Biology is the science of life, the true doctrine concerning all living
things. Animal biology is that branch of the science which relates to
animals, as distinguished from plants. It tells of these animals what
we know about them, where and how they live, what food they eat, how it
is received, and how they grow and multiply. Of all the sciences, this
seems most extensive, having for its field a world of numberless forms,
alike in that they all live, and have some characteristics in common,
yet showing great diversity in their structure, appearance, and mode of
life. In this summary of facts we shall simply classify, or methodically
arrange in groups, according to their distinguishing peculiarities, the
members of this vast family.
The animal kingdom is divided into the following sub-kingdoms, each
of which is subdivided into classes. The following table shows these
divisions in their proper order, beginning with the lowest:
SUB-KINGDOM I—_Protozoa_. { Class I—Monera.
{ Class II—Gregarinida.
{ Class III—Rhizopoda.
{ Class IV—Infusoria.
SUB-KINGDOM II—_Spongida_.
SUB-KINGDOM III—_Cœlenterata_. { Class I—Hydrozoa.
{ Class II—Anthozoa.
{ Class III—Ctenophora.
SUB-KINGDOM IV—_Echinodermata_. { Class I—Crinoidea.
{ Class II—Asteroidea.
{ Class III—Echinoidea.
{ Class IV—Holothuroidea.
SUB-KINGDOM V—_Vermes_. { Class I—Flat Worms.
{ Class II—Round or Thread Worms.
{ Class III—Rotifera.
{ Class IV—Polyzoa.
{ Class V—Brachiopoda.
{ Class VI—Annelidæ.
SUB-KINGDOM VI—_Mollusca_. { Class I—Lamellibranchiata.
{ Class II—Gasteropoda.
{ Class III—Cephalopoda.
SUB-KINGDOM VII—_Articulata_. { Class I—Crustacea.
{ Class II—Arachnida.
{ Class III—Myriapoda.
{ Class IV—Insecta.
SUB-KINGDOM VIII—_Tunicata_.
SUB-KINGDOM IX—_Vertebrata_. { Class I—Pisces.
{ Class II—Reptilia.
{ Class III—Aves.
{ Class IV—Mammalia.
SUB-KINGDOM I.
_Protozoa_ (first animals). These earliest formed animals are
distinguished for the simplicity of their structure. In some cases their
animal nature was long ago in doubt, and they were, for a time, put down
as probably belonging to the vegetable kingdom. The border line between
the two has never been very definitely located. Biologists may fail to
tell just what special quality distinguishes the minute animal from the
microscopic plant. This is not wonderful, when it is remembered that
myriads of animals, known to be such, are so small that it requires a
lens of strong magnifying power to discover them. Three thousand of them,
placed side by side, would make a line but little over an inch long.
CLASS I.—_Monera_ (single). These are the simplest forms of microscopic
aquatic animals. They are entirely homogeneous, and without any
developed organs; mere particles, of a jelly-like, but living, or
life-supporting substance, called protoplasm, or more properly, bioplasm.
This, all admit, is the physical basis of life, and the medium of its
manifestation, just as the conductor is a medium of manifestation
of electricity. But is it not a stupid blunder to confound the mere
medium of its manifestation with the life itself? In neither case is
the recognized physical basis of the manifestation necessary to the
existence of that manifested by its means. Electricity exists without the
conductor, and life may exist without the bioplasm.
CLASS II.—_Gregarinida_ (living in herds). Minute animals which are found
in the intestines of the lobster, clam, and cockroach. They are worm-like
in form, and of a very simple, cell-like structure, the only organ being
a nucleus.
CLASS III.—_Rhizopoda_ (root footed). The representative forms of this
class are the _Amœba_[1] and _Foraminifera_. The amœba is an indefinite
little bit of bioplasm, as structureless as the monera, only that it
is made up of two layers of the substance, has an apparent nucleus,
and a contractile cavity within. These first animals vindicate their
right to be recognized as such, by moving, receiving food, growing, and
reproducing their kind. They move by a contractile force, throwing out
at will processes of their soft bodies, to serve them as feet and arms.
True, these are blunt, and without digits, but they answer the purpose.
They eat either by simple absorption, or by wrapping their soft bodies
around the food, and holding it in the extemporized stomach till it is,
in some way, assimilated.
The work of reproduction is carried on principally by self-division, and
budding. The animal rends itself into two or more parts, each having all
the elements of the whole, or it throws out buds that mature and drop
from the parent mass, having the vital element, and a portion of the
bioplasm, or medium necessary to its development.
[Illustration: FORAMINIFERA, SHOWING ROOT-LIKE FEET.]
The _Foraminifera_ (perforated animals), of this class, have several
peculiarities. The body is even more simple, being apparently without
layers or cavity. The processes thrown out as arms and legs are not
blunt or massive, but long and slender. And, moreover, small as it is,
it has the wonderful property of secreting about itself an envelope,
whose thin walls are built of the carbonate of lime. The delicate little
structures are often singularly beautiful. Some are monads, having but a
single shell; others, by a process of budding add new cells or chambers,
often in a spiral coil. These are marine shells, and their numbers in
many parts of the ocean are astounding. The bottom of the sea, for many
degrees on both sides of the equator, wherever examined by dredging, is
found covered with them, either still in their organic state, or ground
by attrition to a fine lime dust. It is estimated that a single pound of
the sea bottom in some localities contains millions of them, and they are
the principal material of the chalk hills.
CLASS IV.—_Infusoria._ This class includes _Vorticella_ (wheel animals),
_Flagellata_ (whip-shaped animals), _Tentaculata_ (having tentacles),
and others. Their general characteristics do not differ widely from
those already mentioned. As the name imports, they are mostly found
in vegetable infusions that have been exposed for some time, and are
directly the product of invisible cells or animal germs that were
floating in the atmosphere till a lodgment was found favorable to their
development. Those called _Vorticella_, to the eye seem simply mould on
the plant to which they are attached, but under the glass their animal
qualities appear; and they multiply with amazing rapidity. Every drop
of water from a stagnant pool is full of these animalculæ, of various
shapes and dimensions, some of them constantly in motion, propelled
by numerous cilia, or slender, hair-like appendages that fringe the
circumference, and are used as oars. Their whole organism, though
delicate, and having a thin membranous covering, is imperfect. There are
two contractile openings, with a slight depression at the mouth, leading
to a funnel-shaped throat, into which the nutritive substances descend.
SUB-KINGDOM II.
_Spongida_, or sponges, are especially worthy of mention. When much
less was known of their nature and habits, they were classed with
vegetables, but since their mode of reproduction has been discovered,
they are known to be animals. The sponge is formed of an aggregation of
ciliated cells, built together on a skeleton or framework of calcareous
or silicious substance, that extends by slow external secretions as the
animal body grows. There is a central cavity toward which there are
numerous channels, from openings on the surface, through which water
is continually received, and one through which it is discharged. The
animal part is a sensitive, gelatinous film, extending through the
growing mass, and spreads out over the surface. It is perforated, in
places, and adapts itself to all the sinuosities and intersections of
the canals that run in every direction. The little animals are provided
with exceedingly fine cilia that they keep in almost constant motion; no
one knows how, or for what, but it is supposed they thus sweep in the
water that circulates through all the channels and chambers formed for
it. After death, the soft matter, like all animal tissues, decays, or is
dried up; and by beating and washing, it and any calcareous substances
are removed. The horny, elastic fibers are found so exquisitely connected
about the internal canals and cavities that water is freely admitted,
or by pressure expelled. Sponges are found in every latitude, but are
more numerous and grow larger in warm climates. Those in our markets are
mostly from the Bahamas and the islands of the Mediterranean. They are
obtained by diving, often to great depths.
