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Island Life/XII

CHAPTER XII

OCEANIC ISLANDS:—THE AZORES AND BERMUDA

 * Position and Physical Features—Chief Zoological Features of the Azores—Birds—Origin of the Azorean Bird Fauna—Insects of the Azores—Land-Shells of the Azores—The Flora of the Azores—The Dispersal of Seeds—Birds as Seed-Carriers—Facilities for Dispersal of Azorean Plants—Important Deduction from the Peculiarities of the Azorean Fauna and Flora.

 * Position and Physical Features—The Red Clay of Bermuda—Zoology of Bermuda—Birds of Bermuda—Comparison of the Bird Faunas of Bermuda and the Azores—Insects of Bermuda—Land Mollusca—Flora of Bermuda—Concluding Remarks on the Azores and Bermuda.

We will commence our investigation into the phenomena presented by oceanic islands, with two groups of the North Atlantic, in which the facts are of a comparatively simple nature and such as to afford us a valuable clue to a solution of the more difficult problems we shall have to deal with further on. The Azores and Bermuda offer great contrasts in physical features, but striking similarities in geographical position. The one is volcanic, the other coralline; but both are surrounded by a wide expanse of ocean of enormous depth, the one being about as far from Europe as the other is from America. Both are situated in the temperate zone, and they differ less than six degrees in latitude, yet the vegetation of the one is wholly temperate, while that of the other is almost tropical. The productions of the one are related to Europe, as those of the other are to America, but they present instructive differences; and both afford evidence of the highest value as to the means of dispersal of various groups of organisms across a wide expanse of ocean.

THE AZORES, OR WESTERN ISLANDS.

These islands, nine in number, form a widely scattered group, situated between 37° and 39° 40′ N. Lat. and stretching in a south-east and north-west direction over a distance of nearly 400 miles. The largest of the islands, San Miguel, is about forty miles long, and is one of the nearest to Europe, being rather under 900 miles from the coast of Portugal, from which it is separated by an ocean 2,500 fathoms deep. The depth between the islands does not seem to be known, but the 1,000 fathom line encloses the whole group pretty closely, while a depth of about 1,800 fathoms is reached within 300 miles in all directions. These great depths render it in the highest degree improbable that the Azores have ever been united with the European continent; while their being wholly volcanic is equally opposed to the view of their having formed part of an extensive Atlantis including Madeira and the Canaries. The only exception to their volcanic structure is the occurrence in one small island only (Santa Maria) of some marine deposits of Upper Miocene age—a fact which proves some alterations of level, and perhaps a greater extension of this island at some former period, but in no way indicates a former union of the islands, or any greater extension of the whole group. It proves, however, that the group is of considerable antiquity, since it must date back to Miocene times; and this fact may be of importance in considering the origin and peculiar features of the fauna and flora. It thus appears that in all physical features the Azores correspond strictly with our physical definition of "oceanic islands," while their great distance from any other land, and the depth of the ocean around them, make them typical examples of the class. We should therefore expect them to be equally typical in their fauna and flora; and this is the case as regards the most important characteristics, although in some points of detail they present exceptional phenomena.

Chief Zoological Features of the Azores.—The great feature of oceanic islands—the absence of all indigenous land-mammalia and amphibia—is well shown in this group; and it is even carried further, so as to include all terrestrial vertebrata, there being no snake, lizard, frog, or fresh-water fish, although the islands are sufficiently extensive, possess a mild and equable climate, and are in every way adapted to support all these groups. On the other hand, flying creatures, as birds and insects, are abundant; and there is also one flying mammal—a small European bat. It is true that rabbits, weasels, rats and mice, and a small lizard peculiar to Madeira and Teneriffe, are now found wild in the Azores, but there is good reason to believe that these have all been introduced by human agency. The same may be said of the gold-fish and eels now found in some of the lakes, there being not a single fresh-water fish which is truly indigenous to the islands. When we consider that the nearest part of the group is about 900 miles from Portugal, and more than 550 miles from Madeira, it is not surprising that none of these terrestrial animals can have passed over such a wide expanse of ocean unassisted by man.

Let us now see what animals are believed to have reached the group by natural means, and thus constitute its indigenous fauna. These consist of birds, insects, and land-shells, each of which must be considered separately.

Birds.—Fifty-three species of birds have been observed at the Azores, but the larger proportion (thirty-one) are either aquatic or waders—birds of great powers of flight, whose presence in the remotest islands is by no means remarkable. Of these two groups twenty are residents, breeding in the islands, while eleven are stragglers only visiting the islands occasionally, and all are common European species. The land-birds, twenty-two in number, are more interesting, four only being stragglers, while eighteen are permanent residents. The following is a list of these resident land-birds:—

All the above-named birds are common in Europe and North Africa except three—the Atlantic chaffinch and the canary which inhabit Madeira and the Canary Islands, and the Azorean bullfinch, which is peculiar to the islands we are considering.

Origin of the Azorean Bird-fauna.—The questions we have now before us are—how did these eighteen species of birds first reach the Azores, and how are we to explain the presence of a single peculiar species while all the rest are identical with European birds? In order to answer them, let us first see what stragglers now actually visit the Azores from the nearest continents. The four species given in Mr. Godman's list are the kestrel, the oriole, the snow-bunting, and the hoopoe; but he also tells us that there are certainly others, and adds: "Scarcely a storm occurs in spring or autumn without bringing one or more species foreign to the islands; and I have frequently been told that swallows, larks, grebes, and other species not referred to here, are not uncommonly seen at those seasons of the year."

We have, therefore, every reason to believe that the birds which are now residents originated as stragglers, which occasionally found a haven in these remote islands when driven out to sea by storms. Some of them, no doubt, still often arrive from the continent, but these cannot easily be distinguished as new arrivals among those which are permanent inhabitants. Many facts mentioned by Mr. Godman show that this is the case. A barn-owl, much exhausted, flew on board a whaling-ship when 500 miles S.W. of the Azores; and even if it had come from Madeira it must have travelled quite as far as from Portugal to the islands. Mr. Godman also shot a single specimen of the wheatear in Flores after a strong gale of wind, and as no one on the island knew the bird, it was almost certainly a recent arrival. Subsequently a few were found breeding in the old crater of Corvo, a small adjacent island; and as the species is not found in any other island of the group, we may infer that this bird is a recent immigrant in process of establishing itself.

Another fact which is almost conclusive in favour of the bird-population having arrived as stragglers is, that they are most abundant in the islands nearest to Europe and Africa. The Azores consist of three divisions—an eastern, consisting of two islands, St. Michael's and St. Mary's; a central of five, Terceira, Graciosa, St. George's, Pico, and Fayal; and a western of two, Flores and Corvo. Now had the whole group once been united to the continent, or even formed parts of one extensive Atlantic island, we should certainly expect the central group, which is more compact and has a much larger area than all the rest, to have the greatest number and variety of birds. But the fact that birds are most numerous in the eastern group, and diminish as we go westward, is entirely opposed to this theory, while it is strictly in accordance with the view that they are all stragglers from Europe, Africa, or the other Atlantic islands. Omitting oceanic wanderers, and including all birds which have probably arrived involuntarily, the numbers are found to be forty species in the eastern group, thirty-six in the central, and twenty-nine in the western.

To account for the presence of one peculiar species—the bullfinch (which, however, does not differ from the common European bullfinch more than do some of the varieties of North American birds from their type-species) is not difficult; the wonder rather being that there are not more peculiar forms. In our third chapter we have seen how great is the amount of individual variation in birds, and how readily local varieties become established wherever the physical conditions are sufficiently distinct. Now we can hardly have a greater difference of conditions than between the continent of Europe or North Africa, and a group of rocky islands in mid-Atlantic, situated in the full course of the Gulf Stream and with an excessively mild though stormy climate. We have every reason to believe that special modifications would soon become established in any animals completely isolated under such conditions. But they are not, as a rule, thus completely isolated, because, as we have seen, stragglers arrive at short intervals; and these, mixing with the residents, keep up the purity of the breed. It follows, that only those species which reach the Azores at very remote intervals will be likely to acquire well-marked distinctive characters; and this appears to have happened with the bullfinch alone, a bird which does not migrate, and is therefore less likely to be blown out to sea, more especially as it inhabits woody districts. A few other Azorean birds, however, exhibit slight differences from their European allies.

There is another reason for the very slight amount of peculiarity presented by the fauna of the Azores as compared with many other oceanic islands, dependent on its comparatively recent origin. The islands themselves may be of considerable antiquity, since a few small deposits, believed to be of Miocene age, have been found on them, but there can be little doubt that their present fauna, at all events as concerns the birds, had its origin since the date of the last glacial epoch. Even now icebergs reach the latitude of the Azores but a little to the west of them; and when we consider the proofs of extensive ice-action in North America and Europe, we can hardly doubt that these islands were at that time surrounded with pack-ice, while their own mountains, reaching 7,600 feet high in Pico, would almost certainly have been covered with perpetual snow and have sent down glaciers to the sea. They might then have had a climate almost as bad as that now endured by the Prince Edward Islands in the southern hemisphere, nearly ten degrees farther from the equator, where there are no land-birds whatever, although the distance from Africa is not much greater than that of the Azores from Europe, while the vegetation is limited to a few alpine plants and mosses. This recent origin of the birds accounts in a great measure for their identity with those of Europe, because, whatever change has occurred must have been effected in the islands themselves, and in a time limited to that which has elapsed since the glacial epoch passed away.

