The New Astronomy

by S. P. Langley

Still above these rise the precipices of barren rock seen in the background, their very bases far above the highest visible dust-clouds, which overspread like a sea the deserts at the mountain’s foot,—precipices which when scaled lift the observer into what is, perhaps, the clearest and purest air to be found in the world. It will be seen from the mere looks of the landscape that we are far away here from ordinary sources of contamination in the atmosphere. Yet even above here on the highest peak, where we felt as if standing on the roof of the continent and elevated into the great aerial currents of the globe, the telescope showed particles of dust in the air, which the geologists deemed to have probably formed part of the soil of China and to have been borne across the Pacific, but which also, as we shall see later, may owe something to the mysterious source of the phenomena already alluded to.

It is far from being indifferent to us that the dust is there; for, to mention nothing else, without it, it would be night till the sunrise, and black night again as soon as the sun’s edge disappeared below the horizon. The morning and the evening twilight, which in northern latitudes increase our average time of light by some hours, and add very materially to the actual days of man’s life, are probably due almost wholly to particles scarcely visible in the microscope, and to the presence of such atoms, smaller than the very motes ordinarily seen in the sunbeam, which, as Mr. Aitken has shown, fill the air we breathe,—so minute and remote are the causes on which the habits of life depend.

Before we can see that a part of this impalpable, invisible dust is also perhaps a link between our world and other members of the solar system, we must ask how it gets into the atmosphere. Is it blown up from the earth, or does it fall down out of the miscalled “void” of space?

If we cast a handful of dust into the air, it will not mount far above the hand unless we set the air in motion with it, as in ascending smoke-currents; and the greatest explosions we can artificially produce, hurl their finer products but a few hundred feet at most from the soil. Utterly different are the forces of Nature. We have on page 183 a reproduction from a photograph of an eruption of Vesuvius,—a mere toy-volcano compared to Etna or Hecla. But observe the smoke-cloud which rises high in the sunshine, looking solid as the rounded snows of an Alp, while the cities and the sea below are in the shadow. The smoke that mounts from the foreground, where the burning lava-streams are pouring over the surface and firing the woods, is of another kind from that rolling high above. This comes from within the mountain, and is composed of clouds of steam mingled with myriads of dust-particles from the comminuted products of the earth’s interior; and we can see ourselves that it is borne away on a level, miles high in the upper air.

But what is this to the eruption of Sumbawa or Krakatao? The latter occurred in 1883, and it will be remembered that the air-wave started by the explosion was felt around the globe, and that, probably owing to the dust and water-vapor blown into the atmosphere, the sunsets even in America became of that extraordinary crimson we all remember three years ago; and coincidently, that dim reddish halo made its appearance about the sun, the world over, which is hardly yet gone.[6] Very careful estimates of the amount of ashes ejected have been made; and though most of the heavier particles are known to have fallen into the sea within a few miles, a certain portion—the lightest—was probably carried by the explosion far above the lower strata of the atmosphere, to descend so slowly that some of it may still be there. Of this lighter class the most careful estimates must be vague; but according to the report of the official investigation by the Dutch Government, that which remained floating is something enormous. An idea of its amount may be gained by supposing these impalpable and invisible particles to condense again from the upper sky, and to pour down on the highest edifice in the world, the Washington Monument. If the dust were allowed to spread out on all sides, till the pyramidal slope was so flat as to be permanent, the capstone of the monument would not only be buried before the supply was exhausted, but buried as far below the surface as that pinnacle is now above it.

[6] In January, 1887.

Of the explosive suddenness with which the mass was hurled, we can judge something (comparing small things with great) by the explosion of dynamite.

It happened once that the writer was standing by a car in which some railway porters were lifting boxes. At that moment came an almost indescribable sound, for it was literally stunning, though close and sharp as the crack of a whip in one’s hand, and yet louder than the nearest thunder-clap. The men leaped from the car, thinking that one of the boxes had exploded between them; but the boxes were intact, and we saw what seemed a pillar of dust rising above the roof of the station, hundreds of yards away. When we hurried through the building, we found nothing on the other side but a bare plain, extending over a mile, and beyond this the actual scene of the explosion that had seemed to be at our feet. There had been there, a few minutes before, extensive buildings and shops belonging to the railroad, and sidings on which cars were standing, two of which, loaded with dynamite, had exploded.

FIG. 78.—VESUVIUS DURING AN ERUPTION.