When
the early French explorers found their way to
the upper lakes it was not long before they
discovered that the door or passage leading
from Lake Michigan to Green Bay at the extremity
of the Door County Peninsula was an extremely
dangerous passage.
They
therefore called it Porte des Morts-the Door
of Death. Here strong currents and fierce winds
were often suddenly encountered which capsized
their crafts or drove them irresistibly on to
the rockbound shores. Here, according to tradition,
La Salle's Griffin, the first sail vessel to
ply the great lakes, was wrecked about 1680
and here
since then hundreds of proud vessels have met
their doom.
One
week in September, 1872, no less than eight
large vessels were stranded or
wrecked in "the Door." In the summer
of 1871 almost a hundred vessels
suffered shipwreck here.
Just
as turbulent as these straits are in summer
just as treacherous are they in winter. The
ice forms late and disappears early. At no time
is it absolutely safe. Owing to strong currents
brought on by shifting winds the ice quickly
breaks up. Where the ice maybe several feet
thick in the morning the waves may wash in the
evening.
Many
stories could be told of terrible adventures
in crossing this treacherous bridge of ice.
Many a man and horse have here had a desperate
battle with death while plunging through the
smashing ice, and more than one man has seen
his last hope of life perish as clinging to
a cake of ice he has been driven out into Lake
Michigan where soon his frail raft would break
up.
One
of the most remarkable of these terrible adventures
was that of Robert Noble on New Year's Day in
1864. In the matter of endurance-almost superhuman-it
is unique among all the narratives of those
who lived to tell the tale.
On
December 30, 1863, Robert Noble
left Detroit Harbor after haying spent the Christmas
holidays visiting with friends. He was a splendid
young fellow physically, was twenty-five years
old, weighed 220 pounds and stood six feet in
his stockings. He had an old scow and for a
while had but little difficulty in making his
way among the broken ice floes outside of the
harbor.
Abreast
of Plum Island, however, he struck a large field
of thick ice through which it was impossible
to force a passage. With some difficulty he
finally made a landing on Plum Island, hoping
that the wind might clear a passage for
him to the mainland. It was now getting dark,
it began to snow and
the weather which had been mild was getting
very cold.
Groping
about in the darkness he finally came to an
abandoned fishing hut which had neither roof
nor doors and windows. Here he made a fire but
had difficulty in making it burn owing to the
falling snow. By morning it went out altogether.
Ice
was now forming all around the island and seeing
he would have to remain there for some time
he thoroughly explored the island. He found
that the only other building was a ruined lighthouse
of which only the chimney and the cellar remained.
Here was a sort of a fireplace and here he managed
after much trouble to light a fire, but not
before his very last match had been
used.
This
fire he heaped up with the fuel he he could
find, becoming quite hopeful as its warmth began
to be felt. Suddenly, however, his hopes were
blasted. The chimney was full of snow. When
this began to melt there was a rush and a tumble
and his fire was buried under an avalanche of
snow. This was a most depressing blow as it
was now getting dark again and the weather was
getting bitterly cold.
He
had a revolver with him and made a number of
attempts to start a fire by putting strips of
lining from
his overcoat over the muzzle, hoping that the
explosion would cause the cloth to catch fire.
But this was all in vain. Yet he managed to
hold out in the little cellar all that night
without food, sleep or heat.
Through
the interminably long hours of that bitter night
he paced about in his little prison, keeping
from utterly freezing by all kinds of exercise,
moving stones and logs about and otherwise exerting
himself. Finally the gray dawn of January 1,
1864, appeared.
January
1, 1864! Old settlers have not yet after a lapse
of fifty years forgotten the intense cold of
that day. It is remembered as the coldest day
in the history of Door County. Tales are told
of water freezing alongside of burning stoves;
of the impossibility of keeping warm in snug
beds; of cattle freezing to death in their stalls.
Robert
Noble did not know anything about this. He only
knew that it was indescribably cold, that he
was starving and that he had gone for two nights
without sleep. He realized that his only hope
of life was to leave that deserted island at
once. The wind had now broken up the ice which
was bobbing about in a slushy formation.
He
launched his boat and for a quarter of a mile
managed to force his way toward Washington Island.
Then the ice became firm and he could make no
further progress with the boat.
As
the ice was not very thick he tore out the seats
in the scow and by help of some ropes fastened
them to his feet in the shape of rude snowshoes.
He hoped by this to distribute his weight on
the fragile ice. For a few steps this worked
all right when suddenly the ice broke and he
was plunged into the icy water.
Fortunately
he had a long pole with him which saved him
from going under. He tried to kick the boards
off his feet but could not. Hanging to the pole
by one arm he managed to secure his pocket knife
and reaching down cut the ropes that held the
boards to his feet. Finally he managed to get
out of the water and back to the boat.
