Paul now commenced plans for his channel trip. He visited Boulogne,
Calais, Folkestone and Dover and decided on taking a course from
Folkestone to Boulogne. M. L'Onguety, the President of the Boulogne
Humane Society, offered to give him the best French pilot on the
channel and his lugger to steer him across. The steamer Rambler was
also engaged to accommodate the press representatives and invited
guests. The most intense interest prevailed not only in Europe, but in
America. Letters and telegrams came pouring in on Paul to reserve
space for the special correspondents of the most noted newspapers in
the world. Mr. McGarahan, the brilliant and lamented correspondent of
the New York Herald, who was one of the party on the Rambler, wrote
the following account of this memorable trip.
"The start was to be made at 3 o'clock on the morning of April 10th,
1875, from Dover, that hour being set on account of the tide favoring.
In order to be up in time, the newspaper correspondents and friends who
were to accompany the intrepid voyager on the tug, did not go to bed
at all, the hours intervening being spent in the parlors of the Lord
Werden hotel. The morning was cold and raw and when the sound of a
bugle apprised the crowd that the time for starting had arrived, there
was a hustling for warm wraps. At the quay from which the start was
to be made, a great number of people had gathered regardless of the
unseasonable hour and the chill air. There was a most horrible din and
confusion, caused by the shouting and rush of the people, the whiz of
rockets, the puffing of steamboats and the hoarse sound of speaking
trumpets, all amid the glare of Bengal lights and burning pitch. The
firing of the tug's gun announced the start. A black figure, like a huge
porpoise, could be seen in the cold, grey water and then disappear in
the darkness. Those on the tug thought they would lose him; but at
length his horn was heard far out on the water and the tug
immediately headed in that direction in order to take the lead and show
him the way. Pursuing slowly forward he was kept within hail, as the
lights of Dover gradually grew dim in the distance and the lighthouse on
the Goodwin Sands shone clear and bright like the star of morning."
"The pilot was one sent over from Boulogne by the French Societe
Humaine, said to be the best on the French coast. The course agreed upon
was as follows: Take the tide running northeast from Dover at three in
the morning, which would carry them seven or eight miles in that
direction somewhere off Goodwin Sands. Here the tide turns about six
'clock and runs southeast down the channel. They would follow this tide
to a point considerably below Boulogne, where the current sweeps again
to the east and flows into Boulogne harbor, which they hoped to reach
about three in the afternoon, making a distance of sixty miles."
"At five o'clock in the morning, when daylight came, everything was
going well and the exact course indicated by the pilot had been
followed, except that the start been about twenty minutes late. Boyton
now paddled alongside and called for his sail, which he adjusted to his
foot by means of an iron socket without getting out of the water, lit a
cigar and struck out again. The little sail instantly filled and
commenced pulling him along in fine style, making a very appreciable
difference in his rate of speed. At six o'clock they were off Goodwin
Sands, a little short of the point that it had been planned to reach.
The tide now commenced turning and they were soon running down the
channel under a very favorable breeze; but a nasty sea and thickening
weather. Nearly in the middle of the channel, there is a sand bank
called the Ridge or, by the French, the Colbart, which splits the
current in two, throwing one along the French coast and the other along
the English. It was, of course, the intention of Boyton and the pilot
to get into the French current; but either because the swimmer did not
get far enough to the east, with the tide running out or what seems
more probable, because the pilot, owing to the thick weather, which hid
both the French and English coast, missed his reckoning, they were
swept down the English side of the Ridge and all chance of reaching the
French coast before night was lost. Paul resolutely attacked this
ridge, hoping to get over it and reach the French current in time. It
proved to be a terrible struggle. The sea here was foaming and
tumbling about in a fearful way for the voyager. It was not a regular
roll or swell, but short, quick, chopping waves, tumbling about in all
directions, that whirled him round and round, rolled him over and over,
rendered his puny sail utterly useless and blinded him with foam and
spray. It was a strangely fascinating spectacle to watch him in his hand
to hand struggle with the ocean. The waves seemed to become living
things animated by a terrible hatred for the strange being battling
with them. Sometimes they seemed to withdraw for a moment, as if by
concert and then rush down on him from all sides, roaring like wild
beasts. For two hours the struggle continued, during which time he
did not make more than a mile; but at last he came off victorious and
reached the current running along the French coast, where the sea,
although nasty, was not so unfavorable. But it was now one o'clock and
instead of being several miles south of Boulogne, as he had hoped,
he was almost opposite and the current had already turned again to the
north, thus carrying him far past the place. He determined, however, to
push on and endeavor to land at Cape Grisnez, about ten miles north of
