On Frail Bridges

1895

STREAMS IN WEST AFRICA THAT WERE HARD TO CROSS.

Adventures of an Explorer and His Party. Plodding Through Forest and Swamp While Weakened by Hunger — From Limb to Limb Across a Raging River.

One of the greatest annoyances explorers in tropical Africa meet is the swollen rivers which sometimes bar their advance at places where it is difficult, if not impossible, to obtain boats. The expedition which the Germans sent into the interior of Cameroons, west Africa, awhile ago, suffered unusual embarrassment from this cause, and once or twice their experience on the banks of raging torrents was a little thrilling.

Lieutenant Morgen was the leader of this party. For seven days he led his men through the dense woods between the sea and the upland plains of the interior. It was a most toilsome march along the narrow path where fallen logs and protruding roots rendered rapid progress impossible. Even at midday the column marched in twilight, for the thick, overhanging foliage shut out the sunlight. Morgen expected to emerge from the forest belt in four days, but he was still in the gloom of the forest at the end of seven days. The situation was serious, for provisions were running low, but Morgen knew he was near a land of plenty, and he was not seriously alarmed when, on the evening of the seventh day, the porters ate up the last of the rice, which was their main food supply. He expected early next day to be able fully to replenish his commissary department.

What was his dismay next morning to reach the bank of a river which was in strong flood and could not be forded. There were no natives in the neighborhood, and of course no boats were to be seen. He was overjoyed to find, however, that a little up stream the channel narrowed to about 90 feet, and that on the bank grew a mighty cottonwood tree that was fully 90 feet high. The best choppers in the party were detailed to convert this tree into a temporary bridge. They began chopping on both sides of the trunk, the cut on the river side being lower and deeper than on the other side, so that the tree would fall across the river.

The men were hungry enough while they were waiting, for they had had no breakfast, but at last, after four hours' hard work, the great tree inclined toward the river, and a cheer went up as it fell with a crash into the stream. Then the cheer became a cry of dismay as the men saw their bridge rolled over by the raging flood, and in less than a minute the top turned down stream, and the tree was soon out of sight around a bend in the river.

Here was indeed a dilemma. The 80 hungry men knew that a few miles away there was food in plenty. But they did not dare to fire their guns for fear of alarming the natives and driving them away instead of securing their aid. There was nothing to do except to send small parties up and down the river in search of a native bridge. Five men were dispatched in both directions. In an hour one party returned with the report that they had encountered a swamp which they could not cross. The fate of the expedition now depended upon the success of the other party. Morgen was at his wits' end, for he knew not what to do if no means of crossing the river were found. Retreat to the coast was impossible, and some of the men would certainly perish if the party were delayed for several days on this inhospitable river bank. Fortunately no such crisis occurred, for just as the party were beginning to despair one of Morgen's faithful followers burst through the bush and gladdened every heart with the cry:

"We have found a bridge."

A hearty cheer went up, and everybody forgot his hunger as he shouldered his load and fell into line. Through the brush they struggled up stream, and at last they reached one of those suspension bridges made by twisting together the long, tough stems of climbing plants that are occasionally found in tropical west Africa. It was a flimsy construction, like all those affairs, and the men looked at it dubiously. The sun was setting as the first three men passed over with their loads. As the second detachment was crossing some of the withes forming the floor broke, two men dropped through, and their loads were lost. The broken bridge was hastily repaired, and just as darkness fell the last man reached the other side. It was impossible to go farther, and here the foodless men camped for the night.

By daybreak they were on the march. The men were so weak that some of them were continually falling under their loads. They had to flounder through a wide marsh in which they sank to their hips. It was noon before they emerged from the gloomy forest and once more saw the blue sky, but a more joyous sight by far was the scores of flourishing gardens of the Yaunde tribe. The starving men spent several days recuperating in this garden spot before they resumed their march.

