A JUGGLER WITH DEATH
This is the story of a man, a virile, strong, resourceful man, all of
whose history from his youth to his untimely death thrills one at the
reading and points lessons worth learning.
The most careful study and the most just comparison would doubtless
concede to Washington Harrison Donaldson the high rank--high, indeed,
in a double sense--of having been the greatest aeronaut the world has
ever known.
While a few men have done some great deeds in aeronautics which he did
not accomplish, nevertheless Donaldson did more things never even
undertaken by any other aeronaut that any man who has ever lived.
Indeed, much of his work would be deemed by mankind at large downright
absurd, hair-brained, foolhardy, and reckless to the point of actual
madness; and yet no man ever possessed a saner mind than Donaldson; no
man was ever more fond of family, friends, and life in general, or
normally more reluctant to undertake what he regarded as a needlessly
hazardous task. His boldest and most seemingly reckless feats were to
him no more than the every-day work of a man of a strong mind, of a
stout heart, and of a perfectly trained body, who had so completely
mastered every detail of his profession as gymnast, acrobat, and
aeronaut, that he had come to have absolute faith in himself, downright
abiding certainty that within his sphere of work not only must he
succeed, but that, in the very nature of things it was quite impossible
for him to fail.
Donaldson's story may well serve as an inspiration, as does that of
every man who, with a cool head and high courage, takes his life in his
hands for adventure into the world's untrodden fields. While he was
regarded by average onlookers as little better than a "Merry Andrew," a
public shocker, doing feats before the multitude to still the heart and
freeze the blood, those whose fortune it was to know him intimately
realized him to be a man of the most serious purpose, with a great
faith in the future of aerial navigation. He seemed to be possessed by
the conviction that it was one day to become wholly practicable and
generally useful; for he was keen to do all he could to popularize and
advance it, and to demonstrate its large measure of safety where
practised under reasonable conditions.
To many still living his memory is dear--to all indeed who ever knew
him well, and it is to his memory and to the surviving friends who held
him dear I dedicate this little story.
Washington Harrison Donaldson was the son of David Donaldson, an artist
of no mean ability of Philadelphia, where the boy was born October 10,
1840. The mother, of straight descent from a line of patriots active
during the Revolution, gave the boy the name of Washington; the father,
an ardent worker for General Harrison's candidacy for the presidency in
the "Tippecanoe-and-Tyler-too" campaign, added the name of Harrison.
It is not conceivable that this christening with two names so closely
linked with notable deeds of high emprise in the early history of this
country, had its influence upon the boy.
As a mere youth he showed the most adventurous spirit and ardent
ambition to excel his mates, to do deeds of skill and dexterity that
others could not do. When still a child he was running up an
unsupported eight-foot ladder, and balancing himself upon the topmost
round in a way to startle the cleverest professional athletes. A
little later, getting hold of any old rope, stretching it in any old
way as a "slack-rope," he was busy perfecting himself as a slack-rope
walker. Naturally, school held him only a very few years, for his type
of mind obviously was not that of a student.
While still in early youth, he got his father's consent to work in the
parental studio, and persevered long enough to acquire some ability in
sketching. Later he employed this art in illustrating some of his
aerial voyages. During these studio days he studied legerdemain and
ventriloquism, and became one of the most expert sleight-of-hand
wizards and ventriloquial entertainers of his time.
Donaldson's first appearance before the public was at the old Long's
Varieties on South Third Street in Philadelphia. His feats as a
rope-walker have probably never been surpassed. In 1862 a rope twelve
hundred feet long was stretched across the Schuylkill River at
Philadelphia at a height of twelve hundred feet above the water. After
passing back and forth repeatedly over this rope, he finished his
exhibition by leaping from a rope into the river from a height of
approximately ninety feet. Two years later he successfully walked a
rope eighteen hundred feet long and two hundred feet high, stretched
across the Genesee Falls at Rochester, N. Y. Five years later he was
riding a velocipede on a tight-wire from stage to gallery of a
Philadelphia theatre, the first to do this performance.