SUB-KINGDOM III.
_Cœlenterata_ (hollow intestines). These are radiate animals, have a
distinct digestive cavity, and always two layers of tissue in their
walls. They have minute sacs containing a fluid, and barbed filaments
capable of being thrown out as stings. The classes of the Cœlenterata
are the _Hydrozoa_, _Anthozoa_, and _Ctenophora_. The best known
representative of the former is the fresh water _hydra_ (water animal).
It gives but slight evidence of a nervous system, has no stomach, or
digestive sac, but is a simple tube into which the mouth opens. The
sensitive little body is in color and texture, to the casual observer
more like a plant than an animal. It is attached at one end to a
submerged aquatic plant, while the mouth at the free end is provided with
tentacles,[2] by which it feeds and moves. It buds, and also produces
eggs. The young hydra, when hatched or thrown off, attaches itself to
plants, as did its parents. Some hydroids attach themselves to shells,
and are supported by horny, branching skeletons, specimens of which are
numerous, and may be seen in almost any museum.
[Illustration: HYDRA, SHOWING BUDS.]
A second representative of this class is the jelly fish. It has a soft,
gelatinous, circular body, that floats or swims on the surface in calm
weather, with the mouth downward. Tubes radiate from the center to
the circumference that is fringed all around with pendant tentacles,
sometimes of great length and of considerable contractile power. They
are of various sizes, some quite small, others as much as eight feet in
diameter. They move about by flapping their sides, after the manner of
opening and shutting an umbrella. When dried, the thin, filmy covering
is very light. One variety, called _Lucernaria_, is found attached to
grasses along the Atlantic shore. But the ordinary jelly fish is free,
and borne on the surface of the sea.
The _Anthozoa_ (flower animals) are small, but not microscopic animals,
having a double cavity, the inner of which is the digestive sac. The
best known of the class is the _Actinia_ (rayed), or sea anemone, so
called from its resemblance to a plant or flower of that name. The body
is somewhat like a flower in shape. The disc has a central orifice, very
contractile, and surrounded with tubular tentacles of various forms,
which it elongates, contracts, and moves in different directions. They
are so many arms by which the animal seizes its prey, and when expanded
for the purpose, being tinted with brilliant colors, present an elegant
appearance, and make vast fields of the ocean look like beautiful flower
gardens. They feed voraciously on little crabs and mollusks, that
often seem superior to themselves in strength and bulk, but they have
power in their little tentacles to seize and hold their prey, and when
they engulf large bodies the stomach is distended to receive them; and
their digestion is good. The purple sea anemone is very common on the
southern shores of England, and one species, found on the shores of the
Mediterranean, is said to be esteemed a great delicacy by the Italians.
At night, or when alarmed, the animal draws in its arms, shuts the door,
and seems but a rounded lump of flesh, a huge oyster without a shell. The
coral polyps (many footed), belonging to this class, are little folk,
but of importance from their well-earned reputation as reef builders.
They are very diminutive creatures, mere drops of animal jelly, often not
larger than the head of a pin, but their works show unmistakable evidence
of life, and an organic structure. They live in communities, closely
united, but each, having a distinct individuality, by the sure process
of secreting a portion of the calcareous matter within reach, prepares
for himself a house, as all his ancestors have done, and his neighbors
are now doing. They build together, their foundations having strong
connections, and thoroughly cemented. There in his own little palace the
polyp lives, his food being brought to his lips; and, having sent out a
numerous progeny to do likewise for themselves, there he dies. Life and
death, as in all mundane communities, being in close proximity, the old
dying, a new generation builds houses over their sepulchres.
[Illustration: SEA ANEMONE.]
The great variety of corals seen in any extensive collection, some very
beautiful, others rough and unsightly, are from different branches of a
very extensive family. _Astrea_ (star shaped), from the Fiji islands, is
a kind of coral hemisphere, covered with large and beautiful cells.
_Mushroom coral_ is disc shaped, not fixed or attached, and is the
secretion, not of many, but of a single huge polyp.
_Brain coral_ is globular, and the surface irregularly furrowed or
corrugated.
_Madrepora_ (spotted pores) _coral_ is neatly branched, the branches
having pointed extremities ending in single minute cells.
_Porites_, or sponge coral, is also branched, but the branches are not
pointed, and the surface smoother.
_Tubipora_, or organ pipe coral, shows some very striking peculiarities.
A section of the vast structures built by them resembles a collection
of regular, smooth, red colored pipes, firmly bound together by cross
sections.
Coral rocks are of slow formation, but have attained prodigious
dimensions; whole islands are of coral origin, and in some seas the
concealed rocks make navigation dangerous. The reefs are often 2,000 feet
thick, though it is estimated that not more than five feet are added in a
thousand years. The little architects were at work early.
_Corallium rubrum_, or red coral, much sought after and precious, is
shrub-like, of fine texture, and a beautiful crimson color. In a living
state its branches are said to be covered over with bright polyps, and
the skeleton receives a very fine polish. It is used for ornaments.
Professor Dana says: “Some species grow in large leaves rolled round each
other, like an open cabbage, and another foliated kind consists of leaves
more crisped, and of more delicate structure. ‘Lettuce coral’ would be a
significant name; each leaf has its surface covered with polyp flowers.
The clustered leaves of acanthus and oak are at once called to mind by
this species.”
[Illustration: CORAL ISLAND.]
_The Ctenophora_ (comb-bearing) are considered the highest of the
Cœlenterata, having a more complex digestive apparatus, and better
developed nervous system. Their long tentacles, and comb-like cilia are
used for swimming.
SUB-KINGDOM IV.
_Echinodermata_ (spiny skinned) have all their parts symmetrically
arranged about a central axis, a contractile heart, good digestive
organs, and a peculiar system of radiating canals extending through the
organism. They are a numerous family of exclusively marine animals, and
their characteristics furnish an interesting study. Most naturalists
mention four classes.
CLASS I.—_Crinoidea_, or sea lilies, now nearly extinct, are fixed to
rocks, or the sea bottom, by what seems simply a stem, but is the body
of the animal. At the top is the mouth, resembling an expanding bud
or flower that opens upward, surrounded by long tentacles, or arms,
not unlike the sea anemone. It is supported by a calcareous skeleton
consisting of many members, stiff-jointed, crossing and interlacing with
one another. When living, the gelatinous animal partly envelops this
framework.
CLASS II.—_Asteroidea_, or star fish, have a flat disc, five or more
radiating arms extending some distance from the body at the center, and
containing a part of the viscera. The mouth is where the arms meet, and
opens downward. The upper surface is studded over with rough knobs,
between which are the openings of many little tubes, for the passage
of water into and out of the body. The round mouth is very dilatable,
enabling it to receive large and solid objects for its food, which
there is no attempt to masticate. After the digestive organ is somehow
wrapped around the shell fish on which it feeds, it is held in its firm
embrace till the nutritive portion is disposed of, and then thrown out.
They are voracious eaters, devouring all kinds of garbage that would
otherwise accumulate along the shores, valuable as sea scavengers, though
destructive of living crustaceans and shell fish.
CLASS III.—_Echinoidea_ (hedgehog-like) are covered with spines which
they move either by the enveloping membrane or by small muscles properly
situated for the purpose. The thin, horny, and, when dry, very light
skin is peculiar, in that it is composed of regularly shaped, pentagonal
plates, arranged in radiating zones, every alternate plate perforated
with small holes; and among the spines, but capable of extending beyond
them, are little arms, provided at the end with forceps, probably for
seizing their prey, or for ridding themselves of troublesome parasites.
