Part 8

But these ocular ears or auditory eyes of the insect are not his only advantage over us. He has another sensory organ to which, with all our boasted intellect, we can claim nothing that is comparable, unless it be our olfactory nerve. The possibility of this I will presently discuss.

I refer to the antennæ, which are the most characteristic of insect organs, and wonderfully developed in some, as may be seen by examining the plumes of the crested gnat. Everybody who has carefully watched the doings of insects must have observed the curiously investigative movements of the antennæ, which are ever on the alert, peering and prying to right and left and upwards and downwards. Huber, who devoted his life to the study of bees and ants, concluded that these insects converse with each other by movements of the antennæ, and he has given to the signs thus produced the name of “antennal language.” They certainly do communicate information or give orders by some means; and when the insects stop for that purpose, they face each other and execute peculiar wavings of these organs that are highly suggestive of the movements of the old semaphore telegraph arms.

The most generally received opinion is that these antennæ are very delicate organs of touch, but some recent experiments made by Gustav Hansen indicate that they are organs of smelling or of some similar power of distinguishing objects at a distance. Flies deprived of their antennæ ceased to display any interest in tainted meat that had previously proved very attractive. Other insects similarly treated appear to become indifferent to odors generally. He shows that the development of the antennæ in different species corresponds to the power of smelling which they seem to possess.

I am sorely tempted to add another argument to those brought forward by Hansen, viz.: that our own olfactory nerves, and those of all our near mammalian relations, are curiously like a pair of antennæ.

There are two elements in a nervous structure—the gray and the white; the gray, or ganglionic portion, is supposed to be the centre or seat of nervous power, and the white medullary or fibrous portion merely the conductor of nervous energy.

The nerves of the other senses have their ganglia seated internally, and bundles of tubular white threads spread outwards therefrom; but not so with the olfactory nervous apparatus. These present two horn-like projections that are thrust forward from the base of the brain, and have white or medullary stems that terminate outwardly or anteriorly in ganglionic bulbs resting upon what I may call the roof of the nose; these bulbs throw out fibres that are composed, rather paradoxically, of more gray matter than white. In some quadrupeds with great power of smell, the olfactory nerves extend so far forward as to protrude beyond the front of the hemispheres of the brain, with bulbous terminations relatively very much larger than those of man.

They thus appear like veritable antennæ. In some of our best works on anatomy of the brain (Solly, for example) a series of comparative pictures of the brains of different animals is shown, extending from man to the cod-fish. As we proceed downwards, the horn-like projection of the olfactory nerves beyond the central hemispheres goes on extending more and more, and the relative magnitude of the terminal ganglia or olfactory lobes increases in similar order.

We have only to omit the nasal bones and nostrils, to continue this forward extrusion of the olfactory nerves and their bulbs and branches, to coat them with suitable sheaths provided with muscles for mobility, and we have the antennæ of insects. I submit this view of the comparative anatomy of these organs as my own speculation, to be taken for what it is worth.

There is no doubt that the antennæ of these creatures are connected by nerve-stalks with the anterior part of their supra-œsophageal ganglia, i.e., the nervous centres corresponding to our brain.

But what kind and degree of power must such olfactory organs possess? The dog has, relatively to the rest of his brain, a much greater development of the olfactory nerves and ganglia than man has. His powers of smell are so much greater than ours that we find it difficult to conceive the possibility of what we actually see him do. As an example, I may describe an experiment I made upon a bloodhound of the famous Cuban breed. He belonged to a friend whose house is situated on an eminence commanding an extensive view. I started from the garden and wandered about a mile away, crossed several fields by sinuous courses, climbing over stiles, and jumping ditches, always keeping the house in view; I then returned by quite a different track. The bloodhound was set upon the beginning of my track. I watched him from a window galloping rapidly, and following all its windings without the least halting or hesitation. It was as clear to his nose as a gravelled path or a luminous streak would be to our eyes. On his return I went down to him, and without approaching nearer than five or six yards, he recognized me as the object of his search, proving this by circling round me, baying deeply and savagely though harmlessly, as he always kept at about the same distance.

