When the students of glacial action first began the great task of interpreting these records, they were led to suppose that the amount of rock cutting which was done by the ice was very great. Observing what goes on, in the manner we have noted, beneath a valley glacier such as those of Switzerland, they saw that the ice work went on rapidly, and concluded that if the ice remained long at work in a region it must do a vast deal of erosion. They were right in a part of their premises, but, as we shall see, probably in another part wrong. Looking carefully over the field where the ice has operated, we note that, though at first sight the area appears to have lost all trace of its preglacial river topography, this aspect is due mainly to the irregular way in which the glacial waste is laid down. Close study shows us that we may generally trace the old stream valleys down to those which were no larger than brooks. It is true that these channels are generally and in many places almost altogether filled in with rubbish, but a close study of the question has convinced the writer, and this against a previous view, that the amount of erosion in New England and Canada, where the work was probably as great as anywhere, has not on the average exceeded a hundred feet, and probably was much less than that amount.

Even in the region north of Lake Ontario, over which the ice was deep and remained for a long time, the amount of erosion is singularly small. Thus north of Kingston the little valleys in the limestone rocks which were cut by the preglacial streams, though somewhat encumbered with drift, remain almost as distinct as they are on similar strata in central Kentucky, well south of the field which the ice occupied. In fact, the ice sheet appears to have done the greatest part of its work and to have affected the surface most in the belt of country a few hundred miles in width around the edges of the sheet. It was to be expected that in a continental glacier, as in those of mountain valleys, the most of the debris should be accumulated about the margin where the materials dropped from the ice. But why the cutting action should be greatest in that marginal field is not at first sight clear. To explain this and other features as best we may, we shall now consider the probable history of the great ice march in advance and retreat, and then take up the conditions which brought about its development and its disappearance.

Ice is in many ways the most remarkable substance with which the physicist has to deal, and among its eminent peculiarities is that it expands in freezing, while the rule is that substances contract in passing from the fluid to the solid state. On this account frozen water acts in a unique manner when subjected to pressure. For each additional atmosphere of pressure—a weight amounting to about fifteen pounds to the square inch—the temperature at which the ice will melt is lowered to the amount of sixteen thousandths of a degree centigrade. If we take a piece of ice at the temperature of freezing and put upon it a sufficient weight, we inevitably bring about a small amount of melting. Where we can examine the mass under favourable conditions, we can see the fluid gather along the lines of the crystals or other bits of which the ice is composed. We readily note this action by bringing two pieces of ice together with a slight pressure; when the pressure is removed, they will adhere. The adhesion is brought about not by any stickiness of the materials, for the substance has no such property. It is accomplished by melting along the line of contact, which forms a film of water, that at once refreezes when the pressure is withdrawn. When a firm snowball is made by even pressing snow, innumerable similar adhesions grow up in the manner described. The fact is that, given ice at the temperature at which it ordinarily forms, pressure upon it will necessarily develop melting.

The consequences of pressure melting as above described are in glaciers extremely complicated. Because the ice is built into the glacier at a temperature considerably below the freezing point, it requires a great thickness of the mass before the superincumbent weight is sufficient to bring about melting in its lower parts. If we knew the height at which a thermometer would have stood in the surface ice of the ancient glacier which covered the northern part of North America, we could with some accuracy compute how thick it must have been before the effect of pressure alone would have brought about melting; but even then we should have to reckon the temperature derived from the grinding of the ice over the floor and the crushing of rocks there effected, as well as the heat which is constantly though slowly coming forth from the earth's interior. The result is that we can only say that at some depth, probably less than a mile, the slowly accumulating ice would acquire such a temperature that, subjected to the weight above it, the material next the bottom would become molten, or at least converted into a sludgelike state, in which it could not rub against the bottom, or move stones in the manner of ordinary glaciers.

As fast as the ice assumed this liquid or softened state, it would be squeezed out toward the region where, because of the thinning of the glacier, it would enter a field where pressure melting did not occur. It would then resume the solid state, and thence journey to the margin of the ice in the ordinary manner. We thus can imagine how such a glacier as occupied the northern part of this continent could have moved from the central parts toward its periphery, as we can not do if we assume that the glacier everywhere lay upon the bed rock. There is no slope from Lake Erie to the Ohio River at Cincinnati. Knowing that the ice moved down this line, there are but two methods of accounting for its motion: either the slope of the upper surface to the northward was so steep that the mass would have been thus urged down, the upper parts dragging the bottom along with them, or the ice sheet for the greater part of its extent rested upon pressure-molten water, or sludge ice, which was easily squeezed out toward the front. The first supposition appears inadmissible, for the reason that the ice would have to be many miles deep at Hudson Bay in order that its upper surface should have slope enough to overcome the rigidity of the material and bring about the movement. We know that any such depth is not supposable.

The recent studies in Greenland supply us with strong corroborative evidence for the support of the view which is here urged. The wide central field of that area, where the ice has an exceeding slight declivity, and is unruptured by crevices, can not be explained except on the supposition that it rests on pressure-molten water. The thinner section next the shore, where the glacier is broken up by those irregular movements which its wrestle with the bottom inevitably induces, shows that there it is in contact with the bed rock, for it behaves exactly as do the valley glaciers of like thickness.

The view above suggested as to the condition of continental glaciers enables us to explain not only their movements, but the relatively slight amount of wearing which they brought about on the lands they occupied. Beginning to develop in mountain regions, or near the poles on the lowlands, these sheets, as soon as they attained the thickness where the ice at their bottom became molten, would rapidly advance for great distances until they attained districts where the melting exceeded the supply of frozen material. In this excursion only the marginal portion of the glacier would do erosive work. This would evidently be continued for the greatest amount of time near the front or outer rim of the ice field, for there, we may presume, that for the longest time the cutting rim would rest upon the bed rock of the country. As the ice receded, this rim would fall back; thus in the retreat as in the advance the whole of the field would be subjected to a certain amount of erosion. On this supposition we should expect to find that the front of a continental glacier, fed with pressure-molten water from all its interior district, which became converted into ice, would attain much warmer regions than the valley streams, where all the flow took place in the state of ice, and, furthermore, that the speed of the going on the margin would be much more rapid than in the Alpine streams. These suppositions are well borne out by the study of existing continental ice sheets, which move with singular rapidity at their fronts, and by the ancient glaciers, which evidently extended into rather warm fields. Thus, when the ice front lay at the site of Cincinnati, at six hundred feet above the sea, there were no glaciers in the mountains of North Carolina, though those rise more than five thousand feet higher in the air, and are less than two hundred miles farther south. It is therefore evident that the continental glacier at this time pushed southward into a comparatively warm country in a way that no stream moving in the manner of a valley glacier could possibly have done.

The continental glaciers manage in many cases to convey detritus from a great distance. Thus, when the ice sheet advanced southwardly from the regions north of the Great Lakes, they conveyed quantities of the debris from that section as far south as the Ohio River. In part this rubbish was dragged forward by the ice as the sheet advanced; in part it was urged onward by the streams of liquid water formed by the ordinary process of ice melting. Such subglacial rivers appear to have been formed along the margins of all the great glaciers. We can sometimes trace their course by the excavation which they have made, but more commonly by the long ridges of stratified sand and gravel which were packed into the caverns excavated by these subglacial rivers, which are known to glacialists as eskers, or as serpent kames. In many cases we can trace where these streams flowed up stream in the old river valleys until they discharged over their head waters. Thus in the valley of the Genesee, which now flows from Pennsylvania, where it heads against the tributaries of the Ohio and Susquehanna, to Lake Ontario, there was during the Glacial epoch a considerable river which discharged its waters into those of the Ohio and the Susquehanna over the falls at the head of its course.



