The Perilous Climb of St. Peter's Lantern
A daredevil’s afternoon of ‘roof climbing’ in 1876 Seattle turns into a life-or-death struggle when a simple stunt leaves him dangling a hundred feet above the pavement.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
It was during one of my excursions that the event occurred which I will relate, and which thoroughly cured me for several months of my desire for roof climbing. I must first inform you that around the outside of the cathedral, just where the roof terminated, ran a smooth projecting ledge about a foot wide. Under this, on the tower, just above the entrance gate, was a huge stone projection which formerly supported a colossal figure of St. Peter, holding a great iron lantern. The statue had long ago disappeared, and half of the lantern was broken off, so that what was left had the appearance of an armchair without legs. Standing on the stone eaves one day, I thought it would be an amusement of an original kind to swing myself down and enjoy myself in the fantastic armchair. I turned around, knelt down, seized the eaves with a muscular grip, and the next instant was dangling in mid-air over the abyss. I found I was not directly over the chair; it was two feet further from the wall than I had thought. I pressed one foot against the wall and sprang safely into my resting place. Here I sat a long time, smoking and drumming my heels on the wall, enjoying the magnificent prospect. When I thought of returning, however, I found that the iron sides of the lantern were smooth, and I could get no hold. The more I considered my situation, the less it pleased me. At this critical moment, I was rejoiced by the appearance of the sexton on the eaves. He had noted me and come to seek me. ‘Silbermann,’ I cried, ‘I am in a peculiar dilemma. You must help me.’ The sexton crouched down, but as I seized his wrists and he tried to pull me up, his face went pale with terror. He wailed that he could hold on no longer. I told him if he let go, I would perish; if not, we both might. With a final, terrible exertion of strength, he pulled me up, and I fell onto the eaves, while the sexton collapsed into a swoon.
“It was a world where I had often been in my dreams; I regarded this airy region as my special province, where I reigned in solitary majesty over my subjects, consisting of doves and swallows.”
While this account reads like a classic piece of adventure journalism, it highlights the 'gymnastic mania' of the late 19th century. Today’s urban exploration (urbex) community shares this same dangerous thrill-seeking, proving that regardless of the era, the temptation to conquer the heights of the city remains a powerful, if perilous, human urge.
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