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Snake Robots
The following images in the book are used under license from Shutterstock.com:
Image of snake on page 1: Copyright Angel Simon, 2011.
Image in Fig. 1.2b: Copyright RedTC, 2011.
Image in Fig. 1.3: Copyright Srdjan Draskovic, 2011.
Image in Fig. 1.4: Copyright photoBeard, 2011.
Image of snake on page 287: Copyright Steve Bower, 2011.
The following images in the book are used under license from Dreamstime.com:
Images in Fig. 1.5: Copyright Isselee, 2011.
ISSN 1430-9491 ISSN 2193-1577 (electronic)
Advances in Industrial Control
ISBN 978-1-4471-2995-0 ISBN 978-1-4471-2996-7 (eBook)
DOI 10.1007/978-1-4471-2996-7
Springer London Heidelberg New York Dordrecht
The series Advances in Industrial Control aims to report and encourage technol-
ogy transfer in control engineering. The rapid development of control technology
has an impact on all areas of the control discipline. New theory, new controllers,
actuators, sensors, new industrial processes, computer methods, new applications,
new philosophies, . . . , new challenges. Much of this development work resides in
industrial reports, feasibility study papers and the reports of advanced collaborative
projects. The series offers an opportunity for researchers to present an extended ex-
position of such new work in all aspects of industrial control for wider and rapid
dissemination.
Over the years the Advances in Industrial Control series has been very fortunate
in publishing monographs that were often seminal for the development of new ar-
eas in control systems theory and industrial technology. These monographs were
often written by young researchers making their way in the industrial control field
or were a report of a substantial research project that was now ready for holistic
presentation and dissemination. For a monograph series that spans two decades, it is
actually quite easy to find examples of this type of motivational text. From the early
years of the series, Iterative Learning Control for Deterministic Systems by Kevin
L. Moore (ISBN 978-3-540-19707-2, 1992) and Autotuning of PID Controllers by
Cheng-Ching Yu (ISBN 978-3-540-76250-8, 1999) are good examples. In more re-
cent years we can cite Control of Fuel Cell Power Systems by Jay T. Pukrushpan,
Anna G. Stefanopoulou, and Huei Peng (ISBN 978-1-85233-816-9, 2004), Predic-
tive Functional Control by Jacques Richalet and Donal O’Donovan (ISBN 978-
1-84882-492-8, 2009) and finally Internet-Based Control Systems by Shuang-Hua
Yang (ISBN 978-1-84996-358-9, 2011) as typical Advances in Industrial Control
monographs that are studied as key texts for their respective topics.
Clearly Snake Robots by Pål Liljebäck, Kristin Y. Pettersen, Øyvind Stavdahl,
and Jan Tommy Gravdahl is going to be a much read, studied, and cited monograph
in this particular field of robot development. After a truly fascinating introductory
chapter that examines among other topics, biological snake motion, the monograph
is structured into two parts. Part I investigates and reports on modelling, technology,
and control for snake robot locomotion in a planar (flat) environment (Chaps. 2–8).
vii
viii Series Editors’ Foreword
The purpose of this book is to present theoretical and practical topics related to
snake robots. Snake robots are robotic mechanisms designed to move like biologi-
cal snakes. The advantage of such mechanisms is their ability to move and operate
in challenging environments where human presence is unwanted or impossible. Fu-
ture applications of these mechanisms include search and rescue operations, inspec-
tion and maintenance in industrial process plants, and subsea operations. Research
on snake robots has been conducted for several decades. For instance, the world’s
first snake robot was developed in Japan already in 1972. There are, however, still
many theoretical and practical aspects of snake robot locomotion which have not
yet been addressed in the snake robot literature. Current literature is characterised
by numerous different approaches to modelling, development, and control of these
mechanisms, but a unified theoretical foundation of snake robots has not yet been
established.
In this book, we attempt to target these limitations of current literature on snake
robots. The main goal of the book is to contribute to the mathematical foundation of
the control theory of snake robots, and also stimulate and support future research on
these fascinating mechanisms. To this end, the book is a complete treatment of snake
robotics, with topics ranging from mathematical modelling techniques, mechatronic
design and implementation, and control design strategies. In particular, several new
approaches to modelling snake robot locomotion are presented. Moreover, numer-
ous properties of snake robot dynamics are derived using nonlinear system analysis
tools, and several new control strategies for snake robots are proposed. The book
also describes the development of two snake robots that are employed to exper-
imentally validate many of the theoretical results. Whereas previous literature has
mainly focused on flat surface locomotion, a distinct feature of the book is the strong
focus on locomotion in uneven and cluttered environments. The organisation of the
book is detailed in Sect. 1.5.
