USA > Rhode Island > The "Old Stone Bank" history of Rhode Island, Vol. III > Part 33
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supplies in the course of the Revolutionary War than any other of the thirteen Colonies, in proportion to her limits and population. This, in a great measure, arose from the fact that the enemy took and held possession of a large proportion of Rhode Island territory for three years. Throughout this long and trying period, Rhode Island had to defend herself against the enemy with very little ade- quate aid from other Colonies. Because Rhode Island, for very good reasons, was late in joining the Union, and because the General Assembly instructed the first two Senators to oppose the assumption of State debts by the United States, it turned out that Rhode Island had less than half of its debt assumed by the United States. All of the States that were represented in Congress by able speakers in favor of national debt assumption re- ceived their full proportion, and some of them were allowed considerably more. For instance, Georgia had more than the State ever owed, and the representatives from that southern State were obliged to go home and create a claim to receive it, while the little State of Rhode Island was left with a vast sum unassumed. This may explain why the General Assembly opposed Dr. Richmond in his attempt to have money raised by taxes, or otherwise, at a late date to pay off a debt which should have been assumed by the United States, especially when the national gov- ernment had settled accounts with all the states.
At any rate, Dr. Richmond was not dis- couraged, and he played a final card. In October 1850, the physician called at the office of the warden of the State prison and bought a case of shoes, made in those days by the prisoners. The Doctor told the warden that he would return in a day or two to pay for his purchase. True to his word, he returned and offered the warden some Revolutionary War notes issued by the State to the amount owed for the
shoes. The warden refused to take the notes in payment for the goods purchased. Later, the prison inspectors ordered the warden to start suit against Dr. Richmond to secure payment, and the warden fol- lowed instructions. Naturally, the Doctor promptly started a counter-suit against the State of Rhode Island. At last it seemed that Dr. Richmond, through a clever piece of strategy, had opened the way for a judicial investigation into the prolonged war-note controversy.
But, the General Assembly hurriedly met and passed a special act directing the Attorney General to discontinue the suit on the grounds that it had been com- menced without authority in the name of the State. The suit against the Doctor was discontinued. That, apparently, was the last straw. Claiming that "the State abandoned a JUST and ACKNOWL- EDGED demand held against a citizen, fearing that a judicial investigation would result in sustaining another just claim held by a citizen against the State," and referring to the matter as "no case so fraught with iniquity," Dr. Richmond stated that "he was through with Rhode Island forever." He moved beyond her borders; paid $25 for a corner of the family burying ground of Samuel Denison just outside the borough of Stonington; left a trust fund to the town for the up- keep of the plot; and died at the age of eighty-two.
For generations, historians and writers have proclaimed the virtues and gener- osities of Rhode Island; the pages of local history are crammed with the testimonies of great men and women who praise jus- tice, honor and integrity as exemplified in Rhode Island from the very beginning, but the lonesome monument, squarely placed upon Connecticut soil, an ever- lasting memorial to Dr. John Wilkes Richmond, native of Rhode Island, stig- matizes his homeland as a repudiator of her just debts.
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THE BLACKSTONE CANAL
0 N THE morning of July 1, 1828, the pages of the Rhode Island American, a local newspaper, carried the following story :
"At about 10 o'clock in the morning, the 'Lady Carrington' started from the first lock above tide water (opposite the jail), on Canal Street. A salute of artillery announced her departure, seconded by the cheers of those on board, and the shouts of hundreds of spectators who crowded the banks and surrounding eminences to wit- ness this novel spectacle. The boat is of the largest size that can be admitted into the locks, being about seventy feet long, nineteen and a half wide, and as high as will admit of a safe passage under the bridges crossing the canal. She is covered on the top, having below a cabin nearly the whole extent of the boat, conveniently and neatly arranged. Her draft, when filled with passengers, does not exceed eight or nine inches. Among the passen- gers were His Excellency the Governor, two of the Rhode Island Canal Commis- sioners, and about fifty citizens. The boat was drawn up the Canal by a tow-line attached to two horses that travelled with rapidity on the straight levels (of which there are some very beautiful ones before you come to the Blackstone River). She might be conveyed with ease at the rate of four or five miles per hour.
