The Rain Cloud - or, An Account of the Nature, Properties, Dangers and Uses of Rain in Various Parts of the World

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Title: The Rain Cloud - or, An Account of the Nature, Properties, Dangers and Uses of Rain in Various Parts of the World
Author: Tomlinson, Charles, 1808-1897
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.

*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Rain Cloud - or, An Account of the Nature, Properties, Dangers and Uses of Rain in Various Parts of the World" ***

Transcribed from the 1846 Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge
edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org

THE
RAIN CLOUD:

An Account
OF
THE NATURE, PROPERTIES, DANGERS,
AND USES OF RAIN,

IN VARIOUS PARTS OF THE WORLD.

* * * * *

PUBLISHED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF
THE COMMITTEE OF GENERAL LITERATURE AND EDUCATION
APPOINTED BY THE SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING
CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE.

* * * * *

LONDON:
Printed for the
SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE.
SOLD AT THE DEPOSITORY,
GREAT QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS,
AND 4, ROYAL EXCHANGE.

1846.

LONDON:
R. CLAY, PRINTER, BREAD STREET HILL.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
p. 10.
RAINS PECULIAR TO EACH SEASON—SPRING SHOWERS—MIDSUMMER RAINS—RAINS OF
AUTUMN AND WINTER—MEANS OF SUPPLYING THE EARTH WITH RAIN—RAIN
CLOUDS—DECEPTIVE APPEARANCES OF CLOUDS—THEIR LIGHT AND SHADE—EFFECTS
OF CLOUDS IN MOUNTAINOUS COUNTRIES—ASCENT OF MONTE PIENTIO—ASCENT TO
THE PEAK OF TENERIFFE—GRAND EFFECTS OF CLOUDS IN THE PYRENEES—VOYAGE
IN A BALLOON THROUGH THE CLOUDS.
CHAPTER II.
p. 37.
EFFECTS OF RAIN IN MOUNTAINOUS DISTRICTS—THE DISTRICT OF MORAY—THE
GREAT FLOODS OF 1829—COMMENCEMENT OF THE RAIN—THE SWOLLEN
RIVERS—DISASTROUS EFFECTS OF THE FLOOD—MEANS ADOPTED FOR THE RESCUE OF
COTTAGERS—KERR AND HIS BRAVE DELIVERERS—RESCUE OF FUNNS AND HIS
FAMILY—FLOODS OF THE RHONE IN 1840—OVERFLOWING OF THE MISSISSIPPI.
CHAPTER III.
p. 74.
VARIOUS FORMS OF CLOUDS—THE CIRRUS, OR CURL-CLOUD—THE CUMULUS, OR
STACKEN-CLOUD—THE STRATUS, OR FALL-CLOUD—THE CIRRO-CUMULUS, OR
SONDER-CLOUD—THE CIRRO-STRATUS, OR WANE-CLOUD—THE CUMULO-STRATUS, OR
TWAIN-CLOUD—THE NIMBUS, OR RAIN-CLOUD—ARRANGEMENT OF
RAIN-CLOUDS—APPEARANCES OF A DISTANT SHOWER—SCUD—CAUSE OF
RAIN—FORMATION OF CLOUDS—MISTS—HEIGHTS OF CLOUDS—APPEARANCE OF THE SKY
ABOVE THE CLOUDS.
CHAPTER IV.
p. 107.
ON HAIL—THE HAIL-STORMS OF FRANCE—THE DISASTROUS EFFECTS OF HAIL—THE
HAIL-STORMS OF SOUTH AMERICA—THEIR SURPRISING EFFECTS—ORIGIN AND
NATURE OF HAIL—PERIODICAL FALLS OF HAIL—HAIL CLOUDS—HAILSTONES—THEIR
VARIOUS FORMS—EXTRAORDINARY SIZE OF HAILSTONES.
CHAPTER V.
p. 117.
METHOD OF MEASURING THE QUANTITY OF RAIN THAT FALLS—THE RAIN
GAUGE—METHODS OF OBSERVING FOR RAIN AND SNOW—EFFECTS OF ELEVATION ON
THE QUANTITY OF RAIN—DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE TOP OF A TALL BUILDING AND
THE SUMMIT OF A MOUNTAIN—SIZE OF DROPS OF RAIN—VELOCITY OF THEIR
FALL—QUANTITY OF RAIN IN DIFFERENT LATITUDES—EXTRAORDINARY FALLS OF
RAIN—REMARKS ON THE RAIN OF THIS COUNTRY—INFLUENCE OF THE MOON—ABSENCE
OF RAIN—REMARKABLE DROUGHT IN SOUTH AMERICA—ITS TERRIBLE EFFECTS AND
CONSEQUENCES—ARTIFICIAL RAINS.
CHAPTER VI.
p. 137.
THE RAINBOW—DECOMPOSITION OF WHITE LIGHT BY THE PRISM—FORMATION OF
PRIMARY AND SECONDARY BOWS—RAINBOWS IN MOUNTAIN REGIONS—THE RAINBOW A
SACRED EMBLEM—LUNAR RAINBOW—LIGHT DECOMPOSED BY CLOUDS—THEIR BEAUTIFUL
COLOURS—EXAMPLES.
CHAPTER VII.
p. 157.
REMARKABLE SHOWERS—SHOWERS OF SAND—OF MUD—SHOWERS OF SULPHUR, OR
YELLOW RAIN—LUMINOUS RAIN—RED RAIN, OR SHOWERS OF BLOOD—SUPERSTITIONS
CONNECTED THEREWITH—EXPLANATION OF THE CAUSE—SHOWERS OF FISH—SHOWERS
OF RATS—SHOWERS OF FROGS—INSECT SHOWER—SHOWERS OF VEGETABLE
SUBSTANCES—MANNA—WHEAT—SHOWERS OF STONES—METEORIC STONES, OR
AEROLITES—METEORIC IRON—SUPPOSITIONS RESPECTING THEM—FOSSIL RAIN.
CHAPTER VIII.
p. 191.
COMMON SAYINGS RESPECTING THE WEATHER—SAINT SWITHIN’S-DAY—SIGNS OF
RAIN OR OF FAIR WEATHER DERIVED FROM THE APPEARANCE OF THE SUN—FROM
THAT OF THE MOON—FROM THE STARS—FROM THE SKY—FROM THE DISTINCTNESS OF
SOUNDS—FROM THE RISING OF SMOKE—FROM THE PECULIAR ACTIONS OF PLANTS
AND ANIMALS—PROGNOSTICS NOTICED BY SIR HUMPHREY DAVY—SIGNS OF RAIN
COLLECTED BY DR. JENNER—NORTH AMERICAN RAIN-MAKERS—INCIDENT RELATED BY
CATLIN—RAIN-DOCTORS OF SOUTHERN AFRICA—RAIN-DOCTORS OF
CEYLON—SUPERSTITIONS GIVING WAY TO THE TEACHING OF
MISSIONARIES—CONCLUSION.

[Picture: Clouds among the mountains]

CHAPTER I:

RAINS PECULIAR TO EACH SEASON—SPRING SHOWERS—MIDSUMMER RAINS—RAINS OF
AUTUMN AND WINTER—MEANS OF SUPPLYING THE EARTH WITH
RAIN—RAIN-CLOUDS—DECEPTIVE APPEARANCES OF CLOUDS—THEIR LIGHT AND
SHADE—EFFECTS OF CLOUDS IN MOUNTAINOUS COUNTRIES—ASCENT OF MONTE
PIENTIO—ASCENT TO THE PEAK OF TENERIFFE—GRAND EFFECTS OF CLOUDS IN THE
PYRENEES—VOYAGE IN A BALLOON THROUGH THE CLOUDS.

Every season has its own peculiar rains. What can be more refreshing or
invigorating than the showers of spring? When the snows of February have
disappeared, and the blustering winds of March have performed their
office of drying up the excess of moisture, and preparing the earth for
fruitfulness, and when the young buds and blossoms of April are peeping
forth beneath the influence of the sun, and the trees and hedges are
attired in their new robes of tender green, how soon would all this
beauty languish but for the showers of spring! Several dry days,
perhaps, have passed, and the wreaths of dust which are raised by the
wind show that the earth wants moisture; but before a drop falls there is
a general lull throughout all nature; not a leaf is heard to rustle; the
birds are mute and the cattle stand in expectation of the refreshing
fall. At last the pools and rivulets are “dimpled” by a few soft drops,
the forerunners of the general shower. And this shower, unlike the
heavier rains of summer, comes stealing on so gently, that the tinkling
sound of its fall is heard among the branches of the bursting trees long
before it is felt by those who walk beneath their slight shelter.
Rapidly does the landscape brighten under the influence of the welcome
shower; and as it becomes more rich and extensive, all nature seems to
rise up and rejoice. The birds chirp merrily among the foliage; the
flowers raise their drooping heads, and the thirsty ground drinks in with
eager haste the mellowing rains. All day long, perhaps, does the rain
continue to fall, until the earth is fully moistened and “enriched with
vegetable life.” At length, towards evening, the sun peeps out from
among the broken clouds, and lights up, by his sudden radiance, the
lovely scene. Myriads of rain-drops sparkle like gems beneath his beams;
a soft mist that seems to mingle earth and sky gradually rolls away, and
“moist, and bright, and green, the landscape laughs around.” Now pours
forth the evening concert from the woods, while warbling brooks, and
lowing herds, appear to answer to the sound. Such are some of the
delightful effects of spring-showers.

In summer, when the heat has been very great, the rain is often ushered
in by a thunder-storm, and falls in torrents, which at an earlier season
would do harm to the young buds and blossoms of spring; but now the
vegetation is strong enough to resist the floods so necessary to maintain
moisture in the parched earth. But when the summer has been moderately
warm some gentle rains generally fall about midsummer, which, from the
frequency of their occurrence about this time, have obtained the name of
“Midsummer rains.” These rains are popularly associated with St.
Swithin’s Day, as will be noticed in another chapter; but when they fall
early, mildly, and in moderate quantity, they operate to a certain extent
as a second spring. “Many of the birds come into song and have second
broods; and it is probable that there is a fresh production of
caterpillars for their food, or, at all events, a larger production of
the late ones than when the rains are more violent and protracted. Many
of the herbaceous plants also bloom anew, and the autumn is long and
pleasant, and has very many of the charms of a summer, though without any
very powerful operation on the productions of nature, further than a very
excellent preparation for the coming year, whether in buds, in roots, or
in the labours of man. Such a season is also one of plenty, or at all
events of excellent quality in all the productions of the soil. The wild
animals partake in the general abundance, as that food which is left for
them in the fields, after man has gathered in his share, is both more
abundant and more nourishing. When there is much moisture from the
protracted time and great quantity of the rains, many of those seeds
germinate, while in mild seasons they are left as food for the wild
animals, chiefly the field-mice and the birds, which again form part of
the food of the predatory ones.”

There is something melancholy and depressing in the rains of autumn and
winter, for they bear away the last traces of summer by stripping the
trees of the many-coloured leaves, which in mild seasons will continue to
adorn the landscape even late in November. The rains of this month, and
their effects, have been skilfully sketched by an accurate observer of
nature. He says:—

“Now cold rains come deluging down, till the drenched ground, the
dripping trees, the pouring eaves, and the torn, ragged-skirted
clouds, seemingly dragged downward slantwise by the threads of dusky
rain that descend from them, are all mingled together in one blind
confusion; while the few cattle that are left in open pastures,
forgetful of their till now interminable business of feeding, turn
their backs upon the besieging storm, and, hanging down their heads
till their noses almost touch the ground, stand out in the middle of
the fields motionless, like dead images.

“Now, too, a single rain-storm, like the above, breaks up all the
paths and ways at once, and makes home no longer ‘home’ to those who
are not obliged to leave it; while it becomes doubly endeared to
those who are. What sight, for instance, is so pleasant to the
wearied woodman, who has been out all day long in the drenching rains
of this month, as his own distant cottage window seen through the
thickening dusk, lighted up by the blazing fagot that is to greet his
sure return at the accustomed minute?”

While we watch the effects of the various rains, and their beneficial
influence on the earth, there is also much to excite our gratitude and
admiration; for among the many beautiful contrivances in creation, none
is more remarkable than the means by which the earth is watered and
refreshed by rain. The oceans, seas, lakes, and other waters of the
earth supply the air with moisture, which, rendered elastic and invisible
by the heat of the sun and of the earth, rises to various heights in the
atmosphere, where it forms clouds in all their wonderful beauty and
variety. These are borne by the winds to places far inland, to which
water in sufficient quantity could not come by any other means, and where
moisture is most required; and here the water is poured down, not in
cataracts and water-spouts, but in the form of drops of various sizes.
If the rain-clouds threw down, at once and suddenly, all the water
contained in them, not only would vegetation be destroyed by the force of
the fall, but we should be constantly liable to floods and other
inconveniences. Clouds also serve to screen the earth from the fierce
heat of the sun by day; and, by night, they serve to maintain the heat
which would otherwise escape by radiation, and produce great cold even in
summer. Clouds thus have great influence in regulating the extremes of
heat and cold, and in forming what is called the “climate” of a country.
Clouds also supply the hidden stores of fountains and the fresh water of
rivers; and, as a pious old divine well remarks, “So abundant is this
great blessing, which the most indulgent Creator hath afforded us by
means of this distribution of the waters I am speaking of, that there is
more than a scanty, bare provision, a mere sufficiency; even a plenty, a
surplusage of this useful creature of God, the fresh waters afforded to
the world; and they so well ordered, as not to drown the nations of the
earth, nor to stagnate, stink, and poison, or annoy them; but to be
gently carried through convenient channels back again to their grand
fountain the sea; and many of them through such large tracts of land and
to such prodigious distances, that it is a great wonder the fountains
should be high enough, or the seas low enough, ever to afford so long a
conveyance.” {18}

If rain is not at all seasons pleasant and delightful, neither are
rain-clouds among the most beautiful which diversify the landscape of the
sky; for it has been well remarked, that “all the fine-weather clouds are
beautiful, and those connected with rain and wind mostly the reverse.”
What, indeed, can be more striking than the aërial landscapes of fine
weather, in which, by an easy fancy, we can trace trees and towers,
magnificent ruins and glaciers, natural bridges and palaces, all dashed
with torrents of light or frowning in shadow, glowing like burnished
silver, glittering in a golden light, or melting into the most enchanting
hues? But with all this beauty the eye is seldom capable of judging
correctly of the proper size and forms and motions of clouds. The same
cloud which to one observer may be glowing with light, to another may be
enveloped in shadow. That which appears to be its summit may be only a
portion of its outer edge, while that which seems to be its lower bed may
really be a portion of its further border. A spectator, on the summit of
a tall cliff, may observe what he takes to be a single cloud; while a
second spectator, on lower ground, will perceive that there are two
clouds. The motions of clouds are so deceptive, that they often seem to
be moving in a curve over the great concave of heaven, while they are in
fact advancing in nearly a right line. Suppose, for example that a cloud
is moving from the distant horizon towards the place where we stand, in a
uniform horizontal line without changing either in size or form. Such a
cloud, when first seen, will appear to be in contact with the distant
horizon, and consequently much nearer to us than it really is. As it
advances towards us, it will seem to rise into the sky, and to become
gradually larger till it is almost directly overhead. Continuing its
progress, it will then seem again to descend and to lessen in size as
gradually as it had before increased; till at length it disappears in the
distant horizon at a point exactly opposite to that at which it was first
seen. Thus the same cloud, without varying its motion in the least from
a straight line, and remaining throughout of the same size and form,
would seem to be continually varying in magnitude; and the line of its
motion, instead of being straight, would appear to be curved. This is
one of the most simple cases that can be supposed: but the clouds as they
exist in nature do not remain of the same magnitude, but are constantly
changing in form, in size, in direction, and in velocity; so that it is
quite impossible to form an accurate idea of their shape and size, or to
explain their motions. Clouds, at different elevations, may often be
seen to move in different directions under the influence of different
currents of wind.

[Picture: Different appearance of the same clouds to different observers]

The distribution of light and shade in clouds is most striking. The
watery particles of which they are composed, yielding constantly to
changes in temperature and moisture, are always changing; so that a most
beautiful cloud may alter in figure and appearance in an instant of time;
the light parts may suddenly become dark, and those that were shaded may
all at once glow in the rays of the sun. Again, the appearance of a
cloud, with respect to the sun, may entirely alter its character. The
same cloud, to one observer, may appear entirely in shade, to another
tipped with silver; to a third it may present brilliant points and
various degrees of shade, or one of its edges only may appear
illuminated; sometimes the middle parts may appear in shadow, while the
margin may be partially luminous, rendering the middle parts all the more
obscure by the contrast.

A wonderful variety may also be produced by the shadow of one cloud
falling upon another. The accompanying sketch furnishes an example of
this. Sometimes the whole of a cloud projects a shadow through the air
upon some other far distant cloud, and this again upon another, until at
length it reaches the ground. The shadows of moving clouds may often be
traced upon the ground, and they contribute greatly to modify the
appearance of the landscape. A large number of small flickering clouds
produce broken lights and shades which have an unpleasant jarring effect;
but when the clouds are massive, or properly distributed, the shadows
often produce a high degree of repose.

[Picture: Shadows of clouds]

Clouds are often seen to advantage in mountainous countries. Here the
aspect of the heavens may be entirely different at different elevations.
A single cloud in the valley may conceal the whole of the upper sky from
an observer; but as he ascends he may gradually get above this and other
layers or bands of cloud, and see a beautifully variegated sky above him,
while the clouds which conceal the valley may be rolling at his feet.
Evelyn, in his Memoirs, notices a scene of this kind. He says,—“Next
morning we rode by Monte Pientio, or, as vulgarly called, Monte
Mantumiato, which is of an excessive height, ever and anon peeping above
airy clouds with its snowy head, till we had climbed to the inn at
Radicofany, built by Ferdinand the greate Duke for the necessary
refreshment of travellers in so inhospitable a place. As we ascended we
entered a very thick, solid, and dark body of cloudes, which looked like
rocks at a little distance, which lasted neare a mile in going up; they
were dry, misty vapours, hanging undissolved for a vast thicknesse, and
obscuring both sun and earth, so that we seemed to be in the sea rather
than in the cloudes, till, having pierced through it, we came into a most
serene heaven, as if we had been above all human conversation, the
mountain appearing more like a great island than joyn’d to any other
hills, for we could perceive nothing but a sea of very thick cloudes
rowling under our feete like huge waves, every now and then suffering the
top of some other mountain to peepe through, which we could discover many
miles off: and betweene some breaches of the cloudes we could see
landskips and villages of the subjacent country. This was one of the
most pleasant, newe, and altogether surprising objects that I had ever
beheld.”

In the following interesting account of the ascent of the Peak of
Teneriffe by Captain Basil Hall, it will be seen that heavy rain clouds
may skirt the mountain, while its summit is in a pure and dry air.

“On the 24th of August,” he says, “we left Oratava to ascend the
Peak. The day was the worst possible for our purpose, as it rained
hard; and was so very foggy that we could not see the Peak, or indeed
any object beyond one hundred yards distant.

“After riding slowly up a rugged path for four hours, it became
extremely cold, and, as the rain never ceased for an instant, we were
by this time drenched to the skin, and looked with no very agreeable
feelings to the prospect of passing the night in wet clothes. At
length the night began to close in, and the guides talked of the
improbability of reaching the English station before night. It was
still raining hard; but we dismounted, and took our dinner as
cheerfully as possible, and hoping for clearer weather the next day.
On remounting, we soon discovered that the road was no longer so
steep as it had been heretofore, and the surface was comparatively
smooth: we discovered, in short, that we had reached a sort of
table-land, along which we rode with ease. Presently we thought the
fog less dense, and the drops of rain not so large, and the air less
chilling. In about half an hour we got an occasional glimpse of the
blue sky; and as we ascended, (for our road, though comparatively
level, was still upon the rise,) these symptoms became more manifest.
The moon was at the full, and her light now became distinct, and we
could see the stars in the zenith. By this time we had reached the
Llano de los Remenos, or Retamos Plain, which is many thousand feet
above the sea; and we could distinctly see that during the day we had
merely been in a cloud, above which having now ascended, the upper
surface lay beneath us like a country covered with snow. It was
evident, on looking round, that no rain had fallen on the pumice
gravel over which we were travelling. The mules were much fatigued,
and we got off to walk. In a few minutes our stockings and shoes
were completely dried, and in less than half an hour all our clothes
were thoroughly dried. The air was sharp and clear, like that of a
cold frosty morning in England; and though the extreme dryness, and
the consequent rapid evaporation, caused considerable cold, we were
enabled by quick exercise to keep ourselves comfortable. I had
various instruments with me, but no regular hygrometer: accident,
however, furnished me with one sufficiently indicative of the dry
state of the air. My gloves, which I kept on while mounted, were
completely soaked with the rain; and I took them off during this
walk, and, without considering what was likely to happen, rolled them
up, and carried them in my hand. When, at the end of an hour, or
somewhat less, we came to remount our mules, I found the gloves as
thoroughly dried and shrivelled up as if they had been placed in an
oven. During all the time we were at the Peak itself, on the 26th,
the sky was clear, the air quite dry, and we could distinguish,
several thousand feet below us, the upper and level surface of the
stratum of clouds through which we had passed the day before, and
into which we again entered on going down, and found precisely in the
same state as when we started.”

It is not uncommon to observe an effect quite contrary to the one given
in the last two examples, the high summits of mountains being frequently
concealed by heavy clouds of mist, while at a very short distance below
them the air is clear and pure. In ascending to the Port of Venasque,
one of the mountain passes of the Pyrenees, Mr. Murray found the mists so
dense that he despaired of getting above them, or of their clearing away.
But fortunately the wind freshened, and the mist, broken by it, “came
sweeping,” he says, “over our heads, sometimes enveloping us in darkness,
sometimes exposing the blue sky, and a part of the mountains. Section
after section of the bald and towering masses which rose above the path
were displayed to us, one after another, as if the whole had been a sight
too great for us to look upon. Sometimes the clouds opened, and the
snows, sparkling in the sun-beams, were before us; at others, an enormous
peak of the mountain would shoot its dark head through the mist, and,
without visible support, seem as if it were about to fall upon us.
Again, when we imagined ourselves hemmed in on all sides by the
mountains, and within a few feet of their rugged sides, a passing breeze
would disclose the dark waters of the lakes hundreds of feet beneath us.

“Thus the effect of light and darkness, of sunshine and of mist, working
upon materials of such grandeur as those near the Port of Venasque, was a
sight well worthy of admiration, and one which is rarely to be seen. * *
* * Excepting the intervals of light which the gusts of wind, by
dispersing the mists, had bestowed upon us, we had hitherto,
comparatively speaking, been shrouded in darkness, particularly for the
ten minutes preceding our arrival at the Port: my astonishment may
therefore be imagined when, the instant that I stepped beyond the limits
of the Port, I stood in the purest atmosphere—not a particle of mist, not
even a cloud, was perceptible. The phenomenon was curious, and its
interest greatly heightened from the situation in which it took place.
The mist rolling up the valley through which we had passed, was, the
moment that it could be said to reach the Spanish frontier,—the moment it
encircled the edges of the high ridges which separated the countries,
thrown back, as it were, indignantly, by a counter current from the
Spanish side. The conflicting currents of air, seemingly of equal
strength, and unable to overcome each other, carried the mist
perpendicularly from the summits of the ridge, and filling up the
crevices and fissures in its uneven surface, formed a wall many thousand
feet above it, of dark and (from the appearance of solidity which its
massive and perpendicular character bestowed upon it) apparently
impenetrable matter.”

