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STRANDED
 STRANDED
A STORY OF FRONTIER SURVIVAL

MATTHEW P. MAYO
FIVE STAR
A part of Gale, Cengage Learning
Copyright © 2017 by Matthew P. Mayo
Five Star™ Publishing, a part of Cengage Learning, Inc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents are either the product of the author’s
imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

No part of this work covered by the copyright herein may

be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any
means, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law,
without the prior written permission of the copyright
owner.

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Providing these sites should not be construed as an
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-

PUBLICATION DATA

Names: Mayo, Matthew P., author.

ThreeTitle: Stranded : a story of frontier survival /
Matthew P. Mayo.
 Description: First edition. | Waterville, Maine : Five
Star Publishing, a part of
Cengage Learning, Inc., 2017.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016058125 | ISBN
9781432834043 (hardcover) | ISBN 1432834045
(hardcover)
Subjects: LCSH: Wilderness survival—West (U.S.)—
History—19th century— Fiction. | Frontier and
pioneer life—West (U.S.)—History—19th century—
Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Historical. | FICTION /
Westerns. | GSAFD: Biographical fiction. | Historical
fiction. | Western stories.
Classification: LCC PS3613.A963 S77 2017 | DDC
813/.6—dc23
LC record available at
https://lccn.loc.gov/2016058125

First Edition. First Printing: May 2017

Find us on Facebook–
https://www.facebook.com/FiveStarCengage
Visit our website–
http://www.gale.cengage.com/fivestar/
Contact Five Star™ Publishing at
FiveStar@cengage.com

Printed in the United States of America

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 21 20 19 18 17
 To two amazing women:
Janette Riker, for never giving up,
and my dear wife, Jennifer,
for the same reason—and so many more.
 “Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!”
—The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1798)

“Nature, red in tooth and claw.”

—In Memoriam,
Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1850)

“Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear—

not absence of fear.”
—Pudd’nhead Wilson,
Mark Twain (1894)
 The following account is based on the true story of Janette Riker’s
struggle to survive the harrowing winter of 1849–1850, stranded and
alone in the Northern Rocky Mountains.
 PROLOGUE

