A Century of Niagara Cranks
The swirling waters of Niagara have ever been a challenge to a vast army
of adventurers who found in their own daring heedlessness a means here
of gaining money and a mushroom glory. Of all these "Niagara Cranks," as
they are known locally, the tight-rope walkers undoubtedly have the
strongest claim to our admiration for the utter daring of their feats,
however mercenary may have been the motives. "Tut, tut! my friends,"
would reply one of these brave, popular heroes if you had mentioned
fear, "'tis nothing at all"; then, confidentially, he would have
whispered in your ear: "You can't help getting across. You get out to
the middle of the rope, and there you are. If you turn back you lose
your money, and if you go on you get it. That's all."
It was the great Blondin who stands king of the tight-rope walkers of
Niagara, leaving behind him a reputation as the greatest tight-rope
walker of the century.
Charles Emile Gravelet was born at Hesdin, near Calais, on the
twenty-eighth of February, 1824, and died in Ealing, near London,
February 22, 1897. His father, whose nickname, "Blondin," from the
colour of his hair, descended to his son, was a soldier of the First
Empire who had seen service under Napoleon at Austerlitz, Wagram, and
Moscow, but died when his son was in his ninth year. The pluck and
strength that young Blondin had was displayed as early as his fourth
year; when only a few years older he was trained by the principal of
_l'Ecole de Gymnase_ at Lyons in many gymnastic feats, and after six
months there, was brought out as "The Little Wonder." He excelled
especially at tight-rope dancing, jumping, and somersault-throwing. One
of his notable jumps was over a double rank of soldiers with bayonets
fixed. The agent of an American Company--the Ravels--aware of his
success in the French provinces finally gave him a two years' engagement
for the United States, which afterwards was extended to eight years. He
came to America in 1855; and it was not long after, when looking across
the Niagara Falls, that he remarked to Mr. Ravel:
"What a splendid place for a tight-rope performance."
[Illustration: Goat Island Bridge. Showing Niagara's Famous Cataract and
International Hotels.]
The idea was impressive and as a result, after laborious preparations,
Blondin was ready to cross a wire, June 30, 1859. Despite the unanimous
howl of derision at the idea, people could not resist the temptation to
see the rash performer throw his life away; and the crowd that gathered
was the largest ever seen at the Falls. It is interesting, from more
than one standpoint, to quote the New York _Herald_ of July 1, 1859, on
the exploit:
Monsieur Blondin has just successfully accomplished the feat of
walking across the Niagara on a tight-rope, in the presence of a
crowd variously estimated at from five thousand to ten thousand
persons. He first crossed from the American side, stopping
midway to refresh himself with water raised in a bottle with a
rope from the deck of the steamer _Maid of the Mist_. The time
occupied in the first crossing was seventeen minutes and a half.
The return from the British to the American side was
accomplished in twelve minutes.
According to other sources, the crowd was estimated at fifty thousand.
Blondin did considerably more than merely pass over, for he carried a
pole weighing forty pounds, and did some extraordinary feats of
balancing and came ashore amid the huzzas of the crowd, with the whole
country ringing with the news of the daring exploit.
Some little difficulty was always encountered by tight-rope walkers from
proprietors of the river banks where the rope was to be attached on
their theory that nothing could be allowed to occur at Niagara of a
money-making nature unless they were a party to the plunder. One Hamblin
stood surety for the payment for Blondin's rope, which was over fifteen
hundred feet long and cost thirteen hundred dollars.
A few months later Blondin carried his manager, Harry Colcourt or
Colcord, across on his back. It is said (and also has been denied) that
on this occasion Blondin had a quarrel with Colcord. The latter had
previously been trained to balance himself in order that he might be let
down on the rope in the middle of the river, to permit Blondin to take
breath. The wind was strong, and the manager showed visible signs of
nervousness, while the rope swayed in a sickly manner. Then, according
to the story, Blondin threatened to leave his manager on the rope at the
mercy of the waters underneath, unless he kept himself under control.
Needless to say, the threat was successful, and the trip across was
safely made. For this special feat Blondin received a gold medal from
the inhabitants of the village, as a tribute of admiration, with the
following inscription:
Presented to Mons. T. F. Blondin by the citizens of Niagara
Falls in appreciation of a feat never before attempted by man,
but by him successfully performed on the 19th of August, 1859,
that of carrying a man upon his back over the Falls of Niagara
on a tight-rope.
Of the ordinary run of mortals few would care to attempt Blondin's feat,
but it is not impossible that many an actor envied the daring athlete's
position of utter mastery over his manager.
A few days later the fearless Blondin again crossed the river chained
hand and foot. On his return he carried a cooking stove and made an
omelet which he lowered to the passengers on the deck of the _Maid of
the Mist_ below. At another time he crossed with a bushel basket on each
foot, and once carried a woman on his back. On September 8, 1860,
Blondin performed before the Prince of Wales, now Edward VII., the rope
being stretched 230 feet above the rapids, between two of the steepest
cliffs on the river. The cool actor turned somersaults before His Royal
Highness, and successfully managed to cross on a pair of stilts. The
Prince watched every movement through a telescope and was highly
interested, but it is reported that he exclaimed, when Blondin safely
reached the end of the rope, "Thank God, he is over!" and hurried him a
check for the perilous feat.
Apparently Blondin did not know what nervousness meant; his secret has
been described as confidence in himself, obtained by long practice in
rope-walking. There is no doubt some of the victims he has carried
across his rope have suffered; it is said that Blondin would talk to his
companions on the most indifferent subjects; he would urge them to sit
perfectly still, avoid catching him around the neck or looking downward.
