Technology Morphology

The Marvels of Magnetism

S. G. Lacey

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1750’s: Asia

        I sit in a rickety stool at my small desk, in pensive contemplation.  A steaming cup of green tea, house in a glazed clay cup, exudes pleasant earthy aromas into the musty and dank space.  I need to let this liquid cool down before taking as sip, as I can’t afford spilling or spitting this concoction out onto the important collection of maps which adorn the work surface in front of me.

          Halfway through the tea, and my route plotting for the day, I decide it’s time to execute the other activity which is a key part of my morning ritual now. 

        Without shifting my seated position, I reach into the narrow drawer of my desk and extract a pair of items, one rocky and the other wooden.  I turn these odd objects over, one in each hand.  A seemingly disparate duo, but a match which can generate immense powers when combined.

        Per careful instructions from this tool’s previous owner, to ensure accurate functionality, I need to recharge the device’s power daily.  Thus, this act has become a routine protocol, always executed while starting the day sitting here at my tiny bureau in the captain’s quarters. 

         I drop the smaller but heavier item onto the table, and take up the larger but lighter article with both hands.  I strain with the full extent of my feminine might to open the lid of the wooden container, which is highly resistant to removal, due to decades of moisture absorption.  Giving it my all, the circular cap finally twists free with a squeak.  Breathing heavily, I set the now-open vessel down, and carefully extract the fine iron needle housed within. 

        Wiping this tiny shank with my shirtsleeve to dry it off, I then gently slide the pointy metal pin along the inert stone that’s sitting atop the pile of maps, making sure to orient the long axis of the rock with the lengthwise direction of the metal rod.  

        The method for generating a magnet simply involves rubbing an iron bar against a naturally occurring magnetized rock called a loadstone.  Apparently, some magical interaction occurs between these two different materials when placed in close and dynamic contact.

        Despite relentless searching by both nomadic wanderers and geological scientists, to date the lodestone is the only naturally occurring magnet which has been discovered.  Fortunately, it has turned out to occurred quite prevalently throughout Chinese lands in the form of the mineral magnetite.

     In raw mined state, it’s a faceted black rock made primarily of iron hydroxide, which is where the chemical compatibility with ferrous metal occurs.  The piece currently sitting on my desk has been transformed into a smooth, oval shape, due to countless sessions like the one I’m executing.

         I’m confident most of these curated actions are not necessary, and the tiny needle can likely hold a magnetic charge much longer than a single rotation of the earth.  However, I find this daily ritual cathartic, as I wriggle out of the chrysalis and open my wings in a newly acquired leadership role on this vessel.  Each morning, I’m recharging and calibrating not only my key navigational device, but also my own internal energy.

      The origin of magnetism is a bit vague in Chinese culture.  For a group of peoples with a history of carefully documenting nearly everything, this important discovery seems to have slipped through the anecdotal cracks.  Not that there was much learning to transfer.  The current means of creating magnetism doesn’t seem that different from the original, accidental instance a few millennia ago.

       Per my disjointed primary schooling, magnetism in Chinese culture was initially used for spiritual purposes.  A powerful yet invisible for force of attraction and repulsion, which became an important addition to traditional feng shui principles. 

       As my occupation relies heavily on the natural movement of the wind and water, these Taoist tenants are deeply engrained in my own basic way of life.  No reason to risk an imbalance of Planet Earth’s natural life energies.  It’s hard enough with stay upright and afloat on this ship as it is.  Plus, my lodging space is so small, I need a clear organization structure to keep belongings from getting lost.

         Enough dawdling.  It’s not like there’s many assets or activities to occupy me in this dark hold.  I’m the leader of this ship, and need to make myself present to the crew as such.  Time to get topside, and hopefully get this heavily laden vessel headed back home to port, where we can capitalize on the lucrative load of cargo currently stuffed in the hold. 

       Taking my last swig of bitter brew, including a few leafy particulates, I take up the reassembled and reloaded device, then pass through the low door of my quarters, and up the steep set of stairs.     

      Reaching the upper deck, instinctively, my gaze moves from the socked-in sky above, which thus provides no celestial guidance, to my alternate means of navigation.  The small item in my small hands is an amalgamation of wood, metal, and liquid, which surprisingly still works perfectly after countless hours of operation by various owners. 