"Between the water and the Albion Factory, nine granite locks, of the most substantial masonry, were passed. Just before entering Scott's Pond, a beautiful basin of deep water, there are three con- tinuous locks, by which you ascend an elevation of twenty-four feet. The novelty of ascending and descending from the dif- ferent levels was particularly gratifying to those who had never before witnessed the operation. The boat glides into a solid iron box (so to speak) in which she is en- closed by the shutting of the folding gates. The water is then admitted through wickets in the upper gates, and the boat is rapidly raised to the level she is to as- cend; the upper gates are then opened and she passes on.
"In descending, the lock is filled and the boat glides in on the level, and the upper gates are closed, and the water drawn from the lower gates until the water is depressed to the level below. This operation occu- pied, in passing up, about four minutes, and in descending about three minutes. The average height of the lock is about ten feet. There were men hired for lock tenders, whose duty was, for boats ascend- ing, to see the lower gates opened, and after the boat glided into the lock, to close the lower gates, and draw the water from the upper level until the lock was full, and then open the upper gates and let the boat pass out upon the level; and when the boats were descending, locks were to be filled and upper gates opened so that the boat would glide in. On the 4th of July the 'Lady Carrington' carried excursion parties to Scott's Pond, six miles, amid great rejoicings."
The paper then added the following amusing incident:
"A Mr. Arnold, who keeps a store oppo- site Smith Street, in company with a Mr. Olney, was sitting on a box or railing of the Boat 'Lady Carrington ' and was very earnest telling a story when the Boat struck the bank of the Canal, and over- board he went. After pulling him in all wet through, he sat down and said 'as I was saying' and went on with his story as though nothing had happened."
If you had been a resident of Providence in early 1800's, all the foregoing would have been perfectly familiar to you, for you probably would have been one of the citizens on the "Lady Carrington " or, at least, one of the spectators on the bank or some housetop. The completion and opening of the Blackstone Canal in 1828 was a great event in Providence history and one that deserved acclaim. The year itself was doubly significant to the busi- ness interests of the town, for, before it was out, the Arcade, a pioneer building in the present business section of the city, had been finished. Yet the canal served only for twenty years and then was abandoned, while the Arcade still pros-
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pers, though encircled by modern busi- ness edifices. How easily the situation might have been reversed is a story that evolves out of the story of the canal itself.
John Brown, with characteristic enter- prise, began in 1796 to make the first plans for a canal from Providence to Worcester. He had the enthusiastic support of many influential citizens in both Rhode Island and Massachusetts, but, due to some legislative difficulties with the latter state, his plans never matured.
Twenty-six years passed before the sub- ject was brought up again - this time with success. Citizens in both Worcester and Providence held meetings, discussed the need of a canal, and ended by forming commissions and engaging engineers to investigate every detail which such an enterprise would involve. Benjamin Wright, the chief engineer of the middle section of the Erie Canal, headed the party of surveyors and assayers who laid out the proposed route. The results of the survey were very encouraging. The soil was found easy to excavate. There were large ponds all along the route from which a supply of water could be obtained. The difference in elevation between tide water in Providence and Thomas Street in Worcester was found to be 4512 feet, not a great difference considering that the canal was to be 45 miles in length.
After the favorable report of the engi- neers, promoters of the enterprise went to work to stimulate the enthusiasm of the people with a view to raising the necessary money for the project. The estimated ex- pense was $323,319, and the sum set to be raised was $400,000. Here a first great mistake was made. So successfully did the promoters present the canal proposi- tion that they could have raised $1,000,000 as easily as the $400,000 they asked for. Later on, when the actual cost of the canal proved to be $750,000 and they needed more money, the public had lost its faith in the enterprise and was unresponsive. It was a marked contrast to the mad scrambling for stock when the Blackstone Canal Company was first formed. Then, people in Providence bought all that was offered and hurried to Worcester to buy up any more shares that might have been left over.
Excavation of the canal was begun in 1824 in Rhode Island, and two years later in Massachusetts at the Thomas Street end. This gave a lot of employment to Rhode Islanders and stimulated Provi- dence business to a very considerable extent. About 500 men from Providence were engaged in the work at one time, and North Water Street (later called Canal Street) was transformed into a busy busi- ness center. New warehouses were built along it with wharves facing on the canal. And general business throughout the city increased proportionately.
