Part 12

Many remarkable observations of Mars have been lately made by Mr. Percival Lowell. It seems very doubtful how far our former division of continents and oceans on Mars can be maintained. Mr. Lowell has paid special attention to a wonderful system of lines on the planet’s surface to which the name of “canals” has been given, which often show such a degree of regularity as would almost suggest the idea that they had been laid down by intelligent guidance.

THE SATELLITES OF MARS.

When Mars appeared in his full splendor in 1877, he was for the first time honored with the notice of instruments capable of doing him justice. I do not, however, mean that in former apparitions he was not also carefully observed, but a great improvement had recently taken place in telescopes, and it was thus under specially favorable auspices that his return was welcomed in 1877. This year will be always celebrated in astronomical history for a beautiful discovery made by Professor Asaph Hall, the illustrious astronomer at Washington.

Before I can explain what this discovery was, I must have a little talk about moons, or satellites as they are often called. You know that we have one moon, which is constantly revolving round the earth, and accompanies the earth in its long voyage round the sun. But the earth is only a planet, and there are many other planets which are worlds like ours. It is natural to compare these worlds, and as we have one moon, why should not the other planets also have moons? If there are children in one house in a square, why should there not be children in the other houses? We find that some of the other planets have satellites, but they do not seem to be distributed very regularly. In fact, they are almost as capriciously allotted as the children would be in eight houses that you might take at random.

In Number One there lives an old bachelor, and in Number Two a single lady. These are Mercury and Venus, and of course there are no children in either of these houses. Number Three is inhabited by old mother Earth, and she has got a fine big son, called the Moon. Number Four is a nice little house inhabited by Mars. There are to be found a pair of little twins, and nimble creatures they are too. Number Five is a great mansion. A very big man lives here, called Jupiter, with four robust sons and daughters that everybody knows. I fancy they must go to many dancing parties, for every night they may be seen whirling round and round. For three hundred years these four moons have been known to astronomers, but in 1892 there was an addition to the family in the shape of a tiny moon which had never been seen up to that time. Number Six is also a fine big house, though not quite so big as Number Five, but larger than any of the others. It is inhabited by Saturn, and contains the biggest family of all. Up till the other day eight sons and daughters were known to live here, but they are not nearly so sturdy as Jupiter’s children; in fact, the young Saturns do not make much display, and some of them are so delicate that they are hardly ever seen. In this household, too, a new member has recently appeared. For fifty years the family was known to consist of these eight sons and daughters, but in August, 1898, when they were being photographed in a group, it was discovered that a ninth moon had been added. Number Seven is also a fine large house; but Uranus, who lives there, is such a recluse that unless you carefully keep your eye on his house, you will hardly ever catch a glimpse of him. There are four children in that house, I believe, but we hardly know them. They move in circles of their own, and apparently have seen a good deal of trouble. Only one more house is to be mentioned, and that is Number Eight, inhabited by Neptune. It contains one child, but we are hardly on visiting terms with this household, and we know next to nothing about it.

Before 1877, Mars appeared to be in the same condition as Venus or Mercury--that is, devoid of the dignity of attendants. There was, however, good reason for thinking that there might be some satellites to Mars, only that we had not seen them. You see that, as Number Three had one child, and Numbers Five, Six, Seven, and Eight had each one, or more than one, it seemed hard that poor Number Four should have none at all. It was, however, certain that if there were any satellites to Mars, they must be comparatively small things; for if Mars had even one considerable moon, it must have been discovered long ago.

On the memorable occasion in 1877, Professor Hall discovered that the ruddy planet Mars was attended, not alone by one moon, but by two. Their behavior was most extraordinary. It appeared to him at first almost as if one of these little moons was playing at hide-and-seek. Sometimes it would peep out at one side of the planet, and sometimes at the other side. I have here a picture (Fig. 63) which shows how these moons of Mars revolve. That is the globe of the planet himself in the middle, and he is turning round steadily in a period which is nearly the same as our day. But the remarkable point is that the inner of the moons of Mars runs round the planet in 7 hours 39 minutes. It would seem very strange in our sky if we had a little moon which rose in the west instead of in the east, and which galloped right across the heavens three times every day--and this is what Mars has. The outer moon takes a more leisurely journey, for he requires 30 hours 18 minutes to complete a circuit. If for no other reason than to see these wonderful moons, it would be very interesting to visit Mars.

