THE SATELLITES OF JUPITER.

Every owner of a telescope delights to turn it on the planet Jupiter,

both for the spectacle the globe itself affords him, and for a view of

the wonderful system of moons by which the giant planet is attended.

Fortunately the four satellites of Jupiter lie within reach of even

the most modest telescope, and their incessant changes relative to

Jupiter and each other give them a never-ending interest for the

astronomer. Compared with the torpid performance of our moon, which

requires a month to complete a circuit around the earth, Jupiter’s

moons are wonderfully brisk and lively. Nor are they small bodies like

the satellites of Mars, for the second of Jupiter’s satellites is quite

as big as our moon, and the other three are very much larger. It is,

however, true that his satellites appear insignificant when compared

with Jupiter’s own enormous bulk.

The innermost of these little bodies flies right round in a period of

one day and eighteen or nineteen hours, while the outermost of them

takes a little more than a fortnight--that is, rather more than half

the time that our moon demands for a complete revolution. Jupiter’s

satellites are too far off for us to see much with respect to their

structure or appearance even with mighty telescopes. It is, of course,

their great distance from us that makes them look insignificant. They

would, however, be bright enough to be seen like small stars were

it not that, being so close to Jupiter, his overpowering brightness

renders such faint objects in his vicinity invisible.

It was by means of the satellites of Jupiter that one of the most

beautiful scientific discoveries was made. As a satellite revolves

round the giant planet it often happens that the little body enters

into the shadow of the great planet. No sunlight will then fall upon

the satellite, and as it has no light of its own, it disappears from

sight until it has passed through the shadow and again receives

sunlight on the other side. We can watch these eclipses with our

telescopes, and there can be no more interesting employment for

a small telescope. The movements of these bodies are now known so

thoroughly that the occurrence of the eclipses can be predicted. The

almanacs will tell when the satellite is calculated to disappear, and

when it ought again to return to visibility. When astronomers first

began to make these computations a couple of hundred years ago, the

little satellites gave a great deal of trouble. They would not keep

their time. Sometimes they were a quarter of an hour too soon, and

sometimes a quarter of an hour too late. At last, however, the reason

for these irregularities was discovered, and a wonderful reason it was.

Suppose there were a number of cannons all over Hyde Park, and that

these cannons were fired at the same moment by electricity. Though the

sounds would all be produced simultaneously, yet, no matter where you

stood, you would not hear them altogether; the noise from the cannons

close at hand would reach your ears first, and the more distant reports

would come in subsequently. You can calculate the distance of a flash

of lightning if you allow a mile for every five seconds that elapse

between the time you saw the flash and the time you heard the peal

of thunder which followed it. The light and the noise were produced

simultaneously, but the sound takes five seconds to pass over every

mile, while the light, in comparison to sound, may be said to move

instantaneously. That sound travelled with a limited velocity was

always obvious, but never until the discrepancies arose about Jupiter’s

satellites was it learned that light also takes time to travel. It is

true that light travels much more quickly than sound--indeed, about

a million times as fast. Light goes so quickly, that it would rush

more than seven times around the earth in a single second. So far as

terrestrial distances are concerned, the velocity of light is such

that the time required for a journey is inappreciable. The distances,

however, between one celestial body and another are so enormous, that

even a ray of light, moving as quickly as it alone can move, will

occupy a measurable time on the way. Our moon is comparatively so near

us, that light takes little more than a second to cover that short

distance. Eight minutes are, however, required for light to travel from

the sun to the earth; in fact, the sunbeams that now come into our

eyes left the sun eight minutes ago. If the sun were to be suddenly

extinguished, it would still seem to shine as brightly as ever in the

eyes of the inhabitants of this earth for eight minutes longer. As

Jupiter is five times as far from the sun as we are, it follows that

the light from the sun to Jupiter will spend forty minutes on the

journey, and the light from Jupiter to the earth will take a somewhat

similar time. When we look at Jupiter and his moons, we do not see him

as he is now, we see him as he was more than half an hour ago, but

the interval will vary somewhat according to our different distances

from the planet. Sometimes the light from Jupiter will reach us in as

little as thirty-two minutes, while sometimes it will take as much as

forty-eight--that is, the light sometimes requires for its journey a

quarter of an hour more than is sufficient at other times.

We can therefore understand that irregularity of Jupiter’s satellites

which puzzled the early astronomers. An eclipse sometimes appeared a

quarter of an hour before it was expected; because the earth was then

as near as it could be to Jupiter, while the calculations had been

made from observations when Jupiter was at his greatest distance.

It was these eclipses of the satellites which first suggested the

possibility that light must have a measurable speed. When this was

taken into account, then the occasional delay of the eclipses was found

to be satisfactorily explained. Confirmation flowed in from other

sources, and thus the discovery of the velocity of light was completely

established.

Professor Barnard, when studying Jupiter in 1892 with the splendid

refractor at the Lick Observatory, saw a very small point of light

nearer to the planet than the nearest of the four satellites already

known. Further examination showed that this little object was indeed

another satellite. Thus Jupiter has a fifth moon in addition to the

four which have been known so long. This little body is so small and

faint that it can only be discerned under the most favorable conditions

by the most powerful telescopes.

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