Authors: Charles Fort
Other data—or other circumstances—
Last of March, 1928—that
Nova Pictoris
had split into two parts.
Part was seen to have moved from part, as divisions occur in this earth’s volcanoes.
So then, when changes of positions of stars do occur, the stars are not so far away that changes of position cannot be seen.
Ten little astronomers squinting through a tube—or more characteristically employed—or looking at a mirror. They had been told, upon the highest authority, that the star, Capella, had a companion. Said they—or announced they—they saw it—or perceived it. Having calmed down, in the matter of “dust from an African desert,” but seeming to have a need for something to be furious about, I now turn my indignations upon “companion stars.” Most persons have, in their everyday affairs, plenty to annoy them: but it seems that I must have something of exclusiveness to my annoyances. If stars be volcanoes in a concave land, surrounding this earth, the notion of “companion stars” perhaps enrages me, because I do not visualize one volcano revolving around another volcano. If some stars do revolve around other stars, I may as well give up this book, as a whole—or I shall have to do some explaining.
Which won’t be much trouble. Explaining is equilibrating. That is what all things phenomenal are doing. I now have a theory that once upon a time our existence was committed as a bad error, and that everything in it has been excusing itself, or has in one way or another been equilibrating, ever since. It is as natural to a human being to explain as it is to a lodestone to adjust to a magnet.
Let anybody look up “determinations” upon the “dark companion” of Algol, for instance. He will find record not of a theory, but of theory after theory replacing one another. In the matter of the light ones, let him look up data upon the “light companion” of Sirius. He will read in the textbooks that around Sirius a light star revolves, with a most accurately known period, which demonstrates the soundness of mathematical astronomy. But, in scientific journals, which are not so uncompromisingly committed to propaganda, he will read that this is not so. A faint light has, at various times, been reported near Sirius, in positions that do not accord with the calculated orbit. For no mention of this discrepancy, read the books that reach the general public.
March, 1928—the split of
Nova Pictoris.
There was cataclysm in a southern constellation. At the same time there were catastrophes in southern parts of this earth. See back to other expressions upon seeming relations between parts of this earth and parts of the sky that would be nearest to each other, if the stars be points in a shell of land that is not enormously far away, but could not be appreciably nearer, if the stars were trillions of miles away. I take all data from New York newspapers. Quakes in Italy, and a glare in the sky at the time (March 31st) of a quake in Smyrna—“sky aflame.” The heaviest rain in fifty years poured in Honduras, April 9th—Peru shaking, this day—such a fall of snow in Chile that 260 persons and thousands of farm animals were reported to be buried in drifts—quakes and panics in Mexico—
Orthodoxy—all this by mere coincidence—
Our expression—that nebulous rings were going out from
Nova Pictoris,
just as rings of smoke and dust go out from Vesuvius, during an eruption.
The 14th of April was the day of the Bulgarian devastations. Quakes continuing in Bulgaria—quakes in Mexico—towns rocking in southern Mexico—quakes continuing in Peru. Quakes in Greece, on the 19th—a violent snowstorm in Poland, this day. Torrents were pouring upon the quaking land of Bulgaria. A De Ballore, or a Davison, or a Milne, would not mention these torrents, in an account of this quake. The severest shock ever recorded in Johannesburg, South Africa, occurred upon the 21st. The next day, Corinth, Greece, was wrecked, and torrents fell from the sky, at the time of this quake.
Nova Pictoris
broke into four parts—and the cities of Greece wailed rushes of people. Seeming discharges moving out from the new star—and “a five-hour rain of mud filled streets ankle high, causing terror at Lemburg and Cernowitz, today”
(New York Sun,
April 27th).
Wails of the cities of Greece—and they subsided into sodden despairs that were processions of stretchers. Somewhere in a building that collapsed, fell a sparrow.
The road from Corinth—refugees and their belongings—
Terrified mules, up on their hind legs, hoofing storms of bundles—yells and prayers and the laughter of jokers—a screaming woman, shaking bloody hands—her fingers had been hacked off, for the rings on them. Crying kids, whose parents were pulps—prayers to God, or to the blessed something or another—the screams of the woman, with stumps of fingers—
Sudden consciousness of a pulsation.
A rhythm of gleams appears in distant sunlight.
Stars that are watched through the windows of prisons—or through openings in any of the other hells of this earth—and it may be that if all the stars should start to twinkle in unison, the hells of this earth would vibrate out of existence.
There’s a rhythm of gleams on distant bayonets. Along the road is marching a column of soldiers.
