Chapter XIV: Some Recent Triumphs of Applied Science (2)

If, however, two or more pulley wheels are connected, to make the familiar apparatus of a compound pulley, we have accomplished by an interesting mechanism a virtual application of the principle of the long and short arm of the lever, and the relations between the weight at the loose end of the rope and the weight attached to the block which constitutes virtually the short end of the lever, may be varied indefinitely, according to the number of pulley-wheels that are used. A pound weight may be made to balance a thousand-pound weight; but, of course, our familiar principle still holding, the pound weight must move through a distance of a thousand feet in order to move a thousand-pound weight through a distance of one foot. Familiar illustrations of the application of this principle may be seen on every hand; as when, for example, a piano or a safe is raised to the upper window of a building by the efforts of men whose power, if directly expended, would be altogether inefficient to stir the weight.

The pulley was doubtless invented at a much later stage of human progress than the simple lever. It was, however, well known to the ancients. It was probably brought to its highest state of practical perfection by Archimedes, whose experiments are famous through the narrative of Plutarch. It will be recalled that Archimedes amazed the Syracusan general by constructing an apparatus that enabled him, sitting on shore, to drag a ponderous galley from the water. Plutarch does not describe in detail the apparatus with which this was accomplished, but it is obvious from his description of what took place, that it must have been a system of pulleys.

It will be observed that the pulley is a mechanism that enables the user to transmit power to a distance. But this indeed is true in a certain sense of every form of lever. Numberless other contrivances are in use by which power is transmitted, through utilization of the same principle of the lever, either through a short or through a relatively long distance. A familiar illustration is the windlass, which consists of a cylinder rotating on an axis propelled by a long handle, a rope being wound about the cylinder. This is a lever of the second class, the axis acting as fulcrum, and the rope operating about the circumference of the cylinder typifying the weight, which may be actually at a considerable distance, as in the case of the old-fashioned well with its windlass and bucket, or of the simple form of derrick sometimes called a sheerlegs.

OTHER MEANS OF TRANSMITTING POWER

Power is transmitted directly from one part of a machine to another, in the case of a great variety of machines, with the aid of cogged gearing wheels of various sizes. The modifications of detail in the application of these wheels may be almost infinite, but the principle involved is always the same. The case of two wheels toothed about the circumference, the teeth of the two wheels fitting into one another, illustrates the principle involved. A consideration of the mechanism will show that here we have virtually a lever fixed at both ends, represented by the radii of the two wheels, the power being applied through the axle of one wheel, and the weight, for purposes of calculation, being represented by the pressure of the teeth of one wheel upon those of the other. So this becomes a lever of the second class, and the relations of power between the two wheels are easily calculated from the relative lengths of the radii. If, for example, one radius is twice as long as the other, the transmission of power will be, obviously, in the proportion of two to one, and meantime the distance traversed by the circumference of one wheel will be twice as great as that traversed by the other.

A modification of the toothed wheel is furnished by wheels which may be separated by a considerable distance, and the circumferences of which are connected by a belt or by a chain. The principle of action here is precisely the same, the belt or chain serving merely as a means of lengthening out our lever. The relative sizes of the wheels, and not the length of the belt or chain, is the determining factor as regards the relative forces required to make the wheels revolve.

It is obvious all along, of course, since action and reaction are equal, that all of the relations in question are reciprocal. When, for example, we speak of a pound weight on the long end of a lever balancing a ten-pound weight on the short end, it is equally appropriate to speak of the ten-pound weight as balancing the one-pound weight. Similarly, when power is applied to the lever, it may be applied at either end. Ordinarily, to be sure, the power is applied at the long end, since the object is to lift the heavy weight; but in complicated machinery it quite as often happens that these conditions are reversed, and then it becomes desirable to apply strong power to the short end of the lever, in order that the relatively small weight may be carried through the long distance. In the inter-relations of gearing wheels, such conditions very frequently obtain, practical ends being met by a series of wheels of different sizes. But the single rule, already so often outlined, everywhere holds--wherever there is gain of power there is loss of distance, and we can gain distance only by losing power. The words gain and loss in this application are in a sense misnomers, since, as we have already seen, gain and loss are only apparent, but their convenience of application is obvious.

A familiar case in which there is first loss of speed and gain of power, and then gain of speed at the expense of power in the same mechanism, is furnished by the bicycle, where (1) the crank shaft turns the sprocket wheel that constitutes a lever of the second class with gain of power; where (2) power is further augmented through transmission from the relatively large sprocket wheel to the small sprocket of the axle; and where (3) there is great loss of power and corresponding gain of speed in transmitting the force from the small sprocket wheel at the axle to the rubber rim of the bicycle proper, this last transmission representing a lever of the third class. The net gain of speed is tangibly represented by the difference in distance traversed by the man's feet in revolving the pedals, and the actual distance covered by the bicycle.