Boulogne. He did not seem tired although he had eaten scarcely anything
since taking to the water. The weather grew rainy, foggy, cold and
miserable. Boyton worked steadily forward; but the pilot began to grow
anxious. It was evident that he would not make the French coast before
dark, and he expressed his determination to push on all night if
necessary. The wind and sea were both rising, promising a bad night. It
would be impossible to follow him in the darkness and fog. He would
inevitably be lost and if he should miss Cape Grisnez, he would be
carried up into the North Sea. At length, towards six o'clock, the pilot
declared that he would not be responsible for the safety of the ship, so
near the coast in the darkness and fog. The Captain was, of course,
unwilling to risk his ship, and it was decided that the attempt would
have to be given up. Paul and his brother, who was on the tug, both
protested against this resolution in the most energetic manner. The
former maintained his ability to finish his undertaking, declaring
that he was not in the least fatigued, and to prove it swam rapidly
around the ship. It was agreed that he had thoroughly demonstrated
his ability to cross the channel and that it would be folly to risk the
ship, the life of everybody on board, as well as himself by cruising
along the coast all night in the fog and darkness. He at last agreed to
go aboard and give it up maintaining, however, his ability to stay in
the water all night. It was just half past six o'clock when he set foot
on the deck of the tug, after having been a little more than fifteen
hours in the water."
Paul felt keenly the disappointment at the failure of his first attempt
to cross the channel, notwithstanding the telegrams of congratulation
from the Queen, Prince of Wales and many high personages on both sides
of the Atlantic. He firmly resolved to attempt it again. He was young
then, only twenty-seven years of age and did not know what fatigue or
fear was. When he returned to London, he received many offers to exhibit
himself in his dress. He at last closed with a well known Manager for
the sum of fifty guineas per day, about $250. At this time he did
little more than paddle around in the water, fire off a few rockets and
his exhibition would not last more than, perhaps half an hour. He has
often laughed heartily since, to think of the miserable apologies for a
exhibition that he then gave, when compared with the magnificent show
that himself and company of water experts give at the present day.
Notwithstanding his lack of knowledge of the show business, he always
succeeded in pleasing the public, who gathered in enormous crowds
wherever he was announced. His managers reaped a rich harvest through
his work. Their share for three days' exhibition in Birmingham alone,
amounted to over six hundred pounds, $3000.
Invitations showered in on him from every quarter for dinners, banquets,
receptions and society gatherings of every description. Hundreds of
these he was compelled to decline, on account of press of business.
Notwithstanding all this flattering attention and flood of prosperity,
he never lost his head or changed in either action or speech. He looked
upon it as a matter of course and felt just the same as he did when
diving with Captain Balbo, or bush-whacking under Colonel Sawyer.
Towards the end of May he had his arrangements completed for his second
attempt to cross the channel. This time he determined to reverse the
course. Instead of starting from England, he decided to leave from
Cape Grisnez, France, and land on any part of the English coast he
could. A couple of days before the attempt, he went to Boulogne. It was
arranged that he should leave at three o'clock in the morning, when
the steamer containing the English correspondents would arrive.
John Laty, a well known London newspaper man wrote the following account
of his second attempt:
"As we draw near Cape Grisnez light, aboard the Earnest, Capt. Edward
Dane, preparations are made by Mr. M. Boyton for proceeding ashore to
assist in his brother's departure. A boat is lowered from the davits. It
is soon manned, your artist slipping down the rope with the agility of a
sailor. He is the last straw. The boat is pulled off. The Earnest steams
slowly on, for three o'clock is close at hand and that is the hour
fixed for Captain Boyton's start from the Cran aux Anguilles, El Chine,
about two hundred yards to the east of the Grisnez light.
"Three A.M.--A rocket rushes up from the boat sent ashore. It is the
signal of Captain Boyton's departure. It is answered by a display of
fire-works from the Earnest. A gun is fired and Grisnez light flickers
and goes out. Day is breaking; but Captain Boyton is not discernable
yet. Over the gray waters one sees through a good glass, the white
fringe of surf breaking on the sandy beach, which is lined by a black
mass of people behind whom is burning a large bonfire. A speck is at
length made out to the right of the boat, 'three points off,' as the
white haired old salt on board remarks. The sky gets lighter, the sea
deep blue. We can now plainly see the dauntless Captain paddling
actively away toward us, riding buoyantly over the swelling waves, and
making good progress in his gray suit of india-rubber. His brother comes
on board soon, with the news that the boat can not venture through the
surf that foams up the beach. The stout little craft now receives a
compass which is placed in the stern, where the mate takes his place to
act as pilot. Off the boat puts once more, to act thence forth as
Captain Boyton's guide.