The swing of these gleams—and it tranquilizes panic. It glistens into new formations. There are long lines of sparkles in sunlight—tin cups are undulating toward soup kettles.
Somewhere else there is an injured sparrow. Storages in its body are giving to its needs from their substance—the tranquilizing of its heart beats, and the reduction of its fever—the rebuilding of its tissues.
A British squadron appears in the Bay of Corinth—an Italian warship—an American cruiser. From centers of the American Near East Relief are streaming 6,000 blankets—10,500 tents—5,000 cases of condensed milk—carloads of flour.
If we can think that around this earth, and not too vastly far away, there is a starry shell, here are the outlines within which to think of our existence as an organism.
Nov. 28, 1930—an enormous fall, from the sky, of dust and mud, in France. I shall not get perhaps all worked up again about this, but I mention that it was attributed to a hurricane in the Sahara Desert.
Dec. 5, 1930—the poisonous gas, in Belgium. See back to the account, in this book.
Accept that these two phenomena were probably volcanic discharges, from regions external to this earth—if for them there be no terrestrial explanation—one in France and one in Belgium—arriving relatively near each other, but a week apart—and here is another of our data of this earth’s stationariness.
This earth broke out, as if responsively to disturbances somewhere else—volcanic eruptions and disastrous quakes.
December 24-26—violent quakes in Argentina and in Alaska— and, between these far-distant places, there was a spectacular arrival of something that may have been a volcanic bomb from a stellar volcano.
New York Times,
Dec. 26, 1930—the great meteor that was seen and heard in Idaho. “The crash, heard for miles, was described as ‘like an earthquake.’“
The deluge that was “only a coincidence,” poured upon the quaking land of Argentina. “Rain fell in such torrents that the water was three feet deep in several parts of Mendoza City.” A “strange glow” was seen in the sky. “Great spears of colored lights flashed across the sky.”
Into the month of January, 1931, disturbances upon this earth continued. There may have been a new star. I have the authority of amateurs for thinking so.
New York Times,
Jan. 7, 1931—that, at San Juan, Porto Rico, morning of January 6th, from ten o’clock until noon, a strange star had been seen in the western sky. According to an opinion from the Weather Bureau, it may have been, not a star, but the planet Venus. This Venus-explanation of lights that have been seen in the sky, in the daytime, is a standard explanation; but according to records it has often not applied.
Catastrophes and deluges—and, if we can accept that around this earth there is only a thin zone of extreme coldness, which, by the stresses of storms and other variations, may often be penetrated by terrestrial evaporations, so that, unless replenished from reservoirs somewhere else, this earth would go dry, we can understand a mechanism of necessary transportations of floods from the stars to this earth.
Flows of insects and the patter of frogs, and the Pilgrims cross the Atlantic Ocean. Metabolism in the foot of a frog—and in the United States a similar readjustment is known as the Civil War. The consciousness of philosophers and theologians and scientists, and to some degree of everybody else, of a state of Oneness—and my expression is that the misinterpretation has been in trying to think of Universality, or the Absolute. Give me more data for thinking that around this earth there is a starry shell that is not vastly far away, and here is the base for a correlation of all things phenomenal.
32
Star after star after star—and the signs that there were, at the times of them. Quake after quake after quake—and the sights in the sky, at the times of them. Star after quake after deluge—the sky boils with significances—there are tempests of indications.
There’s a beam of light in the sky, and it dips into a star. Spattering ponds of ink, it scribbles information. The story is that a vast and habitable land surrounds this earth. It is fertile, if showers of organic substances that have fallen from the sky, came from there. The variable stars are intermittent signs that are advertising enormous real estate opportunities. The story is declaimed by meteors, but most of us stolid ones aren’t going to be persuaded by any such sensational appeal to the emotions. The story is more obscurely told with clouds of dust that strew Europe. Most of us can’t take a hint the size of a continent.
The searchlights of the sun play upon a celebration in the sky. It has been waiting ages to mean something. Just at present known as the Milky Way, it’s the Broadway of the Sky, and some day explorers from this earth may parade it—
If this earth is stationary.
According to a great deal in this book, that may be a matter of no importance, nor bearing. If we accept that Teleportation, as a “natural force,” exists, and suspect that some human beings have known this and have used it; and, if we think that the culmination of a series of tele-operations will be the commercial and recreational teleportation of objects and beings, we are concerned little with other considerations, and conceive of inhabitants of this earth willing themselves—if that’s the way it’s done—to Mars, or the moon, or Polaris. But I take for a proposition that there is an underlying irony, if not sadism, in our existence, which rejoices in driving the most easily driven beings of this earth into doing, at enormous pains and expenses, the unnecessary—the building of complicated telegraph-systems, with the use of two wires—then reducing to one wire—then the discovery that the desired effects could be achieved wirelessly. Labors and sufferings of early Arctic explorers to push northward over piles of ice, at a rate of three or four miles a day—then Byrd does it with a whir.
