Animals, even more than mankind, attract the fire of heaven. Lightning has a certain regard for human beings, which it seems to lose entirely when it is a case of the humble and faithful servants that Nature has given us.
And, between ourselves, thunder is not always as absurd as it appears. Its proceedings are sometimes even very tactful. Though it may often strike innocent victims blindly and ferociously; yet it seems at times to show a certain amount of intelligence. Thus we find among our many examples a strange fact, which will serve to reconcile our thoughts a little to thunder.
On June 20, 1872, in Kentucky State, we have already cited the case of the nigger Norris, who was going to be hanged for the murder of a mulatto companion, and who, just as he was putting his foot on the fatal platform, was struck by lightning, and thus spared the sheriff the trouble of hurling him into eternity.
Here was a case where thunder was full of justice, and we cannot praise it too much.
Arago gives another case where a chief of brigands was shut up in a Bavarian prison, together with his accomplices. No doubt he was encouraging their arrogance by his blasphemies—the stone to which he was attached acting as a tribune for him—when he was suddenly struck by lightning while haranguing his disciples. He fell dead. The iron manacles had brought on the disaster, but the brigands did not stop to think of this natural cause; they were just as terrified as if the iron had not been there, and the lightning had chosen its victim with intelligence.
Here is another instance—
The favourite of a prince had obtained from him a written recognition of her son. She counted on this to give trouble to the State after the death of her benefactor. She enclosed it carefully in a chest, and went and buried it deep in a wood, hoping to render all search useless, if the prince should change his mind.
But behold, the lightning intervened; the tree was struck, and the open chest was thrown on the highway, where it was found by a peasant.
Animals are worse treated than men, but better than plants and inorganic bodies. What are the causes of this difference? Can we attribute it to physicalpredisposition? But this has not yet been proved. Experience shows that sparks directed on the vertebral column are particularly dangerous. Now, the backs of quadrupeds are greatly exposed to mortal strokes from the celestial fire.
Their fur or their plumage, which form an intrinsic part of their bodies, put them more or less in the situation of a man who, to protect himself from inclemency, should envelop himself in his hair, supposing this to be long enough and rich enough to cover him decently.
Animals rarely survive when struck. When they do not die on the spot, they succumb soon after to their wounds. The ancients have remarked on this.
"Man," says Pliny, "is the only animal that lightning does not always kill; all the others die on the spot. It is a prerogative granted to him by Nature, though so many animals surpass him in strength." And, further on, he adds that amongst birds the eagle is never struck. This has given it the name ofporte foudre.
But these assertions are slightly exaggerated, and we can quote a certain number of examples of animals which have resisted the baneful influence of the electric current.
In 1901, a horse was touched by lightning, which was certainly attracted by the iron of his shoe.It traced two deep trails right along the animal's leg, where the skin was abrased, and appeared as though it were cauterized. These two lines joined together at the fold of the ham, and then formed a single furrow, all sign of which was lost in the abdominal region. The rest of the body was unhurt, and the animal sustained no further harm after being struck than it would have done if an incompetent veterinary surgeon had fired him too severely.
On July 4, 1884, at Castres, ten persons and nine horses were struck by lightning; all survived the accident.
On June 9, 1886, in the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, three cows and a little girl, who was in charge of them, were knocked over by a violent shock. The child and the beasts soon got up. Only an ox was killed some distance from there.
Very often horses are stunned by the discharge on animals which are killed, but after a time they recover. This phenomenon has also been observed in other animals. For instance, five or six pigs which were in a cage in the prow of a ship were killed by an electric discharge, whilst others which were only separated from them by a cloth were saved.
But the cases are rare in which animals do not succumb to lightning. They nearly always perish. At present we will only discuss animals as a body,equal, or superior to man. The others, the smaller ones, offer a still more convincing generality.
All animals seem to be greatly exposed to the wrath of Jupiter; nevertheless, some species appear to be peculiarly sensitive to lightning—the gentle sheep, for example, which huddle together fraternally during a storm, and fall in a mass, struck by the fire of heaven.
I have before me a list of animals which have been struck. There are some of every kind. We might divide them thus—
A prodigious quantity of geese, chickens, pigeons, and small birds.
Fish also contribute a respectable contingent to lightning.
As a rule, large groups of animals are dangerous when there is thunder, as they seem to exercise a strong attractive influence to the electric fluid.
Often entire herds are destroyed by lightning. Dr. Boudin gives the following example:—
On May 11, 1865, at about 6.30 p.m., HubertWera, a shepherd who was surprised in the fields when a storm overtook him, was hurrying home with his flock. On coming to a narrow and difficult road, the sheep formed themselves into two groups. The shepherd took shelter behind a bush, when a terrible clap of thunder was heard. Lightning struck him and his flock. The unfortunate man was struck on the top of his head. All his hair had been taken from the nape of his neck, and the electric fluid had traced a ridge on his forehead, his face, and breast. His body was quite naked; all his clothes were reduced to rags. Moreover, there was no trace of blood. The iron of his crook had been detached from the handle and thrown several yards away, and the handle itself was broken to pieces. A small metal crucifix and a scapular belonging to the unfortunate shepherd were found fifteen yards away.
Of the flock of 152 sheep, 126 were killed. They were covered with blood, and their wounds were as varied as they were peculiar. Some had their heads chopped, others had them pierced from side to side, others had their legs fractured. As to the dog, he was not to be found.
On May 13, 1803, near Fehrbellin (Prussian States), one clap of thunder killed a shepherd and 40 sheep.
On June 1, 1826, thunder killed 64 hairy beasts in a field at Gulpin (Limbourg).
At Prades, on July 28, 1890, 340 sheep were struck at one blow.
During a violent storm which burst over Montmaur in the Isère, lightning struck a flock of 90 sheep, and killed 53.
In the month of April, 1869, thunder burst over a sheepfold in which there were 80 sheep.
Fifty of these were found entirely carbonized, the thirty others were covered with sores, on the head, in the eyes, and on the back, and half asphyxiated by the fulminant fluid. The poor sheep were all cowering together.
On August 11, 1905, a flock of sheep were carbonized, and cattle of every kind were struck.
At Limoges, on July 4, 1884, 42 cows or oxen were struck by the spark. They were all joined together by an iron chain.
On June 24, 1822, near Hayengen (Wurtemberg), a shepherd and 216 sheep out of 288, were struck in the open field.