INCLINED PLANES AND DERRICKS

A less obvious application of the principle of reciprocal equivalence of distance and weight is furnished by the inclined plane, a familiar mechanism with the aid of which a great gain of power is possible. The inclined plane, like the lever, has been known from remotest antiquity. Its utility was probably discovered by almost the earliest builders. Diodorus Siculus tells us that the great pyramids of Egypt were constructed with the aid of inclined planes, based on a foundation of earth piled about the pyramids. Diodorus, living at a period removed by some thousands of years from the day of the building of the pyramids, may or may not have voiced and recorded an authentic tradition, but we may well believe that the principle of the inclined plane was largely drawn upon by the mechanics of old Egypt, as by later peoples.

The law of the inclined plane is that in order to establish equilibrium between two weights, the one must be to the other as the height of the inclined plane is to its length. The steeper the inclined plane, therefore, the less will be the gain in power; a mechanical principle which familiar experience or the simplest experiment will readily corroborate.

In its elemental form the inclined plane is not used very largely in modern machinery, but its modified form of the wedge and the screw have more utility. The screw, indeed, which is obviously an inclined plane adjusted spirally about a cylinder or a cone, is familiar to everyone, and is constantly utilized in applying power.

The crane or derrick furnishes a familiar but relatively elaborate illustration of a mechanism for the transmission of power, in which all the various devices hitherto referred to are combined, without the introduction of any new principle.

Derricks have been employed from a very early day. The battering-rams of the ancient Egyptians and Babylonians, for example, were virtually derricks; and no doubt the same people used the device in raising stones to build their temples and city walls, and in putting into position such massive sculptures as the obelisks of Egypt and the monster graven bulls and lions of Nineveh and Babylon.

The upper figure shows a floating derrick, the lower right-hand figure a combined derrick and weighing machine, and the lower left-hand figure a so-called sheerlegs, which is a simple derrick and windlass operated by hand or by steam power with the aid of compound pulleys.]

The modern derrick, made of steel, and operated by steam or electricity, capable of lifting tons, yet absolutely obedient to the hand of the engineer, is a really wonderful piece of mechanism. A steam-scoop, for example, excavating a gravel bank, seems almost a thing of intelligence; as it gores into the bank scooping up perhaps a half ton of earth, its upward sweeping head reminds one of an angry bull. Then as it swings leisurely about and discharges its load at just the right spot into an awaiting car, its hinged bottom swings back and forth two or three times before closing, with curious resemblance to the jaw of a dog; the similarity being heightened by the square bull-dog-headed shape of the scoop itself. Yet this remarkable contrivance, with all its massive steel beams and chains and cog wheels, employs no other principles than the simple ones of lever and pulley and inclined plane that we have just examined. The power that must be applied to produce a given effect may be calculated to a nicety. The capacities of the machine are fully predetermined in advance of its actual construction. But of course this is equally true of every other form of power-transmitter with which the modern mechanical engineer has to deal.

FRICTION

In making such calculations, however, there is an additional element which the engineer must consider, but which we have hitherto disregarded. In all methods of transmission of power, and indeed in all cases of the contact of one substance with another, there is an element of loss through friction. This is due to the fact that no substance is smooth except in a relative sense. Even the most highly polished glass or steel, when viewed under the microscope, presents a surface covered with indentations and rugosities. This granular surface of even seemingly smooth objects, is easily visualized through the analogy of numberless substances that are visibly rough. Yet the vast practical importance of this roughness is seldom considered by the casual observer. In point of fact, were it not for the roughened surface of all materials with which we come in contact, it would be impossible for any animal or man to walk, nor could we hold anything in our hands. Anyone who has attempted to handle a fish, particularly an eel, fresh from the water, will recall the difficulty with which its slippery surface was held; but it may not occur to everyone who has had this experience that all other objects would similarly slip from the hand, had their surfaces a similar smoothness. The slippery character of the eel is, of course, due in large part to the relatively smooth surface of its skin, but partly also to the lubricant with which it is covered. Any substance may be rendered somewhat smoother by proper lubrication; it is necessary, however, that the lubricant should be something which is not absorbed by the substance. Thus, wood is given increased friction by being moistened with oil, but, on the other hand, is made slippery if covered with graphite, soap, or any other fatty substances that it does not absorb.

Recalling the more or less roughened surface of all objects, the source of friction is readily understood. It depends upon the actual jutting of the roughened surfaces, one upon the other. It virtually constitutes a force acting in opposition to the motion of any two surfaces upon each other. As between any different materials, under given conditions, it varies with the pressure, in a definite and measurable rate, which is spoken of as the coefficient of friction for the particular substances. It is very much greater where the two substances slide over one another than where the one rolls upon the other, as in the case of the wheel. The latter illustrates what is called rolling friction, and in practical mechanics it is used constantly to decrease the loss--as, for example, in the wheels of wagons and cars. The use of lubricants to decrease friction is equally familiar. Without them, as everyone knows, it would be impossible to run any wheel continuously upon an axle at high speed for more than a very brief period, owing to the great heat developed through friction. Friction is indeed a perpetual antagonist of the mechanician, and we shall see endless illustrations of the methods he employs to minimize its influence. On the other hand, we must recall that were it rendered absolutely _nil_, his machinery would all be useless. The car wheel, for example, would revolve indefinitely without stirring the train, were there absolutely no friction between it and the rail.

