STRUCK BY LIGHTNING
There was but little further interest in kite-flying that afternoon,
when the young observer ended his story of the Galveston hurricane. The
boys had been brought close to danger and they crowded around the
stranger with questions concerning the hurricane. The lads were all the
more thrilled by reason of the fact that the sky was becoming dark and
ominous, and that, even while the stranger spoke, the clouds grew more
threatening.
"There might be a hurricane coming now," said the youngest of the group,
looking fearfully at the sky.
"No," answered the observer, "that's nothing but a thunderstorm. You'll
never forget the look of the hurricane as it comes near, if you've seen
it once."
"Nor a tornado," put in Ross, and he told of Dan'l's death and of his
narrow escape with Anton.
"I was in the St. Louis tornado," the observer rejoined, and in turn he
told of the devastation that had struck the city in 1896.[1]
[Footnote 1: While this book was in press a most destructive series of
tornadoes visited the United States, Illinois especially suffering.
Hundreds of deaths were recorded.]
Meantime the thunderstorm was drawing closer and the thunder and the
lightning grew gradually nearer.
"Do you suppose, sir," asked Tom, "that it would be safe to send up the
kite? I've been listening to the hurricane story, and haven't taken the
weekly observation yet. Franklin sent up a kite in a storm."
"It might be safe, but I wouldn't advise it," answered the Forecaster.
"Franklin did it deliberately, for a different purpose, and it was
because of his experiment with a kite that we first found out about
lightning."
"Yes," answered Tom, who knew the story well, "and he collected sparks
from the string. But that was a silk string, Mr. Levin. I should think
this piano wire would be much worse."
"Why?" asked the Forecaster. "On the contrary, it would act as a
lightning-rod. Your kite reel is of metal and fastened to the ground.
Wire is a much better conductor of electricity than the body, so that
there's less likelihood of your being struck."
"Is it the difference between a good conductor and a bad one that makes
people put up lightning-rods?" asked Fred.
"Certainly. All that a lightning-rod does is to convey to the ground the
electricity that is about to strike a building. That's the whole system
of lightning protection. I can explain it to you fairly well by trees.
You know in fairy tales that some trees are supposed to be wicked and
other trees are supposed to be good?"
"Yes, sir," put in Anton, "Dan'l used to talk about that. He always used
to say that the oak tree was a black witch tree and that the beech tree
and the alder tree were white witches."
"Like nearly all folk-lore," replied the Forecaster, "there's a mighty
good reason for that superstition. Folk-lore, after all, is merely keen
observation reduced to a saying or a story. It is true that the oak-tree
is a black witch so far as lightning is concerned and that the beech and
alder are white witches. The proportion of trees struck by lightning has
often been counted and for every fifty-four oaks struck, only one beech,
or birch, or maple or alder is struck. Elms are fairly dangerous, being
forty to the beech's one, and pines are less so, their ratio being
fifteen. Not only this, boys, but a good deal depends on the way in
which a tree is struck. An oak-tree may be riven into splinters, showing
the terrible resistance that it gives to the stroke. A beech-tree,
usually, is killed outright, yet shows but little outward injury. The
oak has resisted the current, it is a bad conductor; the beech has
allowed the current to flow directly to the ground.
"So, boys, if you are in a mixed forest and stand beneath a tree, the
figures show that you are fifty-four times as likely to be struck with
lightning when standing beneath an oak, instead of a beech. Not only
that, but if the oak be struck, the lightning may jump from the tree to
you more surely than it would from a beech-tree.
"It's surprising," he went on, "but even trees of closely related
character show very different effects of lightning. 'Nothing but
lightning,' writes John Muir, 'hurts the Sequoia or Big Tree. It lives
on through indefinite thousands of years, until burned, blown down or
undermined, or shattered by some tremendous lightning stroke. No
ordinary bolt ever hurts the Sequoia. I have seen silver firs split
into long peeled rails radiating like spokes of a wheel from a hole in
the ground where the tree stood. But the Sequoia, instead of being split
and shivered, usually has forty to fifty feet of its brash knotty top
smashed off in short chunks, about the size of cord-wood, the rosy-red
ruins covering the ground in a circle one hundred feet wide or more.
"'I never saw any that had been cut down to the ground, or even to below
the branches, except one about twelve feet in diameter, the greater part
of which was smashed to fragments. All the very old Sequoias have lost
their heads by lightning. All things come to him who waits, but of all
living things, Sequoia is perhaps the only one able to wait long enough
to make sure of being struck by lightning. Thousands of years it stands
ready and waiting, offering its head to every passing cloud, as if
inviting its fate, praying for Heaven's fire as a blessing, and when, at
last, the old head is off, another of the same shape immediately grows
on.'"