The effect of widespread glacial action on a country such as North America appears to have been, in the first place, to disturb the attitude of the land by bearing down portions of its surface, a process which led to the uprising of other parts which lay beyond the realm of the ice. Within the field of glaciation, so far as the ice rested bodily on the surface, the rocks were rapidly worn away. A great deal of the debris was ground to fine powder, and went far with the waters of the under-running streams. A large part was entangled in the ice, and moved forward toward the front of the glacier, where it was either dropped at the margin or, during the recession of the glacier, was laid upon the surface as the ice melted away. The result of this erosion and transportation has been to change the conditions of the surface both as regards soil and drainage. As the reader has doubtless perceived, ordinary soil is, outside of the river valleys, derived from the rock beneath where it lies. In glaciated districts the material is commonly brought from a considerable distance, often from miles away. These ice-made soils are rarely very fertile, but they commonly have a great endurance for tillage, and this for the reason that the earth is refreshed by the decay of the pebbles which they contain. Moreover, while the tillable earth of other regions usually has a limited depth, verging downward into the semisoil or subsoil which represent the little changed bed rocks, glacial deposits can generally be ploughed as deeply as may prove desirable.

The drainage of a country recently affected by glaciers is always imperfect. Owing to the irregular erosion of the bed rocks, and to the yet more irregular deposition of the detritus, there are very numerous lakes which are only slowly filled up or by erosion provided with drainage channels. Though several thousand years have passed by since the ice disappeared from North America, the greater part of the area of these fresh-water basins remains, the greater number of them, mostly those of small size, have become closed.

Where an ice stream descends into the sea or into a large lake, the depth of which is about as great as the ice is thick, the relative lightness of the ice tends to make it float, and it shortly breaks off from the parent mass, forming an iceberg. Where, as is generally the case in those glaciers which enter the ocean, a current sweeps by the place where the berg is formed, it may enter upon a journey which may carry the mass thousands of miles from its origin. The bergs separated from the Greenland glaciers, and from those about the south pole, are often of very great size; sometimes, indeed, they are some thousand feet in thickness, and have a length of several miles. It often happens that these bergs are formed of ice, which contains in its lower part a large amount of rock debris. As the submerged portion of the glacier melts in the sea water, these stones are gradually dropped to the bottom, so that the cargo of one berg may be strewed along a line many hundred miles in length. It occasionally happens that the ice mass melts more slowly in those parts which are in the air than in its under-water portions. It thus becomes top-heavy and overturns, in which case such stony matter as remains attains a position where it may be conveyed for a greater distance than if the glacier were not capsized. It is likely, indeed, that now and then fragments of rock from Greenland are dropped on the ocean floor in the part of the Atlantic which is traversed by steamers between our Atlantic ports and Great Britain.

Except for the risks which they bring to navigators, icebergs have no considerable importance. It is true they somewhat affect the temperature of sea and air, and they also serve to convey fragments of stone far out to sea in a way that no other agent can effect; but, on the whole, their influence on the conditions of the earth is inconsiderable.

Icebergs in certain cases afford interesting indices as to the motion of oceanic currents, which, though moving swiftly at a depth below the surface, do not manifest themselves on the plain of the sea. Thus in the region about Greenland, particularly in Davis Strait, bergs have been seen forcing their way southward at considerable speed through ordinary surface ice, which was either at rest or moving in the opposite direction. The train of these bergs, which moves upward from the south polar continent, west of Patagonia, indicates also in a very emphatic way the existence of a very strong northward-setting current in that part of the ocean.

* * * * *

We have now to consider the causes which could bring about such great extensions of the ice sheet as occurred in the last Glacial period. Here again we are upon the confines of geological knowledge, and in a field where there are no well-cleared ways for the understanding. In facing this problem, we should first note that those who are of the opinion that a Glacial period means a very cold climate in the regions where the ice attained its extension are probably in error. Natural as it may seem to look for exceeding cold as the cause of glaciation, the facts show us that we can not hold this view. In Siberia and in the parts of North America bordering on the Arctic Sea the average cold is so intense that the ground is permanently frozen—as it is, for instance, in the Klondike district—to the depth of hundreds of feet, only the surface thawing out during the warm summers. All this region is cold enough for glaciers, but there is not sufficient snowfall to maintain them. On the other hand, in Greenland, and in a less though conspicuous degree in Scandinavia, where the waters of the North Atlantic somewhat diminish the rigour of the cold, and at the same time bring about a more abundant snowfall, the two actions being intimately related, we have very extensive glaciers. Such facts, which could be very much extended, make it clear that the climate of glacial periods must have been characterized by a great snowfall, and not by the most intense cold.

It is evident that what would be necessary again to envelop the boreal parts of North America with a glacial sheet would not be a considerable decrease of heat, but an increase in the winter's contribution of frozen water. Even if the heat released by this snowfall elevated the average temperature of the winter, as it doubtless would in a considerable measure, it would not melt off the snow. That snowfall tends to warm the air by setting free the heat which was engaged in keeping the water in a state of vapour is familiarly shown by the warming which attends an ordinary snowstorm. Even if the fall begin with a temperature of about 0 deg. Fahr., the air is pretty sure to rise to near the freezing point.

It is evident that no great change of temperature is required in order to bring about a very considerable increase in the amount of snowfall. In the ordinary succession of seasons we often note the occurrence of winters during which the precipitation of snow is much above the average, though it can not be explained by a considerable climatal change. We have to account for these departures from the normal weather by supposing that the atmospheric currents bring in more than the usual amount of moisture from the sea during the period when great falls of snow occur. In fact, in explaining variations in the humidity of the land, whether those of a constant nature or those that are to be termed accidental, we have always to look to those features which determine the importation of vapour from the great field of the ocean where it enters the air. We should furthermore note that these peculiarities of climate are dependent upon rather slight geographic accidents. Thus the snowfall of northern Europe, which serves to maintain the glaciation of that region, and, curiously enough, in some measure its general warmth, depends upon the movement of the Gulf Stream from the tropics to high latitudes. If by any geographical change, such as would occur if Central America were lowered so as to make a free passage for its waters to the westward, the glaciers of Greenland and of Scandinavia would disappear, and at the same time the temperature of those would be greatly lowered. Thus the most evident cause of glaciation must be sought in those alterations of the land which affect the movement of the oceanic currents.

Applying this principle to the northern hemisphere, we can in a way imagine a change which would probably bring about a return of such an ice period as that from which the boreal realm is now escaping. Let us suppose that the region of not very high land about Bering Strait should sink down so as to afford the Kuro Siwo, or North Pacific equivalent of our Gulf Stream, an opportunity to enter the Arctic Sea with something like the freedom with which the North Atlantic current is allowed to penetrate to high latitudes. It seems likely that this Pacific current, which in volume and warmth is comparable to that of the Atlantic, would so far elevate the temperature of the arctic waters that their wide field would be the seat of a great evaporation. Noting once again the fact that the Greenland glaciers, as well as those of Norway, are supplied from seas warmed by the Gulf Stream, we should expect the result of this change would be to develop similar ice fields on all the lands near that ocean.

Applying the data gathered by Dr. Croll for the Gulf Stream, it seems likely that the average annual temperature induced in the Arctic Sea by the free entrance of the Japan current would be between 20 deg. and 30 deg. Fahr. This would convert this wide realm of waters into a field of great evaporation, vastly increasing the annual precipitation. It seems also certain that the greater part of this precipitation would be in the form of snow. It appears to the writer that this cause alone may be sufficient to account for the last Glacial period in the northern hemisphere. As to the probability that the region about Bering Strait may have been lowered in the manner required by this view, it may be said that recent studies on the region about Mount St. Elias show that during or just after the ice epoch the shores in that portion of Alaska were at least four thousand feet lower than at present. As this is but a little way from the land which we should have to suppose to be lowered in order to admit the Japan current, we could fairly conclude that the required change occurred. As for the cause of the land movement, geologists are still in doubt. They know, however, that the attitudes of the land are exceedingly unstable, and that the shores rarely for any considerable time maintain their position. It is probable that these swayings of the earth's surface are due to ever-changing combinations of the weight in different parts of the crust and the strains arising from the contraction of its inner parts.

