Richmond Press, Inc.                          Richmond, VA                          1938

Ye Olde Swimming Hole

There were several very fine swimming holes of the olden time in the river-James River-below the Ninth Street Bridge and just behind Haxall-Crenshaw Mills (where the power house now stands).

These were used by the boys of the ancient generation.  The father of the writer (according to the relation of many old swimmers) was the leader and by far the greatest of all the swimmers of his time.  Others were: Ben Kellam, Hugh Fry, Willie Lawson, August Arsell, Green Peyton and their comrades.

In those falls was situated the most delightful hole imaginable.  It was called Big Hell.  There was also Little Hell, along with Heaven Stream, Shinbone Alley and the Suck.  Flanking these and towering above them were several beautiful diving rocks, viz: High Rock, the Big Tarpeian and the Little Tarpeian.  The big Tarpeian was a dangerous dive; one had to run upward to the point of departure along a sort of hog-back, which had great square knots of felspar sticking up, and then dive far outward and at a certain place, in order to clear the sunken rock and strike the deep waters of Heaven Stream.  The father of the writer was the only boy who ever attempted, or made that dive, with the exception of Green Peyton.  The latter attempted it once, made it; but came up with a deep scratch from brisket to groin, where he had scraped the sunken rock and just missed being ripped open.  His mother made him promise never to attempt it again.  The writer saw his father make this dive when he was fifty years old; and there were also present Pat Moore, David and Runt Walker, Bennie and Eddie Valentine, Gray Wattson and others.

Ben Kellam made a rescue in those falls that gave him a reputation for courage.  There had come a sudden rise in the river and the boys who were swimming had to make a dash for the shore.  All but two got to land safely; but those two were hanging to small willow trees, and it was but a question of time when the rising flood would carry them away.  Ben Kellam volunteered to go to their rescue.  A rope was tied around his waist and he swam across, brought first one boy back, and then the other.  The rope made a deep, livid dent in his side.  For this gallant feat he was rewarded by an appointment to Annapolis, from which he graduated into the Navy and at last retired with the rank of captain.

Hugh Fry, a very enterprising swimmer, went on an exploring expedition one day and discovered the Lake, which led to the discovery of other lovely swimming holes in the immediate vicinity, to-wit: Rainbow, Soda Water, the stream called Tiger, and another stream that was named after him-Hugh Fry.  He led the boys to these new delightful scenes and they became immensely popular.  Even in the time of the writer, they were the favorite swimming places of the boys who lived in the middle part of town.  At the foot of Ninth Street, on Johnson's Island, lived Dick Leary, the Charon during the eighties and nineties, who for a small fee transported the boys across in his boat.

The writer has swum in all those places; but it was after he was full grown (or almost so).  He remembers several of those who went with him in those days: Jamie Gordon, Harrison Burwell (died years ago at El Paso, and for whom we have never ceased to grieve), George Pegram, George May, Llewellyn McVeigh, Leigh Burton, George Burton, Bob Richardson, Merwin and John Branch (Junk, we called him), Richey Walden, Dick Cullen, Eddie Cone, Hunter Preston, Ennion Wlliams and many others.

Oh, those beautiful afternoons!  Those glorious evenings!  Boys plunging, fish leaping, summer ducks, little green herons, water snakes disputing our reign, resenting our intrusion!  Such happiness will exist never again on this earth!