If the difference of development between the human and canine internal antennæ produces all this difference of function, what a gulf may there be between our powers of perceiving material emanations and those possessed by insects! If my anatomical hypothesis is correct, some insects have protruding nasal organs or out-thrust olfactory nerves as long as all the rest of their bodies. The power of movement of these in all directions affords the means of sensory communication over a corresponding range, instead of being limited merely to the direction of the nostril openings. In some insects, such as the plumed gnat, the antennæ do not appear to be thus moveable, but this want of mobility is more than compensated by the multitude of branchings of these wonderful organs, whereby they are simultaneously exposed in every direction. This structure is analogous to the fixed but multiplied eyes of insects, which, by seeing all round at once, compensate for the want of that mobility possessed by others that have but a single eyeball mounted on a flexible and mobile stalk; that of the spider, for example.

Such an extension of such a sensory function is equivalent to living in another world of which we have no knowledge and can form no definite conception. We, by our senses of touch and vision, know the shapes and colors of objects, and by our very rudimentary olfactory organs form crude ideas of their chemistry or composition, through the medium of their material emanations; but the huge exaggeration of this power in the insect should supply him with instinctive perceptive powers of chemical analysis, a direct acquaintance with the inner molecular constitution of matter far clearer and deeper than we are able to obtain by all the refinements of laboratory analyses or the hypothetical formulating of molecular mathematicians. Add this to the other world of sensations producible by the vibratory movements of matter lying between those perceptible by our organs of hearing and vision, then strain your imagination to its cracking point, and you will still fail to picture the wonderland in which the smallest of our fellow-creatures may be living, moving, and having their being.

THE ORIGIN OF LUNAR VOLCANOES.

Many theoretical efforts, some of considerable violence, have been made to reconcile the supposed physical contradiction presented by the great magnitude and area of former volcanic activity of the Moon, and the present absence of water on its surface. So long as we accept the generally received belief that water is a necessary agent in the evolution of volcanic forces, the difficulties presented by the lunar surface are rather increased than diminished by further examination and speculation.

We know that the lava, scoriæ, dust and other products of volcanic action on this earth are mainly composed of mixed silicates—those of alumina and lime preponderating. When we consider that the solid crust of the Earth is chiefly composed of silicic acid, and of basic oxides and carbonates which combine with silicic acid when heated, a natural necessity for such a composition of volcanic products becomes evident.

If the Moon is composed of similar materials to those of the Earth, the fusion of its crust must produce similar compounds, as they are formed independently of any atmospheric or aqueous agency.

This being the case, the phenomena presented by the cooling of fused masses of mixed silicates in the absence of water become very interesting. Opportunities of studying such phenomena are offered at our great iron-works, where fused masses of iron cinder, composed mainly of mixed silicates, are continually to be seen in the process of cooling under a variety of circumstances.

I have watched the cooling of such masses very frequently, and have seen abundant displays of miniature volcanic phenomena, especially marked where the cooling has occurred under conditions most nearly resembling those of a gradually cooling planet or satellite; that is, when the fused cinder has been enclosed by a solid resisting and contracting crust.

The most remarkable that I have seen are those presented by the cooling of the “tap cinder” from puddling furnaces. This, as it flows from the furnace, is received in stout iron boxes (“cinder-bogies”) of circular or rectangular horizontal section. The following phenomena are usually observable on the cooling of the fused cinder in a circular bogie.

First a thin solid crust forms on the red-hot surface. This speedily cools sufficiently to blacken. If pierced by a slight thrust from an iron rod, the red-hot matter within is seen to be in a state of seething activity, and a considerable quantity exudes from the opening. If a bogie filled with fused cinder is left undisturbed, a veritable spontaneous volcanic eruption takes place through some portion, generally near the centre, of the solid crust. In some cases, this eruption is sufficiently violent to eject small spurts of molten cinder to a height equal to four or five diameters of the whole mass.

The crust once broken, a regular crater is rapidly formed, and miniature streams of lava continue to pour from it; sometimes slowly and regularly, occasionally with jerks and spurts due to the bursting of bubbles of gas. The accumulation of these lava-streams forms a regular cone, the height of which goes on increasing. I have seen a bogie about 10 or 12 inches in diameter, and 9 or 10 inches deep, thus surmounted by a cone above 5 inches high, with a base equal to the whole diameter of the bogie. These cones and craters could be but little improved by a modeler desiring to represent a typical volcano in miniature.