A few weeks later Lieutenant Morgen stood on the banks of the Mbam river, whose upper course he was the first white man to see. The only sign of life as he reached the new found river was two natives in canoes on the farther shore, who quickly disappeared in an inlet when they saw him. Hour after hour the party lingered on the shore, seeking in vain to communicate with the natives. Canoes must be obtained some way or other. At last after night had fallen Lieutenant Morgen called for volunteers to swim across the river and look for canoes. It was not an inviting undertaking, and some time elapsed before two men came forward to risk their lives in the service of all. Wooden floats were given to them to buoy them up on their journey of a quarter of a mile, and then they disappeared in the darkness.

This was another very anxious time for the leader, and he passed a sleepless night in is tent. Just as day was faintly breaking he heard the dipping of paddles. His faithfuls had arrived with two canoes, and they urged him to send them back with a party to a place where five more canoes might be obtained. An hour later seven great canoes were in camp, and to the astonishment of the natives the white expedition came over to their country in the borrowed boats, which were restored to their owners, with plenty of pay for their use. — New York Sun.


She Objected.

"You stole that kiss," said Miss Northside reproachfully after the theft had been accomplished.

"Oh, well," replied Mr. Van Braam cheerfully, "I'll return it!"

"I won't accept it! Do you suppose I would leave myself open to the charge of receiving stolen goods?" — Pittsburg Chronicle.

Leech Plans Second Plunge Over Niagara

1920

BUFFALO, N. Y. — Bobby Leech, the barrel wizard of Niagara Falls, is to risk again the plunge of death over the great Canadian cataracts. He announced that on Aug. 25 he will attempt to successfully duplicate his barrel trip of 1911.

Leech is one of the few who have ridden the falls and the rapids and lived to tell the story. Only a few weeks ago Charles G. Stephen lost his life in an attempt to match Leech's feat. Stephen's barrel was shattered at the base of the great falls, and splintered sections of it, gathered from the stream far below, constituted the first silent testimony of his fate.

In his second gamble with death Leech is playing for a stake of $2,500 and shares of stock in a Canadian steel company. He wins both if he lives. Both are offered by the steel company, which is to make Leech's barrel, because it wishes its product to be submitted to a supreme test of endurance.

Leech will superintend the construction of the barrel. It will be made of aluminum and steel and of an egg-shaped design which Leech has drawn. He also will attend to every detail of the preparation of the steel-treated leather housing in which he will be held within the barrel. He has no doubt that the trip will succeed and declines to be moved by the tragic end suffered by those who have dared and failed before and since his successful trip over the falls nine years ago.

And, apparently, Leech is not the only one who is willing to take the trip, altho he happens to be the only one actually preparing to do so. The mayor has received scores of letters since Stephen's death, expressing a willingness on the part of individuals to risk the fall of death.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Aug. 7, 1920, p. 3.

Train Passes Over Baby; She's Unhurt

1920

BUTLER, Pennsylvania. — Agnes Deamore, 2-year-old daughter of Antonio Deamore, has the movie picture actors beaten a mile when it comes to realities.

Agnes' home is near the Bessemer railroad. She wandered out of the back yard of her home onto the railroad. She was sitting between the rails of the main track playing when a double header freight train came along. The first locomotive struck Agnes, and she fell face down between the rails. The two locomotives and ten freight cars passed over her.

Witnesses who rushed to the scene expecting to find a mass of mangled bones and flesh found Agnes much alive and yelling for her mother. She sustained a few abrasions of the scalp and face, but was not seriously hurt.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Aug. 7, 1920, p. 1.

Man Dragged By Lioness To Her Lair

1920

Escapes After Having Had Fingers and Ears Chewed by Cubs — Will Survive His Wounds.

CHESTER, California. — That after firing four shots into the body of a lioness and stabbing her with a dagger he had been dragged to the mouth of the cave lair of the beast, when he became unconscious, and that two cubs had chewed his ears and fingers, is the harrowing experience told by Giuseppi Martin, a shepherd.

When Martin recovered from the unconscious state caused by his desperate fight with the lioness he says he found her carcass within four feet of him.