In the larger operations of Nature the effects which we behold, however simple, are rarely the products of a single cause. In fact, there are few actions so limited that they can fairly be referred to one influence. It is therefore proper to state that there are many other actions besides those above noted which probably enter into those complicated equations which determine the climatal conditions of the earth. To have these would carry us into difficult and speculative inquiries.

As before remarked, all the regions which have been subjected to glaciation are still each year brought temporarily into the glacial state. This fact serves to show us that the changes necessary to produce great ice sheets are not necessarily of a startling nature, however great the consequences may be. Assuming, then, that relatively slight alterations of climate may cause the ice sheet to come and go, we may say that all the influences which have been suggested by the students of glaciation, and various other slighter causes which can not be here noted, may have co-operated to produce the peculiar result. In this equation geographic change has affected the course of the ocean currents, and has probably been the most influential, or at least the commonest, cause to which we must attribute the extension of ice sheets. Next, alterations of the solar heat may be looked to as a change-bringing action; unfortunately, however, we have no direct evidence that this is an efficient cause. Thirdly, the variations in the eccentricity of the earth's orbit, combined with the precession of the equinoxes and the rotation of the apsides, may be regarded as operative. The last of all, changes in the constitution of the atmosphere, have to be taken into account. To these must be added, as before remarked, many less important actions which influence this marvellously delicate machine, the work of which is expressed in the phenomena assembled under the name of climate.

Evidence is slowly accumulating which serves to show that glacial periods of greater or less importance have been of frequent occurrence at all stages in the history of the earth of which we have a distinct record. As these accidents write their history upon the ground alone, and in a way impermanently, it is difficult to trace the ice times of ancient geological periods. The scratches on the bed rocks, and the accumulations of detritus formed as the ice disappeared, have alike been worn away by the agents of decay. Nevertheless, we can trace here and there in the older strata accumulations of pebbly matter often containing large boulders, which clearly were shaped and brought together by glacial action. These are found in some instances far south of the region occupied by the glaciers during the last ice epoch. They occur in rocks of the Cambrian or Silurian age in eastern Tennessee and western North Carolina; they are also found in India beyond the limits to which glaciers have attained in modern times.

In closing this inadequate account of glacial action, a story which for its complete telling would require many volumes, it is well for the reader to consider once again how slight are the changes of climate which may alternately withdraw large parts of the land from the uses of life, and again quickly restore the fields to the service of plants and animals. He may well imagine that these changes, by driving living creatures to and fro, profoundly affect the history of their development. This matter will be dealt with in the volume concerning the history of organic beings.

When the ice went off from the northern part of this continent, the surface of the country, which had been borne down by the weight of the glacier, still remained depressed to a considerable depth below the level of the sea, the depression varying from somewhere about one hundred feet in southern New England to a thousand feet or more in high latitudes. Over this region, which lay beneath the level of the sea, the glacier, when it became thin enough to float, was doubtless broken up into icebergs, in the manner which we now behold along the coast of Greenland. Where the shore was swept by a strong current, these bergs doubtless drifted away; but along the most of the coast line they appear to have lain thickly grouped next the shores, gradually delivering their loads of stones and finer debris to the bottom. These masses of floating ice in many cases seem to have prevented the sea waves from attaining the shore, and thus hindered the formation of those beaches which in their present elevated condition enable us to interpret the old position of the sea along coast lines which have been recently elevated. Here and there, however, from New Jersey to Greenland, we find bits of these ancient shores which clearly tell the story of that down-sinking of the land beneath the burden of the ice which is such an instructive feature in the history of that period.



CHAPTER VII.

THE WORK OF UNDERGROUND WATER.

We have already noted two means by which water finds its way underground. The simplest and largest method by which this action is effected is by building in the fluid as the grains of the rock are laid down on the floors of seas or lakes. The water thus imprisoned is firmly inclosed in the interstices of the stone, it in time takes up into its mass a certain amount of the mineral materials which are contained in the deep-buried rocks. The other portion of the ground water—that with which we are now to be specially concerned—arises from the rain which descends into the crevices of the earth; it is therefore peculiar to the lands. For convenience we shall term the original embedded fluid rock water, and that which originates from the rain crevice water, the two forming the mass of the earth water.

The crevice water of the earth, although forming at no time more than a very small fraction of the hidden fluid, is an exceedingly potent geological agent, doing work which, though unseen, yet affords the very foundations on which rest the life alike of land and sea. When this water enters the earth, though it is purified of all mineral materials, it has already begun to acquire a share of a gaseous substance, carbonic acid, or, as chemists now term it, carbon dioxide, which enables the fluid to begin its role of marvellous activities. In its descent as rain, probably even before it was gathered in drops in the cloud realm, the water absorbs a certain portion of this gas from the atmosphere. Entering the realm of the soil, where the decaying organic matter plentifully gives forth carbon dioxide, a further store of the gas is acquired. At the ordinary pressure of the air, water may take in many times its bulk of the gas.

The immediate effect of carbonic acid when it is absorbed by water is greatly to increase the capacity which that fluid has for taking mineral matters into solution. When charged with this gas, in the measure in which it may be in the soil, water is able to dissolve about fifty times as much limestone as it can in its perfectly pure form take up. A familiar instance of this peculiar capacity which the gas gives may often be seen where the water from a soda-water fountain drips upon the marble slab beneath. In a few years this slab will be considerably corroded, though pure water would in the same time have had no effect upon it.

The first and by far the most important effect of crevice water is exercised upon the soil, which is at once the product of this action, and the laboratory where the larger part of the work is done. Penetrating between the grains of the detrital covering, held in large quantities in the coating, and continually in slow motion, the gas-charged water takes a host of substances into solution, and brings them into a condition where they may react upon each other in the chemical manner. These materials are constantly being offered to the roots of plants and brought in contact with the underlying rock which has not passed into the state of soil. The changes induced in this stony matter lead to its breaking up, or at least to its softening to the point where the roots can penetrate it and complete its destruction. Thus it comes about that the water which to a great extent divides the rocks into the state of soil, which is continually wearing away the material on the surface, or leaching it out through the springs, is also at work in restoring the layer from beneath.

The greater part of the water which enters the soil does not penetrate to any great depth in the underlying rocks, but finds its way to the surface after no long journey in the form of small springs. Generally those superficial springs do not emerge through distinct channels, but move, though slowly, in a massive way down the slopes until they enter a water course. Along the banks of any river, however small, or along the shores of the sea, a pit a few inches deep just above the level of the water will be quickly filled by a flow from this sheet which underlies the earth. At a distance from the stream this sheet spring is in contact with the bed rocks, and may be many feet below the surface, but it comes to the level of the river or the sea near their margins. Here and there the shape of the bed rocks, being like converging house roofs, causes the superficial springs to form small pipelike channels for the escape of their gathered waters, and the flow emerges at a definite point. Almost all these sources of considerable flow are due to the action of the water on the underlying rock, where we shall now follow that portion of the crevice water which penetrates deeply into the earth.

Almost all rocks, however firm they may appear to be, are divided by crevices which extend from the soil level it may be to the depths of thousands of feet. These rents are in part due to the strains of mountain-building, which tend to disrupt the firmest stone, leaving open fractures. They are also formed in other ways, as by the imperfectly understood agencies which produce joint planes. It often happens that where rocks are highly tilted water finds its way downward between the layers, which are imperfectly soldered together, or a bed of coarse material, such as sandstone or conglomerate, may afford an easy way by which the water may descend for miles beneath the surface. Passing through rocks which are not readily soluble, the water, already to a great extent supplied with mineral matter by its journey through the soil, may not do much excavating work, and even after a long time may only slightly enlarge the spaces in which it may be stored or the channels by which it discharges to the surface. Hence it comes about that in many countries, even where the waters penetrate deeply, they do not afford large springs. It is otherwise where the crevice waters enter limestones composed of materials which are readily dissolved. In such places we find the rain so readily entering the underlying rock that no part of the fall goes at once to the brooks, but all has a long underground journey.