There were forty-nine locks in all be- tween Worcester and Providence, all of them heavily constructed out of granite at a cost of $4000 each. As for the canal itself, it was 32 feet wide at the top with sloping banks that made it only 18 feet wide at the bottom. Water was kept at a depth of 3} feet. But the canal was actually only dug nine-tenths of the way between the two towns. For the rest the engineers depended upon slack water navigation, making use of the ponds along the way. They did not figure on such things as drought in the summer and ice in the winter, and consequently the loaded canal boats frequently became stranded for days and weeks at a time for lack of navigable water. This was of course ruinous, both to the canal company oper- ating the boats and to the merchants who used them for shipping goods.
As a matter of fact the Blackstone Canal was always of more value to the public than to its stockholders. The latter received only decreasing dividends from the start of the project, but the former had the advantages resulting from the reservoirs which had been built along the route to hold back spring flood water in the ponds. More water flowed in the Blackstone River and there was enough increased hydraulic power to encourage the building of many manufacturing plants along the canal.
The final trouble that the canal involved came in constant quarrels between the boatmen and the various mill owners over the water itself. The latter were drawing just enough water for their manufacturing to ruin the boatmen's business, and there was many a near riot over the matter.
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Mill owners even went so far as to tip loads of rocks into the locks so that the barges could not pass through and the boatmen threatened to set fire to the mills. All this trouble might have been avoided had enough money been raised in the first place so that the canal com- pany could have controlled all the water rights.
But matters went from bad to worse, and in 1848 the last toll was collected on barges. Before that time portions of the canal had been closed to passage. Provi- dence auctioned off the boathouse termi- nal, and the following year the locks and land as far as Woonsocket were sold. .
Taking the place of the canal was the
new railroad, connecting the same two towns and giving rise to the remark that of "the two unions between Worcester and Providence, the first was weak as water - the last strong as iron."
One can still trace the route of the old canal as it follows along Canal Street, by the American Screw Company's works, and under Randall Street. Farther out in the country it becomes distinct for various intervals, disappearing entirely where it has been filled in. It was a noble experi- ment, one which could easily have been more fruitful in its results, and we might have seen the picturesque barges moving slowly along today through the Lower Blackstone River Valley.
SAM PATCH
H ow often have you heard the observa- tion, "Some people have a queer way of making money." Perhaps that thought occurred to you at the circus or country fair when, as a grand finale to a program of hair-raising stunts and dare-devil exhibi- tions, you beheld one or two human beings catapulted from the mouth of a smoke- belching cannon and tossed yards away across the arena into a bouncing net. Flag- pole-sitting and voluntary interment come under the category of peculiar pro- fessions, and, so does glass-eating and snake-charming. Some people seem to get along, for the time being, as fire-eaters, sword-swallowers and balloon-jumpers, while others earn room and board by showing people how well they can frater- nize with snarling tigers and blood-thirsty lions. Ocean-flying and movie-stunting are modern and quite common forms of death defiance - auto and motorcycle racing are far from being safe occupations, and professional wrestling, present style, appears to be no pleasant way of earning a livelihood. The more one thinks about it, the more one is impressed by the diversity of human occupations and pro- fessions that threaten life and limb. The author once had an intimate acquaintance with a self-styled "human fly" who scaled the exteriors of tall buildings, and, when
the roof had finally been reached, he would select some dizzy ledge, or lofty perch, and proceed to stand on his head high above the "oh-ing" and "ah-ing" crowds below. Either he enjoyed this extremely dangerous practice, or he found some satisfaction in the plaudits of the sadistically-minded audience, because he received no pay for his sensational wall- scaling exhibitions. Evidently, he just "loved the work."