Although the results presented in this book are new and based on recent confer-
ence and journal publications, they are presented at an initial level which is acces-
sible to audiences with a standard undergraduate background in control theory or
mechatronics. The book is written in a clear and easily understandable manner with
numerous figures and pictures which help illustrate and visualise the material. The
target audience of this book includes academic researchers and graduate students
with an interest in snake robots or underactuated systems in general. The book may
ix
x Preface
1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
1.1 Background and Motivation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
1.2 Biological Snakes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
1.2.1 The Anatomy of Snakes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
1.2.2 The Locomotion of Snakes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
1.3 Previous Work on Modelling, Mechatronics, and Control of Snake
Robots . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
1.3.1 Previous Work on Modelling and Analysis of Snake Robots 10
1.3.2 Previous Work on Implementation of Physical Snake
Robots . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
1.3.3 Previous Work on Control of Snake Robots . . . . . . . . . 22
1.4 The Scope of This Book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
1.4.1 An Analytical Approach . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
1.4.2 Snake Robots Without a Fixed Base . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
1.4.3 A Planar Perspective . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
1.4.4 Locomotion Without Sideslip Constraints . . . . . . . . . . 28
1.4.5 Motion Based on Lateral Undulation . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
1.5 An Outline of This Book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
1.5.1 Outline of Part I—Snake Robot Locomotion on Flat
Surfaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
1.5.2 Outline of Part II—Snake Robot Locomotion in Cluttered
Environments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32
1.6 Publications Underlying This Book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
xi
xii Contents
Page 286
Jack saw Burton, who was fighting furiously, beset by two savage
blacks armed with axes stuck on long poles. In that supreme
moment of peril the thought of Lucy’s sorrow at loss of her husband,
should she be restored to reason, came to the mind of the great
hearted sailor. He recklessly rushed in front of Burton, severed at a
stroke of his sword the arm of one of Burton’s assailants, and caught
the descending ax of the other when within an inch of the head of
the man who had taken the place in Lucy’s love that he had hoped
for.
Jack Dunlap’s cutlass warded off the blow from Burton but the
sharp ax glanced along the blade and was buried in the broad breast
of Lucy’s knight, and he fell across the bodies of his faithful
followers, Brice and McLeod; Jack’s fast deafening ears caught sound
of—
“Follow me, lads, give them cold steel. Don’t shoot. You may hit
friends! Charge!”
Tom Maxon’s voice was far from jolly now. There was death in
every note of it as, at the head of a body of United States Blue-
jackets, he dashed in among the black barbarians. When he caught
sight of the prostrate, bleeding form of his old school-fellow he
raged like a wounded lion among Sybella’s savage followers.
As the lieutenant saw that the range of fire was free from his
friends, he cried out, hoarse with passion,
“Fire at will. Give them hell!” and he emptied his own revolver into
the huddled crowd of mountaineers, who still stood, brave to
recklessness, hesitating about what to do against the new
adversaries.
The repeating rifles of the Americans soon covered the roadway
with dark corpses. Long lanes were cut by the rapid fire through the
black mass. With howls and yells of mingled terror, rage and
disappointment the mob broke and taking to the jungle disappeared
in the darkness of the adjacent forest.
A sailor kicked aside what he thought was a bundle of rags, and
started back as the torch that he bore revealed the open, fangless
mouth and snake-like, glaring eyes of an old crone of a woman who
in death seemed even more horrible than in life.
A rifle ball, at close range, had shattered Mother Sybella’s skull.
XVII.
All established rules of the house of “J. Dunlap” were as the laws
of the Medes and Persians to David Chapman, inviolable. When the
hour of twelve struck and neither Mr. John Dunlap nor Mr. Burton
appeared at the office, the Superintendent immediately proceeded
to the residence of Mr. Dunlap.
“I am sorry, Chapman, to have given you the trouble of coming
out here, but the fact is I am not so strong as formerly, and I
expected that Burton would be at the office and thought a day of
repose might benefit me,” remarked Mr. John Dunlap as Chapman
entered his library carrying a bundle of papers this March afternoon.
“Mr. Burton has only been at the office once within the past week
and not more than a dozen times since you all returned from Haiti
some two months ago,” replied the Superintendent, methodically
arranging the various memoranda on the large library table.
