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Note.—If the reader is too much interested in getting to the upshot of this tale, let him skip the Lecture. But it is a mistake. This Lecture was delivered by Mr. Binn on the Ninth of April, 1909, and is well worth while.

“Mr. President, Dr. Smith and Ladies and Gentlemen,” began the speaker; “The area of the Panama Isthmus and the West Indies has been an area of successional changes very considerable in their amount, very persistent in their frequency. It embraces a tropical area contiguous on its Pacific side to a meridional section of the earth which is very unstable, and which almost monopolizes the contemporaneous volcanic energy of the earth. It adjoins, or is limited itself on the east, in the Atlantic, by the Antillean islets, the emergent crests of submerged volcanic vents. It could be presumptively held, on these grounds, that the Isthmus itself partook of these characters of inequilibrated crustal motions. It might be affirmed, with a fair amount of precision, that its future history would continue this impression.

“The West Indies, as defined by Hill, embracing the islands that with Cuba form a long convexity terminating in Trinidad, on the coast of S. America, represent to-day a disintegrated continent. They are supposed to have embodied a former geographical unity. It had terrestrial magnitude, and lay Atlantis-like between South America and North America, at a time when the present narrow neck of land upon which our eyes are now, as a nation, fixed with anxious preoccupation, was itself swept over by the confluent waters of the two oceans, and when at that point which now forms an attenuated avenue of intercourse between North and South America, the tides of a broad water way alternated in their allegiance to the East or West coasts of the separated continents; and possibly a precarious and fluctuating contribution from the warm Gulf Stream found its way into the Pacific.

“The discussion of this question opens up for our consideration the examination of the geological structure of these oscillating terranes, as to what these are made up of, and it is evident that we must reach some general conclusion as to the succession of the strata composing them, and their relative positions to each other, as whether they are, in the language of stratigraphy, conformable or unconformable. The inference and argument are simple. If we find that the rocks composing these sections are crystalline, ancient, and deeply bedded formations, presumably coexistent, so to speak, with the original or very early formative beds of the world, and referable to its beginnings, we are permitted, by all the analogies of induction and deduction, to assume that these rocks have at least a relative stability. On the other hand if our examination reveals the fact that they are recent deposits, more or less unconsolidated, easily disturbed in their positions, easily readjusted in their molecular or physical structure, then by the most unexceptional and matter-of-fact observation, we shall regard them as questionably permanent, indeed as unmistakably non-resistant to the subterranean forces of terrestrial mutation.

“Again it is clear that a pile of bricks, or of any other superimposed building blocks is the more secure, in its equilibrium, if the component parts overlie each other, along the broadest surfaces, and come in contact, or fit, as we say, in parallel position. If these bricks succeed each other in lines of brick that are flat, and then in lines that are vertical, or placed on their thinnest and narrowest edges, and these two contrasted positions alternate, or are irregularly disposed with reference to each other in the same wall, such a construction implies, involves, elements of weakness, and under the shock of any incident force would succumb in ruin more quickly, and more irretrievably than the former. If further, the latter building style had suffered ruptures and dislocations and the gaps or openings and broken surfaces of contact between its parts had been invaded or replaced by an irregular or incongruous assortment of ‘filling,’ differing from the original bricks in substance, texture and hardness, then we have a third pattern of composition that again is weaker than either of its predecessors. But further. If this least massive and most vulnerable type of structure has been subjected to repeated and considerable strains of elevation and depression, and strains recurrent at short intervals, then, without inspection, we know that its interior coherence has been much shattered, and that it has undergone a progressive dilapidation.

“But I am constrained to go one step farther in this hypothetical picture of structural defectiveness. To return to our wall of brick. It can be made up of bricks laid upon each other in consecutive tiers; it can be made up of tilted tiers of bricks, bricks laid on each other, but inclined to a horizontal plane, and finally it is conceivable that the bricks may be so arranged as to be inverted in their relations to the horizontal plane. The diagrams make clear these contrasted positions.

“Now of all these types of structures the last obviously best meets the requirements of a type which will prove the least susceptible to dislocation. I think that can be apprehended almost without explanation. A moment’s reflexion will make it conspicuous.