"And then, I suppose," said Fred, "it will never be struck again.
Lightning never strikes twice in the same place."
"Oh, yes, it does," said the Forecaster. "That's all nonsense. Take the
Eiffel Tower in Paris, for example. That's struck nearly every time
there's a thunderstorm. But lightning can't hurt the Eiffel Tower
because practically the entire building is a lightning-rod and it has
been very carefully grounded into deep wells, a long way below the
ground."
"I've been wondering," said Anton thoughtfully, with his characteristic
opening, "just how a thunder-and-lightning storm happens. You promised
to explain it to me, Mr. Levin," he continued, "and you never have."
"Very good," said the Forecaster, briskly, "I'll explain it now. And you
couldn't have picked a better day for your question, Anton, because we
can see the tail end of that thunderstorm going off to the east, and, if
I'm not mistaken, there's another one coming up to the south-west. Do
you see that layer of cirro-stratus clouds?"
"Yes, sir."
"And do you notice those festoons of cloud, slowly coming down and
dissolving--you see there's one small one there, and another one a
little larger, behind?"
"Sure!"
"Well, those are the heralds of a thunderstorm. We've only seen those
since my nephew began talking about the hurricane, about an hour ago.
Away off on the horizon, though, you can see a bigger bunch of those
festoons, dropping from the five-mile height of the cirro-stratus and
condensing away down lower. This heat that we're now feeling will
diminish, just as soon as that cloud covers the sun, not because the sun
is hidden, but because of a change of wind."
"But the storm's coming up at right angles to the wind," said Tom, "the
wind's a little east of south."
"It'll blow from the north-east presently," declared the Forecaster
oracularly.
"Directly opposite to the storm?" ejaculated the kite expert in
surprise.
"Certainly," was the answer, "that's a part of the thunderstorm
formation. You can see now," he continued, "how the thunder heads of
cumulo-nimbus are beginning to show, leaden in color below, with the
white billowy tops. They're very thick, those masses of cloud, perhaps
two miles thick, and the gray rain curtain trails along behind them.
Well, Tom, what is it?" he added, turning to the boy, who was claiming
his attention.
"The wind's shifting," answered the lad.
"To the eastward? Of course. It'll be north-east in a minute or two, as
I told you. It's got to be."
"But why, sir?" asked Tom. "I don't see why a surface wind should have
to blow up against a storm."
"That," said the Forecaster, "is quite easy. If the rain is falling, it
brings down a mass of cold air with it, displacing the warm air that
lies before the advancing storm. The warm air is driven forward, but, at
the same time, the descending cold air requires warm air to replace it
in its turn, and the warm air, therefore, curves backward and flows into
the upper portion of the storm cloud, where its moisture is condensed as
rain. So, my boy, a little distance in advance of a thunderstorm there
are three currents of air, an upper current of cold air, traveling in
the same direction as the storm, and driving the cirrus clouds before
it; a current of warm air, going in the opposite direction to the storm
and pouring a torrent of warm air into the cloud; and the cold squall,
which drives out from under the thunder-cloud and which comes in violent
gusts."
"But I thought," said Fred, "that thunder and lightning came from two
clouds banging together. If most of the thunder storms travel from the
west, where does this banging come in?"
"It doesn't come in at all," the Forecaster replied; "thunder and
lightning do not result from clouds striking each other. It's not quite
so simple as that.
"The lower air is full of positive electricity just as the surface of
the earth is charged with negative electricity. As you know, boys, rain
is formed by a lot of little drops of moisture combining to form one
large drop, which, when it is heavy enough, falls to the ground. Now the
surface of every drop of moisture is charged with electricity. When
these drops come together to make one big drop, the surface of the big
drop is proportionately much smaller than the combined surfaces of all
the small drops. There isn't room enough on the surface of the big drop
to hold all the electricity that existed on the surface of the larger
number of smaller drops and, therefore, a great deal of electricity is
set free.
"Only a few flashes of lightning reach the earth. Most lightning-flashes
occur between two cloud masses in the body of the thunder-cloud.
Photographs of these show them to consist of scores of fine branches
which jump from one cloud to the other, the flash being strong or weak
according to the distance to be jumped. You can see that a very faint
flash could jump a distance of an inch, but that it would take a
stronger current to jump a yard, and that a terrific force of
electricity must have accumulated before the current is strong enough to
break down the resistance of the non-conducting air and jump a quarter
of a mile. When lightning is attracted by the earth, it means that the
air between the thunder-cloud and the earth is being subjected to a
constant strain, and the weakest place gives way first. The weakest
place, generally, is the place when the jump is shortest and there is a
good conductor available.