Undoubtedly the various phenomena of clouds may be seen to great
advantage in mountain regions; and there is only one other method of
seeing them to greater perfection, and that is from the car of a balloon.
The following description of an aërial voyage, by Mr. M. Mason, in
October 1836, will convey a better idea of the magnificence of a cloudy
sky than any terrestrial prospect could do. He says,—

“Scarcely had we quitted the earth before the clouds, which had
previously overhung us, began to envelop us on all sides, and
gradually to exclude the fading prospect from our sight. It is
scarcely possible to convey an adequate idea of the effect produced
by this apparently trivial occurrence. Unconscious of our own motion
from any direct impression upon our own feelings, the whole world
appeared to be in the act of receding from us in the dim vista of
infinite space; while the vapoury curtain seemed to congregate on all
sides and cover the retreating masses from our view. The trees and
buildings, the spectators and their crowded equipages, and finally,
the earth itself, at first distinctly seen, gradually became obscured
by the thickening mist, and growing whiter in their forms, and
fainter in their outlines, soon faded away ‘like the baseless fabric
of a vision,’ leaving us, to all appearance, stationary in the cloud
that still continued to involve us in its watery folds. To heighten
the interest and maintain the illusion of the scene, the shouts and
voices of the multitude whom we had left behind us, cheering the
ascent, continued to assail us, (long after the interposing clouds
had effectually concealed them from our eyes,) in accents which every
moment became fainter and fainter till they were finally lost in the
increasing distance.

“Through this dense body of vapour, which may be said to have
commenced at an altitude of about 1000 feet, we were borne upwards to
perhaps an equal distance, when the increasing light warned us of our
approach to its superior limits, and shortly after, the sun and we
rising together, a scene of splendour and magnificence suddenly burst
upon our view, which it would be vain to expect to render
intelligible by any mode of description within our power. Pursuing
the illusion, which the previous events had been so strongly
calculated to create, the impression upon our senses was that of
entering upon a new world to which we had hitherto been strangers,
and in which not a vestige could be perceived to remind us of that we
had left, except the last faint echo of the voices which still dimly
reached us, as if out of some interminable abyss into which they were
fast retreating.

“Above us not a single cloud appeared to disfigure the clear blue
sky, in which the sun on one side, and the moon in her first quarter
on the other, reigned in undisturbed tranquillity. Beneath us, in
every direction, as far as the eye could trace, and doubtless much
further, the whole plane of vision was one extended ocean of foam,
broken into a thousand fantastic forms; here swelling into mountains,
there sinking into lengthened fosses, or exhibiting the appearance of
vast whirlpools; with such a perfect mimicry of the real forms of
nature, that, were it not for a previous acquaintance with the
general character of the country below us, we should frequently have
been tempted to assert, without hesitation, the existence of
mountainous islands penetrating through the clouds, and stretching in
protracted ranges along the distant verge of our horizon.

“In the centre of this hemisphere, and at an elevation of about 3000
feet above the surface of the clouds, we continued to float in
solitary magnificence; attended only at first by our counterpart—a
vast image of the balloon itself with all its paraphernalia
distinctly thrown by the sun upon the opposite masses of vapour,
until we had risen so high that even that, outreaching the material
basis of its support, at length deserted us; nor did we again
perceive it until, preparatory to our final descent, we had sunk to a
proper elevation to admit of its re-appearance.

“Not the least striking feature of our, and similar situations, is
the total absence of all perceptible motion, as well as of the sound
which, in ordinary cases, is ever found to accompany it. Silence and
tranquillity appear to hold equal and undisputed sway throughout
these airy regions. No matter what may be the convulsions to which
the atmosphere is subjected, nor how violent its effects in sound and
motion upon the agitated surface of the earth, not the slightest
sensation of either can be detected by the individual who is floating
in its currents. The most violent storm, the most outrageous
hurricane, pass equally unheeded and unfelt; and it is only by
observing the retreating forms of the stable world beneath, that any
certain indication can be obtained as to the amount or violence of
the motion to which the individual is actually subjected. This,
however; was a resource of which we were unable to avail ourselves,
totally excluded as we were from all view of the earth, or any fixed
point connected with it.

“Once, and only once, for a few moments preparatory to our final
descent, did we obtain a transitory glimpse of the world beneath us.
Upon approaching the upper surface of the vapoury strata, which we
have described as extending in every direction around, a partial
opening in the clouds discovered to us for an instant a portion of
the earth, appearing as if dimly seen through a vast pictorial tube,
rapidly receding behind us, variegated with furrows, and intersected
with roads running in all directions; the whole reduced to a scale of
almost graphic minuteness, and from the fleecy vapour that still
partially obscured it, impressing the beholder with the idea of a
vision of enchantment, which some kindly genius had, for an instant,
consented to disclose. Scarcely had we time to snatch a hasty
glance, ere we had passed over the spot, and the clouds uniting
gradually concealed it from our view.

“After continuing for a short space further, in the vain hope of
being again favoured with a similar prospect, the approach of night
made it desirable that we should prepare for our return to earth,
which we proceeded to accomplish accordingly.”

[Picture: Kerr and his family in the middle of the flood]

CHAPTER II.

EFFECTS OF RAIN IN MOUNTAINOUS DISTRICTS—THE DISTRICT OF MORAY—THE GREAT
FLOODS OF 1829—COMMENCEMENT OF THE RAIN—THE SWOLLEN RIVERS—DISASTROUS
EFFECTS OF THE FLOOD—MEANS ADOPTED FOR THE RESCUE OF COTTAGERS—KERR AND
HIS BRAVE DELIVERERS—RESCUE OF FUNNS AND HIS FAMILY—FLOODS OF THE RHONE
IN 1840—OVERFLOWING OF THE MISSISSIPPI.

It is well known that some years are wetter than others; but to persons
living in tolerably flat countries an unusually wet season causes no
great inconvenience. It interferes, it is true, with outdoor
employments, but people seldom apprehend any danger from the long
continuance of rain. It is not so, however, in hilly or mountainous
regions; an unusual fall of rain swells the rivers to such an extent,
that they often overflow their banks, and occasion much damage to the
surrounding districts; or, where the river’s banks are defended on both
sides by perpendicular rocks, the waters sometimes rise so fast as to
attain a height of forty or fifty feet above their natural level, and
from this height they pour with destructive violence over the face of the
country. Such was the case in the great floods of Moray, which happened
in the year 1829, of which the following is a brief abstract, derived
chiefly from Sir Thomas Dick Lauder’s interesting volume on this subject,
published soon after the calamity for the benefit of the sufferers.

The province of Moray, or Murray, is a large district in the north-east
of Scotland, bounded by the Moray Frith on the north-east and north. The
eastern half of the province is lower than the western; in which the
mountains render the whole country characteristically highland. On the
north is a long belt of lowlands, about 240 square miles in extent: this
is greatly diversified with ridgy swells and low hilly ranges, lying
parallel to the frith, and intersected by the rivers Ness, Nairn,
Findhorn, Lossie, and Spey running across it to the sea. The grounds
behind the lowlands appear, as seen from the coast, to be only a narrow
ridge of bold alpine heights, rising like a rampart to guard the
orchards, and woods, and fields: but these really form long and broad
mountain masses, receding, in all the wildness and intricacy of highland
arrangement, to a distant summit line. Some of the broad clifts and long
narrow vales of these mountains form beautiful and romantic pictures;
while many of their declivities are practicable to the plough or other
instruments of cultivation; so that the bottoms and the reclaimed or
reclaimable sides of the valleys are estimated to comprehend about
one-third of the entire area. The lowlands of Moray have long been
celebrated for mildness and luxuriousness of climate, and also for a
certain dryness of atmosphere, which seems to have some intimate
connexion with the mournful calamity about to be described. The high
broad range of mountains on the south-west shelter the lowlands from the
prevailing winds of the country, and exhaust many light vapours and
thinly-charged clouds, which might otherwise produce gentle rains; but,
for just the same reason, they powerfully attract whatever long broad
streams of heavy clouds are sailing through the sky, and, among the
gullies and the upland glens, amass their discharged contents with
amazing rapidity, and in singular largeness of volume. The rivers of the
country are, in consequence, peculiarly liable to become flooded. One
general and tremendous outbreak, in 1829, “afforded an awful exhibition
of the peculiarities of the climate, and will long be remembered, in
connexion with the boasted luxuriousness of Moray, as an illustration of
how chastisement and comfort are blended in a state of things which is
benignly adjusted for the moral discipline of man, and the correction of
moral evil.”

The heat in the province of Moray during the summer of 1829 was unusually
great. In May the drought was so excessive, as to kill many of the
recently planted shrubs and trees. As the season advanced, the
variations in the barometer became so remarkable, that observers began to
lose all confidence in this instrument.

The deluge of rain, which produced the flood of the 3d and 4th of August,
fell chiefly on the Monadhlradh mountains, rising between the south-east
part of Lochness and Kingussie, in Badenoch, and on that part of the
Grampian range forming the somewhat independent groups of the
Cairngorums. The westerly winds, which prevailed for some time
previously, seem to have produced a gradual accumulation of vapour to the
north of our island, and the column, being suddenly impelled by a strong
north-easterly blast, was driven towards the south-west, its right flank
almost sweeping the Caithness and Sutherland coasts, until rushing up and
across the Moray Frith it was attracted by the lofty mountains just
mentioned, and discharged in fearful torrents. There fell at a great
distance from the mountains, within twenty-four hours, about one-sixth of
the annual allowance of rain; on the mountains themselves the deluge that
descended, must have been so enormous as to occasion surprise that a
flood, even yet more tremendous in its magnitude and consequences, did
not result from it.

The mouth of the Findhorn is described as the most important scene of
action. The banks of this river are well defended by rocks on either
side, and its whole course is distinguished by the most romantic scenery.
At the part where it is crossed by the old military bridge of Dulsie, the
scenery is of the wildest character. The flood was most tremendous at
this bridge, for the water was so confined that it filled the smaller
arch altogether, and rose in the great arch to within three feet of the
key-stone, that is to say, forty feet above the usual level. This fine
old bridge sustained but little damage, while many of the modern
buildings were entirely swept away. At another part of the river, it is
stated, as a curious illustration of the height to which the stream had
risen, that a gardener waded into the water as it had begun to ebb on the
haugh, and with his umbrella drove ashore and captured a fine salmon, at
an elevation of fifty feet above the ordinary level of the Findhorn.

At Randolph’s bridge the opening expands as the rocks rise upwards, till
the width is about seventy or eighty feet; yet, from the sudden turn of
the river, as it enters this passage, the stream was so checked in its
progress that the flood actually rose over the very top of the rocks,
forty-six feet above the usual height, and inundated the level part that
lies over them to the depth of four feet, making a total perpendicular
rise at this point of not less than fifty feet.

The effects of the deluge of the 3d and 4th of August, remain on the
Dorbach, in a bank one hundred feet high, which rose with slopes and
terraces covered with birch and alder wood. The soil being naturally
spongy imbibed so much rain, that it became overloaded, and a mass of
about an acre in extent, with all its trees on it, gave way at once,
threw itself headlong down, and bounded across the bed of the Dorbach,
blocking up the waters, flooded and wide as they were at the time. A
farmer, who witnessed this phenomenon, told Sir Thomas Dick Lauder that
it fell “wi’ a sort o’ a dumb sound,” while astonished and confounded he
remained gazing at it. The bottom of the valley is here some two hundred
yards or more wide, and the flood nearly filled it. The stoppage was not
so great, therefore, as altogether to arrest the progress of the stream;
but this sudden obstacle created an accumulation of water behind it,
which went on increasing for nearly an hour, till, becoming too powerful
to be longer resisted, the enormous dam began to yield, and was swept off
at once, and hurled onwards like a floating island. While the farmer
stood lost in wonder to behold his farm thus sailing off to the ocean by
acres at a time, another half acre, or more, was suddenly rent from its
native hill, and descended at once, with a whole grove of trees on it, to
the river, where it rested on its natural base. The flood immediately
assailed this, and carried off the greater part of it piecemeal. At the
time when Sir Thomas was writing, part of it remained with the trees
growing on it in the upright position, after having travelled through a
horizontal distance of sixty or seventy yards, with a perpendicular
descent of not less than sixty feet.

[Picture: The flood like—Brig of Bannock. (The dotted line shows the
height gained by the flood above the usual level of the stream)]

At Dunphail, the residence of Mr. Bruce was threatened by the flood, and
that gentleman prevailed on his wife and daughter to quit the house and
seek refuge on higher ground. Before quitting the place, their anxiety
had been extremely excited for the fate of a favourite old pony, then at
pasture in a broad green, and partially-wooded island, of some acres in
extent. As the spot had never been flooded in the memory of man, no one
thought of removing the pony until the wooden bridges having been washed
away rendered it impossible to do so. When the embankment gave way, and
the patches of green gradually diminished, Dobbin, now in his 27th year,
and in shape something like a 74-gun ship cut down to a frigate, was seen
galloping about in great alarm as the wreck of roots and trees floated
past him, and as the last spot of grass disappeared he was given up for
lost. At this moment he made a desperate effort to cross the stream
under the house; the force of the current turned him head over heels, but
he rose again with his head up the river; he made boldly up against it,
but was again borne down and turned over: every one believed him lost,
when rising once more and setting down the waste of water, he crossed
both torrents, and landed safely on the opposite bank.

At night Mr. Bruce says there was something inexpressibly fearful and
sublime in the roar of the torrent, which by this time filled the valley,
the ceaseless plash of the rain, and the frequent and fitful gusts of the
north wind that groaned among the woods. The river had now undermined
the bank the house stood on, and this bank had already been carried away
to within four paces of the foundation of the kitchen tower, and, as mass
after mass fell with a thundering noise, some fine trees, which had stood
for more than a century on the terrace above it, disappeared in the
stream. The operations of the flood were only dimly discovered by
throwing the faint light of lanterns over its waters, and its progress
was judged of by marking certain intervals of what remained of the
terrace. One by one these fell in, and at about eleven o’clock the river
was still rising, and only a space of three yards remained about the
house, which was now considered as lost. The furniture was ordered to be
removed, and by means of carts and lanterns this was done without any
loss. About one o’clock in the morning, the partial subsidence of the
flood awakened a slight hope, but in an hour it rose again higher than
before. The banks which supported the house were washed away, and the
house itself seemed to be doomed, and the people were therefore sent out
of it. But Providence ordered otherwise; about four o’clock the clouds
appeared higher, the river began again to subside; by degrees a little
sloping beach became visible towards the foot of the precipice; the flood
ceased to undermine, and the house was saved.

But the ruin and devastation of the place were frightful to behold. The
shrubbery, all along the river side, with its little hill and moss-house,
had vanished; two stone and three wooden buildings were carried off; the
beautiful fringe of wood on both sides of the river, with the ground it
grew on, were washed to the ocean, together with all those sweet and
pastoral projections of the fields which gave so peaceful and fertile a
character to the valley; whilst the once green island, robbed of its
groups of trees and furrowed by a dozen channels, was covered with large
stones, gravel, and torn-up roots.

At another part of the same river (the Divie) Sir Thomas describes, from
his own observations, the progress of the flood. The noise was a
distinct combination of two kinds of sound: one, an uniform continued
roar; the other, like rapidly repeated discharges of cannon. The first
of these proceeded from the violence of the water; the other, which was
heard through it, and as it were muffled by it, came from the numerous
stones which the stream was hurling over its uneven bed of rock. Above
all this was heard the shrieking of the wind. The leaves were stripped
off the trees and whirled into the air, and their thick boughs and stems
were bending and cracking beneath the tempest. The rain was descending
in sheets, not in drops: and a peculiar lurid, bronze-like hue pervaded
the whole face of nature. And now the magnificent trees were overthrown
faster and faster, offering no more resistance than reeds before the
mower’s scythe. Numerous as they were, they were all, individually,
well-known friends. Each, as it fell, gave one enormous plash on the
surface, then a plunge, the root upwards above water for a moment; again
all was submerged—and then up rose the stem disbranched and peeled; after
which, they either toiled round in the cauldron, or darted, like arrows,
down the stream. “A chill ran through our hearts as we beheld how
rapidly the ruin of our favourite and long-cherished spot was going on.
But we remembered that the calamity came from the hand of God; and seeing
that no human power could avail, we prepared ourselves to watch every
circumstance of the spectacle.” In the morning the place was seen
cleared completely of shrubs, trees, and soil; and the space so lately
filled with a wilderness of verdure was now one vast and powerful
red-coloured river.

On the left bank of the Findhorn the discharge of water, wreck, and
stones that burst over the extensive plain of Forres, spreading
devastation abroad on a rich and beautiful country, was truly terrific.
On the 3d of August, Dr. Brands, of Forres, having occasion to go to the
western side of the river, forded it on horseback, but ere he crossed the
second branch of the stream, he saw the flood coming thundering down.
His horse was caught by it; he was compelled to swim; and he had not long
touched dry land ere the river had risen six feet. By the time he had
reached Moy the river had branched out into numerous streams, and soon
came rolling on in awful grandeur; the effect being greatly heightened by
the contrary direction of the northerly wind, then blowing a gale. Many
of the cottages occupied a low level, and the inhabitants were urged to
quit them. Most of them did so; but some, trusting to their apparent
distance from the river, refused to move.

About ten o’clock the river had risen and washed away several of the
cottages; and on every side were heard reports of suffering cottagers,
whose houses were surrounded by water. One of them was Sandy Smith, an
active boatman, commonly called _Whins_, (or _Funns_, as it is
pronounced,) from his residence on a piece of furzy pasture, at no great
distance from the river. From the situation of his dwelling he was given
up for lost; but for a long time the far-distant gleam of light that
issued from his window showed that he yet lived.

The barns on the higher grounds accommodated many people; and large
quantities of brose (broth) were made for the dripping and shivering
wretches. Candles were placed in all the windows of the principal house
(that of Mr. Suter) that poor Funns might see he was not forgotten. But,
alas! his light no longer burns, and in the midst of the tempest and
darkness, it was utterly vain to attempt to assist the distressed.

At daybreak the wide waste of waters was only bounded by the rising
grounds on the south and west: whilst, towards the north and east, the
watery world swept off, uninterruptedly, into the expanding Frith and the
German Ocean. The embankments appeared to have everywhere given way; and
the water that covered the fields, lately so beautiful with yellow wheat,
green turnips, and other crops, rushed with so great impetuosity in
certain directions, as to form numerous currents, setting furiously
through the quieter parts of the inundation, and elevated several feet
above it. As far as the eye could reach the brownish-yellow moving mass
of water was covered with trees and wreck of every description, whirled
along with a force that shivered many of them against unseen obstacles.
There was a sublimity in the mighty power and deafening roar of waters,
heightened by the livid hue of the clouds, the sheeting rain, the howling
of the wind, the lowing of the cattle, and the screaming and wailing of
the assembled people, that riveted the attention. In the distance could
dimly be descried the far-off dwelling of poor Funns, its roof rising
like a speck above the flood, that had evidently made a breach in one of
its ends.

A family named Kerr, who had refused to quit their dwelling, were the
objects of great anxiety. Their son, Alexander Kerr, had been watching
all night, and in the morning was still gazing towards the spot in an
agony of mind, and weeping for the apparently inevitable destruction of
his parents. His master tried to comfort him; but even whilst he spoke,
the whole gable of Kerr’s dwelling, which was the uppermost of three
houses composing the row, gave way, and fell into the raging current.
Dr. Brands, who was looking on intently at the time, with a telescope,
observed a hand thrust through the thatch of the central house. It
worked busily, as if in despair of life; a head soon appeared; and at
last Kerr’s whole frame emerged on the roof, and he began to exert
himself in drawing out his wife and niece. Clinging to one another, they
crawled along the roof towards the northern chimney. The sight was
torturing. Kerr, a little a-head of the others, was seen tearing off the
thatch, as if trying to force an entrance through the roof, whilst the
miserable women clung to the house-top, the blankets which they had used
to shelter them almost torn from them by the violence of the hurricane;
and the roof they had left yielding and tottering, fell into the sweeping
flood. The thatch resisted all Kerr’s efforts; and he was now seen to
let himself drop from the eaves on a small speck of ground higher than
the rest, close to the foundation of the back wall of the buildings,
which was next the spectators. There he finally succeeded in bringing
down the women; and there he and they stood, without even room to move.

[Picture: Perilous situation of Kerr and his family]

Some people went on horseback to try to procure boats. They managed to
get on some way by keeping the line of road. The water was so deep that
the horses were frequently swimming; but at length the current became so
strong that they were compelled to seek the rising grounds. Dr. Brands
attempted to reach the bridge of Findhorn, in hopes of getting one of the
fishermen’s cobbles. As he was approaching the bridge he learned that
the last of the three arches had fallen the instant before; and when he
got to the brink, the waters were sweeping on as if it had never been,
making the rocks and houses vibrate with a distinct and tremulous motion.
The current was playing principally against the southern approach of the
bridge, and soon the usually dry arch, at its further end, burst with a
loud report; its fragments, mixed with water, being blown into the air as
if by gunpowder. The boats had all been swept away, and the fishermen’s
houses were already one mass of ruin. The centre of the main stream was
hurried on at an elevation many feet higher than the rest of the
surrounding sea of waters; the mighty rush of which displayed its power
in the ruin it occasioned. Magnificent trees, with all their branches,
were dashing and rending against the rock, and the roaring and crashing
sound that prevailed was absolutely deafening.

As there was no chance of getting a boat the Doctor returned with
difficulty to the house, his mare swimming a great part of the way. On
again looking through the telescope at poor Kerr and his family, they
were seen huddled together on a spot of ground a few feet square, some
forty or fifty yards below their inundated dwelling. {55} He was
sometimes standing and sometimes sitting on a small cask, and, as the
beholders fancied, watching with intense anxiety the progress of the
flood, and trembling for every large tree that it brought sweeping past
them. His wife, covered with a blanket, sat shivering on a bit of a log,
one child in her lap, and a girl of about seventeen, and a boy of about
twelve years of age, leaning against her side. A bottle and a glass on
the ground near the man gave the spectators, as it had doubtless given
him, some degree of comfort. Above a score of sheep were standing
around, or wading, or swimming in the shallows. Three cows and a small
horse picking at a broken rick of straw that seemed to be half afloat,
were also grouped with the family. Dreading that they must all be swept
off, if not soon relieved, the gentlemen hastened to the offices, and
looked anxiously out from the top of the tower for a boat. At last they
had the satisfaction to see one launched from the garden at Earnhill,
about a mile below. The boat had been conveyed by a pair of horses, and
had only just arrived. It was nobly manned by three volunteers, and they
proceeded at once to the rescue of a family who were in a most perilous
situation in the island opposite to Earnhill. The gentlemen on the tower
watched the motions of this boat with the liveliest interest. They saw
it tugging up till it was hid from them by the wood. Again it was seen
beyond, and soon it dashed into the main stream and disappeared again
behind the wood, with a velocity so fearful that they concluded it was
lost. But in a moment it again showed itself, and the brave fellows were
seen plying their oars across the submerged island of Earnhill, making
for John Smith’s cottage; the thatch and a small part of the side walls
of which were visible above the water. The poor inmates were dragged out
of the windows from under the water, having been obliged to duck within
ere they could effect their escape. The boat then swept down the stream
towards a place called ‘The Lakes,’ where John Smith, his wife, and her
mother were safely landed.