The satellites of this planet are in contrast to our moon. In the first place, our moon takes 27 days to go round the earth, and is comparatively a long way off. The moons of Mars are much nearer to their planet, and they go round much more quickly. There is also another difference. The moons of Mars are much smaller bodies than our moon. If we represent Mars by a good-sized football, his moons, on the same scale, would be hardly so big as the smallest-sized grains of shot. Does it not speak well for the power of telescopes in these modern days that objects so small as the satellites of Mars should be seen at all? You remember, of course, that neither Mars himself nor his moons have any light of their own. They shine solely in consequence of the sunlight which falls upon them. They are merely lighted like the earth itself, or like the moon. The difficulty about observing the satellites is all the greater because they are seen in the telescope close to such a brilliant body as Mars. The glare from the bright planet is such that when we want to see faint objects like the satellites we have to hide Mars, so as to get a comparatively dark space in which to search.

Now that they know exactly what to look for, a good many astronomers have observed the satellites of Mars. A superb telescope is nevertheless required. And, in fact, you could not find a better test for the excellence of an instrument than to try if it will show these delicate objects. But do not imagine that merely having a good telescope and a clear sky is all that is requisite for making astronomical discoveries. You might just as well say that by putting a first-rate cricket-bat in any man’s hands will ensure his making a grand score. Every boy knows that the bat does not make the cricketer, and I can assure him that neither will the telescope make the astronomer. In both cases, no doubt, there is some element of luck. But of this you may be certain: that as it is the man that makes the score, and not the bat, so it is the astronomer that makes the discovery, and not his telescope.

Deimos and Phobos were the names of the two personages, according to Homer, whose duty it was to attend on the god Mars, and to yoke his steeds. A conclave of classical scholars and astronomers appropriately decided that Deimos and Phobos must be the names of the two satellites to the planet which bears the name of Mars.

HOW THE TELESCOPE AIDS IN VIEWING FAINT OBJECTS.

We have been hitherto talking about large planets, which, if not as big as our earth, are at least as big as our moon. But now we have to say a few words about a number of little planets, many of them being so very small that a million rolled together would not form a globe so big as this earth. These little objects you cannot see with your unaided eye, and even with a telescope they only look like very small stars.

I have often been asked why it is that a telescope enables us to see objects, both faint and small, which our unaided eyes fail to show. Perhaps this will be a good opportunity to say a few words on the subject. I think we can explain the utility of the telescope by examining our own eyes. The eye undergoes a remarkable transformation when its owner passes from darkness into a brilliantly lighted room (Fig. 64). Here you see two views of an eye, and you notice the great difference between them. They are not intended to be the eyes of two different people, or the two eyes of the same person; they are merely two conditions of the same eye. They are intended to illustrate two different states of the eye of a collier. The right shows his eye when he is above ground in bright daylight; the left is his eye when he has gone down the coal-pit to his useful work in the dark regions below. I remember when I went down a coal-pit I was lowered down a long shaft, and when the bottom was reached a safety lamp was handed to me. The gloom was such, that at first I found some little difficulty in guiding my steps, but the capable guide beside me said in an encouraging voice, “You will be all right, sir, in a few moments, for you will get your _pit-eyes_.” I did get my “pit-eyes,” as he promised, and was able to see my way along sufficiently to enjoy the wonderful sights that are met with in the depths below.

The change that came over my eyes is that which these two pictures illustrate: the black, round spot in the centre is an opening covered with a transparent window, by which light enters the eye; the black spot is called the pupil, and nature has provided a beautiful contrivance by which the pupil can get larger or smaller, so as to make vision agreeable. When there is a great deal of light we limit the amount that enters by contracting the pupil so as to make the opening smaller. Thus the picture with the small pupil represents the state of the collier’s eye when he is above ground in bright sunlight. When he descends into the pit, where the light is very scanty, then he wants to grasp as much of it as ever he can, and consequently his pupil enlarges so as to make a wider opening, and this is what he calls getting his “pit-eyes.”

But you need not go down a coal-mine to see the use of the iris--for so that pretty membrane is called which surrounds the pupil. Every time you pass from light into darkness the same thing can be perceived. When we turn down the lights in a room, so that we are in comparative darkness, our pupils gradually expand. As soon as the lights are turned up again, then our pupils begin to contract. Other animals have the same contrivance in their eyes. You may notice in the Zoölogical Gardens how quickly the pupil of the lion contracts when he raises his eyes to the light. The power of rapidly changing the pupil might be of service to a beast of prey. Imagine him crouching in a dense shade to wait for his dinner; then of course the pupil will be large from deficiency of light; but when he springs out suddenly on his victim, in bright light, it would surely be of advantage to him to be able at once to see clearly. Accordingly his pupil adjusts itself to the altered conditions with a rapidity that might not be necessary for creatures of less predaceous habits.

