Scientific American, Volume XXXVI., No. 8, February 24, 1877 by Various, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here. Crossing a River on a Wire.
Crossing a River on a Wire.
A reporter of the New York Sun wanted to realize the sensation of being suspended on a wire 275 feet from the surface of the earth. He applied to the engineer of the Brooklyn bridge for permission to cross the East river on a wire, three quarters of an inch in diameter, which hangs between the two towers. He was refused permission; but he finally saw the president of the company, who granted his request. Arriving at the appointed time, the engineer, Mr. Farrington, said: "Well, sir; whenever you're ready, I am."
"All ready, said I, as bold as brass outside, and as nervous as the Endorian witch on the inside. He walked on and I followed, when, Horror of Horrors—capital H's—to both Horrors—instead of leading me to the 'cradle,' which I called a raft, he took me to a little square board held up by two crossed iron arms, called a 'buggy.' It was about three feet square, and depended from the 'traveler,' a three quarter inch wire which crosses the river, and is run from tower to tower over apparatus, by means of a stationary engine. It was too late to back out, but I didn't feel exactly prepared to plunge in. He did.
"He jumped in, and the little buggy swung from side to side, precisely as a swing does when you jump on the board and try to steady it by the ropes. I looked at him, at the scale—that's it; it's exactly like a pair of scales, with one scale—at the deep depths below us, and at myself. I imagined the ticklish thrill which would permeate my body when we started. I fancied the glories of the prospective perspective before me.
"'Come, hurry up, please,' interrupted Farrington, and with resignation I hurried down. He stood up. I crouched down. Perhaps you think you'd have stood up as he did. You're mistaken. I crouched down and held on tight. Make no mistake. I held on tight and waited for my thrill. It didn't come. Then I stood up, and Farrington gave the word 'Go.' 'Wouldn't you better take a rope along?' said one of the men. 'Yes, I think I would.' What did he want of a rope? He feared I would be nervous. He meant to grapple me in the middle of the river, and tie me in. I knew it. I felt it. But I didn't say a word.
"With a gentle jerk we started—slow, slow, very slow. Farrington stood in front and watched the wire. I stood behind and watched myself. I felt nothing. I was'n't exhilarated. I was'n't scared. I was'n't even timid. I can't look from the top of a house without desiring to jump off, but I looked down from the buggy and hadn't the least desire to jump. Farrington says: 'It's because it's so high up.' Well, we went on without any special sensation till the buggy struck against a stay rope which reaches from one of the cables to the tower. In the effort to free the buggy, Mr. Farrington gave a push which swung us out some little distance and back again, at which a little piece of indigestion seemed to be monarch of my interior, and for a moment I was on the verge of a sensation. Having passed the middle, the ascent was more labored. I waved my handkerchief to the people on the ferryboats. I looked out toward the sea. I looked up at the heavens. I even looked toward Harlem, but, like the buyer in the Bible, I said: 'It is naught, it is naught.'
"In about eight minutes we touched the New York side—all but ten feet. The red flag waved for the engine to stop. There we hung in mid-air 275 feet above the level, swinging to and fro like a drunken buggy, at an angle of forty degrees, and quite uneasy. The rope which was to haul us on was fastened to the iron—blest be the tie that binds—and with a few hearty pulls we were brought so near the New York tower that without difficulty we clambered up. I had made the trip, but I had not felt a feel. From the top of the New York tower I saw much, but the chief point of interest was the innumerable jets of steam which flourish in the air, and fantastically curl off into space.
"Again the steeples, the tower, and the long, narrow, dirty river filled the prospect, and the bright sun of a charming day lightened up the western sky That was all, except to say 'thanks and good-bye,' and descend the stairs. There were 417 of them stairs, and before I reached the bottom I was dizzy, faint, seasick, and filled with a decoction of tickle, so that I had to shut my eyes and rest from my labors.
"Thus ends the trip which filled my anticipatory imagination as the waters fill the sea, but which resolved itself in realization to a simple, childlike faith in the fixtures on the wire, and in the skill and competence of the man who guided them.
Monsieur X."
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