Lightning Conductors. F.C.S. Richard Anderson
deeply impressive by the power of the indisputable facts on which it was based, had a considerable effect in rousing public opinion, finding its way even into the dull ears of ‘such as commonly compose church vestries.’ Among the most important results was a step taken, after long and solemn deliberations, extending over several years, by the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul’s. They made an application to the Royal Society, asking for advice as to the best means of protecting the great cathedral, Sir Christopher Wren’s noblest creation, against the perils of lightning. The application was made on March 22, 1769, as recorded under that date in the ‘Gentleman’s Magazine.’ ‘A letter from the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul’s,’ it was stated, ‘was read at the Royal Society, requesting the direction of that learned body for the sudden effects of lightning. It was referred to a committee consisting of Dr. Franklyn (sic), Dr. Watson, Mr. Canton, Mr. Edward Delaval, and Mr. Wilson, who, after having examined the building, are to report their opinion.’ The committee thus nominated embraced all the most eminent men of the day who had studied the phenomena of electricity, and in the order in which they ranked. Next to the great discoverer of the lightning conductor himself, Dr. Watson could claim to stand; and next to him Mr. John Canton, a most painstaking and intelligent worker in the field, inventor of the pith-ball electrometer, and other instruments.
But a curious element of discord pervaded from the first this small conclave of learned men, chosen to decide the not unimportant question as to the best means of providing the cathedral of St. Paul with lightning conductors. That the noble building should be so protected, all were agreed; and it was clearly understood, besides, that if once St. Paul’s had lightning conductors, all the other cathedrals and principal churches of England would follow suit. What they differed upon was not this, but the best form of lightning conductors. Franklin’s steadfast assertion that points to the elevated rods were not only far preferable to any other form of conductors, but the only really protective ones, was adopted by Dr. Watson and Mr. Canton; but they were opposed by Mr. Wilson, who asserted, with some degree of vehemence, that points were dangerous, and that balls on the summit of the rods afforded infinitely better protection. Standing alone in this view among the eminent members of the committee of the Royal Society, his arguments naturally had no effect, and the recommendation to the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul’s was to protect the cathedral by pointed lightning conductors. This was done accordingly. ‘Franklin rods’ were attached to Wren’s splendid structure, worthy to be the introducer of them, on a large scale, in Europe.
The dispute as to pointed conductors, or balls, was by no means brought to a termination by the decision that was come to regarding St. Paul’s. Endless pamphlets were published on the subject, and it went so far as to being turned into a political question. As priests scented heresy in the daring attempt to draw lightning from the clouds, so the court faction and ultra-conservatives of England smelt republicanism in the erection of iron rods designed by the representative of the disaffected American colonies. The king was understood to have given his own high opinion entirely against points, and in favour of balls, declaring his preference by ordering a cannon ball of large size to be placed on the top of a conductor erected over the royal palace at Kew. Meeting such high patronage, the ‘anti-Franklinians’ only sought an occasion to break out into open scientific warfare, and they were not long in finding it. On May 15, 1777, a large public building at Purfleet, on the Thames, serving as a storehouse for war material, was struck and greatly damaged by lightning, although protected by a pointed lightning conductor. Thereupon arose an instant outcry against the system advocated by Dr. Franklin. From much evidence adduced, there could be no doubt that the building at Purfleet had been hurt simply because the conductor was defective in parts, and was besides not laid deep enough into the ground; still this did not stop the clamour raised. Chiefly through the agitation of Mr. Wilson, the members of the Royal Society entered into hot discussions about the respective merits of pointed and round conductors. The feeling of the partisans of the latter side ran so high on this occasion, that Sir John Pringle had to resign the presidency of the Royal Society, which post he had ably filled since 1772, for making himself an advocate of points against balls. When the fever of the learned men had cooled down a little, it was resolved to settle the great question of points versus balls by a series of experiments, to be held in the Pantheon, a large building in Oxford Street, dome-like in the interior. The arrangement, in fact, carried out under the direction of Mr. Wilson, leader of the ‘ball’ party, was to create an artificial thunderstorm—or, as it should properly be called, ‘lightning storm’—by means of powerful electrical batteries, to be discharged upon conductors of various forms. His Majesty George III., greatly interested in the subject, and cherishing fond hopes that cannon-balls would carry off the victory in the scientific dispute, as well as in the graver political one with Franklin’s countrymen, undertook to pay all the expenses of the Pantheon experiments, and they took place accordingly on an elaborate scale. But though prepared entirely with a view of showing the inefficiency of Dr. Franklin’s points, they proved absolutely the contrary. Artificial, like real, lightning clearly showed its preference for a lancet over a ball; it would glide down the former quietly, but fall heavily, mostly with an explosion, upon the latter. However, the question being in reality less a scientific controversy than a dispute arising from the fiery heat of political passions, it was by no means set at rest by the Pantheon trials. ‘Franklin rods’ were more than ever abhorred by a multitude of persons, learned and unlearned, after the great citizen of Philadelphia had set his hand, on July 4, 1776, to the declaration of independence of the ‘United States of America,’ and more than a quarter of a century had to elapse, a new generation of men growing up, before there arose clear and unimpassioned views about lightning conductors.
While thus the battle of the rods was being fought in England, it raged no less hotly on the continent of Europe. Here there was religious prejudice alone at work, the political sympathies running in favour of anything coming from America. But priestly animosity by itself proved as strong an obstacle as any other to the erection of lightning conductors. Where it did not exist, they sprang up with rapidity; but wherever its influence was felt, the movement was arrested. In the most enlightened parts of Germany, the seat and home of Protestantism, the ‘Franklin rods’ early made their appearance. The first lightning conductor set up over a public building in Europe was erected early in 1769 on the steeple of the church of St. Jacob, Hamburg; and so rapid was the spread of them that, at the end of five years from this date, there were estimated to be over seven hundred conductors within a circle of ten miles of the old Hanse town. To this day they are comparatively more numerous in this district than anywhere else in Europe. In contrast with Northern Protestant Germany, the Roman Catholic South refused the ‘Franklin rods,’ and so did France, although making a hero of Franklin personally. For many years after young Robespierre pleaded the case of lightning conductors before the tribunal of St. Omer, the strongest abhorrence to them was expressed by the priests and their mob following in almost all parts of France, and the active antagonism did not cease till after the outbreak of the great revolution.
It was the same in most countries of southern and central Europe. Even in Geneva, famous for the enlightenment of its citizens, the populace made an attempt to pull down the first lightning conductor. It was erected, in the summer of 1771, by the celebrated naturalist, Professor Horace de Saussure, over his own house, after directions furnished by Dr. Franklin. But notwithstanding that the professor was himself highly respected, his lightning conductor created general abhorrence, and to appease it he found it necessary to issue a public address or ‘manifesto,’ as he called it, to his fellow-citizens. The address, dated November 21, 1771, was strangely characteristic of the times. ‘I hear with regret,’ Professor de Saussure declared, ‘that the conductor which I have placed over my house to protect it against lightning, as well as to observe, occasionally, the electricity of the clouds, has spread terror among many persons, who seem to fear that by this means I draw upon the heads of others those dangers from which I myself wish to escape. Now, I beg you to believe that I would never have decided upon erecting this apparatus, if I had not been fully persuaded both of its harmlessness and its utility. There is no possibility of its causing damage to my own house, or of doing harm to others. All those who are now labouring under fear would be precisely of the same opinion, if they had entered upon the same inquiries to which I am called in the course of my studies.’ After which the professor goes on minutely to describe the ‘electric conductor,’ which he had been bold enough to place over