Part 9 (1/2)
Devine, of the _Advertiser_. On this occasion Donaldson accepted the three pa.s.sengers 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 pa.s.sengers 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 pa.s.sing boat, but this was not until after three o'clock in the morning.
Of Donaldson's conduct in these hours of terrible tremity, a pa.s.senger 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 h.o.a.rded 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 n.o.blest 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 airs.h.i.+p, 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 sh.o.r.e, 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 pa.s.sed with no news of the voyagers or their s.h.i.+p. A month later the body of Grimwood was found on the sh.o.r.es 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 pa.s.senger'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 n.o.ble 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 ”Was.h.i.+ngton 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 grat.i.tude, 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 grat.i.tude 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.
CHAPTER VI
AN AERIAL BIVOUAC
In the history of contests since man first began striving against his fellows, seldom has a record performance stood so long unbroken as that of the good airs.h.i.+p _Barnum_, made thirty-three years ago. Of her captain and crew of five men, six all told, the writer remains the sole survivor, the only one who may live to see that record broken in this country.