THE ELUSIVE RAT KING

A "rat king" occurs when the tails of several rats become stuck together through knotting, blood, ice, dirt, or sticky unsavory organic substances and the bunch of rodents grows together as one unit. The most famous one, illustrated here, was found in 1828 and is currently located in the Mauritianum Museum in Altenburg, Germany. It features 32 rats.

Finds are rare, with the last known one occurring in Estonia in 2021. Part of the scarcity may be due to the displacement in the 1700s of the black rat (Rattus rattus) by the Norway rat (Rattus norvegicus). For some reason, rat kings are more likely to be produced in black rat colonies. There are also reports of mouse kings (even other than the one in The Nutcracker ballet) and squirrel kings.

Many superstitious peasants in the Middle Ages considered it an unfavorable omen to find a rat king in a house. Others merely regarded it as yecchy.

To see a video of a recent Russian rat king featuring live rats, please click here.

[GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)
 or CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)],
 via Wikimedia Commons

THE MENACE OF THE SUPERHEATING MICROWAVE

If water is heated uniformly in a perfectly smooth container way past the normal boiling temperature, it may still not boil. Boiling requires a nucleation point, like a particle of dust or a scratch or other imperfection in the container around which the bubbles will form. You may have observed when you boil water in a pan over a burner that most of the bubbles come from a particular point on the pan. Even in a smooth container, water will generally boil when cooked on top of a stove, as it is not uniformly heated and the hot water rising from the bottom of the pan causes currents that break the surface tension of the water and create nucleation points on the surface. 

Water which is heated past the boiling point of 212 degrees F (100 degrees C) but is not boiling is called superheated. If you are foolish enough to be carrying a container of superheated water and you jostle it even slightly or you place a spoon or a coffee crystal in it, the water will explode into steam on the spot and violently spatter your body and face. Such an encounter can easily result in third-degree burns and, of course, blindness if the eyes are involved.

Liquid heated in a smooth vessel in a microwave oven could well achieve superheated status. To avoid this, keep a non-metallic object, such as a wooden popsicle stick, in the container during the heating. This will provide a nucleation point so that normal boiling can proceed.

THE BOSTON MOLASSES DISASTER

On January 15, 1919, a storage tank in Boston containing 2.3 million gallons of molasses ruptured and created the Great Boston Molasses Flood (no, I don't know if there were lesser Boston molasses floods). The 8-foot to 40-foot high (depending which source you believe) tidal wave of brown sugary goodness rolled out at 35 miles per hour (56 kilometers per hour), exerted a force of 2 tons (1.8 metric tons) per square inch, and destroyed buildings, railroad platforms, and trains. The blast created by the displaced air was enough to hurl a truck into Boston harbor. Numerous horses and 21 people were smothered in the goo like bugs in flypaper and died, and another 150 people were injured.

Many factors probably contributed to the disaster, including an unusually fast rise in the outside temperature, carbon dioxide buildup from fermentation, and the filling of the tank to the top in anticipation of making a lot of rum before Prohibition took effect. However, the fact that the tank was made of brittle metal and was only half as thick as it should have been (even by 1919 standards) was most likely the primary cause of the failure.

By the time all of the litigation was resolved, the company owning the tank (Purity Distilling Company) paid out a total of $600,000. This sum, even though the equivalent of $10.9 million today, was quite the bargain for Purity considering the extent of carnage involved.

Purportedly, on hot summer days, the aroma of molasses still seeps up from the pavement.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN FAIREYS?

Dauntless. Hurricane. Avenger. Thunderbolt. Lightning. Spitfire. Hellcat. Komet. Corsair. Mustang. Kingcobra. Meteor. Warhawk. Devastator. Flying Fortress. Superfortress. Dominator. All of these testosterone-laden names for World War II aircraft suggest lethality, power, invincibility, speed, and just general all-round ability to be all over their foes like scum on a pond. Oh, and also, lest we forget, the British Fairey Swordfish.

