Part 7

This chapter is especially intended for boys and girls and others who like to make things with carpenters' tools.

PHOTOGRAPHY IN ASTRONOMY

New highways of science have been monumented now and again by the masterful efforts of genius, working single-handed; but more often it is slow-moving time that ripens discovery, and, at the proper moment, opens some new path to men whose intellectual power is but willingness to learn. So the annals of astronomical photography do not recount the achievements of extraordinary genius. It would have been strange, indeed, if the discovery of photography had not been followed by its application to astronomy.

The whole range of chemical science contains no experiment of greater inherent interest than the development of a photographic plate. Let but the smallest ray of light fall upon its strangely sensitive surface, and some subtle invisible change takes place. It is then merely necessary to plunge the plate into a properly prepared chemical bath, and the gradual process of developing the picture begins. Slowly, very slowly, the colorless surface darkens wherever light has touched it. Let us imagine that the exposure has been made with an ordinary lens and camera, and that it is a landscape seeming to grow beneath the experimenter's eyes. At first only the most conspicuous objects make their appearance. But gradually the process extends, until finally every tiny detail is reproduced with marvellous fidelity to the original. The photographic plate, when developed in this way, is called a "negative." For in Nature luminous points, or sources of light, are bright, while the developing negative turns dark wherever light has acted. Thus the negative, while true to Nature, reproduces everything in a reversed way; bright things are dark, and shadows appear light. For ordinary purposes, therefore, the negative has to be replaced by a new photograph made by copying it again photographically. In this way it is again reversed, giving us a picture corresponding correctly to the facts as seen. Such a copy from a negative is what is ordinarily called a photograph; technically, it is known as a "positive."

One of the remarkable things about the sensitive plate is its complete indifference to the distance from which the light comes. It is ready to yield obediently to the ray of some distant star that may have journeyed, as it were, from the very vanishing point of space, or to the bright glow of an electric light upon the photographer's table. This quality makes its use especially advantageous in astronomy, since we can gain knowledge of remote stars only by a study of the light they send us. In such study the photographic plate possesses a supreme advantage over the human eye. If the conditions of weather and atmosphere are favorable, an observer looking through an ordinary telescope will see nearly as much at the first glance as he will ever see. Attentive and continued study will enable him to fix details upon his memory, and to record them by means of drawings and diagrams. Occasional moments of especially undisturbed atmospheric conditions will allow him to glimpse faint objects seldom visible. But on the whole, telescopic astronomers add little to their harvest by continued husbandry in the same field of stars. Photography is different. The effect of light upon the sensitive surface of the plate is strictly cumulative. If a given star can bring about a certain result when it has been allowed to act upon the plate for one minute, then in two or three minutes it will accomplish much more. Perhaps a single minute's exposure would have produced a mark scarcely perceptible upon the developed negative. In that case, three or four minutes would give us a perfectly well defined black image of the star.

Photographed by Barnard, February 1, 1894.

Exposure, three hours.]

Thus, by lengthening the exposure we can make the fainter stars impress themselves upon the plate. If their light is not able to produce the desired effect in minutes, we can let its action accumulate for hours. In this manner it becomes possible and easy to photograph objects so faint that they have never been seen, even with our most powerful telescopes. This achievement ranks high among those which make astronomy appeal so strongly to the imagination. Scientific men are not given to fancies; nor should they be. But the first long-exposure photograph must have been an exciting thing. After coming from the observatory, the chemical development was, of course, made in a dark room, so that no additional light might harm the plate until the process was complete. Carrying it out then into the light, that early experimenter cannot but have felt a thrill of triumph; for his hand held a true picture of dim stars to the eye unlighted, lifted into view as if by magic.

Plates have been thus exposed as long as twenty-five hours, and the manner of doing it is very interesting. Of course, it is impossible to carry on the work continuously for so long a period, since the beginning of daylight would surely ruin the photograph. In fact, the astronomer must stop before even the faintest streak of dawn begins to redden the eastern sky. Moreover, making astronomical negatives requires excessively close attention, and this it is impossible to give continuously during more than a few hours. But the exposure of a single plate can be extended over several nights without difficulty. It is merely necessary to close the plate-holder with a "light-tight" cover when the first night's work is finished. To begin further exposure of the same plate on another night, we simply aim the photographic telescope at precisely the same point of the sky as before. The light-tight plate-holder being again opened, the exposure can go on as if there had been no interruption.

Astronomers have invented a most ingenious device for making sure that the telescope's aim can be brought back again to the same point with great exactness. This is a very important matter; for the slightest disturbance of the plate before the second or subsequent portions of the exposure would ruin everything. Instead of a very complete single picture, we should have two partial ones mixed up together in inextricable confusion.

