Ellen C. Moss Squire (1846-1932)

One of the few female balloonists of the mid- to late-nineteenth century, she is relatively little-remembered today, unfairly it would seem. Only a few books over the past decade have mentioned her, and have gotten some details wrong:

Kotar, S.L. and J. E. Gessler. Ballooning: A History, 1782–1900. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Co., 2011.
Beld, Gordon G. The Early Days of Aviation in Grand Rapids. Charleston, SC: History Press, 2012.
Muir, Elizabeth Gillan. Canadian Women in the Sky: 100 Years of Flight. Toronto, Canada: Dundurn, 2015.

The three above books deserve credit for referencing her, but all refer to the balloonist Ira Thurston as having adopted her or having been her uncle. He’d died on August 16, 1858 following a balloon ascension that went wrong. When Ellen C. Moss made her first balloon ascension in Troy on September 1, 1858 at age twelve (though in 1871 she claimed she’d first done so at eight), she was reported as being from Lansingburgh. The 1850 and 1860 US censuses likewise recorded her living in Lansingburgh, with her parents Edwin and Angeline Moss. “Nellie Thurston” appears to have just a stage name, chosen perhaps to honor the late balloonist or to add a thrilling sense of danger for spectators, recalling the man’s demise.

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CABLE DEMONSTRATION.
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TROY DOES HONOR TO THE OCCASION.
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A GALA DAY.
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GRAND BALLOON ASCENSION.
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ILLUMINATION AND MILITARY, FIREMEN AND CIVIC DISPLAY.
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FIRE FINALE.
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The 1st of September, 1858—the first grand international holiday—has passed, and Troy, in common with the other cities of the world, has done honor to the occasion. […]
THE BALLOON ASCENSION.
Mr. John La Mountain was advertised to make an ascension with his balloon from Washington Square, in front of the Mansion House, at 2 1/2 o’clock. […]
The inflation of the balloon “Pride of America” was begun yesterday morning about 9 o’clock—the efficient manager of the gas company’s works, Mr. S. S. Dauchy, having had a four inch main opened for the purpose, and placing on a full head from the gas-house. […]
At twenty minutes past two, Mr. La Mountain took his seat in the car, accompanied by Mr. Elisha Waters, of this city, and Miss Ellen Moss, a miss of 13 [actually just 12], from Lansingburgh, his cousin. About three minutes before the appointed time,—half-past two—the rope was cut off, and the air ship, with its passengers, rose to the height of some five hundred feet almost perpendicularly, and then ailed off beautifully and gracefully to the South east—Mr. La Mountain standing upon the rim of the car, waving a flag, Mr. Waters busily engaged in distributing his business handbills, and the young lady, seated, waving a flag, evidently as composed as the hero of the occasion himself. […]
The point at which the party descendent was Lanesboro’ Mass, about forty-one miles from this city. Thence, Mr. Waters proceeded to Pittsfield, where he took the cars for Albany, and walked home from that point, reaching the city about one o’clock this morning.
—In all respects, the ascension was a complete triumph. The aeronaut deserves and receives the cordial approbation of all our citizens.
Troy Weekly Times. September 4, 1858: 2 cols 3-4.

☞ RETURN OF MR. LA MOUNTAIN AND HIS COMPANION—A LONG VOYAGE.—Mr. La Mountain, the balloonist, and his companion, Miss Ellen Moss, reached this city this morning, on their return from their aerial expedition. It appears that after leaving Mr. Waters at Lanesboro they again struck the South-east current, with which they traveled smoothly and pleasantly until a few minutes past six o’clock, when they made their descent in the town of Conway, Mass., some 73 miles from this city, and 28 miles North of Springfield, on the direct route for Boston. Their landing was made so gently as not to jar them in the least. Mr. La Mountain is so fatigued and worn out that he does not feel competent to give a description of his highly interesting voyage to-day.
Troy Daily Times. September 3, 1858: 4 col 4.