Lastly, according to Abbadie, a storm in Ethiopia killed in one single stroke, 2000 goats and their shepherd. These figures are, I think, sufficiently eloquent, and if it were not for fear of fatiguing my readers, who might become bored, we could add a great many similar examples to this list. But it would be superfluous to expatiate further on the dangersincurred in a storm by large agglomerations of animals. In their terror, beasts, particularly sheep, press closely together, and are soaked by the rain. In this way they offer a large surface, which absolutely conducts the lightning. Also the column of vapour which rises from these living masses, affords an excellent passage for the fluid to pass through while crossing over the bodies of the poor beasts. It would be better to disperse the flock, rather than form a compact group of them, during a storm.
One sometimes wonders also what would be the effect of lightning on animals arranged in a file. Would it act the same with atmospheric electricity as with that in our laboratories? Would the influence of the electric matter be more dangerous in the extremities than in the middle?
When lightning meets a metallic bar, it does no harm except on entering and departing. On the other hand, when several people form a chain, holding hands, if the first touches the body of a Leyden electrical jar and the last touches the top, the whole circle will instantaneously receive a shock. Only those in the middle receive a less violent one than those who touch the jar. Well, the discharges from the clouds produce similar effects on men and animals.
Arago supports this by the following facts:—
At Flavigny (Côte-d'Or), five horses were in a stablewhen the lightning penetrated. The two first and the two last perished, the fifth, which was in the middle, was unhurt.
One day lightning fell on an open field on five horses in a line and killed the first and last; the three others were spared.
But we should require a much larger number of proofs before we could be sure of this.
In certain cases, lightning, always fantastic and extraordinary, seems to make a fastidious choice of its victims. It kills one, spares another, strikes a third, does good to a fourth—what a strange game! how fantastic!
Madame la Comtesse Mycielska, of the Duchy of Posen, wrote to me recently—
"During a storm which took place in the month of August, 1901, lightning entered by a half-open door into a stable where there were twenty cows, and killed ten. Beginning with that which was nearest the door, the second was spared, the third killed, the fourth was uninjured, and so on. All the uneven numbers were killed, the others were not even burnt. The shepherd who was in the stable at the time of the shock, got up unhurt. The lightning did not burn the building, although the stable was full of straw."
We have given a similar case in the chapter on Fireballs.A proposof this, M. Elisee Duval, ofCriquetot l'Esneval (Seine-Inférieure), relates a very remarkable case. On June 20, 1892, lightning fell on the telegraph poles of Havre and Étretat. A dozen were thrown over, and the curious part is that every second one was knocked down.
Here is a more extraordinary case still. We were not aware that thunder could distinguish between colours, and that it has its preferences amongst them. Well, we need no longer be surprised at this. Here we have a case where the fluid declares itself distinctly in favour of black. It was at Lapleau in Corrèze. One day thunder fell on a grange full of hay and straw, and covered with thatch, without setting it on fire. Then it went to the sheepfold and killed seven black sheep, and left the white alone.
This choice is categorical, and people who fear lightning might follow this example by wearing long white garments in a storm. Unfortunately, lightning is so eccentric and uncertain, that we must not defy it; it is not to be trusted.
Who can explain why it sometimes glides into a stable full of cows without injuring one? This extraordinary thing happened in the Commune of Grignicourt (Marne).
After a great clap of thunder, all the cows that were in a shed became unfastened, without one of them being hurt.
There, again, the lightning only seemed to want to make itself useful.
If, in some cases, by a providential chance, cattle have been saved, it is none the less true that an animal very rarely survives a discharge which has caused the death of a human being.
But, as there is no rule without exceptions, we will give the following:—
The sky was dark and lowering, and a shepherd, seeing that there was about to be a storm, ran to his flock to drive it to the shed. Just at the same moment, lightning burst and knocked him down, together with thirty sheep. The beasts all got up soon, but the poor shepherd was dead.
On another occasion, on June 13, 1893, a shepherd was killed by lightning, and the remarkable thing was that only one sheep out of the hundred of the flock was struck.
On June 17, 1883, thunder entered a sheepfold, containing one hundred sheep. Only four perished. One of them was marked on the back with a cross, formed of two rectilinear grooves, penetrating to the skin; only the wool was removed.
Sometimes, but very rarely, men and animals survive the discharge.
Thus, Dr. Brillouet's horse was thrown into a ditch, and remained there without moving for three-quartersof an hour, after which he was able to get up. Later on he became very feeble in the legs.
Very often the same stroke kills men and animals simultaneously. We have already given several cases of this kind. Here are some more—
A terrible storm burst at La Salvetat, on August 26, 1900. A shepherd and his flock, composed of twenty-three sheep, were all killed by lightning.
On June 23, 1887, a young boy, fifteen years of age, living at Montagnat (Ain), was struck while fastening oxen to the door of a stable; an ox was also killed.
At Lagraulière (Corrèze), on August 15, 1862, three girls were looking after their flocks. A violent storm burst at about five o'clock, and the thunder growled terribly. The shepherdesses, taken by surprise, had no time to take their flocks in. The two first took shelter under a big chestnut, the third under an oak twenty-five yards away from them. Suddenly lightning struck the chestnut and enveloped the two little refugees. They fell dead. The third fainted, half asphyxiated by the smell of the sulphur. The clothes of the two unfortunate girls who had been struck were burnt, their sabots were broken. Near them there were five sheep, a pig, and a she-ass, which had also been killed by the fluid. The shepherdess's dog had been cut in two.
Sometimes, also, the clap of thunder, when strikingmen and animals, proves more murderous for the latter than the former, who, however, have sometimes succumbed.
A diligence was slowly mounting an incline, when suddenly a stroke of lightning interrupted its ascent. An electric ball burst over the heads of the horses, and threw the whole five down, stone dead. The postillion was struck, but not one other person was touched, though the carriage was full of women and children.
There is one peculiarity about this incident which ought to attract our attention—the terrible meteor was not accompanied by any emission of light, nor followed by any reverberation of sound.
In June, 1872, at about two in the afternoon, a farmer at Grange-Forestière was trying a couple of oxen, which he had just bought at the fair, in a field. Lightning knocked over the man and the animals. Some hours after, the poor farmer was picked up in a pitiable plight. His hair was burnt in parts, also hair on his chest, he was quite deaf, and in a state of absolute prostration. His trousers were unsewn from top to bottom in all four stitchings, his hat was riddled with holes, and his shoes torn off. All the same, he survived the accident. The oxen were killed on the spot.
