The Northern Lights, page 10
Bryn carefully registered Birkeland’s drawings in his Patents Pending ledger, wrote the date in the margin, 16 September 1901, and next to them put the patent number 11201 and, finally, the title: “Birkeland’s Electromagnetic Cannon.” Looking at the plans, Bryn saw that this strange object, the first gun he had seen to utilize the power of electricity, could revolutionize weaponry in the way gunpowder had in the sixteenth century. If that were the case, this single invention might alter forever Norway’s role as a subsidiary state and put it on the map as a major power. Birkeland hoped that it would solve his financial problems and allow him to fulfil his dream of building a laboratory and observatory for the sole purpose of pursuing his scientific quest to reveal the cause of the Northern Lights and to understand the message of the sun.
Once Bryn had agreed to draw up the patent diagrams for the electromagnetic cannon, Birkeland went straight back to his office to write four rather cryptic invitations to a secret demonstration the following evening. Two were addressed to high-ranking military officers, Colonel Krag and General Olssøn, and two to heads of industry, the director of Christiania Lightworks, Nordberg-Schultz, and engineer Gunnar Knudsen, owner of an important shipping company. Knudsen was unable to attend but the other three were ushered into Birkeland’s office once the university professors and students had left for the night. Birkeland explained to his distinguished guests that they would be the first to witness a potentially revolutionary instrument of war. His reputation as a scientist in Christiania was sufficient to put the men in a high state of excitement. He then banged on the floor to Sæland in the basement who started the generator while Birkeland loaded a projectile into the barrel of the gun and placed a thick wooden board on a chair at the other end of the room. Once Birkeland was satisfied that sufficient electricity was reaching the cannon from the generator, he flicked a switch (of his own design), and before his guests could blink, a loud bang announced that the projectile had hit the target. The board had been struck with such force that the chair slammed against the back wall and fell over. Several seconds of complete silence followed the demonstration after which Birkeland was heartily congratulated. He explained to the men that the gun was powered by electricity, would be silent when fired, had a potential range several times that of any conventional weapon, and could be operated at the flick of a switch and coordinated with several other guns connected to the same generator. Understanding that the design was indeed revolutionary, the army officers invited Birkeland with Nordberg-Schultz back to their club to discuss the future of his invention. Over whiskies and cigars, they pledged financial support for the construction of a prototype.
Directly after this meeting Birkeland wrote to Gunnar Knudsen, whom he had met several times at the salons of Amund Helland. Knudsen was a member of Parliament with ambitions to lead the party he supported, Venstre (the Left), and it seemed likely that his political hopes would be fulfilled. It was important for Birkeland to attain his support for the gun project; if it was successful, Knudsen might also persuade Parliament of the merit of Birkeland’s new expedition.
September 1901, Christiania
Dear Engineer Knudsen,
I have just recently invented a device that uses electricity instead of gunpowder as a propellant. With this device it will be possible to shoot large amounts of nitroglycerine over long distances. I have already partly secured priority on a world patent.
Colonel Krag has proposed that a company be formed, consisting of a few men who will furnish capital to build a small gun according to my plans, at a cost of approximately 4,000 crowns. This gun will then—if it works properly—be demonstrated to Krupp and other weapons forgers.
It is a lottery, but the contribution would be comparatively small while I believe the chances are good for significant gains. Those who have seen my experiment, Colonel Krag and Director Nordberg-Schultz and General Olssøn, will participate in the company.
Naturally this must be kept a secret.
With kind regards, yours sincerely,
Kr. Birkeland
Two days after sending his letter, Birkeland received a telegram from Knudsen.
I ACCEPT WITH PLEASURE YOUR INVITATION TO PARTICIPATE IN YOUR INVENTION AND PROMISE, EVEN IF THE BIG LOT DOES NOT COME OFF, TO KEEP SMILING.