"One of the reasons that buildings and trees are struck by lightning is
because they project up into the air, and according to their height,
they remove a corresponding amount of the poorly conducting air. If the
lower edge of a thunder-cloud is two thousand five hundred feet above
the air, and the spire of a church is five hundred feet high, it follows
that it is easier for a flash to jump two thousand feet than two
thousand five hundred. So when the electricity-bearing cloud comes over
the church spire the flash will leap to the church, five hundred feet of
obstacle being removed. The highest building, therefore, is usually
struck first, or the highest tree in a forest.
"A lightning-rod or conductor is the best preventive against the
destruction of a building by lightning, if the rod sticks up in the air
above the building, even a couple of feet. The current will more readily
strike the lightning-rod. As these are made of metal--copper or iron,
generally--which are extremely good conductors, the current flows
through them to the ground without harming the building.
"The big lightning flashes that you see, boys, aren't always a single
flash, but often a whole series of flashes, which occasionally run up as
well as down. The resistance of the air being broken down, makes a path
for the electrical discharge, so that the conductor does not have to
stand the entire strain of the cloud at once, but only in a series of
discharges. Photographs of lightning flashes show these very clearly."
"I've never done any lightning photography," said Ralph disgustedly,
"I'd never thought of it."
"You try it," said the Forecaster, "and you'll find that there are no
two flashes of lightning that look alike. Some of them are several miles
long. One thing you will notice at once, Ralph, and that is that
lightning is never zigzag, the way you see it in pictures, but runs in
an irregular line, winding a little like a river-course."
"How about sheet-lightning?" asked Ralph.
"That's just the same as any other kind of lightning," was the reply,
"except that it doesn't come to the earth or is so distant that the
earth flash is not visible. It is generally due to discharges between
upper and lower clouds, and the lower clouds are illuminated by the
lightning. Heat-lightning, as it is called, is pretty much the same
thing."
"Father told me once," said Fred, "that during a thunder-storm, a ball
of fire came down on the chimney and rolled all around the room like a
bubble of quicksilver and then struck a shovel that was standing in the
corner, when it blew up with a bang. What was that, Mr. Levin?"
"That's globe, or ball lightning," was the reply. "There have been some
very curious freaks done with these electric balls. One of them, in a
baker's shop at Paris, jumped into an open oven door and exploded,
giving off so much heat that a pan of biscuits was baked in the fraction
of a second. At least, so Flammarion tells the story, though it sounds a
bit queer."
"But what's the cause of ball-lightning?"
"We don't know," answered the Forecaster, simply.
"A couple of days before the Galveston hurricane," put in the young
observer, "I noticed two or three examples of St. Elmo's fires, and even
had them from my fingers."
"What are St. Elmo's fires?" queried Fred.
"Corpse candles, they used to be called," the young observer answered,
"or St. John's fires. They are brush-like discharges of electricity,
being discharged from the earth towards the sky, and generally gather on
elevated points, such as the masts of ships, the tips of trees or the
iron railings around a roof. It was on the top of the Weather Bureau
building in Galveston that I saw them, just the other day. They look
like a bluish flame, and give a crackling sound. I had my hand on the
rail and was reaching up with the other hand towards the anemometer when
I noticed from my third and little fingers two blue flames burning. It
looked exactly as if my hand were alight."
"Weren't you afraid of being killed?" the boy asked.
"No," said the observer, "that's not the way that one gets killed with
lightning. The St. Elmo's fire is a very weak electric discharge. My
fingers tingled a little, that was all."
"But do many people get killed with lightning?" queried Ross. "I thought
that it was really quite rare."
"Not as rare as you would think," the Forecaster answered. "About five
hundred people are killed by lightning every year in the United States
and there is an annual property loss of eight million dollars."
"Is that high as compared with other countries?" Anton asked.
"Yes," the Forecaster replied, "more people are killed by lightning in
the Western States than in any place in the world. In the Dakotas, out
of every million deaths twenty-seven are due to lightning; in Missouri,
twenty-one. In Hungary sixteen out of every million deaths are due to
lightning; in the United States as a whole, ten; in Germany, six; in
England, four; in France and Sweden, three, and in Belgium, two. The
greatest number of deaths by lightning are on the plains, the fewest in
the cities."
"I should think lightning would be much worse in the city," said Ross,
"because if a building is struck with a lot of people in it, they'd all
be killed."
The Forecaster shook his head.
"Not at all," he said. "Last year, for example, a church was struck by
lightning on a Sunday morning, during a religious service. There were
three hundred people in the building. It was a bolt of unusual force,
which practically wrecked the church. Only six people were killed by
lightning, thirty were injured from the falling timbers, seventy were
made unconscious by shock, and two hundred were absolutely uninjured.
