Lo!

by Charles Fort

  So extraordinary was terrestrial, volcanic activity at this time that it will have to be considered. Like other expressions, our expression here is that mutually affective outbursts spread from the land of the stars to and through the land of this earth, firing off volcanoes in the disturbances of one organic and relatively little whole.

  It was a time of extremist drought in Australia. Thunderstorms that came, after November 12th, were described as terrific.

  As a glimmer of awareness, Lockyer told of the fireballs that came with the dust to Australia, and the suggestion to him was that there had been a volcanic discharge. But there was something that he did not tell. He did not know. It was told of in no scientific publication, and it reached no newspaper published outside Australia. After the first volley of fire balls, other fire balls came to Australia. I have searched in newspapers of all continents, and it is my statement that no such fire balls were reported anywhere else. All were so characterized that it will be accepted that all were of one stream. Perhaps they came from an eruption in the constellation Puppis, but my especial expression is that, if all were of one origin, and if, days apart, they came to this earth, only to Australia, they so localized, because this earth is stationary.

  For references, see the Sydney Herald and the Melbourne Leader. There was a meteoric explosion at Parramatta, November 13th. A fireball fell and exploded terrifically, at Carcoar. At Murrumburrah, N.S.W., dust and a large fireball fell, upon the 18th. A fireball passed over the town of Nyngan, night of the 22nd, intensely illuminating sky and ground. Upon the night of the 20th, as reported by Sir Charles Todd of the Adelaide Observatory, a large fireball was seen, moving so slowly that it was watched four minutes. At eleven o’clock, night of the 21st, a fireball of the apparent size of the sun was seen at Towitta. An hour later, several towns were illuminated by a great fireball. Upon the 23rd, a fireball exploded at Ipswich, Queensland. It is of especial importance to note the record of one of these bombs, or meteors that moved so slowly that it was watched four minutes.

  From Feb. 12 to March 1, 1903, dusts and discolored rains fell along the western coast of Africa, upon many parts of the European continent, and in England. The conventional explanation was published: there had been a whirlwind in Africa.

  I have plodded for more than twenty years in the libraries of New York and London. There are millions of persons who would think this a dreary existence.

  But the challenges—the excitements—the finds.

  Any pronouncement by any orthodoxy is to me the same as handcuffs. It’s braincuffs. There are times when I don’t give a damn whether the stars are trillions of miles away or ten miles away—but, at any time, let anybody say to me, authoritatively, or with an air of finality, that the stars are trillions of miles away, or ten miles away, and my contrariness stirs, or inflames, and if I can’t pick the lock of his pronouncements, I’ll have to squirm out some way to save my egotism.

  So then the dusts of February and March, 1903—and the whirlwind explanation—and other egotists will understand how I suffer. Simply say to me, “Mere dusts from an African desert,” and I begin to squirm like a Houdini.

  Feb. 12 to March 1, 1903—“dusts from an African desert.”

  I get busy.

  Nature, 75-589—that some of this dust, which had fallen at Cardiff, Wales, had been analyzed, and that it was probably volcanic.

  But the word “analyzed” is an affront to my bigotries—conventional chemist—orthodox procedures—scientific delusions—more coercions.

  I am pleased with a find, in the London Standard, Feb. 26, 1903. It is of no service to me, especially, now, but, in general, it is agreeable to my malices—a letter from Prof. T.G. Bonney, in which the professor says that the dust was not volcanic, because there was no glassy material in it—and a letter from someone else, stating that in specimens of the dust that were examined by him, all the particles were glassy.

  “It was dust from an African desert.”

  But I have resources.

  One of them is Al-Moghreb. How many persons, besides myself, have ever heard of Al-Moghreb? Al-Moghreb is my own discovery.

  The dust came down in England, Austria, Switzerland, Belgium, Germany, and along the west coast of Africa. Here’s the question:

  If there had been an African hurricane so violent as to strew a good part of Europe, is it not likely that there would have been awareness of it in Africa?

  Al-Moghreb (Tangier)—no mention of any atmospheric disturbance that would bear out the conventional explanation. Lagos Weekly Record—Sierra Leone Weekly News—Egyptian Gazette—no mention.