AVAILABLE SOURCES OF ENERGY

We have pointed out that every body whatever contains a certain store of energy, but it has equally been called to our attention that, in the main, these stores of energy are not available for practical use. There are, however, various great natural repositories of energy upon which man is able to draw. The chief of these are, first, the muscular energy of man himself and of animals; second, the energy of air in motion; third, the energy of water in motion or at an elevation; and fourth, the molecular and atomic energies stored in coal, wood, and other combustible materials. To these we should probably add the energy of radio-active substances--a form of energy only recently discovered and not as yet available on a large scale, but which may sometime become so, when new supplies of radio-active materials have been discovered. It will be the object of succeeding chapters to point out the practical ways in which these various stores of energy are drawn upon and made to do work for man's benefit.

III

THE ANIMAL MACHINE

The muscular system is not only the oldest machine in existence, but also the most complex. Moreover, it is otherwise entitled to precedence, for even to-day, in this so-called age of steam and electricity, the muscular system remains by far the most important of all machines. In the United States alone there are some twenty million horses doing work for man; and of course no machine of any sort is ever put in motion or continues indefinitely in operation without aid supplied by human muscles. All in all, then, it is impossible to overestimate the importance of this muscular machine which is at once the oldest and the most lasting of all systems of utilizing energy.

The physical laws that govern the animal machine are precisely similar to those that are applied to other mechanisms. All the laws that have been called to our attention must therefore be understood as applying fully to the muscular mechanism. But in addition to these the muscular system has certain laws or methods of action of its own, some of which are not very clearly understood.

The prime mystery concerning the muscle is its wonderful property of contracting. For practical purposes we may say that it has no other property; the sole function of the muscle is to contract. It can, of course, relax, also, to make ready for another contraction, but this is the full extent of its activities. A microscopic examination of the muscle shows that it is composed of minute fibres, each of which on contraction swells up into a spindle shape. A mass of such fibres aggregated together constitutes a muscle, and every muscle is attached at either extremity, by means of a tendon, to a bone. Both extremities of a muscle are never attached to the same bone--otherwise the muscle would be absolutely useless. Usually there is only a single bone between the two ends of a muscle, but in exceptional cases there may be more. As a rule, the main body of a muscle lies along the bone to which one end of it is attached, the other end of the muscle being attached to the contiguous bone placed not far from the point. The first bone, then, serves as a fulcrum on which the second bone moves as a lever, and, as already pointed out, the familiar laws of the lever operate here as fully as in the inanimate world. But a moment's reflection will make it clear that the object effected by this mechanism is the increase of motion with relative loss of energy. In other words, the muscular force is applied to the short end of the lever, and a far greater expenditure of force is required when the muscle contracts than the power externally manifested would seem to indicate.

A moment's consideration of the mechanism of the arm, having regard to the biceps muscle which flexes the elbow, will make this clear. If a weight is held in the hand it is perhaps twelve inches from the elbow. If, while holding the weight, you will grasp the elbow with the other hand, you will feel the point of attachment of the biceps, and discover that it does not seem to be, roughly speaking, more than about an inch from the joint. Obviously, then, if you are lifting a pound weight, the actual equivalent of energy expended by the contracting biceps must be twelve pounds. But, in the meantime, when the pound weight in your hand moves through the space of one inch, the muscle has contracted by one-twelfth of an inch; and you may sweep the weight through a distance of two feet by utilizing the two-inch contraction, which represents about the capacity of the muscle.

A similar consideration of the muscles of the legs will show how the muscular system which is susceptible of but trifling variation in size, gives to the animal great locomotive power. With the aid of a series of levers, represented by the bones of our thighs, legs, and feet, we are able to stride along, covering three or four feet at each step, while no set of the muscles that effect this propulsion varies in length by more than two or three inches. It appears, then, that the muscular system gives a marvelous illustration of capacity for storing energy in a compact form and utilizing it for the development of motion.

THE TWO TYPES OF MUSCLES

The muscles of animals and men alike are divided into two systems, one called voluntary, the other involuntary. The voluntary muscles, as their name implies, are subject to the influence of the will, and under ordinary conditions contract in response to the voluntary nervous impulses. Certain sets of them, indeed, as those having to do with respiration, have developed a tendency to rhythmical action through long use, and ordinarily perform their functions without voluntary guidance. Their function may, however, become voluntary when attention is directed toward it, and is then subject to the action of the will within certain bounds. Should a voluntary attempt be made, however, to prevent their action indefinitely, the so-called reflex mechanism presently asserts itself. All of which may be easily attested by anyone who will attempt to stop breathing. All systems of voluntary muscles are subject to the influence of habit, and may assume activities that are only partially recognized by consciousness. As an illustration in point, the muscles involved in walking come, in the case of every adult, to perform their function without direct guidance of the will. Such was not the case, however, in the early stage of their development, as the observation of any child learning to walk will amply demonstrate. In the case of animals, however, even those muscles are so under the impress of hereditary tendencies as to perform their functions spontaneously almost from the moment of birth. These, however, are physiological details that need not concern us here. It suffices to recall that the voluntary muscles may be directed by the will, and indeed are always under what may be termed subconscious direction, even when the conscious attention is not directed to them.

