The Glaciers of the Alps Part 16

[Sidenote: SWIFT DESCENT. 1859.]

The men returned; dinner was prepared and consumed; the disorder which we had created made good; the rooms were swept, the mattresses replaced, and the shutters fastened, where this was possible. We locked up the house, and with light hearts and lithe limbs commenced the descent. My aim now was to reach the source of the Arveiron, to examine the water and inspect the vault. With this view we went straight down the mountain. The inclinations were often extremely steep, and down these we swept with an avalanche-velocity; indeed usually accompanied by an avalanche of our own creation. On one occasion Balmat was for a moment overwhelmed by the descending ma.s.s: the guides were startled, but he emerged instantly. Tairraz followed him, and I followed Tairraz, all of us rolling in the snow at the bottom of the slope as if it were so much flour. My practice on the Finsteraarhorn rendered me at home here. One of the porters could by no means be induced to try this flying mode of descent. Simond carried my theodolite box, tied upon a crotchet on his back; and once, while shooting down a slope, he incautiously allowed a foot to get entangled; his momentum rolled him over and over down the incline, the theodolite emerging periodically from the snow during his successive revolutions. A succession of _glissades_ brought us with amazing celerity to the bottom of the mountain, whence we picked our way amid the covered boulders and over the concealed arms of the stream to the source of the Arveiron.

The quant.i.ty of water issuing from the vault was considerable, and its character that of true glacier water. It was turbid with suspended matter, though not so turbid as in summer; but the difference in force and quant.i.ty would, I think, be sufficient to account for the greater summer turbidity. This character of the water could only be due to the grinding motion of the glacier upon its bed; a motion which seems not to be suspended even in the depth of winter. The temperature of the water was the tenth of a degree Centigrade above zero; that of the ice was half a degree below zero: this was also the temperature of the air, while that of the snow, which in some places covered the ice-blocks, was a degree and a quarter below zero.

[Sidenote: VAULT OF THE ARVEIRON. 1859.]

The entrance to the vault was formed by an arch of ice which had detached itself from the general ma.s.s of the glacier behind: between them was a s.p.a.ce through which we could look to the sky above. Beyond this the cave narrowed, and we found ourselves steeped in the blue light of the ice. The roof of the inner arch was perforated at one place by a shaft about a yard wide, which ran vertically to the surface of the glacier. Water had run down the sides of this shaft, and, being re-frozen below, formed a composite pillar of icicles at least twenty feet high and a yard thick, stretching quite from roof to floor. They were all united to a common surface at one side, but at the other they formed a series of flutings of exceeding beauty. This group of columns was bent at its base as if it had yielded to the forward motion of the glacier, or to the weight of the arch overhead. Pa.s.sing over a number of large ice-blocks which partially filled the interior of the vault, we reached its extremity, and here found a sloping pa.s.sage with a perfect arch of crystal overhead, and leading by a steep gradient to the air above. This singular gallery was about seventy feet long, and was floored with snow. We crept up it, and from the summit descended by a glissade to the frontal portion of the cavern. To me this crystal cave, with the blue light glistening from its walls, presented an aspect of magical beauty. My delight, however, was tame compared with that of my companions.

[Sidenote: MAJESTIC SCENE. 1859.]

Looking from the blue arch westwards, the heavens were seen filled by crimson clouds, with fiery outliers reaching up to the zenith. On quitting the vault I turned to have a last look at those n.o.ble sentinels of the Mer de Glace, the Aiguille du Dru, and the Aiguille Verte. The glacier below the mountains was in shadow, and its frozen precipices of a deep cold blue. From this, as from a basis, the mountain cones sprang steeply heavenward, meeting half way down the fiery light of the sinking sun. The right-hand slopes and edges of both pyramids burned in this light, while detached protuberant ma.s.ses also caught the blaze, and mottled the mountains with effulgent s.p.a.ces. A range of minor peaks ran slanting downwards from the summit of the Aiguille Verte; some of these were covered with snow, and shone as if illuminated with the deep crimson of a strontian flame. I was absolutely struck dumb by the extraordinary majesty of this scene, and watched it silently till the red light faded from the highest summits. Thus ended my winter expedition to the Mer de Glace.

