The water walker: Delta residents were witness to one of the most amazing aquatic feats in American history.

At Greenville on Sunday afternoon, January 27, 1907, the expected happened. Professor Charles W. Oldrieve, the "water walker," rounded a rain-swollen bend of the Mississippi River and came into view about 3:30 p.m. Within seconds after he was spotted, steamboat whistles tooted and church bells pealed as thousands of anxious men, women, and children clambered to the levee tops. The Greenville Democrat newspaper reported that all the levees bordering the city's western edge had been thronged with eager sightseers since well before noon.

The air erupted with shrieks of "There he is!," shattering the wintry silence surrounding the "Queen City of the Delta." The total number of witnesses was estimated to be about 5,000. Toddlers were held high by their mothers as older citizens, many on tiptoes, strained their eyes northward. It was an unforgettable sight--a man walking down the middle of the Mississippi River.

At 4:10 p.m., the crowd became even more jubilant when the 38-year-old redheaded adventurer, "after walking both forward and backward in full view of the public," entered a skiff rowed by his wife, Caroline. After covering a distance of 100 yards or so, he then boarded a gasoline-powered launch, which served as his sleeping and eating quarters. Once on board, he quickly disappeared from view, and apparently only the crowd's repeated cries of "Water walker! Water walker!" persuaded him to reappear--this time on the vessel's upper deck. Once again, the audience, now consisting of practically everyone in the city, showed their approval of the visitor's achievement with shouts of joy and applause.

Before the cheers had time to fade away, Oldrieve was greeted on his launch by Greenville mayor Louis Waldauer, who officially welcomed him to the city. Waldauer learned that the hero, who had caught the eye of all America via daily newspaper reports of his progress, was a member of the grand order of Elks. Waldauer, who was a B.P.O.E (Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks) member himself, made the fatigued walker an offer of hospitality that he found no way to refuse. The boat was soon docked at the end of Main Street, where the professor and his wife were met by a representative body of Elks who then escorted them to their handsome accommodations at the newly furnished club.

Oldrieve, a native of Boston, was smaller than the average man at 5 feet 4 inches tall and 129 pounds, but he was exceptionally strong. He possessed a great deal of stamina and a keen sense of balance. In his youth, he worked for a circus as a high-wire walker. He liked to tinker with things, he had an affinity for boats and water, and he loved the outdoors.

When he was a boy, Oldrieve developed a fondness for floats with a particular interest in pontoons, especially those based on the bateau design, a flat bottom with raked or slanted sides. After experimenting with the idea of supporting himself using two of these small pontoons, he decided to design his own. Using Spanish cedar for strength, he fabricated a frame 4 feet, 5 inches in length by 6 inches across and 7 inches deep. Over this shoe-like structure, he stretched canvas, which he then painted with asbestos to make it watertight. He designed an opening in the top center of each shoe where, after donning a pair of heavy rubber waist-high waders, he would securely place his foot. Each shoe, which he called a "moccasin," weighed about 10 pounds.

While still in his teens, Oldrieve made a name for himself by walking down the Hudson River from New York's state capital, Albany, to New York City. Every year after that, he supplemented his income by "performing" before audiences large and small throughout New England. On a memorable evening at a well-known Boston men's club, he was approached by one of the city's wealthiest "sporting" men, Alfred Woods, who made a public bet that Oldrieve could not walk from Cincinnati to New Orleans on the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, a distance of 1,553 miles, within 40 days. Woods backed up his challenge with $5,000, the equivalent of $100,000 today. It didn't take the fiery redhead long to find a backer, as Capt. J.W. Weatherington, a photographer who was visiting from Dallas, Texas, put up his own $5,000.

A gasoline-powered, double-deck riverboat named "The Rover" was supplied by Oldrieve, together with a pilot and an engineer. Weatherington went along to encourage Oldrieve--and to keep an eye on his investment. And Woods sent his friend Edward Williams to make sure Oldrieve kept to the bargain. The rules were simple. Oldrieve was to walk the entire distance within 40 days of the starting date, which he himself could set. At night, they were to dock or tie up the launch and begin the next day at the same spot. Oldrieve could only take time off if he became sick (which he did in Memphis, causing him to lose a day).