“The bricks tilted up in inclined tiers or beds, upon disturbance, if the cohesion between them is seriously impaired, tend to fall away from each other, and gravity increases the effects of the initial displacement. If the bricks lie flat they do not fall apart, upon the cessation of any push or upheaval, but remain disordered, falling back into some quasi-position of rest. If the bricks are inverted and form in section a series of lines converging to the base of the wall, their disarrangement is largely rectified by their own gravity, bringing them back into their first positions.

“In Geology strata overlying each other, in succession, as the bricks do when on their flat faces are called conformable, if they succeed, one over the other, with the edges or summits of the lower, abutting against the horizontal surfaces of the next, as do the bricks when they are placed in flat and vertical positions, in alternating strips, that is unconformability.

“If the strata are usually horizontal like the evenly piled series of bricks, they are called undisturbed; if inclined against each other, they are inclined, and they may make monoclinals, having one slope, or anti-clinals when they lean up against each other like the opposite sides of a peaked roof; or synclinal when inclined towards each other in an inverted position like the same roof overturned, with its ridge pole on the ground, and its inclined sides lifted into the air, or like the bricks in the last pattern of structure described.

“When we carry these similes into nature, we have all kinds of rocks, and we have them in mountains, in planes, and all the familiar configuration of the earth’s surface.

“Now we find that those portions of the earth immediately beneath our feet, extending for a mile or so into the surface of the earth, are variously made up of layers, strata, beds, formations, lying on one another, and conformable or unconformable, undisturbed or thrown into anticlinal or synclinal folds; that the material in its general mineral character, is limestone, marls, or sands and sandstone, slates, clays, metamorphic rocks like gneiss and quartzite, etc., and associated with them are granites which may have been melted lava-like rock before it cooled and crystallized, while there is plentiful evidence of abundant outflows of igneous, melted or viscid rocks; evidences of lines of eruption, of foci, or craters of eruption. Thus, as in the brick structure, where unrelated and later material has been introduced in fissures, gaps, openings, holes, etc., of the walls, we have some of the architecture of the earth, an original bedded structure invaded by very contrasted substances, and which give to that architecture, as in the brick wall of our homely illustration, lack of homogeneity, and lack of strength.

“In the West Indies and on the Isthmus of Panama we have the states of instability which we have signalized, viz., secondary deposits of a somewhat loose and unconsolidated material, and wanting in the deeply bedded crystalline rocks which in New England, in the Adirondacks, and the Piedmont or higher regions abutting on the coastal plain in the northern United States, furnish a solid, and probably fundamentally deep seated pediment of resistance to shock. Again in the West Indies and in the Isthmus, we have the beds unconformable over each other, which you will recall in our symbol of the brick wall, was a feature of weakness; also these unconformable beds are inclined in anti-clinals, a further aspect of structural insolvency; and further these beds have been widely, pervasively, in places, infiltrated and ruptured by subsequent introductions of volcanic substance, ashes, lavas and intrusive magmas. Thus the geological aggregates present the previously illustrated condition of fragility, and the absence of the so-called tectonic elements of rigidity. But still one step more in our disheartening study of this equatorial problem.

“I, a few moments past, called your attention to the fact that ‘if this least massive and most vulnerable type of structure has been subjected to repeated and considerable strains of elevation and depression, and strains recurrent at short intervals, then, without inspection, we know that its interior has been much shattered, and that it has undergone a progressive dilapidation.’

“Precisely such catastrophes are discovered in the history of the geological region now before us. The islands of the West Indies have been subjected to great changes of elevation. They have risen and fallen during the last geological age—the Tertiary—perhaps four times. In their rise they have gathered to themselves marginal extensions of land, now hidden beneath the ocean at comparatively slight depths, while they have at the same time doubtless become blended and unified into a great Antillean continent. This continent was dominated by volcanic protuberances whose growth upward, over accumulations of ashes, has been again symptomatic of undermining operations threatening later subsidence and submergence.

“In our day we have been called on to deplore the ravages caused by the eruptions of Mt. Pelee and La Soufriere, on the Islands of Martinique and St. Vincent, and it is natural to insist that regions which have a precarious autonomy, in which such volcanoes can exist, must be regarded with diffidence, as permanent geographical areas.