Next morning, starting at three o'clock, I was driven by my two guides in an open sledge to Sallenches. The rain was pitiless and the road abominable. The distance, I believe, is only six leagues, but it took us five hours to accomplish it. The leading mule was beyond the reach of Simond's whip, and proved a mere obstructive; during part of the way it was unloosed, tied to the sledge, and dragged after it. Simond afterwards mounted the hindmost beast and brought his whip to bear upon the leader, the jerking he endured for an hour and a half seemed almost sufficient to dislocate his bones. We reached Sallenches half an hour late, but the diligence was behind its time by this exact interval. We met it on the Pont St. Martin, and I transferred myself from the sledge to the interior. This was the morning of the 30th of December, and on the evening of the 1st of January I was in London.

[Sidenote: MY a.s.sISTANTS. 1859.]

I cannot finish this recital without saying one word about my men. Their behaviour was admirable throughout. The labour was enormous, but it was manfully and cheerfully done. I know Simond well; he is intelligent, truthful, and affectionate, and there is no guide of my acquaintance for whom I have a stronger regard. Joseph Tairraz is an extremely intelligent and able guide, and on this trying occasion proved himself worthy of my highest praise and commendation. Their two companions upon the glacier, Edouard Balmat (le Pet.i.t Balmat) and Joseph Simond (fils d'Auguste), acquitted themselves admirably; and it also gives me pleasure to bear testimony to the willing and efficient service of Francois Rava.n.a.l, who attended upon me during the observations.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Emerson.

PART II.

CHIEFLY SCIENTIFIC.

Aber im stillen Gemach entwirft bedeutende Zirkel Sinnend der Weise, beschleicht forschend den schaffenden Geist, Pruft der Stoffe Gewalt, der Magnete Ha.s.sen und Lieben, Folgt durch die Lufte dem Klang, folgt durch den Aether dem Strahl, Sucht das vertraute Gesetz in des Zufalls grausenden Wundern, Sucht den ruhenden Pol in der Erscheinungen Flucht.

Schiller.

ON LIGHT AND HEAT.

(1.)

[Sidenote: THEORIES OF LIGHT.]

What is Light? The ancients supposed it to be something emitted by the eyes, and for ages no notion was entertained that it required time to pa.s.s through s.p.a.ce. In the year 1676 Romer first proved that the light from Jupiter's satellites required a certain time to cross the earth's...o...b..t. Bradley afterwards found that, owing to the velocity with which the earth flies through s.p.a.ce, the rays of the stars are slightly inclined, just as rain-drops which descend vertically appear to meet us when we move swiftly through the shower. In Kew Gardens there is a sun-dial commemorative of this discovery, which is called the _aberration of light_. Knowing the velocity of the earth, and the inclination of the stellar rays, Bradley was able to calculate the velocity of light; and his result agrees closely with that of Romer.

Celestial distances were here involved, but a few years ago M. Fizeau, by an extremely ingenious contrivance, determined the time required by light to pa.s.s over a distance of about 9000 yards; and his experiment is quite in accordance with the results of his predecessors.

But what is it which thus moves? Some, and among the number Newton, imagined light to consist of particles darted out from luminous bodies.

This is the so-called Emission-Theory, which was held by some of the greatest men: Laplace, for example, accepted it; and M. Biot has developed it with a lucidity and power peculiar to himself. It was first opposed by the astronomer Huyghens, and afterwards by Euler, both of whom supposed light to be a kind of undulatory motion; but they were borne down by their great antagonists, and the emission-theory held its ground until the commencement of the present century, when Thomas Young, Professor of Natural Philosophy in the Royal Inst.i.tution, reversed the scientific creed by placing the Theory of Undulation on firm foundations. He was followed by a young Frenchman of extraordinary genius, who, by the force of his logic and the conclusiveness of his experiments, left the Wave-Theory without a compet.i.tor. The name of this young Frenchman was Augustin Fresnel.