Insects of the Azores.—Having thus found no difficulty in accounting for the peculiarities presented by the birds of these islands, we have only to see how far the same general principles will apply to the insects and land-shells. The butterflies, moths, and hymenoptera, are few in number, and almost all seem to be common European species, whose presence is explained by the same causes as those which have introduced the birds. Beetles, however, are more numerous, and have been better studied, and these present some features of interest. The total number of species yet known is 212, of which 175 are European; but out of these 101 are believed to have been introduced by human agency, leaving seventy-four really indigenous. Twenty-three of these indigenous species are not found in any of the other Atlantic islands, showing that they have been introduced directly from Europe by causes which have acted more powerfully here than farther south. Besides these there are thirty-six species not found in Europe, of which nineteen are natives of Madeira or the Canaries, three are American, and fourteen are altogether peculiar to the Azores. These latter are mostly allied to species found in Europe or in the other Atlantic islands, while one is allied to an American species, and two are so distinct as to constitute new genera. The following list of these peculiar species will be interesting:—

This greater amount of speciality in the beetles than in the birds may be due to two causes. In the first place many of these small insects have no doubt survived the glacial epoch, and may, in that case, represent very ancient forms which have become extinct in their native country; and in the second place, insects have many more chances of reaching remote islands than birds, for not only may they be carried by gales of wind, but sometimes, in the egg or larva state or even as perfect insects, they may be drifted safely for weeks over the ocean, buried in the light stems of plants or in the solid wood of trees in which many of them undergo their transformations. Thus we may explain the presence of three common South American species (two elaters and a longicorn), all wood-eaters, and therefore liable to be occasionally brought in floating timber by the Gulf Stream. But insects are also immensely more numerous in species than are land-birds, and their transmission would be in most cases quite involuntary, and not dependent on their own powers of flight as with birds; and thus the chances against the same species being frequently carried to the same island would be considerable. If we add to this the dependence of so many insects on local conditions of climate and vegetation, and their liability to be destroyed by insectivorous birds, we shall see that, although there may be a greater probability of insects as a whole reaching the islands, the chance against any particular species arriving there, or against the same species arriving frequently, is much greater than in the case of birds. The result is, that (as compared with Britain for example) the birds are, proportionately, much more numerous than the beetles, while the peculiar species of beetles are much more numerous than among birds, both facts being quite in accordance with what we know of the habits of the two groups. We may also remark, that the small size and obscure characters of many of the beetles renders it probable that species now supposed to be peculiar, really inhabit some parts of Europe or North Africa.

It is interesting to note that the two families which are pre-eminently wood, root, or seed eaters, are those which present the greatest amount of speciality. The two Elateridæ alone exhibit remote affinities, the one with a Brazilian the other with a Madagascar group; while the only peculiar genera belong to the Rhyncophora, but are allied to European forms. These last almost certainly form a portion of the more ancient fauna of the islands which migrated to them in pre-glacial times, while the Brazilian elater appears to be the solitary example of a living insect brought by the Gulf Stream to these remote shores. The elater, having its nearest living ally in Madagascar (Elastrus dolosus), cannot be held to indicate any independent communication between these distant islands; but is more probably a relic of a once more widespread type which has only been able to maintain itself in these localities. Mr. Crotch states that there are some species of beetles common to Madagascar and the Canary Islands, while there are several genera, common to Madagascar and South America, and some to Madagascar and Australia. The clue to these apparent anomalies is found in other genera being common to Madagascar, Africa, and South America, while others are Asiatic or Australian. Madagascar, in fact, has insect relations with every part of the globe, and the only rational explanation of such facts is, that they are indications of very ancient and once widespread groups, maintaining themselves only in a few widely separated portions of what was at one time or another the area of their distribution.

Land-shells of the Azores.—Like the insects and birds, the land-shells of these islands have a generally European aspect, but with a larger proportion of peculiar species. This was to be expected, because the means by which molluscs are carried over the sea are far less numerous and varied than in the case of insects; and we may therefore conclude that their introduction is a very rare event, and that a species once arrived remains for long periods undisturbed by new arrivals, and is therefore more likely to become modified by the new conditions, and then fixed as a distinct type. Out of the sixty-nine known species, thirty-seven are common to Europe or the other Atlantic islands, while thirty-two are peculiar, though almost all are distinctly allied to European types. The majority of these shells, especially the peculiar forms, are very small, and many of them may date back to beyond the glacial epoch. The eggs of these would be exceedingly minute, and might occasionally be carried on leaves or other materials during gales of exceptional violence and duration, while others might be conveyed with the earth that often sticks to the feet of birds. There are also, probably, other unknown means of conveyance; but however this may be, the general character of the land-molluscs is such as to confirm the conclusions we have arrived at from a study of the birds and insects,—that these islands have never been connected with a continent, and have been peopled with living things by such forms only as in some way or other have been able to reach them across many hundred miles of ocean.

The Flora of the Azores.—The flowering-plants of the Azores have been studied by one of our first botanists, Mr. H. C. Watson, who has himself visited the islands and made extensive collections; and he has given a complete catalogue of the species in Mr. Godman's volume. As our object in the present work is to trace the past history of the more important islands by means of the forms of life that inhabit them, and as for this purpose plants are sometimes of more value than any class of animals, it will be well to take advantage of the valuable materials here available, in order to ascertain how far the evidence derived from the two organic kingdoms agrees in character; and also to obtain some general results which may be of service in our discussion of more difficult and more complex problems.

There are in the Azores 480 known species of flowering-plants and ferns, of which no less than 440 are found also in Europe, Madeira, or the Canary Islands; while forty are peculiar to the Azores, but are more or less closely allied to European species. As botanists are no less prone than zoologists to invoke former land-connections and continental extensions to account for the wide dispersal of objects of their study, it will be well to examine somewhat closely what these facts really imply.

The Dispersal of Seeds.—The seeds of plants are liable to be dispersed by a greater variety of agents than any other organisms, while their tenacity of life, under varying conditions of heat and cold, drought and moisture, is also exceptionally great. They have also an advantage, in that the great majority of flowering plants have the sexes united in the same individual, so that a single seed in a state fit to germinate may easily stock a whole island. The dispersal of seeds has been studied by Sir Joseph Hooker, Mr. Darwin, and many other writers, who have made it sufficiently clear that they are in many cases liable to be carried enormous distances. An immense number are specially adapted to be carried by the wind, through the possession of down or hairs, or membranous wings or processes; while others are so minute, and produced in such profusion, that it is difficult to place a limit to the distance they might be carried by gales of wind or hurricanes. Another class of somewhat heavier seeds or dry fruits are capable of being exposed for a long time to sea-water without injury. Mr. Darwin made many experiments on this point, and he found that many seeds, especially of Atriplex, Beta, oats, Capsicum, and the potato, grew after 100 days' immersion, while a large number survived fifty days. But he also found that most of them sink after a few days' immersion, and this would certainly prevent them being floated to very great distances. It is very possible, however, that dried branches or flower-heads containing seeds would float longer, while it is quite certain that many tropical seeds do float for enormous distances, as witness the double cocoa-nuts which cross the Indian ocean from the Seychelle Islands to the coast of Sumatra, and the West Indian beans which frequently reach the west coast of Scotland. There is therefore ample evidence of the possibility of seeds being conveyed across the sea for great distances by winds and surface currents.

Birds as Seed-carriers.—The great variety of fruits that are eaten by birds afford a means of plant-dispersal in the fact that seeds often pass through the bodies of birds in a state well-fitted for germination; and such seeds may occasionally be carried long distances by this means. Of the twenty-two land-birds found in the Azores, half are, more or less, fruit-eaters, and these may have been the means of introducing many plants into the islands.

Birds also frequently have small portions of earth on their feet; and Mr. Darwin has shown by actual experiment that almost all such earth contains seeds. Thus in nine grains of earth on the leg of a woodcock a seed of the toad-rush was found which germinated; while a wounded red-legged partridge had a ball of earth weighing six and a half ounces adhering to its leg, and from this earth Mr. Darwin raised no less than eighty-two separate plants of about five distinct species. Still more remarkable was the experiment with six and three-quarter ounces of mud from the edge of a little pond, which, carefully treated under glass, produced 537 distinct plants! This is equal to a seed for every six grains of mud, and when we consider how many birds frequent the edges of ponds in search of food, or come there to drink, it is evident that great numbers of seeds may be dispersed by this means.

Many seeds have hispid awns, hooks, or prickles which readily attach them to the feathers of birds, and a great number of aquatic birds nest inland on the ground; and as these are pre-eminently wanderers, they must often aid in the dispersal of such plants.

