For some weeks Paul remained in New York, much to the delight of his
mother and family and he was also feted and entertained by many of
the prominent citizens of the metropolis. During his stay at home, he
amused himself by paddling from the Battery around to Hunter's Point and
one night crossed down the bay through the Narrows, and came near losing
his life in the ice off Staten Island.
On an invitation from a member of Congress, Paul visited Washington and
was cordially received by President Hayes and his Cabinet, all paying
him high compliments for the daring things he had performed in the
interest of life saving. During the afternoon of February 1st, 1879, at
the instance of the President, he gave an exhibition in the navy yard,
before the members of the Senate and House of Representatives.
While in Washington, Paul received an invitation which highly pleased
him. It was signed by leading citizens, asking him to revisit his former
home, Pittsburgh. He was glad to have the chance of seeing the old river
of his boyish gambols, and cheerfully promised to go. After a day or so
in Washington he went to Pittsburgh, where met with the most cordial
greeting on the part of the citizens and was also happy to see many of
his playmates of former years. On the evening of his arrival, while
resting in his room at a hotel, he was visited by a man wearing the
uniform of the Fire Department, who grasped his hand with more warmth
and enthusiasm than ordinary visitors were wont to do, at the
same time remarking:
"I don't suppose you know me, Captain Boyton?"
"My memory certainly fails me in that respect," replied Boyton
"I am Thomas McCaffery, whose life you saved more than twenty years ago.
Of all men in the world, I most desired to meet you," and Paul
returned the warm hand pressure of the fireman.
An evening most agreeable to both was passed in recounting their
adventures of other days. Before Paul left Pittsburgh, Mr. McCaffery
presented him with a gold medal, commemorating the important event in
his life, which, but for Boyton, would have terminated so disastrously.
Some time was spent about Pittsburgh, while preparations were made for a
voyage down the Alleghany and Ohio rivers, which he had decided on
making. It was the first intention to start on the Alleghany at
Kittanning, but on looking over the ground, Paul selected Oil City
as the starting point, distant above Pittsburgh about one hundred and
forty miles.
There was great excitement at Oil City when it became known that Boyton
had arrived and contemplated paddling down the river. Many people
believed the attempt would not be made on account of the extremely cold
weather. These were astonished when Boyton appeared on the morning of
February 6th, equipped for the dreary voyage, and he was given an
enthusiastic send off. His progress the greater part of the first day,
was slow, owing to, the blocks of floating ice. At Black's Riffles he
struck on a rock, with such force as to turn him completely over and
almost knock him senseless. Fortunately his dress was not punctured by
the blow and he continued the journey to Emlenton, forty three miles
from Oil City, where, on account of the accident and the fact that he
was almost frozen, he decided to remain over night instead of
rushing on to Kittanning as had been his intention.
At all towns he passed, crowds of people lined the banks and offers of
hospitality were numberless. There was great rivalry between some of the
towns as to which would get the voyager to stop off, and the arguments
used by the inhabitants to induce him to favor them, were very funny. A
citizen of Parker come to the front with a statement which he thought
would surely be a winner.
"Tell Boyton," he said to one of the newspaper men who followed by train
from one station to the other along the river, "that he should stop
off at Parker instead of Kittanning, because Parker is an incorporated
town and Kittanning is not."
Paul was not greatly refreshed by his rest at Emlenton. He arose in the
morning, stiff and swollen, his hands and face very much so, being
slightly frost bitten and very painful. He was somewhat depressed in
spirits and said he could not reach Pittsburgh until Sunday. He
bravely entered the water, however, and that day he shot over Parker's
Falls.
Before he reached Mahoning, a big crowd lined the bank awaiting his
approach. In the crowd was one of those wise bodies who are never to
be fooled and who knows a thing or two about the ways of the world. This
individual made himself exceedingly conspicuous in the gathering and
confidentially told everybody that would listen to him, that he was
smart enough to size up the whole affair and that they were all fools to
be taken in by the report that a man was going to swim down such an icy
current.
"I'm on to the whole thing," he said, with a real knowing look, "this is
gotten up by the newspaper men. They have a block of wood dressed up
in a rubber suit and let it float down, while this 'ere Boyton sneaks
along the river with the reporters. They can't close my eye, not much."
He was one of the front line on the bank when Paul arrived. He had made
up his mind to grab the rubber covered chunk of wood and expose the
whole thing to the public, and then it would be seen that he was "jest a
leetle smarter than the rest of mankind." As Boyton drew in at that
point and walked up on the land, the clever fellow's eyes looked as
though they would burst from their sockets, and he beat a
precipitate retreat, followed by the derisive shouts of the crowd.
Paul was much interested during a great part of the cold, cheerless
trip, in the immense pillars of fire that belch from the natural gas
wells that are numerous along the river, which runs through the famous
oil country of Pennsylvania.