What he considered as one of his greatest feats was in walking on a rope
from the mainmast to the mizzen on board the Peninsular and Oriental
steamer _Poonah_, while on her way to Australia, between Aden and Galle,
in 1874. He had to sit down five times while heavy waves were
approaching the ship. Blondin's last performance was in Agricultural
Hall, London, on Christmas, 1894, where he appeared as active and nimble
as ever. The fact is certainly wonderful that for nearly seventy years
he walked the tight-rope without accident.
Mr. W. D. Howells was an eye-witness to three crossings of Blondin's in
1860, which he has graphically described:
The man himself looked cool and fresh enough but I, who was not
used to such violent fatigues as he must have undergone in these
three transits, was bathed in a cold perspiration, and so weak
and worn with making them in sympathy that I could scarcely walk
away.
Long afterwards I was telling about this experience of mine--it
was really more mine than Blondin's--in the neat shop of a
Venetian pharmacist, to a select circle of the physicians who
wait in such places in Venice for the call of their patients.
One of these civilised men, asked: "Where was the government?"
And I answered in my barbarous pride of our individualism: "The
government had nothing to do with it. In America the government
has nothing to do with such things." But now I think that this
Venetian was right, and that such a show as I have tried to
describe ought no more to have been permitted than the fight of
a man with a wild beast. It was an offence to morality, and it
thinned the frail barrier which the aspiration of centuries has
slowly erected between humanity and savagery.
Enough savage criticism met Blondin in England; his rope-walking in
Crystal Palace, Sydenham, upon a rope 240 feet long and at a height of
170 feet, in imitation of the Niagara feat, was considered a sickening
spectacle. Said _Once a Week_:
We wish Mr. Blondin no sort of harm, but if his audiences were
to dwindle down to nothing, so as to cause him to retire upon
his savings, we should congratulate him upon having escaped a
great danger, and the country upon getting rid of a disgrace to
the intelligence of the age.
Blondin ended his career as an English country gentleman at Niagara
House, South Haling. He was wont to display a profusion of diamond rings
and studs, all gifts of admirers, and the cherished gold medal from the
citizens of Niagara Falls; he, too, was the proud possessor of one of
the two gold medals struck in commemoration of the Crystal Palace in
1854, Queen Victoria having the other. He had also the cross from
ex-Queen Isabel of Spain, entitling him to the title of Chevalier. The
athlete's baggage, when on a tour, consisted of a main rope of eight
hundred feet, six and a half inches in circumference, and weighing eight
hundredweight; twenty-eight straining ropes, eighty tying-bars, the
average weight, not including poles, being five and a half tons. The
freight of his outfit, including a huge travelling-tent, which could
encompass fourteen thousand people, amounted to five thousand dollars
between Southampton and Melbourne. About three days were consumed in
making his preparations by the aid of a dozen assistants. The due
adjustment of the rope was his principal care, and he superintended
every detail.
Like many a Frenchman, Blondin never mastered the intricacies of the
English language. In a rather queer and rambling fragment of
autobiography written some years ago, he tells us that the rope he
generally used was formed with a flexible core of steel-wire covered
with the best manila-hemp, about an inch or three quarters in diameter,
several hundred yards in length, and costing about fifteen hundred
dollars. A large windlass at either end of the rope served to make it
taut, while it was supported by two high poles. His balancing poles of
ash wood varied in length and were of three sections, and weighed from
thirty-seven to forty-seven pounds. He was indifferent as to the height
at which he was to perform. Blondin has never confessed to any
nervousness on the rope, and, while walking, he generally looked
eighteen or twenty feet ahead, and whistled or hummed some snatch of a
song. The time kept by a band frequently aided him in preserving his
balance. He was something of both carpenter and blacksmith, and was able
to make his own models and fit up his own apparatus.
While Blondin yet performed at the Falls there appeared Signor Farini in
1860, and stretched a cable across the Gorge near the hydraulic canal
basin. On August 8, 1864, Farini reappeared walking about the Rapids
above the American fall on stilts. He was certainly an expert on the
rope and commanded much attention, but he was not able to snatch the
laurel from the Frenchman's brow--he has been forgotten, while Blondin's
fame has lived. We must, however, chronicle a thrilling incident
attached to his performance in 1864. Between Robinson's Island and the
precipice Farini was suddenly delayed. He claimed his stilts caught in a
crevice. His brother succeeded in reaching a log between the old
paper-mill and Robinson's Island, from which he threw a line, with a
weight attached, to the adventurer, and by this line a pail of
provisions was sent to Farini. A larger line was thrown and both reached
shore by way of Goat Island.
[Illustration: The Path to the Cave of the Winds.
From a photograph by Notman, Montreal.]
There has hardly been a year in which some tight-rope exhibition has not
taken place at Niagara Falls.
Harry Leslie crossed the Gorge on a rope-cable in July and August, 1865.
He achieved the title of "The American Blondin."
In 1873, when Signor Balleni (Ballini?) stretched a cable from a point
opposite the old Clifton House to Prospect Park, he leaped three times
into the river as an extra inducement, aided in his descent by a rubber
cord. In 1886 he reappeared, climbed to the iron railing on the upper
suspension bridge, knocked the ice from under his feet to secure a
footing, and at the signal of a pistol shot jumped into the air. He
struck the water in four seconds, broke a rib, lost his senses, and came
to the surface some sixty feet from where he entered. This was the same
man who jumped from Hungerford Bridge, London, in 1888, and was drowned.
