Measuring the Blizzard's Rage.
Measuring the Blizzard's Rage.
Shielded snow gauge in the Northwest to register the amount of snow-fall.
Courtesy of U. S. Weather Bureau.
"Certainly," the weather expert answered. "As a matter of fact, it is comparatively easy. A cold wave is simply a fall of temperature caused by the cold air from the upper atmosphere sweeping downwards after a cyclone of low pressure has passed."
"A cyclone?" ejaculated Ross, in surprise. "Is there always a cyclone before a cold wave?"
"Always," the Forecaster answered, "but, unless I'm mistaken, Ross, you're using the word 'cyclone' in the wrong sense. Most people do. I suppose you think a cyclone is some kind of a whirlwind, a particularly violent storm, eh?"
"Yes, sir," said Ross, "that's what I thought."
"Well, Anton can tell you better than that," the weather expert rejoined. "Tell him what a cyclone is, Anton."
"So far as I can make out," the crippled lad answered, "a cyclone is a whirl in the air, generally from five hundred to a thousand miles across, inthe middle of which the barometer is very low, and on the edge of which the barometer rises. It always has winds that blow spirally inwards, those in the United States whirling in a direction opposite to the movement of the hands of a clock.
"So you see, Ross, to the east of a 'low' or ahead of it, the winds are southeasterly, to the north they are northeasterly, to the west, or behind it, they are northwesterly, and to the south, they are southeasterly, all curving into the centre and shifting as the 'low' advances. As these 'lows' travel along the storm track at an average rate of four hundred miles a day, as mountains interfere, and as the shape of a 'low' in America isn't quite round, but looks like a sort of crooked oval, it takes close figuring to find out what the wind is going to do."
"And where does the cold wave come in?" persisted the farmer.
"That comes after the cyclone," explained Anton. "A 'low' means that the pressure of the atmosphere is less than usual, and, consequently, doesn't press the mercury up so far in the barometer. The air weighs less, that shows that it must be expanding. The winds in front blowing into a 'low' are generally warm winds. When a'low' is traveling fast, with a 'high' or 'anti-cyclone' behind, the colder winds come rushing forward to take the place of the rising warm air and they bring colder weather with them. The freeze comes during the early clearing weather of a 'high,' before the anti-cyclonic winds—which blow in the opposite direction, the way of the hands of a clock—have had a chance to steady down."
"Then," said the farmer shrewdly, "if you get reports of wind and of barometer from points to the west and northwest, you can tell when a cold wave in on the way. Is that it?"
"Exactly," the Forecaster replied. "We cannot always tell, of course, when the weather is going to be a little colder or a little warmer, but a cold wave, serious enough to damage crops and property, can always be foretold. Remember your storm tracks again. In this county, in the State of Mississippi, we are very unlikely to get a freeze, unless there is a rapidly moving 'low' passing up towards the Ohio and St. Lawrence Valleys followed by an equally energetic 'high' plunging down from the Canadian Northwest."
"And can you always tell what the weather is like, all over the country?"
"Yes, indeed," the Forecaster answered. "There are two hundred official stations scattered all over the United States and the West Indies, each one carefully selected because its site is a key station to weather changes. Twice a day, exactly at eight o'clock in the morning and eight o'clock in the evening, the observations are taken at each station."
"And have they all got rain gauges like mine?" asked Anton.
"Yes, all of them."
"And wind-measurers, like my anemometer?" queried Tom.
"Yes," the Forecaster agreed with a smile, "and some of them have devices that make a continuous record of wind velocity."
"And barometers like mine?" put in one of the younger boys, not to be outdone.
"Various forms of barometers, and barographs, and thermographs, and sunshine recorders and all sorts of things. Some of them even have seismographs, which tell of every tiny little earthquake, that may be going on all over the world. You know, boys, there's hardly an hour of the day that there isn't a small earthquake, somewhere, and there are really quite sizeable earthquakes at least once a month. A well-equipped weather office is quite a complicated affair, and it takes well-trained men to conduct the observations and interpret them properly."
"All those observations are sent to Washington, aren't they, sir?" queried Anton. "Just as I send mine every night to Bob, for him to transmit by wireless."
"Just the same way," the Forecaster answered, "except that they're all sent in cipher, of course. Once in a while the cipher results in some queer combinations. The regular routine requires that an observer send the temperature, the barometric pressure of the atmosphere, the amount of rain or snow, the direction and force of the wind, the state of the weather, the types of clouds and the highest and lowest temperature since the last observation. I remember once, while at the Milwaukee station, we got the following message from La Crosse, Wisconsin:
"'Cross All My Ink Frozen'
"It so happened that we had Charlie Cross working at that station at that time, but the message did not apply to him, nor, for that matter, to his ink. On second consideration and reading, the message read very differently. 'Cross' was thecode name of the station; 'All' meant that his barometer read 30.02 and that his morning temperature was zero; 'My' conveyed the information that his sky was clear, the wind from the south and that his minimum temperature for the night was zero; 'Ink' informed us that the wind velocity at the station was six miles an hour and that he could not add the usual height of the water in the Mississippi as the river was 'frozen.' Similar code messages are sent in twice a day from each of the two hundred stations.