In any limestone district where the beds of the material are thick and tolerably pure—as, for instance, in the cavern district of southern Kentucky—the traveller who enters the region notes at once that the usual small streams which in every region of considerable rainfall he is accustomed to see intersecting the surface of the country are entirely absent. In their place he notes everywhere pitlike depressions of bowl-shaped form, the sink holes to which we have already adverted. Through the openings in the bottom of these the rain waters descend into the depths of the earth. Although the most of these depressions have but small openings in their bottom, now and then one occurs with a vertical shaft sufficiently large to permit the explorer to descend into it, though he needs to be lowered down in the manner of a miner who is entering a shaft. In fact, the journey is nearly always one of some hazard; it should not be undertaken save with many precautions to insure safety.

When one is lowered away through an open sink hole, though the descent may at first be somewhat tortuous, the explorer soon finds himself swinging freely in the air, it may be at a point some hundred feet above the base of the bottle-shaped shaft or dome into which he has entered. Commonly the neck of the bottle is formed where the water has worked its way through a rather sandy limestone, a rock which was not readily dissolved by the water. In the pure and therefore easily cut limestone layers the cavity rapidly expands until the light of the lantern may not disclose its walls. Farther down there is apt to be a shelf composed of another impure limestone, which extends off near the middle of the shaft. If the explorer can land upon this shelf, he is sure to find that from this imperfect floor the cavern extends off in one or more horizontal galleries, which he may follow for a great distance until he comes to the point where there is again a well-like opening through the hard layer, with another dome-shaped base beneath. Returning to the main shaft, the explorer may continue his descent until he attains the base of this vertical section of the cave, where he is likely to find himself delivered in a pool of water of no great depth, the bottom of which is occupied by a quantity of small, hard stones of a flinty nature, which have evidently come from the upper parts of the cavern. The close observer will have noted that here and there in the limestone there are flinty bits, such as those which he finds in the pool. From the bottom of the dome a determined inquirer can often make his way along the galleries which lead from that level, though it may be after a journey of miles to the point where he emerges from the cavern on the banks of an open-air river.

Although a journey by way of the sink holes through a cavern system is to be commended for the reason that it is the course of the caverning waters, it is, on the whole, best to approach the cave through their exits along the banks of a stream or through the chance openings which are here and there made by the falling in of their roofs. One advantage of this cavity of entrance is that we can thus approach the cavern in times of heavy rain when the processes which lead to their construction are in full activity. Coming in this way to one of the domes formed beneath a sink hole, we may observe in rainy weather that the water falling down the deep shaft strikes the bottom with great force; in many of the Kentucky caves it falls from a greater height than Niagara. At such times the stones in the basin at the bottom of the shaft are vigorously whirled about, and in their motion they cut the rocks in the bottom of the basin—in fact, this cavity is a great pot hole, like those at the base of open-air cascades. It is now easy to interpret the general principles which determine the architecture of the cavern realm.

When it first enters the earth all the work which the water does in the initial steps of cavern formation is effected by solution. As the crevice enlarges and deepens, the stream acquires velocity, and begins to use the bits of hard rock in boring. It works downward in this way by the mixed mechanical and chemical action until it encounters a hard layer. Then the water creeps horizontally through the soft stratum, doing most of its work by solution, until it finds a crevice in the floor through which it can excavate farther in the downward direction; so it goes on in the manner of steps until it burrows channels to the open stream. In time the vertical fall under the sink hole will cut through the hard layer, when the water, abandoning the first line of exit, will develop another at a lower level, and so in time it comes about that there may be several stories of the cave, the lowest being the last to be excavated. Of the total work thus done, only a small part is accomplished by the falling of the water, acting through the boring action of its tools, the bits of stone before mentioned; the principal part of the task is done by the solvent action of the carbonated waters on the limestone. In the system of caverns known as the Mammoth Cave, in Kentucky, the writer has estimated that at least nine tenths of the stone was removed in the state of solution.

When first excavated, the chambers of a limestone cavern have little beauty to attract the eye. The curves of the walls are sometimes graceful, but the aspect of the chambers, though in a measure grand, is never charming. When, however, the waters have ceased to carve the openings, when they have been drained away by the formation of channels on a lower level, there commonly sets in a process known as stalactitization, which transforms the scene into one of singular beauty. We have already noted the fact that everywhere in ordinary rocks there are crevices through which water, moving under the pressure of the fluid which is above, may find its way slowly downward. In the limestone roofs of caverns, particularly in those of the upper story, this ooze of water passes through myriads of unseen fissures at a rate so slow that it often evaporates in the dry air without dropping to the floor. When it comes out of the rocks the water is charged with various salts of lime; when it evaporates it leaves the material behind on the roof. Where the outflow is so slight that the fluid does not gather into drops, it forms an incrustation of limy matter, which often gathers in beautiful flowerlike forms, or perhaps in the shape of a sheet of alabaster. Where drops are formed, a small, pendent cone grows downward from the ceiling, over which the water flows, and on which it evaporates. This cone grows slowly downward until it may attain the floor of the chamber, which has a height of thirty feet or more. If all the water does not evaporate, that which trickles off the apex of the cone, striking on the floor, is splashed out into a thin sheet, so that it evaporates in a speedy manner, lays down its limestone, and thus builds another and ruder cone, which grows upward toward that which is pendent above it. Finally, they grow together, enlarged by the process which constructed them, until a mighty column may be formed, sculptured as if by the hands of a fantastic architect.



All the while that subterranean streams are cutting the caverns downward the open-air rivers into which they discharge are deepening their beds, and thereby preparing for the construction of yet lower stories of caves. These open-air streams commonly flow in steep-sided, narrow valleys, which themselves were caves until the galleries became so wide that they could no longer support the roof. Thus we often find that for a certain distance the roof over a large stream has fallen in, so that the water flows in the open air. Then it will plunge under an arch and course, it may be, for some miles, before it again arrives at a place where the roof has disappeared, or perhaps attains a field occupied by rocks of another character, in which caverns were not formed. At places these old river caverns are abandoned by the streams, which find other courses. They form natural tunnels, which are not infrequently of considerable length. One such in southwestern Virginia has been made useful for a railway passing from one valley to another, thus sparing the expense of a costly excavation. Where the remnant of the arch is small, it is commonly known as a natural bridge, of which that in Rockbridge County, in Virginia, is a very noble example. Arches of this sort are not uncommon in many cavern countries; five such exist in Carter County, Kentucky, a district in the eastern part of that State which abounds in caverns, though none of them are of conspicuous height or beauty.[7]

[Footnote 7: It is reported that one of these natural bridges of Carter County has recently fallen down. This is the natural end of these features. As before remarked, they are but the remnants of much more extensive roofs which the processes of decay have brought to ruin.]

At this stage of his studies on cavern work the student will readily conceive that, as the surface of the country overlying the cave is incessantly wearing down, the upper stories of the system are continually disappearing, while new ones are forming at the present drainage level of the country. In fact, the attentive eye can in such a district find here and there evidences of this progressive destruction. Not only do the caves wear out from above, but their roofs are constantly falling to their floors, a process which is greatly aided by the growth of stalactites. Forming in the crevices or joints between the stones, these rock growths sometimes prize off great blocks. In other cases the weight of the pendent stalactite drags the ill-supported masses of the roof to the floor. In this way a gallery originally a hundred feet below the surface may work its way upward to the light of day. The entrance by which the Mammoth Cave is approached appears to have been formed in this manner, and at several points in that system of caverns the effect of this action may be distinctly observed.

We must now go a step further on the way of subterranean water, and trace its action in the depths below the plane of ordinary caves, which, as we have noted, do not extend below the level of the main streams of the cavern district. The first group of facts to be attended to is that exhibited by artesian wells. These occur where rocks have been folded down into a basinlike form. It often happens that in such a basin the rocks of which it is composed are some of them porous, and others impervious to water, and that the porous layers outcrop on the high margins of the depression and have water-tight layers over them. These conditions can be well represented by supposing that we have two saucers, one within the other, with an intervening layer of sand which is full of water. If now we bore an opening in the bottom of the uppermost saucer, we readily conceive that the water will flow up through it. In Nature we often find these basins with the equivalent of the sandy layer in the model just described rising hundreds of feet above the valley, so that the artesian well, so named from the village of Artois, near Paris, where the first opening of this nature was made, may yield a stream which will mount upward, especially where piped, to a great height. At many places in the world it is possible by such wells to obtain a large supply of tolerably pure water, but in general it is found to contain too large a supply of dissolved mineral matter or sulphuretted gases to be satisfactory for domestic purposes. It may be well to note the fact that the greater part of the so-called artesian wells, or borings which deliver water to a height above the surface, are not true artesian sources, in that they do not send up the water by the action of gravitation, but under the influence of gaseous pressure.

