- end_line
- 5761
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T07:57:55.413Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 5682
- text
- conductor than a wall—it would leave the wall and run into him. Swoop!
_That_ must have fallen very nigh. That must have been globular
lightning.”
“Very probably. Tell me at once, which is, in your opinion, the safest
part of this house?
“This room, and this one spot in it where I stand. Come hither.”
“The reasons first.”
“Hark!—after the flash the gust—the sashes shiver—the house, the
house!—Come hither to me!”
“The reasons, if you please.”
“Come hither to me!”
“Thank you again, I think I will try my old stand—the hearth. And now,
Mr. Lightning-rod-man, in the pauses of the thunder, be so good as to
tell me your reasons for esteeming this one room of the house the
safest, and your own one stand-point there the safest spot in it.”
There was now a little cessation of the storm for a while. The
Lightning-rod man seemed relieved, and replied:—
“Your house is a one-storied house, with an attic and a cellar; this
room is between. Hence its comparative safety. Because lightning
sometimes passes from the clouds to the earth, and sometimes from the
earth to the clouds. Do you comprehend?—and I choose the middle of the
room, because if the lightning should strike the house at all, it would
come down the chimney or walls; so, obviously, the further you are from
them, the better. Come hither to me, now.”
“Presently. Something you just said, instead of alarming me, has
strangely inspired confidence.”
“What have I said?”
“You said that sometimes lightning flashes from the earth to the
clouds.”
“Aye, the returning-stroke, as it is called; when the earth, being
overcharged with the fluid, flashes its surplus upward.”
“The returning-stroke; that is, from earth to sky. Better and better.
But come here on the hearth and dry yourself.”
“I am better here, and better wet.”
“How?”
“It is the safest thing you can do—Hark, again!—to get yourself
thoroughly drenched in a thunder-storm. Wet clothes are better
conductors than the body; and so, if the lightning strike, it might
pass down the wet clothes without touching the body. The storm deepens
again. Have you a rug in the house? Rugs are non-conductors. Get one,
that I may stand on it here, and you, too. The skies blacken—it is dusk
at noon. Hark!—the rug, the rug!”
I gave him one; while the hooded mountains seemed closing and tumbling
into the cottage.
“And now, since our being dumb will not help us,” said I, resuming my
place, “let me hear your precautions in traveling during
thunder-storms.”
“Wait till this one is passed.”
“Nay, proceed with the precautions. You stand in the safest possible
place according to your own account. Go on.”
“Briefly, then. I avoid pine-trees, high houses, lonely barns, upland
pastures, running water, flocks of cattle and sheep, a crowd of men. If
I travel on foot—as to-day—I do not walk fast; if in my buggy, I touch
not its back or sides; if on horseback, I dismount and lead the horse.
But of all things, I avoid tall men.”
“Do I dream? Man avoid man? and in danger-time, too.”
- title
- Chunk 1