“First in order of date is as follows: Douglass and McPherson, the
solicitors at Glasgow, write that they have purchased the annuity for
old Mrs. McLeod and that the income secured to her is far larger
than any possible comfort or even luxury can require; they also say
that the lot in the graveyard has been secured and that the mother
of the dead ship carpenter is filled with gratitude for the granite
stone you have provided to mark her son’s grave and that no nobler
epitaph for any Scotsman could be carved than the one suggested
by you to be cut on the stone, ‘Died defending innocent women;’
they expect the body to arrive within a few days and will follow
instructions concerning the reinterment of the remains of gallant
McLeod; they add that beyond all expenditures ordered they will
hold a balance to our credit and ask what is your pleasure
concerning same, that the four thousand pounds remitted by you
was far too large a sum.”
“Far too small! Tell them to buy a cottage for McLeod’s mother and
draw at sight for more money, that the cottage may be a good one.
Why! Chapman, McLeod was a hero; but they were all of them that.
He, however, gave his life in our defense and there is no money
value that can repay that debt to him and his,” exclaimed Mr. Dunlap
earnestly, and leaning forward in the excitement that the recollection
of the past recalled, continued:
“David, the dead were heaped about the spot where McLeod,
Brice and Jack fell like corded fire-wood. When I could leave the
women, Lieutenant Maxon and his men had dispersed the blacks, I
fairly waded in blood to reach the place where Maxon and Burton
were bending over Jack. It was a fearful sight. It had been an awful
struggle, but it was all awful that night. I dared not leave the
women, yet I knew that even my weak help was needed at the gate.
Had my messenger not met Maxon on the road, to whom notice of
the intended attack had been given by a friendly black, we had all
been killed.”
The excited old gentleman paused to regain his breath and
resumed the story of that dreadful experience.
“Martha Dunlap is the kind of woman to be mother of a hero. She
was as calm and brave as her son and helped me like a real heroine
in keeping the others quiet. We told Lucy it was only a jubilee
among the natives and that they were shouting and shooting off
firearms in their sport along the highway. God forgive me for the
falsehood, but it served to keep our poor girl perfectly calm and she
does not even now know to the contrary.” Mr. Dunlap reverently
inclined his head when he spoke of that most excusable lie that he
had told.
“Jack does not get all of his nerve and courage from the Dunlap
blood, that is sure! When the surgeon was examining the great gash
in his breast, Martha stood at his side and held the basin; her hand
never trembled though her tearless face was as white as snow. All
the others of us, I fear, were blubbering like babies, I know, anyhow
Tom Maxon was whimpering more like a lass than the brave and
terrible fighter that he is. When the surgeon gave us the joyful news
that the blow of the ax had been stopped by the strong breast bone
over our boy’s brave heart, we were all ready to shout with
gladness, but Martha then, woman like, broke down and began
weeping.”
There was rather a suspicious moisture in the eyes of the relator
of the scene, as he thought over the occurrences of that night in
Haiti. Even though all danger was past and his beloved namesake,
Jack Dunlap, was now so far recovered as to be able to walk about,
true somewhat paler in complexion and with one arm bound across
his breast, but entirely beyond danger from the blow of the
desperate Haitian axman.
“That fighting devil of an American admiral soon cleared Port au
Prince of the insurgents and wished me to take up my residence at
the consulate, but I had enough of Haiti, for awhile anyway. So as
soon as Jack could safely be moved, and old Brice, whose skull must
be made of iron, had come around sufficiently after that smashing
blow in the head, to take command of the ‘Adams’ and navigate her
to Boston, I bundled everybody belonging to me aboard and sailed
for home.” The word home came with a sigh of relief from Mr.
Dunlap’s lips as he settled back in his chair.
“When we heard of your frightful experience, I had some faint
hope that the shock might have restored Mrs. Burton to her normal
condition of mind,” said Chapman.
“Well, in the first place Lucy learned nothing concerning the affair,
and was simply told when she called for Jack that he was not well
and would be absent from her for a short time. But even had she
received a nervous shock from the harrowing events of that night,
the experts in mental disorders inform me that it is most unlikely
that any good result could have been produced; that as the primary
cause of her dementia is disappointed hope, expectation, and the
recoil of the purest and best outpouring of her heart, that the only
shock at all probable to bring about the desired change must come
from a similar source,” answered Mr. Dunlap.
“To proceed with my report,” said the Superintendent glancing
over some papers.
“Lieutenant Maxon is not wealthy, in fact, has only his pay from
the United States, and while his family is one of the oldest and most
highly respected in Massachusetts all the members of it are far from
rich. The watch ordered made in New York will be finished by the
time the U.S. Ship Delaware arrives, which will not be before next
month.”