BALLOON ASCENSION AT POTSDAM.—the celebrated aeronaut, JOHN LA MOUNTAIN, will make his last ascension for this season at Potsdam, on Thursday, Oct. 15th. He will be accompanied by Miss Ellen Moss, who is the heroine of eight previous ascensions.
St. Lawrence Republican and Ogdensburgh Weekly Journal. October 23, 1860: 2 col 7.

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By 1865 her career as a balloonist had taken her up and away from home – stepdaughter Ada La Mountain was living with Edwin and Angeline Moss in Lansingburgh on the 1865 NYS Census (enumerated June 21st, bolstering Edwin Moss’ below claim), while Ellen was elsewhere.

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A FAMILY DIFFICULTY.—Very Many of our citizens will remember the somewhat celebrated balloonist John La Mountain, of Lansingburgh. From the notices published below, it would appear that John and his wife are not a harmonious couple. Read:
NOTICE.—My wife Ella, having stealthily left my bed and board, without just cause or provocation, all persons are forbid trusting or harboring her on my account, as I will not be responsible for any debts or liabilities contracted by her. Lansingburgh, July 3, 1865. JOHN LA MOUNTAIN.
NOTICE NO. 2.—This is to certify that I do know that Mrs. La Mountain has not left La Mountain’s bed and board. He never has provided one for her, and has not even paid his own board. I have kept him and family most of the time for the last six years—from one to nine in the family—and received the sum of about two hundred dollars. He had better pay his own debts, and not trouble himself about hers. Dated Troy, July 5, 1865. EDWIN MOSS.
Albany Morning Express. July 10, 1865: 3 col 1.

DIVORCE.—Mrs. John La Mountain was granted a divorce from her husband, on the ground of adultery, by a special term of the Supreme Court, on the 19th inst. Mr. La Mountain, it is understood, is in Indiana.
Albany Morning Express. October 2, 1866: 1 col 4.