The boat was next conveyed by the horses to a point from which it was
launched for the rescue of the Kerrs. Having pulled up as far as they
could in the still water, they approached the desperate current, and
fearlessly dashed into its tumultuous waves. For a moment the spectators
were in the most anxious doubt as to the result; for, though none could
pull a stronger oar, yet the boat in crossing a distance equal to its own
length was swept down 200 yards. Ten yards more would have dashed them
to atoms on the lower stone wall. But they were now in comparatively
quiet water; and availing themselves of this, they pulled up again to the
park, in the space between two currents, and passed, with a little less
difficulty, though in the same manner, the second and third streams, and
at length reached the houses. The spectators gave them three hearty
cheers. By this time the Kerrs had been left scarcely three feet of
ground to stand on, under the back wall of the houses. A pleasing sight
it was to see the boat touch that tiny strand, and the despairing family
taken on board. How anxiously did the spectators watch every motion of
the little boat, that was now so crowded as very much to impede the
rowers. They crossed the first two streams, and finally drew up for the
last and dreadful trial. There the frail bark was again whirled down;
and notwithstanding all their exertions, the stern just touched the wall.
The prow however was in stiller water; one desperate pull,—she sprang
forward in safety, and a few more strokes of the oar landed the poor
people amongst fifty or sixty of their assembled friends. After mutual
greetings and embraces, and many tears of gratitude, old Kerr related his
simple story. “Seeing their retreat cut off by the flood, they attempted
to wade ashore. But the nearer the shore, the deeper and more powerful
was the current. The moment was awful. The torrent increased on all
sides, and night, dark night, was spread over them. The stream began to
be too deep for the niece, a girl of twelve years of age,—she lost heart
and began to sink. At this alarming crisis Kerr seized the trembling
girl, and placed her on his back, and shoulder to shoulder with his wife,
he providentially, but with the greatest difficulty, regained his own
house. Between eight and nine o’clock he groped his way, and led his
wife and niece up into the garret. He could not tell how long they
remained there, but supposed it might be till about two o’clock next
morning, when the roof began to fail. To avoid being crushed to death,
he worked anxiously till he drove down the partition separating them from
the adjoining house. Fortunately for him it was composed of wood and
clay, and a partial failure he found in it very much facilitated his
operations. Having made their way good, they remained there till about
eight o’clock in the morning, when the strength of the water without
became so great that it bent inwards the bolt of the lock of the
house-door, till it had no greater hold of the staple than the
eighth-part of an inch. Aware, that if the door should give way the back
wall of the house would be swept down by the rush of the water inwards,
and that they would be crushed to atoms, he rummaged the garret and
fortunately found a bit of board and a few nails; and standing on the
stairs, he placed one end of it against the door and the other on the
hatch, forming the entrance to the garret, and so nailed it firmly down.
At last the roof of the second house began to crack over their heads, and
Kerr forced a way for himself and his companions through the thatch as
has been already told.”

Poor Funns and his family were not yet rescued from their little island;
and the boat was declared to be too small and weak for so desperate a
voyage. It was therefore determined to row to a spot where a larger boat
was moored. To effect this, they were compelled to act precisely as they
had done in proceeding to rescue the Kerrs. But unfortunately, on
entering the third stream, they permitted the boat to glide down with it,
in the hope that it would carry them in safety through the gate of the
field, and across the road into that beyond it. In this, however, they
were mistaken, and the boat was swamped. Fortunately for them, they were
carried into smooth water, and by wading shoulder deep they reached the
large boat.

Having secured the small boat, they attempted to drag the large one
through the gateway against the stream; but it soon filled with water and
swamped, and, in spite of all their exertions, they found it impossible
to get it up. The small boat was now all they had to trust to, and this
was next caught by the strong stream and overwhelmed in a moment; and had
not the men, most providentially, caught and clung to a haycock that
happened to be floating past, they must have been lost. They were
carried along till it stuck on some young alder trees, when each of them
grasped a bough, and the haycock sailed away, leaving them among the weak
and brittle branches. They had been here about two hours, when one of
the men being unable to hold on longer by the boughs, let himself gently
down into the water with the hope of finding bottom; when, to his
surprise, he found that the small boat had actually drifted to the root
of the very tree to which they had been carried. Some salmon nets and
ropes had also, by the strangest accident, been lodged there. The man
contrived to pull up one of these with his foot, and making a noose, and
slipping it on his great toe, he descended once more, and managed to fix
the rope round the stern of the boat, which was then safely hauled up,
the oars, being fixed to the side, being also saved. The boat was
returned to Mr. Suter’s and fresh manned, when it proceeded to a house
occupied by a family of the name of Cumin, consisting of an old couple,
their daughter, and grandson. By the time they reached the cottage, its
western side was entirely gone, and the boat was pushed in at the gap.
Not a sound was heard within, and they suspected that all were drowned;
but, on looking through a hole in a partition, they discovered the
unhappy inmates roosted, like fowls, on the beams of the roof. They
were, one by one, transferred safely to the boat, half dead with cold;
and melancholy to relate, the old man’s mind, being too much enfeebled to
withstand the agonizing apprehensions he had suffered, was now utterly
deranged.

[Picture: Rescuing cottagers]

The poor Funns’ were still the last to be relieved. They and their
cattle were clustered on their little speck of land; and the poor
quadrupeds, being chilled by standing so long in the water, were
continually pressing inwards on them. It was between six and seven
o’clock, the weather was clearer, and the waters were subsiding. The
task being the most difficult of all, none but the most skilful rowers
were allowed to undertake it. One wide inundation stretched from Monro’s
house to the tiny spot where Funns and his family were; and five
tremendously tumultuous streams raged through it with elevated waves.
The moment they dashed into the first of them they were whirled down for
a great way; but having once got through it, they pulled up in the
quieter water beyond, to prepare for the next; and in doing so, Sergeant
Grant stood in the prow, and with a long rope, the end of which was fixed
to the boat, and wherever he thought he had footing, he sprang out and
dragged them up. The rest followed his example, and in this way they
were enabled to start afresh with a sufficient advantage, and they
crossed all the outer streams in the same manner. The last they
encountered, being towards the middle of the flood, was fearful, and
carried them very far down. But Funns himself, overjoyed to behold them,
waded towards them, and gave them his best help to drag up the boat
again. Glad was he to see his wife and children safely set in the boat.
The perils of their return were not few; but they were at length happily
landed.

These examples will suffice to show the nature and extent of the great
floods of Moray. The inundation covered a space of something more than
twenty miles in the Plain of Forres, and, as it was expressively remarked
by one of the sufferers, “Before these floods was the Garden of Eden and
behind them a desolate wilderness.” And how often did the beautiful
expression of the Psalmist occur to them: “The floods have lifted up, O
Lord, the floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their
waves. The Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters; yea,
than the mighty waves of the sea.” Ps. xciii. 3, 4.

But it is not in Scotland alone that the terrors of the floods are
experienced. All rivers which rise in high and cold regions, and pass
into warm lowlands, are naturally very liable to overflow their bounds.
A remarkable example is afforded by the river Rhone, which rises in the
glaciers of Switzerland; and, after passing through the lake of Geneva,
descends into the south-eastern departments of France,—a very level
district, where the climate is mild and genial. Rapid meltings of the
ice in Switzerland, or heavy falls of rain or snow in that country,
greatly affect this river; and never, perhaps, were the effects more
dreadful than in the inundations of 1840. At Lyons, where the Rhone
joins the Saone, the most lamentable scenes took place. Not only were
the whole of the low-lying lands in the vicinity of the city completely
desolated, hundreds of houses overturned, and many cattle swept away, but
the waters reached the city itself, bursting into the gas conduits, and
thus leaving the people in darkness, and rising to a great height in the
streets. The destruction of property, both in-doors and out-of-doors,
was immense, and the loss of life appalling. Charitable people and
public servants went about in boats laden with provisions, which were
sent, at the expense of the magistrates and clergy, to the starving
families pent up in their several abodes, where many of them remained in
total darkness by night, and under hourly expectation that the
foundations of their houses would give way beneath the rushing waters.
In fact, numbers of houses, and even whole streets, were in this way
sapped and overturned. Some of the people had fled to the heights near
the city, at the first rising of the waters, but there they were reduced
to the greatest extremities for want of food, and signal shots were heard
from them continually. This miserable state of things lasted from the
beginning of November until the 20th or 21st of the same month. At the
same time the Rhone appeared like a succession of immense lakes from
Lyons to Avignon, and from Avignon to the sea. A letter from Nismes, a
little to the west of Avignon, thus described the scene:—

“As far as the view extends we perceive but one sheet of water, in
the midst of which appear the tops of trees and houses, with the
miserable inhabitants perched upon them. At Valabrègue, an island on
the Rhone, they have hung out a black banner from the church-yard,
nearly two thousand persons being assembled in that spot, which is on
an elevation. Steam-boats are attempting to carry bread to
Valabrègue, and other similarly situated places, but can scarcely
effect it from the inequality of the ground. For ten days the rains
have never ceased. The space covered by the waters near Avignon is
calculated at about thirty-six leagues in length and sixty leagues in
breadth. Human bodies are seen passing continually on the waters.”

From the 10th to the 20th of November the Rhone fell several inches each
day, but always rose again somewhat during the night. It began
permanently to decline on the 20th, and in a few days the streets were
exposed to view, with about a foot of mud on them. The loss of life and
property, through this calamity, are almost incalculable.

A still grander display of the power and extent of inundations is
afforded by the American rivers. The mighty waters of the Mississippi,
(a river, whose course extends for several thousand miles,) when swelled,
and overflowing their banks, present a wonderful spectacle. Unlike the
mountain-torrents, and small rivers, of other parts of the world, the
Mississippi rises slowly, continuing for several weeks to increase at the
rate of about an inch in a day. When at its height, it undergoes little
change for some days, and after this subsides as slowly as it rose. A
flood generally lasts from four to six weeks, though it sometimes extends
to two months. The American naturalist, Audubon, has given a striking
account of the rush of waters overspreading the land when once this
mighty river has begun to overflow its banks:—

“No sooner has the water reached the upper part of the banks, than it
rushes out, and overspreads the whole of the neighbouring swamps,
presenting an ocean overgrown with stupendous forest trees. So
sudden is the calamity that every individual, whether man or beast,
has to exert his utmost ingenuity to enable him to escape from the
dreaded element. The Indian quickly removes to the hills of the
interior, the cattle and game swim to the different strips of land
that remain uncovered in the midst of the flood, or attempt to force
their way through the waters until they perish from fatigue. Along
the banks of the river the inhabitants have rafts ready-made, on
which they remove themselves, their cattle, and their provisions, and
which they then fasten with ropes or grape-vines to the larger trees,
while they contemplate the melancholy spectacle presented by the
current, as it carries off their houses and wood-yards piece by
piece. Some, who have nothing to lose, and are usually known by the
name of Squatters, take this opportunity of traversing the woods in
canoes, for the purpose of procuring game, and particularly the skins
of animals, such as the deer and bear, which may be converted into
money. They resort to the low ridges surrounded by the waters, and
destroy thousands of deer, merely for their skins, leaving the flesh
to putrify.

“The river itself, rolling its swollen waters along, presents a
spectacle of the most imposing nature. Although no large vessel,
unless propelled by steam, can now make its way against the current,
it is seen covered by boats laden with produce, which, running out
from all the smaller streams, float silently towards the city of New
Orleans, their owners, meanwhile, not very well assured of finding a
landing-place even there. The water is covered with yellow foam and
pumice, the latter having floated from the rocky mountains of the
north-west. The eddies are larger and more powerful than ever. Here
and there tracts of forest are observed undermined, the trees
gradually giving way, and falling into the stream. Cattle, horses,
bears, and deer are seen at times attempting to swim across the
impetuous mass of foaming and boiling water; whilst, here and there,
a vulture or an eagle is observed perched on a bloated carcass,
tearing it up in pieces, as regardless of the flood, as on former
occasions it would have been of the numerous sawyers and planters
with which the surface of the river is covered when the water is low.
Even the steamer is frequently distressed. The numberless trees and
logs that float along, break its paddles, and retard its progress.
Besides it is on such occasions difficult to procure fuel to maintain
its fires.”

In certain parts, the shores of the Mississippi are protected by
artificial barriers called Levées. In such places, during a flood, the
whole population of the district is engaged in strengthening these
barriers, each proprietor being in great alarm lest a crevasse should
open and let in the waters upon his fields. In spite of all exertions
this disaster generally happens: the torrent rushes impetuously over the
plantations, and lays waste the most luxuriant crops.

The mighty changes effected by the inundations of the Mississippi are
little known until the waters begin to subside. Large streams are then
found to exist where none had formerly been. These are called by
navigators _short cuts_, and some of them are so considerable as to
interfere with the navigation of the Mississippi. Large sand-banks are
also completely removed by the impetuous whirl of the waters, and are
deposited in other places. Some appear quite new to the navigator, who
has to mark their situation and bearings in his log-book. Trees on the
margin of the river have either disappeared, or are tottering and bending
over the stream preparatory to their fall. The earth is everywhere
covered by a deep deposit of muddy loam, which, in drying, splits into
deep and narrow chasms, forming a sort of network, from which, in warm
weather, noxious exhalations rise, filling the atmosphere with a dense
fog. The Squatter, shouldering his rifle, makes his way through the
morass in search of his lost stock, to drive the survivors home and save
the skins of the drowned. New fences have everywhere to be formed, and
new houses erected; to save which from a like disaster, the settler
places them on a raised platform, supported by pillars made of the trunks
of trees. “The lands must be ploughed anew; and if the season is not too
far advanced, a crop of corn and potatoes may yet be raised. But the
rich prospects of the planter are blasted. The traveller is impeded in
his journey, the creeks and smaller streams having broken up their banks
in a degree proportionate to their size. A bank of sand, which seems
firm and secure, suddenly gives way beneath the traveller’s horse, and
the next moment the animal has sunk in the quicksand, either to the chest
in front, or to the crupper behind, leaving its master in a situation not
to be envied.”

[Picture: Mists in the Valley]

CHAPTER III.

VARIOUS FORMS OP CLOUDS—THE CIRRUS, OR CURL-CLOUD—THE CUMULUS, OR
STACKEN-CLOUD—THE STRATUS, OR FALL-CLOUD—THE CIRRO-CUMULUS, OR
SONDER-CLOUD—THE CIRRO-STRATUS, OR WANE-CLOUD—THE CUMULO-STRATUS, OR
TWAIN-CLOUD—THE NIMBUS, OR RAIN-CLOUD—ARRANGEMENT OF
RAIN-CLOUDS—APPEARANCES OF A DISTANT SHOWER—SCUD—CAUSE OF RAIN—FORMATION
OF CLOUDS—MISTS—HEIGHTS OF CLOUDS—APPEARANCE OF THE SKY ABOVE THE CLOUDS.

Many persons are apt to suppose that the clouds are among the most fitful
and irregular appearances in the world; fleeting and unstable in their
nature, uncertain in their forms, apparently subject to no fixed laws,
and obedient neither to times nor seasons. Attentive observers, however,
have proved that the beauty and harmony which are everywhere found to
prevail in nature when rightly understood, can also be traced, even in
the clouds. Although very much still remains to be discovered respecting
them, yet it is found that, like all the other natural productions, they
admit of being arranged and classified. So obvious was this to persons
whose interest it is to observe the weather, that, long before scientific
men had studied the subject, country people had noticed the different
forms of clouds, and had learned to distinguish them by different names.

The first scientific man who made the clouds the object of his particular
study, was Luke Howard, who, from an attentive consideration of their
forms and appearances, found that they might all be arranged under three
simple or primary forms, namely:—

1. The _Cirrus_—so called from its resemblance to a _curled lock of
hair_. (Figures, 1, 2; page 77.)

2. The _Cumulus_, from the _heaped_ appearance presented by the convex
masses which form this cloud. (Figure 7.)

3. The _Stratus_, from its spreading out horizontally in a continuous
layer, and increasing from below. (Figure 10.)

These three primary forms are subject to four modifications:—

The first is the _Cirro-cumulus_, consisting of small roundish and
well-defined masses, in close horizontal arrangement. (Figure 3.)

[Picture: Various forms of clouds]

The second is the _Cirro-Stratus_, and the masses which compose it are
small and rounded, but thinned off towards a part, or towards the whole
of their circumference. They are sometimes separate, and sometimes in
groups. (Figures 4, 5, 6.)

The third is the _Cumulo-Stratus_, which is made up of the cirro-stratus
blended with the cumulus. (Figure 8.)

The fourth is the _Cumulo-Cirro-Stratus_, or _Nimbus_. This is the true
_rain-cloud_, or system of clouds from which rain is falling. (Figure
9.)

The term _modification_ applies to the structure or manner in which a
given mass of cloud is made up, and not to its precise form or size,
which in most clouds varies every instant. Mr. Howard remarks, that it
may be at first difficult to distinguish one modification from another,
or to trace the narrow limits which sometimes separate the different
modifications; but a moderate acquaintance with the subject will soon
enable any one to point out the various forms, and to a great extent to
judge of the state of the weather by them. In order, therefore, to
assist the reader in gaining a certain amount of knowledge on this
interesting subject, it may be useful to state more fully the various
phenomena of the different forms of clouds already enumerated.

[Picture: The Cirrus, or curl-cloud]

The Cirrus occurs in very great variety, and in some states of the air is
constantly changing. It is the first cloud that appears in serene
weather, and is always at a great height. The first traces of the cirrus
are some fine whitish threads, delicately-pencilled on a clear blue sky;
and as they increase in length others frequently appear at the sides,
until numerous branches are formed, extending in all directions.
Sometimes these lines cross each other and form a sort of delicate
net-work. In dry weather the cirrus is sharp, defined, and fibrous in
texture, the lines vanishing off in fine points. When the air is damp
this cloud may be seen in the intervals of rain, but is not well defined,
and the lines are much less fibrous. Such cirri as these often grow into
other varieties of cloud, and are frequently followed by rain.

The cirrus may last a few minutes only, or continue for hours. Its
duration is shortest when near other clouds. Although it appears to be
stationary, it has some connexion with the motions of the atmosphere; for
whenever, in fair weather, light variable breezes prevail, cirri are
generally present. When they appear in wet weather, they quickly pass
into the cirro-stratus.

According to Dalton, these clouds are from three to five miles above the
earth’s surface. When viewed from the summits of the highest mountains
they appear as distant as from the plains. Another proof of their great
height is, their continuing to be tinged by the sun’s rays in the evening
twilight with the most vivid colours, while the denser clouds are in the
deepest shade.

The cirrus appears to be stationary; but, on comparison with a fixed
object, it will sometimes be found to make considerable progress.

THE CUMULUS, OR STACKEN-CLOUD.

“And now the mists from earth are clouds in heaven:
Clouds, slowly castellating in a calm
Sublimer than a storm; while brighter breathes
O’er the whole firmament the breadth of blue,
Because of that excessive purity
Of all those hanging snow-white palaces,
A gentle contrast, but with power divine.”

The Cumulus is a day cloud; it usually has a dense, compact appearance,
and moves with the wind. In the latter part of a clear morning a small
irregular spot appears suddenly at a moderate elevation. This is the
nucleus or commencement of the cloud, the upper part of which soon
becomes rounded and well defined, while the lower forms an irregular
straight line. The cloud evidently increases in size on the convex
surface, one heap succeeding another, until a pile of cloud is raised or
_stacked_ into one large and elevated mass, or _stacken-cloud_, of
stupendous magnitude and beauty, disclosing mountain summits tipped with
the brightest silver; the whole floating along with its point to the sky,
while the lower surface continues parallel with the horizon.

[Picture: The Cumulus, or stacken-cloud]

When several cumuli are present, they are separated by distances
proportioned to their size: the smaller cumuli crowding the sky, while
the larger ones are further apart. But the bases always range in the
same line; and the increase of each cloud keeps pace with that of its
neighbour, the intervening spaces remaining clear.

The cumulus often attains its greatest size early in the afternoon, when
the heat of the day is most felt. As the sun declines, this cloud
gradually decreases, retaining, however, its characteristic form till
towards sunset, when it is, more or less, hastily broken up and
disappears, leaving the sky clear as in the early part of the morning.
Its tints are often vivid, and pass one into the other in a most pleasing
manner, during this last hour of its existence.

This cloud accompanies and foretells fine weather. In changeable weather
it sometimes evaporates almost as soon as it is formed; or it appears
suddenly, and then soon passes off to some other modification.

In fair weather this cloud has a moderate elevation and extent, and a
well-defined rounded surface. Before rain it increases more rapidly than
at other times, and appears lower in the atmosphere, with its surface
full of loose fleeces.

The formation of large cumuli to leeward, in a strong wind, indicates the
approach of a calm with rain. When they do not disappear or subside
about sun-set, but continue to rise, thunder is to be expected in the
night.

Independently of the beauty and magnificence which this description of
cloud adds to the face of nature, it serves to screen the earth from the
direct rays of the sun; by its multiplied reflections to diffuse and, as
it were, economise the light; and also to convey immense stores of vapour
from the place of its origin to a region in which moisture may be wanted.

THE STRATUS, OR FALL-CLOUD.

As the Cumulus belongs to the day, so does the Stratus to the night. It
is the lowest of all the clouds, and actually rests upon the earth, or
the surface of water. It is of variable extent and thickness, and is
called _Stratus_, _a bed_ or _covering_. It is generally formed by the
_sinking_ of vapour in the atmosphere, and on this account has been
called _Fall-cloud_. It comprehends all those level, creeping mists,
which, in calm evenings, spread like an inundation from the valleys,
lakes, and rivers, to the higher ground. {85} But on the return of the
sun the beautiful level surface of this cloud begins to put on the
appearance of cumulus, the whole, at the same time, rising from the
ground like a magnificent curtain. As the cloud ascends, it is broken up
and evaporates or passes off with the morning breeze. The stratus has
long been regarded as the harbinger of fine weather; and, indeed, there
are few days in the year more serene than those whose morning breaks out
through a stratus.

[Picture: The Stratus, or fall-cloud]

THE CIRRO-CUMULUS, OR SONDER-CLOUD.