Facilities for Dispersal of Azorean Plants.—Now in the course of very long periods of time the various causes here enumerated would be sufficient to stock the remotest islands with vegetation, and a considerable part of the Azorean flora appears well adapted to be so conveyed. Of the 439 flowering-plants in Mr. Watson's list, I find that about forty-five belong to genera that have either pappus or winged seeds; sixty-five to such as have very minute seeds; thirty have fleshy fruits such as are greedily eaten by birds; several have hispid seeds; and eighty-four are glumaceous plants, which are all probably well-adapted for being carried partly by winds and partly by currents, as well as by some of the other causes mentioned. On the other hand we have a very suggestive fact in the absence from the Azores of most of the trees and shrubs with large and heavy fruits, however common they may be in Europe. Such are oaks, chestnuts, hazels, apples, beeches, alders, and firs; while the only trees or large shrubs are the Portugal laurel, myrtle, laurestinus, elder, Laurus canariensis, Myrica faya, and a doubtfully peculiar juniper—all small berry-bearers, and therefore likely to have been conveyed by one or other of the modes suggested above.

There can be little doubt that the truly indigenous flora of the islands is far more scanty than the number of plants recorded would imply, because a large but unknown proportion of the species are certainly importations, voluntary or involuntary, by man. As, however, the general character of the whole flora is that of the south-western peninsula of Europe, and as most of the introduced plants have come from the same country, it is almost impossible now to separate them, and Mr. Watson has not attempted to do so. The whole flora contains representatives of eighty natural orders and 250 genera: and even if we suppose that one-half the species only are truly indigenous, there will still remain a wonderfully rich and varied flora to have been carried, by the various natural means above indicated, over 900 miles of ocean, more especially as the large proportion of species identical with those of Europe shows that their introduction has been comparatively recent, and that it is, probably (as in the case of the birds) still going on. We may therefore feel sure that we have here by no means reached the limit of distance to which plants can be conveyed by natural means across the ocean; and this conclusion will be of great value to us in investigating other cases where the evidence at our command is less complete, and the indications of origin more obscure or conflicting.

Of the forty species which are considered to be peculiar to the islands, all are allied to European plants except six, whose nearest affinities are in the Canaries or Madeira. Two of the Compositæ are considered to be distinct genera, but in this order generic divisions rest on slight technical distinctions; and the Campanula vidalii is very distinct from any other known species. With these exceptions, most of the peculiar Azorean species are closely allied to European plants, and are in several cases little more than varieties of them. While therefore we may believe that the larger part of the existing flora reached the islands since the glacial epoch, a portion of it may be more ancient, as there is no doubt that a majority of the species could withstand some lowering of temperature; while in such a warm latitude and surrounded with sea, there would always be many sunny and sheltered spots in which even tender plants might flourish.

Important Deduction from the Peculiarities of the Azorean Fauna and Flora.—There is one conclusion to be drawn from the almost wholly European character of the Azorean fauna and flora which deserves special attention, namely, that the peopling of remote islands is not due so much to ordinary or normal, as to extraordinary and exceptional causes. These islands lie in the course of the south-westerly return trades and also of the Gulf Stream, and we should therefore naturally expect that American birds, insects, and plants would preponderate if they were conveyed by the regular winds and currents, which are both such as to prevent European species from reaching the islands. But the violent storms to which the Azores are liable blow from all points of the compass; and it is evidently to these, combined with the greater proximity and more favourable situation of the coasts of Europe and North Africa, that the presence of a fauna and flora so decidedly European is to be traced.

The other North Atlantic Islands—Madeira, the Canaries, and the Cape de Verdes—present analogous phenomena to those of the Azores, but with some peculiarities dependent on their more southern position, their richer vegetation, and perhaps their greater antiquity. These have been sufficiently discussed in my Geographical Distribution of Animals (Vol. I. pp. 208-215); and as we are now dealing with what may be termed typical examples of oceanic islands, for the purpose of illustrating the laws, and solving the problems presented by the dispersal of animals, we will pass on to other cases which have been less fully discussed in that work.

BERMUDA.

The Bermudas are a small group of low islands formed of coral, and blown coral-sand consolidated into rock. They are situated in 32° N. Lat., about 700 miles from North Carolina, and somewhat farther from the Bahama Islands, and are thus rather more favourably placed for receiving immigrants from America and its islands than the Azores are with respect to Europe. There are about 100 islands and islets in all, but their total area does not exceed fifty square miles. They are surrounded by reefs, some at a distance of thirty miles from the main group; and the discovery of a layer of earth with remains of cedar-trees forty-eight feet below the present high-water mark shows that the islands have once been more extensive and probably included the whole area now occupied by shoals and reefs. Immediately beyond these reefs, however, extends a very deep ocean, while about 450 miles distant in a south-east direction, the deepest part of the North Atlantic is reached, where soundings of 3,825 and 3,875 fathoms have been obtained. It is clear therefore that these islands are typically oceanic.

Soundings were taken by the Challenger in four different directions around Bermuda, and always showed a rapid deepening of the sea to about 2,500 fathoms. This was so remarkable, that in his reports to the Admiralty, Captain Nares spoke of Bermuda as "a solitary peak rising abruptly from a base only 120 miles in diameter;" and in another place as "an isolated peak rising abruptly from a very small base." These expressions show that Bermuda is looked upon as a typical example of an "oceanic peak"; and on examining the series of official reports of the Challenger soundings, I can find no similar case, although some coasts, both of continents and islands, descend more abruptly. In order to show, therefore, what is the real character of this peak, I have drawn a section of it on a true scale from the soundings taken in a north and south direction where the descent is steepest. It will be seen that the slope is on both sides very easy, being 1 in 16 on the south, and 1 in 19 on the north. The portion nearest the islands will slope more rapidly, perhaps reaching in places 1 in 10; but even this is not steeper than many country roads in hilly countries, while the remainder would be a hardly perceptible slope. Although generally very low, some parts of these islands rise to 250 feet above the sea-level, consisting of various kinds of limestone rock, sometimes soft and friable, but often very hard and even crystalline. It consists of beds which sometimes dip as much as 30°, and which also show great contortions, so that at first sight the islands appear to exhibit on a small scale the phenomena of a disturbed Palæozoic district. It has however long been known that these rocks are all due to the wind, which blows up the fine calcareous sand, the product of the disintegration of coral, shells, serpulæ, and other organisms, forming sand-hills forty and fifty feet high, which move gradually along, overwhelming the lower tracts of land behind them. These are consolidated by the percolation of rain-water, which dissolves some of the lime from the more porous tracts and deposits it lower down, filling every fissure with stalagmite.

[[Image:Wallace_Island_Life_p264.png|center|375px|thumb| SECTION OF BERMUDA AND ADJACENT SEA BOTTOM.

The figures show the depth in fathoms at fifty-five miles north and forty-six miles south of the islands respectively.]]

The Red Clay of Bermuda.—Besides the calcareous rocks there is found in many parts of the islands a layer of red earth or clay, containing about thirty per cent. of oxide of iron. This very closely resembles, both in colour and chemical composition, the red clay of the ocean floor, found widely spread in the Atlantic at depths of from 2,300 to 3,150 fathoms, and occurring abundantly all round Bermuda. It appears, therefore, at first sight, as if the ocean bed itself has been here raised to the surface, and a portion of its covering of red clay preserved; and this is the view adopted by Mr. Jones in his paper on the "Botany of Bermuda." He says, after giving the analysis: "This analysis tends to convince us that the deep chocolate-coloured red clay of the islands found in the lower levels, and from high-water mark some distance into the sea, originally came from the ocean floor, and that when by volcanic agency the Bermuda column was raised from the depths of the sea, its summit, most probably broken in outline, appeared above the surface covered with this red mud, which in the course of ages has but slightly changed its composition, and yet possesses sufficient evidence to prove its identity with that now lying contiguous to the base of the Bermuda column." But in his Guide to Bermuda Mr. Jones tells us that this same red earth has been found, two feet thick, under coral rock at a depth of forty-two feet below low-water mark, and that it "rested on a bed of compact calcareous sandstone." Now it is quite certain that this "calcareous sandstone" was never formed at the bottom of the deep ocean 700 miles from land; and the occurrence of the red earth at different levels upon coralline sand rock is therefore more probably due to some process of decomposition of the rock itself, or of the minute organisms which abound in the blown sand.

Zoology of Bermuda.—As might be expected from their extreme isolation, these islands possess no indigenous terrestrial mammalia, frogs, or snakes. There is however one lizard, which Professor Cope considers to be distinct from any American species, and which he has named Plestiodon (Eumeces) longirostris. It is said to be most nearly allied to Eumeces quinquelineatus of the south-eastern States, from which it differs in having nearly ten more rows of scales, the tail thicker, and the muzzle longer. In colour it is ashy brown above, greenish blue beneath, with a white line black-margined on the sides, and it seems to be tolerably abundant in the islands. This lizard is especially interesting as being the only vertebrate animal which exhibits any peculiarity.

Birds.—Notwithstanding its small size, low altitude and remote position, a great number of birds visit Bermuda annually, some in large numbers, others only as accidental stragglers. Altogether, over 180 species have been recorded, rather more than half being wading and swimming birds, whose presence is not so much to be wondered at as they are great wanderers; while about eighty-five are land birds, many of which would hardly be supposed capable of flying so great a distance. Of the 180 species, however, about thirty have only been seen once, and a great many more are very rare; but about twenty species of land birds are recorded as tolerably frequent visitors, and nearly half these appear to come every year.

There are only eleven species which are permanent residents on the island—eight land, and three water birds, and of these one has been almost certainly introduced. These resident birds are as follows:—

 * 1. Galeoscoptes carolinensis. (The Cat bird.) Migrates along the east coast of the United States.

 * 2. Sialia sialis. (The Blue bird.) Migrates along the east coast.