Consequently, I concern myself with data for what may be a new field of enormous labors and sufferings, costs of lives and fortunes, misery and bereavements, until finally will come awareness that all this is unnecessary.
Upon this basis of mechanical and probably unnecessary voyagings—unless to something disasters to the beings of this earth be necessary—the most important consideration is whether this earth is stationary. There can be no mechanical, or suffering exploration from something that is somewhere one day, and the next day 60 x 60 x 24 x 19 miles away from there.
Then comes the subject of conditions surrounding this earth. If common suppositions be right, or if this earth be surrounded by a void that is intensely cold, penetration to anywhere beyond would probably be, anyway at present, impossible.
I compare ideas upon outer space with former ideas upon spaces in the Arctic regions. Resistances to the idea of exploration are similar. But in the wintertime, Arctic regions are not colder than are some of the inhabited parts of Canada. Stefansson, the Arctic explorer, has written that the worst blizzards ever seen by him were in North Dakota. Prevailing ideas as to the intensity of cold surrounding this earth, and preventing exploration, may be as far astray as are prevailing ideas as to Arctic coldness.
Outer space may not be homogeneously cold, and may be zoned, or pathed, with warm areas. Everything of which one knows little has the guise of homogeneousness. If anybody has a homogeneous impression of anything, that is something that he is going to be surprised about.
In the London
Daily Mail,
Jan. 29, 1924, Alan Cobham tells of one of his flights in India. “The air was quite warm, at 17,000 feet, but, as we descended to lower altitudes, it become gradually cooler, and, at 12,000 feet it was icy cold.”
“The higher the colder” is a fixed idea, just as formerly was the supposition that the farther north the colder the atmosphere. Many reports by aviators and mountain climbers agree. Everybody who does anything out of the ordinary has to think that he suffered. It is one of his compensations. But fixed ideas have a way of not staying fixed.
I’d like to know how astronomers get around their idea that comets are mostly of a gaseous composition, if gases would solidify at the temperature in which they suppose those comets to be moving.
But stationariness—and what’s the good of any of these speculations and collections of data, if by no conceivable agility could a returning explorer board a world scooting away from him at a rate of nineteen miles a second?
In early times, upholders of the idea of stationariness of this earth argued that a swiftly moving planet would leave its atmosphere behind. But it was said that the air partakes of the planet’s motions. Nevertheless, it was agreed that, far from this earth’s surface, air, if existing, would not partake of the motions. No motions of this earth away from them have ever been detected by aviators but it is said that they have not gone up high enough. But will an aviator, starting northward, from somewhere near the equator, partaking we’ll say of an axial swing of 1,000 miles an hour, making for a place where the swing is, we’ll say, 800 miles an hour, be opposed by the westward motion that he started with, amounting to 200 miles an hour, at his destination? How would he ever get there, without consciously opposing this transverse force, from the beginning of his flight? In the winter of 1927-28, flying south, and then north, Col. Lindbergh reported no indication of different axial velocities. Whether this earth is stationary, or not, his experience was the same as it would be if this earth were stationary. Or Admiral Byrd over the south pole of this earth. From a point of this earth, theoretically of no axial motion, he flew northward. He flew over land, which, relatively to his progress, spun with increasing velocity, according to the conventionalists. It cannot be said that the air around him was strictly partaking of this alleged motion, because gusts were blowing in various directions. Admiral Byrd started northward, from a point of no axial swing, partaking, himself, of no axial swing, and, as he traveled northward, the land underneath him did not swing away from him. The air was moving in various directions.
There is another field of data. There have been occurrences in the sky which, according to conventionalists, destroy the idea of the stationariness of this earth, and prove its motions. Trying to prove anything is no attempt of mine. We shall have an expression upon luminous night clouds and meteor trains.
Rather often have been observed luminous night clouds, or night clouds that shine, presumably by reflected sunlight, but with the sun so far below the horizon of observers upon this earth that so to reflect its light the clouds would have to be fifty or sixty miles high, according to calculations. At this height, it is conceded, whatever air there may be does not partake of this earth’s motions. If this earth be rotating from west to east, these distant clouds, not partaking of terrestrial motion, would seem to move, as left behind, from east to west. For an article upon this subject, see the
New York Times,
April 8, 1928.