In fact, as we have already said, when the spark strikes men and animals at the same time, only the former can resist the shock.
In June, 1855, thunder burst over a flock of sheep in the Commune of Saint-Leger-la-Montagne (Haute Vienne); seventy-eight sheep and two watch-dogs were killed on the spot. A woman who was looking after the flock was slightly touched.
On September 26, 1820, lightning struck a labourer who was driving near Sainte Menehould. His two horses were killed; the man escaped with a temporary deafness.
In August, 1852, two out of four oxen were killed, the third was paralyzed on the left side. As to the farmer, he came off with a numbness of the left leg.
Very often a man feels nothing, not even a shock, while the animals beside him fall dead.
Here are some facts—
On February 2, 1859, a herd of pigs were surprised by a water-spout near Liége. One hundred and fifty of these animals perished by the action of the electric fluid, their guides felt nothing.
In 1715, lightning fell on the Abbey of Noirmoutiers, near Tours, and killed twenty-two horses without doing any harm to 150 monks, whose refectory it visited and upset the 150 bottles containing their ration of wine.
In the year IX., lightning killed a horse and a mule near Chartres, sparing the miller who conducted them.
On July 17, 1895, four cows were going along a road, when suddenly they were pushed and thrown roughly to the edge of the road. The old drover who was with them felt nothing except the sensation of a strong and very characteristic odour which he could not define.
In 1812, a fulgurant discharge took place near Mr. Cowen's and killed his dog beside him, without doing him any harm.
In August, 1900, lightning penetrated into a cart-shed, where twelve chickens were taking shelter. The poor things were killed, but a lady who was feeding them was unhurt.
One often asks if lightning strikes birds in flight. This question, so often put, would seem to find an answer in the following facts:—
A lady was looking out of her window, when there was a flash of lightning, accompanied by a great clap of thunder. At the same time she noticed on the grass a dead gull which she had not seen before. The people who picked up the bird, affirmed that they found it still hot, and they added that there was a strong smell of sulphur.
Examples of this kind are rare: we have two more—
One day, Mr. W. Murdochs with two friends was looking on at a very violent storm, which spread itself over the Valley of the Ayr. Just then his dogdislodged a flock of ducks which had been sheltered behind an old building. One of the birds began to fly, and as it was cutting through the air, it was struck by lightning and killed as though by a gun.
During a storm in the United States, Mr. Burch saw a flock of wild geese flying by. Suddenly there was a flash of lightning which threw the flock into disorder; six birds fell dead to the ground.
One would have thought that the absence of all communication with the ground ought to protect the graceful winged tribe from lightning; but no, the poor birds have received no mercy from this terrible adversary.
All the same, lightning is less redoubtable for them than the sportsman's gun. It is very seldom that the kings of the air are the victims of the fire of Heaven, but they have another enemy, barbarous, unpardonable Man. Yes, the little earthly Jupiters are infinitely more terrible for the bird-world than the giant of the gods. They are rarely softened by the seductive grace, the elegance, and the delightful twittering of the charming inhabitants of space.
In truth, one of the reasons why birds are so rarely struck in their flight is that they foresee the storm, and have the prudence to take shelter before it bursts.
Amongst birds, sparrows are those which suffer most from the electric fluid.
We sometimes find them hanging by their shrivelledclaws from telegraph wires or from the branches of trees. But this latter is rather rare. They generally nest high in the trees, and lightning affects the branches much less than the trunk.
We also hear of little caged birds being killed in their iron prison. One day a canary was in a cage with five others and was killed; the rest were unhurt. The spark was attracted by the metallic bars, and struck the canary, which was no doubt resting on iron.
Fishes in their dark dwellings are no more privileged than other animals. They also frequently receive visits from the lightning, and their sad fate has often proved how dangerous it is to remain near a pool or pond during thunder.
Moreover, why are we recommended always to put the conductor into a well, damp earth, or even into a small pond? It is because water conducts the electric substance admirably.
We can understand that a vast space of liquid would be a good refuge for lightning, when, after having made several victims on earth, and fearing the vengeance of the conductors, it hurls itself into the water.
More often it drowns itself, and in this it follows the example of the immortal Gribouille; but enough of that. The logic of lightning is still contestable.
However that may be, many examples show us thedangers to which the denizens of rivers, and of the liquid element generally, are exposed. Not only are fishermen and sailors unanimous in attesting to the ravages wrought by lightning, but the history of electricity has preserved the recollection of memorable disasters, of veritable hecatombs of fish, which they attribute to the fire of heaven.
Arago recounts that on September 17, 1772, lightning fell on the Doubs and killed all the pike and trout which were in the river. The water was soon covered with their corpses which floated, stomach upwards.
A century before, during the year 1672, the lake in the subterranean part of Zirknitz was the theatre of a similar event, even more terrible, on account of the number of victims. The inhabitants of the neighbourhood collected such a number of fish that were struck, that they were able to fill eighteen carts.
In 1879, during a violent storm at night, the electric discharge fell on a little fish-pond in which a number of fish sported. The next morning they were all found floating dead on the surface of the water. They had the appearance of boiled fish, and their flesh fell to pieces on being touched, just as it would if it had been cooked. There was no injury to be seen, external or internal. The scales and the swimming bladder, which was full of air, had been preserved. The water of the pond remained troubled and muddy the dayafter the storm, as though the agitation of the tempest had been quite recent.
Here is an observation, similar to the last:—
In 1894, lightning fell on two poplars near Ignon, in the territory of Saulx-le-Duc (Côte-d'Or). A neighbouring pond, which measured 10 yards in length by 5 in width, was also struck. The owner states that all the fish, to the number of about a thousand, were killed.
Another more curious case still:—
One day the fish in an aquarium placed in a drawing-room were struck. They were all found lying dead on the floor. The glass which formed the bottom of the vessel was twisted and coated with a thick bed of yellowish substance.
If we study the effects of lightning on animals from the point of view of the injuries which it produces, we can make some very interesting remarks.
More often the hair of animals is injured or burnt. Sometimes the spark acts on the skin over a large surface of the body of the animal. Thus, two horses had their hair singed nearly all over their bodies, and more particularly on the leg and under the stomach. At other times the hair is only burnt in certain places.
Lightning struck a young four-year-old ox which was red with white spots. It burnt and removed all the white spots and left the red hair.
But generally we find one or more furrows of different kinds. The skin is seldom intact under injured hair. It is nearly always more or less burnt. And one often notices extravasations of blood which correspond to the injuries of the epidermis, in the subcutaneous cellular tissue.
