October 24, 1901, I left the shore from Buffalo Avenue in a boat, and
was rowed by two men to Grass Island. I then took off my hat, street
skirt and coat, and entered the barrel, the barrel being placed in the
water. I then adjusted a woven strap around my waist, and a strap from
the back went through an eye in the foot of the barrel, fastened to
a buckle in front to my belt. This was to keep my head from violent
contact with the barrel. I placed two cushions on my person extending
down to the knees--one in the bottom of the barrel. When all was in
readiness, the head of the barrel was screwed down perfectly tight. A
tube inserted in the chines I held in my hand, and an air-pump was used
to fill the barrel with fresh air. I then put a cork in the end of the
tube I held in my hand. All was now ready, and the boatmen towed the
barrel out to the current, which they thought would carry me over the
_center_ of the Horseshoe.
I did not say, like Dante, on entering the barrel, “Who enters here
leaves all hope behind,” but as I faced the inevitable, life or a
horrible death in 50 minutes, my courage rose.