 * 3. Vireo novæboracensis. (The White-eyed green Tit.) Migrates along the east coast.

 * 4. Passer domesticus. (The English Sparrow.) ? Introduced.

 * 5. Corvus americanus. (The American Crow.) Common over all North America.

 * 6. Cardinalis virginianus. (The Cardinal bird.) Migrates from Carolina southward.

 * 7. Chamœpelia passerina. (The ground Dove.) Louisiana, W. Indies, and Mexico.

 * 8. Ortyx virginianus. (The American Quail.) New England to Florida.

 * 9. Ardea herodias. (The Great Blue Heron.) All North America.

 * 10. Gailinula galeata. (The Florida Gallinule.) Temperate and tropical North America.

 * 11. Phäeton flavirostris. (The Tropic Bird.)

It will be seen that these are all very common North American birds, and most of them are constant visitors from the mainland, so that however long they may have inhabited the islands there has been no chance for them to have acquired any distinctive characters owing to the want of isolation.

Among the most regular visitants which are not resident, are the common N. American kingfisher (Ceryle alcyon), the night-hawk (Chordeiles virginianus), the wood wagtail (Siurus novæboracensis), the snow-bunting (Plectrophanes nivalis), and the wide-ranging rice-bird (Dolichonyx oryzivora), all very common and widespread in North America.

Comparison of the Bird-faunas of Bermuda and the Azores.—The bird-fauna of Bermuda thus differs from that of the Azores, in the much smaller number of resident species, and the presence of several regular migrants. This is due, first, to the small area and little varied surface of these islands, as well as to their limited flora and small supply of insects not affording conditions suitable for the residence of many species all the year round; and, secondly, to the peculiarity of the climate of North America, which causes a much larger number of its birds to be migratory than in Europe. The Northern United States and Canada, with a sunny climate, luxuriant vegetation, and abundant insect-life during the summer, supply food and shelter to an immense number of insectivorous and frugivorous birds; so that during the breeding season Canada is actually richer in bird-life than Florida. But as the severe winter comes on all these are obliged to migrate southward, some to Carolina, Georgia, and Florida, others as far as the West Indies, Mexico, or even to Guatemala and South America.

Every spring and autumn, therefore a vast multitude of birds, belonging to more than a hundred distinct species, migrate northward or southward in Eastern America. A large proportion of these pass along the Atlantic coast, and it has been observed that many of them fly some distance out to sea, passing straight across bays from headland to headland by the shortest route.

Now as the time of these migrations is the season of storms, especially the autumnal one, which nearly coincides with the hurricanes of the West Indies and the northerly gales of the coast of America, the migrating birds are very liable to be carried out to sea. Sometimes they may, as Mr. Jones suggests, be carried up by local whirlwinds to a great height, where meeting with a westerly or north-westerly gale, they are rapidly driven sea-ward. The great majority no doubt perish, but some reach the Bermudas and form one of its most striking autumnal features. In October, Mr. Jones tells us, the sportsman enjoys more shooting than at any other time. The violent revolving gales, which occur almost weekly, bring numbers of birds of many species from the American continent, the different members of the duck tribe forming no inconsiderable portion of the whole; while the Canada goose, and even the ponderous American swan, have been seen amidst the migratory host. With these come also such delicate birds as the American robin (Turdus migratorius), the yellow-rumped warbler (Dendrœca coronata), the pine warbler (Dendrœca pinus), the wood wagtail (Siurus novæboracensis), the summer red bird (Pyranga æstiva), the snow-bunting (Plectrophanes nivalis), the red-poll (Ægiothus linarius), the king bird (Tyrannus carolinensis), and many others. It is no doubt in consequence of this repeated immigration that none of the Bermuda birds have acquired any special peculiarity constituting even a distinct variety; for the few species that are resident and breed in the islands are continually crossed by individual immigrants of the same species from the mainland.

Four European birds also have occurred in Bermuda;—the wheatear (Saxicola œnanthe), which visits Iceland and Lapland and sometimes the northern United States; the skylark (Alauda arvensis), but this was probably an imported bird or an escape from some ship; the land-rail (Crex pratensis), which also wanders to Greenland and the United States; and the common snipe (Scolopax gallinago), which occurs not unfrequently in Greenland but has not yet been noticed in North America. It is however so like the American snipe (S. wilsoni), that a straggler might easily be overlooked.

Two small bats of N. American species also occasionally reach the island, while two others from the West Indies have more rarely occurred, and these are the only wild mammalia except rats and mice.

Insects of Bermuda.—Insects appear to be very scarce; but it is evident from the lists given by Mr. Jones, and more recently by Professor Heilprin, that only the more conspicuous species have been yet collected. These comprise nineteen beetles, eleven bees and wasps, twenty-six butterflies and moths, nine flies, and the same number of Hemiptera, Orthoptera, and Neuroptera respectively. All appear to be common North American or West Indian species; but until some competent entomological collector visits the islands it is impossible to say whether there are or are not any peculiar species.

Land Mollusca.—The land-shells of the Bermudas are somewhat more interesting, as they appear to be the only group of animals except reptiles in which there are any peculiar species. The following list was kindly furnished me by Mr. Thomas Bland of New York, who has made a special study of the terrestrial molluscs of the West Indian Islands, from which those of the Bermudas have undoubtedly been derived. The nomenclature has been corrected in accordance with the list given in Professor Heilprin's work on the islands. The species which are peculiar to the islands are indicated by italics.

Mr. Bland indicates only four species as certainly peculiar to Bermuda, and another sub-fossil species; while one or two of the remainder are indicated as doubtfully identical with those of other countries. We have thus about one-fifth of the land-shells peculiar, while almost all the other productions of the islands are identical with those of the adjacent continent and islands. This corresponds, however, with what occurs generally in islands at some distance from continents. In the Azores only one land-bird is peculiar out of eighteen resident species; the beetles show about one-eighth of the probably non-introduced species as peculiar; the plants about one-twentieth; while the land-shells have about half the species peculiar. This difference is well explained by the much greater difficulty of transmission over wide seas, in the case of land-shells, than of any other terrestrial organisms. It thus happens that when a species has once been conveyed it may remain isolated for unknown ages, and has time to become modified by local conditions unchecked by the introduction of other individuals of the original type.

Flora of Bermuda.—Unfortunately no good account of the plants of these islands has yet been published. Mr. Jones, in his paper "On the Vegetation of the Bermudas" gives a list of no less than 480 species of flowering plants; but this number includes all the culinary plants, fruit-trees, and garden flowers, as well as all the ornamental trees and shrubs from various parts of the world which have been introduced, mixed up with the European and American weeds that have come with agricultural or garden seeds, and the really indigenous plants, in one undistinguished series. It appears too, that the late Governor, Major-General Lefroy, "has sown and distributed throughout the islands packets of seeds from Kew, representing no less than 600 species, principally of trees and shrubs suited to sandy coast soils"—so that it will be more than ever difficult in future years to distinguish the indigenous from the introduced vegetation.

From the researches of Dr. Rein and Mr. Moseley there appear to be about 250 flowering plants in a wild state, and of these Mr. Moseley thinks less than half are indigenous. The majority are tropical and West Indian, while others are common to the Southern States of North America; the former class having been largely brought by means of the Gulf Stream, the latter by the agency of birds or by winds. Mr. Jones tells us that the currents bring numberless objects animate and inanimate from the Carribean Sea, including the seeds of trees, shrubs, and other plants, which are continually cast ashore and sometimes vegetate. The soap-berry tree (Sapindus saponaria) has been actually observed to originate in this way.

The only species of flowering plant peculiar to Bermuda is Carex Bermudiana (Hemsley), which is said to be allied to a species found only in St. Helena; but there are some local forms of continental species, among which are Sisyrinchium Bermudianum and a variety of Rhus toxicodendron. There are, however, two ferns—an Adiantum and a Nephrodium, which are unknown from any other locality. The juniper, which is so conspicuous a feature of the islands, is said to be a West Indian species (Juniperus barbadensis) found in Jamaica and the Bahamas, not the North American red cedar; but there seems to be still some doubt about this common plant.

Mr. Moseley, who visited Bermuda in the Challenger, has well explained the probable origin of the vegetation. The large number of West Indian plants is no doubt due to the Gulf Stream and constant surface drift of warm water in this direction, while others have been brought by the annual cyclones which sweep over the intervening ocean. The great number of American migratory birds, including large flocks of the American golden plover, with ducks and other aquatic species, no doubt occasionally bring seeds, either in the mud attached to their feet or in their stomachs. As these causes are either constantly in action or recur annually, it is not surprising that almost all the species should be unchanged owing to the frequent intercrossing of freshly-arrived specimens. If a competent botanist were thoroughly to explore Bermuda, eliminate the species introduced by human agency, and investigate the source from whence the others were derived and the mode by which they had reached so remote an island, we should obtain important information as to the dispersal of plants, which might afford us a clue to the solution of many difficult problems in their geographical distribution.

Concluding Remarks.—The two groups of islands we have now been considering furnish us with some most instructive facts as to the power of many groups of organisms to pass over from 700 to 900 miles of open sea. There is no doubt whatever that all the indigenous species have thus reached these islands, and in many cases the process may be seen going on from year to year. We find that, as regards birds, migratory habits and the liability to be caught by violent storms are the conditions which determine the island-population. In both islands the land-birds are almost exclusively migrants; and in both, the non-migratory groups—wrens, tits, creepers, and nuthatches—are absent; while the number of annual visitors is greater in proportion as the migratory habits and prevalence of storms afford more efficient means for their introduction.