To prevent this, photographic telescopes are made double, not altogether unlike an opera-glass. One of the tubes is arranged for photography proper, while the other is fitted with lenses suitable for an ordinary visual telescope. The two tubes are made parallel. Thus the astronomer, by looking through the visual glass, can watch objects in the heavens even while they are being photographed. The visual half of the instrument is provided with a pair of very fine cross-wires movable at will in the field of view. These can be made to bisect some little star exactly, before beginning the first night's work. Afterward, everything about the instrument having been left unchanged, the astronomer can always assure himself of coming back to precisely the same point of the sky, by so adjusting the instrument that the same little star is again bisected.

It must not be supposed, however, that the entire instrument remains unmoved, even during the whole of a single night's exposure. For in that case, the apparent motion of the stars as they rise or set in the sky would speedily carry them out of the telescope's field of view. Consequently, this motion has to be counteracted by shifting the telescope so as to follow the stars. This can be accomplished accurately and automatically by means of clock-work mechanism. Such contrivances have already been applied in the past to visual telescopes, because even then they facilitated the observer's work. They save him the trouble of turning his instrument every few minutes, and allow him to give his undivided attention to the actual business of observation.

For photographic purposes the telescope needs to "follow" the stars far more accurately than in the older kind of observing with the eye. Nor is it possible to make a clock that will drive the instrument satisfactorily and quite automatically. But by means of the second or visual telescope, astronomers can always ascertain whether the clock is working correctly at any given moment. It requires only a glance at the little star bisected by the cross-wires, and, if there has been the slightest imperfection in the following by clock-work, the star will no longer be cut exactly by the wires.

The astronomer can at once correct any error by putting in operation a very ingenious mechanical device sometimes called a "mouse-control." He need only touch an electric button, and a signal is sent into the clock-work. Instantly there is a shifting of the mechanism. For one of the regular driving wheels is substituted, temporarily, another having an extra tooth. This makes the clock run a little faster so long as the electric current passes. In a similar way, by means of another button, the clock can be made to run slower temporarily. Thus by watching the cross-wires continuously, and manipulating his two electric buttons, the photographic astronomer can compel his telescope to follow exactly the object under observation, and he can make certain of obtaining a perfect negative.

These long-exposure plates are intended especially for what may be called descriptive astronomy. With them, as we have seen, advantage is taken of cumulative light-effects on the sensitive plate, and the telescope's light-gathering and space-penetrating powers are vastly increased. We are enabled to carry our researches far beyond the confines of the old visible universe. Extremely faint objects can be recorded, even down to their minutest details, with a fidelity unknown to older visual methods. But at present we intend to consider principally applications of photography in the astronomy of measurement, rather than the descriptive branch of our subject. Instead of describing pictures made simply to see what certain objects look like in the sky, we shall consider negatives intended for precise measurement, with all that the word precision implies in celestial science.

Taking up first the photography of stars, we must begin by mentioning the work of Rutherfurd at New York. More than thirty years ago he had so far perfected methods of stellar photography that he was able to secure excellent pictures of stars as faint as the ninth magnitude. In those days the modern process of dry-plate photography had not been invented. To-day, plates exposed in the photographic telescope are made of glass covered with a perfectly dry film of sensitized gelatine. But in the old wet-plate process the sensitive film was first wetted with a chemical solution; and this solution could not be allowed to dry during the exposure. Consequently, Rutherfurd was limited to exposures a few minutes in length, while nowadays, as we have said, their duration can be prolonged at will.

When we add to this the fact that the old plates were far less sensitive to light than those now available, it is easy to see what were the difficulties in the way of photographing faint stars in Rutherfurd's time. Nor did he possess the modern ingenious device of a combined visual and photographic instrument. He had no electric controlling apparatus. In fact, the younger generation of astronomers can form no adequate idea of the patience and personal skill Rutherfurd must have had at his command. For he certainly did produce negatives that are but little inferior to the best that can be made to-day. His only limitation was that he could not obtain images of stars much below the ninth magnitude.

To understand just what is meant here by the ninth magnitude, it is necessary to go back in imagination to the time of Hipparchus, the father of sidereal astronomy. (See page 39.) He adopted the convenient plan of dividing all the stars visible to the naked eye (of course, he had no telescope) into six classes, according to their brilliancy. The faintest visible stars were put in the sixth class, and all the others were assigned somewhat arbitrarily to one or the other of the brighter classes.

Modern astronomers have devised a more scientific system, which has been made to conform very nearly to that of Hipparchus, just as it has come down to us through the ages. We have adopted a certain arbitrary degree of luminosity as the standard "first-magnitude"; compared with sunlight, this may be represented roughly by a fraction of which the numerator is 1, and the denominator about eighty thousand millions. The standard second-magnitude star is one whose light, compared with a first-magnitude, may be represented approximately by the fraction ⅖. The third magnitude, in turn, may be compared with the second by the same fraction ⅖; and so the classification is extended to magnitudes below those visible to the unaided eye. Each magnitude compares with the one above it, as the light of two candles would compare with the light of five.

