize some of these imaginings before finishing this paper, but for the moment I wish to speak of the modus operandi of the discovery of these additions to the list of elements.

The discovery of argon came about in a rather singular way. Lord Rayleigh, of the Royal Institution, had noticed in experiments with nitrogen that when samples of this element were obtained from chemicals, such samples were uniformly about one per cent, lighter in weight than similar quantities of nitrogen obtained from the atmosphere. This discrepancy led him to believe that the atmospheric nitrogen must contain some impurity.

Curiously enough, the experiments of Cavendish, the discoverer of nitrogen—experiments made more than a century ago—had seemed to show quite conclusively that some gaseous substance different from nitrogen was to be found mixed with the samples of this gas as he obtained it from the atmosphere. This conclusion of Cavendish, put forward indeed but tentatively, had been quite ignored by his successors. Now, however, it transpired, by experiments made jointly by Lord Rayleigh and Professor Ramsay, that the conclusion was quite justified, it being shown presently that there actually exists in every portion of nitrogen, as extracted from the atmosphere, a certain quantity of another gas, hitherto unknown, and which now received the name of argon. It will be recalled with what astonishment the scientific and the unscientific world alike received the announcement made to the Royal Society in 1895 of the discovery of argon, and the proof that this hitherto unsuspected constituent of the atmosphere really constitutes about one per cent, of the bulk of atmospheric nitrogen, as previously estimated.

The discovery here on the earth of a substance which Professor Lockyer had detected as early as 1868 in the sun, and which he had provisionally named helium, excited almost equal interest; but this element was found in certain minerals, and not as a constituent of the atmosphere.

Having discovered so interesting a substance as argon, Professor Ramsay and his assistants naturally devoted much time and attention to elucidating the peculiarities of the new substance. In the course of these studies it became evident to them that the presence of argon alone did not fully account for all the phenomena they observed in handling liquefied air, and in 1898 Professor Ramsay was again able to electrify his audience at the Royal Society by the announcement of the discovery, in pretty rapid succession, of three other elementary substances as constituents of the atmosphere, these three being the ones just referred to—krypton, neon, and zenon.

It is a really thrilling experience, standing in the presence of the only portions of these new substances that have been isolated, to hear Professor Ramsay and Dr. Travers, his chief assistant, tell the story of the discovery—how they worked more and more eagerly as they found themselves, so to say, on a "warmer scent," following out this clew and that until the right one at last brought the chase to a successful issue. "It was on a Sabbath morning in June, if I remember rightly, when we finally ran zenon down," says Dr. Travers, with a half smile; and Professor Ramsay, his eyes twinkling at the recollection of this very unorthodox procedure, nods assent. "And have you got them all now?" I queried, after hearing the story. "Yes; we think so," replied Professor Ramsay. "And I am rather glad of it," he adds, with a half sigh, "for it was wearisome even though fascinating work." Just how wearisome it must have been only a professional scientific investigator can fully comprehend; but the fascination of it all may be comprehended in some measure by every one who has ever attempted creative work of whatever grade or in whatever field.

I have just said that the little test-tubes contain the only bit of each of the substances named that has ever been isolated. This statement might lead the untechnical reader to suppose that these substances, once isolated, have been carefully stored away and jealously guarded, each in its imprisoning test-tubes. Jealously guarded they have been, to be sure, but there has not been, by any means, the solitary confinement that the words might seem to imply. On the contrary, each little whiff of gas has been subjected to a variety of experiments—made to pass through torturing-tubes under varying conditions of temperature, and brought purposely in contact with various other substances, that its physical and chemical properties might be tested. But in each case the experiment ended with the return of the substance, as pure as before, to its proper tube. The precise results of all these experiments have been communicated to the Royal Society by Professor Ramsay. Most of these results are of a technical character, hardly appealing to the average reader. There is one very salient point, however, in regard to which all the new substances, including argon and helium, agree; and it is that each of them seems to be, so far as present experiments go, absolutely devoid of that fundamental chemical property, the power to combine with other elements. All of them are believed to be monatomic—that is to say, each of their molecules is composed of a single atom. This, however, is not an absolutely novel feature as compared with other terrestrial elements, for the same thing is true, for example, of such a familiar substance as mercury. But the incapacity to enter into chemical combinations seems very paradoxical; indeed it is almost like saying that these are chemical elements which lack the most fundamental of chemical properties.

It is this lack of combining power, of course, that explains the non-discovery of these elements during all these years, for the usual way of testing an element is to bring it in contact with other substances under conditions that permit its atoms to combine with other atoms to the formation of new substances. But in the case of new elements such experiments as this have not proved possible under any conditions as yet attained, and reliance must be had upon other physical tests—such as variation of the bulk of the gas under pressure, and under varying temperatures, and a study of the critical temperatures and pressures under which each gas becomes a liquid. The chief reliance, however, is the spectroscope—the instrument which revealed the presence of helium in the sun and the stars more than a quarter of a century before Professor Ramsay ferreted it out as a terrestrial element. Each whiff of colorless gas in its test-tube interferes with the light passing through it in such a way that when viewed through a prism it gives a spectrum of altogether unique lines, which stamp it as krypton, neon, or zenon as definitely as certain familiar and more tangible properties stamp the liquid which imprisons it as mercury.