Since his time some of the ablest minds in Europe have been applied to the investigation of this subject; and thus a mastery, almost miraculous, has been attained over the grandest and most subtle of natural phenomena. True knowledge is always fruitful, and a clear conception regarding any one natural agent leads infallibly to better notions regarding others. Thus it is that our knowledge of light has corrected and expanded our knowledge of _heat_, while the latter, in its turn, will a.s.suredly lead us to clearer conceptions regarding the other forces of Nature.

I think it will not be a useless labour if I here endeavour to state, in a simple manner, our present views of light and heat. Such knowledge is essential to the explanation of many of the phenomena referred to in the foregoing pages; and even to the full comprehension of the origin of the glaciers themselves. A few remarks on the nature of sound will form a fit introduction.

[Sidenote: NATURE OF SOUND.]

It is known that sound is conveyed to our organs of hearing by the air: a bell struck in a vacuum emits no sound, and even when the air is thin the sound is enfeebled. Hawksbee proved this by the air-pump; De Saussure fired a pistol at the top of Mont Blanc,--I have repeated the experiment myself, and found, with him, that the sound is feebler than at the sea level. Sound is not produced by anything projected through the air. The explosion of a gun, for example, is sent forward by a motion of a totally different kind from that which animates the bullet projected from the gun: the latter is a motion of _translation_; the former, one of _vibration_. To use a rough comparison, sound is projected through the air as a push is through a crowd; it is the propagation of a _wave_ or _pulse_, each particle taking up the motion of its neighbour, and delivering it on to the next. These aerial waves enter the external ear, meet a membrane, the so-called tympanic membrane, which is drawn across the pa.s.sage at a certain place, and break upon it as sea-waves do upon the sh.o.r.e. The membrane is shaken, its tremors are communicated to the auditory nerve, and transmitted by it to the brain, where they produce the impression to which we give the name of sound.

[Sidenote: CAUSE OF MUSIC.]

In the tumult of a city, pulses of different kinds strike irregularly upon the tympanum, and we call the effect _noise_; but when a succession of impulses reach the ear _at regular intervals_ we feel the effect as _music_. Thus, a vibrating string imparts a series of shocks to the air around it, which are transmitted with perfect regularity to the ear, and produce a _musical note_. When we hear the song of a soaring lark we may be sure that the entire atmosphere between us and the bird is filled with pulses, or undulations, or waves, as they are often called, produced by the little songster's organ of voice. This organ is a vibrating instrument, resembling, in principle, the reed of a clarionet.

Let us suppose that we hear the song of a lark, elevated to a height of 500 feet in the air. Before this is possible, the bird must have agitated a sphere of air 1000 feet in diameter; that is to say, it must have communicated to 17,888 tons of air a motion sufficiently intense to be appreciated by our organs of hearing.

[Sidenote: CAUSE OF PITCH.]

Musical sounds differ in _pitch_: some notes are high and shrill, others low and deep. Boys are chosen as choristers to produce the shrill notes; men are chosen to produce the ba.s.s notes. Now, the sole difference here is, that the boy's organ vibrates _more rapidly_ than the man's--it sends a greater number of impulses per second to the ear.

In like manner, a short string emits a higher note than a long one, because it vibrates more quickly. The greater the number of vibrations which any instrument performs in a given time, the higher will be the pitch of the note produced. The reason why the hum of a gnat is shriller than that of a beetle is that the wings of the small insect vibrate more quickly than those of the larger one. We can, with suitable arrangements, make those sonorous vibrations visible to the eye;[A] and we also possess instruments which enable us to tell, with the utmost exact.i.tude, the number of vibrations due to any particular note. By such instruments we learn that a gnat can execute many thousand flaps of its little wings in a second of time.

[Sidenote: NATURE OF LIGHT.]

