Char me the trunk of a redwood tree. Give me pages of white chalk cliffs
to write upon. Magnify me thousands of times, and replace my trifling
immodesties with a titanic megalomania—then might I write largely enough
for our subjects. Because of accessibility and abundance of data, our
accounts deal very much with the relatively insignificant phenomena of
Great Britain. But our subjects, if not so restricted, would be the
violences that have screamed from the heavens, lapping up villages with
tongues of fire. If, because of appearances in the sky, be accepted that
some of the so-called earthquakes of Italy and South America represented
relations with regions beyond this earth, then is accepted that some of
this earth’s greatest catastrophes have been relations with the unknown
and the external. We have data that seem to be indications of
signalling, but not unless we can think that foreign giants have hurled
explosive mountains at this earth can we see such indications in all the
data.
Our data do seem to fall into two orders of phenomena: sounds of Melida,
Barisal, and Belgium, and nothing falling from the sky, and nothing seen
in the sky, and excellently supported observations for accepting a
signal-like intent in intervals and grouping of sounds, at least in
Barisal and Belgium; and the unregularized phenomena of
Worcester-Hereford, Colchester, Comrie, and Birmingham, in which
appearances are seen in the sky, or in which substances fall from the
sky, and in which effects upon this earth, not noted at all in Belgium
and Bengal, are great, and sometimes tremendous. It seems that
extra-geography divides into the extra-sociologic and the
extra-physical; and in the second type of phenomena, we suppose the data
are of physical relations between this earth and other worlds. We think
of a difference of potential. There were tremendous detonations in the
sky at the times of the falls of the little black stones of Birmingham
and Wolverhampton, and the electric manifestations, according to
descriptions in the newspapers, were extraordinary, and great volumes of
water fell. Consequently the events were supposed to be thunderstorms. I
suppose, myself, that they were electric storms, but electric storms
that represented difference of potential between this earth and some
region that was fixed, at least eleven years, over Birmingham and
Wolverhampton, bringing down stones and volumes of water from some other
world, or bringing down stones, and dislodging intervening volumes of
water, such as we have many data for thinking exist in outer space,
sometimes in bodies of warm or hot water, and sometimes as great masses,
or fields, of ice.
Let two objects be generically similar, but specifically different and a
relation that may be known as a difference of potential, though that
term is usually confined to electric relations, generates between them.
Quite as the Gulf Stream—though there are no reasons to suppose that
there is such a Gulf Stream as one reads of—represents a relation
between bodies of water heated differently, given any two worlds, alike
in general constitution, but differing, say, electrically, and given
proximity, we conceive of relations between them other than
gravitational.
But this cloistered earth, and its monkish science—shrinking from,
denying, or disregarding, all data of external relations, except some
one controlling force that was once upon a time known as Jehovah, but
that has been re-named Gravitation—
That the electric exchanges that were recognized by the ancients, but
that were anthropomorphically explained by them, have poured from the
sky and have gushed to the sky, afferently and efferently, between this
earth and the nearby planets, or between this mainland and its San
Salvadors, and have been recognized by the moderns, or the neo-ancients,
but have been meteorologically and seismologically misconstrued by them.
When a village spouts to the sky, it is said to have been caught up in a
cyclone: when unknown substances fall from the sky, not much of anything
is said upon the subject.