In some cases, the fulminant fluid only attacks the colour of the hair of the animal.
The fracture of the bones or the ablation of a limb is often observed on animals which have been struck.
In 1838, a violent storm broke near Nimegue, and several oxen were killed in the meadows and their bones were broken.
In the month of May, 1718, in the Marche de Priegnitz, eight sheep were struck. They could not be used as food, because all their bones had been broken as though in a mortar, and the fragments were intermingled in the flesh. These, however, remained intact.
We have seen in the preceding chapter that fulguration often leaves no particular sign on men who are struck. It is the same with animals. The electric fluid entirely absorbs the source of life and only leaves insignificant traces of its passage. Sometimes even we can find no exterior injury.
On July 7, 1779, near Hamburg, lightning killed two horses in their stable. They showed no exteriortrace of a burn, though both had a rupture of the auricles.
In the month of September, 1787, at Ogenne, two cows and a heifer were struck in their stable; no exterior wound was to be found on their bodies.
Another observation is given by the Abbé Chapsal in his remarkable description of the effects of lightning. A pig fell dead, struck by a clap of thunder, and no indication could be found of the electric passage.
We see that lightning does not always make a great distinction between the blows which it inflicts on men and those which it inflicts on animals.
Sometimes, also, the corpses of beasts which are struck are completely incinerated. At the first sight, the body appears intact, but when you touch it, it falls to pieces.
At Clermont (Oise) on June 2, 1903, several animals were entirely carbonized in their stable.
We have also heard of animals being transported by the meteor a long way from the place of the catastrophe. Others have suffered from grave nervous troubles, following on the strokes of lightning which they have received. Sometimes partial or total paralysis results. Thus, a cow which had been struck by lightning, was knocked over, and remained a quarter of an hour motionless, after which it was seized with violent convulsions, then it got up quickly looking terrified.
Here is a case of a severe shock which brought on an access of delirium.
In the course of a terrible storm on September 4, 1849, a butcher, accompanied by a dog, took refuge under a beech at the edge of the road. Suddenly lightning fell on the tree and struck the dog, which became mad, and threw itself on its master, bit him in the thigh, and only let go when the butcher dragged the animal with him into a neighbouring house and cut his tail. The dog died in the night.
There are some examples of injuries wrought on animals which are barely perceptible. For instance, when it makes a transparent horn, opaque, and when it burns the mucous membrane of the nose.
On the other hand, the foetus which sleeps under the frail covering of the egg, is exposed to the pitiless blows of the most terrible meteor, as is the baby in its mother's womb. Chickens have often been struck before they ever saw the light of day.
Often the noise of thunder, and the fear which results from it, causes the miscarriage of hinds, and particularly of lambs.
An animal which has been struck generally sinks instantly, without a struggle. All the same, we hear of the case of a horse which was struck by the flame, and which struggled for a long time against an inevitable death.
The corpses of animals, like those of men, are sometimes very rigid; at others they are soft and flaccid, and decompose rapidly.
Thus all the sheep of a flock which were together under a tree in Scotland, were killed by a great clap of thunder. The next morning the owner, wishing to get some advantage out of their remains, sent his men to skin them, but the bodies were already in such a state of decomposition, and the stench was so abominable, that it was impossible for the servants to execute his orders. They hurried to bury the sheep in their skins.
On September 10, 1845, at about 2 p.m., lightning fell on a house in the village of Salagnac (Creuse). Amongst other accidents it killed a pig in a stable; three hours after the body was completely decomposed.
When animals are killed, not by the atmospheric fluid, but by the lightning of our machines, decomposition always comes on very rapidly.
Brown Sequard made the following very curious experiment on this subject:—
He took the hearts away from five rabbits of the same kind, the same age, and about the same strength. He put one aside without touching it, and he submitted the four others to the passage of an electric current, of a different strength for each animal. Here are the different results obtained—
The first animal became rigid after ten hours, and its rigidity, which was excessively marked, lasted eight days. The rigidity of the four others was feebler, and lasted a shorter time in proportion to the strength of the electric current. Thus, the one which received the weakest current, became rigid at the end of seven hours, and this lasted six days. The one which received the strongest current became rigid in seven minutes, and its body softened after a quarter of an hour.
This experiment explains the absence, or the shortness in duration, of corpselike stiffness in subjects which have been subjected to the terrible discharge of lightning.
Animals are not only the frequent victims of lightning, but, as this experiment shows, they are still oftener the martyrs of science. Laboratories are sometimes transformed into small cemeteries, where lie poor guineapigs, frogs which have been quartered, and mutilated rabbits. But what is the ordinary lot of these last when science spares them? The chief point is not to let the innocent victims suffer.
Can we eat with impunity the flesh of animals which have been struck? Several people say Yes, many say No. Both are right.
Putting aside the question of the rapid putrefaction to which these bodies are nearly always subjected, theflesh of animals killed by fulguration has often been found unhealthy and uneatable.
A veterinary surgeon who was commissioned to examine the bodies of two cows and an ox which had been struck in a stable, declared that their flesh could not be eaten without danger.
On the other hand, Franklin recounts how some people ate fowls which had been killed by the electric spark—"this funny little lightning"—and cooked immediately after death. The flesh of these capons was excellent and particularly tender, and the illustrious inventor of lightning-conductors concluded by proposing that we should follow this proceeding in order to ensure our fresh meat being as clean as possible when served at table.
We think, however, that it is more prudent to sacrifice the meat which has been struck, as it has been proved that in certain cases the decomposition is very rapid.
Up to now we have seen all animals, man included, as victims of lightning: it is the general rule.
Nevertheless, we often meet beings in this world, men, animals, or plants, which try to distinguish themselves from others by some sort of originality. This appears to be the case with the electric fish, whose existence seems to be dedicated to the worship of Jupiter.
These curious fish have received the gift from Nature of being able to hurl lightning to a certain distance.
This is how they set to work. A little fish in search of food goes too near this terrible enemy, who at once sets his living tail in motion. Fascinating it with his eye, he renders it immovable, and lets fly repeated discharges to it. After a minute, the poor fish is overcome, and allows itself to be snapped up by its pitiless adversary without resistance.
