The summer of 1879 was idly spent. Boyton visited the most celebrated
watering resorts of America and enjoyed a well earned good time. As the
autumn leaves began to fall, he was seized with an irresistible desire
to feel himself again afloat, so he turned his attention to the rivers
of the New England States. He went to Boston, made a careful study of
the maps, and concluded to take a voyage on the Merrimac; this river,
with its numerous falls and rapids, he thought would furnish some
excitement. The start was made from Plymouth, New Hampshire, at six
o'clock in the morning of October seventh. The river was too rough for
him to tow the Baby Mine along, a fact which he very much deplored.
Boyton had not paddled many yards from the shore ere he found the water
so shallow that he was compelled to wade quite a distance before
getting fairly under way, then he soon left the cheering crowd in the
distance. About nine o'clock, approaching a bridge, he heard a rumbling
sound. Looking up he beheld the figure of a man and horse outlined
against the sky like a shadow picture. The countryman also discovered
the queer looking figure in the water. He craned his neck, jerked his
arms up and with mouth and eyes wide open slapped the reins on the
horse's back and galloped off at a faster pace than the good
agriculturalists in that locality are wont to ride. He had not read the
newspapers.
An hour later, Paul blew his bugle in front of a farm house that stood
near the river. The people ran to the water's edge and began firing a
broadside of down east interrogatives with such rapidity as to nearly
swamp him.
"Ain't yeou nearly drowned?" "Ain't yeou afeard yeou will be?" "Ain't
yeou hungry?" "Ain't yeou cold?" "Ain't yeou hot?" "Kin yeou keep
awake?" "Ef yeou cain't, would yeou sink?" "Air yeou a orphing?", "Dew
yeou like the water?" "What circuse dew yeou belong tew?" "Who hired
yeou tew dew this?" "Why on airth dew yeou travel this way fur instead
of in a boat?"
Paul could not stand the rapid fire system of the New Hampshire rustics,
and with a pained expression on his face he, pulled silently out of
hearing. The narrowing river brought him closer to the banks, and as he
was forging ahead an old gentleman hailed him. Paul stopped for a
moment and was sorry for it, as the man tried to chill his blood with
doleful stories of the dangers in the river below. "Yeou air goin'
straight ahead tew destruction," he bellowed, "thar's a whirlpool jist
ahead, where six lumbermen was drowned one time."
Boyton had no fear of sharing the fate of the lumbermen, so he pushed
ahead, leaving the old man standing on the bank with clasped hands and
pained expression.
The voyager shortly reached the junction of Squam river, and there
encountered the first waterfall. A crowd of men and boys had assembled
on the bridge and anxiously watched him dash down on the rushing waters,
in which he was for the moment lost. Emerging from the boiling foam at
the foot of the fall, he scrambled on a rock and stood up to look for
the channel. From that point he had a wearisome pull in dead, choppy
water, until he reached New Hampton. At many places along the route,
well disposed persons were liberal with their advice to give up such
an "outlandish" mode of traveling and to "git on land like a human
critter." Though the advice sounded well, Paul noticed on one
occasion at least, that their methods of travel were not devoid of the
danger ascribed to his. Above him, on the grim rocks of a bluff, he saw
the wreck of a light wagon, and floating along with the current, were
the seat and one wheel.
"Where is the driver of that wagon?" inquired Paul. No one knew and he
plied his paddle vigorously in the hope of overtaking the unfortunate
man who had evidently been hurled from the bluff into the stream; but no
trace could be found. Below the sound of rapids was borne to his ear.
The smooth water began to break and start as if suddenly impelled
forward by some subtle influence that meant to tear the rocks from the
bed and crush every obstacle in its course. With all his care in
steering through that rapid, he was thrown against a rock with
considerable force, but caught hold of it and stood up to determine the
course of the channel. Seeing an old lady standing before the door of a
farm house, he rang out a cavalry charge on his bugle. She threw up her
hands as though she had heard the last trumpet of the Day of Judgment,
and rushing into the house she alarmed all the occupants. The look of
horror they gave the Captain as he stood on that rock in the midst of
the rapids, beckoning to them with his paddle, was evidence that they
took him for his Satanic majesty or one of his courtiers.