A reception was tendered him at Kittanning, notwithstanding that little
city's misfortune in "not being incorporated," and the mayor delivered
a warm address of welcome.
From the moment Paul neared Pittsburgh's suburban places there was a
continued ovation until he completed the voyage at the Point, where
the confluence of the Alleghany and Monongahela forms the Ohio.
Thousands of people jammed the bridges and thousands lined the shores to
salute the intrepid voyager. He was picked up at the Point and quickly
placed in a carriage in order to avoid the crowd and hurriedly driven to
a hotel. He was half frozen and his worn appearance showed how trying
had been the trip, which was accomplished in a little less than four
days.
After a brief rest, he made ready to resume the voyage. The start was
made from the foot of Seventh Street, February 24th. The Ohio was so
full of ice that it was difficult to forge ahead. The first day's run
was to Rochester, where he hauled up for the night. Owing to his being
behind time the band and many people who had been waiting for him, went
away, while those who remained occupied their time in patronizing a
convenient bar. Mr. James Creelman, of the New York Herald, who had been
assigned to write up the voyage, and another newspaper man, accompanied
Boyton, making their way in conveyances along the shore. When they
arrived at Rochester, Paul was tired and wanted to sleep, so they
repaired to a hotel as quickly as possible, and all three were put
into one room. It became, noised around that the travelers had arrived
and crowds gathered at the hotel. They demanded a speech and the
landlord waited on Paul with the information. He was sent back to tell
the people that Boyton was in bed and did not wish to be disturbed.
Then they wanted him to fire off just one rocket. That was also
impossible, because the "Baby Mine," the name of the little tender,
had struck a piece of ice before reaching the town and sprung a leak,
wetting all the fireworks. The landlord, however, thought he could
touch off one of the rockets anyway, so he seized a large detonator and
with a red hot poker tried to see how it would work. Finding the
fuse, as he thought, too wet, he threw the rocket on the floor and left
the room. Directly after, Paul heard a hissing noise and realized that
the landlord had succeeded in leaving a live spark in the fuse. He
simply drew the bedclothes around himself and let the rocket sizz. It
went off with a terrible report, shaking the whole house and frightening
his companions out of their wits. The landlord rushed into the room
with a "hip, hooray," much delighted.
"That's it," he cried, "that's good," and he yelled again, regardless of
the fact that his carpet was on fire and the room terribly littered
up.
Between Rochester and Wellsville, Paul had an awful time in an ice
gorge. He could hear it cracking and grinding below as though warning
him of danger. He succeeded in climbing on a cake which saved him from
being carried under, and made his way to clear water on the other side.
Below Steubenville, a native from the West Virginia side rowed
frantically out to him.
"Hold on, stranger, I'll resky yo' in a minit," he yelled. When he drew
nearer and Paul spoke to him, he appeared as tickled as a boy at a
monkey show. "Wal, ef yo' aint jus' th' cutes' little cuss I ever seed
paddlin' aroun' out here in the ice like a beaver."
However, he expressed much disgust, not to say contempt, when Boyton
refused to land and take a drink of "Virginia's own Mountain Dew."
After hard work through the ice gorged river, Paul reached Wheeling and
rested there until the next morning. On resuming the voyage he was
frequently compelled to mount an ice cake to look for the best place to
strike open water, where he could get at least enough paddling to keep
up his temperature. While on one of those lookouts he heard the clear,
ringing sound of an ax on the frosty morning air, wielded by the
powerful arm of some hardy chopper. Looking along shore Paul discovered
the wood cutter just about the same instant that worthy discovered him.
The tall, lank West Virginian eyed the strange looking creature far a
second, dropped the ax and started in a lope for his cabin. Suspecting
that the curious landsman was going after his rifle, as it is customary
for them to shoot at anything in the water they cannot understand,
Boyton sounded a lusty blast on the bugle to attract the chopper's
attention from the shooting iron. The man returned to the water's
edge, loosened a flat bottomed boat from the ice and with an iron shod
pole pushed out from shore toward Paul, who was rapidly approaching
with the floe. As Boyton neared the woodcutter he thought, "Here comes
another lantern-jawed individual who wants to ask me if I'm cold."
To his surprise the man never opened his mouth, but ran his boat as
close as he, could get it to the object of his curiosity and after a
long stare turned his craft and began poling back to shore. When about
twenty yards away he stopped as though he had forgotten some important
matter, and seriously inquired:
"Say, mister, be yo' stuffed wuth cork or wind?"
"Wind," tersely answered the Captain.
He waited for no further reply, but poled solemnly and silently back to
his cabin.
Below Pomeroy, Boyton, making his first all night run and feeling drowsy
was moving along mechanically, when he was startled by hearing the
paddle wheels of a steamer, which proved to be the Telegraph, bearing
right on him. With all his energy he rose up and shouted: "Port, port,
or I am a dead man."