These are also used for locomotion. They are less active than some others
of the family, live near the shore among rocks, or under the seaweed,
feed on crabs, and are oviparous.[3]
CLASS IV.—_Holothuroidea_ (whole mouthed). They are elongated, like
a cucumber, and the head end terminates abruptly, the mouth being a
circular opening surrounded with feathery tentacles. They have remarkable
muscular power, by which they can disgorge the contents of the stomach,
throw off their tentacles, and even eject most of their internal
organs, and survive the loss, afterward producing others, perhaps more
satisfactory or in a healthier condition. In tropical climates, they have
been likened to the sea urchin, without a shell, but are proportionally
longer, and their axis horizontal.
SUB-KINGDOM V.
_Vermes_ (worms). Animals having head and tail composed of segments. The
digestive organ is tubular, and the nervous system a double chain of
ganglia[4] on the ventral[5] surface. There are six classes of vermes.
The animals differ greatly in appearance.
CLASS I.—_Flat worms_ are best known as the parasites that infest
animals, such as the liver fluke of the sheep, and the tapeworm. The flat
worms pass through a very peculiar metamorphosis, some varieties taking
as many as seven different forms.
CLASS II.—_Round or Thread Worms_ are represented by the pin worm and
_Trichina_. The latter is the dangerous worm which finds its way into the
human system from pork flesh, in which it is imbedded.
CLASS III.—_Wheel Animalculæ_, or _Rotifera_. A most interesting
microscopic worm, abounding in fresh water and in the ocean. They will
remain dried up for years, and then recover life. Their shapes are very
peculiar.
CLASS IV.—_Moss Animals_, or _Polyzoa_, are the animals which form a
coral-like shell. They are abundant on the seashore, and are called sea
mosses.
CLASS V.—_Lamp Shells_ (_Brachiopoda_). These worms are marine, and form
a bivalve shell, the valves being on either side of the body. The body
has long arms on one side of the mouth, which bear fringes; the motion of
the fringes draws food into the mouth. They are also used in respiration.
But few species of the Brachiopods are now living, though they were once
very plenty.
CLASS VI.—_Annelidæ._ This last class includes the leeches, a flat worm,
whose body is divided into segments; the earth or angleworm, a familiar
worm of many segments, and the marine worms. Each segment of the latter
bears clusters of bristles, used in swimming.
SUB-KINGDOM VI.
_Mollusca_ (soft). General characteristics—Mollusks, a numerous branch
of the animal kingdom, are so called from the softness of their bodies,
which usually have no internal skeleton or framework to support them.
They are covered with a tough, muscular skin, and generally protected
by a shell. They have a gangliated nervous system, in some cases well
developed, the medullary[6] mass not enclosed in a cranium or spinal
column—of which they are mostly destitute—but distributed more or
less irregularly through the body. They have hearts, and an imperfect
circulative system, the blood being pale or blueish. Some breathe in air,
some in fresh, more in sea water. Some—both of those on land and those in
water—are naked, others have a calcareous covering or shell. The larger
marine mollusks are often guarded by very strong, heavy shells. Some are
viviparous, others oviparous, and multiply rapidly.
[Illustration: SNAIL.]
Three general, and many subdivisions are recognized. The total number of
living species is said to exceed twenty thousand, of which only a few can
be mentioned. The classes under this division are _Lamellibranchiata_,
_Gasteropoda_, and _Cephalopoda_. The chief representatives of the first
class are all ordinary bivalves.
_Ostrea_ (oysters) are well known bivalve mollusks. The shells are so
irregular in surface and shape that it would be impossible, as it is
unnecessary, to describe them. The animal itself is very simple in
structure, proverbially stupid, low in the scale of animal life, but
highly esteemed as a delicious article of food. They are found in almost
all seas, and in water of from two to six fathoms, but never very far
from some shore. They multiply so rapidly that, though the consumption
increases with the increase of population and the facilities for
distributing them, the supply is equal to the demand. Boston is mostly
supplied from artificial beds, and the flats or shallow bays in the
vicinity of our maritime cities abound in such “plants.” Baltimore and
New York have each an immense local trade, and the oysters exported from
the Chesapeake Bay fisheries amount to about $25,000,000 annually.
CLASS II.—_Gasteropoda_ (stomach-footed). This class, including the great
snail family, is a very large division of terrestrial, air-breathing
mollusks. Their light shells vary much in form; when spiral and fully
developed they have as many as five or six whorls, symmetrically
arranged. The shell can contain the whole body, but the animal often
partially crawls out and carries the shell on its back. The locomotion is
slow and accomplished by the contractile muscle of the ventral foot.
CLASS III.—_The Cephalopoda_ (head-footed) have distinctly formed heads,
large, staring eyes, mouths surrounded with tentacles or feelers,
symmetrically formed bodies wrapped in a muscular covering; they have all
the five senses, and are carnivorous. This class is entirely marine, and
breathes through gills on the side of the body. The naked _Cephalopoda_
are numerous, and furnish food for many other animals. Those living
in chambered shells, once numerous, are now known principally by
their fossils, the pearly _Nautilus_ (sailor) being their only living
representative. This has a smooth, pearly shell, and is much prized as
an ornament. It is a native of the Indian Ocean, dwelling in the deep
places of the sea, and at the bottom. The shell is too well known to
need description, and but few specimens of the living animal have been
obtained.
[Illustration: NAUTILUS.]
The following facts as to the physical organization and habits of
this interesting species of univalves are gleaned from the American
Cyclopædia, and given for those who have not access to any extensive work
on the subject; they were mostly copied for the Cyclopædia from Professor
Owen’s celebrated memoir, and the “Proceedings of the Linnæan Society of
London:”
The posterior portion of the body containing the viscera is soft, smooth
and adapted to the anterior chamber of the shell; the anterior portion is
muscular, including the organs of sense and locomotion, and can be drawn
within the shell. The mantle is very thin behind, and prolonged through
the calcareous tube of the occupied chamber as a membranous siphon,
and through all the divisions of the shell to the central nucleus;
on the upper part of the head is a broad, triangular, muscular hood,
protecting the head when retracted and used as a foot for creeping at the
bottom of the sea, with the shell uppermost. … The mouth has two horny
mandibles, like the beak of a parrot reversed, the lower overlapping
the upper, moving vertically, and implanted in thick, muscular walls.
… There are ninety tentacles about the labial processes and head. The
internal cartilaginous skeleton is confined to the lower surface of
the head, a part of the cephalic nervous system being protected in a
groove on its upper surface, and the two great muscles which fasten the
body to the shell are attached to it. The funnel is very muscular and
is the principal organ of free locomotion, the animal being propelled
backward by the reaction of the ejected respiratory current against the
water before it. … The nautilus, though the lowest of the Cephalopods,
offers a nearer approach to the vertebrate animals than does any
other invertebrate, in the perfect symmetry of the organs, the larger
proportion of muscle, the increased bulk and concentration of the nervous
centers in and near the head, and in the cartilaginous cephalic skeleton.
The mature nautilus occupies but a small part of the shell, the parts
progressively vacated during its growth are one after another partitioned
off by their smooth plates into air tight chambers, the plates growing
from the circumference toward the center, and pierced by the membranous
siphon. The young animal before the formation of these chambers can not
rise from the bottom of the sea, but the older ones come to the surface
by the expansion and protrusion of their bodies producing a slight vacuum
in the posterior part of the chamber unoccupied, and, some say, by the
exhalation of some light gas into the other deserted chambers. They
rise in the water as a balloon does in the air, because lighter than
the element surrounding them. They float on the surface with the shell
upward, and sink quickly by reversing it. By a nice adjustment, in the
completed structure, between the air chambers and the dwelling chamber,
the house and its inhabitant are nearly of the same specific gravity as
water. … In parts of the Southern Pacific, at certain seasons of the
year, fleets of these little ships are carried by the winds and currents
to the island shores, where they are captured and used for food.