What sort of plane does one envision with a name like "Fairey Swordfish?" Probably, something pretty close to the truth. The Fairey Swordfish were fabric-covered biplanes which would have looked right at home in the skies of World War I, and they were certainly obsolete by World War II (although they still did do very well against submarines). They suffered catastrophic losses in battle (some missions lost 100% of the aircraft) and remained operational in the Second World War only because the British needed every plane they could use. I am not sure of the exact term used to describe someone who flew in a Fairey Swordfish, but I am confident that it is not "coward."

Now, let's switch over to battleship nomenclature. The pride of the German fleet in World War II was the Bismarck, named after Otto von Bismarck, the 19th century "Iron Chancellor" who forged the various German states into one modern nation, As described by Johnny Horton in his 1960 hit ballad Sink the Bismarck--

"In May of 1941 the war had just begun

The Germans had the biggest ship that had the biggest guns

The Bismarck was the fastest ship that ever sailed the sea

On her decks were guns as big as steers and shells as big as trees."

Although technically speaking, the Bismarck at that time was not the biggest battleship afloat with the biggest guns (that honor goes to the Japanese battlewagons Yamato and Musashi), it certainly was the biggest German ship, and the song accurately conveys the perception that any enemy vessel that crossed the Bismarck's path would have its hands full. 

The Bismarck and her twin sister, the Tirpitz, were intended to be surface raiders which would steam out into the Atlantic and methodically sink Allied convoys by the boatload. Quite inconveniently, however, the British took great pains to discourage such ventures and deployed much of their naval and air resources towards keeping the two vessels bottled up in their respective harbors. 

Nonetheless, on May 19, 1941, the Bismarck (sporting dazzle camouflage), along with the heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen, three destroyers, and a number of minesweepers, broke free with the intention to wreak havoc in the North Atlantic. After some brief skirmishes with British vessels, the German fleet encountered the British battlecruiser H.M.S. Hood and the battleship H.M.S. Prince of Wales. Salvos were exchanged between the British and German vessels. Eight minutes into the battle, the Bismarck lobbed a shell into an ammo bunker in the Hood, with the resulting explosion causing the Hood to sink almost immediately with a loss of all but three of her crew of 1,419. 

The Germans then savaged the Prince of Wales. They probably would have been able to sink her, but she was effectively neutralized for the time being, and the German orders were to avoid as much as possible any engagement with warships which were not actually protecting a convoy. The Bismarck sailed away suffering damage from three hits--she had inflicted 93 hits on the British in return. 

The damage to the Bismarck, although inconvenient, was not lethal. She headed back to port for repairs. Although her top speed had been reduced to 27 or 28 knots, she was still fast enough that the British ships could not catch up to her. She then subsequently successfully withstood attacks by torpedo bombers, although her speed slowed to to about 16 knots as a result of this additional action. 

The British, who were throwing everything they had into the sea and the air, were desperate. They had miscalculated the course and destination of the Bismarck, and it become obvious that the chances were excellent that the Bismarck would reach her sanctuary. The British finally spotted her by air, but she was out of the range of all British vessels, except one--the H.M.S. Ark Royal. 

The Ark Royal sent out its torpedo bombers to work over the German behemoth. Unfortunately, the bombers attacked a British ship by mistake. Fortunately, none of the detonators on the bombs worked. The British switched to planes equipped with torpedoes and tried again. 

Have you forgotten about our friend the Fairey Swordfish? That is what the Ark Royal had to offer. These delicate and slow cloth-covered kites, each carrying a single torpedo, were the only arrows left in the British quiver. Their pilots were given the unenviable task of lobbing their ordnance at the largest German ship afloat--one bristling with anti-aircraft capabilities. Their only defense would be to fly so low and so slow that the German guns would have trouble tracking them. 

Most of the attacks by the Fairey Swordfish were a failure. One brave pilot managed to lob a torpedo into the side of the ship, causing only minor flooding. Another pilot, John Moffat, sent his torpedo into the port rudder coupling.