"Lan' sakes, 'Zekiel!" exclaimed the boldest one or the party, who
chanced to be a tall, raw-boned female, "go git gran'pap's old
blunderbuss, an' shoot it."
Zekiel was rooted to the spot with fear and heeded not the exhortation
of his strong-minded relative. Boyton, who feared the people who did not
keep posted by reading the papers, more than he did the rapids, relieved
them by taking to the water, and was flashed from their sight as he
was drawn into another and larger rapid. He was whirled into a place
where he had a hard struggle over a bed of round, slippery rocks
in shallow water. He could not find the channel, and if he stood up to
take an observation, his feet would be swept from under him. He was
fully an hour getting over the rocks, walking, crawling or paddling as
best he could. At five o'clock he reached Bristol. There he was advised
to go no further and a telegram from his agent below, told him the
river was too dangerous to travel at night. The next morning the
landlord's daughter drove him to the bank and a large crowd watched as
he paddled away toward the whirlpool, against which he had been warned.
It was a rough passage, but he reached Franklin in safety at one
o'clock. All the way he had kept a sharp lookout for the driver of the
wrecked wagon, but could discover no trace of him. Before reaching
Franklin a fleet of boats rowed up to the falls to meet him, and
bonfires were built along the shore in his honor.
The voyage was resumed at eight o'clock next morning, and at ten o'clock
he shot Sewell's Falls, a rather rough place, and from there the river
was lonely until West Concord was reached. Here the booming of cannon
announced his safe arrival to the people. He was met by a fleet of boats
and informed that they had been looking for him two days. He was warned
to look out for Turkey Falls, and before proceeding he asked a
countryman which side of the falls he should take, and received the
cheering answer that, "whichever side he took he would wish he had
taken the other." Both banks of the falls were lined with people, Paul
always noticed a larger crowd at every point where he was likely to be
killed. He went over Turkey Falls, and for a few seconds was lost to
sight. The spectators waited in breathless silence to see his lifeless
form rise from the foam, but beheld only the flashing paddle moving
gaily along in smoother water, and so a hero was not lost at that
uneventful spot, and there would be no legend of the place to hand down
to posterity.
One mile from the falls, the Captain encountered the first dam, below
which there was a stretch of dead water for seven miles. It was there he
met the first steam craft--a small launch that had sailed up from
Suncook. It was a long, tiresome pull through the dead stretch, and
he arrived at Suncook at dark pretty well fagged out. Invitations to
remain were plentiful; but he continued two miles further to Hookset
where dry clothing awaited him. Next morning an early start was made and
he was able to have the Baby Mine with him for the rest of the journey.
The water from Hookset to Manchester is heavy; but by constant paddling
he reached the latter place at noon. There were more signs of life as
he progressed. Children ran along the banks calling to him, and one
little girl cried: "Paul, come in here I want see you," as though she
had known him for years. He passed two of the five falls that barred the
progress to Nashua, when darkness fell with such intensity that he
was compelled to depend on shore sounds to determine in which direction
he was going. At eight o'clock, seeing lights on shore, he summoned
some people with a blast on the bugle and inquired the distance to the
next falls. As was the case above, he had to listen to diverse and
widely different opinions, with the usual result, that he took his own
course, and succeeded in reaching Nashua in safety at ten o'clock. The
next day dawned dull and rainy and he had a tiresome pull on a sluggish
stream until he reached Tyngsborough. Nearing a crowded bridge at that
place, volleys of questions were fired at him. He was choking with
thirst and without looking up, asked: "Is there a hotel here?"
"Naw," shouted a gruff voice, "ner yeou kaint git naw liker hure nowhere
neether."
"I'll take an oath that you never colored that nose of yours with river
water," quickly replied Boyton.
The retort happily hit the mark, for the fellow was the possessor of a
richly tinted proboscis of carmine hue, that was somewhat of a landmark
in the village. The crowd roared in approbation of the home thrust and
the man, hastily elbowed his way through the crowd until he was beyond
hearing.