In July, 1876, Signorina Maria Spelterini crossed the Gorge on a
tight-rope with baskets on her feet. The performance brought out a
tremendous crowd, probably because she was the first woman daring to try
conclusions with Blondin and his many imitators. She got across safely
with her baskets and her name. She won great favour and forever
established the fact that a woman is as level-headed as a man. In the
seventies of the last century, a young fellow, Stephen Peere, a painter
by trade, stretched a cable across the Falls. In 1878 he gave variety to
his career by jumping from one of the bridges, and in 1887 he finished
it by jumping to his death. He had previously, on June 22, 1887, walked
across the Gorge on a wire cable six-eighths of an inch in diameter.
This was a wonderful performance, considering the fact that all the
others had used a rope two inches in diameter. Only three days later he
was found dead on a bank beneath his rope, stretched between the old
suspension and the cantilever bridges. It is supposed he attempted to
practise in night time, but as nobody saw him he met his fate; this is
only supposition. A man, "Professor" De Leon, aspiring to become Peere's
successor, started out on August 15, 1887, to cross the latter's cable.
After going a short distance he became frightened, slid down a rope, and
disappeared in the bushes. He was later seen ascending the bank by a
ladder, and thus came back to the bosom of his family. MacDonald made
several very creditable attempts, and proved himself an excellent
walker. He also went across with baskets on his feet, and frightened the
gaping crowd by hanging with his legs from the wire, head downwards.
Another freak, I. F. Jenkins, stretched his cable across the Gorge over
the Rapids. With a keen eye for effect and sensation he selected as one
of his principal feats, crossing by velocipede. The machine, however,
was specially constructed for this purpose; it was a turned-down
contrivance, only resembling a bicycle, and had an ingeniously devised
balancing apparatus in lieu of a pole attached by a metal framework to
the wheels. Thus this _piece de resistance_ was not so remarkable after
all. Samuel John Dixon, a Toronto photographer, was on his way to a
Photographers' Annual Convention when he observed Peere's cable still
stretched across the Rapids of Niagara. He remarked that he too could
cross on it, but the remark was not taken seriously; to prove that he
was in earnest, Dixon, on his return, actually made the dangerous trip
on the three-quarter inch cable, measuring 923 feet in length. One of
this amateur's crack feats was laying down with his back on the wire. He
has made several other passages since,--the first occurring on September
6, 1890--always with great _eclat_. Dixon has always been vigorously
applauded. James E. Hardy has also successful crossings at the Gorge to
his credit. He also holds the "record" of being the youngest man that
ever performed the feat. Another Toronto man, Clifford M. Calverley, has
been styled "The World's Champion," and "The American Blondin," but
although very clever, many of his feats are just those which made the
Frenchman famous over forty years ago. His wheelbarrow feat is certainly
middle-aged although it still remains as difficult to perform as it was
in Blondin's days. People never tire of it and Calverley was, indeed, a
remarkable gymnast. He erected a wire cable at about the same point
between the bridges at which Peere and Dixon had crossed, and gave
public exhibitions on October 12, 1892, and July 1, 1893. He performed
numerous stunning feats as high-kicking, walking with baskets on his
feet, cooking meals on the rope, and chair-balancing; he also gave night
exhibitions, which was original.
One man at least took the tight-rope route across Niagara who had not
practised the feat. This was a criminal who escaped his captors near
this locality in 1883; the sheriff was behind him, the river in front,
and only the wires of the old bridge at Lewiston to help him across.
Hand over hand he began the passage. His hands quickly blistered, and
then they bled. Again and again he rested his arms by hanging by his
legs, and at last reached the opposite bank where he lay panting fully
an hour before he continued his flight.
We have seen that all the tight-rope walkers at Niagara met with
extraordinary luck while crossing the Gorge; in fact, we have no record
that anybody ever lost his life while performing on the wire. Peere met
with an accident, and was killed in night-time; it is said he was
intoxicated and tried to cross with his boots on. Ballini met his death
in the Thames River. Many lives, however, have been lost in attempting
to brave the waters of the canyon at Niagara.
Attracted by the sensational setting adrift of the condemned brig
_Michigan_ over the Falls in 1829, Sam Patch, a man who had won fame at
Pawtucket Falls and other Eastern points as a high-jumper, erected a
ladder on the foot-path under Goat Island, and announced to the world
that he would jump into Niagara River. The hotel keepers patted him on
the back, and left no stone unturned to enable him to draw the biggest
crowd of the season. Patch rested the bottom of his ladder on the edge,
just north of the Biddle Stairs, with the top inclining over the river,
staying it with ropes to the trees on the bank. At the top was a small
platform, and from this Patch dived ninety-seven feet; he jumped a
second time to prove that the first feat was not a fluke. Shortly
afterwards he leaped to his death from the Genesee Fall in Rochester, N.
Y.
Captain Matthew Webb, of Niagara fame, was born in Shropshire, England,
in 1840. He went to sea at an early age and became captain of a
merchantman, and first attracted notice by jumping from a Cunard steamer
to save a man who had fallen overboard, for which he was awarded a gold
medal by the Royal Humane Society. In 1875 he accomplished the feat of
swimming the English Channel from Dover to Calais, a distance of
twenty-five miles.
The disastrous attempt to swim the rapids at Niagara took place on July
2, 1883. Webb wore no life preserver and scorned a barrel, depending
solely on his own strength to put him through. Leaving his hotel, the
old Clifton House, since destroyed by fire, at 4 P.M., before an immense
crowd on the cliffs and bridges (for the event had been well heralded),
he entered a small boat with Jack McCloy at the oars, and was carried to
a point on the lower river several hundred feet above the lower bridges.