By November a joint-stock company was formed called Birkeland’s Firearms with 35,000 crowns as capital divided into thirty-five shares; Birkeland received five free shares as payment. Given that his annual professorial salary was 5,000 crowns, his cannon had already been successful in expanding his purse strings. Birkeland worked on improving the design of the gun and by December the first small prototype had been forged by Engineer Jacobsen at his firm, Jacobsen Elektro. The cannon was capable of shooting a half-kilogram projectile at 80 meters a second. In early spring 1902, a larger model was built and tested in Christiania before a number of Norwegian dignitaries and European journalists. As was reported in the journal English Mechanics and World of Science, “shells have been hurled much further than by old-fashioned methods and Birkeland’s experiments will be followed with great interest.”
In May the board of directors of Birkeland’s Firearms decided that the cannon was ready for a demonstration in Berlin, where they hoped to attract the interest of Armstrong and Krupp, the largest weapons maker in Europe. Although Birkeland would have preferred the invention to remain purely Norwegian, there simply was not enough money in the country to make the development of the cannon possible. Norway had a tiny army already struggling on the small budget allocated to it. Due to the extreme tensions between Norway and Sweden in the Union, both sides were preparing for military conflict should matters deteriorate. The government could not afford to develop experimental weapons and industrialists needed to be sure of a large enough market for the cannon. Birkeland resigned himself to accept foreign investment in the company, although no Swedish interests were invited to his demonstrations.
He traveled to Germany in May to demonstrate the latest gun. It was four meters long, fired ten-kilogram projectiles, and had a potential range of 100 kilometers. The cost of forging the gun was 10,000 crowns, twice his annual salary, but the demonstration in front of a large committee of technical and firearms experts in Berlin was so successful that Birkeland returned to the board with offers to purchase the invention. Many newspapers reported the demonstration, including the Daily Mail and English Mechanics; the latter concluded that many of the experts on the committee believed Birkeland’s electromagnetic gun would revolutionize modern warfare. The Daily Mail’s concluding paragraph revealed the suspicion already present between the British and the Germans: “I hear that the military reports about this remarkable gun have excited the Kaiser’s deepest interest.”
Knudsen, who by early 1902 had become Secretary of Agriculture in the government, informed the Swedish-Norwegian king, Oscar II, of Birkeland’s electromagnetic gun and explained the principles on which it operated. The king asked about its maximum range and Knudsen replied, “Birkeland says that the projectiles can reach Stockholm,” the king’s permanent residence. Seeing the look of horror on the king’s face, he quickly added, “or from Stockholm to St. Petersburg.” The king cheered up considerably at that news although, since the distance between the two was more than 700 kilometers, Knudsen had exaggerated by a factor of seven the potential range of Birkeland’s gun.
The board of Birkeland’s Firearms decided to allow more time for Birkeland to develop the cannon, after which it might fetch a higher price. Although Birkeland’s first foray into the technical application of his scientific knowledge was proving a success, his sole aim was to achieve financial backing for his scientific research and the cannon was not yet profitable. It had, however, added to his reputation as a scientist of note, following closely on the successful publication of his book on the aurora. Hoping this would be enough to convince the government of his worth, Birkeland requested a grant of 38,000 crowns to fund his expedition. He stated his objectives clearly: “To study magnetic disturbances and formation of cirrus clouds and auroras and their relation to a huge system of electric currents parallel to Earth’s surface at high altitude.” Clearly hoping to impress the government with his connections, Birkeland enclosed with the application translations of letters he had received from six of the world’s foremost geophysicists, giving him their support for his planned expedition, and a separate list with their names and positions:
Geheimrath von Bezold,
director of the Royal Prussian Meteorological Institute
Professor Mascart,
director of the Central Meteorological Bureau of France
General Rykatchev,
director of the Central Physical Observatory in St. Petersburg
Professor Wild,
former director of the previous observatory
Professor Adolf Schmidt,
director of the Educational Institute in Hamburg
High Admiral Neumayer,
German Naval Observatory, Wilhelmshaven
The foreign scientists all stressed the importance of Birkeland’s mission to resolve the puzzling variations in the Earth’s magnetic field as well as the magnetic storms that accompanied the Northern Lights. No British scientists endorsed the venture.
