SMITH’S EXPERIENCE ON A SKATE.
I SPENT the ensuing winter in Philadelphia, the great city which was
laid out by William Penn, Esquire, who took a checker-board—an article
used in a game invariably played “on the square”—for a pattern, and,
hence, laid it out in squares that were perfectly square, and have
remained so to the present day. Mr. Penn deserves great credit for his
peaceable manner of acquiring the land on which the city is built.
Instead of going to work and killing the poor innocent savages, like
others did, he purchased the land from them, at a good round price in
buttons, keys, tooth picks, shoe-pegs, marbles, rum and the like. This
course, besides speaking well for the goodness of his heart, is also
strong evidence of his superior judgment and foresight, as the Indians
at that time were too numerous to be easily overcome.
One day, in the middle of the skating season, I concluded to go down to
Eastwick Park, Mr. R. O. Lowry’s popular resort, and amuse myself awhile
by watching the skaters tumbling head over heels and cracking their
brain-pans on the ice. I always had a passion for seeing any one fall,
especially on skates. There is a calm, quiet enjoyment about it—to the
observer—that is not equaled by any thing else. “We always,” remarks La
Rochefoucault “have strength enough to bear the misfortunes of others,”
a saying which, however humiliating it may be to confess it, has a
certain truth. The ancient Greek writer Isidorus puts it very bluntly
when he says: “Nothing is more pleasant than to sit at ease in the
harbor and behold the shipwreck of others,” a sentiment which is
repeated in an old English song:
“I wander not to seek for more:
In greatest storm I sit on shore,
And laugh at those that toil in vain,
To get what must be lost again;”
to wit, their life. But to return to myself:
For the information of non-residents of Philadelphia, I will state that
Eastwick Park is the largest skating-park in the world. It is a resort
for pleasure seekers, both in the winter and in the summer: for skating
and dancing in the former season; and dancing and rowing in the latter.
It is something for Philadelphia to boast of, and for which she is
indebted to the enterprise of the Park King, Mr. R. O. Lowry.
The smooth lake of ice was alive with skaters, of both sexes, and the
scene was one of the gayest. I had not seen much skating since my return
from the army, and, O, how this made me regret my inability to enjoy the
delightful exercise. For the first time, I heartily regretted that I had
ever served my country, and lost one of my nether limbs; and, in my
vexation, felt that if I had it to do over, my loved land might go to
the deuce before I would sacrifice a leg, and thus deprive myself of
such delightful recreation.
“Never more,” I muttered, “will my nimble feet glide over the smooth
ice, and the bright, ringing steel of my skates sing gleeful songs
behind me, while I fly like the wind! Never more shall I go it at the
rate of twenty miles an hour, tumble heels over head on the dear, clear,
smooth, cold ice, get my head cracked and my eyes blacked, and spring up
and try it again, cheerful and happy! Ah, John Smith! John Smith! thy
skating days are over! They are numbered with the things of the past,
and with the things that were, and are not!”
Just then, the veteran skater, Colonel P * * *, an excellent friend of
mine, came gliding gracefully along, to the shore of the lake, where I
was standing, and seeing me, said, with his usual cheerful and jovial
manner:
“How do you do, Smith? You are looking on as though you would like to
try it.”
“I wish it were possible, Colonel,” I replied.
“Did you skate before you went into the army?”
“O, yes.”
“Well, why don’t you try it?”
“On a crutch?”
“Certainly—as active as you are, I have no doubt you could skate. Try
it!”
“I would as soon risk another battle,” said I. “Who ever heard of a man
skating on one leg?”
“Have _you_ never heard of the like?”
“I think not.”
“I have then. Last year, I read of a one-legged skater in Boston. He was
hard to beat too, it was said.”
“Ah? Is that so?”
“I assure you it is. Go into the skate-room, get a skate and try it.
There is a little nook of ice extending behind the buildings, try it
there first, and if you find it a success, you can venture out upon the
main body of ice.”
“I believe I will,” I said.
I went into the skate-room, and somewhat astonished the clerk by asking
for “half-a-pair of skates.”
“Are you in earnest?” he asked.
“Yes, by all means.”
“Can you skate?”
“Yes,” I replied, although I had never yet tried it in my present
condition; “no mere amateur can beat me.”
He gave me the skate, lent me a gimlet and file, and furnished me with a
couple of nails. I drove one of the nails into the lower end of the
crutch and the other into the end of the cane, and filed them off sharp
about half-an-inch from the wood. I then put on the skate and went out
upon the ice in rear of the row of buildings. With some misgivings, I
stepped on the ice and gave myself a shove. I sailed out pretty nicely,
and didn’t fall. To my astonishment and delight, I discovered that I
could skate nearly as well as ever. This discovery lent me confidence
and vigor, and, without hesitation, I glided out upon the extensive lake
of ice, among the throng of skaters, where I was regarded as a novelty;
and, in a word, I created quite a sensation. I felt that I would much
rather all the eyes turned upon me had been bullets aimed at me; but I
“cheeked” it out, with all the “brass” I could muster, and glided
around, apparently so much at my ease, that the observers might have
fancied it was not my first attempt to skate on one leg, but that, on
the contrary, I had skated many thousand miles thus. I soon met my
friend, the Colonel, who was highly elated at my success.
As this was my first exercise of this kind, since my return from the
army, I only remained on the ice about five hours that day: by the end
of which time I felt as though I might travel two or three times around
the globe on a skate.
I did get a fall or two, of course. In fact, I had not been on the ice
fifteen minutes, when I got to skating too fast—my skate going so fast
that I couldn’t keep up—and the result was that I presently had the ice
for a pillow, and lay there gazing at the clouds, with only one
overhanging skate-clad foot to interrupt the view. Then, before I had
time to stir from this novel position, a handsome young lady, who was
trying the backward skating, endeavored to skate over me—a feat
frequently attempted without success—and the result was, she violently
took a seat upon my stomach and jobbed one of her elbows in my eye. She
struggled up and said, “O, excuse me! Did I hurt you?”
“O, no; not at all!” I replied, although she had nearly knocked the
breath out of me.
“I am glad of it,” she said, skating away.
I recovered my crutch and cane, and arose, wondering whether she meant
that she was glad she hadn’t hurt me or glad she had fallen on me. I
didn’t feel glad about any thing.
This was my first skating adventure, on a crutch; but I have skated many
times since. So, you see, that, after all, the loss of a limb does not
necessarily deprive a man of such little enjoyments. Energy, will and
self-confidence will work wonders. What I want to do, I do. I have swam
in the Schuylkill, Delaware, Monongahela, Ohio and Mississippi rivers,
and in all the lakes; skated hundreds of miles; ridden hundreds of miles
on horseback; walked hundreds of miles—all with one leg. There are only
two things I can’t do, which another man can. One is to run; the other
is to sit cross-legged. I do not say this to boast; for John Smith is
modest. I merely mention these facts, that the public may know what a
one-legged man can do, and that he’s “a man for a’ that.”