Thus his years were spent between 1857 and 1871; and great as were the
dangers and severe the tasks incident to this period of his career, to
him it was not work but the play he loved. While the work in itself
was not one to emulate--for there are perhaps few less useful tasks
than those that made up his occupation--nevertheless, he was training
himself for his career; and the absolute mastery over it which he
accomplished, the boldness with which he did it, the readiness,
certainty, and complete success with which he carried out everything he
undertook make a lesson worth studying.
Donaldson's career as an aeronaut was brief. His first ascent was made
August 30, 1871; his last, July 15, 1875. The story of the first is
characteristic of the man. In his lexicon there was no such word as
"fail." His balloon was small, holding only eight thousand cubic feet
of gas. The gas was of poor quality, and when ready to rise he found
it impossible even to make a start until all ballast had been thrown
from the basket; and when at length the start was made, it was only to
alight in a few minutes on the roof of a neighboring house. Bent upon
winning and doing at all hazards what he had undertaken, Donaldson
quickly cast overboard all loose objects in the basket--ropes, anchors,
provisions, even down to his boots and coat. Thus relieved of weight,
he was able to make a voyage of about eighteen miles.
There are two essentials to safe ballooning: first, the easy working of
the cord which controls the safety valve at the top of the netting, by
which descent may be effected when the balloon is going too high; and
surplus ballast, which may be thrown out to lighten the balloon when
approaching the ground, to avoid striking the earth at dangerously
rapid speed. Hence it followed that, his car having been stripped of
every bit of weight to obtain the ascent, Donaldson's descent was so
violent that he was not a little bruised before he got his balloon
safety [Transcriber's note: safely?] anchored again upon the earth.
The difficulties and risks of this first trip, arising from the poor
appliances he had, were enough to discourage, if not deter, a heart
less bold than his, but to him a new difficulty only meant the letting
out of another reef in his resolution to conquer it. Thus it was that
immediately upon his return from this, his first trip, he not only
announced that he would make another ascent the ensuing week, but that
he would undertake something never previously undertaken in aerial
navigation, namely, that he would dispense with the basket or car swung
beneath the concentrating ring of every normal balloon, and in its
place would have nothing but a simple trapeze bar suspended beneath the
ring, upon which in mid-air, at high altitude, he proposed to perform
all feats done by then most highly trained gymnasts in trapeze
performances.
His experience on this first trip, to quote his own phraseology, was
"so glorious that I decided to abandon the tight-rope forever."
The second ascent was made in a light breeze. When approximately a
mile in height, to quote a chronicler:
"Suddenly the aeronaut threw himself backward and fell, catching with
his feet on the bar, thus sending a thrill through the crowd; but with
another spring he was upstanding on the bar, and then followed one feat
after another--hanging by one hand, one foot, by the back of his head,
etc., until the blood ceased to curdle in the veins of the awe-stricken
crowd, and they gave vent to their feelings in cheer after cheer. His
glittering dress sparkled in the sun long after his outline was lost to
the naked eye."
Intending no long journey, Donaldson climbed from the trapeze into the
concentrating ring, where he seized the cord operating the safety valve
and sought to open the valve. But the valve stuck and did not open
readily, thus when Donaldson gave a more violent tug at the cord in his
effort to open the valve, a great rent was torn in the top of the gas
bag, through which the gas poured, causing the balloon to fall with
appalling rapidity. Long afterwards Donaldson said that this was the
first time in his life that he had ever felt actually afraid. Luckily
he dropped into the top of a large tree, which broke his fall
sufficiently to enable him to land without any serious injury.
Donaldson's sincerity and downright joy in his work, and the poetic
temperament, which in him was always struggling for utterance, are
pointed out by a chronicler in the words added by him to the
description Donaldson gave of his trip after his return to Norfolk in
1872:
"The people of Norfolk cannot form the remotest conception of the grand
appearance of Norfolk from a balloon. The city looks almost surrounded
by water, and the various tributaries to the Elizabeth River appear
magnificently beautiful, looking like streams of silver. Floating over
a field of foliage, the trees appear all blended together like blades
of grass."