"So you see, Mr. Tighe, if all these various observations combine to describe a certain weather type, if we can check up the accuracy by comparison with stations to the north, south, east and west, and if all these combine to produce a certain definite picture, our weather forecast can be made with tolerable certainty. As an absolute matter of fact, during the past six years, the exact percentage of accurate forecasts is eighty-two per cent, and of the eighteen per cent remaining, eleven were partly right. That leaves a very small proportion of mistakes in weather forecasting. Now, let us take in detail the cold wave which Fred, quite rightly, said was on its way here.
"Here is the Weather Map of the day beforeyesterday." He placed it on the table in front of the old farmer. "You will notice two sets of curved lines, solid lines and dotted lines. The solid lines are called 'isobars' and they follow the course of places which have the same barometric pressure. The dotted lines are called 'isotherms' and they follow the lines of places having the same temperature. These maps are never twice the same. The Weather Bureau does not possess on its books the record of any two days when the weather was duplicated over the United States."
"You mean that every day's weather map is different?"
"As different as every human face," the Forecaster replied, "and to those of us who have done much forecasting, it is as easy to see from the map when the weather is going to be peaceful or stormy as it is to tell whether a man is smiling or scowling. But let us look at these three charts closely, and you will see just why Fred was right.
"At eight o'clock in the morning, the day before yesterday, there was a well-defined 'low' with a barometer of 29.8 just east of Salt Lake City, driving warmer weather before it. Issaquena County was just recovering from the effects of a 'high,' which, as you can see on the map, was disappearing by its favorite route, the St. Lawrence Valley. What was your temperature here the day before yesterday, Anton?"
"Thirty-six degrees, sir," the crippled lad answered, rapidly consulting his week's record, which was hanging on the wall.
"Fairly cold, you see. And the wind, Tom?"
Tom pulled out a note-book from his pocket.
"North-east, sir," he said.
"Very good. Now, Mr. Tighe, you can see from the map that the barometric pressure, the isobar, running through this part of the country shows a barometric pressure of 30.30. From what Anton told you, it is easy to see that, the day before yesterday, Issaquena County was still in the grip of the tail end of a 'high,' with a high barometric pressure—five points above the low in Salt Lake City—with a cold temperature, and with a wind blowing outwards from the 'high' or anti-cyclone. Is that clear?"
"Clear as well water," the farmer declared.
"Now," said the Forecaster, "let us look at yesterday's map for eight o'clock in the morning. Here, just over the Canadian border, right at Medicine Hat—as though to make good the old proverb—is a vigorous 'high,' with a barometerof 30.50, with a temperature of 20° below zero and with the winds blowing outward from the centre. The 'low,' which the day before yesterday was central over Salt Lake City, yesterday was central over Oklahoma City. It has, therefore, traveled over five hundred miles in the day. On all sides of the 'low' there is rain, and you remember how it rained here, yesterday morning, early?"
"Indeed I do," said Jed Tighe. "I didn't get out on the land until nearly eleven o'clock."
"Now what was the temperature here yesterday morning, Anton?" the Forecaster queried.
"Forty-six degrees," answered Anton promptly, for he had been expecting the question.
"Ten degrees warmer, you see, Mr. Tighe, as the 'low' came nearer. And what was the wind, Tom?"
"South-south-east," the lad answered, his note-book in hand.
"Showing," the Forecaster explained, "that during the twenty-four hours, Issaquena County had lost the effect of the 'high,' which has disappeared from the map, and was fully in the grip of the oncoming 'low.' Now, if you look at the map, Mr. Tighe, you'll see that the isobar for this region shows a barometer pressure of 29.50, a terrific drop of four points in twenty-four hours. No wonder it rained!"
The farmer bent over the map, his eyes glued on the lines which suddenly seemed to spring into life before him.
"Down over the country comes this 'low,' at the rate of five hundred miles a day, with rain and moist winds accompanying it, and sharp on its heels, racing from the north, comes the cold 'high' which we have just seen forming at Medicine Hat. The cold wave is fully organized and is on its way."
He laid the third map on the table.
"Here is the situation at eight o'clock this morning," he said. "The 'low' or storm, has swung at right angles, following the preferred Ohio and St. Lawrence Valley Route. It left Toledo early this morning and at eight o'clock was raging over the Great Lakes, with its centre north of Buffalo. It is speeding up, you see, having traveled eight hundred miles since yesterday. The cold wave 'high' from Medicine Hat has traveled along its usual track and is now central over Kansas, with clear skies and a drop of thirty degrees in temperature. There was a severe freeze in Kansaslast night, with zero temperatures, and freezing point was touched on the Mexican border."
"Whew," whistled the farmer, "and is that on its way here?"
"It is," the Forecaster answered. "Your temperature?" he continued, turning to the boy.
"Thirty-seven," Anton answered.
"Going down rapidly, you see. The wind, Tom?"
"Northwest."
"Blowing outwards from the rapidly approaching 'high.'"
"What's the barometer?" asked the farmer, who was quickly grasping the manner of reading a weather map.
"It has gone up again to 30.02. The cold wave is coming fast. Since Dodge City, Kansas, is about five hundred miles from here, and since the 'high' is traveling at about seven hundred miles a day, and as, moreover, there is generally a slight slowing up as it makes the turn, the centre of the 'high' ought to strike us here about six o'clock tomorrow morning. The cold wave, however, is in advance of the centre, so Mr. Tighe, you need to be prepared for a cold wave tonight.