It was 4.25 when, clad in a pair of red trunks, he leaped from the boat
into the water, and boldly swam towards the Rapids. It was 4.32 when he
passed under the bridges. He then stroked out gracefully and
beautifully. In three minutes more he had reached the fiercest part of
the Rapids when a great wave struck him--and he disappeared from the
sight of the thousands of eyes that watched the boiling waters, praying
that his life might be spared. He came once again into view but then
disappeared forever in the raging waters.
The _Saturday Review_ of July 28, 1883,[15] voiced the British feeling
when it said:
It was unquestionably very appropriate that Mr. Webb should have
met his death in America, and in sight of the United States.
That country has a passion for big shows, and has now been
indulged in the biggest thing of its kind which has been seen in
this generation. Nothing was to be gained by success--if success
had been possible--beyond a temporary notoriety and the applause
of a mob. . . .
As long as there is a popular demand for these essentially
barbarous amusements, men and women will be found who are
desperate, or greedy, or vain enough to risk their lives and
ruin their health for money or applause. . . . The death of Mr.
Webb is shocking in the last degree; but it will not be wholly
useless if it at least awakens the sight-seeing world to some
sense of what it is they have been encouraging.
It is interesting to compare this just criticism with that passed on
Blondin's exhibition at Crystal Palace previously quoted.
When Webb swam across the channel, the feat was a remarkable instance of
strength and endurance. It showed that a powerful man who was a good
swimmer could continue to make progress through the water on a very fine
day for over twenty hours. Indeed, shipwrecked sailors have done nearly
as much under far less favorable circumstances; but as far as it went,
Webb's was a very creditable performance. But in the Channel many
vessels were following him and would have picked him up the moment he
became exhausted. Yet it was nowise to his credit to throw his life away
at Niagara, and render his children orphans, for the ignoble object of
pleasing a mob.
It was not long before another swimmer appeared who wore a harness over
his shoulders to which was attached a wire running loosely over a
cylinder on the bridge, which kept his feet straight towards Davy
Jones's locker; he survived the leap to his considerable personal
profit. From bridge to water he went in four seconds--the only time on
record. Another foolhardy feat was performed by some of the reckless men
who decorate almost inaccessible landscapes with possibly truthful but
most annoying, puffs of ague-pills, liver-pads, tooth-powder, and such.
A log once lodged forty rods above Goat Island, where for four years it
lay seemingly beyond human reach. It touched the pride of certain
shameless and professional advertisers, who were famous for their
ingenious vandalism, that such a chance should be wasted. So, when the
Rapids were thinly frozen over, they made their cautious way to the log,
and soon there was a gorgeous sign fixed, twelve feet by four, on the
very fore-front of one of the world's grandest spots, to-wit:
Go East via Lake Winipiseogee R. R.
[Illustration: American Falls from Goat Island.]
Nothing daunted by the sad fate of Captain Webb, a burly Boston
policeman, W. I. Kendall, went through the Rapids on August 22, 1886,
protected by only a cork life-preserver. All previous trips had been
publicly announced, but Kendall slipped through with only a few
spectators, accidentally on the cliffs or bridges, to bear witness. For
this reason some have felt that the trip was never made, but men of
integrity are known who witnessed the performance. On Sunday, August 14,
1887, "Professor" Alphonse King crossed the river below the Falls and
bridge on a water bicycle. The wheel with paddles was erected between
two water-tight cylinders, eight inches in diameter and ten feet long.
"Steve" Brodie, who had achieved great notoriety by jumping from
Brooklyn Bridge, created a greater sensation by going over the Falls.
This occurred on September 7, 1889. Brodie wore an india-rubber suit,
surrounded by thick steel bands. The suit was very thickly padded, yet
Brodie was brought ashore bruised and insensible. His victories won, he
became the proprietor of a Bowery bar-room, and the pride of the
neighbourhood.
The cranks that were trying to get through the Whirlpool did not arrive
at Niagara until about 1886, but from that on we find an _embarras de
richesse_ of them for a decade or so until the peculiar mania for
notoriety died out.
The fate that befell Webb could not discourage others to venture the
perilous trip, and, probably, the pioneer of them was C. D. Graham, an
English cooper of Philadelphia, who conceived the idea that, though no
regular boat could live in the rush of the waters below the Falls of
Niagara, it would perhaps be possible for a novel kind of boat, a cask
shaped like a buoy, with a man in it, to get down to Lewiston in safety.
He therefore made a series of such casks at an expenditure of a great
deal of time and labour; and, at last finding a shape to his mind,
filled two or three in succession with bags of sand equal to his own
weight, and set them afloat at Niagara. They arrived safely in smooth
water, threading the Rapids and the Whirlpool after a journey of some
five miles; the inventor thereupon resolved to keep one side uppermost,
in which was left an air-hole, and fastened in the cask a long canvas
bag, made like a suit of clothes, and waterproof. Getting into this bag
on July 11, 1886, he grasped two iron handles fixed to the staves on the
inner side of the cask; a movable cover being fastened on, the odd craft
was shoved into the rushing waters. The cask, of course, turned over and
over; and though water got into the air-hole, it did not get into the
canvas bag; the surging waters handled the cask so roughly that Graham
straightway fell sick, but clung to his iron staples, and in a space of
time exceeding thirty minutes--accounts differ here--reached smooth
water at Lewiston, five miles away, and was safely taken out, able to
boast that he had performed a feat hitherto deemed impossible.