Instantly the wheel was put over and the steamer glided by, barely
missing him.
At six o'clock next morning, as he was nearing Gallipolis, he observed a
boat putting out from one of the floating houses, or Jo-boats that are
frequently met along the Ohio and Mississippi, containing two river
gypsies. Boyton paid no attention to them until they were close
behind. Then he stood up expecting to ask the time of day. He made that
movement just in time, for one of the men, pale with excitement, was
taking deliberate aim at him with a musket. Boyton yelled out a warning
as the trigger was about to be pressed, and saved his life. The river
pirate was profuse in his apologies.
"Great etarnal jeehosophat, straanger; I wouldn't a shot yer 'fur two
dollars an' a half, I wouldn't, by golly, fur I'm loaded bang up ter th'
muzzle with slugs fur geese. It were a narry escape fur me."
When nearing the mouth of the Big Sandy river, which forms the boundary
between West Virginia and Kentucky, Paul was met by the steamer
Fashion, loaded with ladies and gentlemen, who gave him a hearty welcome
to the shores of old Kentucky. At Cattlettsburg, a banquet was spread
on shore, of which he partook and slid back into the water. He arrived
at Ironton at nine o'clock that night where he remained until morning.
From that point to Cincinnati, every town turned out to greet him. The
banks were lined with people and bonfires were built at night. A short
distance above Cincinnati he was met by an excursion steamer containing
notables of that city and newspaper representatives. Madame Modjeska,
who was with the party, presented him with a handsome silk flag. The
river at Cincinnati was crowded with excursion boats. A large barge
loaded with people, was driven against a pier and was barely saved from
sinking with all on board. He made a brief stay in Cincinnati, and
continued the voyage accompanied by a boat load of reporters, among whom
was also Oliver Byron, the actor. The ice was then disappearing though
the water was very cold. He averaged about five miles an hour on the
lower river, and the rowing of the newspaper men to keep their boat up
with him, was something beautifully scientific. At Delhi the two
experienced oarsmen, who had been engaged to row a short distance,
went ashore, leaving Creelman, Byron and two Cincinnati newspaper men
to manage the lumbering boat. It was fortunate for their
reputation as oarsmen, that spectators were directing most of their
attention to Boyton, for such pulling was never seen before on the Ohio
and will probably never be seen again. Paul felt like shedding tears
every time he looked around to see how they were getting along. His own
safety had something to do with his watchful care, for they came near
running him down several times. The enthusiastic oarsmen first removed
their overcoats; their undercoats followed and then collars were
unbuttoned. One of them said it wasn't the length of the river that
bothered them so much as the breadth. They worked independently of
each other, and it was pretty hard to tell which was the bow and which
the stern of the boat. A ragged urchin rowed out from shore to see what
they were doing and sarcastically inquired if they were rowing over
stumps. That was an unkind allusion to the extreme height at which
they elevated their oar blades from the water between strokes. There was
no revolver or shot gun in the party, or there would have been a
funeral in that lad's family.
Row boats would pull out from shore all along, and the questions asked
by the parties pulling them were ridiculous, and painfully monotonous. A
sample of some of them: "Have you springs in your arms?" "Blow your
horn. How far can it be heard?" "Are you going to travel all night?"
"Are you going back to Cincinnati to-night?" "Let me sit on you." "Don't
you get tired?" "Are you cold?"
When the press boat was not trying to climb the Kentucky hills, Paul
would cheer himself by running alongside and converse with the boys;
but as a rule he was wary of getting too close to them.
Nearing Louisville, a fleet of excursion steamers ran up to meet him.
There was a heavy fog and the excursionists were so eager to see him,
the boats pushing close around, that before he could bear into the city,
he was carried over the falls, and was picked up five miles below.
The newspaper men were also carried over and rescued by the life saving
crew.
Leaving Louisville next morning, he intended to make the run to
Cloverport, over one hundred miles below, without leaving the water.
There was a strong head wind all day, turning the yellow waves of the
Ohio over his face, and night closed in with dark, low hanging clouds.
An electric storm began to rage about him. Flashing sheets of lightning
ran over the surface of the water, cracking and sputtering as though
angry at his presence. It was a grand, though fearful sight. Tree
after tree along the shore was splintered by the sharp flashes and peals
of thunder added to the terrific grandeur of nature's display. Fearing
that his copper bugle would attract the lightning, he lowered it as far
under the water as he could. All night he ran through that fearful
storm, arriving at Cloverport very tired. He rested there several
hours and ran to Owensboro. The mail boats, Idlewild and Morning
Star, steamed up from Evansville to meet him, lashed together for the
occasion, carrying a large crowd of people, and flying Boyton's
colors, the Geneva Cross, which is the international life saving
standard. Miss Maggie Morgan, one of Evansville's fair daughters,
stepped off the Idlewild into the press boat and presented Paul with his
colors.