"The largest number of persons killed by lightning at any one time in
America was in an amusement park in Chicago. Eleven people had huddled
into a zinc-lined hut under a pier, for protection from the rain. The
lightning struck the pier and jumped to the hut. If the hut had touched
the wet sand, none of them would have been hurt, but the hut was on
posts a couple of inches above the beach. The lightning could not escape
to the ground and it spread from the zinc sides, killing every one
there. A piece of wire a sixteenth of an inch thick and six inches long,
running from the hut into the ground, might have saved every life."
In the distance a flash of lightning followed by a low rumble of thunder
told of the nearer approach of the storm.
The Galveston observer took his watch from his pocket and counted the
seconds between the flash and the thunder.
"Fifty seconds!" he continued. "The front of the storm is still ten
miles away."
"Do you reckon five seconds to a mile between the lightning and the
thunder?" asked Anton.
"Yes," the observer replied, "light travels so fast that for something
as near as a lightning flash, you can reckon it as instantaneous, while
sound only travels at a little more than a thousand feet a second."
"But why does thunder make a noise?" asked Fred. "You told me the clouds
didn't bang together."
"They don't," the Forecaster answered. "Thunder is caused by the
electric discharge. You've heard Bob's big wireless outfit crackle, when
he sends out a spark, haven't you?"
"Sure," said Fred, "you can hardly hear yourself talk, when Bob's got
his wireless busy."
"And why does that crackle? Do you know, Bob?" he asked, turning to the
wireless expert.
"No," answered the boy.
"You've often heard the crackling of a near-by thunder compared to an
irregular volley of rifles, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"Naturally, because that's exactly what it is. A rifle shot is an
explosion caused by the firing of a powder, which, in turn, means the
expansion of the powder into gases, the force of that expansion driving
forward the bullet. Sound, as you know, is a series of air vibrations.
The explosion wave sets up a series of these vibrations, by compressing
the air in front of it.
"Lightning does the same thing. When a lightning flash breaks down the
resistance of the air, and passes through a channel of air, it heats the
air suddenly to a temperature of two or three thousand degrees, causing
a terrific expansion along the entire length of the flash and starting
an explosion wave. This compresses the air on all sides and sets sound
vibrations in action. As soon as the flash is discharged, the air rushes
back to fill the partial vacuum that the heating by electricity has
caused, adding force to the vibrations.
"That's why you hear the crackle of near-by thunder. You are near enough
to hear the explosions made by all the little side-branches of the
lightning flash--you can hear the same sometimes when you comb your hair
or rub a cat's fur--while the big crashes are due to your hearing, all
at once, the main wave of sound set in action by the flash jumping from
the cloud to the earth or from one cloud to another.
"The rumble of the thunder--which used to be thought the rolling of a
chariot in the sky, is due to the different distances of various
portions of the discharge, to the echo of the explosions from the
projecting hills and valleys of the cloud forms, and to the irregular
shape of the earth, when the sound waves strike the ground."
"Hail is electric, too, isn't it?" said Anton. "In a hail-storm the
other day I noticed that the hail jumped up a lot higher from an old
piece of iron that lay on the ground than from a stone right beside it.
I tried the iron and the stone with a marble, after the storm was over,
and the marble bounced higher from the stone. I figured that there must
be some kind of electric repulsion and that the hail must be
electrified."
"It is, very often," the Forecaster answered. "In some very violent
electric storms, you'll see hail jump up as if it were alive, when it
strikes the earth. Of course, boys, there's some slight elasticity in a
hail-stone, too, because a good many of them are made like an onion or a
pearl, with a number of layers round each other."
"But why in the world should a hail-stone be made like an onion?" said
Fred, with a puzzled stare. "Isn't hail just frozen rain?"
"No," answered the Forecaster, "frozen rain is sleet, which is never
seen in summer. It is caused by the rain in the upper air falling
through a cold layer of surface air and becoming frozen on the way.
Sleet is ice, and transparent.
"Hail never falls in winter, only in summer, and almost always in
connection with a thunderstorm. It is made by drops of moisture, like
very fine rain, being carried by the strong upward currents of a
thunderstorm to altitudes where the air is very cold, there becoming
coated with a layer of snow, and becoming heavier, falling through the
less active upward currents on the edge of a storm. As these
snow-covered frozen raindrops fall through the clouds, they grow bigger,
because on their cold snow surfaces the moisture condenses and is frozen
to a skin of ice. At the base of the cloud, they are often sucked in by
the upward current and carried up again for another layer of snow,
falling again through the clouds and being covered with another skin of
ice. This may happen a dozen or a hundred times, the hailstones growing
in size with every successive layer of snow and ice, until at last they
become so heavy that they can no longer be carried up by the ascending
currents, and fall to the ground."