The cirrus having continued for some time increasing or stationary,
usually passes either to the cirro-cumulus or to the cirro-stratus, at
the same time descending to a lower station in the atmosphere.

The Cirro-cumulus is formed from a cirrus, or a number of small separate
cirri, passing into roundish masses, in which the extent of the cirrus is
no longer to be seen. This change takes place either throughout the
whole mass at once, or progressively from one extremity to the other. In
either case the same effect is produced on a number of neighbouring cirri
at the same time, and in the same order. It appears, in some instances,
to be hastened by the approach of other clouds.

[Picture: The Cirro-Cumulus, or sonder-cloud]

The cirro-cumulus forms a very beautiful sky, exhibiting sometimes
numerous distinct beds of small connected clouds floating at different
heights. It is frequent in summer, and accompanies warm, dry weather.
On a fine summer’s evening the small masses which compose this cloud, are
often well defined, and lying quite _asunder_, or separate from one
another; and on this account the term _sonder-cloud_ has been applied to
this modification. The whole sky is sometimes covered with these small
masses. They are occasionally, and more sparingly, seen in the intervals
of showers, and in winter.

Bloomfield, in the following beautiful lines, has noticed the appearance
of the sonder-cloud:—

“For yet above these wafted clouds are seen
(In a remoter sky still more serene)
Others, detach’d in ranges through the air,
Spotless as snow, and countless as they’re fair;
Scatter’d immensely wide from east to west,
The beauteous semblance of a flock at rest:
These, to the raptur’d mind, aloud proclaim
The mighty Shepherd’s everlasting name.”

This cloud may either evaporate or disappear, or it may pass to the
cirrus, or sink lower and become a cirro-stratus. In stormy weather,
before thunder, a cirro-cumulus often appears, composed of very dense and
compact round bodies, in very close arrangement. When accompanied by the
cumulo-stratus, it is a sure indication of a coming storm.

THE CIRRO-STRATUS, OR WANE-CLOUD.

This cloud appears to be formed from the fibres of the cirrus sinking
into a horizontal position, at the same time that they approach each
other sideways. This cloud is to be distinguished by its flatness and
great horizontal extension, in proportion to its height; a character
which it always retains, under all its various forms. As this cloud is
generally changing its figure, and slowly sinking, it has been called the
_wane-cloud_. A collection of these clouds, when seen in the distance,
frequently give the idea of shoals of fish. Sometimes the whole sky is
so mottled with them, as to obtain for it the name of the _mackerel-back
sky_, from its great resemblance to the back of that fish. Sometimes
they assume an arrangement like discs piled obliquely on each other. But
in this, as in other instances, the structure must be attended to rather
than the form, for this varies much, presenting, at times, the appearance
of parallel bars or interwoven streaks, like the grain of polished wood.
It is thick in the middle and thinned off towards the edge.

[Picture: The Cirro-Stratus, or wane-cloud]

These clouds precede wind and rain. The near or distant approach of a
storm may often be judged of from their greater or less abundance and
duration. They are almost always to be seen in the intervals of storms.
Sometimes the cirro-stratus, and the cirro-cumulus, appear together in
the sky, and even alternate with each other in the same cloud, presenting
many curious changes; and a judgment may be formed of the weather likely
to ensue, by observing which prevails at last.

The cirro-stratus most frequently forms the solar and lunar halo. Hence
the reason of the prognostics of bad weather commonly drawn from the
appearance of halos.

THE CUMULO-STRATUS, OR TWAIN-CLOUD.

[Picture: The Cumulo-Stratus, or twain-cloud]

This is a blending of two kinds of cloud (hence the name of
_twain-cloud_,) and it often presents a grand and beautiful appearance,
being a collection of large fleecy clouds overhanging a flat stratum or
base. When a cumulus increases rapidly a cumulo-stratus frequently forms
around its summit, resting thereon as on a mountain, while the former
cloud continues to be seen, in some degree, through it. This state of
things does not continue long. The cumulo-stratus speedily becomes
denser and spreads, while the upper part of the cumulus extends likewise,
and passes into it, the base continuing as it was. A large, lofty, dense
cloud is thus formed which may be compared to a mushroom with a very
thick, short stem. The cumulo-stratus, when well formed and seen singly,
and in profile, is quite as beautiful an object as the cumulus. Mr.
Howard has occasionally seen specimens constructed almost as finely as a
Corinthian capital; the summit throwing a well-defined shadow upon the
parts beneath. It is sometimes built up to a great height. The finest
examples occur between the first appearance of the fleecy cumuli and the
commencement of rain, while the lower atmosphere is comparatively dry,
and during the approach of thunder storms. The appearance of the
cumulo-stratus, among ranges of hills, presents some interesting
phenomena. It appears like a curtain dropping among them and enveloping
their summits; the hills reminding the spectator of the massy Egyptian
columns which support the flat-roofed temples of Thebes. But when a
whole sky is crowded with these clouds, and the cumulus rises behind
them, and is seen through the interstices, the whole, as it passes off in
the distant horizon, presents to the fancy mountains covered with snow,
intersected with darker ridges, lakes of water, rocks and towers.
Shakspeare seems to have referred to this modification in the well-known
lines:—

“Sometimes we see a cloud that’s dragonish;
A vapour, sometimes, like a bear or lion,
A towered citadel, a pendent rock,
A forked mountain, a blue promontory,
With trees upon ’t that nod unto the world,
And mock our eyes with air.—
That which is now a horse, even with a thought
The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct
As water is in water.

The _distinct_ cumulo-stratus is formed in the interval between the first
appearance of the fleecy _cumulus_ and the commencement of rain, while
the lower atmosphere is yet dry; also during the approach of thunder
storms when it has frequently a reddish appearance. Its _indistinct_
appearance is chiefly in the longer or shorter intervals of showers of
rain, snow, or hail.

THE CUMULO-CIRRO-STRATUS; NIMBUS OR RAIN-CLOUD.

Clouds, in any one of the preceding forms, at the same degree of
elevation, or two or more of these forms at different elevations, may
increase and become so dense as completely to obscure the sky; this, to
an inexperienced observer, would seem to indicate the speedy commencement
of rain. But Mr. Howard is of opinion that clouds, while in any of the
states above described, never let fall rain.

Before rain the clouds always undergo a change of appearance,
sufficiently remarkable to give them a distinct character. This
appearance, when the rain happens overhead, is but imperfectly seen; but
from the observations of aëronauts, it appears that whenever a fall of
rain occurs, and the sky is at the same time entirely overcast with
clouds, there will be found to exist another stratum of clouds at a
certain elevation above the former. So, also, when the sky is entirely
overcast and rain is altogether or generally absent, the aëronaut, upon
traversing the canopy immediately above him, is sure to enter upon an
upper hemisphere either perfectly cloudless or nearly so. These remarks
were, we believe, first made by Mr. M. Mason, and he states that they
have been verified during many hundred ascents.

In October, 1837, two ascents were made by Mr. Mason, which well
illustrate what has been said. On the 12th, “the sky was completely
overspread with clouds, and torrents of rain fell incessantly during the
whole of the day. Upon quitting the earth, the balloon was almost
immediately enveloped in the clouds, through which it continued to work
its way upwards for a few seconds. Upon emerging at the other side of
this dense canopy, a vacant space, of some thousand feet in breadth,
intervened, above which lay another stratum of a similar form and
observing a similar character. As the rain, however, still continued to
pour from this second layer of clouds, to preserve the correctness of the
observation, a third layer should, by right, have existed at a still
further elevation; which, accordingly, proved to be the case. On the
subsequent occasion of the ascent of the same balloon, (October 17th,) an
exactly similar condition of the atmosphere, with respect to clouds,
prevailed; unaccompanied, however, with the slightest appearance of rain.
No sooner had the balloon passed the layer of clouds immediately above
the surface of the earth, than, as was anticipated, not a single cloud
was to be found in the firmament beyond; an unbroken expanse of clear
blue sky everywhere embracing the frothy plain that completely
intercepted all view of the world beneath.”

Mr. Howard had not the advantages of a balloon to assist his
observations. He has noticed that during rain and before the arrival of
the denser and lower clouds, or through their interstices, there exists,
at a greater height, a thin light veil or a hazy appearance. When this
has considerably increased, the lower clouds are seen to spread till they
unite in all points and form one uniform sheet. The rain then commences,
and the lower clouds arriving from the windward, move under this sheet
and are successively lost in it. When the latter cease to arrive, or
when the sheet breaks, letting through the sun-beams, every one’s
experience teaches him to expect that the rain will abate or leave off.

But there often follows an immediate and great addition to the quantity
of cloud. At the same time the darkness becomes less, because the
arrangement, which now returns, gives free passage to the rays of light;
the lower broken clouds rise into cumuli, and the upper sheets put on the
various forms of the cumulo-stratus, sometimes passing to the
cirro-cumulus.

The various phenomena of the rain-cloud are best seen in a distant
shower. If the cumulus be the only cloud at first visible, its upper
part is seen to become tufted with cirri. Several adjacent clouds also
approach and unite at its side. The cirri increase, extending upwards
and sideways, after which the shower is seen to commence. At other
times, the cirro-stratus is first formed above the cumulus, and their
sudden union is attended with the production of cirri and rain. In
either case the cirri spring up in proportion to the quantity of rain
falling, and give the cloud a character by which it is easily known at
great distances, and which has long been called by the name of _nimbus_.

When one of these arrives hastily with the wind, it brings but little
rain, and frequently some hail or driven snow.

Since rain may be produced and continue to fall from the slightest
obscuration of the sky by the nimbus, while a cumulus or a
cumulo-stratus, of a very dark and threatening aspect, passes on without
discharging any until some change of state takes place; it would seem as
if nature had destined the latter as reservoirs, in which water is
collected from extensive regions of the air for occasionally irrigating
particular spots in dry seasons; and by means of which it is arrested, at
times, in its descent in wet ones.

Although the nimbus is one of the least beautiful of clouds, it is,
nevertheless, now and then adorned by the splendid colouring of the
rainbow, which can only be seen in perfection when the dark surface of
this cloud forms for it a background.

The small ragged clouds which are sometimes seen sailing rapidly through
the air, are called _scud_. They consist of portions of a rain-cloud,
probably broken up by the wind, and are dark or light according as the
sun shines upon them. They are the usual harbingers of rain, and, as
such, are called by various names, such as _messengers_, _carriers_, and
_water-waggons_.

* * * * *

In attempting to explain the production of clouds and rain, it is
necessary to observe that the subject is beset with difficulties—the
discussion of which does not belong to this little volume; but the
following notice of Dr. Hutton’s theory may not be out of place.

It has been already stated, that the air supplies itself with moisture
from the surface of the waters of the earth. This it continues to do at
all temperatures, until it is so charged with vapour that it cannot
contain any more. The air is then said to be _saturated_. Now, the
quantity of moisture which a given bulk of air can contain, depends
entirely upon the temperature of the air for the time being. The higher
the temperature of the air the greater will be the quantity of vapour
contained in it; and, although it may be perfectly invisible to the eye,
on account of the elasticity which the heat imparts to it, yet it can
easily be made visible by subtracting a portion of the heat. If, for
example, a glass of cold water be suddenly brought into a warm room,
moisture from the air will be condensed upon the outside of the glass in
the form of dew. A similar change is supposed to take place when two
currents of air having different temperatures, but both saturated with
vapour, are mingled together; an excess of vapour is set free, which
forms a cloud or falls down as rain. If the currents continue to mingle
uniformly, “the clouds soon spread in all directions, so as to occupy the
whole horizon; while the additional moisture, incessantly brought by the
warmer current, keeps up a constant supply for condensation, and produces
a great and continued deposition of moisture in the form of rain. By
degrees, the currents completely intermingle, and acquire a uniform
temperature; condensation then ceases; the clouds are re-dissolved; and
the whole face of nature, after being cooled and refreshed by the
necessary rain, is again enlivened by the sunshine, thus rendered still
more agreeable by its contrast with the previous gloom.”

If the cloud, produced by the mingling of two differently heated currents
of moist air, happen to form in the upper regions of the sky, it may be
heavier than its own bulk of air, and will consequently begin to sink.
Should the atmosphere near the earth be less dense than the cloud, the
latter will continue to descend till it touches the ground, where it
forms a mist. If the vapour has been condensed rapidly and abundantly,
the watery particles will form rain, hail, or snow, according to the
temperature of the air through which they pass. But it may happen that
the cloud, in descending, arrives in a warmer region than that in which
it was formed: in this case, the condensed moisture may again become
vapour, and ascend again to a region where condensation may again take
place.

Mr. Daniell’s explanation of the formation of rain differs from the above
in some of its particulars, which are not sufficiently elementary to be
given here; but it may be instructive to give a few of Mr. Howard’s
illustrations respecting the formation of the various clouds. If hot
water be exposed to cool air, it _steams_—that is, the vapour given off
from the surface is condensed in mixing with the air; and the water thus
produced appears in visible particles, the heat of the vapour passing
into the air. This effect may be seen about sunrise, in summer, on the
surface of ponds warmed by the sun of the previous day, and also with
water newly pumped from a well. But the small cloud formed in these
instances usually disappears almost as soon as formed, the air being too
dry to allow it to remain. But in the wide regions of the atmosphere the
case is different, on account of the vast supply of vapour, and the
ascent and descent of the cloud to regions which allow it to remain
tolerably permanent. In the fine evenings of autumn, and occasionally at
other seasons, mists appear suddenly in the valleys, gradually filling
these low places, and even rising to a certain height, forming a foggy
atmosphere for the following day. These collections of visible vapour
resting on the earth, and often cut off so as to form a level surface
above, so nearly resemble a sheet of water, as to have been occasionally
mistaken for an inundation, the occurrence of the previous night. Such
is the origin and appearance of the _stratus_: it constitutes the fog of
the morning, and sometimes, as at the approach of a long frost, occupies
the lower atmosphere for several days. But the sun, we will suppose, has
broken through and dissipated this obscurity, and cleared the lower air.
On looking up to the blue sky, we see some few spots showing the first
formation of a cloud there: these little collections increase in number,
and become clouds, heaped, as it were, on a level base, and presenting
their rounded forms upwards; in which state they are carried along in the
breeze, remaining distinct from each other in the sky. This is the
_cumulus_, or _heap_.

By and by, if the clouds continue to form, and enough vapour is supplied
from above, these heaps are seen to grow over their base like a mushroom
or cauliflower. Perhaps a flat top is seen forming separately, and this
afterwards joins the simple heap of cloud; or the flat forms and the
heaps become mixed irregularly among each other, occupying the spaces
everywhere, till the sky becomes overcast, and presents the usual
appearance of dense clouds. This is the _cumulo-stratus_, or _heaped and
flat cloud_. It is not productive of rain, and it forms, both in summer
and in winter, the common scenery of a full sky.

On examining minutely the higher regions of the air, especially after the
sky has been clear for some time, the spectator will probably see the
cirrus descending from above in the form of _threads_ or _locks_ and
_feathers_, which go on increasing until they fill the sky. They are
more commonly seen above the two former kinds, which float upon the clear
air below. On continuing to watch the cirri, they will be seen to pass
to the intermediate form of cirro-cumulus, consisting of smaller rounded
clouds attached to each other, or simply collected together in a flat
aggregate, and forming the mottled or dappled sky.

The cumulo-stratus is more dense and continuous in its structure; thick
in the middle, and thinned off towards the edges. Over-head it is a mere
bed of haze, more or less dense. In the horizon, when seen sideways, it
often resembles shoals of fish, as already noticed; but it is liable to
put on the most ragged and patchy appearances, making a very ugly sky.

The nimbus, or rain cloud, is seen to the greatest advantage in profile,
in the horizon, and at a great distance, when it often resembles a lofty
tower raised by its greater height to a conspicuous place among the dark
threatening clouds, and catching the sun’s last rays upon its broad
summit and sides. In its nearer approach, it may always be known by
being connected below with an obscurity caused by the rain it lets fall,
and which reaches down to the horizon.

In ascending from the lower valleys to the tops of lofty mountains,
clouds may be traced through six modifications, the cirrus being seen
from the loftiest summits, while the other forms are only skirting the
sides of the mountains. Mr. Mason remarks, that clouds occasionally lie
so low, that before the balloon seems to have entirely quitted the earth,
it has been received between their limits, and entirely enveloped within
their watery folds. Clouds, on the contrary, are sometimes at such a
height, that the balloon either never comes into contact with them at
all, or, if it passes through one layer, the aëronaut continues to behold
another occupying a still remoter region of the skies above.

As a general rule, it is stated that the natural region of clouds is a
stratum of the atmosphere lying between the level of the first thousand
feet, and that of one removed about ten thousand feet above it. Of
course it is not supposed but that clouds are occasionally found on both
sides of the bounds here assigned to them; the mist occupies the lowest
valleys, while, on the other hand, long after the aëronaut has attained
the height of ten thousand feet, some faint indications of clouds may
still be seen partially obscuring the dark blue vault above him. As he
continues to ascend, the blue of the sky increases in intensity; and
should a layer of clouds shut out all view of the earth, “above and all
around him extends a firmament dyed in purple of the intensest hue; and
from the apparent regularity of the horizontal plane on which it rests,
bearing the resemblance of a large inverted bowl of dark blue porcelain
standing upon a rich Mosaic floor or tesselated pavement. Ascending
still higher, the colour of the sky, especially about the zenith, is to
be compared with the deepest shade of Prussian blue.”

[Picture: Various forms of hail-stones]

CHAPTER IV.

ON HAIL—THE HAIL-STORMS OF FRANCE—DISASTROUS EFFECTS OF HAIL—THE
HAIL-STORMS OF SOUTH AMERICA—THEIR SURPRISING EFFECTS—ORIGIN AND NATURE
OF HAIL—PERIODICAL FALLS OF HAIL—HAIL CLOUDS—HAILSTONES—THEIR VARIOUS
FORMS—EXTRAORDINARY SIZE OF HAILSTONES.

As hail seems to be nothing more than frozen rain, it is necessary to
collect a few particulars respecting it in this place.

Great Britain is essentially a rain country; but there are some parts of
the world which have obtained the unhappy distinction of being _hail_
countries: such, for example, as some of the most beautiful provinces of
France, which are frequently devastated by hail-storms. One of the most
tremendous hail-storms on record is that which occurred in that country
in July 1788. This fearful storm was ushered in by a dreadful and almost
total darkness which suddenly overspread the whole country. In a single
hour the whole face of nature was so entirely changed, that no person who
had slept during the tempest could have believed himself in the same part
of the world when he awoke. Instead of the smiling bloom of summer, and
the rich prospects of a forward autumn, which were just before spread
over the face of that fertile and beautiful country, it now presented the
dreary aspect of an arctic winter. The soil was changed into a morass;
the standing corn beaten into a quagmire; the vines were broken to
pieces, and their branches bruised in the same manner; the fruit-trees of
every kind were demolished, and the hail lay unmelted in heaps like rocks
of solid ice. Even the robust forest trees were incapable of
withstanding the fury of the tempest; and a large wood of chesnut trees,
in particular, was so much damaged, that it presented, after the storm,
little more than bare and naked trunks. The vines were so miserably
hacked and battered, that four years were estimated as the shortest
period in which they could become again in any degree productive. Of the
sixty-six parishes included in the district of Pontoise, forty-three were
entirely desolated; while, of the remaining twenty-three, some lost
two-thirds, and others above half their harvest.

This storm began in the south, and proceeded in two parallel bands from
the south-west to the north-east; the extent of one of them being 175
leagues, and of the other 200; thus traversing nearly the whole length of
that great kingdom, and even a portion of the Low countries. The mean
breadth of the eastern portion was four leagues, and of the western two:
and, what is very remarkable, the interval between the two bands,
amounting to five leagues, was deluged with heavy rain. The largest of
the hail-stones weighed half a pound each.

The progress of this storm, which was from south to north, was at the
rate of 16½ leagues an hour; and the velocity of the two bands was
precisely the same. The continuance of the hail was limited to seven or
eight minutes, at each of the principal stations marked.

There are instances, however, on record, in which hail has produced even
more tremendous results than those above recorded. In some parts of
South America hail-stones are sometimes so large and so hard, and fall
with such violence, that large animals are killed by them. Mr. Darwin,
encamping at the foot of the Sierra Tapalguen, says:—“One of the men had
already found thirteen deer lying dead, and I saw their fresh hides.
Another of the party, a few minutes after my arrival, brought in seven
more. Now I well know that one man without dogs could hardly have killed
seven deer in a week. The men believed they had seen about fifteen dead
ostriches, (part of one of which we had for dinner;) and they said that
several were running about evidently blind in one eye. Numbers of small
birds, as ducks, hawks, and partridges, were killed. I saw one of the
latter with a black mark on its back, as if it had been struck with a
paving-stone. A fence of thistle-stalks round the hovel was nearly
broken down; and my informer, putting his head out to see what was the
matter, received a severe cut, and now wears a bandage. The storm was
said to have been of limited extent: we certainly saw, from our last
night’s bivouac, a dense cloud and lightning in this direction. It is
marvellous how such strong animals as deer could thus have been killed;
but, I have no doubt, from the evidence I have given, that the story is
not in the least exaggerated.” Dr. Malcolmson informed Mr. Darwin, that
he witnessed, in 1831, in India, a hail-storm, which killed numbers of
large birds, and much injured the cattle. These hail-stones were flat;
one was ten inches in circumference; and another weighed two ounces.
They ploughed up a gravel-walk like musket-balls, and passed through
glass windows, making round holes, but not cracking them.

There is much in the origin and formation of hail that cannot well be
explained. Volta regarded the formation of small flakes of ice, the
kernels of future hail-stones, in the month of July, during the hottest
hours of the day, as one of the most difficult phenomena in nature to
explain. It is difficult to account for the comparative scarcity of
hail-showers in winter; as also, for the great size which hailstones are
often known to attain.

It appears from certain resemblances in the descents of rain, snow, and
hail, that they have a common origin, their different formations being
explained by difference of temperature. Howard has observed a huge
nimbus affording hard snowballs and distinct flakes of snow at the same
time. Hail and rain are by no means uncommon from the same cloud. The
size of a cloud may be such, or clouds may exist in different elevations,
which in an upper region produce hail, in a lower region snow, and at a
still lower elevation rain. Rain may also form in an upper region of the
sky, and descend into a colder stratum of the atmosphere, and be frozen
into hail. Hail generally precedes storms of rain.

Change of wind and the action of opposite currents, so necessary for the
production of rain, are also frequent during hail-storms. While clouds
are agitated with the most rapid motions, rain generally falls in
greatest abundance; and if the agitation be very great it generally
hails. Before the descent of hail a noise is heard, a particular kind of
crackling, which has been compared to the emptying of a bag of walnuts.

The descent of hail in some countries appears to occur at particular
periods. In the central parts of France, Italy, and Spain, it usually
hails most abundantly during the warmest hours of the day in spring and
summer, and in Europe generally it falls principally during the day; but
there are examples recorded of great hail-storms which have taken place
during the night. Near the equator, it seldom hails in places situated
at a lower level than 350 fathoms, for, although the hail may be formed,
the warmth of the regions prevents it from falling in that state.