At noon on New Year's Day 1907, the determined professor left Cincinnati. Mrs. Oldrieve, who never doubted her husband's ability, nevertheless insisted for safety's sake that she accompany him every step of the way. Caroline Trott Oldrieve was a tall, dark-complected Canadian from Nova Scotia. She also was the champion oarswoman of North America. In the words of a Greenville Democrat reporter, "She rows continually in a skiff in front of her husband while he is walking, protecting him from dangers which might at any moment cause his instant death."

Danger did indeed seem to lurk around every bend. On the Ohio at Vevay, Indiana, while walking in a bitter cold rain, Oldrieve was almost overturned by a strong wind. Later at Louisville, Kentucky, the swift waters of the flooded river carried him and his party over the falls and through a perilous flight of rapids. Just how he was able to maintain his balance he couldn't remember. At Columbus, Kentucky, the water near the chalk banks, air area pocketed with whirlpools, "pulled at him hard." And at Hickman, Kentucky, he almost drowned when the wake from the steamboat "Georgia Lee" all but pulled him under.

Oldrieve's confidence was strengthened after having reached Greenville, for he knew he had two-thirds of the trip behind him. At 10 a.m. on January 28, he thanked the mayor and others for "a most enjoyable time," laced on his "moccasins," and left as 2,000 well-wishers watched him walk down the river until he was completely out of sight.

On January 31, The Vicksburg Post reported, "Capt. Charles W. Oldrieve, the 'water walker,' and his wife left Vicksburg this morning en route to New Orleans, leaving at 11 o'clock. 'I am about twelve hours ahead of time,' said Capt. Oldrieve this morning, 'and I think I will gain time, for the current is helping me considerably. I now often go as much as five miles per hour.'" However, the Post also reported that the trip was beginning to tell on Oldrieve; he admitted that "one shoe will not hold my weight, and every wave and eddy means a wrack and a wrench." He also confided that he had lost almost 20 pounds. He apologized for not stopping at the Hill City with this explanation: "I did not walk up the canal at Vicksburg because it would have required too great an exertion, and I need all my reserve energy to carry me safely to the end of my trip." The people of Vicksburg may have been disappointed, but they didn't show it as large crowds lined the bluffs on South Washington Street.

Nine days later, the spunky Bostonian was nearing his goal, the Canal Street wharf in the heart of New Orleans, when seemingly out of nowhere a large barge sped past, forcing him to frantically fight for his life in an effort to maintain balance. Just before he was about to be swept under and drowned, some men from another barge managed to reach him in time to pull him to safety. Apparently, the river's current this far south was considerably faster than what Oldrieve had been accustomed to, for he later said that during the final 22 miles of the journey he no longer felt in control but instead had the frightening feeling of being at the river's mercy.

Finally, at 10:44 a.m. on February 10, 1907, with an hour and 16 minutes to spare, Charles W. Oldrieve--who now was being hailed as the "world's champion water walker"--reached his goal and won the $S,000 prize. There were thousands on hand to meet him, there was much cheering and photo taking, and the New Orleans Times-Democrat was more than generous with its ink as reporters told and retold Oldrieve's amazing story. Perhaps some of his experiences were enhanced a little, and perhaps they weren't. But it is clear that Oldrieve's feat was far more of an ordeal than it was anything that might be considered fun. As far as I know, no one has ever tried to beat or even duplicate this staggering tour de force. One New Orleans reporter probably captured the exhausted professor's true feelings about his accomplishment best when he quoted Oldrieve as saying, "I wouldn't do that again for twice the amount."

Postscript: The topography of today's Greenville has changed quite a lot from that of the city professor Oldrieve saw in 1907. This fact is highlighted in the book Mississippi: A Guide to the Magnolia State (1936). "Block after block fell into the river in 1927 when for 70 days the town was under water. After this time, levees were built higher and wider under government direction; in 1935, the river was banished to a new course several miles westward and Lake Katherine was created at Greenville's western boundary. In 1937, its name was changed to Lake Ferguson."