“That all being as you have ascertained, I am going to make a
requisition upon your ingenuity, David. You must secure the placing
in Maxon’s hands of twenty one-thousand dollar bills with no other
explanation than that it is from ‘an admirer.’ The handsome, gay
fellow may think some doting old dowager sent it to him. The watch
I will present as a slight token of my friendship when I have him
here to dine with me, and he can never suspect me in the money
matter.” Mr. Dunlap chuckled at the deep cunning of the diabolical
scheme.
Chapman evidently was accustomed to the unstinted munificence
of the house of Dunlap, for he accepted the instruction quite as a
mere detail of the business, made a few notes and with his pen held
between his teeth as he folded the paper, mumbled:
“I’ll see that he gets the money all right, sir, without knowing
where it comes from.”
“Here are several things that Mr. Burton, who is familiar with the
preceding transactions, should pass upon, but as he is so seldom at
the office, I have had no opportunity to lay them before him,”
continued the ever vigilant Chapman, turning over a number of
documents.
“I know even less than you do about Burton’s department, so
make out the best way that you can under the circumstances.”
“Is Mr. Burton ill, sir, or what is the reason why he is absent from
the office so much?” asked Chapman, to whom it seemed that the
greatest deprivation in life must be loss of ability to be present daily
in the office of J. Dunlap.
“I am utterly at a loss to explain Burton’s conduct, especially since
our return from Haiti. He is morbid, melancholy, and seems to avoid
the society of all those who formerly were his chosen associates and
companions. He calls or sends here daily with religious regularity to
ascertain the condition of Lucy’s health, and occasionally asks Jack
to accompany him on a ride behind his fine team. You know that he
is aware that Jack saved his life by taking the blow on his own
breast that was aimed at Burton’s head. He was devoted to Jack on
the voyage home and here, until Jack’s recovery was assured
beyond a doubt, but now he acts so peculiarly that I don’t know
what to make of him,” replied the perplexed old gentleman.
“Humph! Humph!” grunted Chapman, in a disparaging tone, and
resumed the examination of the sheets of paper before him.
Selecting one, he said:
“I find Malloy, the father of the girl, who was the victim of that
nameless crime and afterward murdered, to be a respectable,
worthy man, poor, but in need of no assistance. He is a porter at
Brown Brothers. It appears that the girl, who was only fifteen years
of age, was one of the nursery maids in the Greenleaf family, and
had obtained permission to visit her father’s home on the night of
the crime and was on her way there when she was assaulted.”
“What has been done by the Police Department?” asked Mr.
Dunlap eagerly.
“To tell the truth, very little. The detectives seem mystified by a
crime of so rare occurrence in our section that it has shocked the
whole of New England. However, I know what would have happened
had the crowd assembled around Malloy’s house when the body was
brought home, been able to lay hands on the perpetrator of the
deed, the whole police force of Boston notwithstanding.”
“What do you mean, David?”
“I mean that the wretch would have been lynched,” exclaimed
Chapman.
“That had been a disgrace to the Commonwealth of
Massachusetts,” said the old gentleman warmly.
“That may or may not be, sir. Malloy and his friends are all
peaceable, law-abiding citizens. Malloy was almost a maniac, not at
the death of his child but the rest of the crime, and the agony of the
heartbroken father was too much for the human nature of his
neighbors, and human nature is the same in New England as
elsewhere in our land.”
“But the law will punish crime and must be respected no matter
what may be the provocation to ignore its regular administration of
justice,” said Mr. Dunlap with a judicial air.
“Truth is, sir, that one can hardly comprehend a father’s feelings
under such circumstances, and I don’t imagine there is a great
difference between the paternal heart in Massachusetts and in
Mississippi. Human nature is much alike in the same race in every
clime. Men of the North may occasionally be slower to wrath but are
fearfully in earnest when aroused by an outrage,” rejoined Chapman.
“I frankly confess, David, that I recognize that it is one thing for
me to sit here calmly in my library and coolly discuss a crime in
which I have no direct personal interest, and announce that justice
according to written law only should be administered, but it would
be quite a different state of mind with which I should regard this
crime if one of my own family were the victim of the brute’s attack. I
fear then I should forget about my calm theory of allowing the
regular execution of justice and everything else, even my age and
hoary head, and be foremost in seeking quick revenge on the
wretch,” said the old New Englander hotly.
“Knowing you and your family as I do, sir, I’ll make oath that you
would head the mob of lynchers.”