“You’re old . . . why don’t you die and get it over with?”
Janey’s whispered words hung in the close air of the small room,
between her and the old, wrinkled woman in the bed behind her.
The girl heard the quiet, grinding gears of the wooden clock on the
cold fireplace mantle. Rain peppered the window and a gust of wind
rattled the sash before moving on.
She was sure the old lady heard her. Janey had never sounded so
mean before. Her mother’s voice in her head said, “That’s the
trouble, Janey. You never think.” But it was too late to take it back.
She didn’t know what made her say such things, did not know how
to stop.
Janey’s eyes half closed and she smiled. Maybe she didn’t want to
take it back. After all, before she left for her silly job at the hospital
this morning, hadn’t her mother nagged her about telling the truth?
Janey stared through the rain-smeared window panes and
listened to the wind. She thought about all that had happened to her
over the past year. Too much, that’s what. This had been the worst
ever of her fourteen years—the war in Europe had ruined her life. It
all began when her father had shown her that map. Over there, he
had said, tapping France.
Over there. Like the song.
All to help people he didn’t even know. She told him she didn’t
want him to go, had begged him to stay. It was too far. He’d never
come back to her, she said. But he hadn’t changed his mind.
And now he was gone. The telegram said something about him
being lost in action. Janey didn’t want to think about what that really
meant. But she knew.
She also knew her mother felt as bad as she did. And knowing
they had this horrible thing in common made it worse. Janey sighed,
then stopped—she was beginning to sound like her mother.
 “Janey.”
The voice startled the girl. It was not what she expected, but
strong and clear, like the old woman’s eyes. Janey turned from the
window.
Those odd, bright eyes gazed at Janey, eyes that looked as if they
belonged to someone Janey’s age, not set in a withered face. It was
as if the old woman was always about to smile.
“Janey, please do me a favor.”
The old woman, Janey’s very own great-grandmother, hadn’t said
five words to Janey in the two weeks she and her mother had been
there. Not that Janey had tried talking to her. Why should she? She
didn’t want to be here any more than the old woman wanted them
in her house. They’d been forced to move in, all because of that
horrible telegram and the stupid, stupid war.
“What?” The word came out tight, like a finger snap. Janey tried
to look as though she didn’t care, as if she might ignore the old
woman anyway.
“I said I would like you to do me a favor, please.”
All the while the old woman wore that half smile, as if she knew
something no one else did. A favor? Hadn’t she heard what Janey
said to her?
The old woman reached a bony hand, like a pink old bird’s claw,
into the front of her nightgown and lifted a worn brass skeleton key
that hung on a thin leather thong around her neck. Janey had not
seen it before, but it looked like it had always been there.
“Here, Janey.” She slipped it with effort up and over her head, her
long white hair gathered in a soft bun. “I would like you to take this
key, please.” She held her long, bony arm out, the key dangling from
it, hanging in the air between them.
Janey stared at the key, eyes wide. It could be a key to anything.
This house was full of mysteries, there were rooms she hadn’t yet
seen. Maybe the old woman was giving her gold, jewels!
Then Janey’s eyes narrowed again. Why would she do that? No,
she was an old, crazy woman. And I’m stuck with her all day. And
the day after that. And the day after that.
 “There is a steamer trunk in the attic. This unlocks it.”
The old lady continued to hold the key, and still wore that
annoying almost-smile.
A trunk in the attic? Anything had to be better than sitting here,
watching an old woman who didn’t talk, who refused to do them all
a favor and die. Older than dirt, that’s what Janey’s friend, Beatrice
Little, had said about her own grandfather. He had lived with
Beatrice and her family for a whole year before he finally died one
night in his sleep.
Janey smiled. She liked that phrase, “older than dirt.” She’d save
it for later, for when the old woman was really getting on her nerves.
“Why? What’s in it?”
“There is a small bundle, wrapped in pretty beaded cloth.” Janey
stared at her for a few seconds more.
“If you would be so kind as to bring it to me.”
Janey sighed and reached out, snatching the key. The old woman
let her hand drop, laid back against her pillows, and watched Janey.
They regarded each other like that for a few seconds, then Janey
stomped across the room to the door.
“Bring an oil lamp, dear. It’s dark up there.”
Janey turned one last time in the doorway, her bottom jaw
outthrust, teeth set, her eyes half closed. It was her best angry look,
one that drove her mother crazy. As she left the room, Janey said,
“I’m not your slave, you know.” But she paused passing the kitchen
doorway, and with a loud, long sigh retrieved an oil lamp and a
couple of wooden matches.
“Dark, ha,” she said, walking down the long hallway.Why didn’t
the old lady have electricity in the entire house and not just the
kitchen? Everyone else in the world had electricity. It was 1917, after
all.
Janey mounted the stairs two at a time, wincing as the wood
creaked and popped beneath her shoes. In truth, she was only too
glad to get out of that stuffy sickroom. She doubted the old bird
would last much longer, especially in this nasty weather.
 The attic door stood closed above her, at the very top of the
stairs. It looked like all the other doors in the house, polished wood
the orange-brown of a bold sunset. Janey had yet to go up the
narrow stairwell. Her mother said there was nothing much up there
but old things, and a window at the gabled end. She’d go up there
and find that trunk and open it with the old lady’s magic key. Then
she’d grab the beaded bundle—probably silly old love letters.
A smile spread over Janey’s face. Now there’s an idea, she
thought as she climbed the dusty steps. What if they are love
letters? Who’s to stop me reading them? The old lady can’t walk, not
without much help, anyway, and Mother’s not here. But I am, and I
have the key.
She looked down at the plain, wor n brass key in her palm. It
almost made her forget what a spooky place the attic promised to
be. Almost.
As she stepped upward, one tread at a time, she wondered if
maybe the old woman wasn’t tr ying to trap her up there. Janey
paused before the narrow door one step above her. She grasped the
knob, turned it. The door inched away, swinging inward toward the
darkness of the attic.
Janey swallowed, her throat dry. The glass globe of the oil lamp
jostled, made a hollow chattering sound. She hugged it closer. She’d
made it this far, might as well get the bundle and get out of there.
She could read the letters on the stairs. If they were letters at all.
She nudged the door open wider, enough for her to pass through,
but first she peered in.
The attic was brighter than she expected. Directly across from her
was a dusty window, square, but set into the wall on end, as if it
were a diamond. It was the same window she’d seen when they first
arrived at the old woman’s house. Janey had liked how it looked,
fancy even though it wasn’t.
Beneath the window, tucked to one side, sat a dust-covered
trunk. Had to be the one. Janey stepped in and looked around. The
attic was filled with all sorts of stuff, mostly junk.
 She took a deep breath, let it out. “May as well get it over with.”
She turned her gaze once more toward the trunk, but couldn’t help
taking in the few other items stuck up there. Really, there wasn’t
much, now that her eyes had gotten used to the ill-lit space.
The attic smelled of dryness, of old things. She saw dust trapped
in dull light from the window. The sky had darkened more and the
big tree out front waved its branches as if it were a slow dancer.
A tall brass lamp stood to the left, its cloth shade in tatters, like
an old flower not wanting to shed its petals. Closer to her, also on
the left, though tucked further under the eaves, an open-top crate of
books sat under a thick film of dust. To the right, a wooden drying
rack lay on its side like a bony, tired dog. Then there was the trunk.
Janey walked to it, trying to ignore the squeaks and pops of the
attic’s plank floor. Without breathing, she stuck the key into the dark,
glaring keyhole at the top of the trunk’s face. Her hand shook
slightly. “Silly girl,” she whispered, echoing something her mother
often said to herself when she made a mistake knitting.
There was resistance inside the mechanism and she squeezed the
key firmer between her thumb and forefinger. She was rewarded
with a click-click—something deep inside slid into place.
Before lifting the lid, Janey held the rawhide thong a moment,
then looped it over her head. She lifted her hair, letting the thin
strap rest against her neck. The key settled at the same spot on her
chest as on the old lady.
With a quick breath, Janey knelt before the trunk, unlatched two
buckles on leather straps, and lifted the lid.
There was so little in there. At the top of the tr unk sat a tray
covered in paper of delicate blue flowers with three evenly spaced
compartments, but they were all empty. She grasped the dividers,
lifted out the tray, and set it on the floor. Inside the dark bulk of the
tr unk, atop a few old, folded cloth items—quilts, maybe—sat the
beaded-cloth-wrapped bundle. She lifted it and found it surprisingly
heavy. The covering felt like leather, but old and delicate. It
reminded Janey of the papery skin on the backs of the old lady’s
hands and arms.
 What did the old lady want with this bundle, anyway? Sure, the
beads were pretty. Or maybe had been at one time. Now, though,
they were dull, and some had fallen off. The thin threads holding
them were frayed and loose. As Janey held the bundle, a small white
bead, then a blue one, popped free and rolled along the rough plank
floor before finding a crack between boards where they disappeared.
The girl sighed again. Just like an old person, she thought, to
want something that was useless. Then she would ask to be
propped up in bed. She would hold this thing in her bony, trembling
hands and get all wet and blubbery over it, whatever it was.
Janey felt through the soft, supple cloth.What was inside? A book,
maybe? Yes, that’s what it felt like. A book.
And then, somehow, Janey knew what it was. It was a diar y.
Maybe the old lady’s diary from when she was a girl. Oooh, think of
all the juicy details of the old bird’s life from what—a hundred years
ago? Ha! She could only imagine what it might reveal . . . “I saw a
boy today. He was cute . . . for a farmhand. But I didn’t dare say
anything to him because this is the olden times and we don’t do
things like that. Maybe someday people will have guts to speak to
each other! Until then I’ll write silly little girl things in my diary.”
Janey snickered at her wicked thoughts. And then she untied the
narrow leather wrappings from around the bundle. Three more
beads popped free and dropped, despite the care with which she
tried to hold it. The leather covering flopped apart to reveal what
she’d thought it might be—a book with plain, brown, hardboard
covers. It was thick, though, more than an inch, and measured
longer than her hand and nearly twice as wide.
Janey sat with the book on her lap, resting on the opened leather
wrap. She wanted to open the cover, to see what it said, but
something told her that if she did, somehow the old lady would
know.
Of course she’ll know. You’ve undone the threadbare wrapping.
But Janey knew it was more than that. She knew that reading the
book was something that once done could never be undone. And as
soon as the thought occurred to her, it was replaced with another—
that she was acting silly.
A tentative smile crept onto her face. Then she heard the little
voice, the one she’d been listening to lots lately. It told her, almost in
a chant, that she should read the old lady’s secret thoughts. Go
ahead, said the voice, it will be a stitch!
And so, Janey Pendergast opened the old book’s cover and began
to read.
 THURSDAY, JUNE 14, 1849