The chronicler adds:
"Donaldson seemed to be perfectly enraptured by his subject, as was
evinced by the beaming expression of his countenance while relating his
experience. The motion of the balloon he describes as delightful,
particularly in ascent, as it appears to be perfectly motionless, and
any object within view beneath looks as if it were receding from you."
As a token of appreciation of this particular exploit, a handsome gold
medal was given to Donaldson by the citizens of Norfolk.
A later ascent from Norfolk resulted in one of the most perilous
experiences ever endured by any aeronaut, and indeed developed
conditions from which none could possibly have hoped to escape with
life except a perfectly trained and fearless aeronaut. His experience
on this trip he told as follows:
"After cutting the basket loose, the balloon shot up very rapidly. I
pulled the valve cord and the gas escaped too freely. I was then
almost at the water's edge, and going at the rate of one mile a minute.
Quick work must be done, or a watery grave. I had either to cut a hole
in the balloon or go to sea, and as there were no boats in sight, I
chose the lesser evil. Seizing three of the cords, I swung out of the
ring, into the netting, the balloon careening on her side. I climbed
half way up the netting, opened my knife with my teeth, and cut a hole
about two feet long. The instant I cut the hole the gas rushed out so
fast that could scarcely get back to the ring. After reaching the ring
I lashed myself fast to it with a rope. While I was climbing up the
rigging to cut the hole in the side of the balloon, my cap fell off,
and so fast did I descend that before I got half way down I caught up
with and passed the cap. Continuing to descend, I struck the ground in
a large corn field, and was dragged nearly a thousand feet, the wind
blowing a perfect gale. Crashing against a rail fence, I was rendered
insensible. When I came to, I found myself hanging to one side of a
tree, and the balloon to the other side, ripped to shreds. This was
the _last tree_. I could have thrown a stone into the ocean from where
I landed. On this trip I travelled ten miles in seven minutes.
"Many want to know if the wind blows hard up there. They do not stop
to think that I am carried by the wind, and whether I am in a dead calm
or sailing at the rate of one hundred miles an hour, I am perfectly
still; and when I went the ten miles in seven minutes I did not feel
the slightest breeze; and when I cannot see the earth it is impossible
to tell whether I am going or hanging still."
Just as Donaldson was a bit of an artist and left many sketches
illustrating his experiences, so also he was a bit of a poet and left
many pieces describing in lofty thought, but crude versification, the
sentiments inspired by his ascents. The following is one of them:
"There's pleasure in a lively trip when sailing through the air,
The word is given, 'Let her go!' To land I know not where.
The view is grand, 'tis like a dream, when many miles from home.
My castle in the air, I love above the clouds to roam."
In prose Donaldson was very much more at home than in verse; indeed
many of his descriptions equal in clearness and beauty anything ever
written of the impressions that come to fliers in cloudland. Take, for
example, the following:
"It's a pleasure to be up here, as I sit and look at the grand cloud
pictures, the most splendid effects of light, unknown to all that cling
to the surface of the earth. The ever-shifting scenes, the bright,
dazzling colors, the soft roseate and purple hues, the sudden light and
fiery sun . . . and on I go as if carried by spiritual wings, far above
the diminutive objects of a liliputian world. We rise in the midst of
splendor, where light and silence combine to make one wish he never
need return."
Donaldson was a many-sided man--among other things, in no small measure
a philosopher, as when he commented as follows:
"I have noticed on different occasions a class of people who were only
half alive and who find fault with my exercise, which to them looks
frightful. They [Transcriber's note: Their?] nervous system is not
properly balanced. They have too much nerves for their system, which
is caused by want of a little moderate exercise up where the air is
pure, instead of which they spend hours in a place which they call
their office. They sit themselves in a dark corner, hidden from the
sun's rays, and in one position remain for hours, inhaling the
poisonous air with the room full of carbonic acid gas, which is as
poisonous to man as arsenic is to rats; and in addition to this, will
fill their lungs with tobacco smoke, and to steady their nerves require
a stimulation of perhaps eight or ten brandies a day. If I were as
helpless as this class of people, then my life would be swinging by a
thread, and I would wind up with a broken neck."
About as sound philosophy and scientific hygiene as could well be found.
