In the address just quoted there are some striking suggestions as to the possibility of working those coal fields which extend below the sea on our east and west coasts, especially in the counties of Durham, Northumberland, and Cumberland. Mr. Elliot remarks that ‘for all practical purposes these fields are as entirely within the reach of the mining engineer as the ordinary workings out of which coal is hewed.’ It is known that in many districts the coal strata extend ten or twelve miles beyond the shore; and Mr. Elliot believes that by sinking ventilating shafts in the German Ocean the coal below may be safely worked. The idea seems somewhat daring; yet, after the feats of engineering which have been achieved in our day, there seems no valid reason for doubting that at least when the pressure of a failing coal supply begins to be felt, the means will be found for rendering these immense submarine coal stores available. As to the difficulty of transport, Mr. Elliot remarks that, according to his estimates, ‘transport would neither be more costly nor more laborious than it has been in days gone by to convey coal the same distance after it was brought to the surface inland.’ The enormous importance of the subject is shown by the fact that ‘out of the minerals obtainable in Durham alone, one-third,’ Mr. Elliot tells us, ‘may be held to lie under the sea, and that all coalfields having a similar inclination of strata, and bordering on the ocean, will be similarly enlarged. This at once disposes,’ he adds, ‘of some of the fears expressed as to the duration of our coal supply; and while I am quite aware that these theories may be challenged, they are not put forward without due deliberation, and I am content to stake my professional reputation on their practicability.’
With regard to the future of this country, it appears to me that little anxiety need be entertained. Apart from the considerations I have urged, which seem to indicate that our consumption cannot long increase at the same rate as at present, it seems not unreasonable to anticipate that within the next few decades science will find the means of economising our coals in more ways than one. It does not indeed appear likely that any form of fuel will ever take the place of coal; but a portion of the work now derived from the consumption of coal may be expected to be derived in future years from some of the other substances now coming into use. It may be hoped, also, that science may suggest means for bringing coals to the surface with less waste, and even at less cost, than at present. And in other ways the process of exhaustion may be more or less effectively checked.
But while we may thus look somewhat confidently forward, as I judge, to the future of our country, serious questions are suggested as to the future of the human race. The period during which a nation flourishes, long as it seems by comparison with the life of man, yet sinks into insignificance when compared with the period during which civilised men will bear sway upon the earth. The thousands of years during which the coal stores of the earth may be expected to last will pass away, and then the descendants of those now living on the earth will have to trust to other force-supplies than those which we are now using so lavishly. It may seem fanciful to look so far forward, and yet by comparison with the periods which the astronomer deals with in considering the future of our earth, thousands of years are as nothing. As I have said elsewhere, ‘those thousands of years will pass as surely as the thousands which have already passed, and the wants entailed by wastefulness in our day will then be felt, and none the less that for so many years there had been no failure in the supplies contained within the great subterranean storehouse.’ It behoves us to consider thoughtfully the wants even of those distant eras. If the greatest good for the greatest number is to be regarded as the true rule for the conduct of intelligent beings, then unquestionably mere distance in point of time should not prevent us from anticipating the requirements of those remote descendants of ours. We should regard the consciousness of this duty and its performance as signs by which the superiority of our own over less civilised times is partly manifested. As man is in dignity higher than non-intelligent animals, in that he alone provides of his own forethought for the wants of his children, so our generation would be raised in dignity above preceding generations if it took intelligent charge of the wants of its remote descendants. We ourselves are now employing stores of force laid up for us by the unconscious processes of Nature in long past ages. As Professor Tyndall has finely said, we are utilising the Sun of the Carboniferous Epoch. The light ‘which streamed earthwards from the sun’ was stored up for us by the unconscious activity of ‘organisms which living took into them the solar light, and by the consumption of its energy incessantly generated chemical forces.’ The vegetable world of that old epoch ‘constituted the reservoir in which the fugitive solar rays were fixed, suitably deposited, and rendered ready for useful application.’ What the vegetable world did for us unconsciously during the Carboniferous Epoch, the scientific world of our epoch must do for our remote descendants. While we are consuming the stores of force laid up in past ages for our benefit, we must invent the means for obtaining directly from the solar rays fresh and inexhaustible supplies of motive energy.
(From the St. Paul’s Magazine, November 1871.)
THE SECRET OF THE NORTH POLE.
If an astronomer upon some distant planet has ever thought the tiny orb we inhabit worthy of telescopic study, there can be little doubt that the snowy regions which surround the arctic and antarctic poles must have attracted a large share of his attention. Waxing and waning with the passing seasons, those two white patches afford significant information respecting the circumstances of our planet’s constitution. They mark the direction of the imaginary axial line upon which the planet rotates; so that we can imagine that an astronomer on Mars or Venus would judge from their position how it fares with terrestrial creatures. There may, indeed, be Martial Whewells who laugh to scorn the notion that a globe so inconveniently circumstanced as ours can be inhabited, and are ready to show that, if there were living beings here, they must be quickly destroyed by excessive heat. On the other hand, there are possibly sceptics on Venus also who smile at the vanity of those who can conceive a frozen world, such as this our outer planet, to be inhabited by any sort of living creature. But we doubt not that the more advanced thinkers both in Mars and Venus are ready to admit that, though we must necessarily be far inferior beings to themselves, we yet manage to ‘live and move and have our being’ on this ill-conditioned globe of ours. And these, observing the earth’s polar snow-caps, must be led to several important conclusions respecting physical relations here.
It is, indeed, rather a singular fact to contemplate, that ex-terrestrial observers, such as these, may know much more than we ourselves do respecting those mysterious regions which lie close around the two poles. Their eyes may have rested on spots which, with all our endeavours, we have hitherto failed to reach. Whether, as some have thought, the arctic pole is in summer surrounded by a wide and tide-swayed ocean; whether there lies around the antarctic pole a wide continent bespread with volcanic mountains larger and more energetic than the two burning cones which Ross found on the outskirts of this desolate region; or whether the habitudes prevailing near either pole are wholly different from those suggested by geographers and voyagers—such questions as these might possibly, be resolved at once, could our astronomers take their stand on some neighbouring planet, and direct the searching power of their telescopes upon this terrestrial orb. For this is one of those cases referred to by Humboldt, when he said that there are circumstances under which man is able to learn more respecting objects millions of miles away from him than respecting the very globe which he inhabits.
If we take a terrestrial globe, and examine the actual region near the North Pole which has as yet remained unvisited by man, it will be found to be far smaller than many imagine. In nearly all maps the requirements of charting result in a considerable exaggeration of the polar regions. This is the case in the ordinary ‘maps of the two hemispheres’ which are to be found in all atlases. And it is, of course, the case to a much more remarkable extent in what is termed Mercator’s projection. In a Mercator’s chart we see Greenland, for example, exaggerated into a continent fully as large as South America, or to seven or eight times its real dimensions.
There are three principal directions in which explorers have attempted to approach the North Pole. The first is that by way of the sea which lies between Greenland and Spitzbergen. I include under this head Sir Edward Parry’s attempt to reach the pole by crossing the ice-fields which lie to the north of Spitzbergen. The second is that by way of the straits which lie to the west of Greenland. The third is that pursued by Russian explorers who have attempted to cross the frozen seas which surround the northern shores of Siberia.