Where, as in the case of upturned porous beds, the crevice water penetrates far below the earth's surface or the open-air streams which drain the water away, the fluid acquires a considerable increase of temperature, on the average about one degree Fahrenheit for each eighty feet of descent. It may, indeed, become so heated that if it were at the earth's surface it would not only burst into steam with a vast explosive energy, but would actually shine in the manner of heated solids. As the temperature of water rises, and as the pressure on it increases, it acquires a solvent power, and takes in rocky matter in a measure unapproached at the earth's surface. At the depth of ten miles water beginning as inert rain would acquire the properties which we are accustomed to associate with strong acids. Passing downward through fissures or porous strata in the manner indicated in the diagram, the water would take up, by virtue of its heat and the gases it contained, a share of many mineral substances which we commonly regard as insoluble. Gold and even platinum—the latter a material which resists all acids at ordinary temperatures—enters into the solution. If now the water thus charged with mineral stores finds in the depths a shorter way to the surface than that which it descended, which may well happen by way of a deep rift in the rocks, it will in its ascent reverse the process which it followed on going down. It will deposit the several minerals in the order of their solubilities—that is, the last to be taken in will be the first to be crystallized on the walls of the fissure through which the upflow is taking place. The result will be the formation of a vein belonging to the variety known as fissure veins.



A vein deposit such as we are considering may, though rarely, be composed of a single mineral. Most commonly we find the deposit arranged in a banded form in the manner indicated in the figure (see diagram 14). Sometimes one material will abound in the lower portions of the fissure and another in its higher parts, a feature which is accounted for by the progressive cooling and relinquishment of pressure to which the water is subjected on its way to the surface. With each decrement of those properties some particular substance goes out of the fluid, which may in the end emerge in the form of a warm or hot spring, the water of which contains but little mineral matter. Where, however, the temperature is high, some part of the deposit, even a little gold, may be laid down just about the spring in the deposits known as sinter, which are often formed at such places.

In many cases the ore deposits are formed not only in the main channel of the fissure, but in all the crevices on either side of that way. In this manner, much as in the case of the growth of stalactitic matter between the blocks of stone in the roofs of a cavern, large fragments of rock, known as "horses," are often pushed out into the body of the vein. In some instances the growth of the vein appears to enlarge the fissure or place of the deposit as the accumulation goes on, the process being analogous to that by which a growing root widens the crevice into which it has penetrated. In other instances the fissure formed by the force has remained wide open, or at most has been but partly filled by the action of the water.

It not infrequently happens that the ascending waters of hot springs entering limestones have excavated extensive caves far below the surface of the earth, these caverns being afterward in part filled by the ores of various metals. We can readily imagine that the water at one temperature would excavate the cavern, and long afterward, when at a lower heat, they might proceed to fill it in. At a yet later stage, when the surface of the country had worn down many thousands of feet below the original level, the mineral stores of the caverns may be brought near the surface of the earth. Some of the most important metalliferous deposits of the Cordilleras are found in this group of hot-water caverns. These caverns are essentially like those produced by cold water, with the exception of the temperature of the fluid which does the work and the opposite direction of the flow.

In following crevice water which is free to obey the impulses of gravitation far down into the earth, we enter on a realm where the rock or construction water, that which was built into the stone at the time of its formation, is plentiful. Where these two groups of waters come in contact an admixture occurs, a certain portion of the rock water joining that in the crevices. Near the surface of the ground we commonly find that all the construction water has been washed out by this action. Yet if the rocks be compact, or if they have layers of a soft and clayey nature, we may find the construction water, even in very old deposits, remaining near the surface of the ground. Thus in the ancient Silurian beds of the Ohio Valley a boring carried a hundred feet below the level of the main rivers commonly discovers water which is clearly that laid down in the crevices of the material at the time when the rocks were formed in the sea. In all cases this water contains a certain amount of gases derived from the decomposition of various substances, but principally from the alteration of iron pyrite, which affords sulphuretted hydrogen. Thus the water is forced to the surface with considerable energy, and the well is often named artesian, though it flows by gas pressure on the principle of the soda-water fountain, and not by gravity, as in the case of true artesian wells.

The passage between the work done by the deeply penetrating surface water and that due to the fluid intimately blended with the rock built into the mass at the time of its formation is obscure. We are, however, quite sure that at great depths beneath the earth the construction water acts alone not only in making veins, but in bringing about many other momentous changes. At a great depth this water becomes intensely heated, and therefore tends to move in any direction where a chance fissure or other accident may lessen the pressure. Creeping through the rocks, and moving from zones of one temperature to another, these waters bring about in the fine interstices chemical changes which lead to great alterations in the constitution of the rock material. It is probably in part to these slow driftings of rock water that beds originally made up of small, shapeless fragments, such as compose clay slates, sandstones, and limestones, may in time be altered into crystalline rocks, where there is no longer a trace of the original bits, all the matter having been taken to pieces by the process of dissolving, and reformed in the regular crystalline order. In many cases we may note how a crystal after being made has been in part dissolved away and replaced by another mineral. In fact, many of our rocks appear to have been again and again made over by the slow-drifting waters, each particular state in their construction being due to some peculiarity of temperature or of mineral contents which the fluid held. These metamorphic phenomena, though important, are obscure, and their elucidation demands some knowledge of petrographic science, that branch of geology which considers the principles of rock formation. They will therefore not be further considered in this work.

VOLCANOES.

Of old it was believed that volcanoes represented the outpouring of fluid rock which came forth from the central realm of the earth, a region which was supposed still to retain the liquid state through which the whole mass of our earth has doubtless passed. Recent studies, however, have brought about a change in the views of geologists which is represented by the fact that we shall treat volcanic phenomena in connection with the history of rock water.

In endeavouring to understand the phenomena of volcanoes it is very desirable that the student should understand what goes on in a normal eruption. The writer may, therefore, be warranted in describing some observations which he had an opportunity to make at an eruption of Vesuvius in 1883, when it was possible to behold far more than can ordinarily be discerned in such outbreaks—in fact, the opportunity of a like nature has probably not been enjoyed by any other person interested in volcanic action. In the winter of 1882-'83 Vesuvius was subjected to a succession of slight outbreaks. At the time of the observations about to be noted the crater had been reduced to a cup about three hundred feet in diameter and about a hundred feet deep. The vertical shaft at the bottom, through which the outbursts were taking place, was about a hundred feet across. Taking advantage of a heavy gale from the northwest, it was practicable, notwithstanding the explosions, to climb to the edge of the crater wall. Looking down into the throat of the volcano, although the pit was full of whirling vapours and the heat was so great that the protection of a mask was necessary, it was possible to see something of what was going on at the moment of an explosion.

The pipe of the volcano was full of white-hot lava. Even in a day of sunshine, which was only partly obscured by the vapours which hung about the opening, the heat of the lava made it very brilliant. This mass of fluid rock was in continuous motion, swaying violently up and down the tube. From four to six times a minute, at the moment of its upswaying, it would burst as by the explosion of a gigantic bubble. The upper portion of the mass was blown upward in fragments, the discharge being like that of shot from a fowling piece; the fragments, varying in size from small, shotlike bits to masses larger than a man's head, were shot up sometimes to the height of fifteen hundred feet above the point of ejection. The wind, blowing at the rate of about forty miles an hour, drove the falling bits of rock to the leeward, so that there was no considerable danger to be apprehended from them. Some seconds after the explosion they could be heard rattling down on the farther slope of the cone. Observations on the interval between the discharge and the fall of the fragments made it easy to compute the height to which they were thrown.

