Chapter 6

Although rattlesnake poison could be obtained here in very considerable quantity, it is out of my power to make such experiments as I could desire, being without any chemical appliances and living a hundred miles or more from any laboratory. The same may be said with regard to books, and possibly the above iodine reaction has been already described.

Dr. Richards states that the cobra poison is destroyed by potassium permanganate; but this is no argument in favor of that salt as an antidote. Mr. Pedler also refers to it, but allows that it would not be probably of any use after the poison had been absorbed. Of this I think there can be no doubt, remembering the easy decomposition of permanganate by most organic substances, and I cannot but think that the medicinal or therapeutic advantages of that salt, taken internally, are equally problematical, unless the action is supposed to take place in the stomach.

In the bladder of the same rattlesnake I found a considerable quantity of light-brown amorphous ammonium urate, the urine pale yellow.--_Chemical News_.

Hermanitas Ranch, Texas.

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THE CHINESE SIGN MANUAL.

[Footnote: Dr. D. J. Macgowan, in Medical Reports of China. 1881.]

Two writers in _Nature_, both having for their theme "Skin-furrows on the Hand," solicit information on the subject from China.[1] As the subject is considered to have a bearing on medical jurisprudence and ethnology as well, this report is a suitable vehicle for responding to the demand.

[Footnote 1: Henry Faulds, Tzukiyi Hospital, Tokio, Japan. W. J. Herschel, Oxford, England.--_Nature_, 28th October and 25th November, 1880.]

Dr. Faulds' observations on the finger-tips of the Japanese have an ethnic bearing and relate to the subject of heredity. Mr. Herschel considers the subject as an agent of Government, he having charge for twenty years of registration offices in India, where he employed finger marks as sign manuals, the object being to prevent personation and repudiation. Doolittle, in his "Social Life of the Chinese," describes the custom. I cannot now refer to native works where the practice of employing digital rugæ as a sign manual is alluded to. I doubt if its employment in the courts is of ancient date. Well-informed natives think that it came into vogue subsequent to the Han period; if so, it is in Egypt that earliest evidence of the practice is to be found. Just as the Chinese courts now require criminals to sign confessions by impressing thereto the whorls of their thumb-tips--the right thumb in the case of women, the left in the case of men--so the ancient Egyptians, it is represented, required confessions to be sealed with their thumbnails--most likely the tip of the digit, as in China. Great importance is attached in the courts to this digital form of signature, "finger form." Without a confession no criminal can be legally executed, and the confession to be valid must be attested by the thumb-print of the prisoner. No direct coercion is employed to secure this; a contumacious culprit may, however, be tortured until he performs the act which is a prerequisite to his execution. Digital signatures are sometimes required in the army to prevent personation; the general in command at Wenchow enforces it on all his troops. A document thus attested can no more be forged or repudiated than a photograph--not so easily, for while the period of half a lifetime effects great changes in the physiognomy, the rugæ of the fingers present the same appearance from the cradle to the grave; time writes no wrinkles there. In the army everywhere, when the description of a person is written down, the relative number of volutes and coniferous finger-tips is noted. It is called taking the "whelk striæ," the fusiform being called "rice baskets," and the volutes "peck measures." A person unable to write, the form of signature which defies personation or repudiation is required in certain domestic cases, as in the sale of children or women. Often when a child is sold the parents affix their finger marks to the bill of sale; when a husband puts away his wife, giving her a bill of divorce, he marks the document with his entire palm; and when a wife is sold, the purchaser requires the seller to stamp the paper with hands and feet, the four organs duly smeared with ink. Professional fortune tellers in China take into account almost the entire system of the person whose future they attempt to forecast, and of course they include palmistry, but the rugæ of the finger-ends do not receive much attention. Amateur fortune-tellers, however, discourse as glibly on them as phrenologists do of "bumps"--it is so easy. In children the relative number of volute and conical striæ indicate their future. "If there are nine volutes," says a proverb, "to one conical, the boy will attain distinction without toil."

Regarded from an ethnological point of view, I can discover merely that the rugæ of Chinamen's fingers differ from Europeans', but there is so little uniformity observable that they form no basis for distinction, and while the striæ may be noteworthy points in certain medico-legal questions, heredity is not one of them.

* * * * *

LUCIDITY.