His record trip in a cask was made on August 19, 1886. On this occasion
he announced that he would make the trip with his head protruding from
the top of the barrel. This was actually done; he went as far as the
Whirlpool, but it left him very little hearing, for a big wave gave him
a furious slap on the side of the head. Graham made other trips in 1887
and 1889, and his last, probably, in 1901. This nearly ended his life,
as he was caught in an eddy where he was held for over twenty minutes;
when he finally reached the Whirlpool and was taken out he was nearly
suffocated.
Graham's performances, possibly, were also of some practical value. It
was proven to the observant that a particular shape of cask might, under
certain conditions, be used to draw feeble or sickly passengers from a
wrecked ship in bad weather, for a woman or a child could have lived in
Graham's machine as well as the cooper himself; however, the
circumstances are few under which it would be useful, and Graham, by
his own account, had no idea of applying his contrivance in any such
way.
It is a question whether the barrel-cranks made any money by their
foolhardy feats. That nothing interests callous men like the risk of a
human life is undoubtedly true and has been proved by the whole history
of amusement. The interest must depend on sight. Nobody would pay merely
to know that at a specified hour Blondin was risking his life a hundred
miles off. The man in the cask would not be seen, and to see a closed
cask go bobbing about down five miles of rapids would not be an exciting
amusement, more especially as, after two or three successful trials, the
notion of any imminency or inevitableness of actual danger would
disappear from the spectator's mind. Captain Webb, of course, expected
his speculation to pay him; but then, it was in a somewhat different
way. He did not expect any money from those who gazed from the shore,
but believed,--as did also the speculators who paid him--that if he swam
Niagara, he would revive the waning interest in his really splendid
feats of customary swimming.
Copying somewhat the idea that Graham had developed so successfully,
George Hazlett and William Potts, also coopers of Buffalo, made a trip
through the Rapids in a barrel of their own construction on August 8,
1886. The barrel they used more closely resembled the familiar type of
barrel, having no unusual features of form. In this same barrel used by
the two coopers, Miss Sadie Allen and George Hazlett made a trip through
the Niagara Gorge on November 28, 1886. There was then, I believe, a
cessation of the barrel-fiends, who, nevertheless, re-appeared in the
twentieth century.
At the end of the summer of 1901, Martha E. Wagenfuhrer, the wife of a
professional wrestler, announced that she would go through the river in
a barrel, the date of September 6th being selected, possibly because the
woman believed that she might have a President of the United States in
her audience, for on that day President McKinley visited Niagara. Quite
a crowd collected, for she was the first woman to try the feat alone.
She was rescued after being in the water over an hour.
It was nearly six o'clock in the afternoon [to quote the New
York _Times_ of September 7, 1901,] when the barrel containing
Martha E. Wagenfuhrer was set adrift on the lower Niagara River,
to be carried by the currents into the rapids and vortex of the
Whirlpool. The trip through the rapids was quickly made, but the
rescue from the Whirlpool was delayed. Night fell before the
barrel was recovered, and the woman's friends had availed
themselves of the help of a powerful searchlight to illuminate
the rushing tossing waters of the pool. She started at 5.56
o'clock, and it was 7 o'clock when the barrel was landed. The
head of the cask had to be broken in in order to get the woman
out. She was in a semi-conscious condition. Before entering the
barrel she had indulged freely in liquor, but when she got out
her first call was for water.
Female barrel-fiends now followed in rapid succession. Maud Willard of
Canton, Ohio, lost her life on the 7th of September, 1901, in navigating
the Whirlpool Rapids in Graham's barrel. Graham, as we have seen, had
made five successful trips, and Miss Willard desired to attain fame by
doing the same. She and Graham were good friends, and to please her he
was to swim from the Whirlpool to Lewiston following her trip through
the Rapids. The barrel was taken to the river in the morning. It was an
enormous affair, made of oak, and at 4 o'clock Miss Willard got into it,
accompanied by her pet dog. The cover was put over the manhole, and she
was taken out into the stream in tow of a small boat, and left to the
mercy of the currents.
Miss Willard passed safely through the Rapids, but the mighty maelstrom
then held her far out from shore, where her friends and would-be
rescuers could not reach her. From 4.40 o'clock until after 10 o'clock
at night she was whirled about in the peculiar formation of the Niagara
here. Messengers were sent to Niagara Falls to have the searchlight car
of the electric line sent down the Gorge; huge bonfires were built to
warm the spectators, and likewise to illuminate the river. Soon a beam
of white light shot across the waters from the American to the Canadian
side; now and then the tossing barrel could be seen tumbling and
bobbing, and rolling in the currents. The latter were then suddenly
changing--first a piece of wood came in drifting toward shore--within a
short time the barrel hove in sight within the light of the beacons, and
men swam out to catch it.
When the manhole cover was removed, Miss Willard was limp and lifeless.
Death probably came gradually, and possibly without much suffering. The
little dog came out alive, and none the worse for the perilous trip.
While she was tossing in the Whirlpool, Graham made his trip to
Lewiston, the only person who ever swam from the pool to Lewiston. When
he returned up the Gorge he found the barrel and Miss Willard still in
the terrible pool.
A widow, Mrs. Anna Edson Taylor, safely passed over Niagara Falls in a
barrel on Friday, October 24, 1901, the trip from end to end being
witnessed by several thousand people. The fact that Mrs. Taylor failed
to appear, as advertised, on the Sunday before, and again on Wednesday,
did not lessen the confidence of the public. It was beyond belief that
she would live to tell the story, but she came out alive and well so
soon as she recovered from the shock.