"No wonder hailstones sometimes get so big!" exclaimed Fred. "I've seen
them as big as pigeon's eggs. I never could understand it."
"I've seen hailstones that weighed more than half a pound," the
Forecaster answered. "Not so very long ago, two ranchers and six hundred
head of cattle were killed by hail in one Texas storm. Not a single
animal was left alive. The loss from hail in our Western states is so
large that most of the progressive farmers pay heavy hail insurance.
Jagged bits of hail the size of a child's fist are not at all uncommon.
If I'm not mistaken," he continued, "we may have some hail this
afternoon, but nothing like that. This county isn't in the regular
hail-belt."
During the description of the storm, Tom had been reeling in his kite
and after the week's observations had been duly made and recorded, the
boys prepared to scatter. Before they left, the Forecaster turned to
them, his hand on Anton's shoulder.
"I think you boys ought to know," he said, "that I received a letter the
other day from the Chief of the Weather Bureau. He's going down to New
Orleans next month, and has promised to drop off here and spend the
night with me. We were chums at college. He ought to meet the
Mississippi League of the Weather."
An excited cheer went up from the boys.
"And what's more," the Forecaster went on, "I can tell you this--that
just as soon as Anton is old enough, there will be a place waiting for
him in the Bureau. He knows almost enough now to pass the Civil Service
Exam, and in a couple of years he'll be as well equipped to enter the
Service as any of the boys that are going in. I miss my guess if we
don't find out, some day, that Issaquena County has given to the United
States one of the best meteorologists of the next generation."
"Three cheers for Anton!" shouted Fred.
They were given heartily and the boys separated in groups, excitedly
discussing what they ought to do to prepare for the visit of the Chief
of the Weather Bureau. Anton and Ross drove home to Anton's place
together, Ross driving and the crippled lad, with his eyes glowing with
enthusiasm, talking about the work he intended to do in the ranks of the
Weather Bureau.
Meanwhile, the storm grew nearer and nearer. The thunder, which had been
rolling menacingly, now came with shorter and sharper claps.
"I wonder if we'll get home before the rain," said Ross and leaned
forward to slap the pony with the reins.
At the instant that he leaned forward there was a blinding flash of
light, and, almost simultaneously, a terrific crash.
For a second Anton was stunned, and then, as the frightened pony started
to bolt, he saw he was alone.
Ross was gone.
The crippled lad cast a frightened glance over his shoulder and saw his
chum lying on the ground beside the roadway, stripped to the skin. Some
pieces of his clothing, burning and smouldering, lay a few feet away.
Grabbing the reins, Anton managed to pull the pony down to a walk and
scrambled out, awkwardly, with the crutch, but rapidly.
The lightning, as so often happens, had snatched every stitch of Ross's
clothes from him. There was not a mark of a burn on the boy's body, but
he lay deathly still, with his arm cramped under him.
Anton, exerting all his strength, rolled his chum over on his back.
Then, kneeling across him, as best he could with his lame leg, he took
Ross's wrists, jerked his arms to their full length, brought the wrists
back upon the chest and pressed. Again he stretched the arms out, again
brought them back, and pressed. Again, and again and again.
Time passed and the perspiration stood out on the crippled lad's
forehead and trickled down into his eyes and the corners of his mouth.
Yet he did not pause for a second.
He stretched the arms out, brought them in and pressed down upon the
chest.
Again and again and again.
Fifteen minutes passed, and there was no sign.
Probably further work was of no use, but Anton persisted. He could not
stop, as long as there was a chance.
Out, in again, and pressure on the chest.
A clatter of approaching wheels caused Anton to look up. It was the
buggy, with his father whipping the pony to full speed, returning along
the road to find out what accident had happened. Anton shouted, but did
not stop.
Out, in again, and pressure on the chest.
The buggy stopped and his father jumped out.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"Ross," answered Anton, "struck by lightning!"
"Dead?" queried his father.
"He can't be!" declared Anton passionately, and went on with his
artificial respiration.
"Let me do that a while," said his father.
"Wait!" cried Anton.
He thought he saw an eyelid flutter.
Out, in again, and pressure on the chest.
"He's coming to!" the man declared.
Yes, that was a movement. The lips parted. There was a faint heave of
the chest, and Anton's father, stooping down, felt a slight trembling of
the boy's heart. It fluttered, hesitated, stopped; then trembled again,
and struck into a low soft throb, irregular indeed, but still a definite
throb.
Out, in again, and pressure on the chest.
For five minutes more Anton continued his artificial respiration,
silently, and then Ross opened his eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked, faintly.
"You've had a lightning shock," answered Anton.