An amusing incident occurred just as the flag was being presented. The
commander of the steamer Hotspur, with an eye to business in running a
little speculation of his own, loaded his steamer at so much per head,
holding out the inducement that Boyton would give an exhibition up the
river and that would be seen better from the deck of the Hotspur than
from any other boat. As the young lady finished her presentation, the
Hotspur steamed up, her deck black with people eager to witness the
exhibition. Boyton had been told about the Hotspur by his agent who was
on the other steamers and so, despite all the efforts of the captain and
pilots of that boat, Paul kept the Idlewild and Mayflower between
himself and her, in such a way that the people aboard of her could see
nothing. For an hour or more, this amusing dance around the two
steamers continued, until the Hotspur's captain, swearing and tramping
his decks in a rage, ordered the boat back to Evansville, and to make
matters worse with him, he could not collect a cent from the people he
had inveigled aboard, having lost his sunshade during the night, his
eyes were almost blinded and his face scorched by the intense heat.
He reached Cottonwood at 6 o'clock in the evening and through sheer
exhaustion was compelled to leave the water for rest, after a
continuous run of thirty-two hours. About 2 o'clock the next afternoon
he met a heavy head wind and a high sea. He kept up a pretty good rate
of speed, however, until he was struck by a storm off Hale's Point. The
rain descended in torrents and darkness became so intense that he could
scarcely tell whether he was going up, down or across. His matches were
wet and he could not strike a light. He determined to go ashore, and if
he could find no habitation, at least to remain along the bank until the
storm had abated. A landing was effected in a thick woods, and there he
found that he had not bettered the situation, because he was in danger
of the lightning. He was debating whether to return to the water or not,
when he caught the tiny glimmer of a light among the trees and he struck
out for it, leaving the "Baby Mine" under a log near the shore. The
light guided him to a lone negro cabin and he unceremoniously pushed the
door open and entered, frightening the inmates, a newly wedded couple,
half out of their wits, until he had explained who he was. The negro
took it all good humouredly, however, saying: "Yo' done scart de life
mos' out o' us. I knows who yo' is now, do Boss."
"How about a little fire, my friend," asked Boyton.
"All right boss, all right, sah, yo' kin have a fiah quicker 'n yo' kin
skin er cat," and the negro began tearing boards off the side of the
cabin. It was too much trouble to gather fuel in the woods or cut down a
tree and besides, the boards burned more easily.
They soon had a roaring fire and Paul, divested of the rubber dress, was
drying and thoroughly enjoying himself. The negro was so tickled at
having such a guest that he disappeared in the recesses of the forest
for some time and returned with a whole delegation of his relatives,
including his mother. By the time they had arrived, Paul was dry and
prepared to re-enter the water. The old woman was not perfectly
satisfied that he was of the earth and she looked upon him with
considerable suspicion, mingled with a great deal of fear.
"Boss," she said, edging into a corner and peering over the shoulders of
her stalwart son, "yo' 'suredly looks like a suah 'nough man; yo'
certn'y isn't got de looks ob de debbil 'bout yo' face; but dey say de
debbil's get cow hoofs an' I kaint see yo' feet."
Her son assured her that he had seen Boyton's feet and they were just
like any other human beings; but the old woman kept something between
herself and the Captain all the time and when he stepped out, he could
hear her sigh of thankfulness as he walked off among the trees.
After leaving the cabin, another storm came up and the heavy rain turned
to hail. In a short time the light on the Baby Mine was again put out
by the waves which also soaked the matches procured from the Negro. In
the darkness there was great danger of his being run down by the fleets
of empty coal barges that were being towed up from New Orleans to
Pittsburgh. Those great tows cover acres of river space and it is a
hard matter to tell which way they are going to turn. Observing one of
the Government lights which are now placed along the rivers as a guide
to mariners, he steered for it. He landed and climbing the ladder to the
lantern, was proceeding to get a light for his lamp, when a big dog
rushed furiously up and held him treed on the lamp post. The light
keeper hearing the victorious barking of the dog, came out with a gun
and Paul could not explain his presence there any too quickly. The
keeper called off the dog, gave the Captain a supply of matches, who
lighted up his bull's eye and was soon forging ahead again. During the
small hours of the night, he passed the steamers Osceola, James Howard
and Andy Baum, all of which spoke him and inquired if he was in need of
anything. At daybreak, the Osceola Belle stopped and gave him some hot
coffee and the City of Helena gave him a cheer.