This initial voyage over Niagara's cataract began at Port Day, nearly a
mile from the brink of the Falls. At this point the daring woman and her
barrel were taken out to Grass Island, where she entered; at 3.50 she
was in tow of a boat speeding well out into the Canadian current. Soon
after the barrel was cast adrift on the current that never before was
known to spare a human life once fallen in its grasp. From the spot
where the rowboat left the barrel the current runs frightfully swift,
soon boiling on the teeth of the upper rifts; the barrel was weighted
with a two hundred pound anvil, and it floated nicely in the water, Mrs.
Taylor apparently retaining an upright position for the greater part of
the trip down the river and through the rapids. Fortunately the cask
kept well within the deep water, and except for passing out of sight
several times, in the white-crested waves, it was in view for the
greater part of a mile. In passing over the Horseshoe Fall the barrel
kept toward the Canadian side at a point three hundred feet from the
centre.
[Illustration: Horseshoe Falls from Goat Island.]
It dropped over the Fall at 4.23 o'clock, the bottom well down. In less
than a minute it appeared at the base of the Fall, and was swept down
stream. The current cast it aside in an eddy, and, floating back
up-stream, it was held between two eddies until captured at 4.40
o'clock. As it was grounded on a rock, out in the river, it was
difficult to handle, but several men soon had the hatch off. Mrs. Taylor
was alive and conscious but before she could be taken out of the barrel
it was necessary to saw a portion of the top away. Her condition was a
surprise to all. She walked along the shore to a boat, and was taken
down the river to the _Maid of the Mist_ dock, where she entered a
carriage and was brought to Niagara Falls. The woman was suffering
greatly from the shock, and had a three-inch cut in her scalp, back of
the right ear, but how or when she got it she did not know. She
complained of pains between the shoulders, but it is thought that this
was due to the fact that her shoulders were thrown back during the
plunge, as she had her arms in straps, and these undoubtedly saved her
neck from breaking.
She admitted having lost consciousness in passing over the Falls. While
thanking God for sparing her life, she warned every one not to repeat
her foolhardy trip. So severe was the shock that she wandered in her
talk, with three doctors attending her; she, however, soon recovered.
Mrs. Taylor was forty-three years old when she made this marvellous
trip. She was born in Auburn, N. Y., and was a school teacher in Bay
City, Mich., before she came East. She had crossed the American
continent from ocean to ocean eight times, and during her stay East
impressed everybody with her wonderful nerve.
The barrel in which Mrs. Taylor made the journey was four and one-half
feet high, and about three feet in diameter. A leather harness and
cushions inside protected her body. Air was secured through a rubber
tube connecting with a small opening near the top of the barrel. Her
warning evidently has been heeded. To our knowledge no barrel-fiend has
reappeared at the shores of Niagara within the last five years.
In the year 1846, a small steamer was built in the eddy just above the
suspension bridge to run up to the Falls, and very appropriately named
the _Maid of the Mist_. Her engine was rather weak, but she safely
accomplished the trip. Since she took passengers aboard only from the
Canada side, however, she did little more than pay expenses, and in
1854, a larger, better boat, with a more powerful engine, a new _Maid of
the Mist_, was put on the route and many persons since have made this
most exciting and impressive voyage along the foot of the Falls.
Owing to some change in the appointments of the _Maid of the
Mist_ which confined her landings to the Canadian shore she too
became unprofitable and her owner having decided to leave the
place wished to sell her as she lay on her dock. This he could
not do, but having received an offer of more than half of her
cost, if he would deliver her at Niagara-on-the-Lake, he
determined a consultation with Joel Robinson, who had acted as
her captain and pilot on her trips under the Falls to make the
attempt to take her down the river. Mr. Robinson agreed to act
as pilot on the fearful voyage; the engineer, Mr. Jones,
consented to go with him and a courageous machinist by the name
of McIntyre volunteered to share the risk with them. The boat
was in complete trim, removing from deck and hold all
superfluous articles and as notice was given of the time of
starting, a large number of people assembled to watch the
spectacular plunge, few expecting to see either boat or crew
again. About three o'clock in the afternoon of June 15, 1861,
the engineer took his place in the hold, and, knowing that their
drifting would be short at the longest, and might be only the
preface to a swift destruction, set his steam valve at the
proper gauge and awaited--not without anxiety--the tinkling
signal that should start them on their flying voyage. McIntyre
joined Robinson at the wheel on the upper deck. Self-possessed,
and with the calmness which results from undoubted courage and
confidence, yet with the humility which recognises all
possibilities, Robinson took his place at the wheel and pulled
the starting bell. With a shriek from her whistle and a white
puff from the escape-pipe to take leave, as it were, of the
multitude gathered at the shores, she soon swung around to the
right, cleared the smooth water and shot like an arrow into the
rapid under the bridge. She took the outside course of the rapid
and when a third of the way down it, a jet of water struck
against her rudder, a column dashed up under her starboard side,
hurled her over, carried away her smoke-stack, threw Robinson
flat on his back, and thrust McIntyre against her starboard
wheel-house with such a force as to break it through. The little
boat emerged from the fearful baptism, shook her wounded sides,
and slid into the Whirlpool riding for the moment again on an
even keel. Robinson rose at once, seized the helm, set her to
the right of the large pot in the pool, then turned her directly
through the neck of it. Thence, after receiving another
drenching from its combing waves, the craft dashed on without
further accident to the quiet of the river at Lewiston.
Thus was accomplished one of the most remarkable and perilous voyages
ever made by man; the boat was seventy-two feet long with seventeen feet
breadth of beam and eight feet depth of hold, and carried an engine of
one hundred horse-power.
