Sunday was a picture postcard day and atop his perch on the Jane Woodburn. Henry was again focussing his mind for today’s crossings. News of yesterday’s successful walks had quickly spread throughout Sydney and today the ferries were, if anything, packed with even more spectators than yesterday. The crowds of premium ticket holders were now cramped into the space on each of the ship’s deck and the flotilla of non-paying ‘dead heads’ in every type of watercraft imaginable had blossomed.
He looked down into the crystal clear blue harbour water allowing his gaze to follow the anchor ropes as they plunged into the depths. He was surprised to see some extra spectators; several large sharks swimming slowing around the ships. ‘I’ll not be wanting to meet you my friends,’ the thought and shuddered at the thought of being torn apart by the savage jaws should he fall. To the south, the sky has a slightly dark, almost misty look to it, quite at odds with the clear sunny weather around him.
Smythe was at his station again and after settling his mind, Henry set off at a slightly brisker pace than yesterday, aiming to spend more time in the middle, as this had been the place where the crowd had most enjoyed his performance. Once again he performed his curtsy and one-legged balances to the cheers and applause of the crowd and made his way steadily to the Loch Maree. Once again he took a few minutes to regain his composure.
‘You’ll not be wanting to delay too long sir,’ commented the assisting sailor. ‘That’s a bit O’ wind moving in quickly.’
Henry looked in the direction the sailor indicated but couldn’t see any sign of wind, but trusted the old salt’s instinct. ‘How long do you think?’
'You should ave’ plenty of time sir, but you never can tell with these things.’
Henry acknowledged his understanding and following a few minutes calming of mind, set off back towards the Jane Woodburn.
Step, step, step and he paused to repeat his one leg balance on each leg in turn, and stopped to wave to all the crowd on the ships and the surrounding flotilla. Step, step, step and he is two-thirds the distance to his destination.
Without forewarning, a sharp gusting wind rushed in from the south. Fingers of air clutched at the ends of the balance pole and try to swing it around and push his centre of gravity away from the rope. Instantly he went into a low crouch to bring his centre of gravity nearer the rope. His feet wobbled under him as he struggled to maintain control and to reverse the momentum of the now obliquely angled balance pole thus reducing its value in helping him balance.
Slowly he managed to bring the pole around against the force of the wind. His shirt cuffs flap wildly and the sound of the rushing air whistled in his ears as his hat was blown from his head and sailed away on the wind. As he managed to gain control and stand upright to recommence his walk, the rope suddenly loses its tension. Below he made out Tom shouting angrily at the crew manning the anchor winches.
*
‘Hurry damn you!’ roared Tom as he looked skyward to see the frantic attempts his friend was making to regain some semblance of balance. ‘Hurry, every second counts, get that tension back onto those ropes!’
The crew frantically turned the winches with several feet of rope being wound onto the capstan in a matter of seconds. Captain Saunders rushed to Tom’s side.
‘This gusting wind must have caused some of the anchors to drag,’ Saunders exclaimed. ‘Put your backs into it you laggards,’ he boomed at the crew. Still rope was drawn from the water with no hint of tension. ‘Belay winching both capstans!’ Saunders shouted.
‘What are you doing captain?’ asked Tom in amazement.
Seconds pass. ‘Commence winching!’' cried the captain before turning to Tom. ‘The anchors needed a moment to resettle on the bottom, sometimes a fast retrieve can lift them off the bottom,’ he explained.
Gazing upward Tom saw the efforts at re-tensioning the walking rope have proven too little, too late for his friend.
*
Henry was too busy to listen to the running commentary. Every muscle in his body was involved in bringing his balance back into equilibrium. The once taut rope had taken on the characteristics of partly cooked spaghetti. He knew he could not remain upright on a rope like this and for the first time in public, he took the necessary extreme actions to save his life.
Quickly lowering his head he thrust the balance pole away then tumbled in a forward roll with a slight twist and fixing his eyes on the rope, reached out. The strap that helped take the weight of the balance pole slipped easily over his head and the pole dropped, one end briefly bouncing off the rope before it performed several slow somersaults before splashing into the water below. As he continued to tumble he grabbed the rope. Clutching desperately he felt the corded texture and gripped tightly as his legs completed the arc and he dangled by just his hands, one hundred feet above the water. Looking down he saw the balance pole settling in the water and a shark move from the side of the ship to investigate.
He was breathing as heavily as if he had just sprinted one hundred yards. Slowly he steadied his breathing and contemplated his next move.
*
The screams of some of the crowd snatched Tom’s attention back to Henry. In the fraction of a second it took him to turn and relocate Henry as he swung to a stop, a slew of thoughts of his friend’s doom rushed through his mind only to be replaced by hope as he saw his friend firmly gripping the rope. Breathing a sigh of relief he involuntarily flinched as the balance pole splashed into the water near him.
‘The anchors have gripped,’ announced Saunders. ‘We are getting tension back into that top rope.’
Tom pushed his way through the crowd at the stern and called up, ‘Henry! Are you alright?’
‘Yes, what happened?’
‘The anchors dragged, but we are regaining tension now,’ Tom called back.
‘I am going to make my way back to you,’ shouted Henry. ‘Arrange a bosun's chair to help me down as I’ll not have strength to climb down by the time I get back to the mast.’