"I thought you were dead," put in the lad's father, "but it looks as
though Anton had pulled you through."
Ross smiled at his chum.
"Bully for you, old boy," he said weakly, "the sea-wall licked the
hurricane and you've licked the lightning-flash!"
THE END
U. S. SERVICE SERIES
By FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER
Illustrations from photographs taken in work for U. S. Government
Large 12mo Cloth $1.35 each, net
"There are no better books for boys than Francis Rolt-Wheeler's 'U.
S. Service Series.'"--_Chicago Record-Herald_.
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. SURVEY
[Illustration: Cover of _The Boy with the U. S. Survey_]
This story describes the thrilling adventures of members of the U. S.
Geological Survey, graphically woven into a stirring narrative that both
pleases and instructs. The author enjoys an intimate acquaintance with
the chiefs of the various bureaus in Washington, and is able to obtain
at first hand the material for his books.
"There is abundant charm and vigor in the narrative which is sure
to please the boy readers and will do much toward stimulating their
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THE BOY WITH THE U. S. FORESTERS
The life of a typical boy is followed in all its adventurous detail--the
mighty representative of our country's government, though young in
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it."--_The Continent, Chicago_.
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. CENSUS
Through the experiences of a bright American boy, the author shows how
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THE BOY WITH THE U. S. FISHERIES
[Illustration: Cover of _The Boy with the U. S. Fisheries_]
With a bright, active American youth as a hero, is told the story of the
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THE BOY WITH THE U. S. INDIANS
[Illustration: Cover of _The Boy with the U. S. Indians_]
This book tells all about the Indian as he really was and is; the
Menominee in his birch-bark canoe; the Iroquois in his wigwam in the
forest; the Sioux of the plains upon his war-pony; the Apache, cruel and
unyielding as his arid desert; the Pueblo Indians, with remains of
ancient Spanish civilization lurking in the fastnesses of their massed
communal dwellings; the Tlingit of the Pacific Coast, with his
totem-poles. With a typical bright American youth as a central figure, a
good idea of a great field of national activity is given, and made
thrilling in its human side by the heroism demanded by the little-known
adventures of those who do the work of "Uncle Sam."
"An exceedingly interesting Indian story, because it is true, and
not merely a dramatic and picturesque incident of Indian life."--_N.
Y. Times_.
"It tells the Indian's story in a way that will fascinate the
youngster."--_Rochester Herald_.
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. EXPLORERS
The hero saves the farm in Kansas, which his father is not able to keep
up, through a visit to Washington which results in making the place a
kind of temporary experiment station. Wonderful facts of plant and
animal life are brought out, and the boy wins a trip around the world
with his friend, the agent. This involves many adventures, while
exploring the Chinese country for the Bureau of Agriculture.
"Boys will be delighted with this story, which is one that inspires
the readers with the ideals of industry, thrift and uprightness of
conduct."--_Argus-Leader, Portland, Me._
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. LIFE SAVERS
[Illustration: Cover of _The Boy with the U. S. Life Savers_]
The billows surge and thunder through this book, heroism and the gallant
facing of peril are wrought into its very fabric, and the Coast Guard
has endorsed its accuracy. The stories of the rescue of the engineer
trapped on a burning ship, and the pluck of the men who built the
Smith's Point Lighthouse are told so vividly that it is hard to keep
from cheering aloud.
"This is an ideal book for boys because it is natural, inspiring,
and of unfailing interest from cover to cover."--_Marine Journal._
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. MAIL
How much do you know of the working of the vast and wonderful Post
Office Department? The officials of this department have, as in the case
of all other Departments covered in this series, extended their courtesy
to Dr. Rolt-Wheeler to enable him to tell us about one of the most
interesting forms of Uncle Sam's care for us.
"Stamp collecting, carrier pigeons, aeroplanes, detectives,
hold-ups, tales of the Overland trail and the Pony Express,
Indians, Buffalo Bill--what boy would not be delighted with a book
in which all these fascinating things are to be
found?"--_Universalist Leader._
_For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the
publishers_
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON
[Illustration: FUTEN, GOD OF THE WINDS.
Japanese conception of the origin of storms, which come from the bag on
the demon's back.]
[Illustration: THERE, BEFORE THE FLOOD, STOOD ANTON'S HOUSE.
Overflowed lands in the Mississippi Valley, where scores of lives are
lost when the rising waters break down a levee.
_Courtesy of U. S. Weather Bureau._]
[Illustration: THE EDGE OF A TORNADO'S WHIRL.
Note the house in the background unharmed, and the house next to it spun
around like a top.
_Courtesy of U. S. Weather Bureau._]
[Illustration: IN THE PATH OF THE LIGHTNING.