This leads to a discussion of a Rhode Island dare-devil who made a name for himself many years ago. The first the author heard of this remarkable individual was many years ago, too, and he would now give a great deal to own a copy of the nursery picture book that gave him, as a very small child, his first knowledge of Sam Patch, the world's most daring jumper of Pawtucket, Rhode Island. Sam Patch was neither a broad jumper nor a high jumper; he was a down jumper from high places. This nursery book was titled "The Sam Patch Picture Book," and two of the highly colored illustrations showed Sam as an infant leaping to the floor from the lap of his startled mother, and Sam, at the height of his surprising career, poised on a tiny ledge for a sicken- ing plunge into the Niagara River.
History books about Pawtucket all
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have references to the leaping mule- spinner who won fame by hurtling his body through mid air from some crazy height, but it remained for the late J. Earle Clauson, whose writings were published for a long period in the Provi- dence Evening Bulletin, and more recently in the splendid volume of Rhode Island folklore and history "These Plantations," to seek out the highlights of the Sam Patch tale. From Mr. Clauson's account and from some original sources here is the story of Sam.
Sam Patch was born in Pawtucket, in 1807. For some years he lived with his mother on Main Street in a dwelling that was long known as the Jones Schoolhouse because of the fact that a family by the name of Jones once conducted a private school there. The original part of the house was said to have been built by Col. Eleazar Jenks and to have passed from the hands of the Jenks family to the Wilkinsons.
Sam's boyhood was during the period of cotton mill growth and expansion in Pawtucket when most of the young men of the village started in early to learn some trade in the textile industry. Evi- dently, Sam went to work in a mill as a young man because his first bid to fame came while he was a youthful mule- spinner. The sports and pastimes of the boys who worked in the first mills were few; hours were long; the work con- fining and laborious. Such fun as could be snatched during the day and the short evening was their chief occupation. In the summer, swimming in the river at the noon hour, or after working hours, was a great source of amusement. Some of the more venturesome, both men and boys, were in the habit of jumping from the rocks or the bridge into the deep waters below the falls, and this became a popular pastime, since spectators came to look on and cheer. It was the same old story - daring, vanity and the intoxication of applause. Higher and higher jumps were made; louder and louder became the cheers and handclaps; greater and greater the crowds. The boldest and most daring jumper was Sam Patch, who finally amazed the villagers by a thrilling leap from the peak of the old, so-called "Yel-
low Mill" on the east bank of the river at the falls. That was the turning point in his career, although the story book described this feat as just one higher step in a long series of jumps that began in the Patch kitchen when baby Sam instinc- tively leaped to the floor rather than sub- mit to a prosaic bath in the family wash- tub. Natural ability as a swimmer and diver, plus good luck in the record jump from the "Yellow Mill," very likely explains why Sam Patch suddenly decided to seek some more attractive and easier way of making a living than by working at a loom from daylight to dark, as was the custom of the times. One day, they say, he left Pawtucket saying very brief farewells - as a matter of fact, he rarely had much to say.
His next appearance seems to have been at Passaic, New Jersey. It was the Fall of 1827 and a great span, Chasm Bridge, was being constructed across the Passaic River. Sam Patch, with or with- out any practice leaps since his Pawtucket spellbinder, somehow made it public that on the day when the final span was dropped into place, he would dive from the rail into the pool below the falls, ninety feet down. A great throng gath- ered on the day set, as many to see the Pawtucket dare-devil as to see the new bridge. Of course, the police were on hand to prevent his advertised plunge and Sam was unable to make his way to the promised jumping-off place. How- ever, he soon appeared on a nearby precipice, where he delivered a short speech, setting forth that the bridge engineer had performed a great feat, but that he would show the people another. With no show of fear he plunged to the swirling waters, far below, bobbed to the surface, and struck out for the shore. Later he succeeded in jumping from the bridge itself, keeping his promise and gaining national notoriety as a fearless hero.
As a result of the publicity which fol- lowed the Passaic stunt, Sam started touring the country, going from town to town wherever the jumping was good. Crowds flocked to see his amazing per- formances. Having no means of charging admission, he hired helpers to pass the hat.
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The cash response was satisfactory most everywhere he appeared for a leap; a dime or a quarter was never too much to see Sam Patch take a flying lunge from a towering bridge or a slender top-mast. In the course of his travels he acquired a fox and a small bear. Sometimes he would take the bear with him on a jump, although the bear never seemed to like the idea of accompanying his master.