The strictly involuntary muscles, however, are placed absolutely beyond control of the will. The most important of these muscles are those that constitute the heart and the diaphragm, and that enter into the substance of the walls of blood vessels, and of the abdominal organs. It is obvious that the functioning of these important organs could not advantageously be left to the direction of the will; and so, in the long course of evolution they have learned, as it were, to take care of themselves, and in so doing to take care of the organism, to the life of which they are so absolutely essential. As the physiologist views the matter, no organism could have developed which did not correspondingly develop such involuntary action of the vital organs. It will be seen that the involuntary muscles differ from the voluntary muscles in that they are not connected with bones. Instead of being thus attached to solid levers, they are annular in structure, and in contracting virtually change the size of the ring which their substance constitutes. Each fibre in contracting may be thought of as pulling against other fibres, instead of against a bony surface, and the joint action changes the size of the organ, as is obvious in the pulsing of the heart.

Though the rhythmical contractions of the involuntary muscles are independent of voluntary control, it must not be supposed that they are independent of the control of the central nervous mechanism. On the contrary, the nerve supply sent out from the brain to the heart and to the abdominal organs is as plentiful and as important as that sent to the voluntary muscles. There is a centre in the brain scarcely larger than the head of a pin, the destruction of which will cause the heart instantly to cease beating forever. From this centre, then, and from the other centres of the brain, impulses are constantly sent to the involuntary muscles, which determine the rate of activity. Nor are these centres absolutely independent of the seat of consciousness, as anyone will admit who recalls the varied changes in the heart's action under stress of varying emotions.

That the voluntary muscles are controlled by the central nervous mechanism needs no proof beyond the appeal to our personal experiences of every moment. You desire some object that lies on the table in front of you, and immediately your hand, thanks to the elaborate muscular mechanism, reaches out and grasps it. And this act is but typical of the thousand activities that make up our every-day life. Everyone is aware that the channel of communication between the brain and the muscular system is found in a system of nerves, which it is natural now-a-days to liken to a system of telegraph wires. We speak of the impulse generated in the brain as being transmitted along the nerves to the muscle, causing that to contract. We are even able to measure the speed of transfer of such an impulse. It is found to move with relative slowness, compassing only about one hundred and twelve feet per second, being in this regard very unlike the electric current with which it is so often compared. But the precise nature of this impulse is unknown. Its effect, however, is made tangible in the muscular contraction which it is its sole purpose to produce. The essential influence of the nerve impulse in the transaction is easily demonstrable; for if the nerve cord is severed, as often happens in accidents, the muscle supplied by that nerve immediately loses its power of voluntary contraction. It becomes paralyzed, as the saying is.

THE NATURE OF MUSCULAR ACTION

Paying heed, now, to the muscle itself, it must be freely admitted that, in the last analysis, the activities of the substance are as mysterious and as inexplicable as are those involved in the nervous mechanism. It is easy to demonstrate that what we have just spoken of as a muscle fibre consists in reality of a little tube of liquid protoplasm, and that the change in shape of this protoplasm constitutes the contraction of which we are all along speaking. But just what molecular and atomic changes are involved in this change of form of the protoplasm, we cannot say. We know that the power to contract is the one universal attribute of living protoplasm. This power is equally wonderful and equally inexplicable, whether manifested in the case of the muscle cell or in the case of such a formless single-celled creature as the amoeba. When we know more of molecular and atomic force, we may perhaps be able to form a mental picture of what goes on in the structure of protoplasm when it thus changes the shape of its mass. Until then, we must be content to accept the fact as being the vital one upon which all the movements of animate creatures depend.

But if, here as elsewhere, the ultimate activities of molecules and atoms lie beyond our ken, we may nevertheless gain an insight into the nature of the substances involved. We know, for example, that the chief constituents of all protoplasm are carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen; and that with these main elements there are traces of various other elements such as iron, sulphur, phosphorus, and sundry salts. We know that when the muscle contracts some of these constituents are disarranged through what is spoken of as chemical decomposition, and that there results a change in the substance of the protoplasm, accompanied by the excretion of a certain portion of its constituents, and by the liberation of heat. Carbonic acid gas, for example, is generated and is swept away from the muscular tissues in the ever active bloodstreams, to be carried to the lungs and there expelled--it being a noxious poison, fatal to life if retained in large quantities. Equally noxious are other substances such as uric acid and its compounds, which are also results of the breaking down of tissue that attends muscular action. In a word, there is an incessant formation of waste products, due to muscular activity, the removal of which requires the constant service of the purifying streams of blood and of the various excretory organs.