"Four A.M.--We give the Captain a ringing cheer as he paddles alongside
the Earnest. He answers that there are some people on shore who want to
come aboard and that his sail too has been left behind. His message
delivered, he paddles away again. In a few minutes he shouts out that if
a boat is not sent off for those on shore he will turn back himself.
"If you don't do it," he says, "they will have to walk back to Boulogne,
thirteen miles."
A crew having volunteered, Mr. Michael Boyton determines to brave the
surf. The Earnest steams back as near as she can safely go to Cape
Grisnez. A second boat is lowered. Before it can reach the shore a
fisherman's skiff makes from the beach, and transfers to the boat of
the Earnest the three or four drenched passengers invited by Captain
Boyton to accompany him on his voyage. They are Baron de la Tonche
(Sub-Prefect of Boulogne) Mr. Merridew, Pilot Mequin and others. It is a
quarter to six by the time the Earnest overtakes Captain Boyton. He
gives a cheery trump of satisfaction from his foghorn, when he learns
that his sail and his guests have been fetched from land. He does
not have recourse to his sail yet as the wind (w. n.-w.) continues
unfavorable. He has nevertheless paddled to such good purpose by six
o'clock that he has covered seven miles from Cape Grisnez, albeit he is
but five miles from the French coast, having been carried up channel by
the current. His plan is totally opposite from the one followed by him
in his last voyage. Whereas he then went with the tide, he is now
endeavoring to cut across the tides, in accordance with the advice of
Captain Dane and the counsel of an eminent hydrographer, who had most
courteously made out an elaborate chart and entered into the minutest
details as to the channel currents, for Captain Boyton's guidance.
"Quarter to eight:--Boyton calls for his sail. The staunch little lath
of a mast is fixed into the socket attached to one of his feet. The tiny
sail fills; but sends him on a wrong tack, wind still blowing w. n.-w.
Nothing daunted, Boyton paddles onward for another hour. He then sends
the laconic message, 'All right!' by the first pigeon post of the
Folkestone Pigeon Club. Wind w.s.-w. Captain Boyton hoists sail again
at twenty-five minutes to ten and now scuds along beautifully, like some
large sea-bird skimming over the blue waves. A critical time for him
approaches. Captain Dane relieves the mate as pilot. When he is pulled
out to Boyton, the daring voyager is paddling mechanically. He is very
drowsy. Captain Dane's quiet, calm encouragement revives the failing
Boyton. He feels greatly invigorated by the plain breakfast. No
Liebig mess, this time, taken to him by Dr. Benjamin Howard, Honorary
Secretary of the New York Humane Society. This morning meal and the
two other meals taken by Boyton during his arduous undertaking cannot
be considered very epicurean. Each frugal repast consists of nothing
more than half a pint of good strong tea, green with a dash of black,
and a couple of beef sandwiches. The tea wakes him up directly.
Inspirited by the cup that cheers, he is roused to fresh vigor, and
zestfully plies his paddle with wonted dexterity.
"Quarter to twelve.--Captain Dane says that Boyton is now in mid-
channel. The tide has swept him north-easterly. The French cliffs are
dim. The white cliffs of Dover are not yet visible to the naked eye. In
half an hour the coast line of England looms in sight. Clearer and
clearer the cliffs grow out of the haze as the afternoon wears away. At
twenty minutes from two a steamboat full of excursionists from
Folkestone, decked with flags from stem to stern, sends a volley of
rattling cheers across the water, and fair hands flutter handkerchiefs
in honor of Captain Boyton, who runs up the stars and stripes in
acknowledgement of their hearty encouragement. Another steamer
proceeding across the channel is cheering Captain Boyton and dipping
her ensign in his honor. More and more distinct grow the Dover cliffs.
The outline of the Castle is clearly defined. 'Thou art so near and yet
so far' might be appropriately struck up by the Captain, whose voice is
strong and cheery whenever he exchanges a shout with us.
"6:30 P.M.--A calm and beautiful evening. Boyton sailing with a faint
wind and in slack water. He has by this time crossed two tides. The
flood up channel still. 8 P.M.--The ebb down channel to the Varne, being
carried many miles north and south respectively by each, and is now in
a fair way to reach England, being only four miles from Dover Castle,
according to the encouraging news of Captain Dane. So clear is the air
that Cape Grisnez and the Varne buoy are still in sight. The last
pigeons are now dispatched. Twenty-nine in all have gone during the
day. The longest three miles ever known are now entered upon. Hour
after hour passes and three miles is ever the distance from shore, so
says Captain Dane. The south Foreland lights flash out in our face.