Similar craters and cones are formed on the surface of cinder which is not confined by the sides of the bogie. I have seen them well displayed on the “running-out beds” of refinery furnaces. These, when filled, form a small lake of molten iron covered with a layer of cinder. This cinder first skins over, as in the bogies, then small crevasses form in this crust, and through these the fused cinder oozes from below. The outflow from this chasm soon becomes localized, so as to form a single crater, or a small chain of craters; these gradually develop into cones by the accumulation of outflowing lava, so that when the whole mass has solidified, it is covered more or less thickly with a number of such hillocks. These, however, are much smaller than in the former case, reaching to only one or two inches in height, with a proportionate base. It is evident that the dimensions of these miniature volcanoes are determined mainly by the depth of the molten matter from which they are formed. In the case of the bogies, they are exaggerated by the overpowering resistance of the solid iron bottom and sides, which force all the exudation in the one direction of least resistance, viz., towards the centre of the thin upper crust, and thus a single crater and a single cone of the large relative dimensions above described are commonly formed.

The magnitude and perfection of these miniature volcanoes vary considerably with the quality of the pig-iron and the treatment it has received, and the difference appears to depend upon the evolution of gases, such as carbonic oxide, volatile chlorides, fluorides, etc. I mention the fluorides particularly, having been recently engaged in making some experiments on Mr. Henderson’s process for refining pig-iron, by exposing it when fused to the action of a mixture of fluoride of calcium and oxides of iron, alumina, manganese, etc. The cinder separated from this iron displayed the phenomena above described very remarkably, and jets of yellowish flame were thrown up from the craters while the lava was flowing. The flame was succeeded by dense white vapors as the temperature of the cinder lowered, and a deposit of snow-like, flocculent crystals was left upon and around the mouth or crater of each cone. The miniature representation of cosmical eruptions was thus rendered still more striking, even to the white deposit of the haloid salts which Palmieri has described as remaining after the recent eruption of Vesuvius.

The gases thus evolved have not yet been analytically examined, and the details of the powerful reactions displayed in this process still demand further study; but there can be no doubt that the combination of silicic acid with the base of the fluor spar is the fundamental reaction to which the evolution of the volatile fluorides, etc., is mainly due.

A corresponding evolution of gases takes place in cosmical volcanic action, whenever silicic acid is fused in contact with limestone or other carbonate, and a still closer analogy is presented by the fusion of silicates in contact with chlorides and oxides, in the absence of water. If the composition of the Moon is similar to that of the Earth, chlorides of sodium, etc., must form an important part of its solid crust; they should correspond in quantity to the great deposit of such salts that would be left behind if the ocean of the Earth were evaporated to dryness. The only assumptions demanded in applying these facts to the explanation of the surface configuration of the Moon are, 1st, that our satellite resembles its primary in chemical composition; 2d, that it has cooled down from a state of fusion; and 3d, that the magnitude of the eruptions, due to such fusion and cooling, must bear some relation to the quantity of matter in action.

The first and second are so commonly made and understood, that I need not here repeat the well-known arguments upon which they are supported, but may remark that the facts above described afford new and weighty evidence in their favor.

If the correspondence between the form of a freely suspended and rotating drop of liquid and that of a planet or satellite is accepted as evidence of the exertion of the same forces of cohesion, etc., on both, the correspondence between the configuration of the lunar surface, and that of small quantities of fused and freely cooled earth-crust matter, should at least afford material support to the otherwise indicated inference, that the materials of the Moon’s crust are similar to those of the Earth’s, and that they have been cooled from a state of fusion.

I think I may safely generalize to the extent of saying, that no considerable mass of fused earthy silicates can cool down under circumstances of free radiation without first forming a heated solid crust, which, by further radiation, cooling, and contraction, will assume a surface configuration resembling more or less closely that of the Moon. Evidence of this is afforded by a survey of the spoil-banks of blast furnaces, where thousands of blocks of cinder are heaped together, all of which will be found to have their upper surfaces (that were freely exposed when cooling) corrugated with radiating miniature lava streams, that have flowed from one or more craters or openings that have been formed in the manner above described.