_Courtesy of U.S. Weather Bureau._]
[Illustration: IN THE PATH OF THE TORNADO.
A farm-house, with farm buildings in a copse of trees stood here; the
buggy, after a flight through the air, was dropped, little injured.
_Courtesy of T. B. Jennings, U. S. Weather Bureau, Topeka, Kans._]
[Illustration: FACING A CLIMB ON SHOW-SHOES.]
[Illustration: TWENTY-FIVE FOOT DRIFT A MILE LONG.]
[Illustration: FOREST RANGER IN IDAHO.
[Illustration: OBSERVER AMONG THE QUAKING ASPENS.
SNOW SURVEY WORK.
_Courtesy of U. S. Weather Bureau and of J. Cecil Alter._]
[Illustration: NO PEAK TOO LOFTY FOR A WEATHER STATION.
Taking recording instruments up a mountainside where there has never
been a trail.
_Copyright by J. Cecil Alter, U. S. Weather Bureau, Cheyenne, Wyo._]
[Illustration: WALL SUN-DIAL AT SANTA BARBARA, CAL., ON OLD SPANISH
MISSION.]
[Illustration: SUN-DIAL AT HILLSIDE, N.Y., DUPLICATE OF THAT OF SIR
WALTER SCOTT AT ABBOTSFORD.]
[Illustration: THE FIRST LINE OF DEFENCE AGAINST THE TEMPEST.
Headquarters of the U. S. Weather Bureau, at Washington, D. C., where
every wind and cloud that passes over the United States is chronicled
and watched; the greatest forecast office in the world.
_Courtesy of U. S. Weather Bureau._]
[Illustration: SOLAR HALO SEEN IN THE UNITED STATES.
This halo was seen over a wide area, and was especially bright in
Virginia.
_Courtesy of Scientific American._]
[Illustration: SOLAR HALO SEEN IN RUSSIA.
(By permission from Camille Flammarion's "Meteorologie.")]
[Illustration: THE DUST THAT MAKES RED SUNSETS.
The volcanic eruption of Lassen Peak, Cal., on October 6, 1915, taken at
intervals, the first three photos five minutes apart, the fourth, ten
minutes later, showing the beginning of the second cloud.
_Copyright by Chester Mullen. Courtesy of U. S. Weather Bureau._]
[Illustration: AN ARMY DESTROYED BY WEATHER.
Napoleon deserting his troops during the retreat from Moscow, when the
emperor defied the winter, and left a quarter of a million men dead on
the snows of Russia.]
[Illustration: _Cirrus Implexus_
_Alto-Strato-Cumulus_
TYPES OF UPPER CLOUDS.]
[Illustration: _Cumulus_
_Stratus_
TYPES OF LOWER CLOUDS.]
[Illustration: _Cumulo-Nimbus_
_Nimbus_
TYPES OF RAIN CLOUDS.]
[Illustration: KITE-FLYING--THE NEW WAY.
_Courtesy of U. S. Weather Bureau._]
[Illustration: KITE-FLYING--THE OLD WAY.
Benjamin Franklin performing his famous experiment, whereby he proved
that a flash of lightning was an electric discharge.]
[Illustration: THE EXPLORER OF THE UPPER AIR.
Weather box kite being released at the Drexel Aerological Station, with
equipment to tell altitude, pressure of atmosphere, velocity of wind,
and temperature, in a continuous record.
_Courtesy of U.S. Weather Bureau._]
[Illustration: SNOW-FLAKES FROM THE UPPER REGIONS OF THE AIR.]
[Illustration: SNOW-FLAKES FROM THE MIDDLE REGIONS OF THE AIR.]
[Illustration: SNOW-FLAKES FROM THE LOWER REGIONS OF THE AIR.
Note the gradual progression from solid to feathery forms, and
especially that every elaboration maintains the six-pointed crystal
type.
_Courtesy of J. Wilson Bentley._]
[Illustration: RINGING THE FROST ALARM!
Thermometer with electric attachment which wakes the neighborhood when
the grip of a cold wave menaces ruin to a fruit crop.
_Courtesy of U.S. Weather Bureau._]
[Illustration: FIGHTING FROST IN AN ORCHARD--NIGHT.]
[Illustration: FIGHTING FROST IN AN ORCHARD--DAWN.
The pall of smoke prevents evaporation and keeps the air near the ground
from freezing temperatures.
_Copyright by J. Cecil Alter, U.S. Weather Bureau, Cheyenne, Wyo._]
[Illustration: BUCKING A SNOW DRIFT.]
[Illustration: CLEAR THE WAY!
Even an avalanche cannot stop Man, backed with the resources of modern
snow-fighting machinery.
_Courtesy of Northern Pacific Railway Co._]
[Illustration: MEASURING THE BLIZZARD'S RAGE.