Around the Devil's Elbow, he encountered another furious head wind which
required heavy work to go against. So vigorous were his exertions that
he stopped at Bradley's, Arkansas, for the night and started next
morning at 11 o'clock for Memphis which city he reached at four
o'clock. Above Memphis he was met by a fleet of excursion steamers and
the sight of his flashing paddle as he approached them was the signal
for the firing of a salute from a ten pound parrot gun on the deck of
the General Pierson. Miss Jeanette Boswell, one of the reigning
belles of Memphis, handed him a banner and made a pleasant address of
welcome.
Holding on to the gunwale of the gig, Paul replied in a felicitous
manner as he accepted the trophy from her hands. The reception at
Memphis was in accordance with the enthusiasm of the excursionists and
Paul resumed the voyage Monday afternoon with the well wishes of the
populace.
That night another terrific storm almost overwhelmed him. Huge trees
were borne to the earth on either side of him as though they were
reeds. Rain turned to hail and the river was whitened by the icy stones.
So great was their forge that he was compelled to stand up in the stream
to shield his head and face with the broad blade of his paddle and his
knuckles were badly bruised. In a short time he experienced a sensation
of leaking. He thought the hail stones had cut his dress; but next
morning, landing on a sandbar, he found himself as dry as a pebble, the
leaking sensation having been caused by the sudden change in the
temperature of the water owing to the melting of the hail stones. In the
darkness, he missed the cut off, by which he could have saved fifteen
miles of paddling, and went around Walnut Bend. At daybreak, he saw a
negro on the bank and inquired his whereabouts.
"Yo'se in de bend shoah 'nough Cap'en; but I'se pow'ful glad yo' missed
the cut off, cause I wanted to see yo' awful bad."
Paul did not sympathize with the darkey's joy and that unnecessary
fifteen miles was the hardest pull of the entire trip, to his mind.
That morning was very lonely along the river and he was still lecturing
himself for missing the convenient cut off, when away around a distant
bend he could hear the beating paddles of an approaching steamboat. That
animated him and he pulled with renewed vigor until he met a boat
which was loaded with excursionists from Helena, Arkansas. He hauled up
alongside and the excursionists begged him to go ashore and visit their
city. He was feeling sore and declined the kind invitation; other boats
came up until he was surrounded. They insisted earnestly and so kindly
that he should stop oft at Helena, that he finally consented to do so
and rest a couple of hours, as his watch and lamp were smashed and that
would give him an opportunity to get them fixed. He was enthusiastically
welcomed to the city, and a committee of citizens was appointed to get
anything he might want. The mayor and several other officials requested
him to remain that night and deliver a lecture. He declined to do so,
because his wardrobe had been shipped on ahead to Vicksburg, and he had
nothing to wear but a suit of heavy underclothing and the rubber dress.
"That'll be all right," said the mayor, "we'll fix you up in a dress
suit and attend to all the details. We'll get out bills, hire the
hall, get a band and just fix you up as snug as a bug in a rug. Don't
you let anything worry you; but just stay here and rest up while we
make the arrangements."
The people had been so kind that Boyton could not resist their desires
and consented. That evening the mayor drove up to the hotel and entered
Paul's room with a swallow tail coat, white vest and tie, and a collar
that was fastened around his neck without the assistance of shirt
buttons. The upper half of him looked all right and quite appropriate
for presentation to the public. They waited for the gentleman whose
pantaloons just fitted Paul, but he did not appear.
"All right," said the mayor again, "I reckon he's gone to the hall with
them and there's a dressing room there. Come on now, just hop into my
carriage and we'll drive there. No one will see you."
They reached the hall and waited in the dressing room for the other
gentleman to get there with the pantaloons. It was growing late and
the people who crowded the hall began to get impatient.
"That's all right," once more exclaimed the ever ready mayor, "we can
fix that."
He shoved a stand to the middle of the stage and taking a large table
cover; arranged it so that it hung to the floor in front, thus hiding
everything behind it from the eyes of the crowd. On the stand were
placed the rubber dress, the Baby Mine, a pitcher of water and a glass.
Then Boyton stood behind it and from the front he looked as though
attired in an irreproachable dress suit. The curtain was rung up
discovering him standing in the shelter of the table, the mayor on one
side, ready to introduce him. In that position Paul acknowledged the
introduction and proceeded to describe the rubber dress, his 'mode of
navigating in it and an account of his voyages. In recounting his
adventure with a shark in the straits of Messina, he became somewhat
excited and without thinking, stepped from behind the protecting folds
of the table cloth in all the glory of a dress coat, white vest and
violently red drawers.
There was a stare of wonder, an awful silence for a moment and then a
wild roar of laughter, which brought the orator to a sense of the
comical figure he cut, and he fled from the stage with the unfinished
shark story on his lips. The mayor after a violent effort, got the
attention of the crowd and explained the situation. They took it so
good humouredly that they gave three rousing cheers for Paul, and a
tiger.
