Page:McClure's Magazine volume 10.djvu/409



T the very center of the Isle of Wight, in a little place called Shide, that most people in England never heard of, lives a scientist who probably knows more about earthquakes than any one else in the world—John Milne, member of learned societies, late professor of seismology at the University of Tokio, and a charming man into the bargain. His house looks down upon the roads where the Queen drives daily while at Osborne, and not far distant rise the towers of Carisbrooke Castle, where Charles I. was a prisoner.

Here, on a quiet hill, grown over with old trees and banks of ivy, away from all rush and noise, Professor Milne may be found, as I found him, working among strange instruments of his own devising, operated by clockwork and electricity, and possessing such sensitiveness that an earthquake shock in Borneo will set them swinging for hours. With these wonderful pendulums, of which I shall speak presently, the Professor watches throbbings and quiverings of the earth that are unfelt by our unaided senses, and draws conclusions to serve the needs of men.

It is Professor Milne to whom London editors despatch hurrying reporters when news comes from Japan of another earthquake calamity, and he usually corrects their information—as in June, 1896, when Shide was besieged by newspaper men.

"This earthquake happened on the 17th," said they, "and the whole eastern coast of Japan was overwhelmed with tidal waves, and 30,000 lives were lost."

"That last is very probable," answered the Professor, "but the earthquake happened on the 15th, not on the 17th;" and then he gave them the exact hour and minute when the shocks began and ended.

"But our cables put it on the 17th."