It seems a cast-iron law of that queer system known as “human nature” that the moment a somethin’ becomes dangerous to do that moment somebody wants to do it. As soon as Niagara became fashionable Sam Patch wanted to leap the Falls, and finally met his death at Genesee Falls. Recently Webb perished in trying to swim the whirlpool rapids, and now somebody is announced as anxious to leap from the Brooklyn Bridge.
And apropos of this bridge leapin’, I will remember what a fuss there was made over a successful leap that was made from High Bridge, (spanning the Harlem River), which is about twenty feet higher than the Brooklyn Bridge.
The leap was announced to take place on a Tuesday in the early part of August, and an enormous crowd had congregated to witness the show. But, after waitin’ a long time, with no signs of anythin’ about to happen, the crowd got weary and impatient, and some people exclaimed that nothing’ would happen, and that there would be no leap. It began to be vaguely and mysteriously hinted that the whole thing was a sell–a gigantic hoax–and not a few people who didn’t want to run the chance of being laughed at walked or rode off on this idea.
All at once two men were seen leavin’ the bridge and standin’ one on the left side, the other on the right side of the bridge, extendin’ their arms as if the desirous to make a speech to those around ‘em.
The crowd hastened to concentrate itself on the two points where the two men were standin, and then the true cause of the delay in the leap transpired. It was simply (as the two men told it), a question of money. The crowd had been got together on the idea that the show would be free; but now that they had been got together the shrewd fellows in charge of the leap had determined, as had been their original design from the first, to play the crowd for all it was worth, and either to get up a good sized purse in the way of a collection, or to postpone the performance indefinitely. No pay, no leap.
They put down this ultimatum pretty plainly, and justified it, too, pretty sensibly. They told the crowd how their man was really riskin’ his life to afford ‘em a thrilling spectacle, and that as it would beat anythin’ ever shown at a theater, so it was worth somethin’ to see it. And then they wound up their speech by passin’ around the hat.
Nothin’ brings out the human nature in a crowd so much and so clearly as passin’ around the hat, especially when it ain’t expected. It brings out the liberality or the meanness, the folly or the cunnin’ of men and women quicker than any other thing, except it be a church fair.
But the two men collected in all over eighty dollars and said they were satisfied. They promised that their man who was already waitin’ on the bridge to see how the financial cat jumped, should himself jump within less than twenty minutes, and they kept their word without more ado.
“There he is”–”that’s the chap”–”look, here he comes”–”there he goes”–”that’s him.” Such were the shouts raised in a few minutes after the two men had retired, as a man appeared on the top of the bridge, running with a sort of bag in his hand, and followed by the two ex-collectors.
The man with the bag was evidently the man of the moment, the comin’ man, the leaper. He was young, not over twenty-two or three years of age, not bad lookin’, with dark eyes and hair, rather firmly built, weighin’ about 130 pounds say, either an Italian or a Jerseyman. And it turned out he was a Jerseyman, by name George Arrabrant.
This man, reachin’ the centre of the bridge, paused, and began to disrobe. He took off everythin’ but his pantaloons, and openin’ the bag put his clothes, boots, etc, therein, till he stood like Adam in Paradise, all but the pantaloons, and surveyed the crowd very calmly.
This very calmness made the situation all the more excitin’. All around him was the crowd, all beneath him was the crowd. He was the center of say ten thousand eyes, he was about to take a terrible, a hitherto unattempted leap. He was to risk his life to make a New York holiday; but not a nerve quivered; he betrayed not the slightest fear, excitement or emotion of any kind.
After surveyin’, deliberately, sky, air, earth, water and humanity around, above and beneath him, he swung his arms twice forward, and then, amid a loud shou, an “ah, oh” from a thousand throats, followed by the stillness of the grave, he leaped into the air and dashed, or was dropped downward.
“God save you,” cried one woman’s voice aloud. It was his mother’s.
The leaper went down like an arrow, feet foremost, a most providential way of fallin’ under the circumstances. He reached the stream, sank like lead in the water, disappeared, but rose again like a cork, snatched at a boat, which lay in readiness, was lifted in and rowed ashore, amid the shouts of the multitude.
Reachin’ shore, the brave and lucky leaper stepped from the boat, stopped a moment to acknowledge the applause of the crowd; then, like an eel struggled away up the rocks, like a deer climbin’ them, and then, like the thirsty man he was, took a drink of water, with a dash of spirits in it, at the bar of the hotel on the heights, showin’ conclusively that his leap had not in any way exhausted him.
To those who care for the statistics of the affair, I would state that the leap was exactly 166 feet, that it took just three seconds, that it was only two minutes from the time he leaped from the bridge till he was carried ashore, and that out of the eighty dollars collected he received an even fifty.
[Editor’s notes: The column neglects to give a date to this bridge jumping stunt: July 5, 1852 (not August). The man who made the jump was George Garrabrant (1832-1879), a resident of Paterson, New Jersey. Garrabrant’s jump took place twenty-three years after the exploits of America’s first famous jumper, Sam Patch, who dove 120 feet into the Niagara River below the falls. Garrabrant’s jump also took place thirty-four years before the 1886 (alleged) jump of Steve Brodie from the Brooklyn Bridge. The column above was written more than two years before Brodie’s famous jump.
Garrabrant also made jumps from the Paterson Great Falls; and dealt with the consequences of others who tried.]