But this constant outflow of waste products from the muscle necessitates, of course, in accordance with the laws of the conservation of matter and of energy, an equally constant supply of new matter to take the place of the old. This supply of what is virtually fuel to be consumed, enabling the muscle to perform its work, is brought to the muscle through the streams of blood which flow from the heart in the arterial channels, and in part also through the lymphatic system. The blood itself gains its supply from the digestive system and from the lungs. The digestive system supplies water, that all-essential diluent, and a great variety of compounds elaborated into the proper pabulum; while the vital function of the lungs is to supply oxygen, which must be incessantly present in order that the combustion which attends muscular activity may take place. What virtually happens is that fuel is sent from the digestive system to be burned in the muscular system, with the aid of oxygen brought from the lungs.

In this view, the muscular apparatus is a species of heat engine. In point of fact, it is a curiously delicate one as regards the range of conditions within which it is able to act. The temperature of any given organism is almost invariable; the human body, for example, maintains an average temperature of 98-2/5 degrees, Fahrenheit. The range of variation from this temperature in conditions of health is rarely more than a fraction of a degree; and even under stress of the most severe fever the temperature never rises more than about eight degrees without a fatal result. That an organism which is producing heat in such varying quantities through its varying muscular activities should maintain such an equilibrium of temperature, would seem one of the most marvelous of facts, were it not so familiar.

The physical means by which the heat thus generated is rapidly given off, on occasion, to meet the varying conditions of muscular activity, is largely dependent upon the control of the blood supply, in which involuntary muscles, similar to those of the heart, are concerned. In times of great muscular activity, when the production of heat is relatively enormous, the arterioles that supply the surface of the body are rapidly dilated so that a preponderance of blood circulates at the surface of the body, where it may readily radiate its heat into space; the vast system of perspiratory ducts, with which the skin is everywhere supplied, aiding enormously in facilitating this result, through the secretion of a film of perspiration, which in evaporating takes up large quantities of heat.

The flushed, perspiring face of a person who has violently exercised gives a familiar proof of these physiological changes; and the contrary condition, in which the peripheral circulation is restricted, and in which the pores are closed, is equally familiar. Moreover, the same cutaneous mechanism is efficient in affording the organism protection from the changes of external temperature; though the human machine, thanks to the pampering influence of civilization, requires additional protection in the form of clothing.

APPLICATIONS OF MUSCULAR ENERGY

Having thus outlined the conditions under which the muscular machine performs its work, we have now to consider briefly the external mechanisms with the aid of which muscular energy is utilized. Of course, the simplest application of this power, and the one universally employed in the animal world is that in which a direct push or pull is given to the substance, the position of which it is desired to change. We have already pointed out that there is no essential difference between pushing and pulling. The fact receives another illustration in considering the muscular mechanism. We speak of pushing when we propel something away from a body, of pulling when we draw something toward it, yet, as we have just seen, each can be accomplished merely through the contraction of a set of muscles, acting on differently disposed levers. All the bodily activities are reducible to such muscular contractions, and the diversified movements in which the organism constantly indulges are merely due to the large number and elaborate arrangement of the bony levers upon which these muscles are operated.

We may well suppose that the primitive man continued for a long period of time to perform all such labors as he undertook without the aid of any artificial mechanism; that is to say, without having learned to gain any power beyond that which the natural levers of his body provided. A brief observation of the actions of a man performing any piece of manual labor will, however, quickly demonstrate how ingeniously the bodily levers are employed, and how by shifting positions the worker unconsciously makes the most of a given expenditure of energy. By bending the arms and bringing them close to the body, he is able to shorten his levers so that he can lift a much greater weight than he could possibly raise with the arms extended. On the other hand, with the extended arm he can strike a much more powerful blow than with the shorter lever of the flexed arm. But however ingenious the manipulation of the natural levers, a full utilization of muscular energy is possible only when they are supplemented with artificial aids, which constitute primitive pieces of machinery.

These aids are chiefly of three types, namely, inclined planes, friction reducers, and levers. The use of the inclined plane was very early discovered and put into practise in chipped implements, which took the form of the wedge, in such modifications as axes, knives, and spears of metal. All of these implements, it will be observed, consist essentially of inclined planes, adapted for piercing relatively soft tissues of wood or flesh, and hence serving purposes of the greatest practical utility.

The knife-blade is an extremely thin wedge, to be utilized by force of pushing, without any great aid from acquired momentum. The hatchet, on the other hand--and its modification the axe--has its blunter blade fastened to a handle; that the principle of the wedge may be utilized at the long end of a lever and with the momentum of a swinging blow. Ages before anyone could have explained the principle involved in such obscuring terms as that, the implement itself was in use for the same purpose to which it is still applied. Indeed, there is probably no other implement that has played a larger part in the history of human industry. Even in the Rough Stone Age it was in full favor, and the earliest metallurgists produced it in bronze and then in iron. The blade of to-day is made of the best tempered steel, and the handle or helve of hickory is given a slight curve that is an improvement on the straight handle formerly employed; but on the whole it may be said that the axe is a surviving primitive implement that has held its own and demonstrated its utility in every generation since the dawn, not of history only, but of barbarism, perhaps even of savagery.