BALLOONING IN POUGHKEEPSIE.
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The observance of the anniversary of our National Independence in Poughkeepsie, was of a most brilliant character, but the grand event of the day was the balloon race, a description of which we copy below from the Eagle of that city:
At five p. m., it was announced that the aerial ships were ready for their flight, when Prof. H. D. Squire, proprietor of the two balloons, appeared upon the scene with Miss Nellie Thurston, of Troy, he to take passage in the Atlantic, and she in the balloon not yet named. All eyes were centered upon the lady, who is small in stature, prepossessing in appearance, and who was attired in a light suit, jaunty jockey, and wore blue kids, dressed as though for an afternoon’s promenade.
While strong arms were getting the basket attached to her balloon ready, we engaged in conversation with Miss Thurston, as follows:
Rep.—How many ascensions have you made, Miss Thurston?
Miss T.—This will be my 22d.
Rep.—The wind is blowing pretty hard.
Miss T.—Well, rather, but it will do no harm.
Rep.—How far do you intend to go?
Miss T.—I do not wish to go over fifteen miles, so as to get back to-night.
Rep.—Those sand bags are pretty heavy for you to handle.
Miss T.—I don’t mind them; it’s the pulling of the valve that takes all my strength. I have to wind the rope about my waist and throw my whole weight upon the cord to open the valve.
Rep.—I hope you will have no trouble with it when you wish to descend.
Miss T.—Oh, never fear; I’ll manage it.
Here the fair aeronaut was informed that all was in readiness, and she at once stepped into the basket. At a given signal both balloonists left earth amid wild cheering and ascended to the realms above. […]
MISS THURSTON’S STORY.
Miss Thurston reached this city by railroad at 7 o’clock Wednesday morning. We called upon her at the Poughkeepsie Hotel when she related to us the story of her trip. She said:
“After I started I thought I would not ascend very high at first, as I wished to have a good view of your beautiful city. I floated along leisurely till I was satisfied, when I concluded to leave for the clouds, and commenced to throw out ballast.”
Mr. Squires, (interrupting.) “Well, but what made you throw out so much sand?”
Miss Thurston.—”Why, I saw you going for the clouds and I didn’t want you to get ahead of me; I didn’t want you to beat me. As soon as my balloon was relieved of so much ballast my flight upwards was very rapid; I should think at the rate of forty miles an hour. I went through three distinct rows of clouds, and then emerged into glorious sunlight. Above me was the clear blue sky, while below rested huge billows of white silvery linings, (every cloud you know, has a silvery lining) presenting a splendid, dazzling aspect. Then I commenced to feel chilly, and my fingers became partially benumbed. My head seemed as large as a drum, and it seemed as though my ears were stuffed with cotton. The thought occurred to me to try my voice. I am positive I hallooed as loud as I could, yet I heard nothing. Commencing, also, to grow dizzy, and a feeling of drowsiness covering over me, I resolved to go no higher. The sight below at this junction was grand beyond description. The clouds, with their silver tops, looked like huge pillars of marble, and it seemed as though I could step out of my balloon on to one, and there sit and gaze upon the enchanting scene. Winding the valve rope around my body, I threw my weight upon it, pulling the valve open, and came down rapidly, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr. Squires.—Not seeing him after getting below the clouds I went up again, and was once more disappointed. I made another descent and could not find him. Then gave it up and looked about for a landing place. Soon after I saw him coming down and then felt satisfied. I alighted in a lot between Staatsburgh and Rhinebeck, on the east shore. Seeing the clearing I made all preparations for striking it. My balloon bounded along before the high wind, striking the ground three times, and going up again as many, until finally, as in Mr. Squires case, it struck against a stone wall, the basket on one side and the balloon on the other. For fifteen minutes I worked hard to anchor safely, and after being tossed about considerably and receiving several slight bruises and scratches, I got a good hold and was safe. Just then a dog came along and I thought a man must be close by, and I was not disappointed as a Celtic head peered over the side of the basket in which I was curled up, and exclaimed, ‘Are ye there, me darlint?’ The exclamation came out so pat that I could not help laughing loudly. Giving my friend instructions not to let the gas go off too soon, he said, ‘An’ are yes goin’ up in that blunderbuss agin?’ I replied that I might be compelled to, when he said, ‘then be the powers, yees are a biger fool nor I thought yees wur.—Now come out uv that.’ Saving my balloon beyond any doubt, I alighted, and was escorted to Mr. DeGroff’s house and then driven to Staatsburgh, where I arrived too late for the train and remained all night. It was a beautiful trip throughout.”
This closed her graphic history of the voyage, when we bade Miss Thurston adieu.
To Mr. H. D. Squires, great credit is due for the magnificent balloon entertainment. He has proven himself to be a first class aerial voyager in every respect. He managed both ascensions, and in him Miss Thurston places the most implicit confidence. Both of them have now become great favorites here, and we hope to see them again.
The Malone Palladium. July 27, 1871: 1 cols 5-6.