  And then one of those finds that make plodding in libraries as exciting as prospecting for nuggets—

  February 14th, of this year—one of the most extraordinary phenomena in the history of Australia. In magnitude it was next to the occurrences of the preceding November. In the blackest of darkness, dust and mud fell from the sky. Melbourne Age, February 16—three columns of reports, upon darkness and dust and falling mud, in about forty widespread towns in New South Wales and Victoria.

  The material that fell in Australia fell about as enormously as fell the dusts, in Europe. There is no mention of it in any of the dozens of articles by conventionalists, upon the phenomena in Europe. It started falling two days after the first fall of dust, west of Africa. It was coincidence, or here is an instance of two enormous volumes of dust that had one origin.

  There was an unnoticed hurricane in Africa, which strewed Europe, and daubed Australia, precipitating nowhere between these two continents; or two vast volumes of dust were discharged from a disturbance somewhere beyond this earth, drifting here, arriving so nearly simultaneously that the indications are that the space between the source and this stationary earth is not of enormous extent, but was traversed in a few days, or a few weeks.

  There was no known eruption upon this earth, at this time. If here, but unknown, it would have to be an eruption more tremendous than any of the known eruptions of this earth.

  There was a new star.

  It was found, by a professional astronomer, upon photographs of the constellation Gemini, taken upon March 8th (Observatory, 12-245). It may have existed a few weeks before somebody happened to photograph this part of the sky.

  “Cold-blooded scientists,” as we hear them called—and their “ideal of accuracy”—they’re more like a lot of spoiled brats, willfully determined to have their own way. In Cosmos, n.s., 69-422, were reported meteoric phenomena, before the destructive earthquake in Calabria, Italy, Sept. 8, 1905. It was said—or it was “announced”—that Prof. Agamennone was investigating. It would have been a smash to conventional science if Prof. Agamennone had confirmed these reports. We know what to expect. According to the account in Cosmos, first came a fall of meteors, and then, three-quarters of an hour later, to this same place upon this probably stationary earth, came a great meteor. It exploded, and in the ground was a shock by which 4,600 buildings were destroyed, and 4,000 persons were killed.

  A volume of sound from crashing walls, in billows of roars from falling roofs, sailed like a ship in a storm. When it sank, lamentations leaped from it.

  Because of underlying oneness, the sounds of a catastrophe are renderable in the terms of any other field of phenomena. Structural principles are the same, either in phonetic or biologic anatomy. A woe, or an insect, or a centipede is a series of segments.

  Or the wreck of a city was a cemetery. Convulsed into animation, it was Resurrection Day, as not conceived of by religionists. Concatenations of sounds arose from burials. Spinal columns of groans were exhuming from ruination. Articulations of sobs clung to them. A shout that was jointed with oaths reached out from a hole. A church, which for centuries had been the den of a parasite, sank to a heap. It was a maw that engulfed a congregation. From it came the chant of a litany that was a tapeworm emerging from a ruptured stomach.

  Choruses broke into moans that were rows of weeping willows. A prayer crossed a field of
murmurs, and was gored by a blasphemy. Tellers of beads told ladders, up which ran profanities. Then came submergence again, in a chorus.

  In earthquake lands, it is the belief of the people that there is a godness that, at times of catastrophes, directs them to flock to churches. My own theology is in agreement. It is by such concentrations that the elimination of surplusages is facilitated. But, if Virgin Marys were replaced by images of Mrs. Sanger, there would be no such useful murders.

  It is said, in the Bull. Soc. Astro. de France, October, 1905, that luminous phenomena had preceded this catastrophe, in Calabria. Observations upon appearances in the sky were gathered by Prof. Alfani, and were recorded by him, in the Revista di Fisca. But it was Prof. Agamennone’s decision upon reported phenomena in the sky that was awaited by the scientific world. From time to time, in scientific periodicals, there was something to the effect that he was investigating.

  Not only meteors were told of. There was a fall of dust, from the sky, at Tiriolo.

  Explained.

  There had been an eruption of Stromboli.