       This tool has been handed down through several generations of seafaring captains in my family, and recently become my prize possession, upon the unfortunate passing of my father in a catastrophic storm.  That’s one of the reasons I’m so paranoid about the weather.  I come from a long line of sailing ship masters, though I’m the first female in a while to take up such a distinguished post.

      The elegant simplicity of this compass is what makes it so intriguing.  Delightfully ignorant to ocean conditions or weather patterns, the needle end of this device perpetually points to the North Pole of the globe.  Providing an unwavering waypoint, especially in times of navigational stress, when other means of guidance are hampered.  Like the current situation.

         As I have several times since acquiring this object a few months ago, I examine the craftmanship.  The outer box is hand carved rosewood, which was likely a rich burgundy, with an intricately chiseled wave pattern, when originally crafted by some unknown artisan of yore. 

         Now, through countless years of service, saltwater, sweat, and other stains have caused the wood to darken to near ebony brown, with the former exterior markings worn almost completely off.  Still, the implements housed within remain safely preserved and functional inside this sturdy case.

        The circular lid, which was no doubt once a precisely sanded fit that could be opened effortlessly, again enlists nearly all my grip strength to remove.  I probably should have just kept the top off after my maintenance procedure earlier.    

        Ironically, the smooth rotational motion of the needle is aided by the same medium upon which my entire craft floats.  A bed of water.  The metal needle pierces a cube of buoyant bamboo, thus floats atop the liquid, secured only at the midpoint of the assembly with a small pin, that represents the pivot point.

          As a result, to get an accurate reading, it’s essentially to hold the compass completely level.  Which is no small feat in these surging seas.  I’ve adopted an approach of staring at a fixed point way off in the distance, while holding the compass in my palm, arm fully extended. 

          At my standard captain’s position on the rear deck, taking a wide stance, with my legs locked as a base of support, I sight over the cylinder in my outstretched appendage, through the carved figurine on the prominent prow of the ship, and afield to the distant horizon where the sea and sky touch.  This direction represents my vessel’s current heading. 

         Without moving any part of my body except my right arm, I lower the navigational device slowly, making sure to maintain the perfectly parallel palm posture.  Soon, I can see the top of the unit, with numerous symbols circumferentially oriented around the ring, and most importantly the black needle orientation on the opaque liquid background.

          The important end of the magnetized marker, denoted by a pointy arrow tip, as opposed to a symbolic feather back portion, is located 2 sections right, thus clockwise, of the red icon with defines true north.  That means we’re currently traveling North-West-North; this is one of the 8 half-winds in ancient mariner parlance. 

         Perfect, we’re proceeding exactly as planned.  With any luck, we’ll be back at our homeland port in southern China by morning.  If a breeze ever picks up, and even more importantly, blows in the desired direction.   

         In theory, this compass can provide incredibly accurate bearings.  Carved around the outside of the ivory top ring are 32 discrete marks, each at perfectly spaced radial segments.  Within each section, a different Chinese character is etched, denoting a specific three-term directional heading. 

        The 4 key cardinal points, each orthogonally positioned, are identified by red painted strokes as opposed to black, and are written slightly larger.  

         There’s a new generation of dry compasses, which rely on low friction bearings in a sealed enclosure, as opposed to buoyant liquid lubrication in an open container.  I’ve seen a few of these modern devices during my intermittent networking with dockside merchants, who pedal all manner of nautical supplies. 

         I prefer to stick with the water-based version.  There’s no shortage of aqueous solution available on, or around, this ship, while the dry version apparently requires frequent oil lubrication and maintenance to ensure reliable functionality.  Not to mention the sentimental value of the generational artifact now in my possession.

       This wooden box, and the magically moving beacon housed within, have been keeping my oceanic adventuring ancestors safe for decades.  I’ll stick with the old but reliable tool.

         Despite presenting a seemingly substantial level of navigational guidance, I know from experience, not just in this current privileged role, but working under my elders on many previous voyages, that the magnetic compass isn’t a foolproof instrument.

          As I’ve learned, through painstaking practice, there are many confusing phenomenon to heed with such a mode of guidance. 