The appearance of hail clouds seems to be distinguished from other stormy
clouds by a very remarkable shadowing. Their edges present a multitude
of indentations, and their surfaces disclose here and there immense
irregular projections. Arago has seen hail-clouds cover with a thick
veil the whole extent of a valley, at a time when the neighbouring hills
enjoyed a fine sky and an agreeable temperature.

Hailstones of similar forms are produced at similar levels. They are
smaller on the tops of mountains than in the neighbouring plains. If the
temperature or the wind alter, the figures of the hailstones become
immediately changed. Hailstones of the form of a six-sided pyramid have
been known to change, on the wind changing to the north-east, to convex
lenses, so transparent and nicely formed, that they magnified objects
without distorting them. Some hailstones are globular, others elongated,
and others armed with different points.

In the centres of hailstones small flakes of spungy snow are frequently
found, and this usually is the only opaque point in them. Sometimes the
surface is covered with dust, like fine flour, and is something between
hail and snow. This never falls during summer in southerly countries.
In the Andes hailstones from five to seven lines in diameter are
sometimes formed of layers of different degrees of transparency, so as to
permit rings of ice to be separated from them with a very slight blow.
In Orkney, hailstones have fallen as finely polished as marbles, of a
greyish white colour, not unlike fragments of light-coloured marble.
Hailstones are often so hard and elastic, that those which fall on the
stones rebound without breaking to the height of several yards; and they
have been known to be projected from a cloud almost horizontally, and
with such velocity as to pierce glass windows with a clear round hole.

On the 7th May, 1822, some remarkable hailstones fell at Bonn, on the
Rhine. Their general size was about an inch and a half in diameter, and
their weight 300 grains. When picked up whole, which was not always the
case, their general outline was elliptical, with a white, or nearly
opaque spot in the centre, about which were arranged concentric layers,
increasing in transparency to the outside. Some of them exhibited a
beautiful star-like and fibrous arrangement, the result of rows of air
bubbles dispersed in different radii. The figures at the head of this
chapter show the external and internal appearances of these hailstones.

The smaller figures represent pyramidal hail, common in France, and
occasionally in Great Britain.

Brown hailstones have been noticed. Humboldt saw hail fall of the colour
of blood.

On the 15th July, 1808, Howard noticed, in Gloucestershire, hailstones
from three to nine inches in circumference; appearing like fragments of a
vast plate of ice which had been broken in its descent to the earth.

On the 4th June, 1814, Dr. Crookshank noticed, in North America,
hailstones of from thirteen to fifteen inches in circumference. They
seemed to consist of numerous smaller stones fused together.

On the 24th July, 1818, during a storm in Orkney, Mr. Neill picked up
hailstones weighing from four ounces to nearly half a pound.

[Picture: Rain gauges]

CHAPTER V.

METHOD OF MEASURING THE QUANTITY OF RAIN THAT FALLS—THE RAIN
GAUGE—METHODS OF OBSERVING FOR RAIN AND SNOW—EFFECTS OF ELEVATION ON THE
QUANTITY OF RAIN—DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE TOP OF A TALL BUILDING AND THE
SUMMIT OF A MOUNTAIN—SIZE OF DROPS OF RAIN—VELOCITY OF THEIR
FALL—QUANTITY OF RAIN IN DIFFERENT LATITUDES—EXTRAORDINARY FALLS OF
RAIN—REMARKS ON THE RAIN OF THIS COUNTRY—INFLUENCE OF THE MOON—ABSENCE OF
RAIN—REMARKABLE DROUGHT IN SOUTH AMERICA—ITS TERRIBLE EFFECTS AND
CONSEQUENCES—ARTIFICIAL RAINS.

The quantity of rain which falls at different parts of the earth’s
surface is very variable; and for the purpose of measuring it instruments
called _Rain-gauges_ have been contrived. The simplest form is a funnel
three or four inches high, and having an area of one hundred square
inches. This may be placed in the mouth of a large bottle, and, after
each fall of rain, the quantity may be measured by a glass jar divided
into inches and parts. This simple gauge being placed on the ground in
an open spot, will evidently represent a portion of the ground, and will
show the depth of rain which would cover it at and about that spot,
supposing the ground to be horizontal, and that the water could neither
flow off nor sink into the soil. Thus, by taking notice of the quantity
of rain which falls day by day, and year by year, and taking the average
of many years, we get the mean annual quantity of rain for the particular
spot in question. By an extension of these observations, it is evident
that the mean annual fall of rain may be known for a district or a
kingdom.

A more convenient form of rain-gauge than the one just noticed, is made
by placing the funnel at the top of a brass or copper cylinder, connected
with which at the lower point, is a glass tube with a scale, measuring
inches and tenths of an inch. The water stands at the same height in the
glass tube as it does in the cylinder, and being visible in the tube the
height can be immediately read on the scale. The cylinder and the tube
are so constructed, that the sum of the areas of their sections is a
given part, such as a tenth of the area of the mouth of the funnel; so
that each inch of water in the tube is equal to the tenth of an inch of
water which enters the mouth of the funnel. A stop-cock is added for
drawing off the water from the cylinder after each observation is noted
down.

Some rain-gauges are constructed for showing the quantity of rain which
falls from each of the four principal quarters. Others are made so as to
register, themselves, the quantity of rain fallen. One of this kind, by
Mr. Crosley, consists of a funnel through which the rain passes to a
vibrating trough; when, after a sufficient quantity has fallen into its
higher side, it sinks down and discharges the rain which escapes by a
tube. The vibrating action of this trough moves a train of wheel-work
and indices, which register upon a dial plate the quantity of rain
fallen.

Whatever form of rain-gauge is adopted, it must be placed in an exposed
situation, at a distance from all buildings, and trees, and other objects
likely to interfere with the free descent of rain into the funnel. It is
usual, in rainy weather, to observe the quantity of water in the gauge
every morning; but this does not seem to be often enough, considering how
freely water evaporates in an exposed situation. An error may also arise
from some of the water adhering to the sides of the vessel, unless an
allowance is made for the quantity thus lost by a contrivance such as the
following:—Let a sponge be made damp, yet so that no water can be
squeezed from it, and with this collect all the water which adheres to
the funnel and cylinder, after as much as possible has been drawn off;
then, if the sponge be squeezed, and the water from it be received in a
vessel which admits of measuring its quantity, an estimate may be made of
the depth due to it; and this being added to the depth given by the
instrument, would probably show correctly the required depth of rain.

When snow has fallen the rain-gauge may not give a correct quantity, as a
portion of it may be blown out, or a greater quantity may have fallen
than the mouth will contain. In such cases, it is recommended to take a
cylindrical tube and press it perpendicularly into the snow, and it will
bring out with it a cylinder equal to the depth. This, when melted, will
give the quantity of water which can be measured as before. The
proportion of snow to water is about seventeen to one; and hail to water,
about eight to one. These quantities, however, may vary according to the
circumstances under which the snow or hail has fallen, and the time they
have been upon the ground.

The rain-gauge should be placed as near the surface of the ground as
possible; for it is a perplexing circumstance, that the rain-gauge
indicates very different quantities of rain as falling upon the very same
spot, according to the different heights at which it is placed. Thus it
has been found, that the annual depth of rain at the top of Westminster
Abbey was 12.1 inches nearly, while, on the top of a house sixteen feet
lower, it was rather more than 18.1 inches, and on the ground, in the
garden of the house, it was 22.6 inches. M. Arago has also found from
observations made during twelve years, that on the terrace of the
Observatory at Paris the annual depth was about 2¼ inches less than in
the court thirty yards below.

It would naturally be expected from these observations, that less rain
falls on high ground than at the level of the sea. Such however is not
the case, except on abrupt elevations; where the elevation is made by the
natural and gradual slope of the earth’s surface, the quantity of rain is
greater on the mountain than in the plain. Thus, on the coast of
Lancashire, there is an annual fall of 39 inches; while at Easthwaite,
among the mountains in the same county, the annual depth of rain amounts
to 86 inches. By comparing the registers at Geneva and the convent of
the Great St. Bernard, it appears that at the former place, by a mean of
thirty-two years, the annual fall of rain is about 30¾ inches; while at
the latter, by a mean of twelve years, it is a little over 60 inches.

In order to explain these remarkable differences, it must not be supposed
that the clouds extend down to the ground, so as to cause more rain at
the foot of Westminster Abbey than on its roof. There is no doubt that
in moist weather the air contains more water near the ground than a few
hundred feet above it; and probably, the same cause which determined a
fall from the cloud, would also throw down the moisture floating at a low
elevation. Much rain also proceeds from drifting showers, of short
duration, and the current moves more slowly along the surface, and allows
the drops to fall as fast as they are formed. In hilly countries, on the
contrary, clouds and vapours rest on the summits without descending into
the plains, and, according to some, the hills attract electricity from
the clouds, and thus occasion rain to fall. Mr. Phillips supposes that
each drop of rain continues to increase in size from the commencement to
the end of its descent, and as it passes successively through the moist
strata of the air, obtains its increase from them; while the rain which
falls on the mountain may leave these moist strata untouched, so that
they may, in fact, not form rain at all.

The drops of rain are of unequal size, as may be seen from the marks made
by the first drops of a shower upon any smooth surface. They vary in
size from perhaps the twenty-fifth to a quarter of an inch in diameter.
It is supposed that in parting from the clouds they fall with increasing
speed, until the increasing resistance of the air becomes equal to their
weight, when they continue to fall with an uniform velocity. A
thunder-shower pours down much faster than a drizzling rain. A flake of
snow, being perhaps nine times more expanded than water, descends thrice
as slow. But hailstones are often several inches in length, and fall
with a velocity of seventy feet in a second, or at the rate of about
fifty miles an hour, and hence the destructive power of these missiles in
stripping and tearing off fruit and foliage.

The annual quantity of rain decreases from the equator to the poles, as
appears from the following table, which gives the name of the station,
its latitude, and the average annual number of inches of rain:—

Coast of Malabar lat. 11° 30′ N. 135½ inches.
At Grenada, Antilles 12° 126
At Cape François, St. 19° 46′ 120
Domingo
At Calcutta 22° 23′ 81
At Rome 41° 54′ 39
In England 50 to 55° 31
At St. Petersburgh 59° 16′ 16
At Uleaborg 65° 30′ 13½

The number of rainy days, on the contrary, increases from the equator to
the poles.

From 12° to 43° N. lat.—the number of rainy days in the 78
year amounts to
From 43° to 46° 103
From 46° to 50° 134
From 50° to 60° 161

The greatest depth of rain which falls in the Indian ocean is during the
time when the periodical winds, called the _monsoons_, change their
direction. When the winds blow directly in-shore the rains are very
abundant, so much so that, after a continuance of twenty-four hours, the
surface of the sea has been covered with a stratum of fresh water, good
enough for drinking, and ships have actually filled their casks from it.
Colonel Sykes observes, that the deluge-like character of a monsoon in
the Ghàts of Western India, is attested by the annual amount of 302¼
inches, at Malcolmpait, on the Mahabuleshwar Hills.

A great depth of rain in a short time has occasionally been witnessed in
Europe. At Genoa, on the 25th of October, 1822, a depth of thirty inches
of rain fell in one day. At Joyeuse, on the 9th of October, 1827,
thirty-one inches of rain fell in twenty-two hours. Previous to the
great floods of Moray, in 1829, the rain is described as being so thick
that the very air itself seemed to be descending in one mass of water
upon the earth. Nothing could withstand it. The best finished windows
were ineffectual against it, and every room exposed to the north-east was
deluged. The smaller animals, the birds, and especially game, of all
kinds, were destroyed in great numbers by the rain alone, and the mother
partridge, with her brood and her mate, were found chilled to death
amidst the drenching wet. It was also noticed, that, as soon as the
flood touched the foundation of a dry stone wall, the sods on the top of
it became as it were alive with mice, all forcing their way out to escape
from the inundation which threatened their citadel; and in the stables,
where the water was three feet deep, rats and moles were swimming about
among the buildings.

Among the Andes it is said to rain perpetually; but in Peru it never
rains, moisture being supplied during a part of the year by thick fogs,
called _garuas_. In Egypt, and some parts of Arabia, it seldom rains at
all, but the dews are heavy, and supply with moisture the few plants of
the sandy regions.

There is a great variation in the quantity of rain that falls in the same
latitude, on the different sides of the same continent, and particularly
of the same island. The mean fall of rain at Edinburgh, on the eastern
coast, is 26 inches; while at Glasgow, on the western coast, in nearly
the same latitude, it is 40 inches. At North Shields, on the eastern
coast, it is 25 inches; while at Coniston, in Lancashire, in nearly the
same latitude, on the western coast, it is 85 inches.

The amount of rain in a district may be changed by destroying or forming
forests, and by the inclosure and drainage of land. By thinning off the
wood in the neighbourhood of Marseilles, there has been a striking
decrease of rain in fifty years.

In Mr. Howard’s observations on the climate of this country, he has
found, on an average of years, that it rains every other day; that more
rain falls in the night than in the day; that the greatest quantity of
rain falls in autumn, and the least in winter; that the quantity which
falls in autumn is nearly double that in spring; that most rain falls in
October and least in February, and that May comes nearest to the mean:
that one year in every five, in this country, may be expected to be
extremely dry, and one in ten extremely wet.

According to Dalton, the mean annual amount of rain and dew for England
and Wales is 36 inches. The mean all over the globe is stated to be 34
inches.

There seems to be some real connexion between the changes of the moon and
the weather. Mr. Daniell says, “No observation is more general; and on
no occasion, perhaps, is the almanac so frequently consulted as in
forming conjectures upon the state of the weather. The common remark,
however, goes no further than that changes from wet to dry, and from dry
to wet, generally happen at the changes of the moon. When to this result
of universal experience we add the philosophical reasons for the
existence of tides in the aërial ocean, we cannot doubt that such a
connexion exists. The subject, however, is involved in much obscurity.”
At Viviers, it was observed that the number of rainy days was greatest at
the first quarter, and least at the last. Mr. Howard has observed that,
in this country, when the moon has south declination, there falls but a
moderate quantity of rain, and that the quantity increases till she has
attained the greatest northern declination. He thinks there is “evidence
of a great _tidal wave_, or swell in the atmosphere, caused by the moon’s
attraction, preceding her in her approach to us, and following slowly as
she departs from these latitudes.”

Most dry climates are subject to periodical droughts. In Australia, they
return after every ten or twelve years, and are then followed by
excessive rains, which gradually become less and less till another
drought is the consequence.

When Mr. Darwin was in South America, he passed through a district which
had long been suffering from dry weather. The first rain that had fallen
during that year was on the 17th of May, when it rained lightly for about
five hours. “With this shower,” he says, “the farmers, who plant corn
near the sea-coast, where the atmosphere is more humid, would break up
the ground; with a second, put the seed in; and, if a third should fall,
they would reap in the spring a good harvest. It was interesting to
watch the effect of this trifling amount of moisture. Twelve hours
afterwards the ground appeared as dry as ever; yet, after an interval of
ten days, all the hills were faintly tinged with green patches; the grass
being sparingly scattered in hair-like fibres a full inch in length.
Before this shower every part of the surface was bare as on a high road.”

A fortnight after this shower had fallen, Mr. Darwin took an excursion to
a part of the country to which the shower had not extended. “We had,
therefore,” he says, “in the first part of our journey a most faint tinge
of green, which soon faded away. Even where brightest, it was scarcely
sufficient to remind one of the fresh turf and budding flowers during the
spring of other countries. While travelling through these deserts, one
feels like a prisoner, shut up in a gloomy courtyard, longing to see
something green, and to smell a moist atmosphere.”

The effects of a great drought in the Pampas are thus described. “The
period included between the years 1827 and 1830 is called the ‘gran seco’
or the great drought. During this time so little rain fell, that the
vegetation, even to the thistles, failed; the brooks were dried up, and
the whole country assumed the appearance of a dusty high road. This was
especially the case in the northern part of the province of Buenos Ayres,
and the southern part of St. Fe. Very great numbers of birds, wild
animals, cattle, and horses, perished from the want of food and water. A
man told me that the deer used to come into his courtyard to the well
which he had been obliged to dig to supply his own family with water; and
that the partridges had hardly strength to fly away when pursued. The
lowest estimation of the loss of cattle in the province of Buenos Ayres
alone, was taken at one million head. A proprietor at San Pedro had
previously to these years 20,000 cattle; at the end not one remained.
San Pedro is situated in the midst of the finest country, and even now
again abounds with animals; yet, during the latter part of the ‘gran
seco’ live cattle were brought in vessels for the consumption of the
inhabitants. The animals roamed from their _estancias_, and wandering
far to the southward, were mingled together in such multitudes that a
government commission was sent from Buenos Ayres to settle the disputes
of the owners. Sir Woodbine Parish informed me of another and very
curious source of dispute; the ground being so long dry, such quantities
of dust were blown about, that in this open country the landmarks became
obliterated, and people could not tell the limits of their estates.

“I was informed by an eye-witness, that the cattle in herds of thousands
rushed into the river Parana, and being exhausted by hunger they were
unable to crawl up the muddy banks, and thus were drowned. The arm which
runs by San Pedro was so full of putrid carcasses, that the master of a
vessel told me, that the smell rendered it quite impossible to pass that
way. Without doubt, several hundred thousand animals thus perished in
the river. Their bodies, when putrid, floated down the stream, and many
in all probability were deposited in the estuary of the Plata. All the
small rivers became highly saline, and this caused the death of vast
numbers in particular spots, for when an animal drinks of such water it
does not recover. I noticed, but probably it was the effect of a gradual
increase, rather than of any one period, that the smaller streams in the
Pampas were paved with bones. Subsequently to this unusual drought, a
very rainy season commenced, which caused great floods. Hence it is
almost certain, that some thousands of these skeletons were buried by the
deposits of the very next year. What would be the opinion of a geologist
viewing such an enormous collection of bones, of all kinds of animals and
of all ages, thus embedded in one thick earthy mass? Would he not
attribute it to a flood having crept over the surface of the land, rather
than to the common order of things?”

Captain Owen mentions a curious effect of a drought on the elephants at
Benguela on the western coast of Africa:—“A number of these animals had
some time since entered the town in a body to possess themselves of the
wells, not being able to procure any water in the country. The
inhabitants mustered, when a desperate conflict ensued, which terminated
in the ultimate discomfiture of the invaders, but not until they had
killed one man, and wounded several others.” The town is said to have a
population of nearly three thousand. Dr. Malcolmson states, that during
a great drought in India the wild animals entered the tents of some
troops at Ellore, and that a hare drank out of a vessel held by the
adjutant of the regiment.

In connexion with droughts may be mentioned a plan {133} proposed by Mr.
Espy of the United States of America, for remedying them by means of
_artificial rains_. That gentleman says, that if a large body of heated
air be made to ascend in a column, a large cloud will be generated, and
that such cloud will contain in itself a self-sustaining power, which may
move from the place over which it was formed, and cause the air over
which it passes to rise up into it and thus form more cloud and rain,
until the rain may become general.

It is proposed to form this ascending column of air by kindling large
fires which, Mr. Espy says, are known to produce rain. Humboldt speaks
of a mysterious connexion between volcanoes and rain, and says that when
a volcano bursts out in South America in a dry season, it sometimes
changes it to a rainy one. The Indians of Paraguay, when their crops are
threatened by drought, set fire to the vast plains with the intention of
producing rain. In Louisiana, heavy rains have been known from time
immemorial to succeed the conflagration of the prairies; and the
inhabitants of Nova Scotia bear testimony to a similar result from the
burning of their forests. Great battles are said to produce rain, and it
is even stated that the spread of manufactures in a particular district
deteriorates the climate of such district, the ascending current
occasioned by the tall chimney of every manufactory tending to produce
rain. In Manchester, for example, it is said to rain six days out of
seven.

[Picture: Decorative picture of person by pool]

[Picture: Decorative picture of pastoral scene with rainbow]

CHAPTER VI.

THE RAINBOW—DECOMPOSITION OF WHITE LIGHT BY THE PRISM—FORMATION OF
PRIMARY AND SECONDARY BOWS—RAINBOWS IN MOUNTAIN REGIONS—THE RAINBOW A
SACRED EMBLEM—LUNAR RAINBOW—LIGHT DECOMPOSED BY CLOUDS—THEIR BEAUTIFUL
COLOURS—EXAMPLES.

By means of rain and rain clouds we get that beautiful appearance so well
known as the rainbow. In order to form some idea of the manner in which
the rainbow is produced, it is necessary to know something of the manner
in which light is composed. Sir Isaac Newton was the first philosopher
who clearly explained the composition of light, as derived from the sun.
He admitted a ray of the sun into a darkened room through a small hole in
the window shutters; in front of this hole he placed a glass prism, and
at a considerable distance behind the prism he placed a white screen. If
there had been no prism between the hole and the screen, the ray of light
would have proceeded in the direction of the dotted lines, and a bright
spot would have fallen upon the floor of the room, as shown in the
figure. But the effect of the prism is to refract or bend the ray out of
its ordinary course, and in doing so it does not produce a white spot
upon the screen, but a long streak of beautiful colours, in the order
marked in the figure, red being at the bottom, then orange, yellow,
green, blue, indigo, and violet at the top.

[Picture: Decomposition of white light]

In order to account for the production of these colours from a ray of
light, Newton supposed that such a ray is actually made up of seven
distinct colours, which being mixed in proper proportions neutralize or
destroy each other. In order to account for the decomposition of the ray
of white light by the prism, and for the lengthened form of the
_spectrum_, as it is called, he supposed that each of the seven coloured
rays was capable of being bent by the prism in a different manner from
the rest. Thus, in the figure, the red appears to be less bent out of
the direction of the original ray than the orange—the orange less than
the yellow, and so on until we arrive at the violet, which is bent most
of all.

It is scarcely necessary to remark, that these views were found to be
correct, except as regards the number of colours in the solar spectrum;
for it is now ascertained, with tolerable certainty, that there are only
three primitive or pure colours in nature, and these are _red_, _yellow_,
and _blue_; and it is supposed that by mingling two or more of these
colours in various proportions, all the colours in nature are produced.

Now, to apply this explanation to the production of the rainbow, which is
usually seen under the following circumstances:—The observer is placed
with his back to the sun, and at some distance before him rain is
falling,—the air between the sun and the rain being tolerably clear. He
then often sees two circular arcs or bows immediately in front of him.
The colours of the inner bow are the more striking and vivid of the two.
Each exhibits the same series of colours as in the spectrum formed by the
prism; namely, _red_, _orange_, _yellow_, _green_, _blue_, _indigo_, and
_violet_; but the arrangement of these colours is different in the two
bows, for while in the inner bow the lower edge is violet and the upper
red, in the outer bow the lower edge is red and the upper violet. The
production of both bows is due to the refraction and reflexion of light,
the drops of rain forming, in fact, the prism which decomposes the white
light of the sun. The colours in the rainbow have the same proportional
breadth as the spaces in the prismatic spectrum. “The bow is,
therefore,” as Sir D. Brewster remarks, “only an infinite number of
prismatic spectra, arranged in the circumference of a circle; and it
would be easy, by a circular arrangement of prisms, or by covering up all
the central part of a large lens, to produce a small arch of exactly the
same colours. All we require, therefore, to form a rainbow, is a great
number of transparent bodies capable of forming a great number of
prismatic spectra from the light of the sun.”

