Part 17

THE MATERIALS OF A COMET.

A comet is made of very unsubstantial material. This we can show in a very interesting manner, when we see it moving over the sky between the earth and the stars. Sometimes a comet will pass over a cluster of very small stars, so faint that the very lightest cloud that is ever in the sky would be quite sufficient to hide them. Yet the stars are distinctly visible right through the comet, notwithstanding that it may be hundreds of thousands of miles thick. This shows us how excessively flimsy is the substance of a comet, for while a few feet of haze or mist suffice to extinguish the brightest of stars, this immense curtain of comet stuff, whatever it may be made of, is practically transparent.

I have often told you that we are able to weigh the heavenly bodies, but a comet gives us a great deal of trouble. You see that the weighing machine must be of a very delicate kind if you are going to weigh a very light object. Take, for example, a little lock of golden hair, which no doubt has generally a value quite independent of the number of grains that it contains. Suppose, however, that we are so curious as to desire to know its weight, then one of those beautiful balances in our laboratories will tell us. In fact, if you snipped a little fragment from a single hair, the balance would be sensitive enough to weigh it. If, however, you were only provided with a common pair of scales like those which are suited for the parcel post, then you could never weigh anything so light as a lock of hair. You have not small enough weights to begin with, and even if you had they would be of no use, for the scale is too coarse to estimate such a trifle. This is precisely the sort of difficulty we experience when we try to weigh a comet. The body, though so big, is very light, and our scales are so cumbersome that we are in a position of one who would try to weigh a lock of hair with a parcel-post balance. We cannot always find suitable scales for weighing celestial bodies. We have to use for the purpose whatever methods of discovering the weights happen to be available. So far, the methods I have mentioned are of the rudest description; they serve well enough for weighing heavy masses like planets, but they will not do for such unsubstantial bodies as comets.

But, though we fail in this endeavor, _i.e._ to weigh comets, yet skilful astronomers have succeeded in something which at first you might think to be almost impossible. They have actually been able to discover some of the ingredients of which a comet is made. This is so important a subject that I must explain it fully.

The most instructive comet which we have seen in modern days is that which appeared in the year 1882. It was an object so great that its tail alone was double as long as from the earth to the sun. It was discovered at the observatories in the southern hemisphere early in September of that year. A little later it was observed in the northern hemisphere in extraordinary circumstances. It must be remembered that a comet is generally a faint object, and that even those comets which are large enough and bright enough to form glorious spectacles in the sky at night are usually invisible during the brightness of day. For a comet to be seen in daylight was indeed an unusual occurrence; but on the forenoon of Sunday, September 17, Mr. Common at Ealing saw a great comet close to the sun. Unfortunately clouds intervened, and he was prevented from observing the critical occurrence just approaching. An astronomer at the Cape of Good Hope--Mr. Finlay--who had also been one of the earliest discoverers of the comet, was watching the body on the same day. He followed it as it advanced close up to the sun; bright indeed must that comet have been which permitted such a wonderful observation. At the sun’s edge the comet disappeared instantly; in fact, the observers thought that it must have gone behind the sun. They could not otherwise account for the suddenness with which it vanished. This was not what really happened. It was afterwards ascertained that the comet had not passed behind the sun; it had, indeed, come between us and our luminary. In its further progress this body showed in a striking degree the incoherent nature of the materials of which a comet is composed. It seemed to throw off portions of its mass along its track, each of which continued an independent journey. Even the central part in the head of the comet--the nucleus, as it is called--showed itself to be of a widely different nature from a substantial planetary body. The nucleus divided into two, three, four, or even five distinct parts, which seemed, in the words of one observer, to be connected together like pearls on a string.

The comet of 1882 was also very instructive with regard to the actual materials from which such bodies are made. Astronomers have a beautiful method by which they find out the substances present in a heavenly body, even though they never can get a specimen of the body into their hands. We know at least three materials which were present in this comet. The first of them is an ingredient which is very commonly found in comets--a chemist calls it carbon. It is an extremely familiar material on the earth; for instance, coal is chiefly composed of carbon. Charcoal when burned leaves only a few ashes. All the substance that has vanished during combustion is carbon; in fact, it is not too much to say that carbon is found abundantly not only in wood, but in almost every form of vegetable matter. The food we eat contains abundant carbon, and it is an important constituent in the building up of our own bodies. Generally speaking, carbon is not found in a pure state--it is associated with other substances. Soot and lampblack are largely composed of it; but the purest form of this element carbon that we know is the diamond.