Lost tribes and the nations that have disappeared from the face of
this earth—that the skies have reeked with terrestrial civilizations,
spreading out in celestial stagnations, where their remains to this
day may be. The Mayans—and what became of them? Bones of the Mayans,
picked white as frost by space-scavengers, regioned to this day in a
sterile luxuriance somewhere, spread upon existence like the
pseudo-breath of Death, crystallized on a sky-pane. Three times gaps
wide and dark the history of Egypt—and that these abysses were gulfed
by disappearances—that some of the eliminations from this earth may
have been upward translations in functional suctions. We conceive of
Supervision upon this earth’s development, but for it the names of
Jehovah and Allah seem old-fashioned—that the equivalence of wrath,
but like the storms of cells that, in an embryonic thing, invade and
destroy cartilage-cells, when they have outlived their usefulness,
have devastated this earth’s undesirables. Likely enough, or not quite
likely enough, one of these earlier Egypts was populated by sphinxes,
if one can suppose that some of the statuary still extant in Egypt
were portraitures. This is good, though also not so good, orthodox
Evolutionary doctrine—that between types occur transitionals—
That Elimination and Redistribution swept an earlier Egypt with
suctions—because it was written, in symbols of embryonic law, that life
upon this earth must form onward—and the crouching sphinx on the sands
of Egypt, blinking the mysticism of her morphologic mixtures, would
perhaps detain forever the less interesting type that was advancing—
That often has Clarification destroyed transitionals, that they shall
not hold back development.
One conceives of their remains, to this day, wafting still in the
currents of the sky: floating avenues of frozen sphinxes, solemnly
dipping in cosmic undulations, down which circulate processions of
Egyptian mummies.
An astronomer upon this earth notes that things in parallel lines have
crossed the sun.
We offer this contribution as comparing favorably with the works of any
other historian. We think that some of the details may need revision,
but that what they typify is somewhere nearly acceptable.
Latitudes and longitudes of bones, not in the sky, but upon the surface
of this earth. Baron Toll and other explorers have, upon the surface of
this earth kicked their way through networks of ribs and protrusions of
skulls and stacks of vertebræ, as numerous as if from dead land they had
sprouted there. Anybody who has read of these tracts of bones upon the
northern coast of Siberia, and of some of the outlying islands that are
virtually composed of bones cemented with icy sand, will agree with me
that there have been cataclysms of which conventionality and
standardization tell us nothing. Once upon a time, some unknown force
translated, from somewhere, a million animals to Colorado, where their
remains now form great bone-quarries. Very largely do we express a
reaction against dogmatism, and sometimes we are not dogmatic,
ourselves. We don’t know very positively whether at times the animal
life of some other world has been swept away from that world, or not,
eventually pouring from the sky of Siberia and of Colorado, in some of
the shockingest floods of mammoths from which spattered cats and
rabbits, in cosmic scenery, or not. All that we can say is that when we
turn to conventionality it is to blankness or suppression. Every now and
then, to this day, occurs an alleged fall of blood from the sky, and I
have notes upon at least one instance in which the microscopically
examined substance was identified as blood. But now we conceive of
intenser times, when every now and then a red cataract hung in the
heavens like the bridal veil of the goddess of murder. But the science
of today is a soporific like the idealism of Europe before the War broke
out. Science and idealism—wings of a vampire that lulls consciousness
that might otherwise foresee catastrophe. Showers of frogs and showers
of fishes that occur to this day—that they are the dwindled
representatives to this day of the cataclysms of intenser times when the
skies of this earth were darkened by afferent clouds of dinosaurs. We
conceive of intenser times, but we conceive of all times as being
rhythmic times. We are too busy to take up alarmism, but, if Rome, for
instance, never was destroyed by terrestrial barbarians, if we can not
very well think of Apaches seizing Chicago, extra-mundane vandals may
often have swooped down upon this earth, and they may swoop again; and
it may be a comfort to us, some day, to mention in our last gasp that we
told about this.
History, geology, palæontology, astronomy, meteorology—that nothing
short of cataclysmic thinking can break down these united walls of
Exclusionism.