The manner in which the drops of rain act as prisms, may, perhaps, be
better understood with the assistance of the following diagram. Suppose
the two lower circles to represent drops of rain which assist in forming
the primary bow, and the two upper circles similar drops which help to
produce the secondary bow; and let S represent rays of the sun falling
upon them. The rays of the sun fall upon every part of the drop; but, as
those which pass through or near the centre come out on the opposite side
and form a focus, they need not be taken into account. Those rays,
however, which fall on the upper side of the drops, will be bent or
refracted, the red rays least, and the violet most; and will fall upon
the back of the drop in such a manner as to be reflected to the under
part of the drop; on quitting which they will be again refracted, so as
to be seen at E, where there will appear to the observer a prismatic
spectrum with the red uppermost, and the violet undermost. These remarks
apply to those drops only which form the upper part of the bow, but it is
obvious that a similar reasoning applied to the drops to the right and
left of the observer, will complete the bow. The inclination of the red
ray and the violet ray to the sun’s rays, is 42° 2′ for the red, and 40°
17′ for the violet, so that the breadth of the primary bow is 1° 45′.

Thus it will be seen, that the primary bow is produced by two
refractions, and one intermediate reflection of the rays that fall on the
upper sides of the drops of rain. It is different with the rays which
enter the drops below. The red and violet rays will be bent or refracted
in different directions; and, after being twice reflected, will be again
bent towards the eye of the observer at E; but in this case the violet
forms the upper part, and the red the under part of the spectrum. The
inclination of these rays to the sun’s rays at S, is 50° 58′ for the red
ray, and 54° 10′ for the violet ray; so that the breadth of the bow is 3°
10′, and the distance between the primary and secondary bows is 8° 15′.
Hence the secondary is formed in the outside of the primary bow, with its
colours reversed, in consequence of their being produced by two
reflexions and two refractions. The colours of the secondary bow are
much fainter than those of the primary, because they undergo two
reflexions instead of one.

There is something very wonderful in the rapidity and perfection with
which these natural prisms, the falling drops of rain, produce these
effects. In the inconceivably short space of time occupied by a drop
falling through those parts of the sky which form the proper angles with
the sun’s rays and the eye of the observer, the light enters the surface
of the drop, undergoes within it one or two reflexions, two refractions
and decompositions, and has reached the eye; and all this is done in a
portion of time too small for the drop to have fallen through a space
which we have the means of measuring.

It will be understood, that since the eyes of different observers cannot
be in precisely the same place at the same time, no two observers can see
the _same_ rainbow; that is to say, the bow produced by one set of drops
to the eye of one observer is produced by another set of drops to the eye
of another observer.

A rainbow can never be greater than a semicircle, unless the spectator is
on elevated ground; for if it were greater than a semicircle the centre
of the bow would be above the horizon, while the sun, which must be in a
line drawn through that centre and the eye of the observer, would be
below the horizon: but in such a case, the sun could not shine on the
drops of rain, and consequently there could be no rainbow.

When the rain cloud is of small extent only a portion of a bow is
visible; when the cloud overspreads a large part of the sky a perfect bow
appears. Sometimes the bow may be traced across a portion of blue sky,
or it may appear to rest on the ground. In the former case, there are
vapours in the air too thin to be seen, but sufficient to refract and
reflect the rays of light; in the latter, the drops of rain, adhering to
the grass and foliage, produce the same effect. A coloured bow, similar
to that produced by rain, is sometimes seen in the spray of a fountain or
of a water-fall, and also in mists that lie low upon the ground.

In mountainous and stormy regions rainbows are often seen to great
advantage. In the islands off the Irish coast the author of “Letters
from the Irish Islands,” describes the rainbow of winter “as gradually
advancing before the lowering clouds, sweeping with majestic stride
across the troubled ocean, then, as it gained the beach, and seemed
almost within one’s grasp, vanishing amid the storm of which it had been
the lovely but treacherous forerunner. It is, I suppose, a consequence
of our situation, and the close connexion between sea and mountain, that
the rainbows here are so frequent and so peculiarly beautiful. Of an
amazing breadth, and of colours vivid beyond description, I know not
whether most to admire this aërial phenomenon, when suspended in the
western sky, one end of the bow sinks behind the Island of Boffin, while
at the distance of several leagues the other rests upon the misty hills
of Ennis Turc; or when, at a later hour of the day, it has appeared
stretched across the ample sides of Mulbrea, penetrating far into the
deep blue waters that flow at its base. With feelings of grateful
recollection, too, we may hail the repeated visits of this heavenly
messenger, occasionally as often as five or six times in the course of
the same day, in a country exposed to such astonishing, and, at times,
almost incessant floods of rain.”

The beauty of the rainbow is not the only reason why we should regard it
with interest. The rainbow was appointed by God himself as a sign of the
covenant of mercy, made with Noah and with all mankind, after the flood.
The words in which this declaration was made to mankind, are recorded in
the Book of Genesis, chap. ix. ver. 11 to 16.

Burnet, in his “Sacred Theory of the Earth,” has some remarks on the
first appearance of the rainbow to the inhabitants of the earth after the
deluge. He says, “How proper and how apposite a sign would this be for
Providence to pitch upon, to confirm the promise made to Noah and his
posterity, that the world should be no more destroyed by water! It had a
secret connexion with the effect itself, and was so far a natural sign;
but, however, appearing first after the deluge, and in a watery cloud,
there was, methinks, a great easiness and propriety of application for
such a purpose. And if we suppose, that while God Almighty was declaring
his promise to Noah, and the sign of it, there appeared at the same time
in the clouds a fair rainbow, that marvellous and beautiful meteor which
Noah had never seen before; it could not but make a most lively
impression upon him, quickening his faith, and giving him comfort and
assurance that God would be stedfast to his promise.”

A rainbow is sometimes formed by the rays of the moon falling upon drops
of rain, in the same manner as the solar rays, and refracted and
reflected by the drops; but the colours are faint in consequence of the
feeble light of the moon compared with that of the sun. A lunar rainbow
has been thus described by an observer:—“The moon was truly ‘walking in
brightness,’ brilliant as she could be, not a cloud was to be seen near
her; and over against her, toward the north-west, or perhaps rather more
to the north, was a rainbow, a vast arch, perfect in all its parts, not
interrupted or broken as rainbows frequently are, but unremittedly
visible from one horizon to the other. In order to give some idea of its
extent, it is necessary to say, that, as I stood toward the western
extremity of the parish of Stoke Newington, it seemed to take its rise
from the west of Hampstead, and to end perhaps in the river Lea, the
eastern boundary of Tottenham. Its colour was white, cloudy, or greyish,
but a part of its western limb seemed to exhibit tints of a faint sickly
green. After some time the moon became darkened by clouds, and the
rainbow of course vanished.”

[Picture: Lunar Rainbow]

The brilliant colours of the solar rainbow are frequently produced by the
clouds without any prismatic arrangement. The light of the sun is
decomposed by a process called absorption: for example, white light is
composed of red, yellow, and blue rays, in certain proportions; now, if
in passing through, or falling upon any substance whatever, the red rays
are stifled or absorbed, while the yellow and blue are allowed to pass or
to be reflected, it is obvious that such a substance cannot appear white,
because one of the elements of white light, namely, the red, is wanting;
it must therefore appear of such a colour as results from the combination
of yellow and blue; the substance will therefore appear green. So, also,
when white light falls upon what we call a _red_ surface, the yellow and
blue rays are stifled or absorbed, leaving the red only to be reflected.
Now, when we consider the various ways in which this absorption may take
place; one or two, or all of the coloured rays being absorbed in every
possible proportion, it is easy to form some idea of the manner by which
the innumerable tints of the sky are produced.

It has been calculated, that, of the horizontal sunbeams which pass
through two hundred miles of air, scarcely a two thousandth part reaches
the earth. A densely formed cloud must therefore detain a much larger
share; and those dark and sombre forms, which sometimes make the sky so
gloomy, can only result from the abundant absorption of the solar light.
The brilliant whiteness which their edges occasionally exhibit, must
result from the more copious transmission of light, so that the depths of
shade in a cloud may be regarded as comparative measures of the varied
thickness of its mass.

Sometimes the clouds absorb equally all the solar rays, in which case the
sun and moon appear through them perfectly white. Instances are recorded
in which the sun appeared of a pale blue. It has also been observed to
be orange at its upper part, while the lower was of a brilliant red.

The position from which clouds are seen, has much to do with their
colours; and it seems difficult sometimes to believe that the clouds,
which in the evening are seen drenched with crimson and gold, are the
same we beheld absolutely colourless in the middle of the day.

In the immediate neighbourhood of the sun the most brilliant colours may
be disclosed; and their vividness and intensity diminish, and at last
disappear at some distance from it. Parry noticed some white fleecy
clouds, which, at the distance of fifteen or twenty degrees from the sun,
reflected from their edges the most soft and tender tints of yellow,
bluish green, and lake; and as the clouds advanced the colours increased
gradually, until they reached a sort of limit two degrees below the solar
orb. As the current continued to transport them, the vividness of colour
became weakened by almost insensible degrees until the whole assemblage
of tints vanished.

“Who can venture to imitate, by the pencil, the endless varieties of red
and orange and yellow which the setting sun discloses, and the magical
illusions which all the day diversify the vast and varied space the eye
travels over in rising gradually from the horizon to the upper sky?
Those who have paid any attention to colours, must be aware of the
difficulty of describing the various tints and shades that appear, and
which are known to amount to many thousands.”

The rapid changes of colour which the clouds undergo, seem to depend on
something more than change of position either in the cloud or in the sun.
Forster mentions an instance of some detached cirro-cumuli being of a
fine golden yellow, but in a single minute becoming deep red. On another
occasion he saw the exact counterpart in a cirro-stratus, by its
instantly changing from a beautiful red to a bright golden yellow.
“What, indeed, can be more interesting, than when by the breaking out of
the sun in gleams, a cloud which a moment before seemed only an
unshapened mass devoid of all interest and beauty, is suddenly pierced by
cataracts of light, and imbued with the most splendid colours, varying
every instant in intensity? Numerous examples occur of this beautiful
play of colour, which cannot but remind us of the phenomena displayed by
the pigeon’s neck and the peacock’s tail, by opal and pearl.

“After the sun is set, the mild glow of his rays is still diffused over
every part; and it has been remarked, that the clouds assume their
brightest and most splendid colours a few minutes after it is below the
horizon. It is in the finest weather that the colouring of the sky
presents the most perfect examples of harmony, in tempestuous weather it
being almost always inharmonious. At the time of a warm sun-setting, the
whole hemisphere is influenced by the prevailing colour of the light.
The snowy summits of the Alps appear about sunset of a most beautiful
violet colour, approaching to light crimson or pink. It is remarkable,
also, as an example of that general harmony which prevails in the
material world, that the most glowing and magnificent skies occur when
terrestrial objects put on their deepest and most splendid hues. It has
also been observed, that it is not the change of vegetation only, which
gives to the decaying charms of autumn their finest and most golden hues,
but also the atmosphere and the peculiar lights and shadows which then
prevail; and there can be no doubt, on the other hand, that our
perception of beauty in the sky is very much influenced by the
surrounding scenery. In autumn all is matured; and the rich hues of the
ripened fruits and the changing foliage are rendered still more lovely by
the warm haze which a fine day at that season presents. So, also, the
earlier hues of spring have a transparency, and a thousand quivering
lights, which in their turn harmonize with the light and flitting clouds
and uncertain shadows which then prevail.” {155}

[Picture: Decorative picture of lady by river]

[Picture: Foot-print of a bird, and impression of rain-drops sand-stone]

CHAPTER VII.

REMARKABLE SHOWERS—SHOWERS OF SAND—OF MUD—SHOWERS OF SULPHUR, OR YELLOW
RAIN—LUMINOUS RAIN—RED RAIN, OR SHOWERS OF BLOOD—SUPERSTITIONS CONNECTED
THEREWITH—EXPLANATION OF THE CAUSE—SHOWERS OF FISH—SHOWERS OF
RATS—SHOWERS OF FROGS—INSECT SHOWER—SHOWERS OF VEGETABLE
SUBSTANCES—MANNA—WHEAT—SHOWERS OF STONES—METEORIC STONES, OR
AEROLITES—METEORIC IRON—SUPPOSITIONS RESPECTING THEM—FOSSIL RAIN.

Water, in the state of rain, hail, snow, or dew, is generally the only
substance which falls from the atmosphere upon the earth. There are,
however, many well authenticated instances of various substances being
showered down upon the land, to the great alarm of persons who were
ignorant that the powerful action of the wind was, perhaps, the chief
cause of the strange visitations to which we allude.

We read of showers of sand, mud, sulphur, blood, fishes, frogs, insects,
and stones; and it may be useful, as well as interesting, to quote a few
examples of each description of shower.

On the west coast of Africa, between Cape Bojador and Cape Verd, and
thence outwards, the land, during the dry season, consists of little else
but dust or sand, which, on account of its extreme fineness, is raised
into the atmosphere by the slightest current of air; while a moderate
wind will convey it to so considerable a distance as even to annoy ships
crossing the Atlantic. On the 14th and 15th January, 1839, the Prussian
ship, _Princess Louisa_, being in N. lat. 24° 20′, and W. long. 26° 42′,
had her sails made quite yellow by the fine sand which covered them.
This effect was produced when the distance from land was as much as from
12° to 20°. About a fortnight after the time when this ship crossed
these parts of the Atlantic, a similar effect was produced on board the
English ship _Roxburgh_. One of the passengers, the Rev. W. B. Clarke,
says:—“The sky was overcast, and the weather thick and insufferably
oppressive, though the thermometer was only 72°. At 3 P.M. Feb. 4, the
wind suddenly lulled into a calm; then rose from the SW. accompanied by
rain, and the air appeared to be filled with dust, which affected the
eyes of the passengers and crew. The weather was clear and fine, and the
powder which covered the sails was of a reddish-brown colour, resembling
the ashes ejected from Vesuvius; and Mr. Clarke thinks that this dust may
have proceeded from the volcanic island of Fogo, one of the Cape de
Verds, about forty-five miles from the place where the ship then was.

In countries which are subject to long-continued droughts the soil is
frequently converted into dust, which, being carried away by the winds,
leaves the land barren. The climate of Buenos Ayres, in South America,
has of late years been subject to such droughts, as to disappoint the
hopes of the husbandman and the breeder of cattle. In the early part of
1832, the drought had reached to such a height as to convert the whole
province into one continued bleak and dreary desert. The clouds of dust
raised by the winds were so dense as completely to obscure the sun at
mid-day, and envelope the inhabitants in almost total darkness. When the
rains at length commenced, in March, the water, in its passage through
the air, intermingled so completely with the dust suspended in it, as to
descend in the form of showers of mud; and, on some occasions, gave to
the whole exterior of the houses the appearance of having been plastered
over with earth. Many flocks of sheep were smothered on these occasions,
in a similar manner as in the snow-storms which occur in the mountainous
districts of Scotland.

Showers of sulphur, or yellow rain, have fallen at different times in
various parts of Europe; and sometimes, when falling by night, they have
appeared luminous, to the great alarm of the observers. Yellow rain has
been accounted for in the following way:—The pollen, or impregnating
seed-dust of the flowers of the fir, birch, juniper, and other trees, is
of a yellow colour, and this pollen, by the action of the wind, is
carried to a considerable distance, and descends with falling rain. This
yellow rain has also been found impregnated with sulphur; and during a
shower of this kind which once fell in Germany, matches were made by
being dipped in it.

Many examples of luminous rain are recorded on good authority. One of
the latest instances is mentioned by Dr. Morel Deville, of Paris, who on
the 1st of November, 1844, at half-past eight o’clock in the evening,
during a heavy fall of rain, noticed, as he was crossing the court of the
College Louis-le-Grand, that the drops, on coming in contact with the
ground, emitted sparks and tufts (_aigrettes_) of light, accompanied by a
rustling and crackling noise; a smell of phosphorus having been
immediately after perceptible. The phenomenon was seen three times. At
the same hour a remarkable brightness was seen in the northern sky.

An officer of the Algerian army states, that during a violent storm on
the 20th September, 1840, the drops of rain that fell on the beards and
mustachios of the men were luminous. When the hair was wiped the
appearance ceased; but was renewed the moment any fresh drops fell on it.

But of all these remarkable showers, the greatest alarm has been
occasioned by _red rain_, or showers of blood as they have been
ignorantly called. In the year 1608, considerable alarm was excited in
the city of Aix and its vicinity by the appearance of large red drops
upon the walls of the cemetery of the greater church, which is near the
walls of the city, upon the walls of the city itself, and also upon the
walls of villas, hamlets, and towns, for some miles round the city. The
husbandmen are said to have been so alarmed, that they left their labour
in the fields and fled for safety into the neighbouring houses; and a
report was set on foot, that the appearance was produced by demons or
witches shedding the blood of innocent babes. M. Peiresc, thinking this
story of a bloody shower to be scarcely reconcileable with the goodness
and providence of God, accidentally discovered, as he thought, the true
cause of the phenomenon. He had found, some months before, a chrysalis
of remarkable size and form, which he had enclosed in a box; he thought
no more of it, until hearing a buzz within the box, he opened it, and
perceived that the chrysalis had been changed into a beautiful butterfly,
which immediately flew away, leaving at the bottom of the box a red drop
of the size of a shilling. As this happened about the time when the
shower was supposed to have fallen, and when multitudes of those insects
were observed fluttering through the air in every direction, he concluded
that the drops in question were emitted by them when they alighted upon
the walls. He, therefore, examined the drops again, and remarked that
they were not upon the upper surfaces of stones and buildings, as they
would have been if a shower of blood had fallen from the sky, but rather
in cavities and holes where insects might nestle. He also noticed that
they were to be seen upon the walls of those houses only which were near
the fields; and not upon the more elevated parts of them, but only up to
the same moderate height at which butterflies were accustomed to flutter.
This was, no doubt, the correct explanation of the phenomenon in
question; for it is a curious and well-ascertained fact, that when
insects are evolved from the pupa state, they always discharge some
substance, which, in many butterflies, is of a red colour, resembling
blood, while in several moths it is orange or whitish.

It appears, however, from the researches of M. Ehrenberg, a distinguished
microscopic observer, that the appearances of blood which have at
different times been observed in Arabia, Siberia, and other places, are
not to be attributed to one, but to various causes. From his account, it
appears that rivers have flowed suddenly with red or bloody water,
without any previous rain of that colour having fallen; that lakes or
stagnant-waters were suddenly or gradually coloured without previous
blood-rain; that dew, rain, snow, hail, and shot-stars, occasionally fall
from the air red-coloured, as blood-dew, blood-rain, and clotted blood;
and, lastly, that the atmosphere is occasionally loaded with red dust, by
which the rain accidentally assumes the appearance of blood-rain, in
consequence of which rivers and stagnant waters assume a red colour.

The blood-red colour sometimes exhibited by pools, was first
satisfactorily explained at the close of the last century. Girod
Chantran, observing the water of a pond to be of a brilliant red colour,
examined it with the microscope, and found that the sanguine hue resulted
from the presence of innumerable animalculæ, not visible to the naked
eye. But, before this investigation, Linnæus and other naturalists had
shown that red infusoria were capable of giving that colour to water
which, in early times, and still, we fear, in remote districts, was
supposed to forebode great calamities. In the year 1815 an instance of
this superstitious dread occurred in the south of Prussia. A number of
red, violet, or grass-green spots were observed in a lake near Lubotin,
about the end of harvest. In winter the ice was coloured in the same
manner at the surface, while beneath it was colourless. The inhabitants,
in great dismay, anticipated a variety of disasters from the appearance;
but it fortunately happened that the celebrated chemist Klaproth, hearing
of the circumstance, undertook an examination of the waters of the lake.
He found them to contain an albuminous vegetable matter, with a
particular colouring matter similar to indigo, produced, probably, by the
decomposition of vegetables in harvest; while the change of colour from
green to violet and red, he explained by the absorption of more or less
oxygen. A few years ago the blood-red waters of a Siberian lake were
carefully examined by M. Ehrenberg, and found to contain multitudes of
infusoria, by the presence of which this remarkable appearance was
accounted for. Thus it appears that both animals and vegetables are
concerned in giving a peculiar tint to water. It has also been
ascertained that red snow is chiefly occasioned by the presence of red
animalculæ.

Showers of fish and frogs are by no means uncommon, especially in India.
One of these showers, which fell about twenty miles south of Calcutta, is
thus noticed by an observer:—“About two o’clock, P.M., of the 20th inst.,
(Sept. 1839,) we had a very smart shower of rain, and with it descended a
quantity of live fish, about three inches in length, and all of one kind
only. They fell in a straight line on the road from my house to the tank
which is about forty or fifty yards distant. Those which fell on the
hard ground were, as a matter of course, killed from the fall, but those
which fell where there was grass sustained no injury; and I picked up a
large quantity of them, ‘alive and kicking,’ and let them go into my
tank. The most strange thing that ever struck me in connexion with this
event, was, that the fish did not fall helter skelter, everywhere, or
‘here and there;’ but they fell in a straight line, not more than a cubit
in breadth.” Another shower is said to have taken place at a village
near Allahabad, in the month of May. About noon, the wind being in the
west, and a few distant clouds visible, a blast of high wind came on,
accompanied with so much dust as to change the tint of the atmosphere to
a reddish hue. The blast appeared to extend in breadth four hundred
yards, and was so violent that many large trees were blown down. When
the storm had passed over, the ground, south of the village, was found to
be covered with fish, not less than three or four thousand in number.
They all belonged to a species well known in India, and were about a span
in length. They were all dead and dry.

It would be easy to multiply these examples to almost any extent,
although they are not so frequent in Great Britain. It is related in
Hasted’s History of Kent, that about Easter, 1666, in the parish of
Stanstead, which is a considerable distance from the sea, and a place
where there are no fishponds, and rather a scarcity of water, a pasture
field was scattered all over with small fish, supposed to have been
rained down during a thunder-storm. Several of these fish were sold
publicly at Maidstone and Dartford. In the year 1830, the inhabitants of
the island of Ula, in Argyleshire, after a day of very hard rain, which
occurred on the 9th March, were surprised to find numbers of small
herrings strewed over the fields, perfectly fresh and some of them alive.
Some years ago, during a strong gale, herrings and other fish were
carried from the Frith of Forth so far as Loch-Leven.

In some countries rats migrate in vast numbers from the high to the low
countries; and it is recorded in the history of Norway, that a shower of
these, transported by the wind, fell in an adjacent valley.