More about the “Atlantic.”
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MISS THURSTON’S ACCOUNT!
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The Regions of Sunshine, and the abode of Panthers.
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Graphic and Interesting Pictures!
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“ALL AROUND THE LITTLE STARS, UP AMONG THE MOON.”
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A Thirty Feet Fall and a Narrow Escape!
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As promised in our issue of Saturday, we give below Miss Thurston’s interesting description of her recent balloon voyage to the “Osceola Wilderness.” Our readers will find it well worthy of their perusal, not only on account of the interesting manner in which it is written, but as a narrative of the personal experience of a brave young lady, in a daring adventure, in which she stands alone among her sex in the country. We are glad to learn of her rapid recovery from the injuries received from her fall; and she appears anxious not to lose any of the five ascensions she has yet to make. They are as follows: From Sandy Creek on Thursday, Poughkeepsie on Saturday and afterwards at Potsdam, Kingston, Ulster county, and Oneida.
We trust she will cling to her resolution to select a “safe spot to alight” She will take up with her hereafter more clothing, more rope, and the good wishes of the many who have already become interested in her bravery and ability to “paddler her own balloon.”
Prof. Squire will make an ascension from Malone during the Franklin County Fair.
MRS. THURSTON’S ACCOUNT.
“Though I have not yet decided to class myself as a professional, yet, by special request, I write a few of the incidents connected with my late aerial voyage from Watertown. Considering my past quiet life with my parents at home, it is but natural that one of my sex should shrink from publicity, yet my love for a balloon voyage has an overpowering influence, and it almost seems that my highest ambition is attained when I am gaily riding upon the “wings of the wind.” My first visit to cloudland was made when I was eight years of age; since then I have journeyed to the upper regions twenty-four times. The charm of a balloon ride for me will never diminish, nor my desire to gaze still once more upon scenery far more beautiful than the mind can conceive or the pen portray. Having been acquainted with Prof. Squire from my childhood, I have marked his undisputed skill in constructing a balloon, as well as in managing one. These facts give me implicit confidence of safety and although I claim to be and am the only lady in America who has ever attempted to explore the upper deep unattended, I am assured that while journeying in a balloon that has been constructed under his careful supervision, I am as safe as if I were sitting in a parlor with my friends. And I must acknowledge that my unpleasant position in that dense wilderness was the result of my own carelessness.
At half past four p. m., Mr. Squire assured me that my air ship was ready for its trip to the etherial regions. I stepped into the car, and when he had adjusted the ballast and severed the last cord which held me to earth, I started on my journey heavenward. The first bound of the liberated monster caused a stillness in the crowd below. I could discern many a pallid face watching the seemingly frail cords which held my car suspended beneath my favorite steed that, with wild haste, was so defiantly ploughing its way towards the etherial blue. I rose upward, still upward, till I reached just the right altitude to appreciate those lines of [Thomas] Campbell, “That distance lends enchantment to the view.”—The earth seemed moving like a grand panorama beneath me. At a certain height the landscape appears like a gigantic picture painted by a master hand. The hillsides were clothed with an emerald mantle; the leaves on the trees glistened in the sunlight; the steams of water appeared like threads of silver winding in and out among the meadows, and finally losing themselves in the shadows of the woodlands. The crowd beneath me presented the appearance of an army of Lilliputians. To the west lay Lake Ontario—its limpid waters gaily reflecting the sunbeams.
I passed directly over the beautiful city of Watertown, whose numerous spires seemed like tiny fingers pointing out to the world my upward flight. The houses reminded me of edifices I was in the habit of erecting when a child, with the assistance of blocks. The whole picture was a consistent one—a miniature world inhabited by a miniature people. I noticed a train of cars crawling along beneath me—so minute were they that I could hardly realize that they were not toys. I lightened my balloon by throwing overboard a small quantity of sand, and continued my upward course—everything beneath me became more and more indistinct; the hills subsided into the valleys, and ALL appeared like one great plain. Then every vestige of earth gradually disappeared as I entered the bank of apparently impenetrable mist, after which I emerged through a feathery archway into a dazzling waste of sunlight, more glorious than my readers could ever imagine. I was now solitary and alone, at least three miles above the earth. I had reached an elevation where it was intensely cold, and the ringing sensation in my ears was decidedly unpleasant. The scene at this point was as sublime as it was terrific. I could but recall those familiar lines,
“I am monarch of all I survey,”
and gaze upon my vast estate. Far beneath me floated numerous clouds, like a billowy ocean of molted silver, while above me still remained the blue dome of heaven in all its cloudless splendor. So enchanted was I with the ever changing scene as I sailed away through the trackless fields of air, I wondered if I should be content to return to that busy hum-drum life; that beautiful, yet tantalizing, world, where the joys seem so small and the griefs so large; where disappointments crowd so fast upon each other, and the realization of anticipated pleasures is so slow in coming.