To make up for the time he had lost with the hospitable citizens of
Helena, Boyton was compelled to make an extra long run and he paddled
to Arkansas City without leaving the water, a distance of one hundred
and sixty miles in thirty one hours, which was the longest continuous
run he ever made up to that time. That night on the lonesome stretches
of the river, he frequently started a loon from its resting place and it
would fly off into the darkness with a wild, unearthly shriek, so
ghostly in its echoing cadences that with a nervous start, Paul would
glance around for that "dead man in a boat."
Early in the morning the voyager struck a big eddy and was twisted round
and round for quite a while before he could clear himself and then
found he was pretty close in shore. Through the thick growth of
cottonwoods he observed a thin spiral of smoke rising, and knowing it
to be from the cabin of some negro, he blew a merry blast on his bugle.
Before the clear notes had faded from the morning air, a venerable
darkey with whitened head and slightly bent, though walking without the
assistance of a cane, appeared on the bluff overlooking the river. He
raised his eyes to the eastern horizon, as though to determine the
weather probabilities, and then he scanned the river up and down. He
failed to see Boyton at first, and another blast was given on the
bugle. Slowly, and with evidences of some fear, the old darkey bent his
eyes on Paul, and then as slowly he deposited his white, broad brimmed
hat on a stump by his side, reverently raising his eyes and with
outstretched hands he solemnly said:
"He bloowed his trumpet on the watah. Bless God, bless God."
He remained in this attitude until Paul disappeared around the bend, no
doubt expecting to be summoned any moment by the archangel Gabriel.
Directly after leaving the old negro, Boyton espied something in the
river below him, which he thought was a snag or the floating branches of
a tree; but as he drove swiftly along and looked more closely, he saw it
was a large deer swimming across. Quickly loosening the "Baby Mine" to
let her drift along with the current, he unslung the large hunting knife
and started for the deer with the intention of bleeding it. He
anticipated no trouble in paddling alongside while it was swimming, and
putting the knife into its throat. When the buck discovered the pursuer
it redoubled its efforts to reach the shore, but Paul was faster and was
soon close on the antlered beauty. As he raised the knife to stab, the
deer also raised and struck viciously with its front feet, and Paul
barely dodged the blow which would have cut through the rubber suit like
a keen edged knife. Again and again did he try to get an opening for a
thrust, and as often did the deer, with eyes blazing like a
panther's, beat him away with its sharp hoofs. At last Boyton concluded
to follow if to the edge of the river, where he felt sure his game would
sink in the mud and then become an easy victim. The animal did stick in
the mud as was expected, but as Boyton was about to stab, its feet
struck a bit of log so small that its four hoofs were all bunched
together on it; but thus hampered, it sprang with wonderful power,
landed on the bank six feet above, and galloped off into the forest,
waving Paul a farewell with its white, stumpy tail.
That night he arrived at Arkansas City, very tired after his long pull.
It was there he ran across a silent admirer--an extraordinary character
who appointed himself Boyton's body guard. All that night he sat and
watched the voyager while he slept. He put wood on when the fire
burned low and whenever Paul wakened he was at his bedside with a drink
of hot tea, but never uttering a word. Next morning he assisted in
the dressing and when leaving, he wrung the Captain's hand as though
parting with his dearest friend; yet he hadn't a word to say, nor
would he accept any recompense for his services.
A short distance below Arkansas City, a blast from Paul's bugle brought
a troop of negroes to the bank. As they gazed on him in open mouthed
wonder, he asked them the distance to the next place; but they were so
overcome either with fright or astonishment they could not answer. One
old auntie, however, leaned over the bank and in a trembling voice
asked:
"Chile, does yo' belong to the chu'ch?"
She drew a sigh of relief and seemed satisfied that he was a human being
when he answered, "yes."
A lonely run of one hundred and forty miles brought him to Milligan's
Bend where he stopped at a planter's house over night. The next day was
Sunday and as he only had a twenty mile run to reach Vicksburg, he did
not propose to start until rather late in the day, so that he would land
at Vicksburg during the afternoon. While he was taking it easy, chatting
with the planter, and enjoying a fragrant cigar, the old minister of
the parish called, and was introduced to him.
"God bless you my son," said the venerable gentleman, pressing Paul's
hand, "I must say I have called expressly to see you and ask you to do
me a favor."
"I would be pleased to do anything in my power for you," replied Boyton.
"I knew you would, God bless you, I knew you would," fervently spoke the
old minister, "my congregation is waiting along the bank of the river
to see you start away and not a soul of them will enter the church until
you go, if it is not until dark to-night. And I wanted to ask if you
would start soon, so that I may begin services?"
The old man spoke with profound sincerity and his face brightened when
Boyton told him that preparations would be made for leaving at once. He
called down a benediction and joyfully departed for his little church,
the weather beaten side of which could be seen in a grove not far
distant. Paul immediately donned his dress and took to the water,
paddling a few miles down and hauling up on a muddy bank to wait until
it was time to start for Vicksburg. Though it was not so pleasant there
as it was on the cool porch of the planter's, and he had suffered much
from the heat, thoughts of the satisfied old minister did much to
lighten the discomforts of his surroundings.