Dover lights shine brightly a little distance to our left. The
interminable three miles are not lessened a jot. The crew of the Royal
Wiltshire Life Boat, specially sent by the National Life Boat
Association, warmly cheer the plucky Boyton. He again asks the
distance.
"Three miles", shouts back Captain Dane.
"Ah," grimly answers Boyton, with a spice of the Mark Twainish humor
peculiar to him, "that's about it. They've just told me from the life-
boat its five miles, and, as your steamer is two miles long, we're right
in our reckoning all around; but I don't care if it's twenty-five,
I'm going to make it."
"Quarter to nine.--Boyton takes supper, lights a cigar and paddles
perseveringly along, although he has now been close on eighteen hours in
the water. Bravo heart! He is now paddling more strongly than he was in
the morning. The three miles shrink, at last into two and three
quarters and about this time the one sensational incident of this voyage
happens.
"Captain Boyton's own words best describe the episode: 'About an hour
before I got on land, I heard a tremendous blowing behind me. It
startled me for the moment, for I guessed it was a shark. I instantly
drew out my knife, but while I was in the act of doing this, a second
snort came closer to my head. I out with my knife and instantly threw
myself into a standing position, ready to strike if I had been
attacked; but simultaneously with this movement of mine a tremendous
black thing leaped completely over me and darted away like
lightning. It was a porpoise.'
"The Earnest slowly steaming, Captain Dane casting the lead every few
minutes, creeps so near to the towering South Foreland by 2 A.M. that
one might almost throw a biscuit ashore. The feat is on the eve of being
accomplished. The ebb is not yet so strong that he cannot make
palpable progress through the tide. The curlews up in the cliffs are
shrilly heralding the dawn, or welcoming Boyton, which you please. A
fisherman's skiff has put off to show the safest landing place. The
intensest interest is felt by the group on the bridge of the Earnest.
Though day is breaking, the sea is still so dark that only the two
boats can be discerned close to the shore. A cheer comes over the waters
at half past two. Our hearts give a bound. We know the young hero has
accomplished his daring task, and we send back our heartiest cheers to
him. A rocket rushes up and curls in triumph over the cliffs. No one on
board can be more exultant than Mr. Michael Boyton. Yet he coolly calls
through the speaking trumpet, 'Come back now. That will do for to-
night!'
"The rocky strip of beach on which the Captain has landed is in Fan Bay,
a hundred yards or so west of South Foreland Lights. There from he is
speedily rowed to the steamer. Receiving a fresh round of British
hurrahs on nimbly embarking, he is warmly shaken by the hand, his
comely, bronzed face lighting up with a modest smile, albeit his eyes
and skin must be smarting terribly from the continual wash of the salt
sea waves for twenty-three hours and a half.
"Captain Boyton is sufficiently recuperated before Folkestone is
reached, to receive anew the homage which Englishmen are ever ready to
pay to heroic pluck and endurance. Dover honors him with a salute of
eleven guns as the Earnest glides by. Folkestone harbor is gained at
last. Our adieux paid to Captain Boyton, no one seems loth to land."
Paul received congratulatory telegrams from the Queen, the Prince of
Wales and President Grant. Dover gave the Captain a dejeuner.
Folkestone, or rather the South Eastern directors, entertained him at a
banquet on Saturday evening, when he felicitously thanked Captain Dane
and others for their generous services during his channel voyage.
After his successful attempt, which caused the wildest excitement over
all the world, he rested a few days before resuming work, under his
managers. Medals, flags, jewelry, addresses and presents of all kinds
poured in on him. The Humane Society at Boulogne voted him their massive
gold medal representing the First Order of French Life Saving.
All during the summer, Paul appeared in the different towns and watering
places in England, getting his regular pay of fifty guineas a day,
equal to $1,750 per week. In September his agent accepted of two week's
engagements for exhibitions in Berlin at Lake Weissensee. The business
that was done there was simply stupendous, and Paul's treatment by the
inhabitants of Berlin will never be forgotten by him. For the first time
in his life he fell in love. His inamorata was a blue-eyed young German
lady, the sweetest and loveliest girl in Berlin; he carried her colors
in many a lonely voyage in after years. But it never amounted to
anything more than warm friendship, as his love for his free and
adventurous life was much stronger than any chains Cupid could weave.