At the close of an interesting address lately delivered at the reopening of the Liverpool University College and School of Medicine, Mr. Matthew Arnold said if there was one word which he should like to plant in the memories of his audience, and to leave sticking there after he had gone, it was the word _lucidity_. If he had to fix upon the three great wants at this moment of the three principal nations of Europe, he should say that the great want of the French was morality, that the great want of the Germans was civil courage, and that our own great want was lucidity. Our own want was, of course, what concerned us the most. People were apt to remark the defects which accompanied certain qualities, and to think that the qualities could not be desirable because of the defects which they saw accompanying them. There was no greater and salutary lesson for men to learn than that a quality may be accompanied, naturally perhaps, by grave dangers; that it may actually present itself accompanied by terrible defects, and yet that it might itself be indispensable. Let him illustrate what he meant by an example, the force of which they would all readily feel. Seriousness was a quality of our nation. Perhaps seriousness was always accompanied by certain dangers. But, at any rate, many of our French neighbors would say that they found our seriousness accompanied by so many false ideas, so much prejudice, so much that was disagreeable, that it could not have the value which we attributed to it. And yet we knew that it was invaluable. Let them follow the same mode of reasoning as to the quality of lucidity. The French had a national turn for lucidity as we had a national turn for seriousness. Perhaps a national turn for lucidity carried with it always certain dangers. Be this as it might, it was certain that we saw in the French, along with their lucidity, a want of seriousness, a want of reverence, and other faults, which greatly displeased us. Many of us were inclined in consequence to undervalue their lucidity, or to deny that they had it. We were wrong: it existed as our seriousness existed; it was valuable as our seriousness was valuable. Both the one and the other were valuable, and in the end indispensable.

What was lucidity? It was negatively that the French have it, and he would therefore deal with its negative character merely. Negatively, lucidity was the perception of the want of truth and validness in notions long current, the perception that they are no longer possible, that their time is finished, and they can serve us no more. All through the last century a prodigious travail for lucidity was going forward in France. Its principal agent was a man whose name excited generally repulsion in England, Voltaire. Voltaire did a great deal of harm in France. But it was not by his lucidity that he did harm; he did it by his want of seriousness, his want of reverence, his want of sense for much that is deepest in human nature. But by his lucidity he did good.

All admired Luther. Conduct was three-fourths of life, and a man who worked for conduct, therefore, worked for more than a man who worked for intelligence. But having promised this, it might be said that the Luther of the eighteenth century and of the cultivated classes was Voltaire. As Luther had an antipathy to what was immoral, so Voltaire had an antipathy to what was absurd, and both of them made war upon the object of their antipathy with such masterly power, with so much conviction, so much energy, so much genius, that they carried their world with them--Luther his Protestant world, and Voltaire his French world--and the cultivated classes throughout the continent of Europe generally.

Voltaire had more than negative lucidity; he had the large and true conception that a number and equilibrium of activities were necessary for man. "_Il faut douner à notre áme toutes les formes possibles_" was a maxim which Voltaire really and truly applied in practice, "advancing," as Michelet finely said of him, in every direction with a marvelous vigor and with that conquering ambition which Vico called _mens heroica_. Nevertheless. Voltaire's signal characteristic was his lucidity, his negative lucidity.

There was a great and free intellectual movement in England in the eighteenth century--indeed, it was from England that it passed into France; but the English had not that strong natural bent for lucidity which the French had. Its bent was toward other things in preference. Our leading thinkers had not the genius and passion for lucidity which distinguished Voltaire. In their free inquiry they soon found themselves coming into collision with a number of established facts, beliefs, conventions. Thereupon all sorts of practical considerations began to sway them. The danger signal went up, they often stopped short, turned their eyes another way, or drew down a curtain between themselves and the light. "It seems highly probable," said Voltaire, "that nature has made thinking a portion of the brain, as vegetation is a function of trees; that we think by the brain just as we walk by the feet." So our reason, at least, would lead us to conclude, if the theologians did not assure us of the contrary; such, too, was the opinion of Locke, but he did not venture to announce it. The French Revolution came, England grew to abhor France, and was cut off from the Continent, did great things, gained much, but not in lucidity. The Continent was reopened, the century advanced, time and experience brought their lessons, lovers of free and clear thought, such as the late John Stuart Mill, arose among us. But we could not say that they had by any means founded among us the reign of lucidity.

Let them consider that movement of which we were hearing so much just now: let them look at the Salvation Army and its operations. They would see numbers, funds, energy, devotedness, excitement, conversions, and a total absence of lucidity. A little lucidity would make the whole movement impossible. That movement took for granted as its basis what was no longer possible or receivable; its adherents proceeded in all they did on the assumption that that basis was perfectly solid, and neither saw that it was not solid, nor ever even thought of asking themselves whether it was solid or not.