The saw, consisting essentially of a thin elongated blade, one ragged or toothed edge, is a scarcely less primitive and an equally useful and familiar application of the principle of the inclined plane--though it requires a moment's reflection to see the manner of application. Each tooth, however minute, is an inclined plane, calculated to slide over the tissue of wood or stone or iron even, yet to tear at the tissue with its point, and, with the power of numbers, ultimately wear it away.

THE WHEEL AND AXLE

The primitive friction reducer, which continues in use to the present day unmodified in principle, is the wheel revolving on an axle. Doubtless man had reached a very high state of barbarism before he invented such a wheel. The American Indian, for example, knew no better method than to carry his heavy burdens on his shoulders, or drag them along the ground, with at most a pair of parallel poles or runners to modify the friction; every move representing a very wasteful expenditure of energy. But the pre-historic man of the old world had made the wonderful discovery that a wheel revolving on an axle vastly reduces the friction between a weight and the earth, and thus enables a man or a woman to convey a load that would be far beyond his or her unaided powers. It is well to use both genders in this illustration, since among primitive peoples it is usually the woman who is the bearer of burdens. And indeed to this day one may see the women of Italy and Germany bearing large burdens on their backs and heads, and dragging carts about the streets, quite after the primitive method.

The more one considers the mechanism, the more one must marvel at the ingenuity of the pre-historic man who invented the wheel and axle. Its utility is sufficiently obvious once the thing has been done. In point of fact, it so enormously reduces the friction that a man may convey ten times the burden with its aid that he can without it. But how was the primitive man, with his small knowledge of mechanics, to predict such a result? In point of fact, of course, he made no such prediction. Doubtless his attention was first called to the utility of rolling bodies by a chance observation of dragging a burden along a pebbly beach, or over rolling stones. The observation of logs or round stones rolling down a hill might also have stimulated the imagination of some inventive genius.

In many of the countries of Europe the dog plays an important part as a beast of burden. Stringent laws are enforced in these countries to prevent possible abuse or neglect of the animals.]

Probably logs placed beneath heavy weights, such as are still employed sometimes in moving houses, were utilized now and again for many generations before the idea of a narrow section of a log adjusted on an axis was evolved. But be that as it may, this idea was put into practise before the historic period begins, and we find the earliest civilized races of which we have record--those, namely, of Old Egypt and of Old Babylonia--in full possession of the principle of the wheel as applied to vehicles. Modern mechanics have, of course, improved the mechanism as regards details, but the wheels depicted in Old Egyptian and Babylonian inscriptions are curiously similar to the most modern types. Indeed, the wheel is a striking illustration of a mechanism which continued century after century to serve the purposes of the practical worker, with seemingly no prospect of displacement.

MODIFIED LEVERS

For the rest, the mechanisms which primitive man learned early to use in adding to his working efficiency, and which are still used by the hand laborer, are virtually all modifications of our familiar type-implement, the lever. A moment's reflection will show that the diversified purposes of the crowbar, hoe, shovel, hammer, drill, chisel, are all accomplished with the aid of the same principles. The crowbar, for example, enables man to regain the power which he lost when his members were adapted to locomotion. His hands, left to themselves, as we have already pointed out, give but inadequate expression to the power of his muscles. But by grasping the long end of such a lever as the crowbar, he is enabled to utilize his entire weight in addition to his muscular strength, and, with the aid of this lever, to lift many times his weight.

The hoe, on the other hand, becomes virtually a lengthened arm, enabling a very slight muscular motion to be transformed into the long sweep of the implement, so that with small expenditure of energy the desired work is accomplished. Similarly, the sledge and the axe lengthen out the lever of the arms, so that great momentum is readily acquired, and with the aid of inertia a relatively enormous force can be applied. It will be observed that a laborer in raising a heavy sledge brings the head of the implement near his body, thus shortening the leverage and gaining power at the expense of speed; but extends his arms to their full length as the sledge falls, having now the aid of gravitation, to gain the full advantage of the long arm of the lever in acquiring momentum.

Even such elaborately modified implements as the treadmill and the rowboat are operated on the principle of the lever. These also are mechanisms that have come down to us from a high antiquity. Their utility, however, has been greatly decreased in modern times, by the substitution of more elaborate and economical mechanisms for accomplishing their respective purposes. The treadmill, indeed--which might be likened to an overshot waterwheel in which the human foot supplied the place of the falling water in giving power--has become obsolete, though a modification of it, to be driven by animal power, is still sometimes used, as we shall see in a moment.