And yet another side to his character: the kindly nature, the
gentleness and generous thought for others, reluctance to cause
needless injury or pain, which is always the characteristic of any man
of real courage. This beautiful side of his nature he once hinted at
as follows:
"I cannot look at a person cutting a chicken's head off, and as for
shooting a poor, innocent bird for sport, I think it is a great wrong
and should not be allowed. Did you ever think what a barbarous set we
were--worse than Indians or Fiji Islanders! There is nothing living
but what we torture and kill. As for fear . . . my candid opinion is
that the only time one is out of danger is when sailing through the air
in a balloon."
Early in 1873, after having made twenty-five or thirty ascents, and
well-nigh exhausted people's capacity for sensations and excitements
afforded by ballooning over _terra firma_, Donaldson began making plans
for a balloon of a capacity and equipment adequate, in his judgment, to
enable him to make a successful crossing of the Atlantic to England or
the Continent. So soon as his plans became publicly known, Professor
John Wise, who as early as 1843 had done his best to raise the funds
necessary for a transatlantic journey by balloon, joined forces with
Donaldson, and together they made application to the authorities of the
city of Boston for an adequate appropriation. This was voted by one
Board but vetoed by another. Thereupon, _The Daily Graphic_ took up
their proposition, and undertook the financing of the expedition under
a formal contract executed June 27, 1873. As a consequence of this
contract, Donaldson proceeded to build the largest balloon ever
constructed, of a gas capacity of 600,000 cubic feet, and a lifting
power of 14,000 pounds. The total weight of the balloon, including its
car, lifeboat, and equipment, was 7,100 pounds, thus leaving
approximately 6,000 pounds surplus lifting capacity for ballast,
passengers, etc.
Of course, a liberal supply of provisions was to be carried, with
tools, guns, and fishing tackle, to be available for meeting any
emergency arising from a landing in a wild, unsettled region.
Moreover, a carefully selected set of scientific instruments was
embraced in the equipment for making observations and records of
changing conditions _en route_.
The inflation of this aerial monster began in Brooklyn at the
Capitoline Grounds September 10, 1873. A high wind prevailed, and
after the bag had received 100,000 cubic feet of gas, she became so
nearly uncontrollable, notwithstanding 300 men and 100 sacks of
ballast, each sack weighing 200 pounds, were holding her down, that
Donaldson and his associates decided to empty her.
On the twelfth of September inflation was again undertaken, although a
high wind again prevailed. When something more than half full, the bag
burst, and the aeronauts concluded that she was of a size impossible to
handle. The bag and rigging were thereupon taken in hand, and she was
reduced one-half; that is, to a capacity of 300,000 cubic feet of gas.
The remodelling was finished early in October, and inflation of this
new balloon was begun at 1 p.m. on Sunday, October 6, and by 10.30 p.m.
of that day the inflation was completed, the life-boat was attached,
and she was firmly secured for the night.
At nine the next morning the crew took their places in the boat.
Donaldson as aeronaut; Alfred Ford as correspondent for the _Graphic_;
George Ashton Lunt, an experienced seaman, as navigator. Ascent was
made, without incident, the balloon drifting first to the north, and
then to the southward toward Long Island Sound.
Unhappily this voyage was brief, and very nearly tragical in its
finish. About noon the balloon entered the field of a storm of wind
and rain of extraordinary violence, and before long the cordage, etc.,
was so heavily loaded with moisture, that although practically all
available ballast was disposed of, the balloon descended in spite of
them. The speed of the balloon was so great that Donaldson did not
dare hazard a dash against some house, or into some forest or other
obstacle, but selected a piece of open ground, and advised his
companions to hang by their hands over the side of the boat and drop at
the word. The word at length given by Donaldson, both he and Ford
dropped--a distance of about thirty feet, happily without serious
injury other than a severe shaking up. Lunt, curious about the
distance and the effect of such a fall, as well as unfamiliar with the
action of a balloon when relieved of weight, hung watching the descent
of his companions--only to realise quickly that he was shooting up into
the air like a rocket. Then he clambered back into the boat. However,
it was not long before, again weighted and beaten down by the
continuing rain, the balloon descended upon a forest, where Lunt swung
himself into a tree-top, whence he dropped through its branches to the
earth, practically unhurt.