Waiting, waiting, waiting. I am dog-tired of waiting. I wish this

infernal trip had commenced weeks ago. Once I have set my mind to
a thing, I do not like to wait. I prefer to get on with the task, even if
it is as big as moving from Missouri to Oregon Territory. But wishing
will not speed the plow. I am inclined to believe what Grandpa Barr
used to say: “Wish in one hand, mess in t’other, see which fills
faster.”
A poet he was not, but I will say he was usually more right than
wrong.
In truth, I am in no hurry to leave this place, the only home
Thomas and William and I have ever known. But even if there was a
way to call a halt to the trip, I am not sure I would want to. I would
never tell the boys that, as they think I am dead-set against this
venture. And it does not pay to let your annoying brothers think they
understand you.
After so many months, then weeks, then days, it is hardly
believable we have come down to a short stack of hours. We are
sleeping for the last time in the house my father and mother built
themselves with little help from anyone else. They came to this
place, Bloomington, Missouri (back when it was still known, and I do
not jest, as Box Ankle), as a young couple, newly married, far from
their families back east in New York.
Tomorrow, after living here for nearly eighteen years and raising
three children on this farm, Papa will move the family forward,
taking us farther still from everyone we know. But we will leave one
behind, the most important of all. Mama. She will stay here, tended,
or rather her grave will be tended, by Cousin Merdin and his young
family.
Funny to think he used to pick on me whenever they’d visit for a
special occasion, but look at us now. I am fourteen, and he is all
grown up, has a wife in Ethel. I know I shouldn’t say it but she is a
mousy thing, all bony fingers and shoulders, big eyes and pulled-
back hair. It’s as if she might fall to pieces if she doesn’t keep
everything about herself held like a fist, so tight the knuckles are
white.
Of course, I expect any woman in her shoes would feel pinched,
what with Merdin for a husband and those young’uns, a boy and a
girl, if you please. Little Elmer and Ethel, the girl being named for
her mama (now wouldn’t that be confusing?), are two of the most
troublesome children I have ever met. They weren’t here ten
minutes this afternoon when they turned loose all the hens I had
spent an hour shooing back into the coop. I needed them in there so
I could gather up the six we planned on taking along before we lit
out in the morning.
I about swore a blue streak, but kept my teeth tight, especially
when those youngsters hugged their skinny mama’s skirts and all
but dared me to light into them. And I would have, too, bony Ethel
or no, but Papa caught my eye across the dooryard and stared me
down. He did it as he always does, silent-like in that way he has of
saying a whole lot without saying anything at all. He sort of looks
down his long nose, lips off to one side as if he is considering a
purchase. But it’s his eyes that say it all. I laid off them kids and
went about gathering the hens. And all the while Ethel’s cooing and
hugging her varmints because she thinks the chickens gave them a
fright.
Those twins are playing her like a tight-strung violin. Good luck on
the farm, I say.
I see I am stomping a path around the real reason I wanted to
write in my new journal tonight, but all I can think of is how sad we
will be come morning when we leave this place behind, when we
leave Mama behind. For the life of me I cannot see how Papa will be
able to do it.
I asked him that two weeks ago when I brought him hot
cornbread and cold spring water out to the stone wall marking our
south field from Mr. Tilden’s. Papa saw me and waved. Then he
finished cultivating the row, and guided Clem on over.
Clem, our old mule, stood off by the thinnest excuse for a tree the
farm has, a whip of alder barely eight feet tall, where there was
good tree shade not but a few steps away along the wall. As Papa
says, Clem never was much for thinking things through. As he
approached, one of that mule’s long ears flicked, waggling at a
pesky bluebottle. I was about to ask Papa if there would be
bluebottles out in Oregon, but he looked tired, too tired and sweaty
to answer fool questions from me.
Papa wiped his eyes with his shirtsleeve, then slowly, like he was
a hundred years old, he lowered himself to a patch of grass on the
shady side of the wall. He sighed, his eyes closed as if he was
napping.
I swear I wasn’t going to ask him a thing, only sit beside him
while he chewed the cornbread—Mama’s recipe. It made me feel so
proud that he liked my cooking, even said it was getting close to
Mama’s. Now that was a compliment I could take all day long.
Then Papa cleared his throat and looked at me. “Janette, it is too
late, I know, but I want to tell you I am sorry for putting you
through what we are about to do. The trip west and all.”
This caught me by surprise. I could not bear Papa apologizing to
me. I don’t recall hearing him apologize to anyone, ever. I started to
say something but he held up a big, knuckled hand between us, as if
to say, “Whoa now.”
There were the dark nubs of his calluses, that bandolier of a
white scar running across his palm, the visible trace of a bad cut
he’d gotten from a fouled plow line years before. I held my peace,
wondering what I’d said to make him say such a thing. I felt about
ready to crack in a thousand pieces and scatter in a stiff Missouri
breeze.
“I have talked for a long time about moving westward, but never
really asked your opinion of the trip, nor of your brothers.”
He smiled and the white lines by his eyes, what he called his
“squintin’ wrinkles,” disappeared for a moment. Even with the
wrinkles, he looked younger when he smiled. Maybe everybody looks
younger when they smile.
“So tell me, girl.”
He crossed his long legs. “What is your opinion of the venture?”
He popped cornbread into his mouth and looked at me while he
chewed.
All I could think of to say was that I doubted the boys wanted
anything more than to travel west to Oregon. I unwrapped the tea
towel I’d swaddled around the cornbread. It was still warm and
moist under my hand. Even on a sticky day, warm cornbread is a
welcome thing, one of those little mysteries of life, as Mama used to
call them.
Papa accepted another square, held it in one of his knobby hands
in his lap. He looked at me with his blue-gray eyes. “That isn’t
exactly what I asked, now is it?” I could tell he was serious because
he kept that sly smile tamped down.
I looked at my bare feet, all grimy around the edges, dusted on
top like they’d been powder-puffed. They were dirty enough that
they didn’t much look like they belonged on my body. “No sir.”
Then I gave him that hard stare right back. “Won’t it be about
impossible for you to leave this place . . . and Mama . . . behind?” I
regretted saying it near as soon as it jumped out of my mouth. I am
prone to saying a thing that’s bothering me, then worry about it too
late. But that is the way I am and I cannot do a thing about it.
Papa sat quiet, then sort of leaked out a sigh. His eyes looked
tired. “Your mama and me, we built this place with nothing much
more than our hands, a few tools—a spade, whipsaw, and my
double-bit axe. And one old horse, Clem’s mama.”
He cut his eyes to the sad-looking affair that was Clem, baking in
the sun, the row cultivator not moving an inch.
“Then you children come along and put your own shoulders to the
wheel, and that right there is what makes a good farm. It’s family.”
He had changed the course of his answer, which was fine by me.
He bit the cornbread, chewed longer than he needed, nodding in
Another random document with
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 101 M. de Humboldt (Kosmos, p. 116) speaks of nine returns of
Halley’s Comet, the comet observed in China in 1378 being
identified with this. But whether we take 1378 or 1380 for the
appearance in that century, if we begin with that, we have only
seven appearances, namely, in 1378 or 1380, in 1456, in 1531, in
1607, in 1682, in 1759, and in 1835.