"If you ship your potatoes this afternoon, asyou planned to do, they would meet severe weather and might get frozen. If you ship them tomorrow, you might be safe, but you couldn't be sure, because the 'high' is turning northwards and therefore its eastward distance is not so great. If you ship them on Monday you would be safe, but even then you could not ship them to New York, for a fast train might overtake the tail of the cold wave. On Tuesday you can safely ship them to any part of the United States."
The farmer stepped back from the table and his eye roved over the boys.
"And was that the way that you lads figured out that my fruit was likely to be frozen?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said Anton, "that was how."
"It's a marvel," the farmer declared. "I don't see why more people don't use these Weather Maps."
"Hundreds of thousands of people do," the Forecaster replied. "You'd be surprised, Mr. Tighe, if you knew how big business firms all over the country study these changes of weather. Heating and lighting plants of great cities study conditions of cold and of darkness. Municipal systems, with exposed water mains, take precautions against frost. Large stockyards, like those of Chicago, drain their water pipes. Gasoline engines are drained. Street railway companies are supposed to turn more heat into their cars. Natural gas companies are required to put on a greater pressure. Dredging of sand and gravel is suspended. Piles of iron ore, lying on wharves, are placed in the holds of vessels to keep the ore from freezing solid.
"Take ordinary questions of trade, which we all know well. Wholesalers distribute stocks of cold-weather goods to retailers when a cold spell is forecast, and wideawake retailers make special provisions for it. Advertising managers of big department stores, who prepare their advertisements for the daily papers, the day before, study weather reports very carefully. You can go into an ad-writer's office, with the sun shining in at his window, and find that he is writing display of umbrellas and rubbers. The explanation is the Weather Map, which is lying on his desk. Everywhere you go, you'll find that the really big business organizations study the Weather Reports as closely as a stock-broker studies the Wall Street reports."
Signals on Delaware Breakwater.
Signals on Delaware Breakwater.
Courtesy of Geo. S. Bliss, U.S. Weather Bureau, Philadelphia, Pa.
Signal Tower for storm warnings.
Signal Tower for storm warnings.
Flags used by day, lanterns by night.
Courtesy of U.S. Weather Bureau.
The farmer stared at the Forecaster.
"Why," he said, in astonishment, "I never had any idea that the Weather Forecast was so important. I just thought people read it to know whether it was going to rain, whether they should take an umbrella or not."
"Rain forecasts," the weather expert rejoined, "may be useful for one's personal comfort, but their importance is nation-wide. Until a few years ago, one-eighth of the value of the entire raisin crop was lost every year by occasional showers while the fruit was drying. The Weather Bureau established a special service to take care of this region and for five years there has not been a single non-avoidable loss. Berries are picked before rain. Vegetables which are dug before rain, stand shipment better than those dug afterwards. In the alfalfa region, rain forecasts are all-important, since the hay can be baled in the field when it is dry but not when it is wet.
"Every kind of brick, cement, and lime manufacture has got to be protected from the rain, and twenty-four hours' notice enables all such factories to protect their product. Contractors for outdoor work make their estimates and contracts on the basis of weather forecasts, railroad companies provide against washouts, and irrigationcompanies control their output of water according to the expected rainfall."
"This is great stuff," said Fred, under his breath to Ross. "I'm going to run this in theReview!"
"Snow warnings," the Forecaster went on, "are of equal value. All over the western country, where the snows are apt to be heavy, the tonnage of passenger and freight trains is made up in accordance with the expected weather, and the snow-fighting equipment is prepared. On the great Western ranches, stock is hurried from the open range either to constructed shelters or to naturally protected gullies, on notice of blizzards, northers and heavy snows. This is especially necessary on sheep ranches. Twenty-four hours' notice of a heavy snow-storm saves the country at least half a million dollars in stock loss and property damage.
"Storm warnings, perhaps, are even more important. Hundreds of lives are saved, every year, by vessels remaining in port when a storm or hurricane is expected. A recent storm on the Great Lakes was forecast as being so severe that scarcely any vessels left port. Many ships, undoubtedly, would have foundered, had they beenout in the gale. Yet, aside from the Weather Map, there was no local indication that bad weather was brewing. When storm warnings are issued, fishermen take steps to protect their boats and nets and a fisherman's boat and net is his whole livelihood. Lumbermen make their booms of logs secure. Rice-planters flood their crops to prevent the breaking of the brittle straw by the wind. Wherever construction work is proceeding, and a wind of unusual force is forecast, builders and engineers make doubly secure that which is already constructed, instead of proceeding with outlying portions of the structure.
"In short, Mr. Tighe, there is scarcely a business in the country which would not be benefited by a close study of weather conditions. The difference between a careful man and a careless one is the difference between a man who thinks in advance and a man who does not think until some condition of grave difficulty is thrust upon him. Weather is, to this day, and will ever remain, one of the most potent factors in human welfare, and a man cannot plan for the weather in advance, unless he has a weather forecast."
The farmer brought his fist down on the table with a thump.
"Tell me, then," he said, "since all the big business firms in the country use the Weather Bureau so completely, why do people laugh at the Weather Man?"