Certain rivers in Asia and Africa and the depths of the Pacific Ocean, in which these curious animals live, are often the scenes of terrible dramas, caused by the presence of these lightning fish, which are divided into five species: the tetrodon, the trichiure, the silurus, the raie torpille (cramp-fish), and the gymnote (electric eel). These aquatic lightnings work terrible havoc among the inhabitants of Neptune's kingdom. They use their influence over men as well as fish. If you touch a torpille, you feel a shock strong enough to benumb and paralyze the arm for some minutes.
A curious experiment was tried: eight people formed a chain, and one of them, with a piece of metallic wire, touched the back of a torpille which had been imported. They all felt the shock.
If thunder had elected to be domiciled anywherebut in its own clouds, it would seem as if it would be in the organism of these curious fish.
Unfortunately, in our international relations, humanity has invented a much more dangerous torpille (torpedo)!
Nearly two thousand years ago, Pliny wrote, "As regards products of the earth, lightning never strikes the bay tree." And this is why the Roman emperors, in fear always of the fire of heaven, crowned themselves with laurels. This belief was almost universal in ancient times, and survived for many centuries.
But every new century has proclaimed the immunity from lightning of some one member of the vegetable world, though impartial research has now established the fact that there is no such absolute privilege. If certain trees are rarely struck, that is, perhaps, due less to its species than to its size, its hygrometrical condition, and to other influences which it is still difficult to specify; for lightning, as we have seen, has capricious habits which we have not yet succeeded in explaining.
Thus the bay tree has lost its proud position in this respect, and has had to take its place amongst the ordinary run of trees, subject to the unjust anger ofJupiter. Many bay trees of some size have been seen to fall victims to the electric fluid.
The fig tree, the mulberry tree, and the peach tree have also been reputed to enjoy safety, but this also is not the case. There is an instance on record of a fig tree being struck by lightning and completely withered, and another of a mulberry-tree, eighty years old, being partly destroyed.
In our own days, the beech is believed to go uninjured. In the State of Tennessee, in the United States, the opinion is so deeply rooted that beech tree plantations are often resorted to as a refuge in times of storm. But it would be a mistake to place too much trust in them. There are records of beech trees being struck by lightning and destroyed, just like bay trees, fig trees, and the rest.
In 1835, an old beech tree was struck in the forest of Villers-Cotterets. This venerable patriarch was more than three hundred years old. Of its upper branches, which were wide and strong, four of the finest were destroyed; a fifth, stripped of its bark to a great extent, was not torn off the trunk. The trunk was split where the other four branches were torn from it. The interior of it was blackened and slightly carbonized.
On July 15, 1868, at Chéfresne, canton de Percy (Manche), an oak and an ash were struck by lightning within five minutes of each other.
On August 10, 1886, at Haute-Croix, in Brabant, an ash was struck and destroyed. On August 23, in the same year, an ash was struck also at Namur.
The box tree and the Virginian creeper used to be regarded as safeguards against lightning. The same virtue was attributed to the house-leek, a thick herbaceous plant, which grows usually upon walls and roofs, and which the Germans call Donnerblatt or Donnerbarb, Thunder-leaf or Thunder-beard.
According to some authors, again, lightning never strikes resinous trees, such as pines or firs. But this also is disproved by the facts, especially in regard to firs.
Among the many particulars I have collected of recent years, is the following list of sixty-five different kinds of trees, with the record of the number of times each species has been struck by lightning within a given period:—
Height obviously accounts for a good deal. It is incontestable that, in the case of a clump of trees standing in the middle of a plain, lightning will in most cases pick out the tallest. But this is not an absolute rule. The isolation of trees, their qualities as conductors, the degree of moisture in the soil in which they are rooted, their distance from the storm clouds, the character of their foliage and of their roots—all these things are important factors.
Numerous experiments have been made with a view to ascertaining the amount of resistance offered to the electric spark by different kinds of wood. Similar pieces of beech and oak have been exposed lengthwise to the electric spark given out by one of Holtz's machines, with the result that the oak wood was pierced by the electric fluid after one or two revolutions of the machine, whereas for the beech wood a dozen or twenty were needed. Black poplar wood and willow offer a moderate resistance: a few revolutions suffice to penetrate them.
In all instances the susceptibility of the wood depends on the sap. It has been proved by analysis that the woods which contain starch with but little oil,such as the oak, poplar, willow, maple, elm, and ash, offer much less resistance to the electric current than those trees which are richer in fatty matter, as the beech tree, walnut tree, lime tree, birch tree, and so on.
These conclusions are corroborated by the case of the pine tree, the wood of which has a great quantity of oil in winter, but in summer lacks it as much as those trees which contain more starch.
Experiments have proved that in summer this wood is quite as likely to serve as a conductor as the oak; while in winter its resistance to the electric spark equals that of the beech and other trees which are rarely struck by lightning. Decayed trees are excellent conductors of electricity; those in full vigour being much more rarely struck.
In any case, it has been proved that the effects of lightning are particularly severe in the vegetable world. It has been pointed out elsewhere in this little book to what dangers those persons are exposed who take shelter beneath the trees during a thunderstorm; there are innumerable examples of the imprudence of taking refuge from the rain under thick foliage, people having been killed by a fireball—for lightning does not always take the trouble to make a selection, sparing neither the protector nor the protected.
We shall give some more instances, chosen from a considerable number of similar observations.
In 1888, ten reapers, surprised by drops of rain and distant rumbling of thunder, left their work and took refuge beneath a big walnut tree. But one of them having questioned the security of this retreat, all immediately fled in the direction of a neighbouring wood, except one young girl of fourteen years. Several who returned to advise her to follow them, saw her smilingly throw her arms round the trunk of the tree, and almost at once fall backwards, her arms extended. She was dead.
On the 22nd of August in the same year, four labourers, returning from work, were overtaken by a thunderstorm. Three of them stopped under an elm, the fourth prudently continued on his way. Well it was for him. Several minutes later, the lightning struck the tree, killing two of the labourers outright, and grievously wounding the third. The latter was found almost completely naked; his garments, burnt and tattered, were scattered round him. When he came to himself, he was in such a violent delirium that it was necessary for several men to bring the unfortunate victim to his home, where he died shortly afterwards in the most horrible agony.
About six o'clock, on the 23rd of June, seven men employed on the farm of Puy-Crouel, were working in a field of beet-root. Overcome with the heat, they went into the shade of a walnut tree. All at once,a flash of lightning illumined the sky; the seven workmen were thrown down, one of them being hurled several yards away. Three of them were able to get up and go to the farm, the others were severely burnt, and half asphyxiated. One of the victims had his back skinned the whole length of the vertebral column; the other had his face scratched, as if torn by fingernails. All had lost their memory. The walnut tree under which they had sheltered was cleft from top to bottom.