This is the story Martin told Everett Goings and others who found him in his camp some miles from here, trying as best he could to dress his wounds.

The party headed by Goings dressed the shepherd's injuries with the aid of a first aid kit.

Ears and Fingers Chewed.

Martin's ears had been nearly chewed from his head, his fingers were badly mutilated, and his body and face severely lacerated.

According to the tale of Martin, he drove his flock of sheep toward the summit of a mountain when the sun arose. Leaving the sheep, he walked to the top of a crag, where he found himself confronted by a mountain lion, which promptly attacked him. He fired four shots from a .32 caliber revolver and then drew a knife from his belt when the beast closed with him, inflicting several stabs.

Martin lost all sense of what next happened. When he returned to consciousness, apparently some time later, he found he had been dragged a short distance to the mouth of a cave in the rocky ledge. The lioness was stretched dead four feet from him. Two cubs had gnawed upon his ears until they were almost gone and had chewed upon his fingers.

Following his return to camp Martin did the best he could to dress his hurts with the conveniences at hand. When the Goings party happened upon the camp his wounds were further cared for. Shortly after the owner of the sheep arrived and Martin was rushed to a nearby town for surgical attention.

Tells Story of Escape.

"I was caring for my sheep up in the lonesome and deserted section of the hills," says Martin, "when I heard a great commotion among the flock. I looked about me but could see nothing. Then I left the sheep and walked over to a crag near there.

"I found myself face to face with a huge lioness. I drew a .32 caliber revolver from my pocket and fired four shots point blank at the animal. It only wounded and served to enrage her.

"I just had time to draw my knife from my belt when the brute closed it with me snarling in a horrible manner.

"I knew that it was a fight for my life, so I exerted all my energy. I was badly clawed and knocked down several times, but I inflicted several deep stabs on the lioness. I felt everything growing dark in front of me and knew that I must fight harder if I wished to save my life. But I was so weak that I could no longer hold my knife in my fingers. That is the last thing I remember — the knife dropping to the ground and the hot breath of the lioness, its gaping jaws only a few inches from my face.

"It seemed years later when I awakened. I heard snarls as when I had dropped into unconsciousness. The light was very dim, but finally I made out the forms of two lion cubs. My ears pained me. I reached my hand to them and found that not only my ears but my fingers were terribly lacerated. The cubs had chewed them and were at that moment snapping ferociously at me."

Surgeons at the hospital said that Martin's injuries were serious but not necessarily mortal.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Aug. 7, 1920, p. 1.

Simply Cannot Kill This Man

1908

Marvelous Record of One Born For Narrow Escapes

Easton, Pennsylvania. — Granville B. Snyder, an Easton printer, has had more narrow escapes from death than most living men. Some of his friends will tell you that he bears a charmed life, but Granny, as he is commonly called, scoffs at that idea.

"I guess it was ordained that I should die a natural death," he says, "and luck always seems to have stepped in and saved me from shuffling off this mortal coil in any other manner."

The first time Granny faced death he was six years old. Leaving home one morning and walking a short distance to Mount Ida, an immense rock 110 feet high, overlooking the Lehigh canal and river, he determined to climb to the top to gather honeysuckles. The north side of the rock is a sheer precipice, and toward this perilous point the lad's steps led unconsciously. He found flowers growing in profusion, and in his enthusiasm lost sight of the danger he was in. He reached for a stem, took a false step, and plunged over the perpendicular wall 110 feet to the towpath. Although he suffered a fractured collar-bone, both legs and arms were broken, and he lost a great quantity of blood from three gashes in his scalp, the doctor pulled him through.

When eight years old Granny fell through the trap in the haymow in Peter M. Correll's stable, in Bank street, while playing chase with companions and landed in the water trough. The other boys, terrified, ran from the building. When a stableman pulled the boy out of the trough he was nearly lifeless.

The same year he was bitten in the hand by a copperhead snake while playing in a yard near his home. His arm swelled to an enormous size. To the surprise of the physician Granny began to recover, and in a short time he was running around again.