It is interesting to note that carbon is certainly found as a frequent constituent of comets. The great comet of 1882 undoubtedly contained it, as well as certain other substances. Of these we know two: the first is the element sodium, an extremely abundant material on earth, inasmuch as the salt in the sea is mainly composed of it. It was also discovered that the same great comet contained another substance very common here and extremely useful to mankind. Dr. Copeland and Dr. Lohse at Dunecht showed that iron was present in this body which had come in to visit us from the depths of space.

These discoveries are especially interesting because they seem to show the uniformity of material composing our system. We already knew that sodium and iron abounded in the sun, and now we have learned that these bodies and carbon as well are present in the comets. In the next chapter we shall learn that the very same materials--sodium and iron--are met with in bodies far more remote from us than any bodies of our own system.

Comets have such a capricious habit of dashing into the solar system at any time and from any direction, that it is worth while asking whether a comet might not sometimes happen to come into collision with the earth. There is nothing impossible in such an occurrence. There is, however, no reason to apprehend that any disastrous consequences would ensue to the earth. Man has lived on this globe for many, many thousands of years, and the rocks are full of the remains of fossil animals which have flourished during past ages; indeed, we cannot possibly estimate the number of millions of years that have elapsed since living things first crawled about this globe. There has never been any complete break in the succession of life, consequently during all those millions of years we are certain that no such dire calamity has happened to the earth as a frightful collision would have produced, and we need not apprehend any such catastrophe in the future.

I do not mean, however, that harmless collisions with comets may not have occasionally happened; in fact, there is good reason for knowing that they have actually taken place. In the year 1861 a fine comet appeared; and it is not so well remembered as its merits deserve, because it happened, unfortunately for its own renown, to appear just three years after the comet of 1858, which was one of the most gorgeous objects of this kind in modern times. But in 1861 we had a novel experience. On a Sunday evening in midsummer of that year, we dashed into the comet, or it dashed into us. We were not, it is true, in collision with its densest part; it was rather the end of the tail which we encountered. There were, fortunately, no very serious results. Indeed, most of us never knew that anything had happened at all, and the rest only learned of the accident long after it was all over. For a couple of hours that night it would seem that we were actually in the tail of the comet, but so far as I know no one was injured or experienced any alarming inconvenience. Indeed, I have only heard of one calamity arising from the collision. A clergyman tells us that at midsummer he was always able in ordinary years to read his sermon at evening service without artificial light. On this particular occasion, however, the sky was overcast with a peculiar glow, while the ordinary light was so much interfered with that the sexton had to provide a pair of candles to enable him to get through the sermon. The expense of those candles was, I believe, the only loss to the earth in consequence of its collision with the comet of 1861.

The tail of a comet appears to develop under the influence of the sun. As the wandering body approaches the source of central heat it grows warm, and as it gets closer and closer to the sun, the fervor becomes greater and greater, until sometimes the comet experiences a heat more violent than any we could produce in our furnaces. The most infusible substances, such as stones or earth, would be heated white-hot and melted, and even driven off into vapor, under the intense heat to which a comet is sometimes exposed. Comets, indeed, have been known to sweep round the sun so closely as to pass within a seventh part of its radius from the surface. It seems that certain materials present in the comet, when heated to this extraordinary temperature, are driven away from the head, and thus form the tail (Fig. 76). Hence we see that the tail consists of a stream of vaporous particles, dashing away from the sun as if the heat which had called them into being was a torment from which they were endeavoring to escape.

The tail of a comet is, therefore, not a permanent part of the body. It is more like the smoke from a great chimney. The smoke is being incessantly renewed at one end as the column gets dispersed into the air at the other. As the comet retreats, the sun’s heat loses its power. In the chills of space there is, therefore, no tail-making in progress, while the small mass of the comet renders it unable to gather back again by its attraction the materials which have been expelled. Should it happen that the comet moves in an elliptic orbit, and thus comes back time after time to be invigorated by a good roasting from the sun, it will, of course, endeavor to manufacture a tail each time that it approaches the source of heat. The quantity of material available for the formation of tails is limited to the amount with which the comet originally started; no fresh supply can be added. If, therefore, the comet expends a portion of this every time it comes round, an inevitable consequence seems to follow. Suppose a boy receives a sovereign when he goes back to school, and that every time he passes the pastry-cook’s shop some of his money disappears in a manner that I dare say you can conjecture, I need not tell you that before long the sovereign will have totally vanished. In a similar way comets cannot escape the natural consequences of their extravagance; their store of tail-making substance must, therefore, gradually diminish. At each successive return the tails produced must generally decline in size and magnificence, until at last the necessary materials have been all squandered, and we have the pitiful spectacle of a comet without any tail at all.