While lost in contemplation of scenery, the grandeur and majesty of which thrilled my whole soul, I suddenly remembered that miles away a multitude were anxiously awaiting my return. Reluctantly I opened the valve, and allowed a portion of the bouyant element to escape. I descended gently towards the misty vapor, and discovered it had undergone a transformation as sudden as it was marvelous. The clouds, as if touched by the wand of an enchantress now appeared like snow-capped mountains, whose lofty pinnacles were sparkling in the sunlight. So dense were they that I almost unconsciously reached forth my hand to grasp them and found they were only an “ignus fatuus” which continually eluded me.
After passing through the last strata of clouds which separated me from earth, I found myself passing over a small village.—This, I afterwards learned, was Redfield Square, Oswego county. I held out my flag—it floated above me, and I knew that I was still descending. I could hear voices calling to me, dogs were barking, poultry cackling, and cattle scampering in every direction, as if they were fearful of swift and sure destruction from the aerial steed which seemed about to alight in their midst.
After a reconsideration I concluded that I was not very far from Watertown, and made up my mind not to alight. Overboard went more ballast, and my noble “Atlantic” was soon above the clouds again. In about twenty minutes I came down to find a good landing place, and much to my surprise I found that I was passing directly over what seemed to be an interminable forest; the sun was fast sinking in the west, night was approaching, and as far as the eye could reach nothing to be seen but one unbroken wilderness.—The balloon was losing ascending power slowly but surely; it descended till within a short distance of the tree tops, when I threw out sand, keeping myself afloat just above them; I now had no thoughts to give the scenery—my meditations were not at all of a pleasant nature, with the prospect of spending the night, and possibly more than one, with the fabled panthers and bears of the North Woods, without food or fire. I was trying to consider what was to be done in this dilemma, when, to my great relief, I saw a small clearing some ways ahead of me, and was in hopes of reaching it. But a counter current drifted me back into the woods. By this time the gas had become so condensed that the balloon commenced to settle, and descended into the forest, landing in the top of a tall birch. One side of the net became entangled in the topmost branch, holding the basket in an oblique position, obliging me to rest upon its edge. I climbed upon the hoop above the car, and tried to shake the netting loose. It was held so firmly I could not. I consoled myself by thinking that I was doubtless safer suspended fifty feet in the air, than I would be in the depths of a forest, and I calmly resigned myself to my fate. Taking the empty sand bags for a pillow, my shawl and the canvass for blankets, I made myself as comfortable as possible. I was just falling asleep when I thought that I heard some one hallooing. I answered the call, thinking if any one had come into the woods in search of me, they would at least hear my voice. I continued to shout until I became hoarse, but heard nothing more that resembled the voice of a human being—an owl in a tree a few feet from the one which I occupied, commenced an unearthly hooting. I then concluded that I had been mistaken about hearing voices, whose vocabulary I could comprehend. I decided at once to spend no more time conversing with my large eyed neighbor, and went to sleep, but was awakened a number of times during the night by the cold. Once the wind blew quite briskly against the “Atlantic”, rocking the basket to and fro, making it difficult for me to retain my position, and I thought regretfully of my cozy room at the Woodruff House. At half past four in the morning, I untied one of the ropes from the hoop—tied the canvass which I had in the car to it and attached my shawl to the canvass. The ladder thus formed I let over the edge of the basket, which reached the bushes upon the ground, as I supposed, but which were in reality only the tops of smaller trees than the one from which I was suspended, and were twenty feet from the ground. I never tried going down a slack rope before, but under the circumstances this was the only recourse left me. I got out of the basket and slid down down the canvass, but I lost my hold before I reached the bottom of it and fell thirty or forty feet to the ground. I was so stunned and injured from the fall, that I was not able to get up for nearly an hour. As soon as I could, I started to try and find my way to the small clearing I had noticed the night previous. It was a work of time, as I was obliged so often to sit down and rest. I was compelled to ford a number of streams, clamber over logs, trudge through swamps and force my way between hazel-witches. After a long tramp of the above description, I thought I heard a cow bell. I think I never heard a more melodious sound. I seated myself upon a log, wishing to be certain that it was a bell, and also to make sure of the direction from which the sound proceeded. I soon became satisfied that I was right, and I think it was the happiest moment of my entire life. I followed the sound of the bell and in the course of half an hour found myself in the clearing, completely exhausted. A small boy was chopping in the edge of the woods, who went with me to his father’s house, where I was warmly welcomed in a most friendly manner. The news rapidly spread about the settlement that a balloon had landed in the woods.
In a short time a party of men started in search of the “Atlantic,” which they found where I left it, and three miles in one of the most desolate forests upon this globe. That’s my opinion at least. They succeeded in getting it out in the afternoon. One of the settlers, Mr. Samuel Griffith, consented to bring the balloon and myself to Richland station, twenty-five miles distant and the nearest railroad point. We were soon upon our way, and reached there in time for the evening train, which I took, arriving in Watertown at 9 p. m.
I am fast recovering from my injuries and fatigue, and do not feel inclined to forego the pleasure of another balloon ride from Sandy Creek on Thursday next. But I am quite sure that I shall endeavor to select a more desirable landing than the one which I have just described.
I shall never forget the many special acts of kindness which have been bestowed upon me during my sojourn in Watertown, and to those who have shown me so many favors, I would extend my heartfelt thanks.
NELLIE THURSTON.’
Watertown Times. September 11, 1871: 5 col 2.