Shielded snow gauge in the Northwest to register the amount of
snow-fall.
_Courtesy of U. S. Weather Bureau._]
[Illustration: SIGNALS ON DELAWARE BREAKWATER.
_Courtesy of Geo. S. Bliss, U.S. Weather Bureau, Philadelphia, Pa._]
[Illustration: SIGNAL TOWER FOR STORM WARNINGS.
Flags used by day, lanterns by night.
_Courtesy of U.S. Weather Bureau._]
[Illustration: THERMOMETERS AND RAIN-GAUGE.
Instruments in shelter, as supplied to each co-operative observer.
_Courtesy of the U.S. Weather Bureau._]
[Illustration: PENCIL DRAWINGS OF TORNADO IN DAKOTA.
For many years this was an authoritative series of pictures, and
shows:--(A) Tornado becoming a waterspout;--(B) Tornado wrecking a
farmhouse and barn, nothing but fragmentary timbers being thrown
out;--(C) Tornado funnel rising from the ground;--(D) Successive funnel
formations, with a second whirl reaching ground and sucking up a pillar
of dust.
_Copyright by Sam W. Glenn, Courtesy of U. S. Signal Service._]
[Illustration: TRUE TORNADO FORMING IN ADVANCE OF A DUST WHIRL.
_Courtesy of U.S. Weather Bureau._]
[Illustration: TORNADO DROPPING TOWARDS GROUND.
_Courtesy of T. B. Jennings, U.S. Weather Bureau, Topeka, Kans._]
[Illustration: TORNADO WRECKING A FARM.
Whirl had been in action for ten minutes when photo was taken.
_Courtesy of T. B. Jennings, U.S. Weather Bureau, Topeka, Kans._]
[Illustration: TORNADO WHIRLING SIDEWISE.
The swaying motion of the funnel cloud makes the path of escape
uncertain.
_Courtesy of U.S. Weather Bureau._]
[Illustration: GALVESTON CAUSEWAY BEFORE THE HURRICANE.]
[Illustration: GALVESTON CAUSEWAY AFTER THE HURRICANE.
The Sea-Wall saved the greater part of Galveston in the hurricane of
1915, but the Causeway was exposed to the full fury of wind and water.
_Courtesy of I. R. Tannehill, U. S. Weather Bureau, Galveston, Tex._]
[Illustration: SHOT FROM THE GUN OF A HURRICANE.
Thin strips of weather-boarding driven through a porch post, a
marvellous example of the force of a hundred-mile-an-hour wind. Straws
have been driven into brick walls in similar fashion.
(Upper photo taken from across the street; lower photo at close range.)
_Courtesy of I. R. Tannehill, U. S. Weather Bureau, Galveston, Tex._]
[Illustration: 1. ZEPHYR]
[Illustration: 2. LIGHT BREEZE]
[Illustration: 3. FRESH BREEZE]
[Illustration: 4. MODERATE WIND]
[Illustration: 5. STRONG WIND]
[Illustration: 6. GALE]
[Illustration: 7. FULL GALE]
[Illustration: 8. STORM]
[Illustration: 9. HURRICANE
SCALE OF WINDS ILLUSTRATED BY REDUCTION OF SAIL ON AMERICAN CLIPPER
SHIPS.
_Note._-- This is a combined scale with average wind velocities as
follows:--(0) CALM;--(1) 2 miles an hour;--(2) 7 miles an hour;--(3) 11
miles an hour;--(4) 16 miles an hour;--(5) 22 miles an hour;--(6) 27
miles an hour;--(7) 32 miles an hour;--(8) 45 miles an hour;--(9) 60
miles an hour or more.]
[Illustration: BRANCH LIGHTNING.
_Copyright by H. E. Clark, Indianapolis. Courtesy of U.S. Weather
Bureau._]
[Illustration: MULTIPLE FLASH.
_Courtesy of General Electric Co., Schenectady, N. Y._]
[Illustration: EIFFEL TOWER STRUCK BY LIGHTNING.
Unusual example of attraction of electric discharge. This great
structure in Paris is struck in almost every thunderstorm.]
[Illustration: LIGHTNING FLASH STRIKING BUILDING.
Single disruptive discharge of great intensity, at Greensboro, N.C. This
non-branched form is rare.
_Courtesy of Gen. Electric Co., Schenectady, N. Y._]
[Illustration: CARRIED IN THE AIR THREE MILES FROM THEIR STABLE.]
[Illustration: GRAND PIANO PICKED UP BY A TORNADO AND DROPPED IN A
COW-PASTURE.
_Courtesy of T. B. Jennings, U.S. Weather Bureau, Topeka, Kans._]