Several notices have, from time to time, been brought before the French
Academy, of showers of frogs having fallen in different parts of France.
Professor Pontus, of Cahors, states, that in August, 1804, while distant
three leagues from Toulouse, the sky being clear, suddenly a very thick
cloud covered the horizon, and thunder and lightning came on. The cloud
burst over the road about sixty toises (383 feet) from the place where M.
Pontus was. Two gentlemen, returning from Toulouse, were surprised by
being exposed not only to a storm, but to a shower of frogs. Pontus
states that he saw the young frogs on their cloaks. When the diligence
in which he was travelling, arrived at the place where the storm burst,
the road, and the fields alongside of it, were observed full of frogs, in
three or four layers placed one above the other. The feet of the horses
and the wheels of the carriage killed thousands. The diligence travelled
for a quarter of an hour, at least, along this living road, the horses
being at a trot.

In the “Journal de St. Petersburg,” is given an account of the fall of a
shower of insects during a snow-storm in Russia. “On the 17th October,
1827, there fell in the district of Rjev, in the government of Tver, a
heavy shower of snow, in the space of about ten versts (nearly seven
English miles), which contained the village of Pakroff and its environs.
It was accompanied in its fall by a prodigious quantity of worms of a
black colour, ringed, and in length about an inch and a quarter. The
head of these insects was flat and shining, furnished with antennæ, and
the hair in the form of whiskers; while the body, from the head to about
one-third of their length, resembled a band of black velvet. They had on
each side three feet, by means of which they appeared to crawl very fast
upon the snow, and assembled in groups about the plants and the holes in
trees and buildings. Several having been exposed to the air in a vessel
filled with snow, lived there till the 26th October; although, in that
interval, the thermometer had fallen to eight degrees below zero. Some
others which had been frozen continued alive equally long; for they were
not found exactly encrusted with the ice, but they had formed round their
bodies a space similar to the hollow of a tree. When they were plunged
into water they swam about as if they had received no injury; but those
which were carried into a warm place perished in a few minutes.”

All these remarkable showers may be accounted for, when we consider the
mighty power of the wind; especially that form of it which is popularly
called the whirlwind. It is now pretty well ascertained, that in all, or
most of the great storms which agitate the atmosphere, the wind has a
circular or rotatory movement; and the same is probably the case in many
of the lesser storms, in which the air is whirled upwards in a spiral
curve with great velocity, carrying up any small bodies which may come
within the circuit. When such a storm happens at sea, the water-spout is
produced. In the deserts of Arabia, pillars of sand are formed; and, in
other places various light bodies are caught up; fishponds have been
entirely emptied in an instant, and the moving column, whether of water,
sand, or air, travels with the wind with great swiftness. When, however,
the storm has subsided, the various substances thus caught up and
sustained in the air, are deposited at great distances from the place
where they were first found, and thus produce these remarkable showers.
In some cases, however, the direct force of the wind has actually blown
small fish out of the water, and conveyed them several miles inland.

Showers of nutritious substances have been recorded on good authority.
We do not here refer to the manna which fell in such abundance about the
Hebrew camp, for that was a miracle specially wrought by the Almighty for
the preservation of his chosen people; but, it may be noticed here, that
in Arabia, a substance, called “manna,” is found in great abundance on
the leaves of many trees and herbs, and may be gathered and removed by
the wind to a distance. A shower of this kind occurred in 1824. In
1828, a substance was exhibited at the French Academy, which fell in the
plains of Persia. It was eaten, and afforded nourishment to cattle, and
many other animals; and, on examination, proved to be a vegetable,—the
_Lichen esculentus_,—which had been conveyed thither by the winds.

In the Minutes of the proceedings of the Royal Society, 26th June, 1661,
we find the following curious narration:—

“Col. Tuke brought, in writing, the following _brief account of the
supposed rain of wheat_, which was registered:—

“On the 30th of May, 1661, Mr. Henry Puckering, son to Sir Henry
Puckering, of Warwick, brought some papers of seeds, resembling
wheat, to the king, with a letter written by Mr. William Halyburton,
dated the 27th May, from Warwick; out of which letter I have made
this extract:

“‘Instead of news I send you some papers of wonders. On Saturday
last, it was rumoured in this town, that it rained wheat at
Tuchbrooke, a village about two miles from Warwick. Whereupon some
of the inhabitants of this town went thither; where they saw great
quantities on the way, in the fields, and on the leads of the church,
castle, and priory, and upon the hearths of the chimneys in the
chambers. And Arthur Mason, coming out of Shropshire, reports, that
it hath rained the like in many places of that county. God make us
thankful for this miraculous blessing, &.’”

“I brought some papers of these seeds, with this letter, to the
Society of Gresham College; who would not enter into any
consideration of it, till they were better informed of the matter of
fact. Hereupon, I entreated Mr. Henry Puckering to write to the
bailiff of the town of Warwick, to the ministers and physicians, to
send us an account of the matter of fact, and their opinions of it.
In the bailiff’s letter, dated the 3rd of June, I find this report
verified; affirming that himself, with the inhabitants of the town,
were in a great astonishment at this wonder. But, before the next
day of our meeting, I sent for some ivy-berries, and brought them to
Gresham College with some of these seeds resembling wheat; and taking
off the outward pulp of the ivy-berries, we found in each of the
berries four seeds; which were generally concluded by the Society to
be the same with those that were supposed and believed by the common
people to have been wheat that had been rained; and, that they were
brought to those places, where they were found, by starlings; who, of
all the birds that we know, do assemble in the greatest numbers; and
do, at this time of the year, feed upon these berries; and digesting
the outward pulp, they render these seeds by casting, as hawks do
feathers and bones.”

The remarkable showers already noticed, have excited much interest and
inquiry among learned men, and many superstitious fears among the
ignorant; but, there is another description of shower which affords a
singular instance of popular observation, being greatly in advance of
scientific knowledge. We allude to the showers of stones, called
“aërolites,” (from two Greek words, signifying the _atmosphere_, and a
_stone_); they are also called _Meteorolites_, or _Meteoric stones_.

Writers in all ages have mentioned instances of stony bodies having been
seen to fall from the sky. The Chinese and Japanese carefully note down
the most striking and remarkable phenomena of nature, believing them to
have some connexion with public affairs; and the chronicles of these
people are said to contain many notices of the fall of stony bodies from
the sky. Until within the last fifty years, however, these accounts have
been treated in Europe as idle superstitions; scientific men denying even
the probability of such an occurrence. The first scientific man who was
bold enough to support the popular opinion, that stones actually do fall
from the sky, was Chladni, a German philosopher, who published a pamphlet
on the subject in 1794. This did not excite much attention, until, two
years afterwards, a stone weighing fifty-six pounds was exhibited in
London, which was said to have fallen in Yorkshire in the December of the
preceding year; but, although the fact was attested by several
respectable persons, the possibility of such an occurrence was still
doubted. It was remarked, however, by Sir Joseph Banks, that this stone
was very similar in appearance to one which had been sent to him from
Italy, with an account of its having fallen from the clouds. In the year
1799, a number of stones were received by the Royal Society, from
Benares, in the East Indies, which were also said to have fallen from the
atmosphere, with a minute account of the circumstances attending the
fall, which will be presently noticed; and, as these stones appeared to
be precisely similar to the Yorkshire stone already noticed, attention
was fairly drawn to the subject. In 1802, Mr. Howard published an
analysis of a variety of these stones collected from different places;
and his researches led to the important conclusion, that they are all
composed of the same substances, and in nearly the same proportions. In
1803, a notice was received at Paris, of a shower of stones at L’Aigle in
Normandy; and the Institute of France deputed M. Biot, a well-known and
excellent natural philosopher, to examine, on the spot, all the
circumstances attending this remarkable event. His account will be
noticed presently; but it may here be stated, that the stones he
collected, on being analysed, gave results similar to those obtained by
Mr. Howard.

The circumstances attending the fall of stones at Krakhut, a village
about fourteen miles from the city of Benares, are briefly as follow:—On
the 19th December, 1798, a very luminous meteor was observed in the
heavens, about eight o’clock in the evening, in the form of a large ball
of fire; it was accompanied by a loud noise, resembling that of thunder,
which was immediately followed by the sound of the fall of heavy bodies.
On examining the ground, it was observed to have been newly torn up in
many places; and in these were found stones of a peculiar appearance,
most of which had buried themselves to the depth of six inches. At the
time the meteor appeared, the sky was perfectly serene, not the smallest
vestige of a cloud had been seen since the 11th of the month; nor were
any observed for many days after. It was seen in the western part of the
hemisphere, and was visible only a short time. The light from it was so
great, as to cast a strong shadow from the bars of a window upon a dark
carpet. Mr. Davis, the judge and magistrate of the district, affirmed,
that in brilliancy it equalled the brightest moonlight. Both he and Mr.
Erskine were induced to send persons in whom they could confide to the
spot where this shower of stones is reported to have taken place, and
thus obtained additional evidence of the phenomena, together with several
of the stones which had penetrated about six inches into fields recently
watered. Mr. Maclane, a gentleman who resided near Krakhut, presented
Mr. Howard with a portion of a stone which had been brought to him the
morning after its fall by the person who was on duty at his house, and
through the roof of whose hut it had passed, and buried itself several
inches in the floor, which was of consolidated earth. Before it was
broken it must have weighed upwards of two pounds.

M. Biot’s summary of the evidence collected by him respecting the great
shower of stones which fell at Aigle, in Normandy, is as follows:—

“On Tuesday, 26th April, 1803, about one o’clock, P.M., the weather
being serene, there was observed from Caen, Pont d’Audemer, and the
environs of Alençon, Falaise, and Verneuil, a fiery globe, of a very
brilliant splendour, and which moved in the atmosphere with great
rapidity. Some moments after, there was heard at Aigle, and in the
environs of that town, in the extent of more than thirty leagues in
every direction, a violent explosion, which lasted five or six
minutes. At first there were three or four reports like those of a
cannon, followed by a kind of discharge which resembled the firing of
musketry; after which, there was heard a dreadful rumbling, like the
beating of a drum. The air was calm and the sky serene, except a few
clouds, such as are frequently observed. This noise proceeded from a
small cloud which had a rectangular form; the largest side being in a
direction from east to west. It appeared motionless all the time
that the phenomenon lasted; but the vapours of which it was composed,
were projected momentarily from different sides, by the effect of
successive explosions. This cloud was about half a league to the
north-north-west of the town of Aigle. It was at a great elevation
in the atmosphere; for, the inhabitants of two hamlets, a league
distant from each other, saw it at the same time above their heads.
In the whole canton over which this cloud was suspended, there was a
hissing noise, like that of a stone discharged from a sling; and a
great many mineral masses, exactly similar to those distinguished by
the name of ‘meteor-stones,’ were seen to fall. The district in
which these masses were projected, forms an elliptical extent of
about two leagues and a half in length, and nearly one in breadth,
the greatest dimension being in a direction from south-east to
north-west; forming a declination of about 22 degrees. This
direction, which the meteor must have followed, is exactly that of
the magnetic meridian, which is a remarkable result. The greatest of
these stones fell at the south-eastern extremity of the large axis of
the ellipse, the middle-sized in the centre, and the smaller at the
other extremity. Hence it appears, that the largest fell first, as
might naturally be supposed. The largest of all those that fell,
weighs seventeen pounds and a half. The smallest which I have seen,
weighs about two _gros_, (a thousandth part of the last.) The number
of all those which fell, is certainly above two or three thousand.”

Meteoric stones have been known to commit great injury in their fall. In
July, 1790, a very bright fire-ball, luminous as the sun, of the size of
an ordinary balloon, appeared near Bourdeaux, which, after filling the
inhabitants with alarm, burst, and disappeared. A few days after, some
peasants brought stones into the town, which they said had fallen from
the meteor; but, the philosophers to whom they offered them laughed at
their statements. One of these stones, fifteen inches in diameter, broke
through the roof of a cottage, and killed a herdsman and a bullock. In
1810, a great stone fell at Shahabad, in India. It burnt a village, and
killed several people.

The fall of meteoric stones is more frequent than would be supposed.
Chaldni has compiled a Catalogue of all recorded instances from the
earliest times. Of these, twenty-seven are previous to the Christian
era; thirty-five from the beginning of the first to the end of the
fourteenth century; eighty-nine from the beginning of the fifteenth to
the beginning of the present century; from which time, since the
attention of scientific men has been directed to the subject, above sixty
cases have been recorded. These are, doubtless, but a small proportion
of the whole amount of meteoric showers which have fallen, when the small
extent of surface occupied by those capable of recording the event is
compared with the wide expanse of the ocean, the vast uninhabited
deserts, mountains, and forests, and the countries occupied by savage
nations.

Meteoric stones have generally a broken, irregular surface, coated with a
thin black crust, like varnish. When broken, they appear to have been
made up of a number of small spherical bodies of a grey colour, imbedded
in a gritty substance, and often interspersed with yellow spots. A
considerable proportion of iron is found in all of them, partly in a
malleable state, partly in that of an oxide, and always in combination
with a rather scarce metal called nickel; {181} the earths silica, and
magnesia, and sulphur, form the other chief ingredients; but, the earths
alumina and lime, the metals manganese, chrome, and cobalt, together with
carbon, soda, and water, have also been found in small quantities, but
not in the same specimens. No substance with which chemists were
previously unacquainted, has ever been found in them; but no combination,
similar to that in meteoric stones, has ever been met with in geological
formations, or among the products of any volcano. They are sometimes
very friable, sometimes very hard; and some that are friable when they
first fall, become hard afterwards. When taken up soon after their fall
they are extremely hot. They vary in weight from two drams to several
hundred pounds. Meteoric stones have fallen in all climates, in every
part of the earth, at all seasons, in the night and in the day.

The meteoric stones already noticed, are not the only metallic bodies
which are supposed to fall from the sky. In many parts of the earth
masses of malleable iron, often of vast size, have been found. An
immense mass seen by Pallas, in Siberia, was discovered at a great height
on a mountain of slate, near the river Jenesei. The Tartars held it in
great veneration, as having fallen from heaven. It was removed in the
year 1749, to the town of Krasnojarsk, by the inspector of iron mines.
The mass, which weighed about 1,400 pounds, was irregular in form, and
cellular, like a sponge. The iron was tough and malleable, and was found
to contain nickel, silica, magnesia, sulphur, and chrome. Another
enormous mass of meteoric iron was found in South America, about the year
1788. It lay in a vast plain, half sunk in the ground, and was supposed,
from its size and the known weight of iron, to contain upwards of
thirteen tons. Specimens of this mass are now in the British Museum, and
have been found to contain 90 per cent. of iron and 10 of nickel. Many
other masses of iron might be mentioned, which, from the places in which
they are found, and from their composition, leave no doubt as to their
being of meteoric origin. The only instance, on record, of iron having
been actually seen to fall from the atmosphere, is that which took place
at Agram in Croatia, on the 26th May, 1751. About six o’clock in the
evening, the sky being quite clear, a ball of fire was seen, which shot
along, with a hollow noise, from west to east, and, after a loud
explosion accompanied by a great smoke, two masses of iron fell from it
in the form of chains welded together.

It is, perhaps, impossible, in the present state of our knowledge, to
account for the origin of these remarkable bodies. Some have supposed
them to have been shot out from volcanoes belonging to our earth; but
this theory is opposed by the fact that no substance, resembling
aërolites, has ever been found in or near any volcano; and they fall from
a height to which no volcano can be supposed to have projected them, and
still less to have given them the horizontal direction in which they
usually move. Another supposition is, that these masses are formed in
the atmosphere; but it is almost ridiculous to imagine a body, weighing
many tons, to be produced by any chemical or electrical forces in the
upper regions of the air. A third explanation is, that they are bodies
thrown out by the volcanoes, which are known to exist in the moon, with
such force as to bring them within the sphere of the earth’s attraction.
This notion was supported by the celebrated astronomer and mathematician
La Place. He calculated that a body projected from the moon with the
velocity of 7771 feet in the first second, would reach our earth in about
two days and a half. But other astronomers are of opinion, that the
known velocity of some meteors is too great to admit of the possibility
of their having come from the moon. The theory which agrees best with
known facts and the laws of nature, is that proposed by Chladni, namely,
that the meteors are bodies moving in space, either masses of matter as
originally created, or fragments separated from a larger mass of a
similar nature. This view has also been supported by Sir Humphrey Davy,
who says, “The luminous appearances of shooting-stars and meteors cannot
be owing to any inflammation of elastic fluids, but must depend upon the
ignition of solid bodies. Dr. Halley calculated the height of a meteor
at ninety miles; and the great American meteor, which threw down showers
of stones, was estimated at seventeen miles high. The velocity of motion
of these bodies must, in all cases, be immensely great, and the heat
produced by the compression of the most rarefied air from the velocity of
motion, must be, probably, sufficient to ignite the mass; and all the
phenomena may be explained, if _falling stars_ be supposed to be small
bodies moving round the earth in very eccentric orbits, which become
ignited only when they pass with immense velocity through the upper
region of the atmosphere; and if the meteoric bodies which throw down
stones with explosions, be supposed to be similar bodies which contain
either combustible or elastic matter.”

This chapter ought not to be concluded without a short notice of that
remarkable rain known to geologists as “fossil rain.” In the new
red-sandstone of the Storeton quarries, impressions of the foot-prints of
ancient animals have been discovered; and in examining some of the slabs
of stone extracted at the depth of above thirty feet, Mr. Cunningham
observed “that their under surface was thickly covered with minute
hemispherical projections, or casts in relief of circular pits, in the
immediately subjacent layers of clay. The origin of these marks, he is
of opinion, must be ascribed to showers of rain which fell upon an
argillaceous beach exposed by the retiring tide, and their preservation
to the filling up of the indentations by sand. On the same slabs are
impressions of the feet of small reptiles, which appear to have passed
over the clay previously to the shower, since the foot-marks are also
indented with circular pits, but to a less degree; and the difference Mr.
Cunningham explains by the pressure of the animal having rendered these
portions less easily acted upon.” The preservation of these marks has
been explained by supposing dry sand, drifted by the wind, to have swept
over and filled up the footprints, rain-pits, and hollows of every kind,
which the soft argillaceous surface had received.

The frontispiece to the present chapter (p. 156), represents a slab of
sandstone containing impressions of the foot of a bird and of rain drops.
This slab is from a sandstone basin near Turner’s Falls, a fine cataract
of the Connecticut river in the State of Massachusetts, and is described
by Dr. Deane in a recent number of the American Journal of Science. “It
is rare,” says that gentleman, to “find a stratum containing these
footprints exactly as they were made by the animal, without having
suffered change. They are usually more or less disturbed or obliterated
by the too soft nature of the mud, the coarseness of the materials, and
by many other circumstances which we may easily see would deface them, so
that although the general form of the foot may be apparent, the minute
traces of its appendages are almost invariably lost. In general, except
in thick-toed species, we cannot discover the distinct evidences of the
structure of the toes, each toe appearing to be formed of a single joint,
and seldom terminated by a claw. But, a few specimens hitherto
discovered at this locality completely developed the true characters of
the foot, its ranks of joints, its claws and integuments. So far as I
have seen, the faultless impressions are upon shales of the finest
texture with a smooth glossy surface, such as would retain the beautiful
impressions of rain drops. This kind of surface containing footmarks is
exceedingly rare: I have seen but few detached examples; recently it has
been my good fortune to recover a stratum, containing in all more than
one hundred most beautiful impressions of the feet of four or five
varieties of birds, the entire surface being also pitted by a shower of
fossil rain-drops. The slabs are perfectly smooth on the inferior
surface, and are about two inches in thickness.

“The impression of a medallion is not more sharp and clear than are most
of these imprints, and it may be proper to observe, that this remarkable
preservation may be ascribed to the circumstance, that the entire surface
of the stratum was incrusted with a layer of micaceous sandstone,
adhering so firmly that it would not cleave off, thereby requiring the
laborious and skilful application of the chisel. The appearance of this
shining layer which is of a gray colour, while the fossil slab is a dark
red, seems to carry the probability that it was washed or blown over the
latter while in a state of loose sand, thus filling up the foot-prints
and rain-drops, and preserving them unchanged until the present
day—unchanged in the smallest particular, so far as relates merely to
configuration, nothing being obliterated; the precise form of the nails,
or claws, and joints, and in the deep impressions of the heel bone, being
exquisitely preserved.”

The small slab figured at p. 156 is described as being an incomparable
specimen. “For purity of impression it is unsurpassed, and the living
reality of the rain-drops, the beautiful colour of the stone, its sound
texture and lightness, renders it a fit member for any collection of
organic remains.”

[Picture: Mandan rain-makers]

CHAPTER VIII.

COMMON SAYINGS RESPECTING THE WEATHER—SAINT SWITHIN’S-DAY—SIGNS OF RAIN
OR OF FAIR WEATHER DERIVED FROM THE APPEARANCE OF THE SUN—FROM THAT OF
THE MOON—FROM THE STARS—FROM THE SKY—FROM THE DISTINCTNESS OF SOUNDS—FROM
THE RISING OF SMOKE—FROM THE PECULIAR ACTIONS OF PLANTS AND
ANIMALS—PROGNOSTICS NOTICED BY SIR HUMPHREY DAVY—SIGNS OF RAIN COLLECTED
BY DR. JENNER—NORTH AMERICAN RAIN-MAKERS—INCIDENT RELATED BY
CATLIN—RAIN-DOCTORS OF SOUTHERN AFRICA—RAIN-DOCTORS OF
CEYLON—SUPERSTITIONS GIVING WAY TO THE TEACHING OF
MISSIONARIES—CONCLUSION.

There are many proverbial sayings among country people concerning the
state of the weather, which, having been derived from long observation,
have become axioms, and were designated by Bacon “the philosophy of the
people.” These prognostics are being set aside by the more certain
lights of science, but there is no doubt that many natural objects may
indicate symptoms of change in the atmosphere before any actually takes
place in it to such an extent as to affect our senses. Some of these
prognostics are of a general character applying to all seasons, and there
are others which apply only to a particular season; but they may all be
derived from appearances of the heavenly bodies and of the sky, the state
of meteorological instruments, and the notions and habits of certain
plants and animals. The author of the “Journal of a Naturalist” has some
good observations on this subject. He says:—

“Old simplicities, tokens of winds and weather, and the plain
observances of human life, are everywhere waning fast to decay. Some
of them may have been fond conceits; but they accorded with the
ordinary manners of the common people, and marked times, seasons, and
things, with sufficient truth for those who had faith in them.
Little as we retain of these obsolete fancies, we have not quite
abandoned them all; and there are yet found among our peasants a few,
who mark the blooming of the large water-lily (_lilium candidum_),
and think that the number of its blossoms on a stem will indicate the
price of wheat by the bushel for the ensuing year, each blossom
equivalent to a shilling. We expect a sunny day too, when the
pimpernel (_anagallis arvensis_) fully expands its blossoms; a
dubious, or a moist one, when they are closed. In this belief,
however, we have the sanction of some antiquity to support us. Sir
F. Bacon records it; Gerarde notes it as a common opinion entertained
by country people above two centuries ago; and I must not withhold my
own faith in its veracity, but say that I believe this pretty little
flower to afford more certain indication of dryness or moisture in
the air than any of our hygrometers do. But if these be fallible
criterions, we will notice another that seldom deceives us. The
approach of a sleety snow-storm, following a deceitful gleam in
spring, is always announced to us by the loud untuneful voice of the
missel-thrush (_turdus viscivorus_) as it takes its stand on some
tall tree, like an enchanter calling up the gale. It seems to have
no song, no voice, but this harsh predictive note; and it in great
measure ceases with the storms of spring. We hear it occasionally in
autumn, but its voice is not then prognostic of any change of
weather. The missel-thrush is a wild and wary bird, keeping
generally in open fields and commons, heaths and unfrequented places,
feeding upon worms and insects. In severe weather it approaches our
plantations and shrubberies, to feed on the berry of the mistletoe,
the ivy, or the scarlet fruit of the holly or the yew; and, should
the redwing or the fieldfare presume to partake of these with it, we
are sure to hear its voice in clattering and contention with the
intruders, until it drives them from the place, though it watches and
attends, notwithstanding, to its own safety.”