Unknown monsters sometimes appear in the ocean. When, upon the closed
system of normal preoccupations, a story of a sea serpent appears, it is
inhospitably treated. To us of the wider cordialities, it has
recommendations for kinder reception. I think that we shall be noted in
recognitions of good works for our bizarre charities. Far back in the
topography of the nineteenth century, Richard Proctor was almost
submerged in an ocean of smugness, but now and then he was a little
island emerging from the gently alternating doubts and satisfactions of
his era, and by means of several papers upon the “sea serpent” he so
protruded and gave variety to a dreary uniformity. Proctor reviewed some
of the stories of “sea serpents.” He accepted some of them. This will be
news to some conventionalists. But the mystery that he could not solve
is their conceivable origin. To be sure this earth may not be round, or
top-shaped, and may tower away somewhere, perhaps with the great
Antarctic plateau as its foothills, to a gigantic existence commensurate
throughout with the sea monsters that sometimes reach regions known to
us. Judging by our experience in other fields of research, we suspect
that this earth never has been traversed except in conventional
trade-routes and standard explorations. One supposes that enormous forms
of life that have appeared upon the surface of the ocean, did not come
from conditions of great pressure below the surface. If there be no
habitat of their own, in unknown seas of this earth, the monsters fell
from the sky, surviving for a while. In his day, Charles Lyell never
said a more preposterous thing than this—however we have no idea that
mere preposterousness is a criterion.
Then at times the things have fallen upon land, presumably. To
scientific minds in their present anæmia of malnutrition, we offer new
nourishment. There are materials for a science of neo-palæontology—as it
were—at least a new view of animal-remains upon this earth. Remains of
monsters, supposed to have lived geologic ages ago, are sometimes found,
not in ancient deposits, but upon, or near, the surface of the ground,
sometimes barely covered. I have notes upon a great pile of bones,
supposed to be the remains of a whale, out in open view in a western
desert.
In the American Museum of Natural History, New York City, is the
mummified body of a monster called a _trachodon_, found in Converse
County, Wyoming. It was not found upon the surface of the ground, which
is bad for our attempts to stimulate palæontology. But the striking
datum to me is that the only other huge mummy that I know of is another
_trachodon_, now in the Museum of Frankfort. If only extraordinarily
would geologic processes mummify remains of a huge animal, doubly
extraordinarily would two animals of the same species be so exclusively
affected. One at least gives some consideration to the idea that these
_trachodons_ are not products of geologic circumstances, but were
affected, in common, by other circumstances. By inspiration, or
progressive deterioration, one then conceives of the things as having
wafted and dried in space, finally falling to this earth. Our swooping
vandals are relieved with showering mummies. Life is turning out to be
interesting.
Organic substances like life-fluids of living things have rained from
the sky. However, it is enough for our general purposes to make
acceptable simply that unknown substances have, in large quantities,
fallen from the sky. That is neo-ism enough, it seems to me. I consider,
myself, all such data relatively to this earth’s stationariness or
possible motions. In _Ciel et Terre_, 22-198, it is said that, about 2
P. M., June 8, 1901, a glue-like substance fell at Sart. The story is
told by an investigator, M. Michael, a meteorologist. He says that he
saw this substance falling from the sky, but does not give an estimate
of duration: he says that he arrived during the last five minutes of the
shower. Editors and extra-geographers can’t help trying to explain. The
Editor of _Ciel et Terre_ writes that, three days before, there had
been, at Antwerp, a great fire, in which, among other substances, a
large quantity of sugar had been burned. He asks whether there could be
any connection. Antwerp is about 80 miles from Sart.
Sept. 2, 1905—the tragedy of the space-pig:
In the _English Mechanic_, 86-100, Col. Markwick writes that, according
to the _Cambrian Natural Observer_, something was seen in the sky, at
Llangollen, Wales, Sept. 2, 1905. It is described as an intensely black
object, about two miles above the earth’s surface, moving at the rate of
about twenty miles an hour. Col. Markwick writes: “Could it have been a
balloon?” We give Col. Markwick good rating as an extra-geographer, but
of the early, or differentiating type, a transitional, if not a sphinx:
so he was not quite developed enough to publish the details of this
object. In the _Cambrian Natural Observer_, 1905-35—the journal of the
Astronomical Society of Wales—it is said that, according to accounts in
the newspapers, an object had appeared in the sky, at Llangollen, Wales,
Sept. 2, 1905. At the schoolhouse, in Vroncysylite—I think that’s it:
with all my credulity, some of these Welsh names look incredible to me,
in my notes—the thing in the sky had been examined through powerful
field glasses. We are told that it had short wings, and flew, or moved,
in a way described as “casually inclining sideways.” It seemed to have
four legs, and looked to be about ten feet long. According to several
witnesses it looked like a huge, winged pig, with webbed feet. “Much
speculation was rife as to what the mysterious object could be.”