A number of small boats ascended the river from Lowell to meet Paul, and
he accepted an invitation from the Vesper Boat Club, of that city, to
land at their club house, which he did at five o'clock. He remained over
Sunday in Lowell and resumed the journey Monday morning. He shot
Hunt's falls in safety and there met a steam launch with newspaper men
from Lawrence, aboard. At Lawrence the river begins to be affected by
the tide, on account of which he was compelled to wait until four
o'clock next morning before continuing the trip. He made a landing
at daylight at a frame house over the door of which was painted the word
"confectionery" and he thought he could get some breakfast. He was
given a room, but it was soon filled with obtrusive questioners. A
farmer, seeing the look of hunger in his eyes, volunteered to
procure some breakfast. The Captain was prepared to do justice to the
kind of a meal he had been wishing for, when the farmer returned
with a genuine country breakfast consisting of several pieces of apple
and mince pie and a liberal supply of assorted pickles. It was fortunate
for Boyton's digestion that he was obliged to stay at that place for
five hours, owing to the flood tide.
Directly after resuming the voyage, he was met by a fleet of boats, one
of them being occupied by Sir Edward Thornton, the British Minister at
Washington, and his beautiful daughter. Being old acquaintances, Paul
enjoyed a pleasant chat with them, and a few moments later, he landed at
Newburyport. The voyage was ended. He had made two hundred miles of very
rough going, in seven days.
Boyton rested but a short time ere he was ready to begin a run down the
Connecticut, the largest and most beautiful river in New England, from
as near the headwaters as he could get, to Long Island Sound. His
arrival at Stratford, New Hampshire, from which place he had decided
to start, occasioned a great deal of comment in that and neighboring
villages. The inhabitants concluded he should have more than
ordinary recognition, and in lieu of a cannon they put a pair of anvils
together and succeeded in making quite a respectable noise. At
night a deputation of citizens called on him with a request that he
would not start until daylight next morning, so they would have an
opportunity to see him off. At six forty-five o'clock the following
morning, a goodly sized company was present to witness the start.
After passing the railroad bridge at Coos, he had about six miles of
rapids, the river being only about forty yards wide and rather speedy,
the voyager averaging about five miles an hour. At eleven o'clock he
passed Stratford Hollow and inquired of a countryman there how far it
was to Northumberland:
"Seven mile b' road an' twenty-b' river, b' gosh," was the native's
reply.
Though laconic, the answer was correct, for the stream bowed and bended
frequently, and at one time he passed the same farm house twice in an
interval of two hours and a half, giving him an opportunity to observe
both sides of it. About two o'clock in the afternoon a heavy rainstorm
blew up, while the booms and logs in the river also caused a great deal
of trouble. Whenever a person on the bank could speak to him he was
invariably warned of the Fifteen Mile Falls.
"Look Bout, straanger, fur them 'ere Fifteen Mile Falls. They'll jus'
squeeze yeou sure'n daylight," was almost always the style of warning.
Paul hauled up to question one man who looked like a waterman,
concerning the falls. The fellow said he had gone over once on a raft,
when the water was much higher. "An' would yeou b'lieve it," he added,
"one o' them 'ere wimmen were boun' an' determined tew come wuth us."
"Did she go?" asked Paul.
"Neow yeou jus' bet she did."
"Well, how did she act?"
"I'll tell yeou straanger. I tol' her tew go astern an' hol' on hard tew
th' stake. She went aft ju' afore we got tew Holbrook's Bar, an' then
we jus' tuk it. Slap, bang we went, jus' run pitch right under thet 'ere
rushin' water'n come up b'low all right."
"What did the woman do? How did she act?"
"Wall, sir, yeou wuden't b'lieve it. She jus' guv one loud snort, shuk
herself out'n went right erlong."
The loss of his paddle caused Paul to remain at Northumberland all
night, and fortunately it was found among a lot of driftwood next
morning, enabling him to drive ahead again.