We find also, that these great distances do not prevent the immigration of some insects of most of the orders, and especially of a considerable number and variety of beetles; while even land-shells are fairly represented in both islands, the large proportion of peculiar species clearly indicating that, as we might expect, individuals of this group of organisms arrive only at long and irregular intervals.

Plants are represented by a considerable variety of orders and genera, most of which show some special adaptation for dispersal by wind or water, or through the medium of birds; and there is no reason to doubt that besides the species that have actually established themselves, many others must have reached the islands, but were either not suited to the climate and other physical conditions, or did not find the insects necessary to their fertilisation, and were therefore unable to maintain themselves.

If now we consider the extreme remoteness and isolation of these islands, their small area and comparatively recent origin, and that, notwithstanding all these disadvantages, they have acquired a very considerable and varied flora and fauna, we shall, I think, be convinced, that with a larger area and greater antiquity, mere separation from a continent by many hundred miles of sea would not prevent a country from acquiring a very luxuriant and varied flora, and a fauna also rich and peculiar as regards all classes except terrestrial mammals, amphibia, and some groups of reptiles. This conclusion will be of great importance in those cases where the evidence as to the exact origin of the fauna and flora of an island is less clear and satisfactory than in the case of the Azores and Bermuda.

102 For most of the facts as to the zoology and botany of these islands, I am indebted to Mr. Godman's valuable work—Natural History of the Azores or Western Islands, by Frederick Du Cane Godman, F.L.S., F.Z.S., &c., London, 1870.

103 See Chap. V. p. 78.

104 Some of Mr. Darwin's experiments are very interesting and suggestive. Ripe hazel-nuts sank immediately, but when dried they floated for ninety days, and afterwards germinated. An asparagus-plant with ripe berries, when dried, floated for eighty-five days, and the seeds afterwards germinated. Out of ninety-four dried plants experimented with, eighteen floated for more than a month, and some for three months, and their powers of germination seem never to have been wholly destroyed. Now, as oceanic currents vary from thirty to sixty miles a day, such plants under the most favourable conditions might be carried 90 X 60 = 5,400 miles! But even half of this is ample to enable them to reach any oceanic island, and we must remember that till completely water-logged they might be driven along at a much greater rate by the wind. Mr. Darwin calculates the distance by the average time of flotation to be 924 miles; but in such a case as this we are entitled to take the extreme cases, because such countless thousands of plants and seeds must be carried out to sea annually that the extreme cases in a single experiment with only ninety-four plants, must happen hundreds or thousands of times and with hundreds or thousands of species, naturally, and thus afford ample opportunities for successful migration. (See Origin of Species, 6th Edition, p. 325.)

105 The following remarks, kindly communicated to me by Mr. H. N. Moseley, naturalist to the Challenger, throw much light on the agency of birds in the distribution of plants:—"Grisebach (Veg. der Erde, Vol. II. p. 496) lays much stress on the wide ranging of the albatross (Diomedea) across the equator from Cape Horn to the Kurile Islands, and thinks that the presence of the same plants in Arctic and Antarctic regions may be accounted for, possibly, by this fact. I was much struck at Marion Island of the Prince Edward group, by observing that the great albatross breeds in the midst of a dense, low herbage, and constructs its nest of a mound of turf and herbage. Some of the indigenous plants, e.g. Acæna, have flower-heads which stick like burrs to feathers, &c., and seem specially adapted for transposition by birds. Besides the albatrosses, various species of Procellaria and Puffinus, birds which range over immense distances may, I think, have played a great part in the distribution of plants, and especially account, in some measure, for the otherwise difficult fact (when occurring in the tropics), that widely distant islands have similar mountain plants. The Procellaria and Puffinus in nesting, burrow in the ground, as far as I have seen choosing often places where the vegetation is the thickest. The birds in burrowing get their feathers covered with vegetable mould, which must include spores, and often seeds. In high latitudes the birds often burrow near the sea-level, as at Tristan d'Acunha or Kerguelen's Land, but in the tropics they choose the mountains for their nesting-place (Finsch and Hartlaub, Orn. der Viti- und Tonga-Inseln, 1867, Einleitung, p. xviii.). Thus, Puffinus megasi nests at the top of the Korobasa basaga mountain, Viti Levu, fifty miles from the sea. A Procellaria breeds in like manner in the high mountains of Jamaica, I believe at 7,000 feet. Peale describes the same habit of Procellaria rostrata at Tahiti, and I saw the burrows myself amidst a dense growth of fern, &c., at 4,400 feet elevation in that island. Phaethon has a similar habit. It nests at the crater of Kilauea, Hawaii, at 4,000 feet elevation, and also high up in Tahiti. In order to account for the transportation of the plants, it is not of course necessary that the same species of Procellaria or Diomedea should now range between the distant points where the plants occur. The ancestor of the now differing species might have carried the seeds. The range of the genus is sufficient."

106 Nature, Vol. VI. p. 262, "Recent Observations in the Bermudas," by Mr. J. Matthew Jones.

107 "The late Sir C. Wyville Thomson was of opinion that the 'red earth' which largely forms the soil of Bermuda had an organic origin, as well as the 'red clay' which the Challenger discovered in all the greater depths of the ocean basins. He regarded the red earth and red clay as an ash left behind after the gradual removal of the lime by water charged with carbonic acid. This ash he regarded as a constituent part of the shells of Foraminifera, skeletons of Corals, and Molluscs, [vide Voyage of the Challenger, Atlantic, Vol. I. p. 316]. This theory does not seem to be in any way tenable. Analysis of carefully selected shells of Foraminifera, Heteropods, and Pteropods, did not show the slightest trace of alumina, and none has as yet been discovered in coral skeletons. It is most probable that a large part of the clayey matter found in red clay and the red earth of Bermuda is derived from the disintegration of pumice, which is continually found floating on the surface of the sea. [See Murray, "On the Distribution of Volcanic Débris Over the Floor of the Ocean;" Proc. Roy. Soc. Edin. Vol. IX. pp. 247-261. 1876-1877.] The naturalists of the Challenger found it among the floating masses of gulf weed, and it is frequently picked up on the reefs of Bermuda and other coral islands. The red earth contains a good many fragments of magnetite, augite, felspar, and glassy fragments, and when a large quantity of the rock of Bermuda is dissolved away with acid, a small number of fragments are also met with. These mineral particles most probably came originally from the pumice which had been cast up on the island for long ages (for it is known that these minerals are present in pumice), although possibly some of them may have come from the volcanic rock, which is believed to form the nucleus of the island." The Voyage of H.M.S. Challenger, Narrative of the Cruise, Vol. I. 1885, pp. 141-142.

108 Four bats occur rarely, two being N. American, and two West Indian Species. The Bermuda Islands, by Angelo Heilprin, Philadelphia, 1889.

109 Fourteen species of Spiders were collected by Prof. A. Heilprin, all American or cosmopolitan species except one, Lycosa atlantica, which Dr. Marx of Washington describes as new and as peculiar to the islands. (Heilprin's The Bermudas, p. 93.)

110 Mr. Theo. D. A. Cockerell informs me that there are two slugs in Bermuda of which specimens exist in the British Museum,—Amalia gagates Drap. common in Europe, and Agriolimax campestris of the United States. Both may therefore have been introduced by human agency. Also Vaginulus Morelete var. schivelyæ which seems to be a variety of a Mexican species; perhaps imported.

111 "Notes on the Vegetation of Bermuda," by H. N. Moseley. (Journal of the Linnean Society, Vol. XIV., Botany, p. 317.)

title: Island Life/XII


text: 1922 Encyclopædia Britannica/Nathan, Ernesto

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In a Balcony

Persons

 * Norbert
 * Constance
 * The Queen

Contents

 * First Part
 * Second Part
 * Part Third

title: In a Balcony


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The Past and the Future of Physics.—What is the present state of mathematical physics? What are the problems it is led to set itself? What is its future? Is its orientation about to be modified?

Ten years hence will the aim and the methods of this science appear to our immediate successors in the same light as to ourselves; or, on the contrary, are we about to witness a profound transformation? Such are the questions we are forced to raise in entering to-day upon our investigation.

If it is easy to propound them: to answer is difficult. If we felt tempted to risk a prediction, we should easily resist this temptation, by thinking of all the stupidities the most eminent savants of a hundred years ago would have uttered, if some one had asked them what the science of the nineteenth century would be. They would have thought themselves bold in their predictions, and after the event, how very timid we should have found them. Do not, therefore, expect of me any prophecy.

But if, like all prudent physicians, I shun giving a prognosis, yet I can not dispense with a little diagnostic; well, yes, there are indications of a serious crisis, as if we might expect an approaching transformation. Still, be not too anxious: we are sure the patient will not die of it, and we may even hope that this crisis will be salutary, for the history of the past seems to guarantee us this. This crisis, in fact, is not the first, and to understand it, it is important to recall those which have preceded. Pardon then a brief historical sketch.