Sect. 7.—Application of the Newtonian Theory to the Figure of the

Earth.

The Heavens had thus been consulted respecting the Newtonian

doctrine, and the answer given, over and over again, in a thousand
453 different forms, had been, that it was true; nor had the most
persevering cross-examination been able to establish any thing of
contradiction or prevarication. The same question was also to be put
to the Earth and the Ocean, and we must briefly notice the result.

According to the Newtonian principles, the form of the earth must

be a globe somewhat flattened at the poles. This conclusion, or at
least the amount of the flattening, depends not only upon the
existence and law of attraction, but upon its belonging to each
particle of the mass separately; and thus the experimental
confirmation of the form asserted from calculation, would be a
verification of the theory in its widest sense. The application of such
a test was the more necessary to the interests of science, inasmuch
as the French astronomers had collected from their measures, and
had connected with their Cartesian system, the opinion that the earth
was not oblate but oblong. Dominic Cassini had measured seven
degrees of latitude from Amiens to Perpignan, in 1701, and found
them to decrease in going from south to north. The prolongation of
this measure to Dunkirk confirmed the same result. But if the
Newtonian doctrine was true, the contrary ought to be the case, and
the degrees ought to increase in proceeding towards the pole.

The only answer which the Newtonians could at this time make to
the difficulty thus presented, was, that an arc so short as that thus
measured, was not to be depended upon for the determination of
such a question; inasmuch as the inevitable errors of observation
might exceed the differences which were the object of research. It
would, undoubtedly, have become the English to have given a more
complete answer, by executing measurements under circumstances
not liable to this uncertainty. The glory of doing this, however, they
for a long time abandoned to other nations. The French undertook
the task with great spirit. 102 In 1733, in one of the meetings of the
French Academy, when this question was discussed, De la
Condamine, an ardent and eager man, proposed to settle this
question by sending members of the Academy to measure a degree
of the meridian near the equator, in order to compare it with the
French degrees, and offered himself for the expedition. Maupertuis,
in like manner, urged the necessity of another expedition to measure
a degree in the neighborhood of the pole. The government received
the applications favorably, and these remarkable scientific missions
were sent out at the national expense.
102 Bailly, iii. 11.

454 As soon as the result of these measurements was known,

there was no longer any doubt as to the fact of the earth’s
oblateness, and the question only turned upon its quantity. Even
before the return of the academicians, the Cassinis and Lacaille had
measured the French arc, and found errors which subverted the
former result, making the earth oblate to the amount of 1⁄168th of its
diameter. The expeditions to Peru and to Lapland had to struggle
with difficulties in the execution of their design, which make their
narratives resemble some romantic history of irregular warfare,
rather than the monotonous records of mere measurements. The
equatorial degree employed the observers not less than eight years.
When they did return, and the results were compared, their
discrepancy, as to quantity, was considerable. The comparison of the
Peruvian and French arcs gave an ellipticity of nearly 1⁄314th, that of
the Peruvian and Swedish arcs gave 1⁄213th for its value.

Newton had deduced from his theory, by reasonings of singular

ingenuity, an ellipticity of 1⁄230th; but this result had been obtained by
supposing the earth homogeneous. If the earth be, as we should
most readily conjecture it to be, more dense in its interior than at its
exterior, its ellipticity will be less than that of a homogeneous
spheroid revolving in the same time. It does not appear that Newton
was aware of this; but Clairaut, in 1743, in his Figure of the Earth,
proved this and many other important results of the attraction of the
particles. Especially he established that, in proportion as the fraction
expressing the Ellipticity becomes smaller, that expressing the
Excess of the polar over the equatorial gravity becomes larger; and
he thus connected the measures of the ellipticity obtained by means
of Degrees, with those obtained by means of Pendulums in different
latitudes.