Five days later, according to a member of the Astronomical Society of
Wales—see _Cambrian Observer_, 1905-30—a purple-red substance fell from
the sky, at Llanelly, Wales.
I don’t know that my own attitude toward these data is understood, and I
don’t know that it matters in the least; also from time to time my own
attitude changes: but very largely my feeling is that not much can be,
or should be, concluded from our meagre accounts, but that so often are
these occurrences, in our fields, reported, that several times every
year there will be occurrences that one would like to have investigated
by someone who believes that we have written nothing but bosh, and by
someone who believes in our data almost religiously. It may be that,
early in February, 1892, a luminous thing travelled back and forth,
exploring for ten hours in the sky of Sweden. The story is copied from a
newspaper, and ridiculed, in the _English Mechanic_, 55-34. Upon March
7, 1893, a luminous object, shaped like an elongated pear was seen in
the sky of Val-de-la-Haye, by M. Raimond Coulon (_L’Astro._, 1893-169).
M. Coulon’s suggestion is that the light may have been a signal
suspended from a balloon. The signal-idea is interesting.
In the summer of 1897, several weeks after Prof. Andrée and his two
companions had sailed in a balloon, from Amsterdam Island, Spitzbergen,
it was reported that a balloon had been seen in British Columbia. There
was wide publicity: the report was investigated. It may be that had a
terrestrial balloon escaped from somewhere in the United States or
Canada, or if there had been a balloon-ascension at this time, the
circumstance would have been reported: it may well be that the object
was not Andrée’s balloon. President Bell, of the National Geographic
Society, heard of this object, and heard that details had been sent to
the Swedish Foreign Office, and cabled to the American Minister, at
Stockholm, for information. He publishes his account in the _National
Geographic Magazine_, 9-102. He was referred to the Swedish Consul, at
San Francisco. In reply to inquiry, the Consul telegraphed the following
data, which had been collected by the President of the Geographical
Society of the Pacific:
“Statement of a balloon passing over the Horse-Fly Hydraulic Mining
Camp, in Caribou, British Columbia, 52°, 20′, and Longitude 120°, 30′—
“From letters of J. B. Robson, manager of the Caribou Mining Co., and of
Mrs. Wm. Sullivan, the blacksmith’s wife, there, and a statement of Mr.
John J. Newsome, San Francisco, then at camp. About 2 or 3 o’clock, in
the afternoon, between fourth and seventh of August last, weather calm
and cloudless, Mrs. Sullivan, while looking over the Hydraulic Bank,
noticed a round, grayish-looking object in the sky, to the right of the
sun. As she watched, it grew larger and was descending. She saw the
larger mass of the balloon above, and a smaller mass apparently
suspended from the larger. It continued to descend, until she plainly
recognized it as a balloon and a large basket hanging thereto. It
finally commenced to swing violently back and forth, and move very fast
toward the eastward and northward. Mrs. Sullivan called her daughter,
aged 18, and about this time Mrs. Robson and her daughter were observing
it.”