Taking a very different movement, and one of far higher dignity and import, they had all had before their minds lately the long-devoted, laborious, influential, pure, pathetic life of Dr. Pusey, which had just ended. Many of them had also been reading in the lively volumes of that acute, but not always good-natured rattle, Mr. Mozley, an account of that great movement which took from Dr. Pusey its earlier name. Of its later stage of Ritualism they had had in this country a now celebrated experience. This movement was full of interest. It had produced men to be respected, men to be admired, men to be beloved, men of learning, goodness, genius, and charm. But could they resist the truth that lucidity would have been fatal to it? The movers of all those questions about apostolical succession, church patristic authority, primitive usage, postures, vestments--questions so passionately debated, and on which he would not seek to cast ridicule--did not they all begin by taking for granted something no longer possible or receivable, build on this basis as if it were indubitably solid, and fail to see that their basis not being solid, all they built upon it was fantastic?

He would not say that negative lucidity was in itself a satisfactory possession, but he said that it was inevitable and indispensable, and that it was the condition of all serious construction for the future. Without it at present a man or a nation was intellectually and spiritually all abroad. If they saw it accompanied in France by much that they shrank from, they should reflect that in England it would have influences joined with it which it had not in France--the natural seriousness of the people, their sense of reverence and respect, their love for the past. Come it must; and here where it had been so late in coming, it would probably be for the first time seen to come without danger.

Capitals were natural centers of mental movement, and it was natural for the classes with most leisure, most freedom, most means of cultivation, and most conversance with the wide world to have lucidity though often they had it not. To generate a spirit of lucidity in provincial towns, and among the middle classes bound to a life of much routine and plunged in business, was more difficult. Schools and universities, with serious and disinterested studies, and connecting those studies the one with the other and continuing them into years of manhood, were in this case the best agency they could use. It might be slow, but it was sure. Such an agency they were now going to employ. Might it fulfill all their expectations! Might their students, in the words quoted just now, advance in every direction with a marvelous vigor, and with that conquering ambition which Vico called _mens heroica_! And among the many good results of this, might one result be the acquisition in their midst of that indispensable spirit--the spirit of lucidity!

* * * * *

ON SOME APPARATUS THAT PERMIT OF ENTERING FLAMES.

[Footnote: A. de Rochas in the _Revue Scientifique_.]

In the following notes I shall recall a few experiments that indicate under what conditions the human organism is permitted to remain unharmed amid flames. These experiments were published in England in 1882, in the twelfth letter from Brewster to Walter Scott on natural magic. They are, I believe, not much known in France, and possess a practical interest for those who are engaged in the art of combating fires.

At the end of the last century Humphry Davy observed that, on placing a very fine wire gauze over a flame, the latter was cooled to such a point that it could not traverse the meshes. This phenomenon, which he attributed to the conductivity and radiating power of the metal, he soon utilized in the construction of a lamp for miners.

Some years afterward Chevalier Aldini, of Milan, conceived the idea of making a new application of Davy's discovery in the manufacture of an envelope that should permit a man to enter into the midst of flames. This envelope, which was made of metallic gauze with 1-25th of an inch meshes, was composed of five pieces, as follows: (1) a helmet, with mask, large enough, to allow a certain space between it and the internal bonnet of which I shall speak; (2) a cuirass with armlets; (3) a skirt for the lower part of the belly and the thighs; (4) a pair of boots formed of a double wire gauze; and (5) a shield five feet long by one and a half wide, formed of metallic gauze stretched over a light iron frame. Beneath this armor the experimenter was clad in breeches and a close coat of coarse cloth that had previously been soaked in a solution of alum. The head, hands, and feet were covered by envelopes of asbestos cloth whose fibers were about a half millimeter in diameter. The bonnet contained apertures for the eyes, nose, and ears, and consisted of a single thickness of fabric, as did the stockings, but the gloves were of double thickness, so that the wearer could seize burning objects with the hands.

Aldini, convinced of the services that his apparatus might render to humanity, traveled over Europe and gave gratuitous representations with it. The exercises generally took place in the following order: Aldini began by first wrapping his finger in asbestos and then with a double layer of wire gauze. He then held it for some instants in the flame of a candle or alcohol lamp. One of his assistants afterward put on the asbestos glove of which I have spoken, and, protecting the palm of his hand with another piece of asbestos cloth, seized a piece of red-hot iron from a furnace and slowly carried it to a distance of forty or fifty meters, lighted some straw with it, and then carried it back to the furnace. On other occasions, the experimenters, holding firebrands in their hands, walked for five minutes over a large grating under which fagots were burning.