But before we notice more in detail the natural prognostics of the
weather, it is desirable to speak of a superstition which is widely
spread among all classes, in the town as well as in the country. The
superstition referred to, is that connected with St. Swithin’s-day, and
is well expressed in a Scotch proverb:—

“Saint Swithin’s-day, gif ye do rain,
For forty days it will remain;
Saint Swithin’s-day, an ye be fair,
For forty days ’twill rain nae mair.”

This superstition originated with Swithin, or Swithum, bishop of
Winchester, who died in the year 868. He desired that he might be buried
in the open churchyard, “where the drops of rain might wet his grave;”
“thinking,” says Bishop Hall, “that no vault was so good to cover his
grave as that of heaven.” But when Swithin was canonized the monks
resolved to remove his body into the choir of the church. According to
tradition, this was to have been done on the 15th of July; but it rained
so violently for forty days that the design was abandoned. Mr. Howard
remarks, that the tradition is so far valuable, as it proves that the
summers in the southern part of our island were subject, a thousand years
ago, to occasional heavy rains, in the same way as at present. This
accurate observer has endeavoured to ascertain how far the popular notion
is borne out by the fact. In 1807 and 1808, it rained on St.
Swithin’s-day, and a dry season followed. In 1818 and 1819, it was dry
on the 15th, and a very dry season followed. The other summers,
occurring between 1807 and 1819, seem to show, “that in a majority of our
summers, a showery period which, with some latitude as to time and local
circumstances, may be admitted to constitute daily rain for forty days,
does come on about the time indicated by the tradition of St. Swithin.”

But in these calculations, it is necessary to bear in mind that the
change of style has very much interfered with St. Swithin. With the day
allowed in the closing year of the last century, St. Swithin’s day is how
thirteen days earlier in the calendar than it would have been by the old
style. Thus the true St. Swithin’s-day, according to the tradition, is
about the 28th of July, and not the 15th, as set down in the present
calendar. There must, therefore, be a considerable difference as to the
rains and this day.

We now proceed to collect a number of prognostics connected with the
appearances of the heavenly bodies and of the sky; they are the result of
long experience, but at the same time it is necessary to caution our
readers against attaching much importance to them.

When the sun rises red, wind and rain may be expected during the day; but
when he rises unclouded, attended by a scorching heat, cloudiness and
perhaps rain will ensue before mid-day. When he rises clouded, with a
few grey clouds, they will soon dissipate, and a fine day will follow.
When his light is dim, vapour exists in the upper regions of the air, and
may be expected to descend shortly after in the form of dense clouds.
When his light, after rain, is of a transparent watery hue, rain will
soon fall again. When his direct rays have a scorching and weakening
effect on the body throughout the greater part of the day, the next day
will be cloudy, and perhaps rainy. When the sun is more or less obscured
by a thicker or thinner cirro-stratus cloud, and when he is said to be
_wading_ in the cloud, rain may come—if the cloud indicates rain it will
come. A halo surrounding the disc of the sun is almost always sure to
precede rain. A red sunset without clouds indicates a doubt of fair
weather; but a fine day may be expected after a red sunset in clouds. A
watery sunset, diverging rays of light, either direct from the sun or
from behind a cloud, is indicative of rain. After a dull black sunset
rain may be expected.

It is a common saying among country people,—

“An evening red, or a morning grey,
Doth betoken a bonnie day;
In an evening grey and a morning red,
Put on your hat, or yell weet your head.”

There are not many prognostics connected with the appearances of the
moon. The changes of the moon produce greater effects than at any other
period. With a clear silvery aspect fair weather may be expected. A
pale moon always indicates rain, and a red one wind. Seeing the “old
moon in the new one’s arms,” is a sign of stormy weather. Seeing the new
moon very young, “like the paring of a nail,” also indicates wet; but
when the horns of the new moon are blunt, they indicate rain, and fair
weather when sharp. It is truly said:

“In the wane of the moon,
A cloudy morning bodes a fair afternoon.”

And also

‘New moon’s mist
Never dies of thirst.’

Halos and coronæ are oftener seen about the moon than the sun, and they
indicate rain.

The stars appearing dim indicate rain. Very few stars seen at one time,
when there is no frost, indicate a similar result.

When the sky is of deeply-coloured blue, it indicates rain. If distant
objects appear very distinct and near through the air, it indicates rain.
When the air feels oppressive to walk in, rain will follow; when it feels
light and pleasant, fair weather will continue.

When distant sounds are distinctly heard through the air in a calm day,
such as the tolling of bells, barking of dogs, talking of people,
waterfalls, or rapids over mill-dams, the air is loaded with vapour, and
rain may be expected. The sea is often heard to roar, and loudest at
night, as also the noise of a city, when a cloud is seen suspended a very
short way above head.

If smoke rise perpendicularly upwards from chimneys in calm weather, fair
weather may be expected to continue; but if it fall toward and roll along
the ground, not being easily dispersed, rain will ensue.

Many of the above prognostics, as well as some of those relating to
animals, are thus noticed by Sir Humphrey Davy, in his “Salmonia, or Days
of Fly-fishing.” The conversation is between Halieus, a fly-fisher;
Poietes, a poet; Physicus, a man of science; and Ornither, a sportsman.

“_Poiet_. I hope we shall have another good day to-morrow, for the
clouds are red in the west.

_Phys_. I have no doubt of it; for the red has a tint of purple.

_Hal_. Do you know why this tint portends fine weather?

_Phys_. The air, when dry, I believe, refracts more red or heating
rays; and as dry air is not perfectly transparent, they are again
reflected in the horizon. I have generally observed a coppery or
yellow sun-set to foretell rain; but, as an indication of wet weather
approaching, nothing is more certain than a halo round the moon,
which is produced by the precipitated water; and the larger the
circle, the nearer the clouds, and consequently the more ready to
fall.

_Hal_. I have often observed that the old proverb is correct—

‘A rainbow in the morning is the shepherd’s warning;
A rainbow at night is the shepherd’s delight’

Can you explain this omen?

_Phys_. A rainbow can only occur when the clouds containing or
depositing the rain are opposite the sun,—and in the evening the
rainbow is in the east, and in the morning in the west. As,
therefore, our heavy rains in this climate are usually brought by the
westerly wind, a rainbow in the west indicates that the bad weather
is on the road, by the wind, to us; whereas, the rainbow in the east
proves that the rain in these clouds is passing from us.

_Poiet_. I have often observed that when the swallows fly high, fine
weather is to be expected or continued; but when they fly low, and
close to the ground, rain is almost surely approaching. Can you
account for this?

_Hal_. Swallows follow the flies and gnats, and flies and gnats
usually delight in warm strata of air; and as warm air is lighter,
and usually moister than cold air, when the warm strata of air are
high, there is less chance of moisture being thrown down from them by
the mixture with cold air; but when the warm and moist air is close
to the surface, it is almost certain that, as the cold air flows down
into it, a deposition of water will take place.

_Poiet_. I have often seen sea-gulls assemble on the land, and have
almost always observed that very stormy and rainy weather was
approaching. I conclude that these animals, sensible of a current of
air approaching from the ocean, retire to the land to shelter
themselves from the storm.

_Orn_. No such thing. The storm is their element, and the little
petrel enjoys the heaviest gale; because, living on the smaller
sea-insects, he is sure to find his food in the spray of a heavy
wave; and you may see him flitting above the edge of the highest
surge. I believe that the reason of this migration of sea-gulls, and
other sea-birds, to the land, is their security of finding food; and
they may be observed, at this time, feeding greedily on the
earth-worms and larvæ driven out of the ground by severe floods; and
the fish on which they prey in fine weather in the sea, leave the
surface, and go deeper in storms. The search after food, as we have
agreed on a former occasion, is the principal cause why animals
change their places. The different tribes of the wading birds always
migrate when rain is about to take place; and I remember once, in
Italy, having been long waiting, in the end of March, for the arrival
of the double snipe in the Campagna of Rome, a great flight appeared
on the 3rd of April, and the day after heavy rain set in, which
greatly interfered with my sport. The vulture, upon the same
principle, follows armies; and I have no doubt that the augury of the
ancients was a good deal founded upon the observation of the
instincts of birds. There are many superstitions of the vulgar owing
to the same source. For anglers, in spring, it is always unlucky to
see single magpies,—but _two_ may always be regarded as a favourable
omen; and the reason is, that in cold and stormy weather one magpie
alone leaves the nest in search of food, the other remaining sitting
upon the eggs or the young ones; but when two go out together, it is
only when the weather is warm and mild, and favourable for fishing.

_Poiet_. The singular connexions of causes and effects to which you
have just referred, makes superstition less to be wondered at,
particularly amongst the vulgar; and when two facts, naturally
unconnected, have been accidentally coincident, it is not singular
that this coincidence should have been observed and registered, and
that omens of the most absurd kind should be trusted in. In the west
of England, half a century ago, a particular hollow noise on the
sea-coast was referred to a spirit or goblin, called Bucca, and was
supposed to foretell a shipwreck. The philosopher knows that sound
travels much faster than currents in the air; and the sound always
foretold the approach of a very heavy storm, which seldom takes place
on that wild and rocky coast without a shipwreck on some part of its
extensive shores, surrounded by the Atlantic.”

Dr. Jenner has collected in the following amusing lines a large number of
the natural prognostics of rain. They are said to have been addressed to
a lady, who asked the Doctor if he thought it would rain to-morrow.

“The hollow winds begin to blow,
The clouds look black, the glass is low;
The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,
And spiders from their cobwebs peep:
Last night the sun went pale to bed,
The moon in halos hid her head:
The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,
For, see! a rainbow spans the sky:
The walls are damp, the ditches smell,
Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel;
Hark! how the chairs and tables crack;
Old Betty’s joints are on the rack;
Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry,
The distant hills are seeming nigh.
How restless are the snorting swine,—
The busy flies disturb the kine.
Low o’er the grass the swallow wings;
The cricket, too, how loud it sings:
Puss on the hearth with velvet paws,
Sits smoothing o’er her whisker’d jaws.
Through the clear stream the fishes rise,
And nimbly catch the incautious flies:
The sheep were seen at early light
Cropping the meads with eager bite.
Though June, the air is cold and chill;
The mellow blackbird’s voice is still.
The glow-worms, numerous and bright,
Illum’d the dewy dell last night.
At dusk the squalid toad was seen,
Hopping, and crawling o’er the green.
The frog has lost his yellow vest,
And in a dingy suit is dressed.
The leech, disturb’d, is newly risen,
Quite to the summit of his prison.
The whirling winds the dust obeys,
And in the rapid eddy plays;
My dog, so alter’d in his taste,
Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast;
And see yon rooks, how odd their flight!
They imitate the gliding kite,
Or seem precipitate to fall,
As if they felt the piercing ball:—
’Twill surely rain,—I see with sorrow,
Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.”

Uncivilized nations often entertain the absurd notion that certain
individuals can command the rain whenever they please. Much honour is
shown to persons supposed to possess this power, for they are considered
as having some mysterious intercourse with heaven. Catlin gives a
striking instance of this superstition as it exists among the Mandans of
North America. These people raise a great deal of corn; but their
harvests are sometimes destroyed by long-continued drought. When
threatened with this calamity, the women (who have the care of the
patches of corn) implore their lords to intercede for rain; and
accordingly the chiefs and doctors assemble to deliberate on the case.
When they have decided that it is necessary to produce rain, they wisely
delay the matter for as many days as possible; and it is not until
further urged by the complaints and entreaties of the women, that they
begin to take the usual steps for accomplishing their purpose. At length
they assemble in the council-house with all their apparatus about
them—with abundance of wild sage and aromatic herbs, to burn before the
“Great Spirit.” On these occasions the lodge is closed to all except the
doctors and some ten or fifteen young men, the latter being the persons
to whom the honour of making it rain, or the disgrace of having failed in
the attempt, is to belong.

After having witnessed the conjurations of the doctors inside the lodge,
these young men are called up by lot, one at a time, to spend a day on
the top of the lodge, and to see how far their efforts will avail in
producing rain; at the same time the smoke of the burning herbs ascends
through a hole in the roof. On one of these occasions, when all the
charms were in operation, and when three young men had spent each his day
on the lodge in ineffectual efforts to bring rain, and the fourth was
engaged alternately addressing the crowd of villagers and the spirits of
the air, but in vain, it so happened that the steam-boat “Yellow Stone,”
made her first trip up the Missouri river, and about noon approached the
village of the Mandans. Catlin was a passenger on this boat; and helped
to fire a salute of twenty guns of twelve pounds calibre, when they first
came in sight of the village, which was at some three or four miles
distance. These guns introduced a new sound into the country, which the
Mandans naturally enough supposed to be thunder. “The young man upon the
lodge, who turned it to good account, was gathering fame in rounds of
applause, which were repeated and echoed through the whole village; all
eyes were centred upon him—chiefs envied him—mothers’ hearts were beating
high, whilst they were decorating and leading up their fair daughters to
offer him in marriage on his signal success. The medicine-men had left
the lodge, and came out to bestow upon him the envied title of
‘medicine-man,’ or ‘doctor,’ which he had so deservedly won—wreaths were
prepared to decorate his brows, and eagle’s plumes and calumets were in
readiness for him—his enemies wore on their faces a silent gloom and
hatred; and his old sweethearts who had cast him off, gazed intensely
upon him, as they glowed with the burning fever of repentance. During
all this excitement, Wak-a-dah-ha-hee (or the white buffalo’s hair) kept
his position, assuming the most commanding and threatening attitudes;
brandishing his shield in the direction of the thunder, although there
was not a cloud to be seen, until he (poor fellow) being elevated above
the rest of the village, espied, to his inexpressible amazement, the
steamboat ploughing its way up the windings of the river below, puffing
her steam from her pipes, and sending forth the thunder from a
twelve-pounder on her deck. ‘The white Buffalo’s hair’ stood motionless,
and turned pale; he looked awhile, and turned to the chief and to the
multitude, and addressed them with a trembling lip—‘My friends, we will
get no rain!—there are, you see, no clouds; but my medicine is great—I
have brought a _thunder-boat_! look and see it! the thunder you hear is
out of her mouth, and the lightning which you see is on the waters!’

“At this intelligence, the whole village flew to the tops of their
wigwams, or to the bank of the river, from whence the steamer was in full
view, and ploughing along to their utter dismay and confusion. In this
promiscuous throng, chiefs, doctors, women, children, and dogs, were
mingled, Wak-a-dah-ha-hee having descended from his high place to mingle
with the frightened throng. Dismayed at the approach of so strange and
unaccountable an object, the Mandans stood their ground but a few
moments; when, by an order of the chiefs, all hands were ensconced within
the piquets of their village, and all the warriors armed for desperate
self-defence. A few moments brought the boat in front of the village,
and all was still and quiet as death; not a Mandan was to be seen upon
the banks. The steamer was moored, and three or four of the chiefs soon
after walked boldly down the bank, and on to her deck, with a spear in
one hand, and a calumet, or pipe of peace in the other. The moment they
stepped on board, they met (to their great surprise and joy) their old
friend Major Sanford, their agent, which circumstance put an instant end
to all their fears.”

It was long, however, before the rain-maker could be persuaded to come
forward, or to listen to the assurance that his medicine had nothing
whatever to do with the arrival of the ship. Unwilling to lose the fame
of having produced such a phenomenon, he continued to assert that he knew
of its coming, and by his magic had caused it to approach. But he was
little regarded in the universal bustle and gossip which was going on
respecting the mysteries of the “thunder-boat.”

Meanwhile the day passed on, and towards evening a cloud began to rise
above the horizon. Wak-a-dah-ha-hee no sooner observed this, than, with
shield on his arm and bow in hand, he was again upon the lodge.
“Stiffened and braced to the last sinew, he stood with his face and his
shield presented to the cloud, and his bow drawn. He drew the eyes of
the whole village upon him, as he vaunted forth his superhuman powers;
and at the same time commanded the cloud to come nearer, that he might
draw down its contents upon their heads and the corn-fields of the
Mandans. In this wise he stood, waving his shield over his head,
stamping his foot, and frowning as he drew his bow and threatened the
heavens, commanding it to rain—his bow was bent, and the arrow drawn to
its head, was sent to the cloud, {210} and he exclaimed, ‘My friends, it
is done! Wak-a-dah-ha-hee’s arrow has entered that black cloud, and the
Mandans will be wet with the water of the skies!’ His predictions were
true—in a few moments the cloud was over the village, and the rain fell
in torrents. He stood for some time wielding his weapons, and boasting
of the efficacy of his _medicine_ to those who had been about him, but
were now driven to the shelter of their wigwams; and descended from his
high place (in which he had been perfectly drenched) prepared to receive
the honours and homage that were due to one so potent in his mysteries;
and to receive the style and title of _medicine-man_.” Catlin further
informs us, that when the Mandans undertake to make it rain, they always
succeed, for their ceremonies never stop until rain begins to fall: and
also, that he who has once made it rain never attempts it again; his
medicine is undoubted—and on future occasions of the kind he stands
aloof, giving an opportunity to other young men who are ambitious to
signalize themselves in the same way.

A superstition similar to that of the Mandans prevails also among the
Caffers of Southern Africa, and among the natives of Ceylon. The Caffer
chiefs, attended by their warriors, proceed with much ceremony, and laden
with presents, to the dwelling of the rain-doctor, where a grand feast is
held while certain charms are in process. The impostor at length
dismisses his guests with a variety of instructions, on the due
observance of which the success of their application is to depend. These
instructions are generally of the most trifling kind: they are to travel
home in perfect silence; or they are not to look back; or they are to
compel every one they meet to turn back and go home with them. Should
rain happen to fall, the credit is given to the rain-doctor; but should
the drought continue, the fault is laid upon the failure of the
applicants to fulfil these instructions with sufficient exactness.

Major Forbes gives an account of an old rain-doctor in Ceylon, who had
plied a lucrative trade for many years, and at length wished to retire
from business. But the people were highly incensed at the idea of losing
his services, especially as a most distressing drought was at that time
the scourge of the land. So persuaded were they of his powers, that they
all agreed, that when required to do so by a whole village, he should be
compelled to furnish rain in sufficient quantities; and that if he was
insensible to rewards, he should be tormented with thorns or beaten into
compliance. In vain did the poor old impostor at length declare the
truth, and assure the people that he had no power whatever to make it
rain. They treated his words with disdain, and dragged their victim from
village to village, inflicting stripes at every halt. Even the chief of
the district had determined on having rain by force, if fair means should
fail, and ordered the rain-doctor to be taken to the village where rain
was most required. On his way thither he was so fortunate as to meet
with Major Forbes, who took him under his protection, and probably saved
his life, though not without some difficulty, for it so happened that a
few slight showers fell near his own village, while all the rest of the
neighbourhood was suffering the extremity of drought.

Melancholy indeed is the condition of these poor people; in utter
ignorance of the source of all the providential mercies bestowed upon
them, and, therefore, made the dupes and credulous followers of knaves
and impostors of every kind!

In some cases, however, the missionaries have happily succeeded in
opening the eyes of the deluded people to the cheat which is practised on
them. One of the most intelligent of the Caffers of Southern Africa,
having been led to suspect the integrity of the rain-maker, visited Mr.
Shaw, and told him of his determination to have the question set at rest,
whether or no the rain-maker could produce rain. He had summoned the
rain-maker to meet Mr. Shaw in an open plain, when all the Caffers of the
surrounding kraals were to be present to decide the affair. Accordingly,
at the appointed time and place, thousands of Caffers from the
neighbouring country assembled in their war-dresses. Mr. Shaw, being
confronted with a celebrated rain-maker, declared publicly that God alone
gave rain; and then offered to present the rain-maker with a team of oxen
if he should succeed in making it rain within a certain specified time.
This was agreed to; the rain-maker began his ceremonies, which are said
to have been well calculated to impose upon an ignorant and superstitious
people. The time having expired without any signs of rain, the chief who
had called together the meeting asked the rain-maker why he had so long
imposed upon them? The rain-maker complained that he had not been paid
well enough for his rain; and appealed to all present, whether rain had
not always been produced when he had been properly paid. Mr. Shaw then
pointed out some half-famished cattle belonging to the rain-maker, which
were seen on a neighbouring hill starving for want of pasturage, and
remarked, that if he really possessed his boasted skill, he would not
have neglected his own interests. To this the rain-maker cleverly
replied, “I never found a difficulty in making rain until _he_ (pointing
to Mr. Shaw) came among us; but now, no sooner do I collect the clouds,
and the rain is about to fall, than immediately there begins a sound of
_ting_, _ting_, _ting_, (alluding to the chapel-bell,) which puts the
clouds to flight, and prevents the rain from descending on your land.”
Mr. Shaw was not able to tell what effect this ingenious excuse had upon
the majority of the Caffers, but he had the satisfaction of knowing that
the intelligent chief, who consulted him on the subject, never _bought_
any more rain.

Already Published in this Series.

I.—THE SNOW STORM.
II.—THE FROZEN STREAM.
III.—THE RAIN CLOUD.

Shortly will be Published.

IV.—THE DEW DROP.
V.—THE THUNDER STORM.
VI.—THE TEMPEST.

Footnotes:

{18} Physico-Theology by the Rev. Wm. Derham.

{55} See Frontispiece to this Chapter, p. 36.

{85} See Frontispiece to this Chapter, p. 74.

{133} This plan was brought before the notice of the British Association
for the advancement of Science in the year 1840.

{155} Harvey’s Meteorology, in the Encyclopædia Metropolitana.

{181} One of the stones which fell at L’Aigle, on being analysed by
Thenard, gave—

Silica 46 per cent.
Magnesia 10
Iron 45
Nickel 2
Sulphur 5

{210} See Frontispiece to this Chapter, p. 190.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Rain Cloud - or, An Account of the Nature, Properties, Dangers and Uses of Rain in Various Parts of the World" ***

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