The altered rate of a Pendulum when carried towards the equator,

had been long ago observed by Richer and Halley, and had been
quoted by Newton as confirmatory of his theory. Pendulums were
swung by the academicians who measured the degrees, and
confirmed the general character of the results.
 But having reached this point of the verification of the Newtonian
theory, any additional step becomes more difficult. Many excellent
measures, both of Degrees and of Pendulums, have been made
since those just mentioned. The results of the Arcs 103 is an Ellipticity
of 1⁄298th;—of the Pendulums, an Ellipticity of about 1⁄285th. This
difference 455 is considerable, if compared with the quantities
themselves; but does not throw a shadow of doubt on the truth of the
theory. Indeed, the observations of each kind exhibit irregularities
which we may easily account for, by ascribing them to the unknown
distribution of the denser portions of the earth; but which preclude
the extreme of accuracy and certainty in our result.
103 Airy, Fig. Earth, p. 230.

But the near agreement of the determination, from Degrees and

from Pendulums, is not the only coincidence by which the doctrine is
confirmed. We can trace the effect of the earth’s Oblateness in
certain minute apparent motions of the stars; for the attraction of the
sun and moon on the protuberant matter of the spheroid produces
the Precession of the equinoxes, and a Nutation of the earth’s axis.
The Precession had been known from the time of Hipparchus, and
the existence of Nutation was foreseen by Newton; but the quantity
is so small, that it required consummate skill and great labor in
Bradley to detect it by astronomical observation. Being, however, so
detected, its amount, as well as that of the Precession, gives us the
means of determining the amount of Terrestrial Ellipticity, by which
the effect is produced. But it is found, upon calculation, that we
cannot obtain this determination without assuming some law of
density in the homogeneous strata of which we suppose the earth to
consist 104 The density will certainly increase in proceeding towards
the centre, and there is a simple and probable law of this increase,
which will give 1⁄300th for the Ellipticity, from the amount of two lunar
Inequalities (one in latitude and one in longitude), which are
produced by the earth’s oblateness. Nearly the same result follows
from the quantity of Nutation. Thus every thing tends to convince us
that the ellipticity cannot deviate much from this fraction.
104 Airy, Fig. Earth, p. 235.

[2d Ed.] [I ought not to omit another class of phenomena in which

the effects of the Earth’s Oblateness, acting according to the law of
universal gravitation, have manifested themselves;—I speak of the
Moon’s Motion, as affected by the Earth’s Ellipticity. In this case, as
in most others, observation anticipated theory. Mason had inferred
from lunar observations a certain Inequality in Longitude, depending
upon the distance of the Moon’s Node from the Equinox. Doubts
were entertained by astronomers whether this inequality really
existed; but Laplace showed that such an inequality would arise from
the oblate form of the earth; and that its magnitude might serve to
456 determine the amount of the oblateness. Laplace showed, at the
same time, that along with this Inequality in Longitude there must be
an Inequality in Latitude; and this assertion Burg confirmed by the
discussion of observations. The two Inequalities, as shown in the
observations, agree in assigning to the earth’s form an Ellipticity of
305th.]
1⁄

Sect. 8.—Confirmation of the Newtonian Theory by Experiments on

Attraction.

The attraction of all the parts of the earth to one another was thus
proved by experiments, in which the whole mass of the earth is
concerned. But attempts have also been made to measure the
attraction of smaller portions; as mountains, or artificial masses. This
is an experiment of great difficulty; for the attraction of such masses
must be compared with that of the earth, of which it is a scarcely
perceptible fraction; and, moreover, in the case of mountains, the
effect of the mountain will be modified or disguised by unknown or
unappreciable circumstances. In many of the measurements of
degrees, indications of the attraction of mountains had been
perceived; but at the suggestion of Maskelyne, the experiment was
carefully made, in 1774, upon the mountain Schehallien, in Scotland,
the mountain being mineralogically surveyed by Playfair. The result
obtained was, that the attraction of the mountain drew the plumb-line
about six seconds from the vertical; and it was deduced from this, by
Hutton’s calculations, that the density of the earth was about once
and four-fifths that of Schehallien, or four and a half times that of
water.

Cavendish, who had suggested many of the artifices in this

calculation, himself made the experiment in the other form, by using
leaden balls, about nine inches diameter. This observation was
conducted with an extreme degree of ingenuity and delicacy, which
could alone make it valuable; and the result agreed very nearly with
that of the Schehallien experiment, giving for the density of the earth
about five and one-third times that of water. Nearly the same result
was obtained by Carlini, in 1824, from observations of the pendulum,
made at a point of the Alps (the Hospice, on Mount Cenis) at a
considerable elevation above the average surface of the earth.
~Additional material in the 3rd edition.~ 457

Sect. 9.—Application of the Newtonian Theory to the Tides.

 We come, finally, to that result, in which most remains to be done
for the verification of the general law of attraction—the subject of the
Tides. Yet, even here, the verification is striking, as far as
observations have been carried. Newton’s theory explained, with
singular felicity, all the prominent circumstances of the tides then
known;—the difference of spring and neap tides; the effect of the
moon’s and sun’s declination and parallax; even the difference of
morning and evening tides, and the anomalous tides of particular
places. About, and after, this time, attempts were made both by the
Royal Society of England, and by the French Academy, to collect
numerous observations but these were not followed up with sufficient
perseverance. Perhaps, indeed, the theory had not been at that time
sufficiently developed but the admirable prize-essays of Euler,
Bernoulli, and D’Alembert, in 1740, removed, in a great measure,
this deficiency. These dissertations supplied the means of bringing
this subject to the same test to which all the other consequences of
gravitation had been subjected;—namely, the calculation of tables,
and the continued and orderly comparison of these with observation.
Laplace has attempted this verification in another way, by calculating
the results of the theory (which he has done with an extraordinary
command of analysis), and then by comparing these, in supposed
critical cases, with the Brest observations. This method has
confirmed the theory as far as it could do so; but such a process
cannot supersede the necessity of applying the proper criterion of
truth in such cases, the construction and verification of Tables.
Bernoulli’s theory, on the other hand, has been used for the
construction of Tide-tables; but these have not been properly
compared with experiment; and when the comparison has been
made, having been executed for purposes of gain rather than of
science, it has not been published, and cannot be quoted as a
verification of the theory.

