“This phenomenon is often described by travellers, who assert having been deceived by it, as at a distance it appears to them like water. This is certainly the fact, and I must confess that I have been deceived myself, even after I was aware of it. The perfect resemblance to water, and the strong desire for this element, made me conclude, in spite of all my caution not to be deceived, that it was really water I saw. It generally appears like a still lake, so unmoved by the wind, that every thing above it is to be seen most distinctly reflected, which is the principal cause of the deception. If the wind agitate any of the plants that rise above the horizon of the mirage, the motion is seen perfectly at a great distance. If the traveller stands elevated much above the mirage, the water seems less united and less deep, for, as the eyes look down upon it, there is not thickness enough in the vapour of the surface of the ground to conceal the earth from the sight; but if the traveller be on a level with the horizon of the mirage, he cannot see through it, so that it appears to him clear water. By putting my head first to the ground, and then mounting a camel, the height of which from the ground might have been ten feet at the most, I found a great difference in the appearance of the mirage. On approaching it, it becomes thinner, and appears as if agitated by the wind, like a field of ripe corn. It gradually vanishes as the traveller approaches, and at last entirely disappears when he is on the spot.”
We shall now introduce to the reader a curious account of Sand Floods; a name given to the flowing of sand so common in the deserts of Arabia. Mr. Bruce gives the following description of some that he saw in travelling through that long and dreary desert.—“At one o’clock (says he) we alighted among some acacia trees at Waadi el Halboub, having gone twenty-one miles. We were here at once surprised and terrified by a sight, surely one of the most magnificent in the world. In that vast expanse of desert from west to north-west of us, we saw a number of prodigious pillars of sand at different distances, at times moving with great celerity, at others stalking on with a majestic slowness: at intervals we thought they were coming in a few minutes to overwhelm us; and small quantities of sand did actually more than once reach us. Again they would retreat so as to be almost out of sight, their tops reaching to the very clouds. Here the tops often separated from the bodies; and these, once disjoined, dispersed in the air, and did not appear more. Sometimes they were broken near the middle, as if struck with a large cannon-shot. About noon they began to advance with considerable swiftness upon us, the wind being very strong at north. Eleven of them ranged alongside of us about the distance of three miles. The greatest diameter of the largest appeared to me, at that distance, as if it would measure ten feet. They retired from us with a wind at south-east, leaving an impression upon my mind to which I can give no name, though surely one ingredient in it was fear, with a considerable deal of wonder and astonishment. It was in vain to think of flying; the swiftest horse, or fastest sailing ship, could not carry us out of this danger; and the full persuasion of this riveted me as if to the spot where I stood, and let the camels gain on me so much in my state of lameness, that it was with some difficulty I could overtake them. The same appearance of moving pillars of sand presented themselves to us this day, in form and disposition like those we had seen at Waadi el Halboub, only they seemed to be more in number and less in size. They came several times in a direction close upon us, that is, I believe, within less than two miles. They became, immediately after sun-rise, like a thick wood, and almost darkened the sun: his rays shining through them for near an hour, gave them an appearance of pillars of fire. Our people now became desperate: the Greek shrieked out, and said it was the day of judgment; Ismael pronounced it to be hell; and the Tucorories, that the world was on fire. I asked Idris if ever he had before seen such a sight? He said he had often seen them as terrible, though never worse; but what he feared most was that extreme redness in the air, which was a sure presage of the coming of the simoom.”
The flowing of sand, though far from being so tremendous and hurtful as in Arabia, is of very bad consequences in Britain, as many valuable pieces of land have thus been entirely lost; of which we give the following instances from Mr. Pennant, together with a probable means of preventing them in future.—“I have more than once (says he) on the east coasts of Scotland, observed the calamitous state of several extensive tracts, formerly in a most flourishing condition, at present covered with sands, unstable as those of the deserts of Arabia. The parish of Fyrie, in the county of Aberdeen, is now reduced to two farms, and above five hundred pounds a year lost to the Errol family, as appears by the oath of the factor in 1600, made before the court of session, to ascertain the minister’s salary: not a vestige is to be seen of any buildings, unless a fragment of the church. The estate of Coubin, near Forres, is another melancholy instance. This tract was once worth three hundred pounds a year, but at this time is overwhelmed with sand. This strange inundation was still in motion in 1769, chiefly when a strong wind prevailed. Its motion is so rapid, that I have been assured, that an apple-tree has been so covered with it one season, that only the very summit appeared. This distress was brought on about ninety years ago and was occasioned by the cutting down some trees, and pulling up the bent or star which grew on the sand-hills; which at last gave rise to the act of 15 George II. c. 33. to prohibit the destruction of this useful plant.
