Part 21 (2/2)

In July, 1886, thunder burst over a house at Langres. It was at breakfast-time. The fluid came down the chimney, which it swept thoroughly, came near the table, ran between the legs of an astounded guest, and then knocked a hole as big as a s.h.i.+lling in the neck of a bottle which was being filled at the pump. Then it took itself off to the courtyard, which it swept clean, and disappeared without hurting any of the witnesses of this strange phenomenon.

On August 3, 1898, two women were in the dining-room of their house at Confolens, when lightning broke a pane of gla.s.s in the window, and pa.s.sing within a few metres of them, went through the kitchen, and disappeared through the wall, after having broken several cooking utensils and the mantelpiece into atoms.

At Port-de-Bouc, on August 21, 1900, lightning struck the custom house, went into the room of one of the officials, and cut clean in two a china vase, which was on the mantelpiece, without separating the pieces.

Several days later, on August 26, the mysterious fluid came to disturb the peaceful repast of two honest labourers. Having taken refuge from the storm in a hut, they had set out their provisions for breakfast.

All at once the thunderstorm burst into the humble dining-room, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the bread, cheese, etc., overturned the bottles and other articles, covered everything with straw, as if by a violent gust of wind. The labourers felt nothing but stupefaction.

Was not it a veritable farce?

In another place it bursts open a cupboard, throwing the door away, and damaging the crockery in the most systematic fas.h.i.+on: it breaks the first plate, leaves the second intact, cracks the next, spares the fourth, and so on to the bottom of the pile. Then its task finished, it becomes quite diminutive, like some little gnome out of a fairy story, and flees through the keyhole, but without making the key spring out of the lock.

On August 19, 1866, at Chaumont, lightning, having played havoc in a house in various ways, espied a pile of plates in a cupboard, china and earthenware plates being mixed, it broke all the china ones, leaving the others untouched.

Why this preference? The lightning does not explain. It is for us to find out.

On May 31, 1903, at Tillieu-sous-Aire (Eure), during a thunderstorm, a number of china plates were filled with a kind of sticky water. The earthenware plates beside them were not even wet. I received a little flask of this water sent me by the parish priest, but a.n.a.lysis revealed nothing unusual.

The following case gives a formal denial to the ancient prejudice which attributes a cabalistic influence to the number thirteen.

There were thirteen people in the dining-room of a house at Langonar while the thunder rumbled outside. Suddenly a flash of lightning struck a plate in the middle of the table, threw dishes, gla.s.ses, plates, knives, and forks in all directions--in a word, cleared the table, not forgetting the tablecloth.

None of the thirteen guests were touched.

It sometimes happens, indeed, that gla.s.ses or bottles are altogether or partly melted. Boyle gives a very curious instance of the kind.

Two large drinking gla.s.ses were side by side on a table. They were exactly alike. Lightning seemed to pa.s.s between them, yet neither was broken; one was slightly distorted, however, and the other so much bent by an instantaneous softening that it could hardly stand.

When firearms are struck by lightning, their injuries are often of the most varied kind. Sometimes the wood, particularly of the b.u.t.t-end, is split, or broken to pieces, the metal parts torn out, or thrown right away.

On July 27, 1721, the meteor struck a sentry-box at Fort Nicolai, Breslau, and pierced the top to get at the sentry and his gun. The barrel was blackened; the b.u.t.t-end broken and thrown to a distance.

The shot had been discharged and pierced the roof of the sentry-box.

The man got off with a few scratches.

However, firearms when carried by men appear to attract the lightning.

Soldiers are often enough struck when in the exercise of their calling, when they are carrying arms.

But, curiously enough, many cases are known in which lightning has struck a loaded gun, melting the bullet and part of the barrel, without setting fire to the powder.

Thus, at Prefling, lightning penetrated the room of a gamekeeper, yet none of the many firearms hanging up went off. The wall was damaged between each rifle. One was standing in a corner of the room; the wall was injured on a level with the lower end, and above it a hole was to be seen in the woodwork.

On June 1, 1761, near Nimburg, lightning burst into the house of a horse-keeper, where it struck a loaded carbine leaning against a wall on the ground floor. The muzzle was slightly melted by the spark, which ran along the barrel to the trigger, and which it soldered together in parts. There were five bullets melted and soldered together in the magazine and the wads much scorched. However, incredible as it may seem, there was no explosion.

In another case the lightning went the whole length of a rifle, both inside and outside, leaving a direct line of fusion, and yet, incredible though it may seem, no shot was fired though the fusion reached the powder.

These phenomena appear quite extraordinary, and altogether incompatible with the usual theory of the combustibleness of gunpowder. To what cause can the invulnerability of the explosive matter be due?

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