THE USEFULNESS OF EARTHQUAKES.
We have lately had fearful evidence of the energy of the earth’s internal forces. A vibration which, when considered with reference to the dimensions of the earth’s globe, may be spoken of as an indefinitely minute quivering limited to an insignificant area, has sufficed to destroy the cities and villages of whole provinces, to cause the death of thousands of human beings, and to effect a destruction of property which must be estimated by millions of pounds sterling. Such a catastrophe as this serves indeed to show how poor and weak a creature man is in presence of the grand workings of Nature. The mere throes which accompany her unseen subterranean efforts suffice to crumble man’s strongest buildings in a moment into dust, while the unfortunate inhabitants are either crushed to death among the ruins, or forced to remain shuddering spectators of the destruction of their homes.
At first sight it may seem paradoxical to assert that earthquakes, fearfully destructive as they have so often proved, are yet essentially preservative and restorative phenomena; yet this is strictly the case. Had no earthquakes taken place in old times, man would not now be living on the face of the earth; if no earthquakes were to take place in future, the term of man’s existence would be limited within a range of time far less than that to which it seems likely, in all probability, to be extended.
If the solid substance of the earth formed a perfect sphere in ante-geologic times—that is, in ages preceding those to which our present geologic studies extend—there can be no doubt that there was then no visible land above the surface of the water; the ocean must have formed a uniformly deep covering to the submerged surface of the solid globe. In this state of things, nothing but the earth’s subterranean forces could tend to the production of continents and islands. Let me be understood. I am not referring to the possibility or impossibility that lands and seas should suddenly have assumed their present figure without convulsion of any sort; this might have happened, since the Creator of all things can doubtless modify all things according to His will; I merely say that, assuming that in the beginning, as now, He permitted all things to work according to the laws He has appointed, then, undoubtedly, the submerged earth must have risen above the sea by the action of those very forms of force which produce the earthquake in our own times.
However this may be, it is quite certain that when once continents and lands had been formed, there immediately began a struggle between destructive and restorative (rather, perhaps, than preservative) forces.
The great enemy of the land is water, and water works the destruction of the land in two principal ways.
In the first place the sea tends to destroy the land by beating on its shores, and thus continually washing it away. It may seem at first sight that this process must necessarily be a slow one; in fact, many may be disposed to say that it is certainly a slow process, since we see that it does not alter the forms of continents and islands perceptibly in long intervals of time. But, as a matter of fact, we have never had an opportunity of estimating the full effects of this cause, since its action is continually being checked by the restorative forces we shall presently have to consider. Were it not thus checked, there can be little doubt that its effects would be cumulative; for the longer the process continued—that is, the more the land was beaten away—the higher would the sea rise, and the greater power would it have to effect the destruction of the remaining land.
I proceed to give a few instances of the sea’s power of effecting the rapid destruction of the land when nothing happens to interfere with the local action—premising, that this effect is altogether insignificant in comparison with that which would take place, even in that particular spot, if the sea’s action were everywhere left unchecked.
The Shetland Isles are composed of substances which seem, of all others, best fitted to resist the disintegrating forces of the sea—namely, granite, gneiss, mica-slate, serpentine, greenstone, and many other forms of rock: yet, exposed as these islands are to the uncontrolled violence of the Atlantic Ocean, they are undergoing a process of destruction which, even within historical times, has produced very noteworthy changes. ‘Steep cliffs are hollowed out,’ says Sir Charles Lyell, ‘into deep caves and lofty arches; and almost every promontory ends in a cluster of rocks imitating the forms of columns, pinnacles, and obelisks.’ Speaking of one of the islands of this group, Dr. Hibbert says: ‘The isle of Stennes presents a scene of unequalled desolation. In stormy winters, large blocks of stone are overturned, or are removed from their native beds, and hurried to a distance almost incredible. In the winter of 1802, a tabular mass, eight feet two inches by seven feet, and five feet one inch thick, was dislodged from its bed, and carried to a distance of from eighty to ninety feet. In other parts of the Shetland Isles, where the sea has encountered less solid materials, the work of destruction has proceeded yet more effectively. In Roeness, for example, the sea has wrought its way so fiercely that a large cavernous aperture 250 feet long has been hollowed out. But the most sublime scene,’ says Dr. Hibbert, ‘is where a mural pile of porphyry, escaping the process of disintegration that is devastating the coast, appears to have been left as a sort of rampart against the inroads of the ocean. The Atlantic, when provoked by wintry gales, batters against it with all the force of real artillery; and the waves, in their repeated assaults, have at length forced for themselves an entrance. This breach, named the Grind of the Navir, is widened every winter by the overwhelming surge that, finding a passage through it, separates large stones from its sides, and forces them to a distance of no less than 180 feet. In two or three spots, the fragments which have been detached are brought together in immense heaps, that appear as an accumulation of cubical masses, the product of some quarry.’