He arrived in sight of Vicksburg at four o'clock in the afternoon and
was met by the steamer Silverthorn towing a big barge, loaded with
excursionists. It appeared as though the entire population of the town
and surrounding country had assembled on the river bank. So dense was
the crowd, that it caused a philosophical negro to remark:
"Ef dose yere people keep on a crowdin' on dis en' ob town, de whole
place are gwine fur to tip ober in de ribber, suah 'nough."
With the aid of the city marshal and a few policemen, Boyton got through
the crowd to a carriage in which the Mayor was awaiting him. As the
carriage was about to move off for the hotel, a man jumped in and seated
himself between the Captain and the Mayor. Paul did not think much of
the incident at the time, being under the impression, that the fellow
was one of the Mayor's friends, though he noticed that official did not
seem to be particularly pleased. When they reached the hotel, the man
made himself obnoxiously officious, entering Boyton's room with an air
of proprietorship and taking refreshments as though he was paying for
them all. At last Paul made inquiries concerning him and found he was
the most desperate character in all that section of country--a killer
who had more than one murder to his account and who had the citizens of
the town so terrorized that they were afraid to interpose any objections
to his conduct. As soon as he learned that, Paul was in a rage
and remarked that the citizens might submit to such intrusion, but he
would not. The desperado, who had gone out of the room for a few
moments, returned and was met by the angry navigator, who caught him by
the neck, threw him bodily out of the room and kicked him down
stairs. That cuffing did the fellow some good for it had the effect of
encouraging other men to thrash him until he became mild-mannered and
inoffensive.
The next run was from Vicksburg to Natchez, one hundred and nine miles.
The start was made in a gale and Boyton was not much more than under
way when he felt symptoms of fever. Indeed, so violent did the attack
become, that he felt as though he must give up. He took an enormous dose
of quinine which braced him and he kept pushing ahead until he arrived
at Natchez, twenty six hours from Vicksburg. He was so ill on his
arrival that he could scarcely notice the hearty reception given him;
but went immediately to bed and fell into a deep sleep. A doctor called
and pronounced him in danger of swamp fever, but thought it might be
kept off with proper attention, and prescribed some remedy. Boyton
felt considerably refreshed by the sleep, assisted, probably, by the
prescription of the doctor, and one or two callers were admitted to his
room. Among them was a gentleman who stated that his wife was an
invalid. The windows of her room overlooked the river and as she saw
Paul passing, on his way to Natchez, she had composed a little poem,
which she begged the voyager to accept. The lady's name was Mrs. Francis
Marschalk, and the poem follows:
Hail, King of the wat'ry world, New Neptune, grander than the old,
Serene as thy great prototype, 'Mid storm and wave, mid heat and cold!
Great victor! Man of nerve and will, Ingenious mind and wondrous skill,
Laurels of peace are thine to wear, More blest than those of battle
field; Begemmed with tears of gratitude And brighter than a Spartan
shield--The world acclaims this crown to thee, And glories in thy
victory.
The greatest boon of God is life, The dearest trust to mortal given And
God-like 'tis to keep and save This precious heritage of heaven, This
holy aim, this task divine Thy proud achievements claim as thine.
When all the waves of time are past And earth's rude storms with thee
are o'er, Oh, may'st thou sweetly rest at last Upon the peaceful shining
shore, And may thy spirit's pastime be Life's river and the Jasper sea.
Paul was deeply affected by so delicate a tribute from the accomplished
stranger, and did all he could do under the circumstances--sent her an
autograph note of grateful appreciation.
He did not stop long at Natchez, feeling anxious to finish the voyage as
soon as possible. Among the crowd that followed him to the wharf when
he resumed the trip next day was the doctor who had prescribed for him.
That gentleman was very earnest in advising him not to start as he was
in great danger of being seized with the fever.
"You have every indication of the fever now," said the doctor, "and if
it attacks you on the water you will to a certainty die. However, if you
will persist in going, all I can do is to tell you that as soon as you
feel the symptoms, make for the shore and get into a bed as soon as you
can."
"What are the symptoms?" inquired Boyton,
"You become chilly and have a numb feeling all over."
"All right, I'll look out for them," and with that Paul waved a good bye
to the multitude and struck gamely away in the teeth of the wind. As
night came on he was tired and imagined he could feel the symptoms of
which the doctor had warned him. He was just heading for shore when he
heard a steamboat. He burned a red light for her and she slowed up. The
passengers on deck cheered him and the Captain sang out:
"How do you feel, Paul?"
