It will be remembered that it was at these Falls that Samuel Patch, Esquire, made his last leap; and here I am compelled to dispel a very popular delusion that prevails in regard to the matter. I do not wish to detach a particle from the glory and honor of Mr. Patch, for he was an American, like myself—not exactly like myself, either, for he is said to have had two legs—and I feel a kind of national pride in holding him up before the world as the paragon of jumpers. But what I wish to say, is this: Patch did not stand in the water below, as is generally supposed, and jump up over the falls. On the contrary, he stood above on a platform erected at the brink of the precipice, where there was not much water pouring over at the time, and jumped down; and who couldn’t do that? I saw persons in Rochester who saw him make his last leap, and they told me all about it, confidentially.
Another thing: It is generally known that Patch leaped over the Falls of Genesee twice, but it is not generally known on which of these occasions he killed himself; some suppose it was the first: but I can assure them, on the best authority, that it was his second leap at Rochester, and not his first, that proved fatal.
On one occasion Daniel Webster was called upon to speak at a public dinner given at Rochester. “Gentlemen,” said he, “Athens had her Acropolis, and Rome her Coliseum, but, gentlemen, they could boast of no such falls as those of Rochester!” Here, being slightly under the influence of the wine which he had been drinking, he paused, and hesitating, was about to sit down, when some one whispered to him “The national debt!” Rising to his full height the great orator exclaimed: “And then, gentlemen, there is the National Debt! It should be paid, gentlemen. It must be paid, gentlemen.” And then, in louder tones, “I’ll be d——d if it shan’t be paid. I’ll pay it myself!” pulling out his pocket-book. “How much is it?”
Two miles below Rochester there is a wharf where steamboats and other lake craft land, and where a man keeps boats to let. The street-cars run to within three quarters of a mile of the place, and I got on one and rode down. On leaving the car at the terminus of the city railway, I walked to the river bank, and found a graded wagon-road leading down to the landing, the bank being about two hundred feet high; and very steep.
When I reached the landing I concluded to hire a sail boat and have a little ride on the river.
“Can you manage one?” asked the owner.
“O, yes,” I replied. “That is, pretty well.” The truth was, I had never tried it, and therefore didn’t know whether I could manage one or not.
“Well, take that one,” said he, pointing to a small sail boat of about three quarters of a ton burthen. “There are oars in it, and if you can not manage it you can row it back.”
It was well enough, for without those oars I could never have brought it back. I got in, the sail being set, and he pushed me from shore. A stiff breeze was sweeping down the river, and I did not like to run before it, lest it should blow me out upon the lake and clear over to Canada. So, I thought I would try tacking, and run up the river a little way, in order to have easy sailing back. With the helm in one hand and a line attached to the boom in the other, I went flying across the river, which was only about four hundred feet wide, and presently brought up against the other shore. I looked quickly around to see if the owner was observing me, found he wasn’t, pushed my boat off with an oar, got the sail set right for the other tack, and went sailing for the western shore again. This time, I “tacked” in time, turned the boat pretty skillfully, and the boom sweeping around before the wind hit me a deuce of a “belt” on the head and knocked my hat off into the water. I then lowered the sail and shipped the oars. Recovering my hat, I then unshipped the oars, and hoisted my sail again.