The preparations for the Potsdam Fair are about completed. The fair takes place on the 19th, 20th and 21st. Miss Nellie Thurston makes a balloon ascension on Tuesday, 19th, at four o’clock P. M.
“County Items.” St. Lawrence Republican and Ogdensburgh Weekly Journal. September 19, 1871: 2 col 7.

Val. “Balloons and Airships.” Comox Air Force Museum. September 4, 2016. https://comoxairforcemuseum.ca/balloons-and-airships/ (Features an image of a six by three color poster for Nellie Thurston’s Almonte, Ontario, August 29, 1879 balloon ascension.)

CARTHAGE people dropped politics and talked Nellie Thurston the past few days. […]

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EXTRA copies of the REPUBLICAN containing Nellie Thurston’s account of her journey from Carthage in her balloon “Lorne,” and her thrilling experiences after landing, may be had at this office.
“Local Matters.” Carthage Republican and Northern New Yorker. September 9, 1879: 3 cols 1, 2.

A NIGHT IN THE WOODS.
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Miss Nellie Thurston Loses her Balloon.
Her Description of the Voyage.
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EDITOR REPUBLICAN:
Having received several telegrams for the particulars of my balloon trip from Carthage on Friday last, and learning of the universal anxiety of my friends and the general public, I will accede to your request and give to the readers of the REPUBLICAN a description of my voyage, together with some of the many unexpected and unpleasant incidents connected therewith. My narrative must be somewhat general, for want of specific knowledge of the country over which I passed.
A balloon being my pet from childhood, it was with a light heart I stepped into the basket at five P. M. preparatory to an etherial journal which I have so often taken with enthusiastic delight. The balloon seemed to give me a smile of recognition and assurance, but for once like the smile of a “summer friend” it proved evanescent in the time of need. Everything being in readiness. Prof. Squire severed the last tie that bound me to earth, and my balloon “Lorne” bore me rapidly into the unknown depths of the etherial blue. Soon the earth unfolded itself to my view like an immense and variegated map, the predominating color being green in all its shades and tints. The best efforts of pen or pencil could not do justice to the beautiful panorama of nature presented to my view; all attempts at word description would prove insufficient, and I must leave to the imagination of my readers something too wondrously beautiful for pen to portray. I soon discovered that I was drifting rapidly into the great North Woods, the lower current being directly towards them, but noticing that the clouds were moving in a more southerly course, I threw out ballast to reach them as soon as possible, in hopes they would carry me in a clear country; but they also were moving too far east and carried me deeper and deeper into the great wilderness. After reaching the clouds I was soon enveloped in them; they were very dense and appeared to be almost a solid mass of snow and frost, which collected rapidly upon myself and balloon; still rising, they soon shut the earth from my view. The cold, white masses beneath me had precisely the same appearance that a mountainous snow-covered country presents as you look down upon it from a loftier height. If any of my readers have crossed the Sympion Pass or stood upon one of the high summits of the Sierra Nevadas and looked down upon the perpetual snow beneath and around them, they will easily understand the picture I would here present. Three miles high; far above the clouds; the situation seems hazardous and terrific; but on ordinary occasions it is delightful, for there I can feast my eyes upon beauties which no mortal will ever perfectly transfer to canvas,—the realization of the artist’s wildest dream. having witnessed this etherial loveliness so often, I gave it but a passing glance, the impending dangers before me occupying my thoughts.