In order to show how the head, eyes, and lungs were protected by the wire gauze apparatus, one of the experimenters put on the asbestos bonnet, helmet, and cuirass, and fixed the shield in front of his breast. Then, in a chafing dish placed on a level with his shoulder, a great fire of shavings was lighted, and care was taken to keep it up. Into the midst of these flames the experimenter then plunged his head and remained thus five or six minutes with his face turned toward them. In an exhibition given at Paris before a committee from the Academic des Sciences, there were set up two parallel fences formed of straw, connected by iron wire to light wicker work, and arranged so as to leave between them a passage 3 feet wide by 30 long. The heat was so intense, when the fences were set on fire, that no one could approach nearer than 20 or 25 feet; and the flames seemed to fill the whole space between them, and rose to a height of 9 or 10 feet. Six men clad in the Aldini suit went in, one behind the other, between the blazing fences, and walked slowly backward and forward in the narrow passage, while the fire was being fed with fresh combustibles from the exterior. One of these men carried on his back, in an ozier basket covered with wire gauze, a child eight years of age, who had on no other clothing than an asbestos bonnet. This same man, having the child with him, entered on another occasion a clear fire whose flames reached a height of 18 feet, and whose intensity was such that it could not be looked at. He remained therein so long that the spectators began to fear that he had succumbed; but he finally came out safe and sound.

One of the conclusions to be drawn from the facts just stated is that man can breathe in the midst of flames. This marvelous property cannot be attributed exclusively to the cooling of the air by its passage through the gauze before reaching the lungs; it shows also a very great resistance of our organs to the action of heat. The following, moreover, are direct proofs of such resistance. In England, in their first experiment, Messrs. Joseph Banks, Charles Blagden, and Dr. Solander remained for ten minutes in a hot-house whose temperature was 211° Fahr., and their bodies preserved therein very nearly the usual heat. On breathing against a thermometer they caused the mercury to fall several degrees. Each expiration, especially when it was somewhat strong, produced in their nostrils an agreeable impression of coolness, and the same impression was also produced on their fingers when breathed upon. When they touched themselves their skin seemed to be as cold as that of a corpse; but contact with their watch chains caused them to experience a sensation like that of a burn. A thermometer placed under the tongue of one of the experimenters marked 98° Fahr., which is the normal temperature of the human species.

Emboldened by these first results, Blagden entered a hot-house in which the thermometer in certain parts reached 262° Fahr. He remained therein eight minutes, walked about in all directions, and stopped in the coolest part, which was at 240° Fahr. During all this time he experienced no painful sensations; but, at the end of seven minutes, he felt an oppression of the lungs that inquieted him and caused him to leave the place. His pulse at that moment showed 144 beats to the minute, that is to say, double what it usually did. To ascertain whether there was any error in the indications of the thermometer, and to find out what effect would take place on inert substances exposed to the hot air that he had breathed, Blogden placed some eggs in a zinc plate in the hot-house, alongside the thermometer, and found that in twenty minutes they were baked hard.

A case is reported where workmen entered a furnace for drying moulds, in England, the temperature of which was 177°, and whose iron sole plate was so hot that it carbonized their wooden shoes. In the immediate vicinity of this furnace the temperature rose to 160°. Persons not of the trade who approached anywhere near the furnace experienced pain in the eyes, nose, and ears.

A baker is cited in Angoumois, France, who spent ten minutes in a furnace at 132° C.

The resistance of the human organism to so high temperatures can be attributed to several causes. First, it has been found that the quantity of carbonic acid exhaled by the lungs, and consequently the chemical phenomena of internal combustion that are a source of animal heat, diminish in measure as the external temperature rises. Hence, a conflict which has for result the retardation of the moment at which a living being will tend, without obstacle, to take the temperature of the surrounding medium. On another hand, it has been observed that man resists heat so much the less in proportion as the air is saturated with vapors. Dr. Berger, who supported for seven minutes a temperature varying from 109° to 110° C. in dry air, could remain only twelve minutes in a bagnio whose temperature rose from 41° to 51.75°. At the Hammam of Paris the highest temperature obtained is 87°, and Dr. E. Martin has not been able to remain therein more than five minutes. This physician reports that in 1743, the thermometer having exceeded 40° at Pekin, 14,000 persons perished. These facts are explained by the cooling that the evaporation of perspiration produces on the surface of the body. Edwards has calculated that such evaporation is ten times greater in dry air in motion than in calm and humid air. The observations become still more striking when the skin is put in contact with a liquid or a solid which suppresses perspiration. Lemoine endured a bath of Bareges water of 37° for half an hour; but at 45° he could not remain in it more than seven minutes, and the perspiration began to flow at the end of six minutes. According to Brewster, persons who experience no malaise near a fire which communicates a temperature of 100° C. to them, can hardly bear contact with alcohol and oil at 55° and mercury at 48°.