“It was pointed out by Prof. Robert T. Hill that the current, and formerly undisputed, conception that the Rocky Mountains of North America and the Andes of South America were not only analogous physiographically, but univalent in fact; that the continuous elevation of Central America brought them into an oblique alignment; and that their mutual prolongations met in the Isthmus of Panama, was erroneous. It involved a complete misconception. It was a geographical fallacy, and leads to misleading conclusions as to the permanency of this intermedian region, itself pre-eminently individualized and liberated from the circumstances and implications of either the Rocky Mountain Continent or the Andean Continent. This area has a different geological ancestry. To-day it invokes an especial treatment, and possibly expects a future, contrasted with that of the two great Continents whose longitudinal extension it contravenes by its east and west lines, by the prerogatives of a separate origin.

“The Rocky Mountains terminate in the plateau of Mexico, ‘a little south,’ says Hill, ‘of the capital of that republic; and that the mountains have no orographic continuity, or other features in common with those of the Central American region.’

“And the same authority, describing the terminus of the Andes, says, ‘The northern end of the Andean System lies entirely east of the Central American region, and is separated from it by the Rio Atrato—the most western of the great Rivers of Columbia. In fact, the deeply eroded drainage valley of this stream nearly severs the Pacific coast from the republic of Columbia, and the isthmian region, from the South American continent.’

“The Central American volcanoes belong to the type that is repeated along the Caribbean shores of Colombia and Venezuela, and those in the Isthmus of Panama, and those of the great Antilles. The genesis of this American Mediterranean land-aggregate was in an independent geological impulse, and the land aggregate itself impinged by intersection upon the dominant land surfaces of North and South America. To bring together North and South America as a simultaneous geological phenomena is wrong, to make them other than an accidental geographical continuity questionable. It is this intermediate zone—the Antillean continent with lateral elongations, grasping within its continental solidarity the parallel zones of Central America and the Isthmus, that gives them terrestrial unity. Extend the axis of the Rocky Mountains, and it passes almost two thousand miles west of the coast of South America; extend the axis of the Andes and it bisects the western extremity of Cuba, and passes along the seaboard of the United States.

“There is no exact geological identity here, although there is the strictest geographical homology. Each is the backbone of a continent, each upheaved and variously modified, igneously invaded sediments, derived from some pre-existent continent. They may be brought into a just comparison, but they are not strictly parts of one phenomenon. They are, however, more closely related to each other, than the Antillean areas are to either. This Antillean area, I shall here call the Columbian Continent, as the great discoverer landed at its two east and west extremities—the land-fall on San Salvador in the Bermudas, and on the coast of Honduras in Central America, as well as at Cuba, and at the mouths of the Orinoco—and his bones rested for a long time in the soil of San Domingo. It—this Columbean Continent—is a significant intercalation. It unites North and South America, but it unites them subject to the phases of its own generation.

“Let us understand this. There is a system of growth, a law, if I may so term it, of geomorphic sameness in the development of large, or for that matter, small geological territories. The familiar story of the growth of our North American continent has been often told. It is a commonplace of text books. The wide, triangular Archæan nucleus to the north, the oldest rocks—outlines and outliers down the east, and the same in the west—drew the framing limits of the continent at the first, to be filled in, up and out, by the momentous additions through the ages of advancing time. In Europe less well or simply defined boundaries, the growth together rather of divided islands, prevailed, and the picture of development was quite varied, from the picture in this western world. Again in Africa, with edges of uplift and centres of depression another geological tale with its incidents and accessories infinitely modified, comes into view. And in this prevalence of structural style, we, geologically speaking, find a prevalence of certain geological phases or conditions.

“What were these in the growth and disappearance of this Columbian continent? What they have been, we can, with rational probability, assume they will be.

“The Columbian continent, I have called a dismembered, a fractionized continent. If from Cuba through Haiti, Porto Rico, and the lesser Antilles one land surface obtained, and the now submerged and radiating gorges, found only as submarine canyons, were above the ocean, becoming, as Prof. Spencer has laboriously proven, sub-aerial river valleys, we should have one presumable phase of this continent, the phase of its maximum cohesion and extension. And such a phase is measurably or, for purposes of argumentative inference, sensibly established. It is said with careful premeditation by Hill that ‘the numerous islets of its eastern border, the Bahamas and Windward chain, which extend from Florida to the mouth of the Orinoco, are merely the summits of steep submarine ridges, which divide the depths of the Atlantic from those of the Gulf of Mexico, and Caribbean sea; were their waters a few feet lower, these ridges would completely landlock the seas from the ocean.’