One of the drawbacks of the voyage was the difficulty experienced in
getting proper provisions at many places. Numbers of people were
either thoughtless, or they looked on Boyton as an uncanny sort of
creature, whom they did not care to have about. When he did get food, it
consisted of pie, which seemed to be the staff of life with most of the
country people. He inquired of a voluble fellow where he could
be best accommodated at Northumberland.
"Oh, stop at th' hotel, b' all means. They feed yeou tip top; high up,"
said he, "I've been ter dinner there w'en they've hed all o' seven
kinds er pie on ther table t'onct."
"Have they got apples and squash?" jokingly asked the Captain.
"Yeou kin jus' bet on thet," was the enthusiastic answer.
Just below Northumberland, which place he left at nine o'clock, he
encountered a dam and very rough water. The weather became squally, with
a cold and cutting snow beating into his face; but he plied the paddle
vigorously and made remarkable progress, reaching Lancaster at one
thirty o'clock. Countrymen whom he passed would stare at him and then
burst out into loud guffaws of laughter as though immensely tickled at
the idea of a man paddling down the river in a driving snow storm.
At length Paul began to feel the livelier motion of the water as he was
nearing Lunenburg, where the Fifteen Mile Falls begin. Wishing to enter
that dangerous stretch a fresh man, he pulled up for the night and
luckily found a hospitable farmer in the person of Mr. Frank Bell,
who entertained him handsomely until morning.
He was prepared for heavy work when he started early next day, and well
it was that he was fortified for the occasion, as the Fifteen Mile
Falls proved about as rough an experience as he had ever gone through.
At Holbrook's Bar, the last pitch of the falls, M'Indoe's Dam, Barnet
Pitch and other place, he encountered many dangers in the way of
whirling currents and jagged rocks. He suffered but a slight bruise in
the descent though his dress was cut and he was obliged to stop and
repair it at Lower Waterford where he remained over night. At a
little settlement above that village, someone in a small gathering on
the bank said:
"Hure comes that pesky swimmer aroun' th' bow, an' he's a cumin' like
forty."
"Who's a-comin'?" asked a broad shouldered Green Mountaineer. The very
thought of a man paddling down the river seemed to suggest some scheme
of the fakir or dodge of the showman to separate him from the coins that
jingled in his pocket. The old Vermonter, turning a quid of sassafras
from one corner of his mouth to the other, drawled, with all
impressiveness of a judge to whom some knotty law point had been
presented: "Wall, I wunder what he gits out'n this? He mus' be a darned
critter tew resk himself in thet ere fashion; an' I swan whar th' profit
comes in is agin me tew tell."
The Vermonter's inability to understand what Boyton was going to get out
of such a trip, appeared to be the subject about which most of the
people along the Connecticut were puzzling their brains. They would
invariably ask: "How dew yeou make it pay?" "Ain't yeou cold?" Many of
them would not respond when asked for information regarding the currents
and rough passages; but would permit him to paddle along uninstructed
in order that they "might have the full benefit of the show."
After cutting his dress he became chilled by the inflow of cold water
and was helplessly numb. A little stimulant would have done him a world
of good; but he could neither beg, buy nor borrow anything from the
spectators. When he reached Lower Waterford Bridge, his agent met him
with supplies, and there he stopped to repair his dress. He was only
about midway of the Fifteen Mile Falls. The suit was injured in the
first pitch and the accident might have been averted had any one in the
large crowd that watched him start in, given him information. As he
approached, he asked the onlookers where the channel of the river was.
They stared at him and on the question being repeated, looked at one
another and put their eyes on the river again. Almost immediately the
current swept Boyton toward the rocks.
Off Morris' place, Paul hailed a fellow in a turnip patch and as he
cautiously approached the river, the Captain removed the cover from an
air-tight jar suspended from his neck, took out a cigar and holding a
match in the rubber tube of his dress, lit the weed. The rustic removed
his hat, closed an eye and scratched his head in great perplexity.
"Wall, I swaw," he ejaculated, "ef yeou hadn't spoke er I'd er taken
yeou fur th' devil an' swore yeou that ere durned cigar Wuth th' end
o' yer tail, I wud, b'gosh. But ain't yer cold?"