[Illustration: ARGONAUT.]
_The Paper Nautilus_, or argonaut, secretes a thin, unchambered shell in
which its eggs are carried; has tentacles or arms with which it crawls
on the bottom, and swims backward, usually with the back down, squirting
water through its breathing funnel. The argonaut differs from the true
nautilus in having larger arms of more complicated structure, with sucker
discs, and partially connected by a membrane at the base. It has an ink
gland and sac, for its secretion. It has a great number of little cells,
containing pigment matter of different colors, whose contractions and
expansions give it a remarkable power of rapidly changing its tints.
There is no internal shell, and it is ascertained that the external shell
is peculiar to the female, and is only an incubating and protective nest
for the eggs. The eggs are attached to the involuted spire of the shell,
behind and beneath the body of the female. From the fact that the animal
has no muscular or other attachment to its shell, and has been known,
after quitting it, to survive sometime without attempting to return, the
argonaut has been supposed to be a parasitic occupant of the cast off
shell of another, but is now pretty clearly proved to be the architect
of its own shell, which it also repairs when broken by the agency of
its palmated arms. It is said the argonaut rises to the surface, with
the shell upward, turning it downward when it floats on the water; by
drawing the six arms within the shell and placing the palmated ones on
the outside, it can quickly sink. This explains why the animal is so
seldom taken with the shell. The shell is flexible when in water, but
very fragile when dry. The largest known specimen is in the collection of
the Boston Society of Natural History; it is 10 by 6½ inches. For a full
account of this animal see “Proceedings of the Boston Society of Natural
History,” vol. v, pp. 369-381.
_End of Required Reading for April._
JERRY McAULEY AND HIS WORK.
BY COLEMAN E. BISHOP.
Extremes of life meet in a great city. “Man, the pendulum betwixt a
smile and tear,” here swings between the utmost extremes of squalor and
splendor, misery and enjoyment, sin and virtue. That conflict between
good and evil—old as the human soul, its arena—is waged nowhere as
fiercely as here, where life is intense and assailable souls are legion.
You have to go but a little below the surface of city life to find a
worse than Dante’s “Inferno;” and if that were the whole story, if there
were no compensating charities, one would feel it a mercy to call down on
the city the desolation, and the peace of Sodom.
But, thank God! there _are_ those redeeming, reforming influences to give
one new hope for civilization, new faith in humanity, or new faith in
divine grace. Its missions and charities are the sunny side of New York.
There are over one hundred and thirty established missions in the city,
with a million and a half of dollars permanently invested, beside the
other millions required to support them; and the eleemosynary and relief
institutions of New York outshine the charities of all other cities,
proportioned to numbers. Some liberal, devout souls seem to be looking
after every conceivable phase of suffering and sin, and if the devil
seems generally to be getting the advantage, let us believe that it is
because his antagonists are not more numerous, rather than because he is
any smarter or attends more strictly to business. Indeed, the ingenuity
of some of the foes of sin, might put to confusion the proverbial
originality of the great adversary. Of these exceptional efforts, perhaps
there is none more unique than the work of the late Jerry McAuley, nor
one that has wrought so great results with so little human aid; nor one
to which the Christian believer can point as a testimony of divine agency
with greater confidence.
Yet, a thoughtful study of the man and his work will reveal the rationale
of it, and help us to understand why it took hold of a certain class
in the way it did; that is, why he proved so exact a means to that
exact end. The characteristics and training that made Jerry McAuley
a successful criminal made him, when his nature and purpose had been
transformed, a successful missionary. The son of a counterfeiter, he was
educated in the worst streets and dens, graduated a tippler and petty
thief in his boyhood, and took his degrees of gambler, drunkard, burglar
and wharf rat; and at the age of nineteen was convicted and sentenced
to fifteen years’ imprisonment. Short and inglorious career of sin! To
be followed by a long and glorious one of righteousness, and crowned at
last with a triumphant death in faith! Here for seven years he hardened
under perfunctory gospel ministrations and prison discipline, until at
the right time Orville Gardner, known as “Awful Gardner, the Reformed
Prize-fighter,” found Jerry and led him to that change which he always
called his “transformation.” He was pardoned out, only to meet the
killing, chilling reception that society gives to one who has passed the
bars. Now followed seven years of struggles for an honest life. Only his
soul and its Maker know what these were. At one time he relapsed into
his old ways, but he was sought and reclaimed by agents of the Howard
(“Five Points”) Mission. Strange, is it not, that good people are so much
more alert to recall the fallen than to aid the struggling and keep the
rescued secure? Why is it that interest in the unfortunate is deferred
till interest seems useless?
Jerry now conceived the plan of a mission to people of his own old
life, men and women tempted in all points like unto himself. He applied
for advice and help to one or two clergymen and some wealthy church
members, only to meet with mortifying coldness or refusal. We can
readily understand this caution, considering McAuley’s antecedents and
qualifications. He could hardly read and write his own name. Churches are
so fiercely criticised that they have to be very chary about espousing
unpromising enterprises. It was a _natural_ caution if not a _Christian_
charity; worldly if not spiritual wisdom. Besides, are there not still
things that He hides from the wise and prudent, and reveals unto babes?
At length, McAuley found men able and willing to help, and with their aid
he opened his Water Street Mission, in 1872. This situation is one of the
worst in the lower part of the city, in the “Bloody Eighth Ward,” the
haunt of river thieves, sailors and abandoned women of the lowest degree.
It was a “rum start,” indeed, to the denizens of Water Street when one of
their leaders was graduated from prison to prayer meeting; and by scores
they “came to scoff, and remained to pray.” This mission was a success
from the start, and to-day remains in full tide of beneficent operation.
Two years ago Jerry was able to carry out his long-entertained desire to
“do something for up-town sinners” by the establishment of the “Cremorne
Mission.” It was a more daring undertaking because it had to do with more
respectable sinners. He said it was a mistake to speak of those in the
gutter as “hard cases;” their pride and reliance are gone, and they are
not likely to be affronted or resistant when told they need a Savior; the
prosperous and successful are the hard hearted; as you ascend the scale
in means, intelligence and pretension, the harder the sinner becomes.
On West Thirty-Second Street, just off Third Avenue, was the infamous
Cremorne Gardens, one of the most dangerous because _not_ one of the
lowest resorts of abandoned men and women. In this vicinity are many
houses of ill repute of the higher rank; gamblers and sporting men have
their “runways” in that part of the city. Jerry “carried the war into
Africa” by leasing a building next the “Cremorne Garden,” so that in all
respects the sad satire of DeFoe was and is reversed,
“Wherever God erects a house of prayer
The Devil always builds a chapel there;
And ’twill be found upon examination
The latter has the larger congregation.”
The passenger by the elevated railroad, or one of the several street car
lines that converge at the intersection of Sixth Avenue and Broadway,
may see any evening a brilliant prismatic sign of “Cremorne Garden,” and
seemingly just above it this more brilliant legend:
JERRY MCAULEY’S CREMORNE MISSION.
He will reach the Mission first, as he approaches this strange
conjunction of stars; Jerry said he wanted the Lord to have the first
chance at a sinner when he could.