“When thus constituted, it afforded a display of physical features of astonishing contrasts, and its mere scenic resources were doubtless of unparalleled splendor, and, as to-day, it was involved in the luxuriant productivity of the tropics. Its mountains measuring now as high as eleven thousand feet above the sea level, were then thrust upward into stupendous peaks, by the addition of the sloping miles which are now below the ocean. We can imagine the extreme wonderfulness of this continent, uniting in an unbroken but marvellously varied expression of physical and vegetable contrast, the plains, valleys, and mountains of Cuba, the towering and draped peaks of Jamaica, the confusion of the gloomy vales and ranges of Hayti and San Domingo, the levels and coastal ranges of Porto Rico, and the manifold picturesque charms of the Lesser Antilles, lifting high into the ceaseless currents of the trade winds the smoking summits of a chain of disturbed volcanoes. All, in the boundless abundance of its natural endowment of loveliness, and productivity, formed an unique and extravagantly ornamented landscape, an area whose highest elevations contemplated the remote waters of the shrunk Atlantic, from pinnacles raised ten to twenty thousand feet above its azure waves. Nor is this all. This hypothetical—the Columbian—continent, may have had connexions with Central America through projecting and peninsulated capes, reaching through Jamaica to Yucatan or Honduras, and wide intervals of dividing gulfs of water, in all probability sundered it from North or South America, and it remained, as I here emphatically insist, it remains to-day, a geographical and geological phenomenon, unrelated to the great continents, to which through their preponderating value, the mind almost unpremeditatingly assigns it.

“But at the period of this greatest elevation, when this tropical region assumed individual independence, and embodied a geognostic importance comparable to the vast continents it lay between—at this time—the Isthmus of Panama did not exist, and through a wide water-way the Atlantic mingled its tides with those of the Pacific.

“We are thus led to believe that as between the West Indian terranes and the neck of land now embraced in the Isthmus of Panama, we have a relation of Isostacy.’”

The speaker, armed with this formidable verbal equipment of attack upon his audience, had walked to the front of the platform, and, harboring some unusual confidence in his powers, had deserted his manuscript. Isostacy, he had realized, possessed probably unqualified novelty, and by way of assurance, lest its terrors might empty the hall, he assumed a colloquial relation to his dazed hearers, and offered an explanation of this unexpected mystery. “Isostacy,” he resumed, “is simply this: Equilibrium. It is the maintenance of average level—as if one part of the earth’s surface was pushed up, above a mean level, then the requirements of Isostacy would depress another part, below it. We can also call it the adjustment of a changing load, as if through depression, from the dumping upon the floor of the ocean of a great amount of sediment, derived from the land surface of the earth, neighboring areas of the land of the oceanic floors were raised. Two contiguous regions might—and,” the lecturer turned directly toward the President, who in his own earnestness of attention had elbowed himself round into a direct line with Mr. Binn, “in the case of the West Indian continent and the Isthmus of Panama, have maintained between them, an up and down reciprocity of movement, as, when one was up, the other was down, and vice versa.”

Mr. Binn looked introspectively at the walls and ceilings of the room, as if engaged in a mental rehearsal and review of his staggering statement, and returned to his desk and manuscript, satisfied that he had thrown the assembly into an uneasy apprehension of danger. He again began his reading: “It is true, if I understand Mr. Spencer correctly, that the Atlantic ocean was cut off by the elevation of the Columbian Continent from even the interior basins of the Caribbean Sea and the Gulf of Mexico, at least in early pliocene times; that these depressions were then broad plains receiving in part the drainage of the Antillean highlands; this again emptying into the Pacific ocean. But this is not a proven theory, and it involves an extravagant readjustment of the physical features of a region that to my mind more expressively can be considered immemorially permanent, in their general aspects, at least. I reiterate the reciprocity of movement between the Antillean Continent and the Isthmus of Panama. The cause I have suggested may be untenable—but there seems strong geological proof of some such alternating relation between the west and east sides of this inter-related region, the Great Antilles on one side, the Isthmus of Central America on the other.