"That's very simply answered," the Forecaster replied, "it's because every one is not a wide-awake business firm. Ask a commission merchant, whose business depends upon his receiving his produce in good condition, whether the Weather Bureau warnings are profitable or no? Ask a fruit merchant, who knows that a difference of twenty degrees in temperature during shipment spells either profit or disaster! Ask a shipowner on the Great Lakes or the captain of a trading schooner in the Gulf! These men will tell you that their lives and their fortunes hang on their careful understanding of the weather. But if you ask some one who merely wants to know whether or not to wear new clothes or whether it will be safe to have a picnic on a certain afternoon—then, indeed, unless the weather is of the particular pattern that they prefer, you are apt to hear that 'the Weather Man is always wrong.'
"There's another reason, too," he admitted, "and that is that local conditions may differ fromregional conditions. I've shown you that there's a cold wave coming, and that over this section the temperature may drop twenty degrees. But suppose your thermometer, Mr. Tighe, is near the slope of a hill, which starts a small current of air moving, just enough to keep the air well mixed, then your thermometer may not register a fall of more than ten degrees, and you'll accuse me of being an alarmist. None the less, in a valley a quarter of a mile from your thermometer, the temperature may have dropped twenty-five degrees and for a hundred miles in every direction, the average temperature will be equally low.
"Suppose, over a section as large as the Gulf States, or New England, the Weather Bureau announces a forecast of showers. There might be stretches of fifty miles square in which never a drop of rain fell, and people in a hundred towns would take their umbrellas needlessly. Yet, in six hundred other towns in that region, there would be showers.
"Naturally, the Weather Bureau could give a much more detailed, though not necessarily a more accurate report, if, instead of having 200 stations, we had two thousand, and if the appropriations of the Bureau were multiplied by ten,so that there might be a larger force to interpret and explain the observations that have been recorded. Still, we're all proud of the Weather Bureau and its work, and if you watch it closely, Mr. Tighe, you won't find us far out. Just as a test of it, keep your potatoes in your root-house until Tuesday and watch the thermometer for the next two days."
"I'll do that," said the farmer, "and I'm much obliged." He took his hat. "Any of you boys coming my way?" he asked.
This was an unheard-of geniality on the part of Jed Tighe, but two of the boys jumped at the offer. The last words that the Forecaster heard were in the farmer's voice, as he drove off:
"About that Weather Map, now—"
Mr. Levin nodded to the two boys and strolled across the sun-dial lawn to his own buggy, well satisfied that another convert to the Weather Bureau work had been made.
About ten days after this meeting, after supper, just as Anton was going to bed, his father came in with a grave face.
"I'm afraid Dan'l's in a peck of trouble," he said.
"Why, Father?" asked the crippled lad.
"He's accused of having shot Carl Lindstrom," was the startling reply.
"But he couldn't!" declared Anton, jumping at once to the defence of the darky.
"Well," his father said, "it looks a little black for him. I don't mean, of course, that there's anything purposed, but it looks as if Dan'l had been careless with his gun. Carl was shot in the leg this evening, just as we heard. Now it appears that, about the same time, Dan'l was seen walking with his gun and his two old hounds at his heels, coming from that direction along the levee."
"Oh, I'm sure it can't be Dan'l," said Anton. "Where is he?"
"In his cabin, under arrest," his father said. "The sheriff's there. Dan'l seems quite excited about it and he said he wouldn't move until he saw you."
"Sure," said Anton, reaching out for his crutch. "I know well enough he didn't do it, though."
He hurried across the sun-dial to the negro's quarters.
It was a poignant scene that Anton faced when he reached the hut. Dan'l was sitting on the bed, in shirt and trousers, evidently having justbeen awakened from sleep. The sheriff, tall and rangy, showed little interest in the affair. To him it was a clear case. The man had been shot. The negro had been seen in the neighborhood with a gun. What more proof could any one want? The brother of the man who had been shot, a nervous, excitable chap, was there and wanted to lynch Dan'l immediately. One of the sheriff's men, keen and watchful, stood beside his prisoner, his hand on the negro's shoulder.
"Ah never done it, Mistah Anton," said Dan'l, as the boy came in, "Ah never done nothin'!"
"I've brought Anton, Dan'l," said the father, quietly, "but it doesn't do you any good to say anything. They'll only make use of everything you say."
"Ah've got nothin' to say," the darky declared. "Ah jes' went after some rabbit an' come home. Ah've been in my bed since a little after sundown."
"You couldn't ha' been," declared the sheriff, "'cause the injured man wa'n't shot till it was nigh dark."
"What time was the shooting?" asked Anton.
"Between a quarter and a half after eight," the sheriff replied coolly, "we know that muchfo' sure, any way. And Dan'l can't show an alibi. He says he was in bed. His bed can't give evidence in court. Yo' didn't see him, Anton?"
"No," the boy answered, "I haven't been out of the house since seven o'clock except just to my rain-gauge."
"Well," said the sheriff, yawning, "that's yo' last chance, Dan'l. If Anton had seen yo', there'd have been a witness. But yo' ain't got none and Ole Lindstrom, here, declares that he seen yo' jes' afore it got dark."
"Ah've done nothin'!" the darky declared.
The sheriff kicked the darky's tattered boots across the floor, not unkindly.
"Hyar," he said, "put yo' shoes on. Carl ain't goin' to die, and the jedge won't do much to yo'."
"Ah never done nothin'," the negro protested, but he leant down as he was told, and started to put on his shoes.
One of the shoes had slid close to Anton's feet, almost knocking the crutch out of his hand, and the lad's glance fell on it. He started.
"What time did you say the shooting was done, Mr. Abner?" he asked.