The doors are open night and day, and some one is always there to welcome
the visitor. A “protracted meeting” is held here all the year, and all
the years, around. Going in, you stand in a long, narrow hall, with high
ceilings modestly decorated; an aisle down the middle flanked by rows of
oaken settees terminates at a low platform on which are chairs, a cheap
desk, and a grand piano. The place seats five or six hundred. The hall
is brilliant with electric lights, and the walls are illustrious with
such Scripture quotations as, in the words of one of the converts, have
been found most apt to “fetch ’em”—_i. e._, sinners. By the platform are
conspicuous notices that speeches are limited to one minute each, a rule
that is easily enforced in the case of the converts, because they have
only facts to tell, and do not seem to be in love with that sweetest
music on earth, the sound of their own voices. “One minute each,” Jerry
would say: “Don’t be too long; cut off both ends and give us the middle;
you need not get mad, as some people have done, if I ring this bell.”
“All right,” replied one easy speaker; “If I get long-winded pull me down
by my coat tails;” whereat all laughed heartily, as they frequently do.
Jerry McAuley’s method, first and last, was unique, but simple and very
effective. Testimonies are the great reliance. They teach salvation by
object lessons, prove the truth of conversion by concrete examples.
There is no argument, no exhortation, no didactics, no theological
disquisition. What need of these in the presence of these living
examples? A man stands up and says: “For twenty years I was a common
drunkard and thief. Five years ago I found Christ here. I have not
touched a drop nor stolen a thing since.” McAuley was won by _proof_. He
said: “It was a testimony that brought me. I was ‘sent up’ for fifteen
years and six months; I listened to preaching there for over seven years,
but I was still unmoved. Then a man came along who gave his experience.
He had been a wicked man. That man told just my history; but he was
saved, and since there was hope for a desperate man like him, I knew
there was hope for me. And there was! Now you have heard the biggest
debtor to grace that is in the room, let the next heaviest debtor follow
me.” Others were won by the undeniable transformation of Jerry. These
things were irresistible. Men describe the effect on themselves of these
living witnesses:
“The Bible reading and the prayer did not have any effect upon
me, but the testimonies of some who had been, as I could not help
admitting to myself, just as I then was, did affect me. I felt
that I was in the same boat as they had been in. The conviction
of my state forced itself upon me, whether I wanted to think of
it or not.”
“I came to this meeting three weeks ago. I was drunk when I came
in here, but drunk as I was, those testimonies, such as you
have heard to-night, reached me, and I went forward to those
chairs. There I gave my heart to Christ after serving the devil
forty-seven years.”
“When I first heard the testimonies here I thought those who
spoke had great impudence to tell all about their past lives, but
by and by I felt that they were describing my case. Then, as they
told how Jesus saved them, I felt I needed to be saved.”
“As testimony after testimony was given I would say to myself:
that’s me, that’s me.”
Another said that the prayer and Bible reading did not affect
him, but the testimonies were “like shot after shot fired at him.”
These effects are driven home and clinched by direct personal efforts
with penitents, by attentions that follow them to their homes or shops,
or into evil haunts, by relief and creature comforts—in a word, by an
interest vigilant, ceaseless, and tender as divine love, because inspired
by it.
As the method is peculiar, the atmosphere of the meeting is. One familiar
with ordinary devotional meetings, and, more, with revival efforts,
can not fail to notice here the contrast. Speaking is uniformly in an
ordinary tone, and in a conversational, matter-of-fact manner—an effect
that is heightened by the use of phrases common in the resorts where some
of the converts learned their vernacular. And prayer is specially subdued
and low toned—the more impressive and reverential on account of it.
Then, one feels the momentum of the exercises and the tone of
cheerfulness and joy that prevail. There is none of that exhortation
to “improve the precious time;” none of that dismal bewailing of
spiritual barrenness and besetting doubts, fears and temptations, which
sometimes make devotional exercises mechanical and dreary, and furnish
stumbling-blocks to young believers. These converts do not dwell much on
their _enjoyment_ of religion; albeit, they do one and all give thanks
without ceasing for their deliverance. One notes, too, the absence of
cant, of quotations and set phrases; everything is original. There
is little exhortation of others. In short, like Bartimeas, they know
“Whereas I _was_ blind, _now_ I see;” and unlike the blind man, they
know who worked the miracle.
It was the founder and leader of the two missions who gave all this
tone to their services. He was of a medium height and slender, with a
heavy, wiry moustache, keen eyes, a nervous temperament, energetic,
quick-witted, sympathetic; one readily caught good feeling and
confraternity from his presence. He would flash out at a hymn, a text, or
a testimony, with a bit of experience. Before two sentences had passed
his lips he probably would leap down from his place on the platform,
saying, humorously: “I can’t talk up on that stage,” and go down the
aisle as if to hold pleasant converse with his audience. It was a strange
_melange_ of earnestness, experience, humility and wit, with not the
least attempt at eloquence, and apparently no study of effects. He
describes one case of conversion:
“This man had come into the meeting with his head about twice the
usual size, and his eyes as red as a red-hot poker. You could
have squeezed the rum out of him. He asked me to pray with him,
but I hadn’t much faith in the man, but that’s just where God
disappointed me. I was deceived. The man meant business.”
The missions are supported entirely by voluntary contributions left in
the boxes by the door. Sometimes these run low. One night Jerry asked
all who were glad to be there to hold up their hands. All hands up.
“Now,” said he, “when you take your hands down put them way down—down
into your pockets, and fetch something out to put in the boxes by the
door.” He said, that to run a mission successfully required “grace, grit
and greenbacks.” I fancy considerable of his influence was due to his
knowledge of the secret hearts, the personal experiences of his auditors;
he was like a priest at confessional, when out of meeting. There are no
_verbatim_ reports of his talks extant, and if there were they would give
the reader no proper idea of the man, because the grotesqueness of his
language would probably be the most striking feature of them. He must
have been heard to be understood, and even then I think he could not have
been understood save by those whose experience and modes of life gave
them the touchstone.
Sister Maggie is a typical convert. At one of the Cremorne missions a
Sunday-school worker from the East Side told of his class of fifteen
street boys and girls. “I asked them,” he said, “how many of them drank
beer, and all promptly put up their hands. I asked how many thought it a
bad practice, and only four or five responded. I then told them of the
evils that drink led to, and cited them numerous examples within their
knowledge, and finally asked how many of them would resolve never to
drink any more beer. About half of them kept their hands down, and in a
way that showed they meant business.”
This discouraging incident brought to her feet, on the platform, a tall,
thick-set, strong-featured woman. She spoke with a strident, energetic
voice, a Bowery accent, and a manner to which all thought of shrinking or
embarrassment was a stranger. It was Sister Maggie. She said, as nearly
as I recall the words: “This teaching children beer-drinking is the
beginning of all the deviltry. I was passing a dive yesterday and I saw a
little kid come out with a pail of beer that she had been sent for, and
no sooner was she outside the door than the pail went to her head. That’s
the way I used to do, and learned to drink and steal at the same time.
But God can help us to reclaim even beings so badly educated. He helped
me, and there can’t be a worse case on the East Side. There is not a dive
over there that I haven’t been drunk in. Brother S. knows how often I
have drank with him at old C.’s dead-house (rum-shop). Sixteen years ago
I was a leper, a confirmed sot. If you had seen me you would not have
believed that I could have been saved. Christians said I was too far
gone; they said there was not enough woman left in me to be saved. I had
had the jim-jams twicet. [Laughter.] The first time I had ’em I thought
my back hair was full of mice—oh, that was awful! [More laughter.] I was
just getting over the tremens when I first come in here. I was a walking
rag-shop, and if you’d a seen me you’d give me plenty of room on the
walk. I staggered in and sat down on the very backest seat. Now they let
me sit up here on the platform. What d’ye think of that? God helped me,
and he has helped me now for sixteen years, and I am going through. I am
happy. I have friends and good clothes, and more than all, I have _a good
home_, and that is what I never knew before.”