The Physics of Central Forces.—Mathematical physics, as we know, was born of celestial mechanics, which gave birth to it at the end of the eighteenth century, at the moment when it itself attained its complete development. During its first years especially, the infant strikingly resembled its mother.


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 The astronomic universe is formed of masses, very great, no doubt, but separated by intervals so immense that they appear to us only as material points. These points attract each other inversely as the square of the distance, and this attraction is the sole force which influences their movements. But if our senses were sufficiently keen to show us all the details of the bodies which the physicist studies, the spectacle thus disclosed would scarcely differ from the one the astronomer contemplates. There also we should see material points, separated from one another by intervals, enormous in comparison with their dimensions, and describing orbits according to regular laws. These infinitesimal stars are the atoms. Like the stars proper, they attract or repel each other, and this attraction or this repulsion, following the straight line which joins them, depends only on the distance. The law according to which this force varies as function of the distance is perhaps not the law of Newton, but it is an analogous law; in place of the exponent −2, we have probably a different exponent, and it is from this change of exponent that arises all the diversity of physical phenomena, the variety of qualities and of sensations, all the world, colored and sonorous, which surrounds us; in a word, all nature.

Such is the primitive conception in all its purity. It only remains to seek in the different cases what value should be given to this exponent in order to explain all the facts. It is on this model that Laplace, for example, constructed his beautiful theory of capillarity; he regards it only as a particular case of attraction, or, as he says, of universal gravitation, and no one is astonished to find it in the middle of one of the five volumes of the 'Mécanique céleste.' More recently Briot believes he penetrated the final secret of optics in demonstrating that the atoms of ether attract each other in the inverse ratio of the sixth power of the distance; and Maxwell himself, does he not say somewhere that the atoms of gases repel each other in the inverse ratio of the fifth power of the distance? We have the exponent −6, or −5, in place of the exponent −2, but it is always an exponent.

Among the theories of this epoch, one alone is an exception, that of Fourier; in it are indeed atoms acting at a distance one upon the other; they mutually transmit heat, but they do not


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 attract, they never budge. From this point of view, Fourier's theory must have appeared to the eyes of his contemporaries, to those of Fourier himself, as imperfect and provisional.

This conception was not without grandeur; it was seductive, and many among us have not finally renounced it; they know that one will attain the ultimate elements of things only by patiently disentangling the complicated skein that our senses give us; that it is necessary to advance step by step, neglecting no intermediary; that our fathers were wrong in wishing to skip stations; but they believe that when one shall have arrived at these ultimate elements, there again will be found the majestic simplicity of celestial mechanics.

Neither has this conception been useless; it has rendered us an inestimable service, since it has contributed to make precise the fundamental notion of the physical law.

I will explain myself; how did the ancients understand law? It was for them an internal harmony, static, so to say, and immutable; or else it was like a model that nature tried to imitate. For us a law is something quite different; it is a constant relation between the phenomenon of to-day and that of to-morrow; in a word, it is a differential equation.

Behold the ideal form of physical law; well, it is Newton's law which first clothed it forth. If then one has acclimated this form in physics, it is precisely by copying as far as possible this law of Newton, that is by imitating celestial mechanics. This is, moreover, the idea I have tried to bring out in Chapter VI.

The Physics of the Principles.—Nevertheless, a day arrived when the conception of central forces no longer appeared sufficient, and this is the first of those crises of which I just now spoke.

What was done then? The attempt to penetrate into the detail of the structure of the universe, to isolate the pieces of this vast mechanism, to analyze one by one the forces which put them in motion, was abandoned, and we were content to take as guides certain general principles the express object of which is to spare us this minute study. How so? Suppose we have before us any machine; the initial wheel work and the final wheel work alone


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 are visible, but the transmission, the intermediary machinery by which the movement is communicated from one to the other, is hidden in the interior and escapes our view; we do not know whether the communication is made by gearing or by belts, by connecting-rods or by other contrivances. Do we say that it is impossible for us to understand anything about this machine so long as we are not permitted to take it to pieces? You know well we do not, and that the principle of the conservation of energy suffices to determine for us the most interesting point. We easily ascertain that the final wheel turns ten times less quickly than the initial wheel, since these two wheels are visible; we are able thence to conclude that a couple applied to the one will be balanced by a couple ten times greater applied to the other. For that there is no need to penetrate the mechanism of this equilibrium and to know how the forces compensate each other in the interior of the machine; it suffices to be assured that this compensation can not fail to occur.

Well, in regard to the universe, the principle of the conservation of energy is able to render us the same service. The universe is also a machine, much more complicated than all those of industry, of which almost all the parts are profoundly hidden from us; but in observing the motion of those that we can see, we are able, by the aid of this principle, to draw conclusions which remain true whatever may be the details of the invisible mechanism which animates them.

The principle of the conservation of energy, or Mayer's principle, is certainly the most important, but it is not the only one; there are others from which we can derive the same advantage. These are:

Carnot's principle, or the principle of the degradation of energy.

Newton's principle, or the principle of the equality of action and reaction.

The principle of relativity, according to which the laws of physical phenomena must be the same for a stationary observer as for an observer carried along in a uniform motion of translation; so that we have not and can not have any means of discerning whether or not we are carried along in such a motion.


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 The principle of the conservation of mass, or Lavoisier's principle.

I will add the principle of least action.

The application of these five or six general principles to the different physical phenomena is sufficient for our learning of them all that we could reasonably hope to know of them. The most remarkable example of this new mathematical physics is, beyond question, Maxwell's electromagnetic theory of light.

We know nothing as to what the ether is, how its molecules are disposed, whether they attract or repel each other; but we know that this medium transmits at the same time the optical perturbations and the electrical perturbations; we know that this transmission must take place in conformity with the general principles of mechanics, and that suffices us for the establishment of the equations of the electromagnetic field.

These principles are results of experiments boldly generalized; but they seem to derive from their very generality a high degree of certainty. In fact, the more general they are, the more frequent are the opportunities to check them, and the verifications multiplying, taking the most varied, the most unexpected forms, end by no longer leaving place for doubt.

Utility of the Old Physics.—Such is the second phase of the history of mathematical physics and we have not yet emerged from it. Shall we say that the first has been useless? that during fifty years science went the wrong way, and that there is nothing left but to forget so many accumulated efforts that a vicious conception condemned in advance to failure? Not the least in the world. Do you think the second phase could have come into existence without the first? The hypothesis of central forces contained all the principles; it involved them as necessary consequences; it involved both the conservation of energy and that of masses, and the equality of action and reaction, and the law of least action, which appeared, it is true, not as experimental truths, but as theorems; the enunciation of which had at the same time something more precise and less general than under their present form.

It is the mathematical physics of our fathers which has familiarized us little by little with these various principles; which has


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 habituated us to recognize them under the different vestments in which they disguise themselves. They have been compared with the data of experience, it has been seen how it was necessary to modify their enunciation to adapt them to these data; thereby they have been extended and consolidated. Thus they came to be regarded as experimental truths; the conception of central forces became then a useless, support, or rather an embarrassment, since it made the principles partake of its hypothetical character.

The frames then have not broken, because they are elastic; but they have enlarged; our fathers, who established them, did not labor in vain, and we recognize in the science of to-day the general traits of the sketch which they traced.


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The New Crisis.—Are we now about to enter upon a third period? Are we on the eve of a second crisis? These principles on which we have built all, are they about to crumble away in their turn? This has been for some time a pertinent question.

When I speak thus, you no doubt think of radium, that grand revolutionist of the present time, and in fact I shall come back to it presently; but there is something else. It is not alone the conservation of energy which is in question; all the other principles are equally in danger, as we shall see in passing them successively in review.

Carnot's Principle.—Let us commence with the principle of Carnot. This is the only one which does not present itself as an immediate consequence of the hypothesis of central forces; more than that, it seems, if not to directly contradict that hypothesis, at least not to be reconciled with it without a certain effort. If physical phenomena were due exclusively to the movements of atoms whose mutual attraction depended only on the distance, it seems that all these phenomena should be reversible; if all the initial velocities were reversed, these atoms, always subjected to the same forces, ought to go over their trajectories in the contrary sense, just as the earth would describe in the retrograde sense this same elliptic orbit which it describes in the direct sense, if the initial conditions of its motion had been reversed. On this account, if a physical phenomenon is possible, the inverse phenomenon should be equally so, and one should be able to reascend the course of time. Now, it is not so in nature, and this is precisely what the principle of Carnot teaches us; heat can pass from the warm body to the cold body; it is impossible afterward to make it take the inverse route and to reestablish differences of temperature which have been effaced. Motion can be wholly dissipated and transformed into heat by friction; the contrary transformation can never be made except partially.


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304 We have striven to reconcile this apparent contradiction. If the world tends toward uniformity, this is not because its ultimate parts, at first unlike, tend to become less and less different; it is because, shifting at random, they end by blending. For an eye which should distinguish all the elements, the variety would remain always as great; each grain of this dust preserves its originality and does not model itself on its neighbors; but as the blend becomes more and more intimate, our gross senses perceive only the uniformity. This is why for example, temperatures tend to a level, without the possibility of going backwards.