At the moment when the lava in the pipe opened for the passage of the vapour which created the explosion the movement, though performed in a fraction of a second, was clearly visible. At first the vapour was colourless; a few score feet up it began to assume a faint, bluish hue; yet higher, when it was more expanded, the tint changed to that of steam, which soon became of the ordinary aspect, and gathered in swift-revolving clouds. The watery nature of the vapour was perfectly evident by its odour. Though commingled with sulphurous-acid gas, it still had the characteristic smell of steam. For a half hour it was possible to watch the successive explosions, and even to make rough sketches of the scene. Occasionally the explosions would come in quick succession, so that the lava was blown out of the tube; again, the pool would merely sway up and down in a manner which could be explained only by supposing that great bubbles of vapour were working their way upward toward the point where they could burst. Each of these bubbles probably filled a large part of the diameter of the pipe. In general, the phenomena recalled the escape of the jet from a geyser, or, to take a familiar instance, that of steam from the pipe of a high-pressure engine. When the heat is great, steam may often be seen at the mouth of the pipe with the same transparent appearance which was observed in the throat of the crater. In the cold air of the mountain the vapour was rapidly condensed, giving a rainbow hue in the clouds when they were viewed at the right angle. The observations were interrupted by the fact that the wind so far died away that large balls of the ejected lava began to fall on the windward side of the cone. These fragments, though cooled and blackened on their outside by their considerable journey up and down through the air, were still so soft that they splashed when they struck the surface of cinders.

Watching the cone from a distance, one could note that from time to time the explosions, increasing in frequency, finally attained a point where the action appeared to be continuous. The transition was comparable to that which we may observe in a locomotive which, when it first gets under way, gives forth occasional jets of steam, but, slowly gaining speed, finally pours forth what to eye and ear alike seem to be a continuous outrush. All the evidence that we have concerning volcanic outbreaks corroborates that just cited, and is to the effect that the essence of the action consists in the outbreak of water vapour at a high temperature, and therefore endowed with very great expansive force. Along with this steam there are many other gases, which always appear to be but a very small part of the whole escape of a vaporous nature—in fact, the volcanic steam, so far as its chemical composition has been ascertained, has the composition which we should expect to find in rock water which had been forced out from the rock by the tensions that high temperature creates.

Because of its conspicuous nature, the lava which flows from most volcanoes, or is blown out from them in the form of finely divided ash, is commonly regarded as the primary feature in a volcanic outbreak. Such is not really the case. Volcanic explosions may occur with very little output of fluid rock, and that which comes forth may consist altogether of the finely divided bits of rock to which we give the name of ash. In fact, in all very powerful explosions we may expect to find no lava flow, but great quantities of this finely divided rock, which when it started from the depths of the earth was in a fluid state, but was blown to pieces by the contained vapour as it approached the surface.

If the student is so fortunate as to behold a flood of lava coming forth from the flanks of a volcano, he will observe that even at the very points of issue, where the material is white-hot and appears to be as fluid as water, the whole surface gives forth steam. On a still day, viewed from a distance, the path of a lava flow is marked by a dense cloud of this vapour which comes forth from it. Even after the lava has cooled so that it is safe to walk upon it, every crevice continues to pour forth steam. Years after the flowing has ceased, and when the rock surface has become cool enough for the growth of certain plants upon it, these crevices still yield steam. It is evident, in a word, that a considerable part of a lava mass, even after it escapes from the volcanic pipes, is water which is intimately commingled with the rock, probably lying between the very finest grains of the heated substance. Yet this lava which has come forth from the volcano has only a portion of the water which it originally contained; a large, perhaps the greater part, has gone forth in the explosive way through the crater. It is reasonably believed that the fluidity of lava is in considerable measure due to the water which it contains, and which serves to give the mass the consistence of paste, the partial fluidity of flour and rock grains being alike brought about in the same manner.

So much of the phenomena of volcanoes as has been above noted is intended to show the large part which interstitial water plays in volcanic action. We shall now turn our attention again to the state of the deeply buried rock water, to see how far we may be able by it to account for these strange explosive actions. When sediments are laid down on the sea floor the materials consist of small, irregularly shaped fragments, which lie tumbled together in the manner of a mass of bricks which have been shot out of a cart. Water is buried in the plentiful interspaces between these bits of stone; as before remarked, the amount of this construction water varies. In general, it is at first not far from one tenth part of the materials. Besides the fluid contained in the distinct spaces, there is a share which is held as combined water in the intimate structure of the crystals, if such there be in the mass. When this water is built into the stone it has the ordinary temperature of the sea bottom. As the depositing actions continue to work, other beds are formed on the top of that which we are considering, and in time the layer may be buried to the depth of many thousand feet. There are reasons to believe that on the floors of the oceans this burial of beds containing water may have brought great quantities of fluid to the depth of twenty miles or more below the outer surface of the rocks.



The effect of deep burial is to increase the heat of strata. This result is accomplished in two different ways. The direct effect arising from the imposition of weight, that derived from the mass of stratified material, is, as we know, to bring about a down-sinking of the earth's crust. In the measure of this falling, heat is engendered precisely as it is by the falling of a trip-hammer on the anvil, with which action, as is well known, we may heat an iron bar to a high temperature. It is true that this down-sinking of the surface under weight is in part due to the compression of the rocks, and in part to the slipping away of the soft underpinning of more or less fluid rock. Yet further it is in some measure brought about by the wrinkling of the crust. But all these actions result in the conversion of energy of position into heat, and so far serve to raise the temperature of the rocks which are concerned in the movements. By far the largest source of heat, however, is that which comes forth from the earth's interior, and which was stored there in the olden day when the matter forming the earth gathered into the mass of our sphere. This, which we may term the original heat, is constantly flowing forth into space, but makes its way slowly, because of the non-conductive, or, as we may phrase it, the "blanketing" effect of the outer rock. The effect of the strata is the same as that exercised by the non-conductive coatings which are put on steam boilers. A more familiar comparison may be had from the blankets used for bedclothing. If on top of the first blanket we put a second, we keep warmer because the temperature of the lower one is elevated by the heat from our body which is held in. In the crust of the earth each layer of rock resists the outflow of heat, and each addition lifts the temperature of all the layers below.

When water-bearing strata have been buried to the depth of ten miles, the temperature of the mass may be expected to rise to somewhere between seven hundred and a thousand degrees Fahrenheit. If the depth attained should be fifty miles, it is likely that the temperature will be five times as great. At such a heat the water which the rocks contain tends in a very vigorous way to expand and pass into the state of vapour. This it can not readily do, because of its close imprisonment; we may say, however, that the tendency toward explosion is almost as great as that of ignited gunpowder. Such powder, if held in small spaces in a mass of cast steel, could be fired without rending the metal. The gases would be retained in a highly compressed, possibly in a fluid form. If now it happens that any of the strain in the rocks such as lead to the production of faults produce fissures leading from the surface into this zone of heated water, the tendency of the rocks containing the fluid, impelled by its expansion, will be to move with great energy toward the point of relief or lessened pressure which the crevice affords. Where rocks are in any way softened, pressure alone will force them into a cavity, as is shown by the fact that beds of tolerably hard clay stones in deep coal mines may be forced into the spaces by the pressure of the rocks which overlie them—in fact, the expense of cutting out these in-creeping rocks is in some British mines a serious item in the cost of the product.