  Comptes Rendus, 141-576—report by M. Lacroix, who had been living near Stromboli, at the time—that, at this time of the fall of dust, there had been no more than normal activity of Stromboli.

  Long afterward, the result of Prof. Agamennone’s investigation was published. He could find only one witness.

  It is not easy to think of an organic control that would beguile its human supernumeraries into manageable concentrations, for eliminative purposes, and also permit a Prof. Agamennone to conceive of warnings for them. But, if in super-metabolism, there is, as in sub-organisms, the catabolism of destructions, also there are restorations. Anabolic vibrations, known to the people of this earth, as “sympathy” and “charity,” shook from pockets as far away as California, money that rebuilt the mutilated tissues of Italy.

  Something else that every conventionalist will explain as “mere coincidence” is that down from the sky came deluges upon the quaking land of Calabria. There was widespread need for water, at this time.

  India—“pitiable, as described in accounts of one of the severest of droughts. The wilt of a province—the ebb of its life is at the rate of 2,000 of its starving inhabitants, a day, into the town of Sind. Its people shrivel, and its fields, burned brown, wrinkle with trains of dark-skinned refugees. A band of natives in a desolate copse—trunks and limbs of leafless, little trees, and shrunken arms and legs merge in one jungle of emaciation. A starving native, flat in a field—he has crawled away from the long, white cloud of dust of a trampled road. It might be hell anywhere, but there are glimpses of the especial hell that is India. Breech-clout of the starving native—pinned to it, a string of jewels, which, though dying, he had stolen. Long, wide cloud of dust that is a landscape girdle—and it is emblazoned with a rajah’s elephants.

  There was intense suffering at Lahore. All the gods were prayed to for rain.

  Upon the 9th of September, there was an earthquake at Lahore. All the gods answered at once, combining their deliveries, with an efficiency that smashed houses. Allahabad Pioneer Mail, September 15—“houses collapsing in great numbers, and the occupants wandering homeless.” “Such an occurrence at this season is most unprecedented, and has taken everybody by surprise” (Times of India, September 16).

  Main Street—any good-sized American city—a dull afternoon—the barbershop and the cigar store on the corner—much dullness—

  A sudden frenzy—Main Street rushes out of the town.

  Or a human mind in a monotonous state of smugness—there’s a temptation, or the smash of a conviction, and something that it has taken for a principle rushes out of it, in a torrent of broken beliefs—

  That delirium, or frenzy—or anything else mental or human—is not exclusively mental or human—but just what are my data for thinking that the principal street of an American city ever did rush out of the town?

  Well, something similar. It was at the time of the deluges in India. There was a monstrous fall of water in Kashmir.

  Many of the inhabitants of the city of Srinagar, Kashmir, lived in rows of houseboats, upon the river Jhelum, a sluggish, muddy stream, with so little visible motion that, between the rows, it looked like a smooth pavement. It suddenly went up seventeen feet. The two long rows of houseboats rushed away.

  Another river in Kashmir smashed a village. On its banks it left parallel confusions.

  Notch a butterfly’s wings—this is mutilation. But correspondingly notch the other wing, and there is balance. Two mutilations may be harmony. The doubly hideous may be beautiful. If, on both sides of the river that was a subsiding axis, mothers simultaneously screamed over the bodies of children, this correspondence was the soul of design. Two anguishes, neatly balanced in parallel lines of wreckage, satisfy the requirements of those who worship godness as only harmony.

  A quaking zone of Europe and Asia was deluged. Drought in Turkey—earthquakes—plentiful rain (Levant Herald, September 11, 18). Tremendous falls of water and shocks were continuing in Calabria. Spain was flooded.

  September 27th—another severe shock at Lahore; and, this day, again dust, of unknown origin, fell from the sky, in Calabria. A current of hot air came with it. According to the Levant Herald, October 9, many persons were asphyxiated. According to description, it was a volcanic blast that cannot be traced to origin upon this earth. If it came from somewhere beyond this earth, such a repetition in Calabria is a coincidence, or is an indication that this earth is stationary. It is easier to call it a coincidence.