A drop of wine falls into a glass of water; whatever may be the law of the internal motion of the liquid, we shall soon see it colored of a uniform rosy tint, and however much from this moment one may shake it afterwards, the wine and the water do not seem capable of again separating. Here we have the type of the irreversible physical phenomenon: to hide a grain of barley in a heap of wheat, this is easy; afterwards to find it again and get it out, this is practically impossible. All this Maxwell and Boltzmann have explained; but the one who has seen it most clearly, in a book too little read because it is a little difficult to read, is Gibbs, in his 'Elementary Principles of Statistical Mechanics.'

For those who take this point of view, Carnot's principle is only an imperfect principle, a sort of concession to the infirmity of our senses; it is because our eyes are too gross that we do not distinguish the elements of the blend; it is because our hands are too gross that we can not force them to separate; the imaginary demon of Maxwell, who is able to sort the molecules one by one, could well constrain the world to return backward. Can it return of itself? That is not impossible; that is only infinitely improbable. The chances are that we should wait a long time for the concourse of circumstances which would permit a retrogradation; but sooner or later they will occur, after years whose number it would take millions of figures to write. These reservations, however, all remained theoretic; they were not very disquieting, and Carnot's principle retained all its practical value. But here the scene changes. The biologist, armed with his microscope, long ago noticed in his preparations irregular movements


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 of little particles in suspension; this is the Brownian movement. He first thought this was a vital phenomenon, but soon he saw that the inanimate bodies danced with no less ardor than the others; then he turned the matter over to the physicists. Unhappily, the physicists remained long uninterested in this question; one concentrates the light to illuminate the microscopic preparation, thought they; with light goes heat; thence inequalities of temperature and in the liquid interior currents which produce the movements referred to. It occurred to M. Gouy to look more closely, and he saw, or thought he saw, that this explanation is untenable, that the movements become brisker as the particles are smaller, but that they are not influenced by the mode of illumination. If then these movements never cease, or rather are reborn without cease, without borrowing anything from an external source of energy, what ought we to believe? To be sure, we should not on this account renounce our belief in the conservation of energy, but we see under our eyes now motion transformed into heat by friction, now inversely heat changed into motion, and that without loss since the movement lasts forever. This is the contrary of Carnot's principle. If this be so, to see the world return backward, we no longer have need of the infinitely keen eye of Maxwell's demon; our microscope suffices. Bodies too large, those, for example, which are a tenth of a millimeter, are hit from all sides by moving atoms, but they do not budge, because these shocks are very numerous and the law of chance makes them compensate each other; but the smaller particles receive too few shocks for this compensation to take place with certainty and are incessantly knocked about. And behold already one of our principles in peril.

The Principle of Relativity.—Let us pass to the principle of relativity: this not only is confirmed by daily experience, not only is it a necessary consequence of the hypothesis of central forces, but it is irresistibly imposed upon our good sense, and yet it also is assailed. Consider two electrified bodies; though they seem to us at rest, they are both carried along by the motion of the earth; an electric charge in motion, Rowland has taught us, is equivalent to a current; these two charged bodies are, therefore, equivalent to two parallel currents of the same


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 sense and these two currents should attract each other. In measuring this attraction, we shall measure the velocity of the earth; not its velocity in relation to the sun or the fixed stars, but its absolute velocity.

I well know what will be said: It is not its absolute velocity that is measured, it is its velocity in relation to the ether. How unsatisfactory that is! Is it not evident that from the principle so understood we could no longer infer anything? It could no longer tell us anything just because it would no longer fear any contradiction. If we succeed in measuring anything, we shall always be free to say that this is not the absolute velocity, and if it is not the velocity in relation to the ether, it might always be the velocity in relation to some new unknown fluid with which we might fill space.

Indeed, experiment has taken upon itself to ruin this interpretation of the principle of relativity; all attempts to measure the velocity of the earth in relation to the ether have led to negative results. This time experimental physics has been more faithful to the principle than mathematical physics; the theorists, to put in accord their other general views, would not have spared it; but experiment has been stubborn in confirming it. The means have been varied; finally Michelson pushed precision to its last limits; nothing came of it. It is precisely to explain this obstinacy that the mathematicians are forced to-day to employ all their ingenuity.

Their task was not easy, and if Lorentz has got through it, it is only by accumulating hypotheses.

The most ingenious idea was that of local time. Imagine two observers who wish to adjust their timepieces by optical signals; they exchange signals, but as they know that the transmission of light is not instantaneous, they are careful to cross them. When station B perceives the signal from station A, its clock should not mark the same hour as that of station A at the moment of sending the signal, but this hour augmented by a constant representing the duration of the transmission. Suppose, for example, that station A sends its signal when its clock marks the hour 0, and that station B perceives it when its clock marks the hour t. The clocks are adjusted if the slowness equal


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 to t represents the duration of the transmission, and to verify it, station B sends in its turn a signal when its clock marks 0; then station A should perceive it when its clock marks t. The timepieces are then adjusted.

And in fact they mark the same hour at the same physical instant, but on the one condition, that the two stations are fixed. Otherwise the duration of the transmission will not be the same in the two senses, since the station A, for example, moves forward to meet the optical perturbation emanating from B, whereas the station B flees before the perturbation emanating from A. The watches adjusted in that way will not mark, therefore, the true time; they will mark what may be called the local time, so that one of them will be slow of the other. It matters little, since we have no means of perceiving it. All the phenomena which happen at A, for example, will be late, but all will be equally so, and the observer will not perceive it, since his watch is slow; so, as the principle of relativity requires, he will have no means of knowing whether he is at rest or in absolute motion.

Unhappily, that does not suffice, and complementary hypotheses are necessary; it is necessary to admit that bodies in motion undergo a uniform contraction in the sense of the motion. One of the diameters of the earth, for example, is shrunk by one two-hundred-millionth in consequence of our planet's motion, while the other diameter retains its normal length. Thus the last little differences are compensated. And then, there is still the hypothesis about forces. Forces, whatever be their origin, gravity as well as elasticity, would be reduced in a certain proportion in a world animated by a uniform translation; or, rather, this would happen for the components perpendicular to the translation; the components parallel would not change. Resume, then, our example of two electrified bodies; these bodies repel each other, but at the same time if all is carried along in a uniform translation, they are equivalent to two parallel currents of the same sense which attract each other. This electrodynamic attraction diminishes, therefore, the electrostatic repulsion, and the total repulsion is feebler than if the two bodies were at rest. But since to measure this repulsion we must balance it by another force, and all these other forces are reduced in the same proportion,


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 we perceive nothing. Thus all seems arranged, but are all the doubts dissipated? What would happen if one could communicate by non-luminous signals whose velocity of propagation differed from that of light? If, after having adjusted the watches by the optical procedure, we wished to verify the adjustment by the aid of these new signals, we should observe discrepancies which would render evident the common translation of the two stations. And are such signals inconceivable, if we admit with Laplace that universal gravitation is transmitted a million times more rapidly than light?

Thus, the principle of relativity has been valiantly defended in these latter times, but the very energy of the defense proves how serious was the attack.

Newton's Principle.—Let us speak now of the principle of Newton, on the equality of action and reaction. This is intimately bound up with the preceding, and it seems indeed that the fall of the one would involve that of the other. Thus we must not be astonished to find here the same difficulties.

Electrical phenomena, according to the theory of Lorentz, are due to the displacements of little charged particles, called electrons, immersed in the medium we call ether. The movements of these electrons produce perturbations in the neighboring ether; these perturbations propagate themselves in every direction with the velocity of light, and in turn other electrons, originally at rest, are made to vibrate when the perturbation reaches the parts of the ether which touch them. The electrons, therefore, act on one another, but this action is not direct, it is accomplished through the ether as intermediary. Under these conditions can there be compensation between action and reaction, at least for an observer who should take account only of the movements of matter, that is, of the electrons, and who should be ignorant of those of the ether that he could not see? Evidently not. Even if the compensation should be exact, it could not be simultaneous. The perturbation is propagated with a finite velocity; it, therefore, reaches the second electron only when the first has long ago entered upon its rest. This second electron, therefore, will undergo, after a delay, the action of the first, but will certainly not at that moment react upon it, since around this first electron nothing any longer budges.


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 The analysis of the facts permits us to be still more precise. Imagine, for example, a Hertzian oscillator, like those used in wireless telegraphy; it sends out energy in every direction; but we can provide it with a parabolic mirror, as Hertz did with his smallest oscillators, so as to send all the energy produced in a single direction. What happens then according to the theory? The apparatus recoils, as if it were a cannon and the projected energy a ball; and that is contrary to the principle of Newton, since our projectile here has no mass, it is not matter, it is energy. The case is still the same, moreover, with a beacon light provided with a reflector, since light is nothing but a perturbation of the electromagnetic field. This beacon light should recoil as if the light it sends out were a projectile. What is the force that should produce this recoil? It is what is called the Maxwell-Bartholi pressure. It is very minute, and it has been difficult to put it in evidence even with the most sensitive radiometers; but it suffices that it exists.

If all the energy issuing from our oscillator falls on a receiver, this will act as if it had received a mechanical shock, which will represent in a sense the compensation of the oscillator's recoil; the reaction will be equal to the action, but it will not be simultaneous; the receiver will move on, but not at the moment when the oscillator recoils. If the energy propagates itself indefinitely without encountering a receiver, the compensation will never occur.