The statement that such clouds do not partake, and do seem to move from east to west, has been published by conventionalists. To an observer in Central Europe, they should, as left behind, seem to move from east to west, at a rate of about 500 miles an hour by terrestrial rotation. The statement has been made that one of these clouds was seen to “move,” from east to west, the way it should “move,” at exactly the rate that should be.
I make the statement that luminous night clouds have moved north, south, east, and west, sometimes rapidly, and sometimes slowly. If somebody can, with data that will have to be accepted, show that, more than once, luminous night clouds have moved from east to west, at a rate of 500 miles an hour in a latitude where they “should” move at a rate of 500 miles an hour I shall be glad to regret that I have backed the wrong theory—except that you can’t down any theorist so easily or at all—and up I’ll bob, pointing out that this is another of the
shoulds
that
shouldn’t,
and that the conventionalists forgot about compounding their 500 miles an hour with this earth’s supposed orbital motion of nineteen miles a second.
All data upon this subject that I know anything of are interpretable as indications that this earth is stationary. For instance, look up, in
Nature,
and other English, and French, scientific journals, observations upon the great meteor train of Feb. 22, 1909. This appearance was thought to be as high as any luminous night cloud has been thought to be. It was so high that it was watched in France and in England. Here was something, which, because it came from externality, was not partaking of any of this earth’s supposed motions. Then it should have shot away from observers, by the compounding of two velocities. Whether it came to a stationary earth or not, it hung in the sky, as if it had come to a stationary earth, drifting considerably, but remaining in sight, about two hours.
According to this datum—and it is only one of many—an explorer could go up from this earth fifty or sixty miles, and though, according to orthodox pronouncements, the earth would spin away from him, the earth would not spin away from him.
There are data for thinking that aviators, who have gone up from the surface of this earth, as far as they supposed they could go, have missed entering conditions that, instead of being cold, may be even warmish, and may exist all the way to a not so very remote shell of stars. Somebody may want to know how it is that, if there be such data, they are not commonly known. But somebody else, who has read this book at all carefully will not ask that question.
An expression of mine is that all human achievements are compounded with objectives. Let someone go without food for a week, and that is a record of human endurance. Someone else makes his objective a week and a day, and achieves, in a dying condition. The extension goes on, and someone lives a month without food, and reaches the limit of human endurance. Aviators have set their minds upon surpassing the records of other aviators. It is possible that, with its objective a star, an expedition from this earth could, by merely reaching the limit of human endurance, arrive there.
Current Literature,
September, 1924—that, fifty miles up, the air is ten times as dense as used to be supposed, and that it is considerably warmer than at lower levels.
See
Nature,
Feb. 27, 1908, and following issues—experiments with balloons that carried temperature-recording instruments. According to Mr. W.H. Dines, about thirty balloons, which had been sent up, in Great Britain, in June, 1907, had moved through increasing coldness, then coming to somewhat warmer regions. This change was recorded at a height of about 40,000 feet.
Monthly Weather Review,
1923, page 316—that, away from this earth, the temperature falls only to a height of about seven miles, where it is from sixty to seventy degrees below zero (Fahrenheit). “But from this altitude to as high as balloons have gone, which is about fifteen miles, the temperature has remained about the same.”
It is said that, according to observations upon light-effects of meteor trains, there are reasons for thinking that, in their zone of from thirty to fifty miles above this earth’s surface, conditions are mild, or not even freezing.
For data that may indicate, in another field of observations, that, not enormously far away, there is a shell around this earth, see the newspapers of Aug. 20, 1925. According to data collected by the Naval Research Laboratory there is something, somewhere in the sky, that is deflecting electro-magnetic waves of wireless communications, in a way that is similar to the way in which sound waves are sent back by the dome of the Capitol, at Washington. The published explanation is that there is an “ionized zone” around this earth. Those waves are rebounding from something. More was published in the newspapers, May 21, 1927. The existence of “a ceiling in the sky” had been verified by experiments at Carnegie Institution. Sept. 5, 1930—a paper read by Prof. E.V. Appleton, at a meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science the “ionized zone” is not satisfactory. “The subject is as puzzling as it is fascinating, and no decisive answer to the problem can be given at present.” From Norway had been reported experiments upon short-wave transmissions, which had been reflected back to this earth. They had come back, as if from a shell-like formation, around this earth, not unthinkably far away.