  There was a new star.

  Upon the night of August 18th, an “auroral” beam, such as has often been seen in the sky, at times of volcanic eruptions upon this earth, and at times of new stars, was seen in England (English Mechanic, 82-88). Upon the 31st of August, Mrs. Fleming, at Harvard University Observatory, looking over photographic plates, saw that a new star had been recorded, on and after the 18th. The new star, diminishing, continued to shine during September.

  Our expression upon “auroral” beams is that vast beams of light have often been seen in the sky, at times when terrestrial volcanoes were active; that similar appearances have been seen at times of new stars, and may be considered light-effects of volcanoes, not terrestrial. For records of several of these beams, one while Stromboli was violent, Sept. 1, 1891, and one, July 16, 1892, while one of the greatest eruptions of Etna was occurring, see Nature, vols. 44 and 45, and Popular Astronomy, 10-249. For one of the latest instances, see newspapers, April 16, 1926: while Mauna Loa, Hawaii, was in eruption, a beam of light was seen in Nebraska.

  There’s a new light in the heavens, and there’s a disturbance upon this earth, as if an interaction that could not occur, if trillions of miles intervene.

  “Mere coincidence.”

  There’s a quake in Formosa, and there’s a quake in California.

  “Only coincidence,” say the conventionalists, who are committed to local explanations.

  April 18, 1906—the destruction of San Francisco. The Governor of California appointed a commission of eight professors to investigate the catastrophe. The eight professors ignored, as coincidence, everything else that had occurred at the time, and explained in the usual, local, geological terms. In Nature, 73-608, is published Dr. Charles Davison’s explanation, which is in terms of a local subsidence. Dr. Davison mentions nothing else that occurred at the time.

  At the time—a disastrous quake in Formosa, and the most violent eruption of Vesuvius since April, 1872; activity in a long-dormant volcano in the Canary Islands; quake in Alberta, Canada; sudden rise and fall of Lake Geneva, Switzerland; eruption of Mt. Asama, Japan.

  See back to the occurrence of St. Pierre, Martinique. May, 1902—30,000 persons, who perished properly—blackened into cinders, with academic sanction. They turned into ashes, but the principles of an orthodoxy were upheld.

  January, 1907—and the ignoramuses of Jamaica. They saved their own lives, because they did not know better.<
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  About three o’clock, afternoon of Jan. 14, 1907, there was sudden darkness, at Kingston, Jamaica. People cried to one another that an earthquake was coming, and many of them ran to parks and other open spaces. The earthquake came. The people who ran to the open spaces lived, but a thousand of the others were killed by falling houses.

  A web that was spun of dogmas caught a thousand victims. After the quake, the ruins of Kingston sprawled like a spider, stretching out long, black lines that were trains of hearses. But all who ran to the parks, believing that appearances in the sky did mean that catastrophe upon earth was coming, lived. I have given data for thinking that a De Ballore, or any other conventionalist, would ridicule these people for so interpreting “a mere coincidence.”

  October, 1907, and March, 1908—falls, from the sky, of substances like soot and ashes—catastrophes upon this earth and new stars that were discovered by amateurs. See the English Mechanic, 86-237, 260, and the Observatory, 31-215.

  Dec. 30, 1910—new star—disastrous earthquakes—an enormous fall, from the sky, of a substance like ashes. The new star, Nova Lacertae, was discovered by Dr. Espin, a professional astronomer. Photographic records were looked up. Almost six weeks this star had been shining, unobserved at this earth’s Observatories. It was visible without a telescope (fifth magnitude).

  For almost six weeks, a new star had shone over the Observatories of this earth, and no milkman had reported it. However, without chagrin, we note this remissness, because it is no purpose of this book to spout eulogies to the amateur in science. It is only in astronomy that the humiliation of professionals by amateurs is common. I have no records of little boys running into laboratories, startling professors of chemistry, or physics, with important discoveries. The achievements of amateurs in astronomy rank about with a giving of information, upon current events, to a Rip Van Winkle. I’ll not apologize, because no night watchman hammered for several hours upon the front door of an observatory, rudely disturbing the spiders.