Robinson stated after the voyage that the greater part of it was like
what he had always imagined must be the swift sailing of a large bird in
a downward flight; that when the accident occurred the boat seemed to be
struck from all directions at once, that she trembled like a
fiddlestring and felt as if she would crumble away and drop into atoms;
that both he and McIntyre were holding to the wheel with all their
strength, but this produced no more effect than if they had been two
flies; that he had no fear of striking the rocks, for he knew that the
strongest suction must be in the deepest channels, and that the boat
must remain in that. Finding that McIntyre was somewhat bruised and
bewildered by excitement on account of his fall, and did not rise,
Robinson quickly put his foot on him to keep him from rolling round the
deck, and thus finished the voyage.
The effect of this trip upon Robinson was decidedly marked. To
it, as he lived but few years afterward, his death was commonly
attributed. "He was," said Mrs. Robinson in an interview,
"twenty years older when he came home that day, than when he
went out. He sank into his chair like a person overcome with
weariness. He decided to abandon the water, and advised his sons
to venture no more about the Rapids. Both his manner and
appearance were changed." Calm and deliberate before, he became
thoughtful and serious afterwards. He had been borne, as it
were, in the arms of a power so mighty, that its impress was
stamped on his features and on his mind. Through a slightly
opened door he had seen a vision which awed and subdued him. He
became reverent in a moment. He grew venerable in an hour.
As an illustration of the lengths unscrupulous sensationalists will go
at Niagara to satisfy the curious throngs, in September, 1883, several
enterprising citizens of Niagara Falls purchased a small boat which they
fitted up to represent the _Maid of the Mist_, and sent it through the
Rapids. Men were stationed about the boat in effigy, but no human beings
were allowed on board, although, indeed there were many applications for
passage. The boat passed through the Gorge in good shape.
On August 28, 1887, Charles Alexander Percy, a waggon-maker of
Suspension Bridge, went over the Rapids to win fame. He had conceived
the idea of constructing a boat, and, having been previously a sailor he
knew how to build a staunch craft. The vessel was of hickory, seventeen
feet long and four feet ten and one-quarter inches wide. It had
sixty-four oak ribs, and an iron plate weighing three hundred pounds was
fastened to the bottom. The boat as completed weighed nine hundred
pounds, and was covered with white canvas. At 3.30 o'clock in the
afternoon on the day mentioned, Percy, having with great difficulty
transported his craft to the old _Maid of the Mist_ landing above the
cantilever bridge, took off his coat and waistcoat, put them in a valise
and stowed it away in one of the compartments. Then he sat in the middle
part of the boat, which had no deck, rowed out into the Niagara, just
above the cantilever, unshipped his oars and fastened them to the boat
and then crawled into one of his air-tight compartments. Many people
watched his white craft from the bridges and banks, but the excursion
had not been advertised and many visitors to the Falls knew nothing of
it. The boat shot down toward the Whirlpool. On the theory that there
was an undercurrent which ran stronger than the surface current, Percy
had attached a thirty-pound weight to a ten-foot line, which he threw
overboard to act as a drag; this had no apparent effect; the two-mile
trip to the Whirlpool occupied less than five minutes, and while the
boat was submerged repeatedly, it did not turn over. When near the
Whirlpool it drifted close to the American shore, Percy, thinking he was
in the quiet water on the further side of the Whirlpool, stuck out his
head, but closed the aperture just in time to escape a tremendous wave.
The boat passed straight across the Whirlpool, and on the other side
Percyl crawled out of the compartment, took his oars, and rowed
leisurely around to the foot of the inclined railway on the Canadian
side, where he landed, his voyage having lasted twenty-five minutes. He
gave much the same account of the adventure as was given by Graham of
barrel fame, and Kendall, the Boston policeman, who swam into the
Whirlpool in 1886. He thought he struck rocks in the passage down, but
the boat showed no marks.
[Illustration: Ice Bridge and American Falls.]
Percy and a friend, William Dittrick, repeated the trip on September 25,
1887, through the lower half of the Gorge from the Whirlpool to
Lewiston, having a thrilling experience. Dittrick occupied one of the
air compartments, while Percy sat in the cockpit.
Finally, on September 16, 1888, Percy again risked his life in making a
voyage through the waters of the Gorge near Lewiston. In this trip he
narrowly escaped death and the boat was lost.
Elated by his success, Percy now made a wager with Robert William Flack
of Syracuse, "for a race through the Whirlpools in life-boats for five
hundred dollars a side." The race was set for August 1, 1888, but on
July 4th, Flack was first to show that his craft was seaworthy. The boat
was of the clinker pattern, had no air-cushions, and was partly
constructed of cork. In the presence of an immense concourse of
spectators it went first along gaily, but in three minutes the boat was
upset and carried into the Whirlpool bottom upwards. It was a frightful
spectacle, witnessed by thousands of people. The boat capsized three
times; the last time it tossed high in the air. It stood on end for an
instant and then it toppled over on poor Flack, who was strapped to the
boat helpless and floated about the pool upside down for about an hour,
until captured on the Canadian side. Flack's body was only a mass of
bruised flesh. Percy meantime, having witnessed the tragedy from the
American side, jumped into a trap, and drove to the Whirlpool on the
Canadian side where, throwing off his clothes, he leaped into the river
and swam for the boat which was now approaching the shore. But he was
too late. His courageous feat could not help Flack, who was found dead,
hanging on the straps he had placed there to aid him to save his life.
In 1889 Walter G. Campbell tried to make the perilous trip in an open,
flat-bottomed boat, which he launched above the Rapids. His only
companion was a black dog. Campbell, with a life-preserver about his
body, stood up, using his oar as a paddle, and boldly drifted with
increasing speed toward the seething pool. The trip took about twenty
minutes, but, fortunately, the boat capsized before the worst water was
reached, and Campbell just managed to struggle to the shore. The poor
black dog paid the penalty of his master's folly.