"Between a quarter and a half after eight," the sheriff replied.
With a sudden excitement in his voice, Anton turned to the negro.
"How many pairs of shoes have you got?" he asked.
Dan'l caught the tension in his voice.
"Two pair, Mistah Anton," he said.
"Which did you wear this afternoon?"
"These hyar."
"And where are the others?"
"In yonder corner."
Anton limped across the room and brought out the second pair of shoes. The leather was all dry and wrinkled. They had evidently not been used for a long time.
"He's right, Mr. Abner," he said, "he wore those shoes."
The sheriff, divining by the excitement in the boy's voice that there was a hidden purpose in these remarks, took up the second pair of shoes and looked at them.
"Yes, that's sho'," he answered, "he didn't wear these hyar!"
"Then he wore those," said Anton.
"Well, what if he did?"
Thermometers and Rain-gauge.
Thermometers and Rain-gauge.
Instruments in shelter, as supplied to each co-operative observer.
Courtesy of the U.S. Weather Bureau.
"Look at your shoes," said the boy.
"Well?" queried the sheriff, looking down at his boots.
"They're muddy, aren't they?" persisted the boy.
"Right muddy," the sheriff agreed.
"And Bill's shoes are muddy, too."
There was no doubt of that, either.
"Well?" said the sheriff, questioningly.
For answer Anton held out Dan'l's other shoe, the one he had been holding in his hand.
"This isn't muddy," he said. "What's more, it's got dust on it, dust in all the cracks. You can see it hasn't been cleaned for a long time, probably never since it was given him."
"Well?" repeated the sheriff, still uncomprehending.
"Lindstrom's place is more'n a mile from here," declared Anton, his heart beating hard.
"Jest a mile," said Ole Lindstrom.
"And you say the shooting was before half-past eight?"
"It sho' was," the sheriff answered, "it was jest a little after half-past eight that Carl was carried home."
"Then," declared Anton, in a quiet way thatcarried conviction, "Dan'l didn't do it, and I can prove it."
"Mistah Anton! Mistah Anton!" the darky cried.
"Quiet! You!" said the man who was holding the prisoner.
"What do you mean, Anton?" the boy's father asked him.
"It's quite easy," the boy declared. "If the shooting was done before half-past eight, it was done just about the time that the rain began. It would take Dan'l—if he'd done it—all of twenty minutes to walk from Lindstrom's place here. It rained heavily, if you like I can give you the amount of rain in tenths of an inch, and twenty minutes of walking in that rain would make him wet through. By the time it had rained five minutes, the ground would be muddy. But see, Mr. Abner, the soles of the shoes are quite dry. And, Dan'l's clothes are quite dry."
He picked up the gun that stood leaning in the corner.
"The gun's dry, it hasn't been cleaned and there's no rust on it. Dan'l hasn't got two sets of rough clothes and he sure hasn't got two guns.Doesn't that prove he couldn't have been out after the rain started?"
The sheriff looked a little dubious.
"Yo' sho' put up a good argument for yo' nigger," he said, "but yo' boys' foolin' about weather ain't evidence. That don't go in court, yo' know."
"You're a little wrong there, Mr. Abner," said Anton's father. "This is an official co-operative observer's station of the Weather Bureau. By a decision of the supreme court, our records have got to be accepted as evidence. There's a ruling to that effect."
"There is, eh?" said the sheriff. "First I ever knew of it. But if yo' say so, why, of course, it's so. But how can you-all tell when the rain began?"
"When rain comes down unusually hard," the boy answered, "the Weather Bureau likes to keep a record of the amount of precipitation in five minute intervals. My big record-book is in the house, but here are the notes I made," and he took a little note-book from the pocket of his shirt.
"'Rain began, 8.21,'" he read, "'first five minutes three-tenths of an inch, second five minutes four-tenths, third five minutes, three-tenths,'" he stopped and held the book open, "it began to get less, then, and I didn't need to keep the record any longer. But you can see, Mr. Abner, that it was impossible for Dan'l to have left the Lindstroms' and reached here before the rain came, and just as impossible for him to have come through the rain with dry clothes and dusty shoes."
"An' the courts have a ruling that weather records is evidence?"
"From an official station such as this, yes!" Anton's father declared. "Evidence as to weather is a factor in a great variety of cases. Civil cases are largely personal injury, damage to perishable goods by freezing or rain and loss by fire. The criminal cases are usually confined to murder trials.
"When accidents occur by reason of a street car running into somebody or something, the question arises as to whether the rails were so slippery that the car could not be stopped. This fact is, of course, important in an action for damages. A slippery rail can be caused by 'sweating' but it is generally due to recent rain. The relativehumidity may be such as to prevent the drying up of the rail.
"An observer was called in a case where it was alleged that the plaintiff had been injured by being pitched through the open window of a car. It was claimed that she was trying to shut the window on account of the raw, cold weather and, as the car reached a curve, she was suddenly thrown headlong into the street. The weather record showed that it was a warm and sunny day.
"The question as to whether a sidewalk was sufficiently slippery to make it dangerous for travel frequently comes up in court. One such case, I remember, was that of a man who asked damages from a jitney driver for starting his bus before he had alighted. The driver declared that the passenger slipped and fell on the ice in the gutter, several feet away from the bus. The plaintiff declared that it was a warm day and that there was no ice. The weather record showed rain the day before, with a severe frost during the night, precisely the conditions to support the jitney-driver's story.