Rutherfurd did not stop with mere photographs. He realized very clearly the obvious truth that by making a picture of the sky we simply change the scene of our operations. Upon the photograph we can measure that which we might have studied directly in the heavens; but so long as they remain unmeasured, celestial pictures have a potential value only. Locked within them may lie hidden some secret of our universe. But it will not come forth unsought. Patient effort must precede discovery, in photography, as elsewhere in science. There is no royal road. Rutherfurd devised an elaborate measuring-machine in which his photographs could be examined under the microscope with the most minute exactness. With this machine he measured a large number of his pictures; and it has been shown quite recently that the results obtained from them are comparable in accuracy with those coming from the most highly accredited methods of direct eye-observation.

And photographs are far superior in ease of manipulation. Convenient day-observing under the microscope in a comfortable astronomical laboratory is substituted for all the discomforts of a midnight vigil under the stars. The work of measurement can proceed in all weathers, whereas formerly it was limited strictly to perfectly clear nights. Lastly, the negatives form a permanent record, to which we can always return to correct errors or re-examine doubtful points.

Rutherfurd's stellar work extended down to about 1877, and included especially parallax determinations and the photography of star-clusters. Each of these subjects is receiving close attention from later investigators, and, therefore, merits brief mention here. Stellar parallax is in one sense but another name for stellar distance. Its measurement has been one of the important problems of astronomy for centuries, ever since men recognized that the Copernican theory of our universe requires the determination of stellar distances for its complete demonstration.

If the earth is swinging around the sun once a year in a mighty path or orbit, there must be changes of its position in space comparable in size with the orbit itself. And the stars ought to shift their apparent places on the sky to correspond with these changes in the terrestrial observer's position. The phenomenon is analogous to what occurs when we look out of a room, first through one window, and then through another. Any object on the opposite side of the street will be seen in a changed direction, on account of the observer's having shifted his position from one window to the other. If the object seemed to be due north when seen from the first window, it will, perhaps, appear a little east of north from the other. But this change of direction will be comparatively small, if the object under observation is very far away, in comparison with the distance between the two windows.

This is what occurs with the stars. The earth's orbit, vast as it is, shrinks into almost absolute insignificance when compared with the profound distances by which we are sundered from even the nearest fixed stars. Consequently, the shifting of their positions is also very small--so small as to be near the extreme limit separating that which is measurable from that which is beyond human ken.

Photography lends itself most readily to a study of this matter. Suppose a certain star is suspected of "having a parallax." In other words, we have reason to believe it near enough to admit of a successful measurement of distance. Perhaps it is a very bright star; and, other things being equal, it is probably fair to assume that brightness signifies nearness. And astronomers have certain other indications of proximity that guide them in the selection of proper objects for investigation, though such evidence, of course, never takes the place of actual measurement.

The star under examination is sure to have near it on the sky a number of stars so very small that we may safely take them to be immeasurably far away. The parallax star is among them, but not of them. We see it projected upon the background of the heavens, though it may in reality be quite near us, astronomically speaking. If this is really so, and the star, therefore, subject to the slight parallactic shifting already mentioned, we can detect it by noting the suspected star's position among the surrounding small stars. For these, being immeasurably remote, will remain unchanged, within the limits of our powers of observation, and thus serve as points of reference for marking the apparent shifting of the brighter star we are actually considering.

We have merely to photograph the region at various seasons of the year. Careful examination of the photographs under the microscope will then enable us to measure the slightest displacement of the parallax star. From these measures, by a process of calculation, astronomers can then obtain the star's distance. It will not become known in miles; we shall only ascertain how many times the distance between the earth and sun would have to be laid down like a measuring-rod, in order to cover the space separating us from the star: and the subsequent evaluation of this distance "earth to sun" in miles is another important problem in whose solution photography promises to be most useful.

The above method of measuring stellar distance is, of course, subject to whatever slight uncertainty arises from the assumption that the small stars used for comparison are themselves beyond the possibility of parallactic shifting. But astronomy possesses no better method. Moreover, the number of small stars used in this way is, of course, much larger in photography than it ever can be in visual work. In the former process, all surrounding stars can be photographed at once; in the latter each star must be measured separately, and daylight soon intervenes to impose a limit on numbers. Usually only two can be used; so that here photography has a most important advantage. It minimizes the chance of our parallax being rendered erroneous, by the stars of comparison not being really infinitely remote. This might happen, perhaps, in the case of one or two; but with an average result from a large number we know it to be practically impossible.