At the mention of the word “home,” all the woman’s instinct asserted
itself, and for the first time her voice softened, and her manner melted;
she sobbed, and sat down.
I can give no complete idea of the effect of this, because the reader
can know nothing of the surroundings, the antecedents of the speaker and
of many of her listeners, and the keen rapport that ties them together.
These worshipers are a class and an organization by themselves; they have
no church affiliations, and their worship is _sui generis_; many of them
were outcasts of society in former years, they stand alone since their
reformation, and they are drawn close together in their isolation. True,
there are many among them who were always respectable members of society;
many who since their conversion here have joined churches; there are
richly dressed and cultured-looking people scattered in these audiences;
but the fact remains that the genius and distinctive _personnel_ of the
meetings are of the order of which Jerry McAuley and “Sister Maggie” and
their ministrations are representatives.
I know of no religious exercises better calculated to inspire the
true religious feelings of faith, charity, humility, gratitude, and
rejoicing—the distinguishing marks of the original Christian following.
But they differ from the noisy demonstrations which sometimes are
taken for “primitive Christianity,” as they do from the cold and
conventional worship which advertises itself in brownstone structures and
double-barred mahogany pews. If one wants to get a breath of vigorous
faith and wholesome humility, he should attend the Sunday evening
services at one of the McAuley Missions.
Jerry McAuley died suddenly, but not unexpectedly, last September. His
funeral, held at the great Broadway Tabernacle, was one of the largest
ever seen in this city, and was attended by hundreds of abandoned
characters who had been reclaimed through his instrumentality, and who
were probably never inside of a church before, and may never be again.
Women with painted faces, but with tears in their eyes and bits of crape
fastened at their throats or arms, stood with downcast heads beside other
women who, under other circumstances, would have shunned them. Thus
did all classes testify to the power of simple faith and devotion in a
poor, uncultured outcast. Over the platform in his chapels are his last,
characteristic words:
“IT’S ALL RIGHT.”
“The workman dies, but the work goes on.” There is no calculating the
power and extent of the influences this humble worker has set in motion.
Beside the hundreds of living examples of his labor here, the seed has
scattered to the four winds of heaven, and sprung up in various forms to
bless the world—in other cities and other lands. The Missions publish
_Jerry McAuley’s Newspaper_, which, extensively circulated, especially
in prisons and “the slums” of cities, carries the glad tidings of the
testimonies to do a silent and unknown work. An affecting feature of the
private work of these converts is their efforts to hunt out and reclaim
missing boys and girls. Letters are received from agonized parents, from
distant points as well as the city, imploring the help of missionaries to
find these estrays; and their efforts are often successful.
I close with one example of this radiating, ramifying influence: Michael
Dunn was an English thief by inheritance, for his parents were thieves,
and as he expresses it, “he had thieving on the brain.” He had spent the
greater part of thirty-five years in different prisons, and continued
the same life after coming to this country. One evening an unconverted
man sent him into the McAuley Mission as a joke, but it proved to Dunn a
blessing, for he found a Savior, and the desire for stealing was all cast
out. He was moved to undertake that most important work, the provision
of a home for refuge and work for his brother ex-convicts. After many
trials and difficulties he finally established the Home of Industry, No.
40 Houston Street, New York, where many lost men who were a terror to
society, have been made honest Christian citizens, and are working to
save others. Nor did the work stop here. In the autumn of 1883, Dunn was
called to San Francisco, California, to open a similar Home in that city,
where his labors are as successful as they were in New York.
EIN FESTE BURG IST UNSER GOTT.
TRANSLATION OF LUTHER’S FAMOUS HYMN.
Our God’s a fastness sure indeed,
A trusty shield and weapon;
He helps us free in every need
That unto us may happen.
The old wicked foe
Now in earnest doth go,
Deep wiles and great might
In his fell store unite,—
The earth holds not his fellow.
By strength of ours is nothing done,
Full soon are we dejected!
But on our side’s a champion
By God himself elected.
And who may that be?
Christ Jesus is he,
The Lord God of Hosts!
All gods else are vain boasts,
Our camp is in his keeping.
Though demons rage both far and near
And gape our souls to swallow;
Not all too great shall be our fear;
Success our steps shall follow.
The prince of this world,
Though threats he hath hurled,
To us can do nought,
For if to judgment brought
One word declares his sentence.
To let the word stand they are fain,
And small thereby their merit;
He dwells among us on the plain
With gifts and with his spirit.
What though they take life,
Goods, name, child, and wife,
We need not rebel—
No profit those to hell,
While ours must be the kingdom.
THE WEATHER BUREAU.
BY OLIVER W. LONGAN,
Of the War Department.
In an article on the “War Department” in THE CHAUTAUQUAN for December,
mention was made of the weather observations by the Signal Corps of
the army. This novel service—novel both in its character and in its
assignment to a military department—was commenced in 1870, under a
resolution of Congress, approved February 9th of that year, which
required the Secretary of War “To provide for taking meteorological
observations at the military stations in the interior of the continent,
and at other points in the states and territories of the United States,
and for giving notice on the northern lakes and on the sea coast, by
magnetic telegraph and marine signals, of the approach and force of
storms;” and in June, 1872, the provisions of the service were extended
to include “the agricultural and commercial interests” of the country.
The plan of organization and the superintendence of the service were
imposed upon the chief signal officer of the army, then General Albert J.
Myer,[A] to whose memory the signal and the weather services are living
monuments.
If failures are of value in guiding succeeding attempts in the same
line, General Myer had the advantage of a number, both in this country
and Europe, but attributing those failures to a want of proper agents
rather than to mistakes of method, and being thoroughly imbued with the
idea that efficient service from a body of men employed in the same
enterprise can be obtained only by enrolling them under the oath of
enlistment as subjects of military discipline, he could adopt all the
methods of operation which had already been tried by others, and, uniting
with them his own, could undertake the work with a confidence in men as
much as in measures, and make sure progress over the same road that had
been too difficult for others to travel. The signal service, which had
been organized by him as a special and distinct department of the army,
was well prepared to operate the most important agent in the work, the
magnetic telegraph, and it has constructed its lines over a great extent
of country not yet reached by civilization, connecting frontier military
posts with each other and with the lines owned and operated by private
companies.
The office division first established under the law of Congress, which
has been mentioned, was called by the appropriate but too extensive name
of “Division of Telegrams and Reports for the Benefit of Commerce,”
but great works which have been proved and not found wanting may, like
great men, afford to adopt simpler titles without loss of favor, or if
they will not do so voluntarily, such titles will be fashioned for them
and fastened to them by the people, who have not time to regard the
official proprieties that would hold them off at a respectful distance
by an appearance of gravity of demeanor or by an impressive name, so the
office has come to be familiarly known as the “Weather Bureau,” and the
officials in charge have accepted the designation without objection. It
detracts nothing from the appreciation of the work they accomplish in
giving information—premonitory—of wind and rain, heat and cold, frost and
snow, river flood and ocean tide, and much more of interest and value
day by day—yes, and night by night as well—for the inhabitants of this
continent, and in adding to the knowledge of meteorology which is eagerly
sought by the scientists of the world.