Valley Hotel was the name of the tavern at which Paul and his party put
up for the night at Lower Waterford. How long before Boyton's visit the
last guest had registered there is problematical, but the landlady
proved hospitable. During the evening, her sitting room, which Boyton
and his party occupied, reviewing the incidents of the voyage, was
overrun with fellows who stalked in and looked at "the show" just as if
it was a menagerie of wild beasts into which they had free admission.
They gathered at the country store opposite and poured across the
street, in sixes and sevens, like so many reliefs on army duty. A gang
would enter the sitting room occupying the chairs and sofa, look on with
open mouths for ten or fifteen minutes and listen to what must have
been enigmatical to them; then looking one at the other, the entire
party would rise together, stalk back to the store, where they would
relate their experience to others, who in turn would brace up and make a
descent on the lion of the hour. They did not rap for admittance, did
not remove their hats on entering, did not wait to be asked to take a
seat, did not say a word to anybody while present, did not say "good
evening" when they went out--in fact did nothing but stare in the most
ignorant and saucy manner. An excuse may be made for there in the fact
that Waterford is isolated from civilization, there being neither
railroad nor telegraph communication with the outside world and few
newspapers are ever seen to say nothing of being read. Paul bore the
inspection good naturedly and joked pleasantly as each "relief" went
out.
Just before starting in the morning, an old gentleman met Boyton on the
porch in front of the hotel and expressed real pleasure at meeting
him--in fact, claimed close acquaintanceship. The Captain was glad to
meet an old friend and was inquisitive enough to ask where they had seen
each other before.
"Wall," the old fellow answered, "yeou remember w'en yeou crossed th'
English channel?"
"Yes," Boyton remembered it.
"An' that ere rubber suit you wore?"
"Certainly."
"Wall," continued the old man, apparently tickled to the end of his toes
because Paul had not forgotten. "Wall, I saw thet ere suit at the
centennial in Philadelphia in '76; I was thar." He looked triumphantly
around to catch the admiring gaze of his townsmen.
The above are only a few samples of many similar incidents and episodes
which occured during the voyage. In shooting Dodge's Falls, a lumberman
called out to Paul to hug the New Hampshire shore and he would get over
safely. That was the only sensible word of warning or information he
received through the entire Fifteen Mile Falls.
He reached Woodville Monday evening after escaping many dangers, pretty
well used up. The worst of the run had been accomplished, though there
were still several falls and dams to be shot and long stetches of dead
water to be paddled. Nearing Bellow's Falls, the people were more
enlightened and many offers of hospitality were sung out to him from
shore. The citizens of that place displayed a deep interest in his
attempt to shoot the falls and rendered all the assistance in their
power. He shot them in safety, though narrowly escaping a big log that
was dashed over directly behind him. From that point to the completion
of the voyage, he everywhere met with kind words and encoragement.
On the evening of November seventh, he landed at Saybrook light, sixteen
days from Stratford Hollow.
The winter of 1879 and 1880 was spent in Florida, hunting, fishing,
alligator shooting and canoeing. He and a party of friends made a
canoe voyage far up on the St. John's river and through the Kissimmee to
Lake Okeechobee, where they had a great deal of sport shooting deer,
bears and alligators; but at the same time the numerous moccasins and
rattlesnakes afforded more amusement than was relished by several of the
party. Returning north to Jacksonville, Paul made a run down the St.
John's river to the sea, crossing the shark infested bar at the mouth
of the river.
On his way north during the spring, he made short trips on the Savannah,
Cooper and Potomac rivers and the Chesapeake Bay. In June he paddled
down the Delaware from Philadelphia to Ship John's light. That trip was
a very laborious one on account of the sluggish tide. The moment the
tide would turn against him, he would have to strike for the flat Jersey
shore, where in the long grass the myriads of energetic mosquitoes
almost set him frantic with their attention. Later he paddled the entire
length of Lake Quinsigamond, and in September he ran the Narragansett
from Rocky Point to Providence.