Here is another example no less terrible—
Seven children, belonging to Ahrens, were caught in a thunderstorm as they were coming home from the fields, and took shelter under a tree. The lightning killed the seven little people.
Another time, four young men taking refuge under an oak, were struck and thrown down. One of them was killed instantly, his companions were cruelly injured.
On the 10th of July, in Belgium, a woman gathering cherries was killed on a tree which attracted the fluid. A young man standing beneath it was paralyzed.
We might multiply these tragic tales; each year a number of similar cases happen. The imprudence of human beings is truly incorrigible!
Everybody, however feeble his instinct of self-preservation, should flee the vicinity of trees duringa thunderstorm, and allow himself to be drenched on the road, rather than offer his life as a too generous burnt-offering to the lightning, for the oak's robust trunk, or that of the poplar, elegantly plumed with its graceful foliage, may be the altar on which the sacrifices in honour of Jupiter are made.
The wood of trees is not so good a conductor of electricity as the human body. For this reason, a person leaning against a tree receives the full discharge; at times the tree is splintered, because it did not serve as a perfect conductor.
Yet the conductive power of certain species is so remarkable, that the neighbourhood of particular trees may be regarded as a protection against lightning (this, however, without coming in contact with them!).
The tips of the branches pointing towards the clouds, and the moisture they receive, undoubtedly influence the electricity of the atmosphere; and, moreover, by means of these graceful branches, an inaudible but continual exchange is effected between the electricity of the earth and sky, thus holding the balance between two opposite charges.
Colladon asserts that poplars planted near houses may, in favourable conditions, act as lightning conductors, on account of their height and powers of conducting. He adds that it is necessary to take other circumstances regarding the situation of thedwelling into account, which are not always easy to define. Their protection of the neighbourhood is not constantly the same. For it to be effectual, the foliage should be very low, and they should be at least two metres distant from the roof and walls. Their roots, too, should be in a damp soil, and metal should not enter largely into the construction of the neighbouring houses. In these conditions, poplars may fulfil the useful functions of lightning conductors.
At times, during a storm, several trees are struck by the same flash. For instance, on May 23, 1886, in Belgium, three poplars were blasted by a single thunderbolt.
On the other hand, trees planted in lines are sometimes struck alternately. A case occurred where the lightning seemed to have taken aim and touched all the odd numbers in a row without striking the others.
Certain plantations act on the fluid with an extraordinary intensity.
At Lovenjoul, in Belgium, a wood of undergrowth and big trees, planted in marshy ground, seems to possess this singular privilege, and the agriculturists of the country declare that no storm ever passes their way without lightning falling there. In the middle of this wood one can count seven oaks, near to one another, struck by it. Not far off, a huge ash, and a little farther away two poplars, likewise blasted.
All the trees have not been struck in the same way; some are scorched or stripped of their leaves; the others have their trunks perforated, or split in different parts. Usually trees are cleft from top to bottom; in some cases the furrow is horizontal or perpendicular in the direction of the branches.
Pieces of bark or of wood are sometimes torn off lengthwise, and only adhere to the trunk in strips here and there. But that does not prove conclusively that the lightning struck upwards from the ground; it may have rebounded (?) after striking from above.
Certain effects, however, can only be explained by an ascending movement of the fluid. The following cases for example:—
"During the summer of 1787, two men were sheltering under a tree at Tancon, Beaujolais, when they were struck by lightning. One of them was killed on the spot, the other felt no ill effects other than momentary suffocation. Their horses were caught up to the top of the tree. An iron ring which bound the wooden shoe belonging to one of the men, was found hanging from a high branch of the same tree. Now, at a little distance, there was a tree which had also suffered greatly by the passage of the electric fluid. In the soil at its base a round hole was to be seen, shaped like a funnel. Directly above it the bark had been loosened and slit into slender thongs. As for thetree beneath which the men had sheltered, it also had half its bark off, and long splinters were to be seen hanging only by the upper parts. On one side of the tree the leaves were withered, on the other they were still quite green."
In this most remarkable instance the lightning had come out of the ground.
In the cleft of a willow tree blasted by lightning its roots were found.
Besides, the soil is often undulating, and thrown up around trees which have been struck.
Vegetables do not always succumb, any more than men, to these attacks. They may be lightly struck in a vital part, in which case they recover from their wounds. Very often they are merely stripped of their natural garments, in other words, of their bark and foliage. This is one of those superficial injuries to which they are most subject.
The following is an example of this kind of fulguration:—
On July 16, 1708, two oaks were struck at Brampton. The larger measured about ten feet around the base. They were both split asunder, and the bark peeled off from the summit to the soil, a length of twenty-eight feet. Completely detached from the trunk, it hung in long strips from the top.
Boussingault witnessed the destruction by lightningof a wild pear tree at Lamperlasch, near Beekelleronn. At the moment of the explosion an enormous column of vapour arose, like smoke coming out of a chimney when fresh coal has been put on the fire. The lightning flashed in all directions, great branches gave way, and when the vapour cleared off, there stood the pear tree, its trunk a dazzling white: the lightning had taken the bark completely off. Sometimes the bark is only partially stripped off one side, or left on, in more or less regular bands, either on the trunk or on the branches.
During a violent storm at Juvisy, on May 18, 1897, an elm five hundred metres distant from the Observatory was struck by lightning, which took the bark off lengthwise in a strip, four centimetres wide and five centimetres deep. This band of bark was cut clean off. There was no trace of burning.
Sometimes only the mosses and lichens are whisked off the sides of the trees, which escape with light scratches. Two great oaks which had been struck by fireballs, only bore traces of two punctures which might have been made by small shot.
Moreover, it is not uncommon to see the bark riddled with a multitude of little holes, like those made by worms.
Two men were struck by lightning near Casal Maggiore on August 15, 1791, beneath an elm tree.One of them had his elbow on the tree at the moment, and amongst other injuries were a number of little holes in the arm. There was a twist in the tree at the part where the elbow rested, and a hole penetrated the centre of it to the core of the wood. The surrounding bark looked as if it had been mite-eaten. Several scars started from this point and ascended almost perpendicularly towards the top of the trunk. There was no damage done to the branches.