Letters of support from Nansen, director of the Norwegian Meteorological Institute, Professor Henrik Mohn, and Professors Geelmuyden and Schiøtz from the Christiania observatory were also included, as was a warm statement of approval from Waldemar Brøgger, dean of the Science Faculty at the university, who stressed Norway’s “duty to participate, a duty, which especially because of its location, certainly cannot be evaded.” Birkeland added to the end of the application that his friend Joergen L. W. Dietrichson would voluntarily cover his lectures for the term. Sixty-two-year-old Dietrichson was a passionate and brilliant constructor of instruments and an excellent lecturer. For most of his life he had been a grammar school headmaster but he had also invented a special thermometer to prove that the temperature at the bottom of fjords was constant. He had introduced himself to Birkeland in 1901, when he moved to Christiania after retiring from Skien grammar school, and Birkeland saw immediately how talented and helpful Dietrichson could be.
With a little persuasion from Knudsen, the government agreed to the sum Birkeland requested and put forward an application for the money to Parliament under the title “An Expedition for Investigation of Terrestrial Magnetism, Aurora Borealis, and Cirrus Clouds.” In the ensuing four-hour debate, a great deal of dissent was voiced. Memories of Birkeland’s large overexpenditure on the last expedition were still fresh in the minds of many members who represented the unemployed and other disadvantaged groups and who thought that Birkeland’s ever more grandiose schemes should be a low priority in the government’s spending plans. Birkeland was held personally responsible for the financial fiasco: “the main cause seemingly being a lack of foresight and practical sense in the erudite observer.” Other members were concerned that the government was poor and the benefit of this huge expedition with rather abstract aims was dubious. At least with polar explorers, such as Nansen, there was always a clear goal and a single victor. Birkeland’s project required international cooperation, expensive equipment, and time to collate the results, and the victory, should there be one, would be understood by very few.
Others argued that it was important that any possible glory involved in this expedition should fall on Norway’s shoulders. It would be shameful if Birkeland had to find sponsors from abroad. His supporters claimed that internationally prominent scientific activities—such as Nansen’s expeditions and now Birkeland’s—had an impact that was “recognized by the entire civilized world and have gained our country yet further right to be named as one of the civilized nations.” Norway also wanted to promote its economic and political interests in the Arctic. There had been several scuffles between countries with Arctic coasts over fishing and trading rights in the waters and islands of the Arctic Ocean. A “neutral” scientific expedition would establish a Norwegian presence in places where there had previously been little or none. Birkeland’s intimations that the expedition would advance the embryonic yet crucial science of weather forecasting were also highlighted by those in favor of the expedition. Passages from his application were quoted for their positive implications for marine commerce, fisheries, and agriculture, vital Norwegian economic activities.
The energy of the electrical discharge of the Aurora, the intensity of which reaches at times hundreds of thousands or even millions of amperes, seems sufficiently large as to provoke or unleash profound meteorological changes. This current is measured by its magnetic effects and it is therefore eminently possible one day, that magnetometers will become as indispensable to meteorologists as barometers and humidity measurers.
The result of the parliamentary debate was that the government’s proposal to fully fund the expedition was defeated 65 votes to 46. However, a proposal to grant a more modest 20,000 crowns was approved by 90 votes to 21.
After hearing the results, Birkeland called on Gunnar Knudsen to thank him for his efforts to persuade Parliament of the merit of his expedition. Knudsen was saddened that Parliament had been so belligerent and gave Birkeland 6,000 crowns, a generous contribution but not nearly enough to make the expedition viable. He also suggested Birkeland contact his friend Johan Fabricius, a landed proprietor. Fabricius matched Knudsen’s donation with 6,000 crowns of his own.