These changes of the pupil explain how the telescope aids our eyes when we want to discern any faint objects, like the little planets. Such bodies are not visible to the unaided eyes, because our pupils are not large enough to grasp sufficient light for the purpose. Even when they are opened to the utmost, we want something that shall enable them to open wider still. We must therefore borrow assistance from some device which shall have an effect equivalent to an enlargement of the pupil beyond the limits that nature has actually assigned to it. What we want is something like a funnel which shall transform a large beam of rays into a small one. I may explain what I mean by the following illustration: Suppose that it is raining heavily, and that you want to fill a bucket with water. If you merely put the bucket out in the middle of a field, it will never be filled; but bring it to where the rain-shoot from a house-top is running down, and then your bucket will be running over in a few moments. The reason, of course, is that the broad top of the house has caught a vast number of drops and brought them together in the narrow shoot, and so the bucket is filled. In the same way the telescope gathers the rays of light that fall on the object glass, and condenses them into a small beam which can enter the eye. We thus have what is nearly equivalent to an eye with a pupil as big as the object glass. Thus the effect of a grand telescope amounts to a practical increase of the pupil from the size of a threepenny-piece up to that of a dinner-plate, or even much larger still.

THE ASTEROIDS OR SMALL PLANETS.

An asteroid is like a tiny star, and in fact the two bodies are very often mistaken. If we could get close to the objects, we should see a wide difference between them. We should find the asteroid to be a dark planet like our earth, lighted only by the rays from the sun. The star, small and faint though it may seem, is itself a bright sun, at such a vast distance that it is only visible as a small point. The star is millions of times as far from us as the planet, and utterly different in every respect.

It is a curious fact that the planets should happen to resemble the stars so closely. We can find an analogous fact in quite another part of nature. In visiting a good entomological collection, you will be shown some of the wonderful leaf-like insects. These creatures have wings, exactly formed to imitate leaves of trees, with the stalks and veins completely represented. When one of these insects lies at rest, with its wings folded, among a number of leaves, it would be almost impossible to penetrate the disguise. This mimicry is no doubt an ingenious artifice to deceive the birds or other enemies that want to eat the insect. There is, however, one test which the cunning bird could apply: the leaves do not move about of their own accord, but the leaf-insects do. If therefore the bird will only have the patience to wait, he will see a pair of the seeming leaves move, and then the deception will be to him a deception no longer, and he will gobble up the poor insect.

In our attempts to discover the planets we experience just the same difficulties as the insect-eating bird. Wide as is the true difference between a planet and a star, there is yet such a seeming resemblance between them that we are often puzzled to know which is which. The planets imitate the stars so successfully, that when one of them is presented to us among myriads of stars it is impossible for us to detect the planet by its appearance. But we can be cunning--we can steadily watch, and the moment we find one of these star-like points beginning to creep about we can pounce upon it. We know by its movements that it is only disguised as a star, but that it is really one of the planets.

It is not always easy to discover the asteroids even by this principle, for unfortunately these bodies move very slowly. If you have a planet in the field of view, it will creep along so gradually that an hour or more must have elapsed before it has shifted its position with respect to the neighboring stars to any appreciable extent. The search for such little planets is therefore a tedious one, but there are two methods of conducting it: the new one, which has only recently come into use, and the old one. I shall speak of the old one first.