"Many accidents are alleged to have been due to fog. The weather expert is called upon to testify to the degree of visibility permitted byatmospheric conditions. One man who was accused of murder and who undoubtedly would have been convicted, was positively identified by the wife of the murdered man, the woman declaring that she saw him at a certain hour of the evening passing in front of the house. The Weather Records showed conclusively that, at that hour, owing to the excessive cloudiness of the atmosphere, it would have been impossible for the woman to identify the suspect, even at half the distance.
"Wind records are often very important. In April, 1902, a severe storm moved over the middle western states, and, at one place in Indiana, it developed such velocity as to start in motion an empty box car standing on a railway siding. It was carried on to the main track, the derailing switch not being turned, and ran for two miles before the wind, the grade being slightly up-hill. It finally collided with a passenger train and several persons were killed. The railroad company produced the weather records to show that a storm of such violence was outside the common run of events, seeking thereby to lessen the amounts awarded for damages.
"This direction of the wind often is called intorequisition. A suit for many thousand dollars was brought by the owners of some property in Chicago, against a railroad company, the property-owners alleging that a fire which had destroyed some of the buildings had originated from sparks from a locomotive. The Weather Bureau records, however, showed that there was a brisk wind blowing directly from the property to the railroad. Of course, all damages incurred in storms of unusual severity, such as the St. Louis tornado or the Galveston Flood, would be ignored in a court of law, as they would come under the head of unavoidable happenings of 'the act of Providence,' a well-known legal phrase. In all matters connected with events in which the weather is a possible factor, the Weather Bureau observer has a place and a part, and the United States Supreme Court, as long as thirty-five years ago, ruled that weather records were competent evidence."
"I reckon yo' is wrong, Mr. Lindstrom," said the sheriff, turning to the brother of the wounded man. "Ef the weather records goes as read, this hyar's a powerful bit of evidence. Look at them shoes!"
"I'm satisfied," the other remarked gloomily,"I reckon the boy's right. But I'd have sworn that it was him I saw. All right, Sheriff, I'll withdraw the charge."
"Let him go, Bill," said the sheriff, nodding to his assistant. "That's a mighty narrow escape fo' yo' nigger," he continued, "I thought it was yo' myself, for sho'."
For a moment Dan'l did not understand. Then it flashed over him.
"Ah's free! Ah's free!" he cried, and fell on his knees on the floor.
The success of the Weather Forecasts which had been put out in the weeklyReviewand the saving of Jed Tighe's crop had given the League a high standing among the farmers of the neighborhood, but when the story became noised abroad how Anton had saved Dan'l from unjust arrest, every darky in the neighborhood became its devoted slave.
Dan'l himself racked his brains for some way to show his appreciation, but none occurred to him. He could not be any more faithful and loyal than he had been in the past. A dozen plans occurred to him, all to be set aside as useless. He wanted to do something that really would help the League. What was there that he could do? As in all cases of difficulty, he decided to go to blind Mammy for advice. The conference in the old fortune-teller's cabin was a long one, but when Dan'l came out, he carried a huge bundle in his arms and his black face shone with triumph.
As spring advanced, kite-flying resumed its former sway among the boys and Tom's place became again a centre of attraction. Assiduous as he had been before, Dan'l had redoubled his attentions, and he was seldom found far distant from Anton's side. One Saturday, however, he did not appear at the kite-ground until well on in the afternoon, and when he did come, he was carrying something big in his arms, and stepping along as gingerly as if the burden were a baby.
"What on earth have you got there, Dan'l?" asked Tom.
"Ah done got somethin' fo' the League," the darky answered, and, coming up to the midst of the group, which was gathered around the kite-reel, he lowered the burden gently, very gently, to the ground.
"What is it?" asked Anton.
Dan'l looked around. There was triumph in his glance. He was evidently very proud of himself.
"Ah's made a discovery," he said. "Mistah Fred, yo'-all wants to take notes of what I say, so's yo' can print it in theReview."
Tornado becoming a waterspoutATornado wrecking a farmhouseBTornado funnel rising from the groundCSuccessive funnel formationsDPencil 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.
Tornado becoming a waterspout
A
Tornado wrecking a farmhouse
B
Tornado funnel rising from the ground
C
Successive funnel formations
D
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.
To humor the old darky, the editor-in-chief tookout his pencil and note-book and waited for the story.
"Ah was down in ol' Mammy Lee's cabin the other day," he began, "becase Ah wanted to talk to Mammy about somethin'."
"Went to have your fortune told, I suppose," put in Tom.
"No, Mistah Tom, no, Ah done hold with no tellin' of fortunes, but Mammy she knows a heap an' can see more with her eyes shut than most folks with them open. It was a mighty hot day an' the sun was a shinin' hot. Ef it hadn't been that the sun was a shinin' so hot, Ah wouldn't have this story to tell yo'."
He paused for effect and the boys drew closer. Dan'l was a famous story-teller and his tales were always popular among the boys.
"Ah was standing in Mammy's cabin," he continued. "She was a sittin' in her old rockin' chair in the sun right near that little table where she keeps the big glass ball for tellin' fortunes."
"You mean her crystal?" put in the Forecaster.