“My brother James, who was the soul of honor and a citizen of
whom the Commonwealth was justly proud, was very liberal in his
opinion of lynching for this crime. It was the single criminal act for
which his noble, charitable heart could find no excuse. I think even
my brother James, model citizen though he was, would have been a
law-forgetting man under such circumstances.”
Old John Dunlap’s voice grew soft and tender when he mentioned
the name of his beloved brother, and either Chapman became
extraordinarily near-sighted or the papers in his hand required close
scrutiny.
“I have published the notice of the reward of one thousand dollars
offered by our house for the capture of the perpetrator of the crime,”
said the Superintendent rather huskily, changing the subject from
that of the character of his old master.
“That is well, we are the oldest business house in Boston, and
none can think it presumptuous that we should be anxious to erase
this stain from the escutcheon of our Commonwealth. I wish every
inducement offered that may lead to the apprehension of the
criminal.” Mr. Dunlap stopped short as if suddenly some new idea
had occurred to his mind, and then exclaimed:
“David, you possess a wonderful faculty for fathoming deep and
complex mysteries. Why don’t you seek to discover the perpetrator
of this horrible crime?”
David Chapman was not in the habit of blushing, but certainly his
cheeks took on an unusually bright crimson hue, as Mr. Dunlap
asked the question, and he answered in a somewhat abashed
manner, as though detected in some act of youthful folly.
“I confess, sir, that I am making a little investigation in my own
way. There are a few trifling circumstances and fragments of
evidence left by the criminal that were considered unworthy of
attention by the police that I am tracing up, like an amateur
Sherlock Holmes.”
“Good for you, David! May you succeed in unearthing the brutal
villain! You have carte-blanche to draw on the house for any
expense that your search may entail. Go ahead! I will stand by you!”
cried John Dunlap enthusiastically.
XVIII.
“The abysmal depth of degradation has now been reached; I no
longer, even in my moments of affected refinement, attempt to
conceal the fact from myself, the gauzy veil of acquisition no longer
deceives even me, it long since failed to deceive others.”
What evil genii of metamorphosis had transformed the debonair
Walter Burton into the wretched, slovenly, brutalized being who,
grunting, gave utterance to such sentiments, while stretched, in
unkempt abandonment, on a disordered couch in the center of the
unswept and neglected music-room in the ‘Eyrie’ early on this March
morning?
Even the linen of the once fastidious model of masculine
cleanliness was soiled, and the delights of the bath seemed quite
unknown to the heavy-eyed, listless lounger on the couch.
“I have abandoned useless effort to rehabilitate myself in the
misfit garments of a civilization and culture for which the
configuration of my mental structure, by nature, renders me
unsuited. My child indicated the off-springs natural to me. My
emotion and actions in the forest of Haiti gave evidence of the
degree of the pure spirit of religion to be found in my inmost soul,
and my conduct, following natural inclinations, since my return to
Boston, has demonstrated how little control civilization, morality, or
pity have over my inherent savage nature.”
The man seemed in a peculiar way to derive some satisfaction
from rehearsing the story of his hopeless condition, and in the fact
that he had reached the limit of descent.
“I should have fled to the mountains of Haiti, had I not been led
to fight against my own kinsmen. For the moment I was blinded by
the thread-bare thought that I was of the white instead of black
race, and when I had time to free my mind from that old misleading
idea, my hands were stained with the blood of my own race. I was
obliged to leave Haiti or suffer the fate that ever overtakes a traitor
to his race.”
“There is no hope of the restoration of my wife’s mental faculties,
and even should there be that is all the more reason for my fleeing
from Boston and forever disappearing, I retain enough of the
borrowed refinement of the whites in my recollection to know that
as I am now I should be loathesome to her.”
“Here, I must shun the sight of those who know me, realizing that
I can no longer appear in the assumed character that I formerly did.
Here, I skulk the streets at night in the apparel of a tramp seeking
gratification of proclivities that are natural to me.”
“I know that I must leave this city and country as quickly as
possible. The long repressed desires natural to me break forth with a
fury that renders me oblivious to consequences and my own safety.
Repression by civilization and culture foreign to a race but serves to
increase the violence of the outburst when the barrier once is
broken.”
“I will go to the office today, secure some private documents and
notify Mr. Dunlap that I desire to withdraw at once from the firm of
J. Dunlap. I will nerve myself for one more act in the farce. I will don
the costume in which I paraded the stage so long for one more
occasion.”
Burton arose slowly from his recumbent position as if reluctant to
resume even for a day a character that had become tiresome and
obnoxious to his negro nature.
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