Boys' Second Book of Inventions

by Ray Stannard Baker

Imagine, if you can, a condition in which all substances are solids; where the vibrations known as heat have been stilled to silence; where nothing lives or moves; where, indeed, there is an awful nothingness; and you can form an idea of the region of the coldest cold—in other words, the region where heat does not exist. Our frozen moon gives something of an idea of this condition, though probably, cold and barren as it is, the moon is still a good many degrees in temperature above the absolute zero.

Some of the methods of exploring these depths of cold are treated in the chapter on liquid air already referred to. Our interest here centres in the other extreme of temperature, where the heat vibrations are inconceivably rapid; where nearly all substances known to man become liquids and gases; where, in short, if the experimenter could go high enough, he could reach the awful degree of heat of the burning sun itself, estimated at over 10,000 degrees. It is in the work of exploring these regions of great heat that such men as Moissan, Siemens, Faure, and others have made such remarkable discoveries, reaching temperatures as high as 7,000, or over twice the heat of boiling steel. Their accomplishments seem the more wonderful when we consider that a temperature of this degree burns up or vaporises every known substance. How, then, could these men have made a furnace in which to produce this heat? Iron in such a heat would burn like paper, and so would brick and mortar. It seems inconceivable that even science should be able to produce a degree of heat capable of consuming the tools and everything else with which it is produced.

The heat vibrations at 7,000° are so intense that nickel and platinum, the most refractory, the most unmeltable of metals, burn like so much bee's-wax; the best fire-brick used in lining furnaces is consumed by it like lumps of rosin, leaving no trace behind. It works, in short, the most marvellous, the most incredible transformations in the substances of the earth.

Indeed, we have to remember that the earth itself was created in a condition of great heat—first a swirling, burning gas, something like the sun of to-day, gradually cooling, contracting, rounding, until we have our beautiful world, with its perfect balance of gases, liquids, solids, its splendid life. A dying volcano here and there gives faint evidence of the heat which once prevailed over all the earth.

It was in the time of great heat that the most beautiful and wonderful things in the world were wrought. It was fierce heat that made the diamond, the sapphire, and the ruby; it fashioned all of the most beautiful forms of crystals and spars; and it ran the gold and silver of the earth in veins, and tossed up mountains, and made hollows for the seas. It is, in short, the temperature at which worlds were born.

More wonderful, if possible, than the miracles wrought by such heat is the fact that men can now produce it artificially; and not only produce, but confine and direct it, and make it do their daily service. One asks himself, indeed, if this can really be; and it was under the impulse of some such incredulity that I lately made a visit to Niagara Falls, where the hottest furnaces in the world are operated. Here clay is melted in vast quantities to form aluminium, a metal as precious a few years ago as gold. Here lime and carbon, the most infusible of all the elements, are joined by intense heat in the curious new compound, calcium carbide, a bit of which dropped in water decomposes almost explosively, producing the new illuminating gas, acetylene. Here, also, pure phosphorus and the phosphates are made in large quantities; and here is made carborundum—gem-crystals as hard as the diamond and as beautiful as the ruby.

An extensive plant has also been built to produce the heat necessary to make graphite such as is used in your lead-pencils, and for lubricants, stove-blacking, and so on. Graphite has been mined from the earth for thousands of years; it is pure carbon, first cousin to the diamond. Ten years ago the possibility of its manufacture would have been scouted as ridiculous; and yet in these wonderful furnaces, which repeat so nearly the processes of creation, graphite is as easily made as soap. The marvel-workers at Niagara Falls have not yet been able to make diamonds—in quantities. The distinguished French chemist Moissan has produced them in his laboratory furnaces—small ones, it is true, but diamonds; and one day they may be shipped in peck boxes from the great furnaces at Niagara Falls. This is no mere dream; the commercial manufacture of diamonds has already had the serious consideration of level-headed, far-seeing business men, and it may be accounted a distinct probability. What revolution the achievement of it would work in the diamond trade as now constituted and conducted no one can say.

These marvellous new things in science and invention have been made possible by the chaining of Niagara to the wheels of industry. The power of the falling water is transformed into electricity. Electricity and heat are both vibratory motions of the ether; science has found that the vibrations known as electricity can be changed into the vibrations known as heat. Accordingly, a thousand horse-power from the mighty river is conveyed as electricity over a copper wire, changed into heat and light between the tips of carbon electrodes, and there works its wonders. In principle the electrical furnace is identical with the electric light. It is scarcely twenty years since the first electrical furnaces of real practical utility were constructed; but if the electrical furnaces to-day in operation at Niagara Falls alone were combined into one, they would, as one scientist speculates, make a glow so bright that it could be seen distinctly from the moon—a hint for the astronomers who are seeking methods for communicating with the inhabitants of Mars. One furnace has been built in which an amount of heat energy equivalent to 700 horse-power is produced in an arc cavity not larger than an ordinary water tumbler.

On reaching Niagara Falls, I called on Mr. E. G. Acheson, whose name stands with that of Moissan as a pioneer in the investigation of high temperatures. Mr. Acheson is still a young man—not more than forty-five at most—and clean-cut, clear-eyed, and genial, with something of the studious air of a college professor. He is pre-eminently a self-made man. At twenty-four he found a place in Edison's laboratory—"Edison's college of inventions," he calls it—and, at twenty-five, he was one of the seven pioneers in electricity who (in 1881-82) introduced the incandescent lamp in Europe. He installed the first electric-light plants in the cities of Milan, Genoa, Venice, and Amsterdam, and during this time was one of Edison's representatives in Paris.