In the study of nature the coa.r.s.er phenomena, which come under the cognizance of the senses, often suggest to us the finer phenomena which come under the cognizance of the mind; and thus the vibrations which produce sound, and which, as has been stated, can be rendered visible to the eye by proper means, first suggested that _light_ might be due to a somewhat similar action. This is now the universal belief. A luminous body is supposed to have its atoms, or molecules, in a state of intense vibration. The motions of the atoms are supposed to be communicated to a medium suited to their transmission, as air is to the transmission of sound. This medium is called the _luminiferous ether_, and the little billows excited in it speed through it with amazing celerity, enter the pupil of the eye, pa.s.s through the humours, and break upon the retina or optic nerve, which is spread out at the back of the eye. Hence the tremors they produce are transmitted along the nerve to the brain, where they announce themselves as _light_. The swiftness with which the waves of light are propagated through the ether, is however enormously greater than that with which the waves of sound pa.s.s through the air. An aerial wave of sound travels at about the rate of 1100 feet in a second: a wave of light leaves 192,000 miles behind it in the same time.

[Sidenote: CAUSE OF COLOUR.]

Thus, then, in the case of sound, we have the sonorous body, the air, and the auditory nerve, concerned in the phenomenon; in the case of light, we have the luminous body, the ether, and the optic nerve. The fundamental a.n.a.logy of sound and light is thus before us, and it is easily remembered. But we must push the a.n.a.logy further. We know that the white light which comes to us from the sun is made up of an infinite number of coloured rays. By refraction with a prism we can separate those rays from each other, and arrange them in the series of colours which const.i.tute the solar spectrum. The rainbow is an imperfect or _impure_ spectrum, produced by the drops of falling rain, but by prisms we can unravel the white light into pure red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. Now, this spectrum is to the eye what the gamut is to the ear; each colour represents a note, and _the different colours represent notes of different pitch_. The vibrations which produce the impression of red are _slower_, and the waves which they produce are _longer_, than those to which we owe the sensation of violet; while the vibrations which excite the other colours are intermediate between these two extremes. This, then, is the second grand a.n.a.logy between light and sound: _Colour answers to Pitch_. There is therefore truth in the figure when we say that the gentian of the Alps sings a shriller note than the wild rhododendron, and that the red glow of the mountains at sunset is of a lower pitch than the blue of the firmament at noon.

[Sidenote: LENGTH OF ETHEREAL WAVES.]

These are not fanciful a.n.a.logies. To the mind of the philosopher these waves of ether are almost as palpable and certain as the waves of the sea, or the ripples on the surface of a lake. The length of the waves, both of sound and light, and the number of shocks which they respectively impart to the ear and eye, have been the subjects of the strictest measurement. Let us here go through a simple calculation. It has been found that 39,000 waves of red light placed end to end would make up an inch. How many inches are there in 192,000 miles? My youngest reader can make the calculation for himself, and find the answer to be 12,165,120,000 inches. It is evident that, if we multiply this number by 39,000, we shall obtain the number of waves of red light in 192,000 miles; this number is 474,439,680,000,000. _All these waves enter the eye in one second_; thus the expression "I see red colour," strictly means, "My eye is now in receipt of four hundred and seventy-four millions of millions of impulses per second." To produce the impression of violet light a still greater number of impulses is necessary; the wave-length of violet is the 1/57500th part of an inch, and the number of shocks imparted in a second by waves of this length is, in round numbers, six hundred and ninety-nine millions of millions. The other colours of the spectrum, as already stated, rise gradually in pitch from the red to the violet.

A very curious a.n.a.logy between the eye and ear may here be noticed. The range of seeing is different in different persons--some see a longer spectrum than others; that is to say, rays which are obscure to some are luminous to others. Dr. Wollaston pointed out a similar fact as regards hearing; the range of which differs in different individuals. Savart has shown that a good ear can hear a musical note produced by 8 shocks in a second; it can also hear a note produced by 24,000 shocks in a second; but there are ears in which the range is much more limited. It is possible indeed to produce a sound which shall be painfully shrill to one person, while it is quite unheard by another. I once crossed a Swiss mountain in company with a friend; a donkey was in advance of us, and the dull tramp of the animal was plainly heard by my companion; but to me this sound was almost masked by the shrill chirruping of innumerable insects which thronged the adjacent gra.s.s; my friend heard nothing of this, it lay quite beyond his range of hearing.