The expansion of the water contained in the deep-lying heated rocks probably is by far the most efficient agent in urging them toward the plane of escape which the fissure affords. When the motion begins it pervades all parts of the rock at once, so that an actual flow is induced. So far as the movement is due to the superincumbent weight, the tendency is at once to increase the temperature of the moving mass. The result is that it may be urged into the fissure perhaps even hotter than when it started from the original bed place. In proportion as the rocky matter wins its way toward the surface, the pressure upon it diminishes, and the contained vapours are freer to expand. Taking on the vaporous form, the bubbles gather to each other, and when they appear at the throat of the volcano they may, if the explosions be infrequent, assume the character above noted in the little eruption of Vesuvius. Where, however, the lava ascends rapidly through the channel, it often attains the open air with so much vapour in it, and this intimately mingled with the mass, that the explosion rends the materials into an impalpably fine powder, which may float in the air for months before it falls to the earth. With a less violent movement the vapour bubbles expand in the lava, but do not rend it apart, thus forming the porous, spongy rock known as pumice. With a yet slower ascent a large part of the steam may go away, so that we may have a flow of lava welling forth from the vent, still giving forth steam, but with a vapour whose tension is so lowered that the matter is not blown apart, though it may boil violently for a time after it escapes into the air.

Although the foregoing relatively simple explanation of volcanic action can not be said as yet to be generally accepted by geologists, the reasons are sufficient which lead us to believe that it accounts for the main features which we observe in this class of explosions—in other words, it is a good working hypothesis. We shall now proceed in the manner which should be followed in all natural inquiry to see if the facts shown in the distribution of volcanoes in space and time confirm or deny the view.

The most noteworthy feature in the distribution of volcanoes is that, at the present time at least, all active vents are limited to the sea floors or to the shore lands within the narrow range of three hundred miles from the coast. Wherever we find a coast line destitute of volcanoes, as is the case with the eastern coast of North and South America, it appears that the shore has recently been carried into the land for a considerable distance—in other words, old coast lines are normally volcanic; that is, here and there have vents of this nature. Thus the North Atlantic, the coasts of which appear to have gone inland for a great distance in geologically recent times, is non-volcanic; while the Pacific coast, which for a long time has remained in its present position, has a singularly continuous line of craters near the shore extending from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego. So uninterrupted is this line of volcanoes that if they were all in eruption it would very likely be possible to journey down the coast without ever being out of sight of the columns of vapour which they would send forth. On the floor of the sea volcanic peaks appear to be very widely distributed; only a few of them—those which attain the surface of the water—are really known, but soundings show long lines of elevations which doubtless represent cones distributed along fault lines, none of the peaks of sufficient height to break the surface of the sea. It is likely, indeed, that for one marine volcano which appears as an island there are scores which do not attain the surface. Volcanic islands exist and generally abound in the ocean and greater seas; every now and then we observe a new one forming as a small island, which is apt to be washed away by the sea shortly after the eruption ceases, the disappearance being speedy, for the reason that the volcanic ashes of which these cones are composed drift away like snow before the movement of the waves.

If the waters of the ocean and seas were drained away so that we could inspect the portion of the earth's surface which they cover as readily as we do the dry lands, the most conspicuous feature would be the innumerable volcanic eminences which lie hidden in these watery realms. Wherever the observer passed from the centres of the present lands he would note within the limits of those fields only mountains, much modified by river action; hills which the rivers had left in scarfing away the strata; and dales which had been carved out by the flowing waters. Near the shore lines of the vanished seas he would begin to find mountains, hills, and vales occasionally commingled with volcanic peaks, those structures built from the materials ejected from the vents. Passing the coast line to the seaward, the hills and dales would quickly disappear, and before long the mountains would vanish from his way, and he would gradually enter on a region of vast rolling plains beset by volcanic peaks, generally accumulated in long ranges, somewhat after the manner of mountains, but differing from those elevations not only in origin but in aspect, the volcanic set of peaks being altogether made up of conical, cup-topped elevations.

A little consideration will show us that the fact of volcanoes being in the limit to the sea floors and to a narrow fringe of shore next certain ocean borders is reconcilable with the view as to their formation which we have adopted. We have already noted the fact that the continents are old, which implies that the parts of the earth which they occupy have long been the seats of tolerably continuous erosion. Now and then they have swung down partly beneath the sea, and during their submersion they received a share of sediments. But, on the whole, all parts of the lands except strips next the coast may be reckoned as having been subjected to an excess of wearing action far exceeding the depositional work. Therefore, as we readily see, underneath such land areas there has been no blanketing process going on which has served to increase the heat in the deep underlying rocks. On the contrary, it would be easy to show, and the reader may see it himself, that the progressive cooling of the earth has probably brought about a lowering of the temperature in all the section from the surface to very great depths, so that not only is the rock water unaffected by increase of heat, but may be actually losing temperature. In other words, the conditions which we assume bring about volcanic action do not exist beneath the old land.

Beneath the seas, except in their very greatest depths, and perhaps even there, the process of forming strata is continually going on. Next the shores, sometimes for a hundred or two miles away to seaward, the principal contribution may be the sediment worn from the lands by the waves and the rivers. Farther away it is to a large extent made up of the remains of animals and plants, which when dying give their skeletons to form the strata. Much of the materials laid down—perhaps in all more than half—consist of volcanic dust, ashes, and pumice, which drifts very long times before it finds its way to the bottom. We have as yet no data of a precise kind for determining the average rate of accumulation of sediments upon the sea floor, but from what is known of the wearing of the lands, and the amount of volcanic waste which finds its way to the seas, it is probably not less than about a foot in ten thousand years; it is most likely, indeed, much to exceed this amount. From data afforded by the eruptions in Java and in other fields where the quantity of volcanic dust contributed to the seas can be estimated, the writer is disposed to believe that the average rate of sedimentation on the sea floors is twice as great as the estimate above given.

Accumulating at the average rate of one foot in ten thousand years, it would require a million years to produce a hundred feet of sediments; a hundred million to form ten thousand feet, and five hundred million to create the thickness of about ten miles of bed. At the rate of two feet in ten thousand years, the thickness accumulated would be about twenty miles. When we come to consider the duration of the earth's geologic history, we shall find reasons for believing that the formation of sediment may have continued for as much as five hundred million years.

The foregoing inquiries concerning the origin of volcanoes show that at the present time they are clearly connected with some process which goes on beneath the sea. An extension of the inquiry indicates that this relation has existed in earlier geological times; for, although the living volcanoes are limited to places within three hundred miles of the sea, we find lava flows, ashes, and other volcanic accumulations far in the interior of the continents, though the energy which brought them forth to the earth's surface has ceased to operate in those parts of the land. In these cases of continental volcanoes it generally, if not always, appears that the cessation of the activity attended the removal of the shore line of the ocean or the disappearance of great inland seas. Thus the volcanoes of the Yellowstone district may have owed their activity to the immense deposits of sediment which were formed in the vast fresh-water lakes which during the later Cretaceous and early Tertiary times stretched along the eastern face of the Rocky Mountains, forming a Mediterranean Sea in North America comparable to that which borders southern Europe. It thus appears that the arrangement of volcanoes with reference to sea basins has held for a considerable period in the past. Still further, when we look backward through the successive formations of the earth's crust we find here and there evidences in old lava flows, in volcanic ashes, and sometimes in the ruins of ancient cones which have been buried in the strata, that igneous activity such as is now displayed in our volcanoes has been, since the earliest days of which we have any record, a characteristic feature of the earth. There is no reason to suppose that this action has in the past been any greater or any less than in modern days. All these facts point to the conclusion that volcanic action is due to the escape of rock water which has been heated to high temperatures, and which drives along with it as it journeys toward a crevice the rock in which it has been confined.

We will now notice some other explanations of volcanic action which have obtained a certain credence. First, we may note the view that these ejections from craters are forced out from a supposed liquid interior of the earth. One of the difficulties of this view is that we do not know that the earth's central parts are fluid—in fact, many considerations indicate that such is not the case. Next, we observe that we not infrequently find two craters, each containing fluid lava, with the fluid standing at differences of height of several thousand feet, although the cones are situated very near each other. If these lavas came from a common internal reservoir, the principles which control the action of fluids would cause the lavas to be at the same elevation. Moreover, this view does not provide any explanation of the fact that volcanoes are in some way connected with actions which go on on the floors of great water basins. There is every reason to believe that the fractures in the rocks under the land are as numerous and deep-going as those beneath the sea. If it were a mere question of access to a fluid interior, volcanoes should be equally distributed on land and sea floors. Last of all, this explanation in no wise accounts for the intermixture of water with the fluid rock. We can not well believe that water could have formed a part of the deeper earth in the old days of original igneous fusion. In that time the water must have been all above the earth in the vaporous state.