Shall we say that the space which separates the oscillator from the receiver and which the perturbation must pass over in going from the one to the other is not void, that it is full not only of ether, but of air, or even in the interplanetary spaces of some fluid subtile but still ponderable; that this matter undergoes the shock like the receiver at the moment when the energy reaches it, and recoils in its turn when the perturbation quits it! That would save Newton's principle, but that is not true. If energy in its diffusion remained always attached to some material substratum, then matter in motion would carry along light with it, and Fizeau has demonstrated that it does nothing of the sort, at least for air. Michelson and Morley have since confirmed this. It might be supposed also that the movements of matter


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 proper are exactly compensated by those of the ether; but that would lead us to the same reflections as before now. The principle so understood will explain everything, since, whatever might be the visible movements, we always could imagine hypothetical movements which compensate them. But if it is able to explain everything, this is because it does not enable us to foresee anything; it does not enable us to decide between the different possible hypotheses, since it explains everything beforehand. It therefore becomes useless.

And then the suppositions that it would be necessary to make on the movements of the ether are not very satisfactory. If the electric charges double, it would be natural to imagine that the velocities of the diverse atoms of ether double also; but, for the compensation, it would be necessary that the mean velocity of the ether quadruple.

This is why I have long thought that these consequences of theory, contrary to Newton's principle, would end some day by being abandoned, and yet the recent experiments on the movements of the electrons issuing from radium seem rather to confirm them.

Lavoisier's Principle.—I arrive at the principle of Lavoisier on the conservation of mass. Certainly, this is one not to be touched without unsettling all mechanics. And now certain persons think that it seems true to us only because in mechanics merely moderate velocities are considered, but that it would cease to be true for bodies animated by velocities comparable to that of light. Now these velocities are believed at present to have been realized; the cathode rays and those of radium may be formed of very minute particles or of electrons which are displaced with velocities smaller no doubt than that of light, but which might be its one tenth or one third.

These rays can be deflected, whether by an electric field, or by a magnetic field, and we are able, by comparing these deflections, to measure at the same time the velocity of the electrons and their mass (or rather the relation of their mass to their charge). But when it was seen that these velocities approached that of light, it was decided that a correction was necessary. These molecules, being electrified, can not be displaced without


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 agitating the ether; to put them in motion it is necessary to overcome a double inertia, that of the molecule itself and that of the ether. The total or apparent mass that one measures is composed, therefore, of two parts: the real or mechanical mass of the molecule and the electrodynamic mass representing the inertia of the ether.

The calculations of Abraham and the experiments of Kaufmann have then shown that the mechanical mass, properly so called, is null, and that the mass of the electrons, or, at least, of the negative electrons, is of exclusively electrodynamic origin. This is what forces us to change the definition of mass; we can not any longer distinguish mechanical mass and electrodynamic mass, since then the first would vanish; there is no mass other than electrodynamic inertia. But in this case the mass can no longer be constant; it augments with the velocity, and it even depends on the direction, and a body animated by a notable velocity will not oppose the same inertia to the forces which tend to deflect it from its route, as to those which tend to accelerate or to retard its progress.

There is still a resource; the ultimate elements of bodies are electrons, some charged negatively, the others charged positively. The negative electrons have no mass, this is understood; but the positive electrons, from the little we know of them, seem much greater. Perhaps they have, besides their electrodynamic mass, a true mechanical mass. The real mass of a body would, then, be the sum of the mechanical masses of its positive electrons, the negative electrons not counting; mass so defined might still be constant.

Alas! this resource also evades us. Recall what we have said of the principle of relativity and of the efforts made to save it. And it is not merely a principle which it is a question of saving, it is the indubitable results of the experiments of Michelson.

Well, as was above seen, Lorentz, to account for these results, was obliged to suppose that all forces, whatever their origin, were reduced in the same proportion in a medium animated by a uniform translation; this is not sufficient; it is not enough that this take place for the real forces, it must also be the same for the forces of inertia; it is therefore necessary, he says, that the


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 masses of all the particles be influenced by a translation to the same degree as the electromagnetic masses of the electrons.

So the mechanical masses must vary in accordance with the same laws as the electrodynamic masses; they can not, therefore, be constant.

Need I point out that the fall of Lavoisier's principle involves that of Newton's? This latter signifies that the center of gravity of an isolated system moves in a straight line; but if there is no longer a constant mass, there is no longer a center of gravity, we no longer know even what this is. This is why I said above that the experiments on the cathode rays appeared to justify the doubts of Lorentz concerning Newton's principle.

From all these results, if they were confirmed, would arise an entirely new mechanics, which would be, above all, characterized by this fact, that no velocity could surpass that of light, any more than any temperature can fall below absolute zero.

No more for an observer, carried along himself in a translation he does not suspect, could any apparent velocity surpass that of light; and this would be then a contradiction, if we did not recall that this observer would not use the same clocks as a fixed observer, but, indeed, clocks marking 'local time.'

Here we are then facing a question I content myself with stating. If there is no longer any mass, what becomes of Newton's law? Mass has two aspects: it is at the same time a coefficient of inertia and an attracting mass entering as factor into Newtonian attraction. If the coefficient of inertia is not constant, can the attracting mass be? That is the question.

Mayer's Principle.—At least, the principle of the conservation of energy yet remained to us, and this seemed more solid. Shall I recall to you how it was in its turn thrown into discredit? This event has made more noise than the preceding, and it is in all the memoirs. From the first works of Becquerel, and, above all, when the Curies had discovered radium, it was seen that every radioactive body was an inexhaustible source of radiation. Its activity seemed to subsist without alteration throughout the months and the years. This was in itself a strain on the principles;


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 these radiations were in fact energy, and from the same morsel of radium this issued and forever issued. But these quantities of energy were too slight to be measured; at least that was the belief and we were not much disquieted.

The scene changed when Curie bethought himself to put radium in a calorimeter; it was then seen that the quantity of heat incessantly created was very notable.

The explanations proposed were numerous; but in such case we can not say, the more the better. In so far as no one of them has prevailed over the others, we can not be sure there is a good one among them. Since some time, however, one of these explanations seems to be getting the upper hand and we may reasonably hope that we hold the key to the mystery.

Sir W. Ramsay has striven to show that radium is in process of transformation, that it contains a store of energy enormous but not inexhaustible. The transformation of radium then would produce a million times more heat than all known transformations; radium would wear itself out in 1,250 years; this is quite short, and you see that we are at least certain to have this point settled some hundreds of years from now. While waiting, our doubts remain.


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The Principles and Experiment.—In the midst of so much ruin, what remains standing? The principle of least action is hitherto intact, and Larmor appears to believe that it will long survive the others; in reality, it is still more vague and more general.

In presence of this general collapse of the principles, what attitude will mathematical physics take? And first, before too much excitement, it is proper to ask if all that is really true. All these derogations to the principles are encountered only among infinitesimals; the microscope is necessary to see the Brownian movement; electrons are very light; radium is very rare, and one never has more than some milligrams of it at a time. And, then, it may be asked whether, besides the infinitesimal seen, there was not another infinitesimal unseen counterpoise to the first

So there is an interlocutory question, and, as it seems, only experiment can solve it. We shall, therefore, only have to hand over the matter to the experimenters, and, while waiting for them to finally decide the debate, not to preoccupy ourselves with these disquieting problems, and to tranquilly continue our work as if the principles were still uncontested. Certes, we have much to do without leaving the domain where they may be applied in all security; we have enough to employ our activity during this period of doubts.

The Role of the Analyst.—And as to these doubts, is it indeed true that we can do nothing to disembarrass science of them? It must indeed be said, it is not alone experimental physics that has given birth to them; mathematical physics has well contributed. It is the experimenters who have seen radium throw out energy, but it is the theorists who have put in evidence all the difficulties raised by the propagation of light across a medium in motion; but for these it is probable we should not have become


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 conscious of them. Well, then, if they have done their best to put us into this embarrassment, it is proper also that they help us to get out of it

They must subject to critical examination all these new views I have just outlined before you, and abandon the principles only after having made a loyal effort to save them. What can they do in this sense? That is what I will try to explain.

It is a question before all of endeavoring to obtain a more satisfactory theory of the electrodynamics of bodies in motion. It is there especially, as I have sufficiently shown above, that difficulties accumulate. It is useless to heap up hypotheses, we can not satisfy all the principles at once; so far, one has succeeded in safeguarding some only on condition of sacrificing the others; but all hope of obtaining better results is not yet lost. Let us take, then, the theory of Lorentz, turn it in all senses, modify it little by little, and perhaps everything will arrange itself.

Thus in place of supposing that bodies in motion undergo a contraction in the sense of the motion, and that this contraction is the same whatever be the nature of these bodies and the forces to which they are otherwise subjected, could we not make a more simple and natural hypothesis? We might imagine, for example, that it is the ether which is modified when it is in relative motion in reference to the material medium which penetrates it, that, when it is thus modified, it no longer transmits perturbations with the same velocity in every direction. It might transmit more rapidly those which are propagated parallel to the motion of the medium, whether in the same sense or in the opposite sense, and less rapidly those which are propagated perpendicularly. The wave surfaces would no longer be spheres, but ellipsoids, and we could dispense with that extraordinary contraction of all bodies.

I cite this only as an example, since the modifications that might be essayed would be evidently susceptible of infinite variation.

Aberration and Astronomy.—It is possible also that astronomy may some day furnish us data on this point; she it was in the main who raised the question in making us acquainted with the