Readin’ the other day an account of the ice bridge over Niagara Falls in a newspaper, while I was crossin’ over the Brooklyn Bridge in the cable cars, I was naturally reminded of the very first so-called “Brooklyn Bridge” that was ever formed across the East river, unitin’ New York and Brooklyn, which was, like in the Niagara case, a bridge of ice.
The term “Brooklyn Bridge,” now so familiar, appeared in print for the first time, I believe, in the columns of a New York paper, one Sunday in the middle of January, about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years ago, and it was applied to an ice bridge that was formed between Brooklyn and the Wall street dock in New York, an ice bridge which, although it only lasted some four hours, was perfect while it lasted, and was eagerly availed of by a multitude, and was free.
The incidents connected with this episode of the ice bridge are of some interest. There had been, durin’ various winters ever since the Revolution, times when the East River was pretty well frozen up. Still, till the winter I refer to there had never been an occasion when for a time it was perfectly safe to cross between the two cities. But this particular winter, twenty-seven years ago, one Saturday afternoon in the middle of January, the ice, after havin’ bothered and impeded the ferry boats for days, finally froze in one solid strip extendin’ from Thompson’s wharf on the Brooklyn side to the foot of Wall street. On either side of this strip was loose, floatin’ ice but the strip itself froze as tight as if it was solid steel or iron.
There was a good deal of excitement about this novel bridge on both sides of the river, and a good deal of talk was indulged in about crossin’ over on foot on the ice. But although several men ventured part way over they got frightened at their own bravery and rushed back. At last, about one o’clock, two Brooklyn men really did cross over. One of them was an “old salt,” Captain Tyler, of the lighter Michael, then lyin’ at Thompson’s wharf, the other one was a friend of his, Michael McEnness.
They succeeded in crossin’ over safely on foot and claimed to be the first two men who had ever crossed the East River on foot. But in their case it can’t be said to be a “record,” because, the way they managed it, there was really no risk at all. For to guard against possibilities, the two men pulled a little boat across the ice with ‘em, so that if the ice gave in they wouldn’t have to fall in the water, but only have to fall in the boat.
The party who really deserves the credit of crossin’ first over on foot without any boat, takin’ his chances, was a man named Lavine, who walked from Thompson’s wharf to Wall street dock, cheered all the way from both sides of the river. After that, of course, there were hundreds of men who followed, and not a few women.
The first woman to cross was a poor woman with a baby, and without a cent.
To show how curious a mixture human nature is–what a compound of big and little–and to illustrate how the highest heroism may sometimes spring from the smallest motives, it is sufficient to state the fact that this woman, who crossed the East River on the ice with her baby in her her arms, like Eliza in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, performed the feat simply and solely because she had no money to pay the ferriage in the boats, and so was forced to foot it over, runnin’ the risk of death and undertakin’ a feat of daring to save two cents.
Her exploit was watched with anxiety and greeted with wild joy. Men shouted encouragement and greeted her with cheers, and what was to more purpose, a purse was made up for the poor mother and she made five dollars by saving two cents.
Brooklyn, like New York, dearly loves a sensation. It is so quiet, generally, over in the City of Churches that the people there hail with delight anythin’ that breaks the monotony; and before an hour had passed, the news that men and women were crossin’ over between the two cities, on the ice bridge, brought the biggest kind of a crowd to the eminences overlooking the East river. “Brooklyn Heights” were lined with spectators of the free show. It seemed as if all ministers and politicians of Brooklyn turned out in full force. And the most delighted man of the whole lot was the Plymouth Church rector, Henry Ward Beecher, who enjoyed the fun with as much zest as if he was a schoolboy. He felt like joinin’ in the fun and crossing over himself. “Oh, do let us go over, papa,” said his young daughter, a fresh girl of eighteen, healthy, vigorous, warm-blooded, like her sire.
Beecher findin’ that his infection was thus shared by his family, yielded to it, and signified his intention of crossin’ over on the ice.
This announcement caused a stir and a difference of opinion, as pretty much everything that Beecher does or says, seems bound to cause. Some of the friends around him begged him not to venture, others encouraged the notion. But Beecher, havin’ once made up his mind, didn’t care what was said or thought, but did as he chose, and, with his daughter on his arm, started and walked across the river, landing at Wall street dock on this side without any special incident, and bein’ received with three cheers on his reachin’ New York.
The parson and his daughter stayed around the Wall street dock for about an hour, durin’ which time over two thousand people crossed, and then the minister and his fair companion started to return.
But the return came near bein’ fatal. A little after four o’clock in the afternoon, the ice parted and the bridge was broken, just as Beecher and his daughter got about three-fourths of their way back to Brooklyn.
The ice parted near the Brooklyn side and divided into several smaller and larger cakes of ice, which floated along independently of each other. Instantly there was the wildest alarm on both sides of the river and, on the ice itself, especially on the latter. The shrill screams of the women mingled with the deeper exclamations of the men, and both men and women began to deplore the folly which had led ‘em to go on such a frolic as this, which might lead to such a fearful fate.
And really there might have been any number of tragedies enacted that afternoon on the river, had it not been for the presence of mind and promptitude of two men. one the captain of the steam tug Rattler, lyin’ on the New York side, with steam up, and Captain Gill in the command of the lighter Suffolk, lying on the Brooklyn side.
These two vessels left their docks at once, and dartin’ to and fro among the ice-cakes, saved the terrified people. Among others the Suffolk saved Parson Beecher and his daughter, who had been carried down some distance on a floatin’ cake of ice. The Plymouth pastor was quite cool, but he was evidently decidedly glad to get off the ice, and expressed his unalterable determination never to go walkin’ on water any more, a resolve in which his daughter fully coincided.
As it was, the evenin’ closed in without any accidents, the only person who lost his life on the East river that afternoon bein’ one who crossed over in a Hamilton ferry boat and who fell off from The Vessel accidentally and was drowned.
[Editor’s notes: The Ice Bridge of January, 1857, was not the first. As a couple of NYC history blogs have noted, the East River froze several times:
- New Yorkers Used To Walk Over The Frozen East River On “Ice Bridges”
- Winters so cold, the East River froze over
What makes the 1857 ice bridge so interesting is its association with the most popular preacher of 19th century New York, Henry Ward Beecher, brother of Harriet Beecher Stowe. Outlier accounts have suggested that Harriet also made this crossing with her brother, but this isn’t mentioned in most reports.
The image of crossing a bridge made of ice floes would have had special meaning for the Beechers: in Harriet’s novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin, one of the most dramatic scenes is that of the enslaved Eliza clutching her child and racing to freedom across the Ohio River by jumping from one ice floe to another.
In 1857, Henry Ward Beecher was nearly the height of his popularity as a minister and public speaker, one of the leading voices of the abolitionist movement. However, starting the next year (1858), rumors began to circulate that Beecher, a married man, was more than flirtatious with other women. These stories culminated in a trial in the 1870s that accused Beecher of committing adultery with the wife of a friend.
In 1867, when another ice bridge formed, Henry Ward Beecher’s wife, Eunice, made the crossing with a friend. Henry and Eunice had a rocky marriage, so were these reckless ventures made to spite one another?