Thus ended the transatlantic voyage of the _Graphic_ balloon, a voyage
that constitutes the only serious failure I can recall of anything in
the line of his profession as an aeronaut that Donaldson ever undertook
to do. This failure is not to be counted to his discredit, for
precisely as a good soldier does not surrender until his last round of
ammunition is spent, so Donaldson did not give in until his last pound
of ballast was exhausted.
In all respects the most brilliant aerial voyage ever made by Donaldson
was his sixty-first ascension, on July 24, 1874, a voyage which
continued for twenty-six hours. This was the longest balloon voyage in
point of hours ever made up to that time, and indeed it remained a
world's record for endurance up in the air until 1900, and the
endurance record in the United States, until the recent St. Louis Cup
Race.
The ascent was made from Barnum's "Great Roman Hippodrome," which for
some years occupied the site of what is now Madison Square Garden, in a
balloon built by Mr. Barnum to attempt to break the record for time and
distance of all previous balloon voyages. An account of this thrilling
trip is given in the following chapter of this book.
The history of the ascent Donaldson made from Toronto, Canada, on June
23, 1875, is in itself a sufficient refutation of the charges made less
than a month later, that on his last trip he sacrificed his passenger,
Grimwood, to save his own life. On his Toronto trip he was accompanied
by Charles Pirie, of the _Globe_; Mr. Charles, of the _Leader_; and Mr.
Devine, of the _Advertiser_. On this occasion Donaldson accepted the
three passengers under the strongest protest, after having told them
plainly that the balloon was leaky, the wind blowing out upon the lake,
and that the ascent must necessarily be a peculiarly dangerous one.
Nevertheless, they decided to take the hazard. Later they regretted
their temerity. Husbanding his ballast as best he could, nevertheless,
the loss of gas through leakage was such that by midnight, when well
over the centre of Lake Ontario, the balloon descended into a rough,
tempestuous sea, and was saved from immediate destruction only by the
cutting away of both the anchor and the drag rope. This gave them a
temporary lease of life, but at one o'clock the car again struck the
waters and dragged at a frightful speed through the lake, compelling
the passengers to stand on the edge of the basket and cling to the
ropes, the cold so intense they were well-nigh benumbed. At length
they were rescued by a passing boat, but this was not until after three
o'clock in the morning.
Of Donaldson's conduct in these hours of terrible tremity, a passenger
wrote:
"But for his judicious use of the ballast, his complete control of the
balloon as far as it could be controlled, his steady nerve, kindness,
and coolness in the hour of danger, the occupants would never have
reached land. . . . The party took no provisions with them excepting
two small pieces of bread two inches square, which Mr. Devine happened
to have in his pocket. At eleven at night, the Professor, having had
nothing but a noon lunch, was handed up the bread. . . . About three
o'clock in the morning, when the basket was wholly immersed in the
water, and the inmates clinging almost lifelessly to the ropes, the
Professor climbed down to them, and they were surprised to see in his
hand the two small pieces of bread they had given him the night before.
He had hoarded it up all night, and instead of eating it he said with
cheery voice, 'Well, boys, all is up. Divide this among you. It may
give you strength enough to swim.' There was not a man among them that
would touch it until the Professor first partook of it. It was only a
small morsel for each. . . . He said that he had but one
life-preserver on board, and suggested we should draw lots for the man
who should leave and lighten the balloon."
While this discussion was on, the boat approached that saved them.
This simple story of Donaldson's true courage, cheerfulness,
self-denial, readiness to sacrifice himself for others, is no less than
an epic of the noblest heroism that stands an irrefutable answer to the
charge later made that Donaldson sacrificed Grimwood.
Three weeks later--to be precise, on the fifteenth of July--Donaldson
and his beloved airship, the _P. T. Barnum_, made their last ascent,
from Chicago. The balloon was already old--more than a year old--the
canvas weakened and in many places rent and patched, the cordage frail.
In short, the balloon was in poor condition to stand any extraordinary
stress of weather.