“Our survey of the question produces one impression, and that very forcibly, viz.: that this narrow ridge of separation is ephemeral, that it is perishable, that under the tests or against the shocks of earth strains, it will succumb, and”—the lecturer raised his voice, half turned deferentially to the chairman, Dr. Smith, who accepted the attention with an assenting nod—“again the waters of the two oceans will unite, and the impetuous violence of the rushing oceanic river, the Gulf Stream, that now races and boils through the Caribbean Sea, will fling its torrential waves across this divide into the Pacific.”

The audience that with manifest absorption had thus far followed the speaker, was disturbed. A movement of chairs, a half audible protest of whispered incredulity, and a sensible emanation around him, of mental repugnance to such a catastrophe, made Leacraft momentarily turn his eyes from Mr. Binn to the frowning countenances at his side.

“But,” the speaker raised his voice with reassuring quickness, as if to stay the emotional resistance he had aroused, “we have no reason to believe that in our lifetime, or the lifetimes of many generations yet to come, so strange a reversal of present conditions should occur. And again, that in this matter, we may be calmly judicial, we have reason at least for a moderate fear. Whatever state of unstable equilibrium, of unadjusted balance is implied, or actually is resident in this section of our earth, a section that has undergone the extremes of hypsometrical displacement, we may conceive that like the explosive cap, or the compressed spring, or the bent bow, it will win instant relief upon the impact of any force, deep-seated enough, and powerful enough, to liberate its tectonic strain.

“I am thus brought to consider that world-wide source of terrestrial deformation—earthquakes; but I should forget the indulgence of your patience up to this point, if I should now undertake any partial review of these astonishing and alarming occurrences. I am deeply impressed, however, with an aspect of the subject that demands attention, that throws into sharp relief the prophecies of disaster, with which, willingly or unwillingly, we have all become familiar.”

The lecturer here rolled forward to the front of the platform, a blackboard on which in colored chalks the earth, looking somewhat like a shortened egg, with its north and south poles situated on the long, flattened sides, was depicted; while a black line or axis drawn through it terminated in the Sahara Desert on one side, and near the Society Islands on the other. Two ominous circles in vermillion were described on it, concentric respectively with the ends of the black line, one sweeping along the western coast of North and South America, and crossing the Isthmus of Panama, the other encircling the coasts of Africa and gathering in their fatal course the Azores, Canaries, and the Cape Verde Islands. And on both these terrifying curves, in black letters, was printed the hypnotic intimation “Belt of Weakness or Earthquake Ring.” The effect on the audience was sufficiently impressive. The staring rude drawing around which a cyclone of blue scratches, purporting to be clouds, was expressively raging, intensely steeped the observers in a spell of wonder and trepidation. Even Leacraft, by the contagion of a common obsession, craned his neck, and fixed his eyes with a stupid absorption upon the crazy and paradoxical diagram.

The speaker continued, noticing with undisguised satisfaction the ocular concentration produced by his obnoxious figure, with its anomalous portents: “It is well known that we have in the boundaries, or shore lines of the Pacific, a surprisingly larger number of earthquakes recorded, than anywhere else in the world, and this seems in some way coincident with the prevalence of active volcanoes in the same region. Prof. Haughton has enumerated for the world 407 volcanoes, 225 of which are active. Of these latter, 172 are on the margin of the Pacific. Prof. Milne, who lived a long time in Japan, for the express purpose of studying the earthquake problem of those islands, has observed the surprising frequency of their earthquakes, and it is a volcanic zone they occupy. We have in contradistinction to this area about the Pacific a reversed circle which envelopes the western coast of Africa, and by this chart,” here the lecturer pushed back the blackboard, and, standing alongside of it, began, with a pointer of elucidation, a direct allocution to that subject of confusion, “we are made immediately cognizant of the opposite and yet symmetrical disposition of these zones. This should have from its simplicity and a quasi-permanency, in its phenomena—its earthquake phenomena—a general explanation. The explanation is not reassuring; it is not proven, but it is accepted by many, and has, for me, a very reasonable probability. Let us at least not recoil from its consideration.”

Under the encouragement of this exhortation, the audience seemed to slide forward in their seats a few inches, with the impetus of a renewed hope.

“This chart,” said the speaker, “presents to you the structural conception of Professors Jeans and Sollas, of the form of the earth. It is the shape more or less familiar to you, commonly known as a pear-shaped earth, the tip carrying the Sahara Desert on its bulging top, and its broader and inferior extremity holding the disturbed Pacific basin.