A third and most important a.n.a.logy between sound and light is now to be noted; and it will be best understood by reference to something more tangible than either. When a stone is thrown into calm water a series of rings spread themselves around the centre of disturbance. If a second stone be thrown in at some distance from the first, the rings emanating from both centres will cross each other, and at those points where the ridge of one wave coincides with the ridge of another the water will be lifted to a greater height. At those points, on the contrary, where the ridge of one wave crosses the furrow of another, we have both obliterated, and the water restored to its ordinary level. Where two ridges or two furrows unite, we have a case of _coincidence_; but where a ridge and a furrow unite we have what is called _interference_. It is quite possible to send two systems of waves into the same channel, and to hold back one system a little, so that its ridges shall coincide with the furrows of the other system. The "interference" would be here complete, and the waves thus circ.u.mstanced would mutually destroy each other, smooth water being the result. In this way, by the addition of motion to motion, _rest_ may be produced.

[Sidenote: LIGHT ADDED TO LIGHT MAKES DARKNESS.]

In a precisely similar manner two systems of sonorous waves can be caused to interfere and mutually to destroy each other: thus, by adding sound to sound, _silence_ may be produced. Two beams of light also may be caused to interfere and effect their mutual extinction: thus, by adding light to light, we can produce _darkness_. Here indeed we have a critical a.n.a.logy between sound and light--_the_ one, in fact, which compels the most profound thinkers of the present day to a.s.sume that light, like sound, is a case of undulatory motion.

We see here the vision of the intellect prolonged beyond the boundaries of sense into the region of what might be considered mere imagination.

But, unlike other imaginations, we can bring ours to the test of experiment; indeed, so great a mastery have we obtained over these waves, which eye has not seen, nor ear heard, that we can with mathematical certainty cause them to coincide or to interfere, to help each other or to destroy each other, at pleasure. It is perhaps possible to be a little more precise here. Let two stones--with a small distance between them--be dropped into water at the same moment; a system of circular waves will be formed round each stone. Let the distance from one little crest to the next following one be called _the length of the wave_, and now let us inquire what will take place at a point equally distant from the places where the two stones were dropped in. Fixing our attention upon the ridge of the first wave in each case, it is manifest that, as the water propagates both systems with the same velocity, the two foremost ridges will reach the point in question at the same moment; the ridge of one would therefore coincide with the ridge of the other, and the water at this point would be lifted to a height greater than that of either of the previous ridges.

[Sidenote: COINCIDENCE AND INTERFERENCE.]

Again, supposing that by any means we had it in our power to r.e.t.a.r.d one system of waves so as to cause the first ridge of the one to be exactly one wave length behind the first ridge of the other, when they arrive at the point referred to. It is plain that the first ridge of the r.e.t.a.r.ded system now falls in with the second ridge of the unr.e.t.a.r.ded system, and we have another case of coincidence. A little reflection will show the same to be true when one system is r.e.t.a.r.ded any number of _whole wave-lengths_; the first ridge of the r.e.t.a.r.ded system will always, at the point referred to, coincide with a _ridge_ of the unr.e.t.a.r.ded system.

But now suppose the one system to be r.e.t.a.r.ded only _half a wave-length_; it is perfectly clear that, in this case the first ridge of the r.e.t.a.r.ded system would fall in with the first _furrow_ of the unr.e.t.a.r.ded system, and instead of coincidence we should have interference. One system, in fact, would tend to make a hollow at the point referred to, the other would tend to make a hill, and thus the two systems would oppose and neutralize each other, so that neither the hollow nor the hill would be produced; the water would maintain its ordinary level. What is here said of a single half-wave-length of r.e.t.a.r.dation, is also true if the r.e.t.a.r.dation amount to any _odd_ number of half-wave-lengths. In all such cases we should have the ridge of the one system falling in with the furrow of the other; a mutual destruction of the waves of both systems being the consequence. The same remarks apply when the point, instead of being equally distant from both stones, is an even or an odd number of semi-undulations farther from the one than from the other. In the former case we should have coincidence, and in the latter case interference, at the point in question.

[Sidenote: LIQUID WAVES.]