All these are illustrations of mechanisms with the aid of which human labor is made effective. They show the devices by which primitive man used his ingenuity in making his muscular system a more effective machine for the performance of work. But perhaps the most ingenious feat of all which our primitive ancestor accomplished was in learning to utilize the muscular energy of other animals. Of course the example was always before him in the observed activity of the animals on every side. Nevertheless, it was doubtless long before the idea suggested itself, and probably longer still before it was put into practise, of utilizing this almost inexhaustible natural supply of working energy.

DOMESTICATED ANIMALS

The first animal domesticated is believed to have been the dog, and this animal is still used, as everyone knows, as a beast of burden in the far North, and in some European cities, particularly in those of Germany. Subsequently the ox was domesticated, but it is probable that for a vast period of time it was used for food purposes, rather than as a beast of burden. And lastly the horse, the worker _par excellence_, was made captive by some Asiatic tribes having the genius of invention, and in due course this fleetest of carriers and most efficient of draught animals was introduced into all civilized nations.

Doubtless for a long time the energy of the horse was utilized in an uneconomical way, through binding the burden on its back, or causing it to drag the burden along the ground. But this is inferential, since, as we have seen, the wheel was invented in pre-historic times, and at the dawn of history we find the Babylonians driving harnessed horses attached to wheeled vehicles. From that day to this the method of using horse-power has not greatly changed. The vast majority of the many millions of horses that are employed every day in helping on the world's work, use their strength without gain or loss through leverage, and with only the aid of rolling friction to increase their capacity as beasts of burden.

To a certain extent horse-power is still used with the aid of the modified treadmill just referred to--consisting essentially of an inclined plane of flexible mechanism made into an endless platform, which the horse causes to revolve as he goes through the movements of walking upon it. In agricultural districts this form of power is still sometimes used to run threshing machines, cider mills, wood-saws, and the like. Another application of horse-power to the same ends is accomplished through harnessing a horse to a long lever like the spoke of a wheel, fastened to an axis, which is made to revolve as the horse walks about it. Several horses are sometimes hitched to such a mechanism, which becomes then a wheel of several spokes. But this mechanism, which was common enough in agricultural districts two or three decades ago, has been practically superseded in recent years by the perambulatory steam engine.

The upper figure shows the type of portable horse-power machine used for threshing grain in 1851. The lower figure is an inclined-plane horse-gear. The horse stands on the sloping platform tied to the bar in front, so that it is compelled to walk as the platform recedes.]

It is obvious that the amount of work which a horse can accomplish must vary greatly with the size and quality of the horse, and with the particular method by which its energy is applied. For the purposes of comparison, however, an arbitrary amount of work has been fixed upon as constituting what is called a horse-power. This amount is the equivalent of raising thirty-three thousand pounds of weight to the height of one foot in one minute. It would be hard to say just why this particular standard was fixed upon, since it certainly represents more than the average capacity of a horse. It is, however, a standard which long usage (it was first suggested by Watt, of steam-engine fame) has rendered convenient, and one which the machinist refers to constantly in speaking of the efficiency of the various types of artificial machines. All questions of the exact legitimacy of this particular standard aside, it was highly appropriate that the labor of the horse, which has made up so large a share of the labor of the past, and which is still so extensively utilized, should continue to be taken as the measuring standard of the world's work.

IV

THE WORK OF AIR AND WATER

The store of energy contained in the atmosphere and in the waters of the globe is inexhaustible. Its amount is beyond all calculation; or if it were vaguely calculated the figures would be quite incomprehensible from their very magnitude. It is not, however, an altogether simple matter to make this energy available for the purposes of useful work. We find that throughout antiquity comparatively little use was made of either wind or water in their application to machinery.

Doubtless the earliest use of air as a motive power was through the application of sails to boats. We know that the Phoenicians used a simple form of sail, and no doubt their example was followed by all the maritime peoples of subsequent periods. But the use of the sail even by the Phoenicians was as a comparatively unimportant accessory to the galaxies of oars, which formed the chief motive power. The elaboration of sails of various types, adequate in extent to propel large ships, and capable of being adjusted so as to take advantage of winds blowing from almost any quarter, was a development of the Middle Ages.

The possibilities of work with the aid of running water were also but little understood by the ancients. In the days of slave labor it was scarcely worth while to tax man's ingenuity to invent machines, since so efficient a one was provided by nature. Yet the properties of both air and water were studied by various mechanical philosophers, at the head of whom were Archimedes, whose work has already been referred to, and the famous Alexandrian, Ctesibius, whose investigations became familiar through the publications of his pupil, Hero.