The service contemplated by Congress was at first intended—if we may
judge by the language of the law—only to benefit persons interested in
the commerce upon the great lakes and the ocean. Then the agriculturists
were permitted to take share in the advantage afforded by a prevision
of the weather. But we are all too greatly interested personally in the
kind of weather expected to-morrow or the next day not to seek to profit
by the work done for those engaged in special business when there may
be great gain for us as individuals without robbery of their peculiar
rights. Our interest moves us to speech almost unconsciously, as we meet
our friends by the way and tell them, what they already know as well as
we, about the kind of weather then prevailing, or express our hopes or
fears for what soon will be. Work and play are sources of profit and
pleasure, according to the influences of the weather, and the signs of
olden time are numberless, to which we give our confidence, whether they
come from the beasts of the field, or the fowls of the air, or the fishes
of the sea, or are indications based upon a correct philosophy, well
known but not well understood. The masses of the people will not give up
their attachment to these signs, nor for the old-fashioned almanac which
their fathers consulted for their weather predictions, but now that they
have the aid of a great government institution conducted by men who study
the weather as a science, and who have patiently held out to them the
benefit of their investigations until the good natured skepticism and the
raillery of the multitude who dubbed the genius of the weather service
“Old Probabilities,” has all been banished and has given place to full
faith and credit, they ought to acknowledge, and no doubt do, that their
personal wants in this respect have been recognized, and they will take
interest in the methods by which they are met and satisfied.
Every feature of the signal service has been brought into requisition
and use for the work of weather observations and storm warnings, and
the original bureau seems to have been so wholly absorbed in the new
one that the corps will be known, except perhaps in official circles,
only by its operations in this special field, until war shall call for
the more frequent use of the flags and rockets and lights, by the aid
of which a great part of the rapid communication pertaining to the
business of warfare is carried on. The _personnel_ of the corps comprises
a chief signal officer (brigadier-general), twelve second lieutenants,
one hundred and fifty sergeants, thirty corporals, and three hundred
and twenty privates. Prior to 1878 there were no signal officers in the
regular establishment except the chief, but in that year authority was
given to appoint two second lieutenants annually from the sergeants, and
the selection for these appointments is made by competitive examination.
Officers are assigned to duty with the corps by detail from the regiments
of the army, and after a course of instruction return to their proper
stations, and are succeeded by others. A few civilians are employed in
the office in Washington city, in various capacities, including that of
professional scientist and instructor, but the great work of observation
is done by the army force, so called because every member of it is
ready at any moment to lay aside his special duties and take up arms
for any emergency. The pay of the officers is that of their grade in
the army: $5,500 per annum for a brigadier-general; $1,400 for a second
lieutenant, with an increase of ten per centum after each five years
of service, until the increase reaches forty per centum (after twenty
years’ service), when no more is added. (This increase, called longevity
pay, is not given to any officer above the rank of colonel.) As the
government is supposed to furnish a habitation of a certain number of
rooms for each commissioned officer, there is quite an augmentation
of the pay when the duty requires a station where there are no public
quarters, as is the case in most of the service for the weather bureau,
and commutation is paid. The pay of the enlisted men varies according to
their rank and station of duty, but is based upon the army pay table. The
pay of a sergeant, including all allowances, averages monthly within a
few cents of the following amounts: At a military post where quarters and
rations are provided in kind, $40; at an observing station, $80; at the
office in Washington city, $100; that of a corporal $25, $65, and $85;
that of a first class private $22, $62 and $82, and a decrease of four
dollars for a second class private, the respective stations being those
mentioned for the sergeant. The great difference in the pay of the same
man at different places is made by the “extra duty pay,” and commutation
of allowances (rations, quarters, fuel and clothing) when they can not
be furnished in kind. The entrance into the service is by an enlistment
of five years. Every man must pass a rigid examination into his physical
and educational qualifications. The service presents advantages not
found in any other branch of the army. The inducements attract a well
educated class of men, many of them graduates of colleges, who find in
the scientific part of the work at least, a congenial pursuit.
The school of instruction is at Fort Myer (formerly Fort Whipple), a
military station in Virginia, on the bank of the Potomac river, nearly
opposite Washington city. The course embraces the drill and discipline
of the soldier, the code of signals, the construction and operation of
telegraph lines, the use of meteorological instruments, and the method
of taking observations. The central office in Washington occupies an
ordinary looking brick building of uncertain age, half a square west of
the War Department building. It was originally two two-story dwelling
houses, but has received an additional story and “Mansard” roof, and has
been fitted for its present use. The plain and dingy exterior escapes
critical notice by the display of the mysterious looking machinery
and fixtures upon the roof. An immense arrow (anemoscope), with broad
feather-tip end, turns its point ever “in the wind’s eye,” and is
imitated by two smaller ones at a lower elevation. Several sets of
spinning instruments of various sizes stand in different places. These
are the anemometers for measuring the velocity of the wind. The part of
each visible from the ground is simply a vertical rod with four branches
on the top, each branch having a hemispherical shaped cup upon its outer
end, so placed as to catch the wind in its convex side. The force of the
wind gives the cups a rotary motion in a horizontal plane, which causes
the vertical rod to revolve and record by connecting mechanism and dials
the velocity of the wind in miles per hour. Near the center of the roof
may be seen a vessel with a funnel shaped top into which the rain falls
and is measured to ascertain the depth in inches, of which accurate
record is kept. Close by is a framework supporting a small cage-like
structure with lattice sides and tight roof, within which are hung the
thermometers, barometers, and other instruments consulted regularly at
intervals, to ascertain the temperature, pressure, and humidity of the
atmosphere. These fixtures and instruments are used for the purpose
of obtaining indications of the weather, and for the instruction of
“Observers,” and serve as well for standards by which instruments to
be sent to other places may be tested. Only a portion, however, of the
business of the office is done in the building mentioned, a number of
others in the vicinity being occupied for the several departments of the
work.
The central office is connected by telegraph with stations in the
principal cities of the country, at the sea and lake ports, and at points
along the Atlantic and gulf coasts, uniting with stations of the United
States Life Saving Service, for it is there that the work of greatest
value, the saving of human life, is done. The number of stations is
limited only by the amount of money provided by Congress for their
maintenance. The top of Pike’s Peak and the summit of Mount Washington
both contribute their share of upper air phenomena, and the lowest
valleys in the interior give up their secrets of the atmosphere at its
greatest depth. What an ocean it is, with its surface which we are told
is a certain number of miles above us, and its bottom, which we know is
under our feet, its shoreless currents, some as gentle as the breath of
an infant, others more fierce and swift than the whirlpool rapids of
Niagara. To learn of these currents their force and direction, whence
they come and whither they go, the laws to which they are subject, has
been the fascinating study of amateur meteorologists and the pursuit of
men of professional attainments in science for many years. But their
discoveries were of little practical value before Professor Morse, on a
May day forty years ago, sent over a telegraph wire between Washington
and Baltimore, his first message in the form of a question which since
has been answered in wonders by the same agent then employed, and the
same now used to send warning of the coming storm, whose swift wings have
no other rival.
The weather stations are distinguished under a classification made by a
special service performed at each, and are known as telegraph, printing,
display, special river, cotton region, and sunset stations. A number of
them may have all the special features indicated by the different names,
while others may have but the one feature which gives it its place in the
class. The last mentioned are so called, not, as the name may possibly
suggest, because they are located away off toward sundown, but because of
the special observation taken at the time of sunset which affords so good
an indication of the probable weather for to-morrow. It recalls the fact
that the Jews were reminded more than eighteen hundred years ago of their
habit of observation in this particular, which was a rebuke for their
failure to read “the signs of the times.” A great number of reports are
received at the Weather Bureau weekly and monthly, by mail from volunteer
observers, from medical officers at military posts, from agricultural and
scientific societies, and at regular times from meteorological societies
in the old world, but as none but the telegraphic reports have more than
a relative connection with the work of weather indications for which we
are looking day after day, it is sufficient for the purposes of this
article to simply mention the fact that there are several hundred of
these mail reports from which record of permanent and daily increasing
value is made for study and information of the climate in various
sections of the country.