Thus we have, as yet, no sufficient comparison of fact with theory,

for Laplace’s is far from a complete comparison. In this, as in other
parts of physical astronomy, our theory ought not only to agree with
observations selected and grouped in a particular manner, but with
the whole course of observation, and with every part of the
phenomena. In this, as in other cases, the true theory should be
verified by its giving us the best Tables; but Tide-tables were never, I
believe, 458 calculated upon Laplace’s theory, and thus it was never
fairly brought to the test.

It is, perhaps, remarkable, considering all the experience which

astronomy had furnished, that men should have expected to reach
the completion of this branch of science by improving the
mathematical theory, without, at the same time, ascertaining the laws
of the facts. In all other departments of astronomy, as, for instance,
in the cases of the moon and the planets, the leading features of the
phenomena had been made out empirically, before the theory
explained them. The course which analogy would have
recommended for the cultivation of our knowledge of the tides, would
have been, to ascertain, by an analysis of long series of
observations, the effect of changes in the time of transit, parallax,
and declination of the moon, and thus to obtain the laws of
phenomena and then proceed to investigate the laws of causation.

Though this was not the course followed by mathematical

theorists, it was really pursued by those who practically calculated
Tide-tables; and the application of knowledge to the useful purposes
of life being thus separated from the promotion of the theory, was
naturally treated as a gainful property, and preserved by secrecy. Art,
in this instance, having cast off her legitimate subordination to
Science, or rather, being deprived of the guidance which it was the
duty of Science to afford, resumed her ancient practices of
exclusiveness and mystery. Liverpool, London, and other places,
had their Tide-tables, constructed by undivulged methods, which
methods, in some instances at least, were handed down from father
to son for several generations as a family possession; and the
publication of new Tables, accompanied by a statement of the mode
of calculation, was resented as an infringement of the rights of
property.

The mode in which these secret methods were invented, was that
which we have pointed out;—the analysis of a considerable series of
observations. Probably the best example of this was afforded by the
Liverpool Tide-tables. These were deduced by a clergyman named
Holden, from observations made at that port by a harbor-master of
the name of Hutchinson; who was led, by a love of such pursuits, to
observe the tides carefully for above twenty years, day and night.
Holden’s Tables, founded on four years of these observations, were
remarkably accurate.

At length men of science began to perceive that such calculations

were part of their business; and that they were called upon, as the
459 guardians of the established theory of the universe, to compare it
in the greatest possible detail with the facts. Mr. Lubbock was the
first mathematician who undertook the extensive labors which such a
conviction suggested. Finding that regular tide-observations had
been made at the London Docks from 1795, he took nineteen years
of these (purposely selecting the length of a cycle of the motions of
the lunar orbit), and caused them (in 1831) to be analyzed by Mr.
Dessiou, an expert calculator. He thus obtained 105 Tables for the
effect of the Moon’s Declination, Parallax, and hour of Transit, on the
tides; and was enabled to produce Tide-tables founded upon the
data thus obtained. Some mistakes in these as first published
(mistakes unimportant as to the theoretical value of the work),
served to show the jealousy of the practical tide-table calculators, by
the acrimony with which the oversights were dwelt upon; but in a
very few years, the tables thus produced by an open and scientific
process were more exact than those which resulted from any of the
secrets; and thus practice was brought into its proper subordination
to theory.
105 Phil. Trans. 1831. British Almanac, 1832.

The theory with which Mr. Lubbock was led to compare his results,
was the Equilibrium-theory of Daniel Bernoulli; and it was found that
this theory, with certain modifications of its elements, represented
the facts to a remarkable degree of precision. Mr. Lubbock pointed
out this agreement especially in the semi-mensual inequality of the
times of high water. The like agreement was afterwards (in 1833)
shown by Mr. Whewell 106 to obtain still more accurately at Liverpool,
both for the Times and Heights; for by this time, nineteen years of
Hutchinson’s Liverpool Observations had also been discussed by Mr.
Lubbock. The other inequalities of the Times and Heights (depending
upon the Declination and Parallax of the Moon and Sun,) were
variously compared with the Equilibrium-theory by Mr. Lubbock and
Mr. Whewell; and the general result was, that the facts agreed with
the condition of equilibrium at a certain anterior time, but that this
anterior time was different for different phenomena. In like manner it
appeared to follow from these researches, that in order to explain the
facts, the mass of the moon must be supposed different in the
calculation at different places. A result in effect the same was
obtained by M. Daussy, 107 an active French Hydrographer; for he
found that observations at various stations could not be reconciled
with the formulæ of Laplace’s Mécanique 460 Céleste (in which the
ratio of the heights of spring-tides and neap-tides was computed on
an assumed mass of the moon) without an alteration of level which
was, in fact, equivalent to an alteration of the moon’s mass. Thus all
things appeared to tend to show that the Equilibrium-theory would
give the formulæ for the inequalities of the tides, but that the
magnitudes which enter into these formulæ must be sought from
observation.
106 Phil. Trans. 1834.

107 Connaissance des Tems, 1838.

Whether this result is consistent with theory, is a question not so

much of Physical Astronomy as of Hydrodynamics, and has not yet
been solved. A Theory of the Tides which should include in its
conditions the phenomena of Derivative Tides, and of their
combinations, will probably require all the resources of the
mathematical mechanician.

As a contribution of empirical materials to the treatment of this

hydrodynamical problem, it may be allowable to mention here Mr.
Whewell’s attempts to trace the progress of the tide into all the seas
of the globe, by drawing on maps of the ocean what he calls Cotidal
Lines;—lines marking the contemporaneous position of the various
points of the great wave which carries high water from shore to
shore. 108 This is necessarily a task of labor and difficulty, since it
requires us to know the time of high water on the same day in every
part of the world; but in proportion as it is completed, it supplies
steps between our general view of the movements of the ocean and
the phenomena of particular ports.
108 Essay towards a First Approximation to a Map of Cotidal
Lines. Phil. Trans. 1833, 1836.