Henry laboriously moved hand over hand back towards the ship. Soon his fingers cramped and he was force to rest by reaching his arms over the rope and nestled it under his armpits. After a minute’s rest he continued. Steadily the distance decreased and he was soon within feet of the mast.
The crowd on the ship and the ferries shouted encouragement as he inched his way along the rope. Finally he was within reach and Smythe’s strong hands grasp him under the arms and lifted him on to the spar. All round the crowds cheered and applauded. Several other crewmen had scaled the rigging and manhandled Henry into the bosuns chair.
‘You gave us quite a scare,’ uttered Smythe. ‘I thought you wus’ a dead man for sure.’
‘I felt pretty much that way myself,’ grinned Henry as he settled into the bosuns chair. ‘It is not something I want to repeat in a hurry.’
‘Lower away,’ called Smythe, and Henry was quickly lowered to the wooden deck where enthusiastic hands reached out to welcome him to safety.
Tom forced his way through the crowd and gave Henry a strong embrace. ‘Thank God you're safe,’ enthused Tom. ‘Let's get you to the captain's cabin and get a brandy into you.’
They had to force their way through the crowd. Henry endured numerous back slaps and supportive comments on along the way that Henry acknowledged with smiles and ‘thank you’s’.
Entering the cabin, Henry slumped into a chair and started to shake as the adrenaline started to dissipate. Moments later the captain entered the cabin with a flustered face and looked at Henry with great concern.
‘You will be wanting a stiff drink after that episode,’ he announced as he strode across the cabin, opened a cabinet and withdrew three glasses and a decanter of brandy. ‘That wind caused to the anchor to drag and we were unable to maintain tension on your walking rope. But you’re safe now and that’s all that matters,’ he said as he poured the drinks handedone to each of them.
‘Well the crowd certainly got its money's worth’ sighed Henry. ‘If you don't mind Captain, I will rest up here until the crowds have gone back to shore.’
‘Of course Henry, that is no problem at all. Just take your time, have another brandy if you wish.’
‘I’ll go and address the crowd,’ said Tom. 'They will be wondering what was going to happen now.'
Climbing onto a high part of the deck Tom called the crowd’s attention.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I wish to inform you that the Australian Blodin is safe and largely unharmed by his adventure. However, due to the nature of his own rescue from high above the water, and uncertainties as to our capability to maintain proper tension on his walking rope, he will not be reattempting this walk.’
The crowd applauded as Tom made his way to the side of the ship to descend to the whaling boat to row and repeat the announcements to the ferries, the crowd on the Loch Maree and to recover the balance pole.
While Tom was dealing with the crowds, Henry and Captain Saunders enjoyed another brandy.
‘I would like to thank you again captain for your participation and hospitality. I trust you are satisfied with the outcome?’
‘Aye I am satisfied and this event has put a good few pounds in the kitty in addition to providing somewhat of a novel diversion from our regular activities,’ responded Saunders.
Later, Henry visited the captain of the Loch Maree and received a similar assurance.
*
Next day Sydney was abuzz with talk of Henry’s miraculous escape, with the Sydney newspapers relaying the event.
DAREDEVIL CHEATS DEATH
Local identity, Mr H. Giles, also known as the ‘Australian Blondin’ escaped almost certain death yesterday while attempting his second performance of walking a tightrope between the masts of two ships anchored in the harbour.
Yesterday he had convincingly usurped fellow tightrope walker James Elson who had recently claimed he was the country’s eminent tight ropewalker following his walking a rope extended between to city buildings.
Those on board the ship watching Giles’ walk say a strong wind sprung up, causing the walking rope to suddenly slacken.
This created the situation where the daredevil was unable to maintain balance resulting in his taking drastic action in order to preserve himself.
Witnesses say that as the daredevil tumbled from the rope he managed to cast aside his balance pole while immediately seizing his walking rope firmly with both hands with the skill of a gymnast.
Horrified spectators watched as he made his way back to safety pausing several times to ease the strain on his hands. The incident happened during his return journey to complete his scheduled display of walking a rope between two ships.
A successful world's first walk was completed yesterday. Mr. Giles has been a common sight in recent months with his tight rope walking performance at the Domain. Mr. Giles could not be reached for comment.
*
‘It won’t be long till Elson devises a new walk,’ commented Henry as they enjoyed a refreshing ale at the Crown and Anchor hotel. They sat at a high table beside an open window as the sounds of passing traffic mingled with dust and the smell of horse droppings. ‘He won’t want me to have upstaged him so soon.’
‘Well we’ll soon find out,’ replied Tom as he saw Elson walking up the street. ‘Here he comes now.’
‘Ah, Giles, how are you old chap, still alive I see,’ blustered Elson has he addressed the men through the window.
‘Yes, just a small mishap but all’s well with my height and distance record,’ cooed Henry. ‘No doubt you are looking for taller safe buildings to walk between….oh that’s right, there are none in Australia,’ voiced Henry with a smile on his face as he turned back to his beer.
‘Well at least I did not embarrass myself by almost falling to my death.’
‘All part of the drama and great publicity,’ retorted Henry without looking around. ‘Good day to you sir.’
Tom smiled as Elson stalked away up the street. ‘Well, I think I would call that a draw,’ he chuckled.
‘Yes, but we need to find a bigger walk as I feel Elson won’t be happy with the way things are at the moment.’