If someone saw a strange fish in the ocean, we’d like to know—what was
it like? Stripes on him—spots—what? It would be unsatisfactory to be
told over and over only that a dark body had crossed some waves. In
_Cosmos_, n. s., 39-356, a satisfactory correspondent writes that, at
Lille, France, Sept. 4, 1898, he saw a red object in the sky. It was
like the planet Mars, but was in the position of no known planet. He
looked through his telescope, and saw a rectangular object, with a
violet-colored band on one side of it, and the rest of it striped with
black and red. He watched it ten minutes, during which time it was
stationary; then, like the object that was seen at the time of the
Powell-mystery, it cast out sparks and disappeared.
In the _English Mechanic_, 75-417, Col. Markwick writes that, upon May
10, 1902, a friend of his had seen in the sky, in South Devon, a great
number of highly colored objects like little suns or toy-balloons.
“Altogether beats me,” says Col. Markwick.
Upon March 2, 1899, a luminous object in the sky, from 10 A. M., until 4
P. M., was reported from El Paso, Texas. Mentioned in the _Observatory_,
22-247—supposed to have been Venus, even though Venus was then two
months past secondary maximum brilliance. This seems reasonable enough,
in itself, but there are other data for thinking that an unknown,
luminous body was at this time in the especial sky of the southwestern
states. In the _U. S. Weather Bureau Report_ (_Ariz. Sec._, March, 1899)
it is said that, at Prescott, Arizona, Dr. Warren E. Day had seen a
luminous object, upon the 8th of March, “that travelled with the moon”
all day, until 2 P. M. It is said that, the day before, this object had
been seen close to the moon, by Mr. G. O. Scott, at Tonto, Arizona. Dr.
Day and Mr. Scott were voluntary observers for the Weather Review. This
association with the moon and this localization of observation are
puzzling.
_La Nature (Sup.)_ Nov. 11, 1899—that at Luzarches, France, upon the
28th of October, 1899, M. A. Garrie had seen, at 4.50 P. M., a round,
luminous object rising above the horizon. About the size of the moon. He
watched it for 15 minutes, as it moved away, diminishing to a point. It
may be that something from external regions was for several weeks in the
especial sky of France. In _La Nature (Sup.)_ Dec. 16, 1899, someone
writes that he had seen, Nov. 15, 1899, 7 P. M., at Dourite (Dordogne)
an object like an enormous star, at times white, then red, and sometimes
blue, but moving like a kite. It was in the south. He had never seen it
before. Someone, in the issue of Dec. 30th, says that, without doubt it
was the star Fomalhaut, and asks for precise position. Issue of Jan. 20,
1900—the first correspondent says that the object was in the southwest,
about 35 degrees above the horizon, but moving so that the precise
position could not be stated. The kite-like motion may have been merely
seeming motion—object may have been Fomalhaut, though 35 degrees above
the horizon seem to me to be too high for Fomalhaut—but, then, like the
astronomers, I’m likely at times to expose what I don’t know about
astronomy. Fomalhaut is not an enormous star. Seventeen are larger.
May 1, 1908, between 8 and 9 P. M., at Vittel, France—an object, with a
nebulosity around it, diameter equal to the moon’s, according to a
correspondent to _Cosmos_, n. s., 58-535. At 9 o’clock a black band
appeared upon the object, and moved obliquely across it, then
disappearing. The Editor thinks that the object was the planet Venus,
under extraordinary meteorologic conditions.
Dark obj., by Prof. Brooks, July 21, 1896 (_Eng. Mec._, 64-12); dark
obj., by Gathmann, Aug. 22, 1896 (_Sci. Amer. Sup._, 67-363); two
luminous objs., by Prof. Swift, evidently in a local sky of California,
because unseen elsewhere in California, Sept. 20, and one of them again,
Sept. 21, 1896 (_Astro. Jour._ 17-8, 103); “Waldemath’s second moon,”
Feb. 5, 1898 (_Eng. Mec._, 67-545); unknown obj., March 30, 1908
(_Observatory_, 31-215); dark obj., Nov. 10, 1908 (_Bull. Soc. Astro. de
France_, 23-74).