The gigantic size of comets must excite our astonishment. A pebble tossed into a river would not be more completely engulfed than is our whole earth when it enters the tail of one of these bodies. But we now pass by a sudden transition to speak of the very smallest bodies, of little objects so minute that you could carry them in your waistcoat pocket. You will perhaps be surprised that such things can play an important part in our system and have a momentous connection with mighty comets.

METEORS.

If you look out from your window at the midnight sky, or take a walk on a fine clear night, you will occasionally see a streak of light dash over the heavens, thus forming what is called a falling, or a shooting, star (Fig. 77). It is not really one of the regular stars that has darted from its place. The objects we are now talking of are quite different from stars proper. To begin with, the shooting stars are comparatively close to us when we see them, and they are very small, whereas the stars themselves are enormous globes, far bigger than our earth, or often even bigger than the sun. Sometimes a great shooting star is seen which makes a tremendous blaze of light as bright as the moon, or even brighter still. These objects we call meteors, and you will be very fortunate if you can ever see a really fine one. Astronomers cannot predict these things as they predict the appearance of the planets. Bright meteors consequently appear quite unexpectedly, and it is a matter of chance as to who shall enjoy the privilege of beholding them. But it is not about the great meteors that we are now going to speak particularly; they are often not so interesting as the small ones.

These little meteoroids, as we shall call them, have a curious history. They become visible to us only at the very last moment of their existence--in fact, the streak of light which forms a shooting star is merely the destruction of a meteoroid. You must always remember that we are here living at the bottom of a great ocean of air, and above the air extends the empty space. Air is a great impediment to motion; a large part of the power of a locomotive engine has to be expended solely in pushing the air out of the way so as to allow the train to get through. The faster the speed, the greater is the tax which the air imposes on the moving body. A cannon-ball, for instance, loses an immensity of its speed, and consequently of its power, by having to bore its way through the air. In outer space beyond the limits of this atmosphere, a freedom of movement can be enjoyed of which we know nothing down here. I spoke of this when discussing the movements of Encke’s comet. Even this very unsubstantial body could dash along without appreciable resistance until it traversed the atmosphere surrounding the sun. But now we have to speak of the motion of a little object both small and dense, resembling perhaps a pebble or a fragment of iron, or some substance of that description. It is a little body such as this which produces a shooting star.

For ages and ages the meteoroid has been moving freely through space. The speed with which it dashes along greatly exceeds that of any of the motions with which we are familiar. It is about 100 times as swift as the pace of a rifle-bullet. About twenty miles would be covered in a second. You can hardly imagine what that speed is capable of. Suppose that you put one of these flying meteoroids beside an express train to race from London to Edinburgh, the meteoroid would have won the race before the train had got out of the station. Or suppose that a shooting star determined to make the circuit of the earth, it might, so far as pace is concerned, go entirely around the globe and back to the point from which it started in a little more than twenty minutes. But the fact is, you could not make any object down here move as fast as a shooting star. No gunpowder that could be made would be strong enough, in the first place, and even if the body could once receive the speed, it would never be able to force its way through the air uninjured.

So long as a little shooting star is tearing away through open space we are not able to see it. The largest telescope in the world would not reveal a glimpse of anything so small. The meteoroid has no light of its own, and it is not big enough to exhibit the light reflected from the sun in the same manner as a little planet would do. It is only at the moment when it begins to be destroyed that its visibility commences. If the little object can succeed in dashing past our earth without becoming entangled in the atmosphere, then it will pursue its track with perhaps only a slight alteration in its path, due to the pull exercised by the earth. The air which surrounds our globe may be likened to a vast net, in which if any little meteor becomes caught its career is over. For when the little body, after rejoicing in the freedom of open space, dashes into air, immediately it experiences a terrific resistance; it has to force the particles of air out of the way so as to make room for itself, and in doing so it rubs against them with such vehemence that heat is produced.