When ten years old, and again when 12, he had two more narrow escapes from drowning. Upon the former occasion he broke through the deck of a sunken canal boat in the Lehigh and was rescued in an unconscious condition by James Herrin. The second accident resulted through him falling through a raft that parted along the old sawmill.

He had a thrilling escape from death on the New Jersey Central railroad in 1877. In attempting to jump from a rapidly moving coal train as it passed the Fourth street station his right hand caught fast in the side rod, he was thrown to the ground and the wheels clipped off his cap. He was dragged 25 feet, struck a signal target, hurled back against the car and thus his hand was released. Outside of a few slight bruises and torn and soiled clothing he was none the worse for the experience.

Twice he narrowly escaped death while handling firearms. The accidental discharge of a self-cocking revolver he was handling sent a bullet into his hip. The ball struck a bone, took a downward course, came out and then re-entered the leg. The lead is still there.

Upon another occasion, during a Fourth of July celebration, he picked up a loaded revolver belonging to a friend and discharged it in the air five times. Then, jokingly placing the weapon against his temple, he remarked, "good by, fellows!" and pulled the trigger. The hammer caught and Snyder lowered the weapon to examine it. He almost fainted when he discovered that instead of it being a five-chambered weapon, as he had imagined, it contained six chambers, and there was still a loaded cartridge in it. Only the fact that the hammer caught saved him from blowing out his brains.

Not Their Time To Drown

1914

Men Swept From Deck of Vessel Thrown Back by Remarkable Action of Waves

Swept overboard by one giant wave, four seamen on the British steamship Ribston seemed to be lost, when another big billow took them on its crest and flung them back aboard the ship. Their mishap occurred while the vessel was on her way from Philadelphia to Cuba, and the story was told upon the Ribston's arrival in Havana.

The men were working near the forward hatch during a wild storm off Cape Hatteras. When the wave flung them into the sea their companions gave them up, because no boat could survive in such waters. To the great surprise of the other sailors, however, they soon saw the four men, drenched to the skin, making their way forward from the after part of the ship. The wave had carried them the full length of the craft and had flung them aboard again near the stern.

The voyage of the Ribston was full of harrowing experiences. The same storm which swept the men overboard carried away several hatches and deluged part of the hold. The ship's entire supply of food was either carried away or ruined. For more than a week the men were forced to live on salty hardtack and they were half starved when they reached Havana.

Several times during the voyage the engines broke down. The trip ordinarily completed in a week took two weeks. The vessel began to have trouble while she was still in Delaware Bay, being forced to anchor several times on account of ice clogging the propeller, and the difficulties continued until she ran into Havana harbor.

Was Entombed Fifteen Days

1906

Bakersfield, Cal., Dec. 24. — Lindsay B. Hicks, released from an entombment of 15 days in a caved-in tunnel, appeared well and happy after his gruesome experience, spending much time in receiving congratulations of friends and neighbors, to whom he related as best he could the feelings he underwent within the dark, close quarters of his tomb-like prison near the dead bodies of five less fortunate companions, while scores of men worked like beavers day and night for more than two weeks to save him from death by digging through many feet of earth and rock.

Hicks' bravery under the trying conditions won for him the admiration of hundreds of persons who watched the progress of his exhumation. So strong was Hicks at the finish that he helped to scrape away the last barrier of earth, and crawled, with slight assistance from death to life.

Hicks was not emaciated. He was so strong that the stimulants that had been prepared for him were not needed.

No sooner was the last segment of debris removed and the way left open, than Hicks began to scrape away the rocks and earth and crawl toward the opening. With arms in front of his head, he went into the miniature tunnel and began to work his way slowly through to the other side of a dump car, near which he has remained during the excavating. His arms were seized by Dr. Stinchfield and a miner. The two, exerting all their strength, pulled the miner into the main tunnel, where he was placed in a sitting position. The blindfold that Hicks had been ordered to put on was removed, as the tunnel was only dimly lighted by candle.