He
was now extremely cold, his wet clothing was
frozen to his body and his arms and legs were
thickly encased in an armor of ice. Yet such
was his splendid vitality that by stamping and
tramping about in the scow he once more got
circulation through his limbs.
As
soon as this was obtained he again took two
boards out of the scow and lying down on these,
so as to distribute his weight over as large
surface of the ice as possible, he attempted
to pull himself toward the shore of Detroit
Island about 1 1/2 miles
away. He had not gone far, however, before the
ice again broke and he went down head first.
By the time he could turn over in the water
the current had carried him under the ice.
Then
followed a terrible struggle under water hampered
as he was with his heavy garments which were
frozen stiff. In his youth he had accustomed
himself to diving and remaining under water
a long time. This now saved his life. After
an interminable struggle against the current
and the ice he finally regained the surface
through the hole he had fallen into.
He
now gave up the attempt of gliding over the
treacherous ice by means of boards or otherwise.
Instead of that he stayed in the freezing water,
using his ice-encased arms and hands as sledgehammers
to smash the thin ice and open a passage. Through
this he glided like an animated iceberg, half
swimming, half crawling by help of his elbows.
When he came to a floe of heavy ice he pulled
himself on top.
For
hours this incredible struggle against the merciless
elements continued. Time and time again he believed
himself lost but again and again he conquered,
smashing, plunging, rolling and swimming with
the temperature 40 degrees
below zero.
This
went on till late in the afternoon when he reached
the shore of Detroit Island. Here he encountered
a high barrier of ice made by the freezing spray
of the waves. Loaded down as he was with several
hundred pounds of ice he was not able to pull
himself across this barrier. Finally he found
a tunnel in the barrier, such as is sometimes
formed by the dashing spray, and wormed his
way through this.
By
this time his feet and hands were frozen stiff
and senseless but yet he was able to keep on
his feel. He crossed the ice of Detroit Harbor
without further accidents and came about dark
to the house of one of the fishermen. He was
met at the door bythe owner who stared amazed
at this bulky apparition of ice in the shape
of a man.
To
him Noble quickly explained what had happened
and begged him to provide a tub of water in
which he could put his feet and two pails for
his hands. This was done, his boots, trouser
legs and sleeves were cut away, and his limbs
were submerged in cold water. Immediately upon
this the poor sufferer who had had no food or
sleep for three days and two nights, fell asleep.
Unfortunately
for him a meddler just then appeared upon the
scene. A neighbor came in who
upon hearing the story said cold water would
not take the frost out: kerosene was necessary.
This was done and the poor man's feet were soaked
in kerosene. However the kerosene was bitterly
cold, far below the freezing point of water,
and, instead of taking out the frost it effectually
prevented the frost from leaving the affected
parts. When Noble awoke his limbs had turned
black.
Then
followed bitter months of suffering for poor
Noble. There was no physician on the island-the
nearest was at Green Bay, 100 miles
away. Nor was there any means of getting him
there. There was not a horse or an ox on the
island, and nearly all the able bodied men were
off to the southern battlefields.
Bert
Ranney, the Washington Harbor storekeeper, ever
ready to help a sufferer, took him over to his
house and here he received as good care as the
island could give. Here for month after month
Robert Noble sat, as helpless as a child, enduring
fierce agonies of pain in dreary idleness. One
by one his foul smelling fingers dropped off
and little by little the putrid flesh
of his legs peeled off.
After
a while only the white, lifeless bones of his
feet were left while his system with never ceasing
pain and agony adapted itself to the changing
conditions.
Finally
in June, 1864, an opportunity
presented itself to send Noble away. There was
at that time no local physician at Sturgeon
Bay but a Doctor Farr from Kenosha was temporarily
there while negotiating the purchase of Graham's
saw-mill. This Doctor Farr was willing to do
the operation but lacked the necessary instruments.
He
obtained some from Green Bay, but the only saw
to be obtained was an ordinary butcher's saw.
With this rough tool Robert Noble's legs were
amputated below the knees.
The
operation was successful and soon Robert Noble
once more felt fit for work. By the help of
friends he obtained artificial limbs and soon
he was back in the harness drilling wells.
In
spite of his lack of fingers he developed a
marvelous dexterity in handling the tools of
his trade and he was never one to ask for favors
because of his physical deformities. Later on
he for many years operated the ferry between
Sturgeon Bag and Sawyer.
Such tremendous
energy, such indefatigable endurance, such fortitude
in suffering should be rewarded with a public
monument and a pension.
Unfortunately the keen competition of later
years has driven this sturdy old pioneer to
the wall and his reward now is a berth in a
poorhouse.