Looking at this subject by the light which the example of the

history of astronomy affords, we may venture to repeat, that it will
never have justice done it till it is treated as other parts of astronomy
are treated; that is, till Tables of all the phenomena which can be
observed, are calculated by means of the best knowledge which we
at present possess, and till these tables are constantly improved by
a comparison of the predicted with the observed fact. A set of Tide-
observations and Tide-ephemerides of this kind, would soon give to
this subject that precision which marks the other parts of astronomy;
and would leave an assemblage of unexplained residual
phenomena, in which a careful research might find the materials of
other truths as yet unsuspected.

[2d Ed.] [That there would be, in the tidal movements of the ocean,
inequalities of the heights and times of high and low water 461
corresponding to those which the equilibrium theory gives, could be
considered only as a conjecture, till the comparison with observation
was made. It was, however, a natural conjecture; since the waters of
the ocean are at every moment tending to acquire the form assumed
in the equilibrium theory: and it may be considered likely that the
causes which prevent their assuming this form produce an effect
nearly constant for each place. Whatever be thought of this
reasoning, the conjecture is confirmed by observation with curious
exactness. The laws of a great number of the tidal phenomena—
namely, of the Semi-mensual Inequality of the Heights, of the Semi-
mensual Inequality of the Times, of the Diurnal Inequality, of the
effect of the Moon’s Declination, of the effect of the Moon’s Parallax
—are represented very closely by formulæ derived from the
equilibrium theory. The hydrodynamical mode of treating the subject
has not added any thing to the knowledge of the laws of the
phenomena to which the other view had conducted us.

We may add, that Laplace’s assumption, that in the moving fluid

the motions must have a periodicity corresponding to that of the
forces, is also a conjecture. And though this conjecture may, in some
cases of the problem, be verified, by substituting the resulting
expressions in the equations of motion, this cannot be done in the
actual case, where the revolving motion of the ocean is prevented by
the intrusion of tracts of land running nearly from pole to pole.

Yet in Mr. Airy’s Treatise On Tides and Waves (in the

Encyclopædia Metropolitana) much has been done to bring the
hydrodynamical theory of oceanic tides into agreement with
observation. In this admirable work, Mr. Airy has, by peculiar
artifices, solved problems which come so near the actual cases that
they may represent them. He has, in this way, deduced the laws of
the semi-diurnal and the diurnal tide, and the other features of the
tides which the equilibrium theory in some degree imitates; but he
has also, taking into account the effect of friction, shown that the
actual tide may be represented as the tide of an earlier epoch;—that
the relative mass of the moon and sun, as inferred from the tides,
would depend upon the depth of the ocean (Art. 455);—with many
other results remarkably explaining the observed phenomena. He
has also shown that the relation of the cotidal lines to the tide waves
really propagated is, in complex cases, very obscure, because
different waves of different magnitudes, travelling in different
directions, may coexist, and the cotidal line is the compound result of
all these. 462

With reference to the Maps of Cotidal Lines, mentioned in the text,

I may add, that we are as yet destitute of observations which should
supply the means of drawing such lines on a large scale in the
Pacific Ocean. Admiral Lütke has however supplied us with some
valuable materials and remarks on this subject in his Notice sur les
Marées Périodiques dans le grand Océan Boréal et dans la Mer
Glaciale; and has drawn them, apparently on sufficient data, in the
White Sea.] ~Additional material in the 3rd edition.~
 CHAPTER V.

Discoveries added to the Newtonian Theory.

Sect. 1.—Tables of Astronomical Refraction.

W Emathematical
have travelled over an immense field of astronomical and
labor in the last few pages, and have yet, at the
end of every step, still found ourselves under the jurisdiction of the
Newtonian laws. We are reminded of the universal monarchies,
where a man could not escape from the empire without quitting the
world. We have now to notice some other discoveries, in which this
reference to the law of universal gravitation is less immediate and
obvious; I mean the astronomical discoveries respecting Light.

The general truths to which the establishment of the true laws of

Atmospheric Refraction led astronomers, were the law of Deflection
of the rays of light, which applies to all refractions, and the real
structure and size of the Atmosphere, so far as it became known.
The great discoveries of Römer and Bradley, namely, the Velocity of
Light, the Aberration of Light, and the Nutation of the earth’s axis,
gave a new distinctness to the conceptions of the propagation of
light in the minds of philosophers, and confirmed the doctrines of
Copernicus, Kepler, and Newton, respecting the motions which
belong to the earth.

The true laws of Atmospheric Refraction were slowly discovered.

Tycho attributed the apparent displacement of the heavenly bodies
to the low and gross part of the atmosphere only, and hence made it
cease at a point half-way to the zenith; but Kepler rightly extended it
to the zenith itself. Dominic Cassini endeavored to discover the law
of this correction by observation, and gave his result in the form 463
which, as we have said, sound science prescribes, a Table to be
habitually used for all observations. But great difficulties at this time
embarrassed this investigation, for the parallaxes of the sun and of
the planets were unknown, and very diverse values had been
assigned them by different astronomers. To remove some of these
difficulties, Richer, in 1762, went to observe at the equator; and on
his return, Cassini was able to confirm and amend his former
estimations of parallax and refraction. But there were still difficulties.
According to La Hire, though the phenomena of twilight give an
altitude of 34,000 toises to the atmosphere, 109 those of refraction
make it only 2000. John Cassini undertook to support and improve
the calculations of his father Dominic, and took the true supposition,
that the light follows a curvilinear path through the air. The Royal
Society of London had already ascertained experimentally the
refractive power of air. 110 Newton calculated a Table of Refractions,
which was published under Halley’s name in the Philosophical
Transactions for 1721, without any indication of the method by which
it was constructed. But M. Biot has recently shown, 111 by means of
the published correspondence of Flamsteed, that Newton had solved
the problem in a manner nearly corresponding to the most improved
methods of modern analysis.
109 Bailly, ii. 612.