       “Variation”, the difference between magnetic north and true north can be substantial, especially near the earth’s poles.  Fortunately, most of my travels occur in the South China Sea, between my homeland and the preponderance of tropical islands to the east, which offer a wealth of trade opportunities.  It’s hard to get much closer to the equator, thus the influence of magnetic pole inconsistency is a minor concern.

         Another consideration are local magnetic effects, known as “deviations”.  These are more relevant on vessels made from, or carrying, a large amount of metal.  Again, no issues for our wooden merchant schooner, which generally traffics in clothing and dried spices, as opposed to cannons and other weaponry. 

      I do need to be cognizant of such magnetic interference at the continually expanding Chinese ports, with are becoming increasingly diverse in construction method for both buildings and boats.  Still, a compass isn’t that critical when one can see the harbor using their own two eyes without the use of spyglass.

         One of the perks of navigating the high seas is that I come into contact with individuals from various far-flung areas of the globe, often pedaling unique wares to trade.  I’ve heard tell of metal processing techniques which can result in magnetic permanency occurring on the European continent.  We’ll see if such magic magnetic materials materialize here on the Pacific Ocean in the future.

      Until this new compass technology gets widespread adoption in the merchant ship industry, I’ll stick with my morning lodestone massage ritual. 

         Between this metallurgy development, and rumors of a sextant, an advanced tool for oceanic navigation, which links land and sky-based observations into quantifiable angle measurements, the naval contingent on that side of the world is really starting to innovate.  But new is not always better, especially with regard to tools which are crucial to one’s livelihood, in every sense of the word.

       Granted, competent sailors throughout the Far East have been using key features in the sky to steer while at sea for centuries.  All manner of historical maps display the sun, moon, stars, and planets, tracking their arcing path across the sky over time.  In fact, the concept of time itself on Planet Earth, the length of the day, the cycling of each month, the duration of the year, are all linked to these celestial bodies.

        Steering using such skyward waypoints requires a lifetime of experiential study.  Even the most skillful practitioners, of which I’m definitely not one yet, can be thwarted by a single factor which is completely out of their control.  Clouds rolling in, thereby masking visibility to the beacons beyond. 

       That’s why I’m happy to have this magnetic compass that I can rely on rain or shine, day or night.  The current socked in weather conditions highlight this point.  While the sights in the sky are perpetually changing, magnetic north is inexorably fixed.

       My compass relies on the same arcing magnetic fields which have been looping around the globe for millennia.  Granted, it took a while for humans to realize the existence of this invisible phenomenon.

         Amusingly, the tiny tip of the metal needle is engaged with positive magnet polarity.  The perpetual pull towards the Earth’s upper pole confirms that a negatively charged field exists at the geometric north.  There are all sorts of alliterative techniques preached by my adventuring ancestors to help remember the charge of each global pole.  However, all I care about on this boat is that the compass consistently points in the northerly direction.

      Someday, there will undoubtably be a device that combines the visual navigational benefits of the sky with the reliable yet invisible magnetic polarity of a compass.  Until then, skillful captains like me will be essential to successful oceanic shipping operations.

         On the innovation front, some clever engineer should also come up with a means of aquatic propulsion that doesn’t require wind.  That would be a useful resource, considering my craft’s current stagnant floating.  

      The sea is so calm that it resembles a mirror.  While beneficial from a sightline standpoint, there’s not much navigation needed when the boat isn’t moving.  Based on my earlier charting, we haven’t moved more than a few aimless kilometers in the past 2 days.  Muttering under my breath, I take a one more look at the small item in my hand, then press the tight-fitting wooden lid back on with ferocity.

          We’ve got places to be.  All that’s required now is a little breeze to billow the sails, and get this ship moving.  I know what direction to head, provided we get some naturally occurring thrust. 

           Currently stagnant in the middle of the South China Sea, we’re at the mercy of the weather, most notably the trade winds.  While the early morning fog has cleared, there’s still a thick canopy aloft.  The rising sun trying to break through results in the entire sky taking on a pinkish hue.  A bad omen in sailing jargon, but I’ll take a little atmospheric volatility at this point.