Lightning cut through a chestnut tree, five metres high, on the roadside at Foulain (Haute-Marne), burning several leaves, then struck some water-pipes at a depth of a metre and a half, and finally passed into the dike through two holes a metre deep by a decimetre in diameter.
The bark is often reduced to thin splinters scattered on the soil, or hanging from the neighbouring trees, or even thrown to a considerable distance.
On June 25, a fireball fell near Jare (Landes) on a pine tree, which it shivered into a myriad slender strips, about 2 metres long, many of which were caught on the branches of pines within a distance of 15 metres. Only a stump, 2½ metres in height, remained standing. At the same time three other pines, which stood 18 and 25 metres away from the first, were destroyed. The bark had been stripped off each, but only as far as the incision made for extracting the resin.
Furrows, of varying width, and running in different directions, may at times be seen on trees, some short, others reaching to the top of the tree, and occasionally to the roots. These marks show the passing of the lightning.
Sir John Clark has seen a huge oak in Cumberland, at least 60 feet high and 4 feet in diameter, from which the lightning had stripped a piece of bark, about 10 centimetres wide and 5 centimetres thick, the whole length of the trunk in a straight line.
The furrow is not always single, it may be double, and either stretch in two parallel lines or diverge.
The Chevalier de Louville observed in the park of the castle at Nevers, a tree struck at the top of the trunk by lightning which, dividing in three shafts, hollowed three furrows that might have been made by three rifle shots fired towards the roots. These three furrows followed the irregularities of the trunk, always slipping, gliding between the wood and the bark, and curiously enough the former was not burnt.
But these bands are not invariably straight either; in the above example they followed the caprices of the vegetable body. They are to be found oblique in certain cases, but more often they surround the trunk in long spirals of varying width, showing that the lightning clasped the tree in the form of a serpent of fire.
Here is an example:—
During a violent storm on July 17, 1895, a poplar was blasted on the road through the forest of Moladier, 160 metres north-west of the castle of Valliere. The tree was 25 metres high, and in full leaf from base to summit; it was struck halfway up by the discharge, and a spiral furrow 10 centimetres wide twisted round the trunk to the ground.
I noted a similar case, August 25, 1901.
Lightning struck one of the highest trees in the park at Juvisy, a magnificent ash, stripping off and destroying the bark where the electric fluid curved round and round down the full length of the trunk, which was shattered by the meteor a few metres above the roots. Enormous fragments lay all round the trunk, some hurled to such a distance that it was obvious the explosive force of the phenomenon must have been of extraordinary violence.
I was able to trace the course of the lightning to the foot of the tree, along its roots to a great depth, by a black furrow.
The tree is not dead. The ivy which clung to it is dead.
The vast and splendid forest of Saint Germain often witnesses the presence of the lightning, and the magnificent trees which adorn and beautify this charming and celebrated place are, unfortunately,too often the victims of these inopportune visitations.
Lightning has no respect for old memories. It demolished with a single flash a superb giant whose long branches, laden with perfumed leaves, had given shade to many generations. The splendid tree, which had survived the severity of several centuries, fell beneath the arrow of the pernicious fluid. Such was the fate of an oak near l'Etoile du Grand-Veneur. Struck on the top, its upper branches were violently torn off.... A spiral furrow beginning at the top ended within a metre of the ground. But, wonderful to relate, the whole mass of the tree appeared to have been twisted mightily by a force which worked with so much power that the tree could never regain its original position. The fibre, instead of growing vertically, followed the furrow made by the lightning, and became twisted like a corkscrew. There exist certain singular trees, the fibre of which grows in spiral fashion, and is called twisted wood by carpenters and cabinet-makers. Pines and firs in mountainous countries are fairly often affected in this curious fashion. One can no more account for it than one can define the cause of the curved form of some flashes of lightning. One does not know exactly if they should be attributed to their following the direction taken by the fibre, or whether, on the contrary, thetree had been struck in its infancy by a spiral flash, and, submitting to that influence, continued to grow up corkscrew fashion.
It is most probable that the fall of the thunder-ball on the trees in this manner is governed by the laws of electricity. We may even note casually that traces of similar spirals have been remarked on objects as well as on the dead bodies of those struck by lightning, thus preserving the ceraunic likeness of the mortal blow.
Other observers, besides, have declared that they saw distinctly the spiral lightning flash through the atmosphere. But these observations would need to be confirmed by photographs of indisputable accuracy. In these circumstances, as in many others, the dark room is worth a hundred human eyes!
In some cases the curved furrow turns several times. For instance, in May, 1850, Grebel saw an alder nearly twenty metres high struck by lightning on the right bank of the Elster below Zeitz. On the lower part of its trunk were two spiral bands which had carried away bark and sap-wood, leaving no trace of combustion.
The depth and width of the twist are very variable; at times the furrow is deeper in the veined parts than at the edges; again it reaches the core.
Two oaks were struck in June, 1742, in the park at Thornden. One was marked with a spiral for a length of forty feet to within a little distance of the ground.The band was five inches wide, but became narrower as it descended, and was finally no more than two inches wide. The wood was incised and even torn in places, but the branches were not hurt. The rest of the bark seemed to have been riddled by small shot.
All the injuries of which we have spoken (excoriation, stripping off the bark, furrows), are not necessarily mortal. But there are other more serious wounds from which the tree rarely recovers. We allude to deep fissures and breaks produced by lightning. When the fracture touches only a portion of the topmost part of the tree, the result of the accident is not necessarily fatal. But this is not always so.
On May 14, 1865, a poplar was split in two by lightning at Montigny-sur-Loing. One half to the full height continued standing. The other half was chopped up in small fragments and thrown to a distance of a hundred metres. These pieces, which were brought to me by M. Fouché, are so dried up and fibrous that they might be taken for hemp instead of wood.
In the majority of these cases the tree is split from top to bottom.
On July 5, 1884, in Belgium, a poplar, the biggest of a group of trees of the same species, was struck and split down its full length.
In the month of August, 1853, on the side of theroad from Ville-d'Avray to Versailles, a poplar of about twenty years old was cleft from the topmost bough to its roots; one half remained in its place, the other fell on the road. A black line, about a millimetre wide, ran down the centre of the tree.
Sometimes the tree is divided into several parts by vertical fissures. For example, in 1827, near Vicence, a pear tree, three feet in diameter, was split into four parts, from the top down.
How often one has remarked great tree trunks in the forests, decayed and desolate, standing sadly, like poor headless bodies? Very often lightning has been the executioner of these trees.