Although the body’s motion is so slow, yet when sufficient time is allowed, the planet will not only move away from the stars close by, but will even journey round the entire heavens. The surest way of making the discovery is to study a small part of the heavens now and to examine the same locality again months or years afterwards. Memory will not suffice for this purpose. No one could recollect all the stars he saw with sufficient distinctness to be confident that the field of the telescope on the second occasion contained either more or fewer stars than it did on the first. The only way of doing this work is to draw a map of the stars very carefully. This is a tedious business, for the stars are so numerous that even in a small part of the heavens there will be many thousands of stars visible in the telescope. All of these will have to be entered faithfully in their true places on the map. When this has been done the map must be laid aside for a season, and then it is brought out again and compared with the sky. No doubt the great majority of the objects will be found just as they were before. These are the stars, the distant suns, and our concern is not at present with them. Sometimes it will happen that an object marked on the first map has left a vacant place on the second. This, however, does not help us much, for, whatever the object was, it has vanished into obscurity, and a new planet could hardly be discovered in this way. But sometimes it will happen that there is a small point of light seen in the second map which has no corresponding point in the first. Then, indeed, the expectation of the astronomer is aroused; he may be on the brink of a discovery. Of course he watches accurately the little stranger. It might be some star that had been accidentally overlooked when forming the map, or it might possibly be a star that has become bright in the interval. But here is a ready test: is the body moving? He looks at it very carefully, and notes its position with respect to the adjacent stars. In an hour or two his suspicions may be confirmed; if the object be in motion, then it is really a planet. A few further observations, made on subsequent days, will show the path of the body. And the astronomer has only to assure himself that the object is not one of the planets that have been already found before he announces his discovery.

The new method of searching for small planets, which has only come into use in recent years, is a very beautiful one, and renders the process of making such discoveries much more easy than the older method which I have just described.

We can take photographs of the heavenly bodies by adjusting a sensitive plate in the telescope so that the images of the objects we desire to see shall fall upon it. The method will apply to very small stars, if by excellent clockwork and careful guiding we can keep the telescope constantly pointing to the same spot until the stars have had time to imprint their little images. Thus we obtain a map of the heavens, made in a thoroughly accurate manner. Indeed, the delicacy of photography for this purpose is so great, that the plates show many stars which cannot be seen with even the greatest of telescopes. Suppose that a little planet happened to lie among the stars which are being photographed. All the time that the plate is being exposed the wanderer is, of course, creeping along, and after an hour (exposures even longer are often used), it may have moved through a distance sufficient to ensure its detection. The plate will, therefore, show the stars as points, but the planet will betray its presence by producing a streak.

The asteroids now known number between 400 and 500. Out of this host a few afford some information to the astronomer, but the majority of them are objects possessing individually only the slightest interest. No small planet is worth looking at as a telescopic picture. We should consider that asteroid to be a large one which possessed a surface altogether as great as England or France. Many of these planets have a superficial extent not so large as some of our great counties. A globe which was just big enough to be covered by Yorkshire--if you could imagine that large county neatly folded round it--would make a very respectable minor planet.

We know hardly anything of the nature of these small worlds, but it is certain that any living beings they could support must have a totally different nature from the creatures that we know on this earth. We can easily prove this by making a calculation. I shall suppose a small planet one hundred miles wide, its diameter being, therefore, the one-eightieth part of the diameter of the earth. If we were landed on such a globe, we should be far more puzzled by the extraordinary lightness of everything than we should be in the similar case of the moon to which I referred (p. 124). If we suppose the planet to be constructed of materials which had the same density as those of which the earth is made, then every weight would be reduced to the eightieth part of what it is here.

There would be one curious consequence of residence on such a globe. We have heard of attempts to make flying machines, or to provide a man with wings by which he shall soar aloft like the birds. All such contrivances have hitherto failed. It may be possible to make a pair of wings by which a man can fly down, but it is quite another matter when he tries to fly up again. Suppose, however, we were living on a small planet, it would be perfectly easy to fly, for as our bodies would only seem to weigh a couple of pounds, we ought to be able to flap a pair of wings strong enough to overcome so trivial a force. I should, however, add that this is on the supposition that the atmosphere has the same density as our own.

Life on these small planets would indeed be extraordinary. Let us take, for example, Flora, and see how a game of lawn tennis on that body would be managed. The very slightest blow of the racket would drive the ball a prodigious distance before it could touch the ground; indeed, unless the courts were about half a mile long, it would be impossible to serve any ball that was not a fault. Nor is there any great exertion necessary for playing lawn tennis on Flora, even though the courts are several hundred acres in extent. As a young lady ran to meet the ball and return it, each of her steps might cover a hundred yards or so without extra effort; and should she have the misfortune to get a fall, her descent to the ground would be as gentle as if she was seeking repose on a bed of the softest swan’s-down.

These little planets cluster together in a certain part of our system. Inside are the four inner planets, of which we have already spoken; outside are the four outer planets, of which we have soon to speak. Between these two groups there was a vacant space. It seemed unreasonable that where there was room for planets, planets should not be found. Accordingly the search was made, and these objects were discovered. Even at the present day, more and more are being constantly added to the list.