Peter Nissen, of Chicago, made a successful trip through the Whirlpool
Rapids of Niagara on July 9, 1900, being the first man to go through in
an open boat and come out unharmed. He entered the Rapids at 5 P.M., the
boat gliding down easily bow first, entering the first wave end on, and
going partly over and partly under the water, drenched its occupant
completely. The second wave struck him with terrific force almost
broadside, the boat being partly turned by the first wave, smashing
Nissen against the cockpit, knocking off his hat and nearly smothering
him. A moment later he entered the frightful mass of warring waters
opposite the Whirlpool Rapids station, and for a few moments it looked
as though his end had come, the boat being tossed with terrific force
out of the water, broadside up, the iron keel, weighing 1250 pounds,
being plainly seen. Boat and occupant then disappeared altogether, not
being again seen for several seconds until the worst was feared.
Suddenly both man and boat reappeared farther down the stream, and the
hundreds of onlookers gave vent to their feelings in cheers. The hardy
navigator now went under the waters again receiving a crushing blow as
he entered every succeeding wave when the staunch craft and its master
raced into the Whirlpool. But Nissen was not yet safe. Having no means
of guiding or propelling the boat, Nissen was compelled to sit in the
water in the cockpit for fifty minutes, being carried around the
Whirlpool four times. Once the boat approached the vortex and was sucked
down about half its length, the other half standing out of the water in
an almost vertical position. It was immediately thrown out, however, and
resumed its course around the pool. When at the farther end, where the
current has the least strength the boat then being about fifty feet from
shore, three young men swam out with a rope and fastened it to the boat,
which was then drawn in by very willing hands. Nissen, when questioned,
said he was not injured in the least, only feeling cold and weak. He was
stripped and given dry clothing, and he then declared he felt all right.
In making the trip he wore his usual clothing, pulling on an ordinary
life-preserver to aid him if he should be thrown out. He did not intend
to fasten himself in the boat, but at the last moment passed a rope over
his shoulder, which probably saved his life.
The boat, which he had named the _Fool-Killer_, was twenty feet long,
four feet wide, and four feet deep. The deck was slightly raised in the
centre, gently sloping to the gunwales. In the centre of the deck a
cockpit four feet long and twenty inches wide extended down to the keel,
a distance of four feet. The side-planking of the cockpit was carried
above the deck, forming a combing six inches in height; six water-tight
compartments were built in the boat, two at each end and one on each
side of the cockpit; three hundred pounds of cork were also used, so
that the boat was unsinkable. The main feature of the boat was the keel.
This was a shaft of round iron, four inches in diameter and twenty feet
long, hanging two feet below the bottom of the boat, and held in
position by five one-inch iron bars.
Our record of sensationalism at Niagara would be lacking in fulness, at
least, if mention were not made of the many gruesome suicides that have
occurred here, but we forbear. A story of what a dog endured, however,
is quite in place:
A large dog lately survived the passage over Niagara Falls and
through the rapids to the whirlpool. He was first noticed while
he was within the influence of the upper rapids. As he was
whirled rapidly down over the Falls, every one imagined that
that was the last of him. Shortly afterwards, however, he was
discovered in the gorge below the Falls vainly endeavouring to
clamber up upon some of the debris from the remains of the great
ice bridge which recently covered the water at this point, but
which had nearly all gone down the river. The news spread
rapidly through the village, and a large crowd gathered at the
shore. Strenuous efforts were made to get the struggling animal
on shore, for an animal which had gone safely over the Falls
would be a prize worth having, but without success. Finally the
dog succeeded in getting upon a large cake of ice, and floated
off upon it down towards Suspension Bridge and the terrible
Whirlpool Rapids. Information of the dog's coming was telephoned
to Suspension Bridge village, and a large crowd collected on the
bridge to watch for the coming wonder. In due time the poor
fellow appeared upon his ice-cake, howling dismally the while,
as if he appreciated the terrors of his situation. An
express-train crossing the bridge at the time stopped in order
to let the passengers witness the unusual spectacle. Round and
round whirled the cake, in a dizzy way, and louder and more
prolonged grew the howls of the poor dog. As the influence of
the Whirlpool Rapids began to be felt, the cake increased in
speed, whirled suddenly into the air, broke in two, and the dog
disappeared from view. No one thought that he could possibly
survive the wild rush through the rapids. When, therefore, word
was received that the dog was in the whirlpool, still living,
and once more struggling vainly to swim to land, it was received
with marked incredulity. This story was substantiated by several
trustworthy witnesses. It seems incredible that an animal could
go through the upper rapids, over the Falls, through the Gorge,
through the Whirlpool Rapids, and into the whirlpool itself, a
distance of several miles, and still be alive. The poor animal
perished in the whirlpool.
In various instances dogs have been sent over the Falls and survived the
plunge.
As early as November, 1836, a troublesome female bull-terrier was put in
a coffee sack by a couple of men who had determined to get rid of her,
and thrown off from the middle of Goat Island Bridge. In the following
spring she was found alive and well about sixty rods below the Ferry,
having lived through the winter on a deceased cow that was thrown over
the bank the previous fall. In 1858, another dog, a male of the same
breed, was thrown into the Rapids, also near the middle of the bridge.
In less than an hour he came up the Ferry stairs, very wet and not at
all gay. He was ever after a sadder, if not a better dog.
[Footnote 15: Vol. lvi., p. 106, seq.]