I was already far into the wilderness, but I threw out more ballast to see if by going still higher I could not find a current more to the south, but alas! there was none. Looking down between the clouds I observed a small clearing and opening the valve, began to descend, but as soon as breached the lower current it took me very rapidly away from the clearing and farther into the forest, into which I could see for forty miles without a clearing or habitation; only woods, lakes and mountains meeting my anxious gaze. Knowing that I must land in the woods I concluded that the sooner I came down the better, feeling certain that it would be impossible for me to find my way out if I went much father. I allowed the balloon to descend into the trees; which I am told was about 20 miles southeast from Lowville, 35 miles from Carthage. The basket caught on a limb about 70 feet high; I let out a portion of the gas, leaving enough still in the balloon to keep it above the trees so as to prevent it from tearing, in hopes of sending some one to rescue it when I found my way to civilization. I then threw over the anchor and went down the rope 70 feet; I next endeavored to fasten the anchor but as the balloon pulled so hard I was unable to make it secure; I used all of my strength, cutting both of my hands badly. A gust of wind struck the balloon and with the seeming power of a locomotive hurled me to the ground, the anchor catching in my clothing, tearing through with lightning force; I barely escaped its entering my side and neck. Getting up from the ground I sae the balloon high in the air. It was then my heart sank within me; my balloon gone—my clothing torn to shreds—my hands badly lacerated and covered with blood—my body bruised—and I in a wet, cold, uninhabited wilderness,—I knew not where. With the balloon went a large canvas, the most useful article I had for a bed. I had some matches but no food. I tried to kindle a fire, but everything being so wet I failed to accomplish it. It was now nearly dark, and I commenced to look around for the most promising place to spend the night; I selected one near the root of a large tree, gathering some wet leaves for a bed and using the root of the tree for a pillow; I wrapped my shawl around me, putting my waterproof over all and lay down. I need not attempt to make any comparison between my pleasant rooms at the Levis House and these “airy apartments.”
About midnight I heard a pattering noise on the leaves, and looking around saw, to my horror, a large black bear standing about fifteen or twenty feet from me. This was the only incident that gave me a genuine fright,—being unacquainted with their habits, I did not know but he would decide to make a meal of me. I got up and his brainship walked leisurely away; I then changed my bed to get out of the moonlight, where bears, panthers and the like would not be apt to notice me; I got under some low bushes where I staid the remainder of the night. At five in the morning I started to try and find my way out of this terrible region. I knew I must take a westerly course, and from the light in the east I had no trouble in deciding on the right direction, and I went on and one, over hills and rocks, through swamps and streams, and at ten o’clock I came to what I thought to be a path, and I followed it some ways when it came to and end. I then started westward again through the woods, and in about an hour came upon a poor road which I followed five miles, and to my intense delight, came to a small clearing in which was a small log cabin. I was fearful it might not be inhabited, but I soon saw a woman in the door, to whom I related my troubles. She was very kind to me—washed the dried blood from my hands, put bandages upon them, dried my clothing, prepared me food, and with a poor old horse, started with me for Lowville. After a few hours drive the poor animal nearly gave out. Another carrage overtook us, in which I got permission to ride to Lowville, where I arrived at five P. M. and hastened to notify my friends of my safety. I shall not soon forget my ballon trip from Carthage, nor the kind-hearted woman I found in the little log house.
NELLIE THURSTON.
Carthage Republican and Northern New Yorker. September 9, 1879: 3 col 5.