The station service necessarily commenced under the disadvantage of
having no observers of experience, but there was only one way to get
them, and the beginning of the work was the commencement of the education
of the men who were to perform it. At this time there is not only the
course of instruction at Fort Myer, but men as assistants at stations
are perfecting themselves to occupy the places of those who have become
masters in the profession, or to take charge of new places. The telegraph
stations number about one hundred and fifty, and at each one is an
“Observer Sergeant,” with one or more assistants. Their equipment in
instruments is similar to that which has been mentioned in connection
with the central office, viz.: For ascertaining the temperature of the
air; the weight or pressure and relative humidity of the atmosphere;
the direction, force, and velocity of the wind; and the depth of the
rainfall; also at river stations for taking the temperature of the water,
and for measuring its rise or fall; and at display stations signal
flags and lanterns are included. The observers take the record from
their instruments at regular intervals every day and night, Sundays and
holidays included. There are three of these observations—taken at 7:00
a. m., 3:00 p. m., and 11:00 p. m., Washington time—telegraphed to the
central office. Those taken at other hours are not telegraphed unless
called for, but are recorded and enter into the weekly and monthly mail
reports. The dispatch is in cipher, which permits the sending of a long
message in from five to twelve words, giving pressure, temperature,
direction, and velocity of wind, depth of rain or snow fall, appearance
and movement of clouds and any special meteorological phenomena present,
and adding from river and coast stations the stage of water in the
rivers and the ocean swell. By preconcerted arrangements with telegraph
companies, the reports pass over the wires without delay or interruption,
and all reach the central office within about forty minutes after the
observations are taken. They are at once translated and entered upon
graphic charts—outline maps of the United States—on which each station is
marked by its geographical location. By the use of symbols and figures
all the meteorological conditions of each locality are exhibited, and
so perfect is the system of arrangement for reporting and drafting
that in less than two hours from the time the record was taken by the
“Observers,” the officer who is to make the weather predictions has all
the reports before him in the central office.
The ever-changing conditions of weather are in a manner photographed,
and serve as guides for the work which immediately follows the making
up of the charts. First the “synopsis” of conditions is made up, then
the predictions or “indications” of the kind of weather expected, and
the places where storm warnings are to be shown are determined, and
in the form of a bulletin they are telegraphed to all parts of the
country as the “Press Report,” to observing stations to be reproduced
and furnished to local papers, posted in public offices and mailed to
postmasters for exhibition in their offices, several hundred postoffices
in some instances being supplied from one station. They are also placed
in railroad stations and distributed from trains at points along their
lines. Thus the people are advised of the kind of weather prevailing over
the district of country in which they live, and informed of the changes
that may be expected within twenty-four or forty-eight hours.
“Observers” at their several stations publish in connection with the
“indications” telegraphed from the central office, the conditions
prevailing in their own localities, and in large cities where weather
maps are hung in the rooms of boards of trade, merchants’ exchange,
or other important offices, they place or change the symbols used to
indicate the conditions at all the stations, as they receive them from
reports passing them to the central office or repeated from the latter.
The development and progress of all storms are as clearly delineated upon
the charts prepared in the central office as it is possible for sensitive
instruments to reveal them, and special attention is given to indications
of high winds approaching the coasts. Orders are sent by telegraph to
the maritime stations within a region likely to be visited by dangerous
winds, and a “cautionary signal”—a square white flag with a square red
center by day, or a red-center light by night—is displayed, remains out
until notice is received from the central office that the danger has
passed. This signal is used as the storm approaches. As the general
direction of storms upon the Atlantic coast, or approaching it, is
easterly or northeasterly, and the direction of the wind is circular and
opposite to the motion of the hands upon a watch, with an inward tendency
toward the “storm center,” as the storm departs from a station the wind
will probably blow from the north or west, and a “cautionary off-shore
signal,” a square white flag with square black center above the red
flag, by day, or a white light above the red by night, may be ordered.
Special record of the velocity of the wind is made at the stations when
storm signals are ordered, and if it reaches twenty-five miles an hour
the display of the signal is regarded as “justified.” These signals have
become a necessity, and the occasions are exceedingly rare in which a
vessel will leave port with one in sight until the captain or master has
first made inquiry at the station for “particulars.” Coasting vessels are
dependent in a great measure upon them; if they pass a station with the
storm-signal displayed, they frequently escape encountering destructive
gales by putting into the nearest port until the danger has passed.
The coast telegraph lines connecting the signal and the life saving
stations have been constructed by the government, and are operated by the
signal corps. The weather stations are equipped for making connections
with the main line at any point, and many instances may be found recorded
in the official reports, of shipwrecks on the coast to which relief has
been brought in a very few hours by the prompt action of “Observers”
opening telegraphic communication from a point abreast the wreck, direct
to the central office in Washington, and sending information to be
repeated, with the weight of official authority, to the nearest port from
which steamers could be sent to the rescue. A vessel in distress, or in
need of any information, if in possession of the international code of
marine signals—a number of nations have adopted the American code—may
communicate with the shore stations. By this code a number of small flags
of various shapes and colors, used singly or together, answer to certain
words and sentences, and these being translated into other languages,
convey from the American or Englishman to the Frenchman, German, or
Spaniard the question or answer desired, as plainly as an affirmative nod
of the head from one to the other would mean yes.
The river reports are an important feature of the service. The
temperature of the waters, surface and deep, taken regularly, makes
a record for the benefit of those engaged in the propagation of food
fishes, which is becoming an important government work. The stage of
water taken in connection with the reports of rainfall and temperature of
the atmosphere in their influence upon deep beds of snow and ice-locked
streams affords ground for warnings, when needed, to persons engaged in
any river traffic, or exposed to floods upon the banks.
The “waves” of temperature have become as real to us as those upon
the ocean, and the prosecution of very many kinds of business, or the
transportation of perishable produce is guided by the reports of the
Weather Bureau, as it foretells the coming of heat or cold. The interior
of the country will no doubt soon have the benefit of signals, as well
as “bulletins.” A large, white flag, with a square black center, is now
displayed at stations in advance of an expected “cold wave,” and before
a great while we may expect the “limited express” upon the different
railroads will be made the bearer of signals to forewarn the inhabitants
of the country through which it passes of the change of weather rapidly
following its track. The possibilities of the service seem to be
unlimited, but the most careful watchfulness of the “Observers,” and
the keen vigilance of the officers who direct them have not yet brought
the elements to reveal all their movements. Sometimes, as a wary foe,
a storm will steal in between the sentinels, or descend from the upper
air, and gathering all its strength into one narrow channel, will drive
destruction through town and country, and leave behind it evidences of
power which we can hardly credit, except by sight.
One of the many specimens exhibited in the National Museum at Washington
is a section of a young oak tree four inches in diameter, with a pine
board, one inch thick, four inches wide at one end, and twelve inches
wide at the other, which has been driven through the tree more than
half its length (eight feet, the label states), and is now held as in a
vise, the tree above and below the board being unbroken. This has been
deposited in the Museum as an evidence of the force of the wind in a
tornado that visited the vicinity of Wesson, Mississippi, April 22, 1883.
The progress of work in the Weather Bureau has been first toward
encompassing great interests in the fields indicated by law, then to
take up the smaller needs pertaining to individual benefit and pleasure,
and as time passes and the service widens there will be personal contact
that will give an intimate knowledge and impression of its value which
narrative can not.
FOOTNOTES
[A] Died at Buffalo, New York, August 24, 1880.
HOW TO WIN.
BY FRANCES E. WILLARD,
President National W. C. T. U.