        Praying for a change in the conditions, my eyes naturally move to the central mast.  More specifically, the flags sitting atop this raised perch.  As they were an hour ago, these swatches of cloth are completely stagnant.  Still no gusts whatsoever.  Which means no sailing.  We’re stuck here until the current weather pattern shifts.

          Even though the fabric isn’t flapping, I know from memory that there are 3 colored offerings, which can be raised and used as a means of communication, both with the crew onboard my craft, and also with neighboring vessels that might approach.  Not much signaling to be done right now on either front.  And if there was, aggressive physical exertion would be needed to expand these bright banners.   

           There is one benefit to these stormless skies, despite the preponderance of clouds.  We don’t have to worry about any rogue lightning strikes hitting the crow’s nest, which sits atop the tallest central pole.  These electrical outbursts contain an immense amount of energy, capable of splitting and splintering masts, or trees, depending on your location on the earth’s surface.  That’s likely why such blazing atmospheric phenomenon have been associated with the Gods, in both Ancient Greek, Imperial Roman, and my own Buddhist, mythological lore.

        More recently, scientific experimentation has tried to quantify the electrical discharge from this heavenly onslaught.  Rumor has it an adventurous fellow in the America, half the globe away from my Chinese homeland, used a kite not dissimilar in size and shape to the flags adorning my ship to attract and harness lightning. 

          With a metal key as the alluring element, and a sturdy string linking the activity in the sky to the operator on the ground, the electrical energy in the stormy skies was captured.  Supposedly.  Tales tend to get taller as they spread from port to port via word of mouth, each subsequent storyteller adding their own exaggerated embellishments.

           I’m skeptical if this bold experimenter learned anything besides how to muss up his hair, burn his hands, and melt his shoes.  It’s amazing this crazy character wasn’t killed venturing out into a storm with such a silly setup.

          I’m not planning on repeating this stunt any time soon.  There’s a reason no metal components are utilized in any elements of the crow’s nest construction or upper sail rigging.  Still, we make sure to evacuate the upper perch at the first sign of an approaching storm. 

          Of which there is absolutely none currently.  Thus, the watchtower is staffed.

        On cue, a yell echoes down from above, faintly reaching my ears, aided by the morning stillness.  Our lookout has apparently spotted something.  I quickly move to the helm of my vessel, standing at the large oak steering wheel, which is positioned on the raised stern poop deck, directly behind the main mast.  This specific spot importantly offers up panoramic views, not only of the entire crew activities onboard, but also the watery landscape beyond. 

         I don’t see anything bobbing in the placid water, but the atmospheric conditions, very hazy with a decided red tint, definitely hinder visibility.  And contribute to the ominous mood.  Some type of weather is rolling in. 

        My 360° scan of the horizon is interrupted by another commotion, this time from somewhere down in the ship’s hollow belly.  Apparently, some other members of the crew, while not of the human variety, seem to agree with my apocalyptic conditions assessment.  I better see what’s going on down there. 

         We like to pedal in valuable merchant wares, the heavier and smaller the better.  The more items we can stuff into our hold, the more lucrative an oceanic journey turns out.  However, the duration of each trip is unknown, as evidenced by the fact that we’re currently sitting stagnant at sea in the middle of nowhere.

           As a result, we don’t transact in produce, livestock, alcohol, or any other perishable items.  Hardgoods for hard cash are which keeps this small operation functioning, and profitable. 

          With unknown time between port visits, it is important to keep enough sustenance on board to stay well fed while in transit.  There’s only so much salted fish and dried jerky one can eat.  Thus, we set out with a few live animals on every adventure.

          If all goes well, these critters will provide nutrients without needing to die.  Chickens lay eggs each day.  A few cattle offer up helpful quantities of fresh milk.  The goats eat anything, including inedible scraps, thereby keeping kitchen waste to a minimum.  They are the first to be sacrificed if meat intake is needed, having been continually fattened up along the journey.

         These animals represent a delicate balance between pets and protein sources.  On this ongoing highly efficient trip, until the recent stall-out, none have been sacrificed under the knife, and deposited in the stewpot.