—Emeston and Burlington subscribers or others that want extra copies of the GAZETTE of September 9th,
—Containing illustrations and incidents in the balloon life of Nellie Thurston,
—Should leave their names with C. W. Hopkins, so that we may know how large an edition to print.
“Home Matters.” New Berlin Gazette. August 19, 1882: 3 col 1.

THE BALLOON.
Floating on its aerial voyage,
Like a speck high in the air,
Million faces upward turning
To behold the wonder there.

Who could dream of man’s invention
Traveling through the realms of space?
Who could dream Miss Nellie Thurston
Should attain so high a place?

Higher than the highest mountains,
Higher than the clouds that float,
Magnanimous in its structure,
Sailing like a tiny boat.
Knox, Emmeline L. Gems from the Field of Thought, or a Glimpse Into Mute Life. Utica, NY: T. J. Griffiths, 1891. 117. (Three of the five stanzas above only.)

FOUND A LOST BALLOON.
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The Finder, Who Lived in the Woods and Didn’t Read the Papers, Lost $100.
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Copenhagen News:
Henry Bannon and Frank W. Moore, of this place, while on a hunting trip in the Adirondacks recently, saw the anchor that caught in the tree tops and landed the balloon that Nellie Thurston sailed in several years ago.
Many will doubtless remember the balloon ascension made by Nellie Thurston some 15 years ago, either from Carthage or Lowville, at which time the anchor caught in the tree tops and landed her in the dense wilderness nine miles from any habitation. Not knowing where she was, it being near night, she abandoned her air ship and became nearly exhausted wandering about before finding any signs of civilization.
A reward of $100 was afterward offered for the balloon and a number of parties searched for it without avail. Frank W. More and Henry Bannon, while on their hunting expedition, had occasion to stop over night with a man named Julian Gibeau, at Botsford and discovering an anchor hanging in his house, inquired what use he made of such an article up there in the woods. Mr. Gibeau explained that he found it in the woods about 11 years ago on the high ground between Independence and Otter creeks, together with a large quantity of cloth rope and a basket large enough to hold 23 bushels of potatoes. The basket, he said; he had no use for and as it was too much trouble to get it out left it where he found it, but the rope, cloth and anchor he brought home.
Mr. Gibeau said the name of Nellie Thurston was painted on the cloth. He did not know the value of his find at the time and year after year wore away until it was forgotten. Messrs More and Bannon endeavored to get possession of the anchor, but Gibeau refused to part with it under any circumstances, except to the rightful owner.
Watertown Daily Times. October 16, 1897: 7.

Famed of Yore, She Died in Little Town
Prospect, N. Y.—(U.P.)—Echoes of 60-year-old newspaper headlines were awakened here by the death of Nellie Thurston Squire, “the most daring woman balloonist of all time.”
Mrs. Squire’s real name was Nellie Moss. She was born in Troy, N. Y., on May 13, 1846.
Her balloon ascensions were numbered in the hundreds and her name was prominent on front pages for many years.
A scrapbook was left by Mrs. Squire containing clippings and pictures from scores of leading newspapers featuring her stunts. Among them was an illustrated story of her descent and overnight sojourn in the Canadian wilderness.
Milwaukee Journal [WI]. January 28, 1932: 35 col 5.

Morris, Hobie. “Central New York’s First Aerial Heroine: Balloonist Nellie Thurston Squire.” Madison County Courier. May 21, 2012. https://madisoncountycourier.com/?p=46417

Seccaspina, Linda. “Nellie Thurston –Balloonist Maiden Voyage in McFarlane Grove.” August 2, 2017. https://lindaseccaspina.wordpress.com/tag/nellie-thurston/

Nellie C. Moss Squire
Gravesville Cemetery
Gravesville, Herkimer County, New York, USA
https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/68972436/nellie-c.-squire