By October 1829, having been jumping for two years, during which time he had acquired an almost fabulous fame, Sam was ready for the leap of leaps, the ulti- mate in daring, the masterpiece, Niagara Falls. After looking at the cataract he decided to postpone its complete conquest for some other time; this may have been caution or just good showmanship. How- ever, he contented himself on this occa- sion with jumping into the river from a shelving rock on Goat Island, about half the height of the falls. His headquarters by now had been established at Rochester, New York, where he promptly announced that he would leap from a scaffold on the brink of the Genesee River Falls. The jump he proposed was about 175 feet, nearly the height of the First Baptist Meeting House steeple. As usual Sam took great care in his preparations and that probably explains why he survived as long as he did. He made soundings of
the pool below the Genesee Falls, con- structed his platform and made a practice jump. It was a thriller, and successful. On Friday, November 13, 1829, he pre- pared for his formal demonstration. Crowds flocked from all parts of western New York State. Excursions were run from Oswego, from Canada, from far and near.
At last the long-awaited moment arrived - Sam made a brief speech - a hush fell over the vast throng grouped above, below, anywhere a vantage point could be found. He poised; he jumped. In midair Sam's body turned, striking the water on his side. He disappeared in a great splash, and did not come up. On March 27, 1830, the broken body was found in a cake of ice. His mother went from Pawtucket to view the remains, and some sympathetic people provided her with transportation home. Sam Patch was buried at Charlotte, New York.
Some people have a queer way of earn- ing money, perhaps fame, or both. Sam said little, was a born showman, and rests in the hall of American daredevil fame as a pioneer among those who have risked life and limb to appease the appetites of those who like that sort of thing. It was three quarters of a century before America had another jumping hero. Then, Steve Brodie leaped from the Brooklyn Bridge.
THOMAS WILSON DORR
W HEN a man has been dead for over three quarters of a century and dis- interested persons, who have no direct knowledge of either the man himself or of his times, can appraise him coolly and esti- mate the true value and purport of his life, he will either be dismissed briefly as an unimportant individual or he will be rec- ognized at last as having been a man of prophetic vision, a great personality which lived in advance of its time. There was too much emotion surrounding the life and times of Thomas Wilson Dorr for him to have been judged impartially by his con- temporaries. He is an especially fine ex-
ample of a man who must lie for many decades in his grave while waiting to be exonerated and honored as he deserves.
What a confused affair the constitution issue in Rhode Island was ! A few men on either side saw the facts clearly. But it is doubtful whether the bulk of adherents to either party understood the fundamental purposes and beliefs of their leaders. In addition, too many individuals were try- ing to reconcile cross purposes and conflict- ing opinions within their own minds to make their actions anything else but muddled. The result was much as might have been expected. The people's party
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of 1841 and 1842 was upon too insecure a footing, being an infant organization, to allow for any vacillation among its mem- bers. And it was its wavering which lost its righteous cause and brought bitter humiliation upon its uncompromising leader. There was a great deal of the same vacillation inherent among the supporters of the freehold government, but in that instance it did not matter as much. The long reign and the simple fact that, after all, it was the existing government gave it the necessary ounces of power which carried it through the crisis. If Dorr's fol- lowers could have seen his cause as we see it now, calmly and without excitement, they would have stood by him to a man, and their issue would have been easily realized.
Thomas Wilson Dorr was born in Provi- dence, November 3, 1805. He was a son of Sullivan Dorr, a prominent manufacturer, and Lydia (Allen) Dorr. He could trace his ancestry back to Joseph Dorr, a Mas- sachusetts Bay settler of 1660. His grand- father, Ebenezer Dorr, had been captured with Paul Revere upon the latter's famous ride. Thomas Dorr went to Phillips' Exe- ter Academy and thence to Harvard, grad- uating from the latter institution in 1823 and carrying off second honors in his class. After that he went to New York and studied law under Kent and McCoun, both recognized as great equity judges and jurists. He made considerable of a reputation for himself as a profound stu- dent of law, and was shortly admitted to the bar in New York. Kent, himself, rec- ognized Dorr's abilities and valued his convictions highly, and in later editions of his noted "Commentaries" incorporated various suggestions and changes which his young disciple had made.
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