In the month of May, 1867, in the forest of Fontainebleau, a magnificent oak, about two metres in circumference, was completely decapitated by lightning; its branches fell on the ground. The part of the trunk left standing was barked to the roots and splintered into fragments of varying sizes. They were scattered on the ground or hung from the branches of the surrounding trees. Several pieces of considerable size were hurled more than thirty metres away, much to the injury of the bark of the trees which they struck.
In numerous cases, the tree struck by lightning is broken in several places, and fragments of it thrown far and wide.
On July 2, 1871, at the farm of Etiefs, near Rouvres, canton of Auberive (Haute-Marne), lightning struck an Italian poplar, sixty years old, thirty metres high, and three metres round at a height of one metre from the ground, splintering off enough wood to make a heap sixty-five centimetres round, and fifty centimetres high.
An ash was struck by lightning on July 17, 1895, on the road to Clermont. This tree, ten metres high, was broken at a point 3⅕ metres from the ground, and the crown, still hanging by a shred from the trunk, lay on the embankment. The violence of the explosion threw pieces thirty centimetres wide and 3½ metres in length, into a field from twenty-five to thirty metres off.
On July 4, 1884, in Belgium, a willow was reduced to a heap of atoms on the ground. In March, 1818, at Plymouth, a fir more than a hundred feet high and forty feet in circumference, the admiration of the countryside, disappeared, literally shattered into bits. Some fragments were thrown two hundred and fifty metres away.
One of the most curious effects of lightning is to divide the interior of the tree into concentric layers, fitting them perfectly one into the other, but at the same time separating them with extraordinary precision.
Arbres roulés(thus are the trees called which are victims of this odd phenomenon), as a rule, do not show any injury on the outside. But the body, dissected by the electric fluid, soon succumbs.
An oak, twenty-five metres high, having been struck on August 25, 1818, was opened to be examined carefully, and it was stated that the concentric layers were as detached from one another as the tubes of an opera-glass.
The fireball sometimes hollows a canal through the centre of the trees from the top to the bottom, the sides of which are burnt black. The following is a curious example:—
In June, 1823, at Moisselles, lightning fell upon a great elm, and striking against an enormous knob, rebounded on to a neighbouring elm half its own height, pierced it through and through, shivering it to tatters; the trunk was burst open to the roots, it looked as if it had been bored through from one end to the other by a red-hot bullet that blackened and charred it.
Does it not seem as if the lightning plays with the lives of the trees as with man? It threatens, changes, apparently spares, returns to the charge and finally annihilates. And this sport is accompanied, at times, by inconceivable effects.
But records are still more eloquent than reflections:Nature, in her own mute speech, tells us of a thousand marvels.
Is not the following phenomenon enough to make lightning more mysterious in its fantastic and varied mode of action?
On the 19th of April, lightning struck an oak in the forest of Vibraye (Sarthe), cut this tree, measuring a metre and a half in circumference, at two-thirds of its height, pulverized the lower parts, strewed the shreds over a circuit of fifty metres, and planted the upper part exactly on the spot from which the trunk had been snatched, with all the rapidity of a flash.
Moreover, the annual concentric circles were separated by the sudden drying up of the sap so effectually, that, the strips only remained welded together where the knots made too great an obstacle to their separation.
How was the lightning able to plant in the earth, with such inconceivable rapidity, the top of the tree where the roots had been? This is something which no one can explain. It alone is capable of creating such situations.
But it has done better still! Two years later, in 1868, it took the opportunity of playing a good trick on two trees of different species, an English oak and a forest pine, which, without race jealousy, fraternized in the forest of Pont-de-Bussière (Haute-Vienne). Thesetwo trees were about ten yards apart, and were simultaneously hit by the explosive matter, and in the twinkling of an eye, their leaves were changed. The pine needles found themselves on the oak, and the leaves of the oak went to brighten the austerity of the pine with their delicate verdure. There was nothing commonplace about the metamorphosis. Accordingly all the inhabitants went in crowds to the scene of this miracle to contemplate the unusual spectacle of a pine-oak and an oak-pine.
And the unexpected happened: both trees appeared to thrive very well in these new conditions: the pine continued to be agreeably adorned with its festival foliage, whilst the oak agreed perfectly with the sombre needles of the pine.
After such marvels, my readers will not be surprised to learn that lightning sometimes shatters the living wood, or decayed wood, into a thousand morsels without setting it on fire.
For instance, a bundle of faggots lying on the hearth has been reduced to atoms by lightning, without any trace of combustion being visible.
A fireball fell on a sheaf of barley in the open field without setting it on fire, and buried itself in the ground without doing other further damage.
In certain cases the electric fluid chars wood at varying depths: the blackened layer is often veryslight; sometimes, on the contrary, combustion is complete.
As for the leaves, they are unhurt as a rule. When they are attacked they shrivel up; an autumnal shade takes the place of their charming green tints; they turn brown and dry up quickly.
One of the trees in the Champs-Élysées having been struck, it was proved that all round it the ground was full of little holes. In two or three places the bark was raised from beneath; the leaves were yellow and shrivelled up as parchment would be by the fire; the upper part remained green. Everything seemed to prove that the lightning came out of the ground.
At other times the same effect may be observed on the leaves, when the trunk and roots are apparently uninjured. It is not unusual to see the tree instantly stripped of its leaves as if by some mysterious power.
The lightning acts also on the roots, as we have seen in the preceding examples. They have been seen uncovered where the ground was much disturbed, torn in strips, or cleft in more or less regular pieces.
We see that lightning does not make more ado about exhaling its baleful breath on the life of plants, than on animals and men. And moreover, that it often strikes these latter with sudden death without leaving a trace of its passing, just as sometimes it strikes the trees without leaving any exterior injury. Now andthen life is not completely extinguished, and little by little the tree recovers its health. Often the vitality is not changed, one sees the tree which was struck bear fruit as before the catastrophe.
Has it not been asserted that lightning may exert a benign influence on vegetation?
This was the opinion of the ancients.
A proposof this, Pliny said, "That thunder is rarely heard in winter, and that the great fertility of the soil is due to the frequency of thunder and rain in spring; for the countries where it rains often and in good earnest during the spring, as in the island of Sicily, produce many and excellent fruits."
It has been proved in our times that the ancients were right in extolling rainwater as nourishment for the products of the earth, and science has discovered the cause to be the presence of great quantities of nitrogen and ammonia in the thunder-rain and in hail. Perhaps electricity has a similar effect.