And there, 100 feet from the face of the mountain and within a few steps of the place where the miner had lain entombed for nearly 16 days, there occurred a pathetically joyful scene. Dr. Stinchfield, with tears in his eyes, and his hands laid affectionately on Hicks' shoulders, said: "Well, how are you, old boy?"

And there were tears in the eyes of Hicks as well, the only tears that he had shed in all the days and nights since he was entombed, as he replied: "I am feeling fine. I can never thank you, doctor, for what you have done."

While working on a tunnel that was building by the Edison Power company near Bakersfield on December 7, the vertical walls of a deep cut fell in on Hicks and five fellow workmen. It was at first thought that all had perished under the hundreds of tons of rock and earth.

Three days later a tapping on the rail of the little tramway running through the drift gave the first intimation that a man still alive was buried beneath the debris. A 70-foot pipe, two inches in diameter, was immediately forced through the debris. It reached the spot where Hicks was entombed. A heavy dirt car had become wedged in the debris in such a way as to keep the immense weight from crushing him.

When Hicks pulled the wooden plug from the iron pipe and called to the men above him his voice sounded like one from the grave. Through the pipe the men working on top learned from Hicks that for several hours after the cave-in he had talked with his companions, but that they had become silent and he believed they were dead.

By means of the pipe Hicks kept in communication with a big force of rescuers which was at once organized; milk was poured down the pipe. This was the only sustenance it was possible to give the man for nearly two weeks. During the first two days Hicks said he had existed on a plug of tobacco he had with him at the time of the cave-in.

He had just exhausted this when the pipe was forced into the crevice in which he was pinned. Every day gallons of milk were poured down the pipe to keep him alive.

In a narrow space under the car there was just room for Hicks to lie down. His prison did not allow of the slightest freedom of movement, and for days the man lay on his back, not daring to move lest he might disturb the car overhead and bring down upon himself an avalanche of dirt that would mean his death.

Through the pipe he directed the work of rescue, guiding the course of the tunnel the miners started toward his prison, so that it would not by some chance disturb the equilibrium of the car, which was all that lay between him and death.

—New Oxford Item, New Oxford, PA, Dec. 27, 1906, p. 1.

Robinson Crusoe's Island Inhabited

1893

The People Who Now Inhabit the Refuge of DeFoe's Hero

It is not generally known that Juan Fernandez — the island on which Alexander Selkirk, the Robinson Crusoe of romance, lived for so many years — is at the present time inhabited.

Two valleys, winding down from different directions, join a short distance back from the shore and here now stands a little village of small huts scattered round a long, low, one storied building, with a veranda running its whole length. In this house lives a man who rents the island from the Chilean government, and the village is made up of a few German and Chilean families.

The tiny town is called San Juan Bautista, and the craterlike arm of the sea on which it is situated and where Alexander Selkirk first landed is now called Cumberland bay. The island is rented for about £200 a year. The rent is paid partly in dried fish. Catching and drying the many varieties of fish and raising cattle and vegetables wholly occupy the contented settlers, and much of their little income is obtained from the cattle and vegetables sold to passing vessels.

The cattle need no care, and the vegetables almost grow wild. Turnips and radishes, first sown here by Selkirk himself, now grow rank and wild in the valleys like weeds. There is also a race of wild dogs which completely overrun the island, depending for existence mainly upon seals. They are the descendants of a breed left by the Spaniards.

At the back of the little town in the first high cliffs is a row of caves of remarkable appearance hewn into the sandstone. An unused path leads to them, and a short climb brings one to their dark mouths. About 40 years ago the Chilean government thought that a good way to be rid of its worst criminals would be to transport them to the island of Juan Fernandez. Here, under the direction of Chilean soldiers, these poor wretches were made to dig caves to live in. In 1854 they were taken back again, however, and the caves have since been slowly crumbling away.

The narrow ridge where Selkirk watched is now called "the saddle," because at either end of it a big rocky hummock rises like a pommel. On one of these is now a large tablet with inscriptions commemorating Alexander Selkirk's long and lonesome stay on the island. It was placed there in 1868 by the officers of the British ship Topaz.