Perhaps the most remarkable device invented by Ctesibius was a fire-engine, consisting of an arrangement of valves constituting a pump, and operating on the principle which is still in vogue. It is known, however, that the Egyptians of a much earlier period used buckets having valves in their bottoms, and these perhaps furnished the foundation for the idea of Ctesibius. It is unnecessary to give details of this fire-engine. It may be noted, however, that the principle of the lever is the one employed in its operation to gain power. A valve consists essentially of any simple hinged substance, arranged so that it may rise or fall, alternately opening and closing an aperture. A mere flap of leather, nailed on one edge, serves as a tolerably effective valve. At least one of the valves used by Ctesibius was a hinged piece of smooth metal. A piston fitted in a cylinder supplies suction when the lever is raised, and pressure when it is compressed, alternately opening the valve and closing the valve through which the water enters the tube. Meantime a second valve alternating with the first permits the water to enter the chamber containing air, which through its elasticity and pressure equalizes the force of the stream that is ejected from the chamber through the hose.

SUCTION AND PRESSURE

In the construction of this and various other apparatus, Ctesibius and Hero were led to make careful studies of the phenomena of suction. But in this they were not alone, since numerous of their predecessors had studied the subject, and such an apparatus as the surgeon's cupping glass was familiarly known several centuries before the Christian era. The cupping glass, as perhaps should be explained to the reader of the present day--since the apparatus went out of vogue in ordinary medical practise two or three generations ago--consists of a glass cup in which the air is exhausted, so as to suck blood from any part of the surface of a body to which it is applied. Hero describes a method of exhausting air by which such suction may be facilitated. But neither he nor any other philosopher of his period at all understood the real nature of this suction, notwithstanding their perfect familiarity with numerous of its phenomena. It was known, for example, that when a tube closed at one end is filled with water and inverted with the open end beneath the surface of the water, the water remains in the tube, although one might naturally expect that it would obey the impulses of gravitation and run out, leaving the tube empty. A familiar explanation of this and allied phenomena throughout antiquity was found in the saying that "Nature abhors a vacuum." This explanation, which of course amounts to no explanation at all, is fairly illustrative of the method of metaphysical word-juggling that served so largely among the earlier philosophers in explanation of the mysteries of physical science.

The real explanation of the phenomena of suction was not arrived at until the revival of learning in the seventeenth century. Then Torricelli, the pupil of Galileo, demonstrated that the word suction, as commonly applied, had no proper application; and that the phenomena hitherto ascribed to it were really due to the pressure of the atmosphere. A vacuum is merely an enclosed space deprived of air, and the "abhorrence" that Nature shows to such a space is due to the fact that air has weight and presses in every direction, and hence tends to invade every space to which it can gain access. It was presently discovered that if the inverted tube in which the water stands was made high enough, the water will no longer fill it, but will sink to a certain level. The height at which it will stand is about thirty feet; above that height a vacuum will be formed, which, for some reason, Nature seems not to abhor. The reason is that the weight of any given column of water about thirty feet in height is just balanced by the weight of a corresponding column of atmosphere. The experiments that gave the proof of this were made by the famous Englishman, Boyle. He showed that if the heavy liquid, mercury, is used in place of water, then the suspended column will be only about thirty inches in height. The weight or pressure of the atmosphere at sea level, as measured by these experiments, is about fifteen pounds to the square inch.

Boyle's further experiments with the air and with other gases developed the fact that the pressure exerted by any given quantity of gas is proportional to the external pressure to which it is subjected, which, after all, is only a special application of the law that action and reaction are equal. The further fact was developed that under pressure a gas decreases at a fixed rate in bulk. A general law, expressing these facts in the phrase that density and elasticity vary inversely with the pressure in a precise ratio, was developed by Boyle and the Frenchman, Mariotte, independently, and bears the name of both of its discoverers. No immediate application of the law to the practical purposes of the worker was made, however, and it is only in recent years that compressed air has been extensively employed as a motive power. Even now it has not proved a great commercial success, because other more economical methods of power production are available. In particular cases, however, it has a certain utility, as a relatively large available source of energy may be condensed into a very small receptacle.

A very striking experiment illustrating the pressure of the air was made by a famous contemporary of Boyle and Mariotte, by the name of Otto von Guericke. He connected an air pump with a large brass sphere, composed of two hemispheres, the edges of which fitted smoothly, but were not connected by any mechanism. Under ordinary conditions the hemispheres would fall apart readily, but von Guericke proved, by a famous public demonstration, that when the air was exhausted in the sphere, teams of horses pulling in opposite directions on the hemispheres could not separate them. This is famous as the experiment of the Magdeburg spheres, and it is often repeated on a smaller scale in the modern physical laboratory, to the astonishment of the tyro in physical experiments.

The first question that usually comes to the mind of anyone who has personally witnessed such an experiment, is the question as to how the human body can withstand the tremendous force to which it is subjected by an atmosphere exerting a pressure of fifteen pounds on every square inch of its surface. The explanation is found in the uniform distribution of the pressure, the influence of which is thus counteracted, and by the fact that the tissues themselves contain everywhere a certain amount of air at the same pressure. The familiar experiment of holding the hand over an exhausted glass cylinder--which experiment is indeed but a modification of the use of the cupping glass above referred to--illustrates very forcibly the insupportable difficulties which the human body would encounter were not its entire surface uniformly subjected to the atmospheric pressure.

AIR IN MOTION