"All right, report me above," was the answer, and the boat headed on up
the river. The diversion gave him courage to go ahead, and he struck
out with renewed determination, running so well that he reached Baton
Rouge at eight o'clock in the morning. From that city it was a home run
of one hundred and thirty four miles to New Orleans. He started early
next morning, though feeling very stiff and sore. The weather grew
intensely hot, he suffered terribly and was burned almost black in the
face, the skin of which peeled off. About eleven o'clock in the morning,
on the glassy surface ahead, he noticed something bobbing up and down in
a queer manner, and pulled away to investigate. He found it to be a
dead mule swollen to gigantic size. While looking at it its tail flipped
out of the water as though it were alive. It was then he became aware
of the fact that a swarm of alligators were feeding on it, and he pulled
away with about as much speed as he has ever been able to attain.
During the day he ran through a thickly populated country, along what is
known as the lower coast of Louisiana; the river was fringed with rich
sugar plantations, and a majority of the negroes who rowed out to see
him, spoke the language of the French Creole. Magnolia trees were thick
on either side and framed a picture of rare beauty.
While paddling for a short distance close in shore, Paul discovered a
most unique and lazy style of angling. Happening to look up at the bank,
he saw two pair of bare feet of heroic size, from which two fishing
lines hung, the corks bobbing on the surface a few yards from the
shore. The broad bottoms of their pedal extremities turned to the river,
the line passing between the great and second toes to the water, and
there they lay enjoying delicious sleep, waiting for a fish to swallow
the bait, when the pull on the line would be felt between their toes
and awaken them to attend to business. Paul took in the situation at a
glance. Quietly drawing near one of the lines he gave it a vicious jerk.
The negro on the other end of it flipped to a sitting posture as though
he was worked on a spring like a jumping jack. When he saw the black
figure as he thought, on his line, he let out a shriek that could have
been heard for a mile, at the same time springing to his feet and
starting on a sprinting pace for some hiding place, yelling, as he ran,
to his companion:
"Hyah Bill, git away from dar; git up an' cut. I'se done cotch de debbil
on my hook."
The other restful fisherman sat up stiffly as if worked on a rusty
hinge, and seeing Boyton, was seized with an uncontrollable fit of
laughter. He laughed as though he was never going to catch his breath,
and Paul was afraid he would choke. He rolled on the ground in paroxysms
of mirth, stood up and leaned against a tree shouting out such loud
guffaws that it was difficult to tell whether it was through amusement
or fright. Paul got out on the bank and tried to quiet him, but was
unsuccessful and entered the water again and paddled away. For some
distance the voice of that hilarious fisherman was borne to him on the
breeze.
As evening closed in he could hear the darkies who had been paid off, it
being Saturday night, singing and arguing along the shore. A dense fog
soon enveloped everything, however, and he could not see which way he
was going. He seized the roots of a drifting tree, knowing it would keep
in the channel, mounted it and sat there for hours floating with the
current. All night the mocking birds along shore serenaded him. He
would have remained on the tree until morning; but he heard the whistles
of steamers below. Knowing that a fleet left New Orleans every
Saturday afternoon bound north, and that each would be trying to gain
the lead on the other, he was afraid he would be run down, so he slid
off the tree and made for shore. That course was not without its danger,
also; for mingled with the beautiful songs of the mocking bird, he had
heard the hoarse bark of alligators and there was no telling but that
he might run right on to some of them. They are thick along shore, but
rarely go out into the river, except as in the case of the dead mule,
they follow their prey. Luckily he avoided those dangerous reptiles. He
sounded the bugle and a Frenchman came down to the bank. Paul explained
who he was and the man eagerly invited him ashore. "I am sitting up
with my old master who is dead," said the Frenchman. "What was the
matter with him?" inquired Boyton, somewhat alarmed.
"Oh, it wasn't the fever, you need have no fear."
Paul decided to land and wait until the fleet had passed at any rate,
then he lighted his lamp and pushed off through the fog, preferring the
solitude of the river to the society of the grief stricken Frenchman.
The fog lifted in the morning and he found that he was on time. Ten
miles above New Orleans, he was met by excursion steamers with
enthusiastic crowds aboard. Captain Leathers of the famous old boat,
Natchez, was determined to outdo the others in the way of welcoming the
voyager, for Boyton was an old friend. He had a cannon placed on the
deck of his boat, loaded to the muzzle. A crowd of negroes were jammed
on a lot of cotton bales, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Paul
and Captain Leathers fired right in amongst them. The concussion was so
great that at least forty of the darkies were knocked off their feet
and thought they were killed by the explosion. Paul landed at New
Orleans, April 27th, finishing a journey of two thousand four hundred
and thirty miles. He was feted and lionized in the Crescent City until
he was in danger of becoming enervated, so he boarded a train for the
north, some thirty pounds less in weight than when he started at Oil
City.