A small excursion steamer now runs from Valparaiso to Juan Fernandez island. The round trip is made in six days, and three of these may he spent on the island in fishing and visiting those lonely but beautiful spots which, nearly 200 years ago, were the haunts of Robinson Crusoe. — Melbourne Argus.

House Cat is Nearly Baked

1914

The Family Pet Slept in Oven of Cook Stove and Is Nearly Burned to Death

Waynesboro, Pa. — M. B. Ayers, Hamilton avenue, Waynesboro, almost cooked a new dish at his home.

When he retired at night he left the oven door of the kitchen stove open. To get away from the cold the family cat crawled into the oven and there curled itself up for a sleep that lasted all through the night.

When Mr. Ayers went downstairs in the morning to stir up the fire he closed the oven door. The cat slept on and made no protest. Then Mr. Ayers turned on the drafts and thrust the poker into the bed of coals, and in a short time he had a good fire going.

He heard the mewing of a cat, but he couldn't see a cat, and he fancied the animal might be on the outside. But the cat grew more persistent in its mewing and added a tone of anguish to it, and then Mr. Ayers bethought him of the oven. He opened the door and the cat sprang on to him, almost knocking him off his feet.

The animal was burned terribly. Its feet were badly charred and its body was almost baked. It is still living and is on the road to recovery.

Crazed With Grief for Husband's Death, Woman Jumps from Train

1878

A Lady Jumping from a Train

A lady who was accompanying the remains of her husband from Florida to her home in Akron, Ohio, jumped from a rapidly moving express train on Friday night, just before she reached the end of her journey.

She was crazed with grief and a morbid apprehension that she would be blamed by his friends for having taken him away to die. When the train left Cincinnati she seemed to be calm, and the family physician, who accompanied her, thought she would sleep after so much exhaustion. Worn out with watching and anxiety he went to sleep himself in a berth opposite to her. When the train neared Akron, early in the morning, the physician arose, and, to his horror, found her berth empty and the window open.

Search was made all through the train, but she was nowhere to be found. When the train stopped the poor physician was almost speechless. How could he give to the sorrowing friends the dead body of Mr. Phillips, and tell them that his wife had committed suicide? The telegraph was used at once to get tidings of the missing woman, but it was several hours before any response came, and then it was announced that the woman was lying at a house in a little village some distance off the railroad, not far from Mansfield.

A train was chartered and friends hastened to bring her home. They found her in bed, conscious, but almost exhausted. The people said that she knocked at their door a little while before daylight, and when they opened the door they found her all covered with mud, and unable to tell her name or anything about herself. She explained that after she went to her berth she could not sleep. She finally opened the window and looked out. It was raining, and the feeling that she was rapidly approaching her home brought an indefinable dread and a powerful impulse to escape it. With this feeling she threw herself out of the window while the train was in full motion. She fortunately struck upon a sandbank, and was thus saved from immediate death, as well as from severe injury.

Legless Man Had Thrilling Experience

GALVESTON, Tex., July 24 - William Davies of Groveton, Tex., a legless man, 39 years old, furnished the most thrilling experience of any of the storm victims so far recorded.

He was a guest at the Tarpon fishing pier, located on the north jetty seven miles from Galveston in the gulf, and, with others was thrown into the sea when the big building was demolished by the hurricane.

Before the building collapsed Davies discarded his two cork legs, and catching some of the debris was carried seaward on the storm tide about fifteen miles. He was washed time and time again from the raft. It finally broke up and he was sent adrift in the gulf. Searching about for debris to catch onto, he was astonished to see his cork legs floating with the current, and grabbed them.

With these supports under his arms he swam back into the bay and was carried by the tides into Galveston upper bay, thirty miles from where the pier collapsed, and was picked up by a boat. He was in the water thirty hours, twelve of which he was battling with the storm waves. Shortly after being taken out he became delirious.

--The Syracuse Herald, Syracuse, New York, July 24, 1909, page 1.