“Now it makes a very practical difference what the shape of the earth is, because the shape affects the stability, has an important influence upon the fluctuating strains under its surface. Observe that the chart has developed, upon two circles of instability, these lines of weakness,” and the lecturer swept his pointer over the contrasted belts, one around Africa, and the other inflicting the west coast of North America with its ominous intersection. The pointer paused on the latter circle, stopping near the position of San Francisco. “You recall,” the speaker continued, “the terrifying affliction of this great city in 1906, and the pall of discouragement and gloom which it cast over the region in which the city naturally held the sway of mercantile supremacy. Now it was shown by Prof. H.H. Turner, the English astronomer, that San Francisco lies on one of the two great earthquake rings, which surround the end of the pear, as in this chart, like wrinkles produced by the crowding down of the protuberances under the force of gravitation. And, according to this view, such rings, marking lines of weakness and yielding in the rocks would not exist, if the earth was, in its shape, what we most usually assume to be its figure, an oblate spheroid, with the present north and south poles at the ends of its axis of rotation, to which axis of rotation the rest of the earth was symmetrically disposed.

“The existence of these earthquake and volcanic rings was known before the pear theory had been defined, but then of course their relation with any peculiar form of the earth was not understood. The ring surrounding the Pacific, or butt end of the pear includes a large part of the shores of the Pacific Ocean, running from Alaska down to the western coast of South America, then across to the East Indies, and back, around the other side, through Japan. The other ring is somewhat smaller in diameter, including the earthquake regions of West Africa and the Atlantic Islands. Now the point of interest is this, as Garrett P. Serviss has significantly said, ‘If the pear hypothesis is accepted, and the two great earthquake rings are found to be definitely connected with the strains to which the planet is subjected in its effort to attain a state of equilibrium, under the forces of its own gravitation and rotation, which tend to compel it into spheroidal shape, then we have a perfectly rational explanation of the existence of certain places where earthquakes are sure to occur more or less frequently, and of other places, like eastern America, where they are very rare and never of maximum violence.’

“Every one present this evening,” and the lecturer gave an embracing wave of his hand, “knows of the singular aberrancy in the rotational motion of the earth, which has been often geographically described as the ‘wobbling of the poles.’ Astronomers have proven a real tipping of the poles alternately to one side, and then to the other, a swaying of the poles like the recurrent oscillations of a top as it ‘goes to sleep.’ But this swaying in the earth’s case is periodic and unchanging. It is sometimes rather abrupt, and at other times the tipping is regulated and progressive; but it is established, and has had a generally accepted explanation, in the attraction of the swelling equatorial prominence of the earth by the sun and moon, while suggestions have also been made that it was due to internal shiftings of mass, or to changes of exterior weightings, through the alternate and variable formation and melting of polar snows.

“But it has in the light of the present theory of the pear-shaped earth a new and rather startling explanation.

“We are, however, this evening, not so much concerned with the broader cosmic aspects of this state of affairs, as with the immediate consequences to the permanence of our land surfaces.

“The mechanics of this condition and its possible effectiveness in developing contrary placed zones of rupture can be easily conceived. This awkwardly conditioned sphere, revolving upon a shorter diameter—revolving also with astonishing velocity—and bearing at either extremity of its longer axis unequal masses, is obviously in a state of peripheral strain, that is, it is in strain at such distances from either of the disproportioned ends, the one in the south seas, the other in the desert of Sahara, as would represent the more or less sharply sloping surface from its average rotundity, towards these oblique extremities.

“Gentlemen,” the speaker seemed excitedly rushing into danger, but with a fixed expression, aimed somewhere at the blank and uninfluential physiognomies at the back of the hall; like that of an engineer who can neither restrain nor reverse the speed which may either carry him safely over a tottering support or plunge his train to the bottom of the gulch; “Gentlemen, the Isthmus of Panama is in this zone; the Canal is there!” this last reminder uttered with no very reasonable deliberation, “and it is to my mind an absolutely established certainty, that the secular instability of that region, shown by geological investigation, will again become apparent; and”—he raised his voice with a kind of exhalation of defiance, as if he spurned equivocation and invited denial—“and, it will become apparent with increased violence.