Another supposition somewhat akin to that mentioned is that the water of the seas finds its way down through crevices beneath the floors of the ocean, and, there coming in contact with an internal molten mass, is converted into steam, which, along with the fluid rock, escapes from the volcanic vent. In addition to the objections urged to the preceding view, we may say concerning this that the lava, if it came forth under these circumstances, would emerge by the short way, that by which the water went down, and not by the longer road, by which it may be discharged ten thousand feet or more above the level of the sea.

The foregoing general account of volcanic action should properly be followed by some account of what takes place in characteristic eruptions. This history of these matters is so ample that it would require the space of a great encyclopaedia to contain them. We shall therefore be able to make only certain selections which may serve to illustrate the more important facts.

By far the best-known volcanic cone is that of Vesuvius, which has been subjected to tolerably complete record for about twenty-four hundred years. About 500 B.C. the Greeks, who were ever on the search for places where they might advantageously plant colonies, settled on the island of Ischia, which forms the western of what is now termed the Bay of Naples. This island was well placed for tillage as well as for commerce, but the enterprising colonists were again and again disturbed by violent outbreaks of one or more volcanoes which lie in the interior of this island; at one time it appears that the people were driven away by these explosions.

In these pre-Christian days Vesuvius, then known as Monte Somma, was not known to be a volcano, it never having shown any trace of eruption. It appeared as a regularly shaped mountain, somewhat over two thousand feet high, with a central depression about three miles in diameter at the top, and perhaps two miles over at the bottom, which was plainlike in form, with some lakes of bitter water in the centre. The most we know of this central cavity is connected with the insurrection of the slaves led by Spartacus, the army of the revolters having camped for a time on the plain encircled by the crater walls. The outer slopes of the mountain afforded then a remarkably fertile soil; some traces, indeed, of the fertility have withstood the modern eruptions which have desolated its flanks. This wonderful Bay of Naples became the seat of the fairest Roman culture, as well as of a very extended commerce. Toward the close of the first century of our era the region was perhaps richer, more beautifully cultivated, and the seat of a more elaborate luxury than any part of the shore line of Europe at the present day. At the foot of the mountain, on the eastern border of the bay, the city of Pompeii, with a population of about fifty thousand souls, was a considerable port, with an extensive commerce, particularly with Egypt. The charming town was also a place of great resort for rich Egyptians who cared to dwell in Europe. On the flanks of the mountain there was at least one large town, Herculaneum, which appears to have been an association of rich men's residences. On the eastern side of the bay, at a point now known as Baiae, the Roman Government had a naval station, which in the year 79 was under the command of the celebrated Pliny, a most voluminous though unscientific writer on matters of natural history. With him in that year there was his nephew, commonly known as the younger Pliny, then a student of eighteen years, but afterward himself an author. These facts are stated in some detail, for they are all involved in the great tragedy which we are now to describe.

For many years there had been no eruption about the Bay of Naples. The volcanoes on Ischia had been still for a century or more, and the various circular openings on the mainland had been so far quiet that they were not recognised as volcanoes. Even the inquisitive Pliny, with his great learning, was so little of a geologist that he did not know the signs which indicate the seat of volcanic action, though they are among the most conspicuous features which can meet the eye. The Greeks would doubtless have recognised the meaning of these physical signs. In the year 63 the shores of the Bay of Naples were subjected to a distinctive earthquake. Others less severe followed in subsequent years. In an early morning in the year 79, a servant aroused the elder Pliny at Baiae with the news that there was a wonderful cloud rising from Monte Somma. The younger Pliny states that in form it was like a pine tree, the common species in Italy having a long trunk with a crown of foliage on its summit, shaped like an umbrella. This crown of the column grew until it spread over the whole landscape, darkening the field of view. Shortly after, a despatch boat brought a message to the admiral, who at once set forth for the seat of the disturbance. He invited his nephew to accompany him, but the prudent young man relates in his letters to Tacitus, from whom we know the little concerning the eruption which has come down to us, that he preferred to do some reading which he had to attend to. His uncle, however, went straight forward, intending to land at some point on the shore at the foot of the cone. He found the sea, however, so high that a landing was impossible; moreover, the fall of rock fragments menaced the ship. He therefore cruised along the shore for some distance, landing at a station probably near the present village of Castellamare. At this point the fall of ashes and pumice was very great, but the sturdy old Roman had his dinner and slept after it. There is testimony that he snored loudly, and was aroused only when his servants began to fear that the fall of ashes and stones would block the way out of his bedchamber. When he came forth with his attendants, their heads protected by planks resting on pillows, he set out toward Pompeii, which was probably the place where he sought to land. After going some distance, the brave man fell dead, probably from heart disease; it is said that he was at the time exceedingly asthmatic. No sooner were his servants satisfied that the life had passed from his body than they fled. The remains were recovered after the eruption had ceased. The younger Pliny further relates that after his uncle left, the cloud from the mountain became so dense that in midday the darkness was that of midnight, and the earthquake shocks were so violent that wagons brought to the courtyard of the dwelling to bear the members of the household away were rolled this way and that by the quakings of the earth.

Save for the above-mentioned few and unimportant details concerning the eruption, we have no other contemporaneous account. We have, indeed, no more extended story until Dion Cassius, writing long after the event, tells us that Herculaneum and Pompeii were overwhelmed; but he mixes his story with fantastic legends concerning the appearance of gods and demons, as is his fashion in his so-called history. Of all the Roman writers, he is perhaps the most untrustworthy. Fortunately, however, we have in the deposits of ashes which were thrown out at the time of this great eruption some basis for interpreting the events which took place. It is evident that for many hours the Vesuvian crater, which had been dormant for at least five hundred years, blew out with exceeding fury. It poured forth no lava streams; the energy of the uprushing vapours was too great for that. The molten rock in their path was blown into fine bits, and all the hard material cast forth as free dust. In the course of the eruption, which probably did not endure more than two days, possibly not more than twenty-four hours, ash enough was poured forth to form a thick layer which spread far over the neighbouring area of land and sea floor. It covered the cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii to a depth of more than twenty feet, and over a circle having a diameter of twenty miles the average thickness may have been something like this amount. So deep was it that, although almost all the people of these towns survived, it did not seem to them worth while to undertake to excavate their dwelling places. At Pompeii the covering did not overtop the higher of the low houses. An amount of labour which may be estimated at not over one thirtieth of the value, or at least the cost which had been incurred in building the city, would have restored it to a perfectly inhabitable state. The fact that it was utterly abandoned probably indicates a certain superstitious view in connection with the eruption.

The fact that the people had time to flee from Herculaneum and Pompeii, bearing with them their more valuable effects, is proved by the excavations at these places which have been made in modern times. The larger part of Pompeii and a considerable portion of Herculaneum have been thus explored; only rarely have human remains been found. Here and there, particularly in the cellars, the labourers engaged in the work of disinterring the cities note that their picks enter a cavity; examining the space, they find they have discovered the remains of a human skeleton. It has recently been learned that by pouring soft plaster of Paris into these openings a mould may be obtained which gives in a surprisingly perfect manner the original form of the body. The explanation of this mould is as follows: Along with the fall of cinders in an eruption there is always a great descent of rain, arising from the condensation of the steam which pours forth from the volcano. This water, mingling with the ashes, forms a pasty mud, which often flows in vast streams, and is sometimes known as mud lava. This material has the qualities of cement—that is, it shortly "sets" in a manner comparable to plaster of Paris or ordinary mortar. During the eruption of 79 this mud penetrated all the low places in Pompeii, covering the bodies of the people, who were suffocated by the fumes of the volcanic emanations. We know that these people were not drowned by the inundation; their attitudes show that they were dead before the flowing matter penetrated to where they lay.