Uh oh. With the damage to the port rudder inflicted by Moffat's lowly Fairey Swordfish, the Bismarck could only steam in a giant circle, which is what she was doing when the British fleet finally caught up to her. After the British fired 2,800 shells (400 of which hit the Bismarck) and numerous torpedoes, the German sailors scuttled her to avoid capture of the ship by the British. Finally, the Bismarck finally went down with only 114 survivors from its crew of over 2,200.

"We found the German battleship t'was makin' such a fuss

We had to sink the Bismarck 'cause the world depends on us

We hit the deck a runnin' and we spun those guns around

We found the mighty Bismarck and then we cut her down."

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A THORNY DILEMNA

Visitors to almost any English-speaking historical touristy type of town will encounter establishments named "Ye Olde..." such as "Ye Olde Candle Shoppe" or "Ye Olde Rat Trappe Emporium." Most folks, including myself (until recently), thought that "ye" was just an archaic way of saying "your" and would translate such a sign into something like "Your Old Candle Shop."

Actually, however, when used in this context, "ye" means "the." The Old English alphabet centuries ago had a letter called a "thorn" and which was pronounced "th." The thorn was difficult to write without confusing it with "p," and people both in handwriting and in printing substituted "Y" for the thorn instead. Icelanders, however, did not give up so easily and still have the thorn letter in their alphabet.

"Ye" did also mean "you" a long time ago (although it is still employed in a few English-speaking regions) when used for more than one person or for royalty. However, it was originally spelled as "ge" and its derivation as a pronoun was free from thorns.

I, Jmabel, CC BY-SA 3.0 <http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/>, via Wikimedia Commons

GAULT DISCS

At the start of the American Civil War, citizens on both sides of the conflict quickly lost confidence in paper money and started hoarding coins. In the North, coins were generally worth 20% more than the equivalent federal currency; in the South, the discrepancy was far greater with respect to Confederate notes. This situation, coupled with the fact that there were no federal bills smaller than $5 and the fact that most transactions were for less than that amount (remember, the average salary was about $12 a week, and a northern Army private earned $13 a month), threatened to grind the economy to a halt, since there were no coins in circulation to complete basic simple transactions.

To help remedy this, people in the North started using postage stamps for money. However, it was far more problematic to carry wads of gummed paper stamps than coins in a sweaty pocket. In response, John Gault invented a coin-shaped brass disc with a mica window on it which would hold a stamp and protect it from the abuses of circulation. Gault also sold advertising on the back of the disc at the rate of two cents per disc.

Gault's invention was so highly successful that it resulted in a postage stamp shortage. Eventually, the government abandoned the fiction that most of its postage stamps were being issued to be used on letters and surprisingly arrived at the very practical solution of printing durable currency with pictures of postage stamps on it. These bills were known, appropriately enough, as "postage currency" and came in denominations of 5, 10, 25, and 50 cents.

When things settled down after the end of the war, people regained confidence in paper money, coins trickled back into circulation*, and most individuals with Gault discs in their dresser drawers tore them apart to use the stamps contained therein to mail letters. Consequently, very few examples now still exist, and they command a hefty premium on the collector's market.

*Coins were also still supplemented by "fractional currency," which was regular paper money, not related to postage, in denominations less than a dollar. Fractional currency replaced postage currency and was issued until 1876.

BERRY INTERESTING

In the early 1920s, Rudolph Boysen experimented on a small farm in California with crossing a European raspberry with a common blackberry and a loganberry. He produced a large purple berry and then abandoned his project. Several years later, a USDA employee by the name of George Darrow enlisted the help of farmer Walter Knott to track down the source of rumors about the existence of the hybrid. They eventually found a few anemic vines among the weeds of Boysen's farm, and Knott started to cultivate from them the berry, which he name a "boysenberry," at his roadside stand. The boysenberry turned out be very popular, and the stand evolved into the Knott's Berry Farm empire.

There is probably no truth to the story that when Knott and Darrow first knocked on Boysen's door inquiring about the fruits of his labor, Boysen started fishing for compliments about his genetic accomplishment, only to have Darrow cut him short by saying, "I have come to seize your berry, not to praise it."

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