September 11, 2018 | Leave a comment Andrew Crosse was a wealthy young man, inheriting Fyne Court, a large country house in Broomfield, Somerset, England, at the age of 21 in 1805, following the death of his parents, Richard and Susannah. After receiving his inheritance, Crosse, who had been studying law at Brasenose College, Oxford, immediately abandoned his legal studies, in order to devote his time to an altogether different subject. Andrew Crosse (1784-1855) Old painting of Andrew Crosse by unknown author. This work is in the public domain in its country of origin and other countries and areas where the copyright term is the author’s life plus 70 years or less. You see, it was at the tender age of 12 that Andrew had been taken to a lecture on the subject of electricity, which had left a lasting impression on the young man. Being of newly independent means, he was thus able to pursue his interest in all things electrical with impunity. Crosse built his own laboratory at Fyne Court where, in about 1807, he began experimenting with electrocrystallization; a process involving the growth of crystals on electrodes, derived from rocks immersed in various liquids. Among his other experiments, Crosse constructed an apparatus that incorporated an insulated wire of approximately one and a quarter miles in length, suspended from trees and poles, for the purposes of “examining the electricity of the atmosphere”. He was eventually able to determine the polarity of the atmosphere under various weather conditions. One of his other notable successes was the development of large voltaic piles; the forerunner of the electrical battery. So loud were the reports when he discharged the piles, locals began referring to Crosse as “the thunder and lightning man”. His work drew the interest of Sir Humphrey Davy, President of the Royal Society, who visited Andrew at Fyne Court in 1827. Nonetheless, over the years it would be the subject of electrocrystallization that he would return to periodically, and he would eventually produce a total of 24 electrocrystallized minerals. However, it is for what unexpectedly appeared during an electrocrystallization experiment in 1837, that Crosse is mainly remembered today. He wanted to see if it would be possible to grow crystals by applying only a weak electric current. As days went by without any crystals appearing in the liquid, it appeared that the answer was no. However, on the 28th day of the experiment, Andrew noticed something that astonished him. Instead of crystals, the liquid now contained numerous tiny insects that resembled mites or fleas. Presuming that his experiment must have become contaminated by microscopic insect eggs, Crosse decided to replicate the experiment using sealed containers in order to eliminate the possibility of contamination. To his amazement, insects once again appeared instead of crystals. He followed this up by repeating the experiment using an assortment of poisonous liquids known to be incapable of supporting life. Astoundingly, on most occasions insects again emerged from the toxic fluid. Had Andrew Crosse really created life in his laboratory, by applying a weak electrical charge to a combination of rock and liquid? Crosse himself seemed bemused by the results of his experiments. He would later comment: “In fact, I assure you most sacredly that I have never dreamed of any theory sufficient to account for (the insects’) appearance. I confess that I was not a little surprised, and am so still, and quite as much as I was when the (insects) first made their appearance…. I was looking for (crystal) formations, and (insects) appeared instead….” Another scientist by the name of W. H. Weeks decided to try the experiment for himself, and even went to the extent of assembling the whole thing inside of a bell jar, to ensure an environment free from external contamination. He too noted the appearance of insects, although subsequent attempts by chemist Henry Noad and surgeon Alfred Smee to replicate Crosse’s results were not successful. Crosse identified the insects as belonging to a genus of mites known as Acarus, and newspapers who quickly picked up on the story, named them Acarus Crossii, in his honour. Unfortunately however, public reaction to Andrew’s experiments was not positive. He was accused of fraud, incompetence, and most alarmingly, blasphemy. He was described as being “a devil, a mere man who dared to make himself equal to the creator God by seemingly creating life out of nothing”. Indeed, such was the furore surrounding Crosse and his work, that people began arriving at Fyne Court in order to ridicule him, damage his property and even to perform exorcisms! An Example of the Genus Acarus Acarologiste, own work. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license. Things got so bad for Andrew that he was thereafter rarely seen in public, preferring to spend his time at Fyne Court, avoiding the vitriol that he seemed to attract wherever he went. On the morning of 26th May 1855, Andrew Crosse suffered a stroke from which he would not recover. He died on 6th July 1855 aged 70, unusually, in the very same room in which he had been born. He never understood why his work had provoked such a savage reaction from the general public. He was twice married and had 10 children, of which 3 died in childhood. Subsequent generations of scientists do not appear to have taken Crosse’s findings seriously, and in the intervening years, there do not seem to have been any further meaningful attempts to reproduce the results he obtained. So what are we to make of all this? The most likely explanation is that, despite his best endeavours, Crosse’s instruments had been contaminated by dust mites or something similar. Or is it possible that in the same year that Queen Victoria ascended to the throne, in a laboratory in Somerset, England, a man became a god, just for a while? Sources: https://www.historicmysteries.com/andrew-crosse-experiment/ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_Crosse