Birkeland then called at the imposing offices on the busy square near the Parliament building of one of Norway’s most influential citizens, to whom he had been introduced by Amund Helland: Amandus Theodor Schibsted, owner and editor of Norway’s most widely read paper, Aftenposten. Although Aftenposten was a conservative paper, Schibsted was a great philanthropist and particularly enjoyed supporting ventures that would reflect glory on Norway. Schibsted was in his early fifties, tall, with a bullish neck and very fine handlebar mustache that reached beyond the dimples in his cheeks. His piercingly blue eyes had faded only a little with age, their sharp appraisal softened somewhat by the smile lines that curled up at the corners. Birkeland excited the newsman with the ambitious aims of his plan to mount an observational expedition on a grand scale to some of the harshest environments on Earth, one that would be undertaken by scientists rather than experienced explorers. It was scientifically daring too. Continuous, simultaneous measurements of magnetic disturbances would allow the polar skies and near space to be mapped for the first time. It would be possible to plot the movement of magnetic storms over the Arctic Circle; assess their speed, strength, development, direction, points of arrival, and points of departure; and discover the conditions necessary for auroras to appear and whether they induced any meteorological effects, such as cirrus clouds. Schibsted also pledged 6,000 crowns and plenty of publicity. Birkeland was delighted. Eighteen thousand crowns richer in the space of a week, he wrote in Aftenposten:
It may safely be said that economy is one of the virtues of Norwegians as a nation, perhaps one may say a virtue of necessity; but the nation’s idealism often turns the balance in delightful nonconformity with economy. The grants to my aurora expeditions are an instance of this.
He still needed up to five thousand crowns for contingencies but this he decided to borrow from a bank against his interest in the firearms company. It was a huge financial gamble to borrow the equivalent of a year’s salary against a company that consisted only of prototypes and promises, and all for a project that itself was potentially disastrous.
While Birkeland had been improving his cannon and chasing funding for the expedition, he had also been working with Sæland on the final locations for the observatories and the simultaneous recording methods they would use. His plan was to put four teams of scientists around the Arctic Circle, with 1,000 kilometers between them, using already extant buildings wherever possible to avoid the costs and delays he had encountered with the Haldde observatory. As Birkeland had determined during his first expedition that auroras occurred at about a hundred kilometers above the surface of the Earth, there was no need for observatories to be placed on mountains. He planned to use the Haldde and Talvik peak buildings for some measurements, but the Finnmark team of scientists would be able to perform most of their duties along the banks of the fjord in Kaafjord and Bossekop. Birkeland had originally planned to site one team off the coast of Greenland on Jan Mayen Island, but Fridtjof Nansen warned him that they were unlikely to survive a winter there and building an observatory from scratch would prove too expensive. He settled instead on Dyrafjord, in western Iceland, where the scientists could be supported by a Norwegian whaling station. The third team would be situated at Axeløen in the southern part of Spitsbergen, an island nearly 900 kilometers to the north of Norway in the Arctic Ocean, where they would live with hunters from Tromsø. After negotiations with the Russian authorities, Birkeland was granted permission to send the fourth team to Matotchkin Schar on the island of Novaya Zemlya off the north Russian coast. He wrote to the Russian painter Alexander Borisoff about the possibility of using the house the artist had built there, in Pomorskaya Bay, and to which he retired occasionally to paint Arctic landscapes and glaciers. Borisoff not only loaned Birkeland the house, he also told him to make full use of the food supplies kept there. The Russian authorities were efficient and helpful to Birkeland and sent a letter to the governor in Archangelsk, from which the team would set sail to Novaya Zemlya, requesting that he afford them all possible assistance.
Birkeland also wrote letters to observatories around the world asking for measurements to be taken at specific times on certain dates in order to build up a global picture of magnetic activity in the layers between the Earth’s atmosphere and space.
I now take the liberty of asking all those who are in the position to do so, to give or lend me copies of photograms of magnetic disturbances that may occur on the thirty days denoted above and urge them, in the interest of science, not to mind facing the considerable amount of trouble which must be taken to fulfil such a request.