"Yas, suh, Mistah Levin, her crystal. Mammy has two, the little one, what she uses all the time an' the big one, which she doesn't use no mo'.Ah was a sittin' on the other side o' the table, right by the window, an' my hand was on the table. By and by, Ah felt my hand burnin' as though some one had laid a match on it. Ah pulled away my hand but thar wa'n't nothin' thar. Ah thought it queer, but Ah didn't say nothin' and went on talkin'. By and by, leanin' forward to say some thin' mo' to Mammy, Ah put my hand on the table again, an' suddenly, the back of my hand began to burn as if de devil was standin' on it.
"Ah looked, an' Ah looked again, but thar wasn't nothin' thar but jes' a spot o' sunshine, jes' so bright. An'it sho' was burning hot. Ah took my hand away an' looked at the table. Yas, suh, it was burnin' hot. It's an ol' table and in a sort o' ring jes' exactly the same shape as the ring o' white stones that Mistah Anton put round his sun clock, thar was a burned groove in the table. No wonder my hand got hot. If Ah'd have left it there, there'd have been a hole burned right through my hand. Yas, suh.
"Ah spoke to Mammy about it, and Mammy she says to me that in summer time, when it's very hot, she has to throw a cloth over the crystal to keep it from settin' the table on fire. In winterand in cloudy weather thar ain't no heat at all. So Ah says to myself:
"'Dan'l, if a bright sun burns the table and a half-bright day scorches the table an' a dull day don't do nothin' to the table, why couldn't some kind o' record be made o' the amount o' sunshine? Mistah Anton, he likes most everythin' like that, an' Ah'm goin' to talk to him about it."
"But you never did, Dan'l," put in Anton, not giving much belief to the darky's story.
"Ah 'sperimented all by myself first," Dan'l answered. "Ah took a piece of cardboard, the shiny kind, an' I cut out a piece like the shape of the new moon an' laid it on Mammy's table. Sho's yo' born, Mist' Anton, that spot of light from the crystal jes' started to scorch that cardboard. When the sun was bright it burned it a real dark brown, when thar was a cloud over the sun, it didn't burn it at all. When the sun had a little cloud it jes' burned that cardboard a light brown. Ah'll show yo'."
He pulled from inside his shirt a piece of cardboard. It was marked with the hours of the day and, as he had said, in places it had been burned dark brown and in others a light brown. At one spot, there was about an inch where the cardboardwas perfectly white, and opposite this, Dan'l had got his son to write in sprawling letters, "Cloud here."
The cardboard passed quickly from hand to hand.
"But this is great!" cried Fred. "I wonder if Mammy wouldn't keep a regular record for us!"
With a pompous air, Dan'l stretched out his hand and made a clean sweep around him. Then he reached down for the package at his feet and commenced unwrapping from around it the newspapers in which it was hidden. As, with a flourish, he pulled away the last piece of paper, there was a gasp of admiration from all the boys.
There, on the ground before them, was the huge globe of crystal, clear, shining and flawless.
"How did you get it, Dan'l?" cried the boys.
"Ah bought it," the darky replied. "Leastways, a lot of us got together an' bought it fo' a present to the League. Deacon Brown he arranged it all, when Mistah Levin said to us that the crystal would really work right."
"Mr. Levin!" cried Anton. "Then you've known all about this, and never told us!"
"It was Dan'l's secret," the Forecaster answered. "Do you suppose I'd rob him of the fun of telling you? He's right. Dan'l's worked out, all by himself, the principle of the Campbell-Stokes sunshine recorder, and I think there's a lot of credit coming to him."
Anton leaned down and tried to pick up the globe, but it was too heavy for him. Monroe raised it for examination. It was a beautiful crystal, almost two feet in diameter and without a scratch.
"What a corker!" cried Tom.
"Where will you put it, boys?" asked the Forecaster.
There was a moment's pause and then Bob said:
"Club-house."
"Yes," the Forecaster agreed, "I think that's best, because I know Dan'l really would like to see it a part of Anton's outfit. Besides, boys, Anton's going to do some work this summer on sunshine measuring and the relation of sun-spots to the weather, and he'll need a recorder just like this."
"Have sun-spots anything to do with the weather, sir?" asked Ross, in surprise.
"Yes," the Forecaster answered, "it seemsquite possible that they have, though to what extent we don't quite know. There's a big field of original work, there, and we've only just found out about it. It's rather a pitiful story, boys, but the man who blazed the trail to that new knowledge, died just two months before the world knew about him."
"Who was that, sir?" asked Anton.
"Veeder," was the answer. "Dr. Major Albert Veeder, who lived and died, an almost unknown country doctor in the little town of Lyons, N. Y. Without any money of his own, he worked hard on meteorology, especially studying auroras and sun-spots. More than any man who ever lived, he tried to show to what an extent the weather of the earth is modified by changes in the sun, chiefly by intensifying the pressure of the anticyclonic areas.
"Now, boys, for the discovery.
"In January, 1916, one of the best-known American meteorologists sent to a brother scientist a postal card which called attention to a recently published article which appeared to be of a good deal of importance. By a curious coincidence, the other scientist had that very day been reading an article published twenty yearsbefore in an obscure local scientific magazine, written by Dr. Veeder.
"The two meteorologists, struck by the originality of the ideas and the evidence of the vast amount of work that lay behind them, wrote to Dr. Veeder at his home in the little New York State town. The recognition that had so long been delayed was on its way. A black-bordered letter came in reply. Dr. Veeder had died two months before!"