110 Ibid. ii. 607.

111 Biot, Acad. Sc. Compte Rendu, Sept. 5, 1836.

 Dominic Cassini and Picard proved, 112 Le Monnier in 1738
confirmed more fully, the fact that the variations of the Thermometer
affect the Refraction. Mayer, taking into account both these changes,
and the changes indicated by the Barometer, formed a theory, which
Lacaille, with immense labor, applied to the construction of a Table of
Refractions from observation. But Bradley’s Table (published in 1763
by Maskelyne) was more commonly adopted in England; and his
formula, originally obtained empirically, has been shown by Young to
result from the most probable suppositions we can make respecting
the atmosphere. Bessel’s Refraction Tables are now considered the
best of those which have appeared.
112 Bailly, iii. 92.

Sect. 2.—Discovery of the Velocity of Light.—Römer.

The astronomical history of Refraction is not marked by any great

discoveries, and was, for the most part, a work of labor only. The
progress of the other portions of our knowledge respecting light is
464 more striking. In 1676, a great number of observations of
eclipses of Jupiter’s satellites were accumulated, and could be
compared with Cassini’s Tables. Römer, a Danish astronomer, whom
Picard had brought to Paris, perceived that these eclipses happened
constantly later than the calculated time at one season of the year,
and earlier at another season;—a difference for which astronomy
could offer no account. The error was the same for all the satellites;
if it had depended on a defect in the Tables of Jupiter, it might have
affected all, but the effect would have had a reference to the
velocities of the satellites. The cause, then, was something
extraneous to Jupiter. Römer had the happy thought of comparing
the error with the earth’s distance from Jupiter, and it was found that
the eclipses happened later in proportion as Jupiter was further
off. 113 Thus we see the eclipse later, as it is more remote; and thus
light, the messenger which brings us intelligence of the occurrence,
travels over its course in a measurable time. By this evidence, light
appeared to take about eleven minutes in describing the diameter of
the earth’s orbit.
113 Bailly, ii. 17.

This discovery, like so many others, once made, appears easy and
inevitable; yet Dominic Cassini had entertained the idea for a
moment, 114 and had rejected it; and Fontenelle had congratulated
himself publicly on having narrowly escaped this seductive error. The
objections to the admission of the truth arose principally from the
inaccuracy of observation, and from the persuasion that the motions
of the satellites were circular and uniform. Their irregularities
disguised the fact in question. As these irregularities became clearly
known, Römer’s discovery was finally established, and the “Equation
of Light” took its place in the Tables.
114 Ib. ii. 419.

Sect. 3.—Discovery of Aberration.—Bradley.

Improvements in instruments, and in the art of observing, were

requisite for making the next great step in tracing the effect of the
laws of light. It appears clear, on consideration, that since light and
the spectator on the earth are both in motion, the apparent direction
of an object will be determined by the composition of these motions.
But yet the effect of this composition of motions was (as is usual in
such cases) traced as a fact in observation, before it was clearly
seen as a consequence of reasoning. This fact, the Aberration of
Light, the greatest astronomical discovery of the eighteenth century,
belongs to Bradley, 465 who was then Professor of Astronomy at
Oxford, and afterwards Astronomer Royal at Greenwich. Molyneux
and Bradley, in 1725, began a series of observations for the purpose
of ascertaining, by observations near the zenith, the existence of an
annual parallax of the fixed stars, which Hooke had hoped to detect,
and Flamsteed thought he had discovered. Bradley 115 soon found
that the star observed by him had a minute apparent motion different
from that which the annual parallax would produce. He thought of a
nutation of the earth’s axis as a mode of accounting for this; but
found, by comparison of a star on the other side of the pole, that this
explanation would not apply. Bradley and Molyneux then considered
for a moment an annual alteration of figure in the earth’s
atmosphere, such as might affect the refractions, but this hypothesis
was soon rejected. 116 In 1727, Bradley resumed his observations,
with a new instrument, at Wanstead, and obtained empirical rules for
the changes of declination of different stars. At last, accident turned
his thoughts to the direction in which he was to find the cause of the
variations which he had discovered. Being in a boat on the Thames,
he observed that the vane on the top of the mast gave a different
apparent direction to the wind, as the boat sailed one way or the
other. Here was an image of his case: the boat represented the earth
moving in different directions at different seasons, and the wind
represented the light of a star. He had now to trace the
consequences of this idea; he found that it led to the empirical rules,
which he had already discovered, and, in 1729, he gave his
discovery to the Royal Society. His paper is a very happy narrative of
his labors and his thoughts. His theory was so sound that no
astronomer ever contested it; and his observations were so
accurate, that the quantity which he assigned as the greatest amount
of the change (one nineteenth of a degree) has hardly been
corrected by more recent astronomers. It must be noticed, however,
that he considered the effects in declination only; the effects in right
ascension required a different mode of observation, and a
consummate goodness in the machinery of clocks, which at that time
was hardly attained.
115 Rigaud’s Bradley.

116 Rigaud, p. xxiii.

Sect. 4.—Discovery of Nutation.

When Bradley went to Greenwich as Astronomer Royal, he

continued with perseverance observations of the same kind as those
by which he had detected Aberration. The result of these was
another 466 discovery; namely, that very Nutation which he had
formerly rejected. This may appear strange, but it is easily explained.
The aberration is an annual change, and is detected by observing a
star at different seasons of the year: the Nutation is a change of
which the cycle is eighteen years; and which, therefore, though it
does not much change the place of a star in one year, is
discoverable in the alterations of several successive years. A very
few years’ observations showed Bradley the effect of this change; 117
and long before the half cycle of nine years had elapsed, he had
connected it in his mind with the true cause, the motion of the
moon’s nodes. Machin was then Secretary to the Royal Society, 118
and was “employed in considering the theory of gravity, and its
consequences with regard to the celestial motions:” to him Bradley
communicated his conjectures; from him he soon received a Table
containing the results of his calculations; and the law was found to