His companion on this trip was Mr. Newton S. Grimwood, of _The Chicago
Evening Journal_. Donaldson had expected to be able to take two men;
and Mr. Maitland, of the _Post & Mail_, was present with the other two
in the basket immediately before the hour of starting. At the last
moment Donaldson concluded that it was unwise to take more than one,
and required lots to be drawn. Maitland tossed a coin, called "Heads,"
and won; but Mr. Thomas, the press agent, insisted that the usual
method of drawing written slips from a hat be followed, and on this
second lot-casting Maitland lost his place in the car, but won his life.
The ascent was made about 5 p.m., the prevailing wind carrying them out
over Lake Michigan. About 7 p.m., a tug-boat sighted the balloon, then
about thirty miles off shore, trailing its basket along the surface of
the lake. The tug changed her course to intercept the balloon, but
before it was reached, probably through the cutting away of the drag
rope and anchor, the balloon bounded into the air, and soon
disappeared, and never again was aught of Donaldson or the balloon
_Barnum_ seen by human eye. A little later a storm of extraordinary
fury broke over the lake--a violent electric storm accompanied by heavy
rain.
Weeks passed with no news of the voyagers or their ship. A month later
the body of Grimwood was found on the shores of Lake Michigan and fully
identified.
The precise story of that terrible night will never be written, but
knowing the man and his trade, sequence of incident is as plain to me
as if told by one of the voyagers. Evidently the balloon sprung a leak
early. The last ballast must have been spent before the tug saw her
trailing in the lake. Then anchor and drag ropes were sacrificed.
This would inevitably give the balloon travelling power for a
considerable time,--time of course depending on the measure of the leak
of gas,--but ultimately she must again have descended upon the raging
waters of the lake, where Grimwood, of untrained strength, soon became
exhausted while trying to hold himself secure in the ring, and fell out
into the lake. Thus again relieved of weight, the balloon received a
new lease of life, and travelled on probably, to a fatal final descent
in some untrodden corner of the northern forest, where no one ever has
chanced to stumble across the wreck. For had the balloon made its
final descent into the lake, it would have been only after the basket
was utterly empty, all the loose cordage cut away, and a type of wreck
left that would float for weeks or months and would almost certainly
have been found. Indeed, for months afterwards the writer and many
others of Donaldson's friends held high hopes of hearing of him
returned in safety from some remote distance in the wilds. But this
was not to be.
One more incident and I have done.
Six or seven years ago I read in the columns of the _Sun_ an article
copied from a Chicago paper, evidently written by some close friend of
the unfortunate Grimwood, making a bitter attack upon Donaldson for
having sacrificed his passenger's life to save his own. The story
moved me so much that I wrote an open letter to the Sun over my own
signature, in which I sought to refute the charge by recounting the
story of Donaldson's noble conduct, and his constant readiness for
self-sacrifice in other situations quite as dire.
A few days later, sitting in my office, I was frozen with astonishment
when a written card was handed in to me bearing the name "Washington H.
Donaldson"! As soon as I could recover myself, the bearer of the card
was asked in. He was a man within a year or two of my friend's age at
the time of his death, Wash Donaldson's very self in face and figure!
He had the same bright, piercing eye, that looked straight into mine;
the same lean, square jaws and resolute mouth; the same waving hair,
the same low, cool, steady voice--such a resemblance as to dull my
senses, and make me wonder and grope to understand how my friend could
thus come back to me, still young after so many years.
It was Donaldson's son, a babe in arms at the time his father sailed
away to his death!
In a few simple words he told me that he and his family lived in a
small village. With infinite grief they had read the article charging
his father with unmanly conduct--a grief that was the greater because
they possessed no means to refute the charge. Brokenly, with tears of
gratitude, he told of their joy in reading my statements in his
father's defence, and how he had been impelled to come and try in
person to express to me the gratitude he felt he could not write.
Poor though this man may be in this world's goods, in the record of his
father's character and deeds he owns a legacy fit to give him place
among the Peers of Real Manhood.
Through some mischance I have lost the address of Donaldson's son.
Should he happen to read these lines I hope he will communicate with me.