A sharp indrawing of the breath told of the boys' interest.
"Dr. Veeder's family at once forwarded the papers, published and unpublished, of the unknown country doctor. These revealed that, as early as twenty years before his death, he had made discoveries of vast importance to meteorology and astronomy. He wrote time and again to the Weather Bureau, begging us to give his hypothesis a trial."
"And didn't you?" asked Fred.
The Forecaster shook his head.
"We couldn't," he answered. "We had no funds for special research and Dr. Veeder's ideas were so far ahead of his time that, then, they seemed visionary. Now, twenty years later, whena great deal of similar work has been done in Europe and in this country, we see that Dr. Veeder was a real pioneer, although, of course, many of his conclusions are still doubtful. Yet, in poverty, in discouragement, in the turmoil of a busy life, he continued his work for fifteen years, then reluctantly abandoned it, despairing of support and opportunity. Yet he leaves a debt that science can never repay. Such men may be everywhere; one of you boys may be the meteorologist of the coming generation. Veeder may be dead but his work lives after him."
The Weather expert picked up the great glass crystal which Monroe had replaced upon the ground.
"We will go on with Veeder's work ourselves," he repeated, "so far as we can. Veeder showed us that sun-spots and changes in the sun are closely followed by changes on the earth, and he suggested that this is caused by some agency other than heat. From that we shall go on. Let us do some sun-study. It is symbolic, to me, that a crystal once used for the superstition of crystal-gazing, should become a tool for scientific research."
He raised the crystal to shoulder height.
"Here's to Veeder!" he shouted. "And to Dan'l!"
The cheers were given with a vim.
Interesting as the work of the League had been to the boys during its first summer, when all were learning of the ways to read the weather, this second summer became tenfold more exciting, when every lad realized that he was part of a group striving to advance along the lines laid down by Veeder. The money which Jed Tighe handed over to the League as its fair share of having saved his fruit crop, was spent in the purchase of a telescope for studying the sun and for various other scientific instruments, and, as the Forecaster had foretold, Issaquena County began to take its place as one of the most efficiently organized meteorological regions of the United States.
The summer was passing on. The year and a half that had elapsed since the flood, a year and a half of constant association with the Forecaster, and still more, of constant association with work that was worth while, had developed the boys of the League and given them a new grip on life.
One Saturday, Ross came over early in the morning to help Anton with some of his sunshineexperiment work. The crippled lad had definitely settled down to the study of meteorology and spent all his time either at his instruments or at his books. Under the Forecaster's teaching, he was becoming thoroughly proficient, and the fact that the lad was a natural-born mathematician stood him in a good stead. He was no longer merely a crippled lad, with scarcely a chance before him, he was making a place for himself in the community and there was no doubt that he would make a place for himself in life. This morning, as Anton came out of the club-house to meet his friend, Ross looked at him and thought how wisely the Forecaster had done in suggesting the formation of the League.
"Bad weather coming, isn't there, Anton?" Ross asked, as they strolled into the club-house together.
"Thunderstorms, I expect," the other answered, glancing carelessly at the Weather map. "There's a big 'low' over Illinois, with colder weather coming."
"I'm glad it's going to be cool," said Ross, mopping his forehead, "to-day is something fierce."
"Yes, it's hot," agreed Anton, and turned thesubject to some of his recent work on sun-spots and the weather. He had become an absolute convert to Dr. Veeder's theories, and the dream of the boy's life was to be able to take a part in the most fascinating of all weather problems—long-range forecasting.
"It would be great, Ross," he said, "if we could tell a year in advance what kind of weather we were going to have, so that farmers would know exactly just what kind of crops to plant and when!"
"Yes," Ross agreed, but uneasily, for he was watching the sky steadily, "but do you think we'll ever be able to do it?"
"I don't think we'll ever be able to tell exactly," replied Anton, "but I'm sure the time's coming when we're going to be able to get a general idea. If we can just find out enough about the sun's influence on our weather and enough about the big changes in the sun, we ought to be able to foretell something. There's no doubt that weather does go in cycles."
"I don't see that," said Ross. "I think it's changing all the time. You always hear people say that the winters aren't nearly as cold as they used to be."
"That's all bosh," Anton declared. "Mr. Levin and I were talking over that just the other day. There hasn't been any change of weather. The winters to-day average the same that they did fifty years ago. There's some sort of an eleven-year cycle in rainfall, and there's a variation in temperature that seems to swing around about once in every thirty-seven or thirty-eight years, but the differences are so small that only Weather Bureau records can prove them. The weather isn't any hotter or any colder than it used to be, it's just about the same."
But Ross was not listening. His eyes were fixed on the horizon.
"Anton," he said, "I wish you'd come here a minute."
Struck by his companion's tone, the younger lad looked up and, grasping his crutch, limped to the door. He took a glance at the sky and whistled in a low and thoughtful way.
"Look at those clouds to the north-west," said Ross. Then, pointing to the south-west quarter, "And look at them there!"
Anton looked, his eyes dilating. In the north-west, swarthy, curling wreaths of vapor that seemed as though they rose from a monstrousburning straw-stack writhed their way upward to a great height, the upper portion seeming to tremble threateningly, as though there were a shaking fist within the swirl, hidden by clouds. The column was smoky and threatening, yet a whitish light came from beneath it suggesting phosphorescent vapors.