         We acquired this current creature cohort from a small island in the Philippines, which wasn’t even named on any of the maps I have.  At least they had a functional port for docking, useful quantities of exotic spices and bedazzled jewelry, plus an appetite for trading.  Bartering is an inherently challenging operation, especially with unknown civilizations.  Fortunately, my father, and his father before him, passed down a few valuable tips. 

        Three simple tenants, which represent the foundation of my own acquisition approach: know what you’re buying, how you’re paying, and who you can resell it to.

          I’m perpetually driven to be on the right end of the deal, and avoid getting scammed.

       A key part of not getting Shanghaied is to verify any metal coinage and trinkets collected.  Precious metals are a universal currency throughout these disparate lands, with gold and silver commanding premium value.  The challenge is that these terms, in addition to being actual elements, are common colors in the metallurgy realm.  Thus, ferrous forgeries abound, in both disc and bar form.

         Conveniently, the loadstone, which possesses perpetual magnet functionality, can easily snuff out metals that have high iron content.  While the real deal currencies show no reaction to my black pocket rock, fakes are attracted instantly. 

        Combined with an innate sense of density, based on coinage size and mass, I have yet to be cheated.  The most recent farm purchase, just a few weeks ago, was an especially good score, from my standpoint at least.  Swindled may be the term used by the agrarian merchant who begrudgingly parted with his flock.

      As I descend back into the belly of ships, there the enclosure for these domesticated animals is located, the commotion seems to intensify.  Upon entering the enclosed space, I immediately get goosebumps.  This instinctive reaction is not due to the intensely hot temperature, or overwhelmingly pungent aromas, which personify these tight quarters.  There’s another invisible, imperceptible element in the air down here.    

        As a rookie sailor, and a delicate soul, I used to assign names to each of the new critters.  Now hardened, both physically and emotionally, I simply treat the livestock as inert objects.  Still, moving toward the cage where the current lot is housed, I can’t help but recognize a few specific characters.

        The red feathered hen.  The white cow, with black and brown splotches.  The wiry haired grey goat.  This last creature immediately attracts my attention.

           Animals have an incredible knack for perceiving changes in atmospheric conditions.  I often reference these beasts as a premonitory omen based on their impressive perceptive powers.  This young kid is bounding around excitedly, doing laps around the meager square pen.  That’s not normal.

           Even more telling than this beast’s actions are his appearance.  The usually curly, matted hair on this unkept goat is now standing proud.  The tangled loops have unfurled into lengthy, extended strands, each individual fiber freeing itself from those adjacent, overcoming the greasy binder of dirt and oil. 

       Reaching my hand to my own head, I immediately feel a few incredibly fine strings of black hair extending well above where my usual sleek, braided locks should be.  Something has caused this bodily anomaly.  There’s only one viable explanation, way out here in the middle of the ocean.

         Static electricity.  A telltale precursor to pending atmospheric change.  Which seems to already be materializing. 

     Another outcry from my colleague on watch, this time with additional guidance to look off the starboard side, prompts me to scurry back topside.  I wonder how many times I traverse these rickety stairs and ladders daily?

        Now knowing where the focus in, I head directly to the siderail and peer out, utilizing the spyglass that is perpetually attached to my belt loop.  This visual amplification aid allows me to spot the ghostly outline of a large ship, all sails unfurled.  This vessel is several hundred meters way, which hinders identification, but it’s clearly moving quickly, based on the flapping of the taught sailcloth, and foaming around the glistening keel. 

     There must be some wind out there, if this sailing craft is making progress towards us.  As if interpreting my reasoning, the horizon darkens more, to an almost impossible shade of deep maroon.  Seconds later, a pair of brilliant yellow flashes pierce this bloody canvas, extending from their unidentifiable origin point way up in the heavens, all the way down to the waterline.

        Time to make sure those electrical discharges don’t travel down through my lookout into the main mast.  We’re not planning to fly any kites on a string today, but instead the huge swatches of fabric which propel this vessel are about to be unfurled. 

        A storm is brewing, which means brisk gusts are on the way.  Now, I just need to use my compass to get this ship headed in the right direction.  Hopefully the gale path is favorable for our desired course.  Maybe we can ride this tempest all the way back home to Canton.  Provide we outrun that rapidly closing pirate ship first.