I am sure every boy knows that if he rubs a button upon a board it becomes very hot, in consequence of the friction. There are many other ways in which we can illustrate the production of heat in the same manner. One is a contrivance by which we spin round rapidly a piece of stick pressed against a board. Quantities of heat are thus produced by the friction, and volumes of smoke rise up. We have read how some savages are able to produce fire by means of friction in a somewhat similar manner, but to do so requires a rare amount of skill and patience. There is another illustration by which to show how heat can be produced by friction. A brass tube full of water is so arranged that it can be turned around very rapidly by the whirling table. We apply pressure to the tube, and after a minute or two the water begins to get hot, and then at last to boil, until ultimately the cork is driven out and a diminutive and, fortunately, harmless explosion of the friction boiler takes place. Engineers are aware how frequently heat is produced by friction, when it is very inconvenient or dangerous. Indeed, unless the wheels of railway carriages are kept well greased, the rubbing of the axle may generate so much heat that conflagrations in the carriage will ensue. Nature, in the little shooting star, gives us a striking illustration of the same fact. Perhaps you may be surprised to hear that the whole brilliancy of the shooting star is simply due to friction. As the little body dashes through the air it becomes first red-hot, then white-hot, until at last it is melted and turned into vapor. Thus is formed that glowing streak which we, standing very many miles below, see as a shooting star.

A bullet when fired from a rifle will fly into pieces after it has struck against the target, and if you quickly pick up one of these pieces you will generally find it quite hot. Whence comes this heat? The bullet, of course, was cold before the rifleman pulled the trigger. No doubt there was a considerable amount of heat developed by the burning of the gunpowder, but the bullet was so short a time in contact with the wad, through which so little heat would pass, that we must look to some other source for the warmth that has been acquired. Friction against the barrel as the bullet passed to the mouth must have warmed the missile a good deal, and when rubbing against the air the same influence must have added still further to its temperature, while the blow against the target would finally warm it yet more.

In comparing the shooting star with the rifle-bullet we must remember that the celestial object is travelling with a pace 100 times as swift as the utmost velocity that the rifle can produce, and the heat which is generated by friction is increased in still greater proportion. If we double the speed, we shall increase the quantity of heat by friction fourfold; if we increase the speed three times, then friction will be capable of producing nine times as much heat. In fact, we must multiply the number expressing the relative speed by itself--that is, we must form its square--if we want to find an accurate measure for the quantity of heat which friction is able to produce when a rapidly moving body is being stopped by its aid. The shooting star may have a pace 100 times that of the rifle-bullet, and if we multiply 100 by 100 we get 10,000; consequently we see that the heat produced by the shooting star before its motion was arrested in dashing through the air would be 10,000 times that gained by the rifle-bullet in its flight. If the temperature of the rifle-bullet only rose a single degree by friction, it would thus be possible for the shooting star to gain 10,000 degrees, and this would be enough to melt and boil away any object which ever existed. Thus we need not be surprised that friction through the air, and friction alone, has proved an adequate cause for the production of all the heat necessary to account for the most brilliant of meteors.

It is rather fortunate for us that the meteors do dash in with this frightful speed; had the little bodies only moved as quickly as a rifle-bullet, or even only four or five times as fast, they would have pelted down on the earth in solid form. Indeed, on rare occasions it does happen that bodies from the heavens strike down on the ground. The great majority of those that fall on the ground, however, become entirely transformed into harmless vapor. The earth would, indeed, be almost uninhabitable from this cause alone were it not for the protection that the air affords us. All day and all night innumerable missiles would be whizzing about us, and though many of them are undoubtedly very small, yet as their speed is 100 times that of a rifle-bullet, the fusillade would be very unpleasant. It is, indeed, the intense hurry of these celestial bullets to get at us which is the very source of our safety. It dissipates the meteors into streaks of harmless vapor.

WHAT BECOMES OF THE SHOOTING STARS.

When we throw a lump of coal on the fire, all that is soon left is a little pinch of ashes, and the rest of the coal has vanished. You might think it had been altogether annihilated, but that is not nature’s way. Nothing is ever completely destroyed; it is merely transformed or changed into something else. The greater part of the coal has united with the oxygen which it has obtained from the air, and has formed a new gas, which has ascended the chimney. Every particle that was in the coal can be thus accounted for, and in the act of transformation heat is given out.

A meteor also becomes transformed, but the substance it contains is not lost, though it is changed into glowing vapors. It is known that with heat enough any substance can be turned into vapor, just as water can be boiled into steam. Look at an electric light flashing between two pieces of carbon. Though carbon is one of the most difficult substances to melt, yet such is the intense heat generated by the electric current that the carbon is not only melted, but is actually turned into a vapor, and it is this vapor glowing with heat that gives us the brilliant light. In a similar manner iron can be rendered red-hot, white-hot, and then boiled and transformed into an iron vapor, if we may so call it. There is, indeed, plenty of such iron vapor in the universe. Quantities of it surround the sun and some of the stars.