“This conclusion is unwelcome; it may seem destructive to those natural hopes which the approaching completion of this wonderful enterprise—the Panama Canal—have so freely and inevitably fostered. Science in the last resource to her councils must be austerely judicial. She cannot take cognizance of man’s projects or respect his hopes. The Panama Canal as part of the Isthmus of Panama participates in all the vicissitudes of the latter, and we know that those vicissitudes mean dislocation and subsidence. When such frightful results will happen, it is impossible to say; that they must happen, we can positively assert.”

The lecture was over. The lecturer retreated, and again repeated his deferential nod to the chairman, Dr. Smith, as if importuning his assistance in corroboration of his mournful vaticination. The audience still remained immobile, coagulated into a sort of mental prostration by this dismal prophecy, and yet again as if contemplating, like a cat’s stagnation, preparatory to its murderous spring, some outward and physical resentment. And the spring came.

In the middle of the hall arose a tall and alert figure, perhaps noticeably bent, as if from the effort of attention, or perchance from forensic habits; for the man, as Dr. M— quickly informed Leacraft, was Senator Tillman, of South Carolina. The face of this sudden expostulant was handsome in the extreme, and the features, strongly marked, were blended together in an expression of youthfulness that seemed to win a strange charm from their association with the white hair, and the just beginning wrinkles of advancing years.

Senator Tillman lost no time. His interruption was decisively intentional. It was part of an impulsive impassioned nature. Shaking his index finger, which, from long practice, pointed undeviatingly at the object of his remarks, the Senator, in a voice harsh and penetrating, began: “My dear sir, we are indebted to you for information. But we stop there. We are not required to credit you with prediction. This scientific discussion will not alter our confidence nor stop the work on the Canal. It can’t. I’m not inclined to think that this nation will be stultified by the oracles of geology; it is a matter of simple determination that science makes mistakes—and I would advise no one in this room within the hearing of your voice, and no one outside of it, to whose eyes your reported views will appear, to allow them a scintilla of serious import.

“In 1906, Mark Smith, a voteless delegate to Congress from Arizona, told this story: ‘Once,’ commented Smith, ‘a couple of my friends were riding through a desolate bit of country in Arizona near the Mexican border. Presently they came upon a man who was hanging by the neck from the limb of a tree. A couple of buzzards were roosting above him, but they made no attack upon him. My friends drove away the buzzards and discovered on the breast of the dead man a placard bearing these words: “This was a very bad man in some respects and a damn sight worse in others.“

“‘My friends accounted for the moderation of the buzzards on the theory that they had read the placard.’

“That was all Smith had to say, but it was assumed that he agreed with the opinion of the other men about the subject of their discussion. Well, I beg to say of science that it is very bad in some respects, and a damn sight worse in others, and its present conclusion in regard to the Isthmus of Panama is one of the latter.”

The audience, long before this denoument to the Senator’s retort was reached, had arisen; the President had arisen also, and stood with his back to the stage, facing the Senator, steadily growing more unrestrained and angry. Leacraft and Dr. M— were half standing, their hands supporting them on the backs of the chairs of the men in front of them. The scene was interesting, and the first movement toward repression of the Senator succumbed to curiosity, and in all directions, the intelligent faces about them were variously disturbed by symptoms of vexation or amusement. It was uncommonly entertaining. Mr. Binn and Dr. Smith, with becoming smiles of moderation, were drawn to the front of the platform, and no one, after the Senator had swung into the torrential flow of his remonstrance, thought of anything else but to catch, almost breathlessly, his words. When he concluded, a wave of laughter, genuine, but a little nervous, went through the assembly. Then the President stepped to the aisle, turned a moment to shake the hand of the lecturer, and offer him his congratulations, and bowed to Dr. Smith. In an instant the aisle way was clear. The President moved on between the applauding people, and as he came opposite Senator Tillman, who had himself pressed toward the egress, as if to intercept him he stopped. There was a quick, instinctive restraint. Everyone waited for his word. “Senator Tillman,” the President spoke with sharp emphasis, “I thank you for restoring our spirits. I remember Mark Smith. I remember he took my advice in accepting the Statehood Bill. You may have misapplied his story, but you have at least furnished us with a novel reason for encouragement.”

Again the applause broke out, and the President disappeared, the audience decorously dispersed and followed him, and Leacraft and Dr. M— soon found themselves on Pennsylvania avenue, walking rapidly and silently.