“I beg leave to suggest to the public a possible means of putting a stop to these destructive ravages. Providence has kindly formed this plant to grow only in pure sand. Mankind was left to make, in after times, an application of it suitable to their wants. The sand-hills on a portion of the Flintshire shores, in the parish of Llanasa, are covered with it naturally, and kept firm in their place. The Dutch perhaps owe the existence of part at least of their country, to the sowing of it on the mobile solum, their sand-banks. My humane and amiable friend, the late Benjamin Stillingfleet, Esq. recommended the sowing of this plant on the sandy wilds of Norfolk, that its matted roots might prevent the deluges of sand which that country experiences. It has been already remarked, that wheresoever this plant grows, the salutary effects are soon observed to follow. A single plant will fix the sand, and gather it into a hillock; these, by the increase of vegetation, are formed into larger, till by degrees a barrier is often made against the encroachments of the sea, and might often prove preventive of the calamity in question. I cannot, therefore, but recommend the trial to the inhabitants of many parts of North Britain: the plant grows in most places near the sea, and is known to the Highlanders by the name of murah, and to the English by that of bent-star.”
The following is a singular but authentic account of the curious phenomenon of a Shower of Gossamers.—From White’s Natural History of Selborne.
“On September 21, 1741, being intent on field diversions, I rose before daybreak: when I came into the inclosures, I found the stubbles and clover grounds matted all over with a thick coat of cobweb, in the meshes of which a copious and heavy dew hung so plentifully, that the whole face of the country seemed, as it were, covered with two or three setting nets, drawn one over another. When the dogs attempted to hunt, their eyes were so blinded and hoodwinked, that they could not proceed, but were obliged to lie down and scrape the incumbrances from their faces with their fore feet. As the morning advanced, the sun became bright and warm, and the day turned out one of those most lovely ones, which no season but the autumn produces; cloudless, calm, serene, and worthy the south of France itself. About nine, an appearance, very unusual, began to demand our attention; a shower of cobwebs falling from very elevated regions, and continuing without any interruption till the close of day. There webs were not single filmy threads, floating in the air in all directions, but perfect flakes or rags, some near an inch broad, and five or six long. On every side, as the observer turned his eyes, might he behold a continual succession of fresh flakes falling into his sight, and twinkling like stars as they turned their sides towards the sun. Neither before nor after, was any shower observed; but on this day the flakes hung on the trees and hedges so thick, that a diligent person might have gathered baskets full.”
This chapter closes with a description of Winter in Russia.—The winter, in the climate of Russia, approaches very suddenly. There is something very wonderful in the instantaneous change of weather about the time of winter. On one day the warmth shall be that of spring, while on the following day the winter shall break forth in all its horrors; snow and ice are spread in the course of a few hours, and the abruptness of this instant change affects even a Russian constitution. Nothing can defend the shivering inhabitant, but the artificial heat of his own house; where he seals himself up during the hibernal rigours, yet even there they reach him.
There is a pleasing description of these sudden winters in one of the letters of the poet Metastasio, while residing at Vienna. The passage is very interesting, and finely describes the instantaneous change which occurred.
“Within these few days the Teutonic winter has unexpectedly appeared, with all his magnificent train, and without the least precursor to announce his arrival. All is covered with snow. The rivers, as well as lakes, were instantly frozen in a most solid manner; and the cold blown from the seven neighbouring hills is so subtle and penetrating, that we cannot exclude it from our warmest apartment. But notwithstanding all this unforeseen and violent change of nature, I still find much amusement here, having been more formed for Arcadian tranquillity than the bustle and magnificence of courts. I am pleased with the silent concord of all existence; the roving about in search of well-known paths, fields, bushes, pastoral borders, and every known object, of which, though the fall of snow has changed the colouring, yet the design is still faithfully preserved. I reflect with sentiments of gratitude, that the friendly forest, which by its shade but lately defended me from the burning rays of the sun, now affords me materials for combating the extreme fury of the season. I laugh at winter with all its horrors, which I see without feeling, having it in our power to compose an artificial spring in our apartments at pleasure; but by an impulse of self-love, what pleases me more is, the finding out, that, compared with other seasons, winter has still its conveniences, beauties, and advantages.”