In less than a month after his return from South America, Boyton was in
St. Paul, Minnesota, ready to start on a voyage of one thousand and
eight miles down the Mississippi river to Cairo, this trip being
undertaken in order to complete the length of that river from source to
mouth. Though there were no adventures of extraordinary interest in this
voyage, it was the stormiest one he ever encountered; and he was
diverted on the way by two peculiar characters that accompanied him,
being almost continually provoked to mirth by the humorous incidents
which befell them. His companion was a celebrated German artist, Dr.
C., who was on his first visit to America, as a representative of
that famous publication, the Gartenlaube. The Doctor was a scholarly
gentleman, but being unacquainted with American characteristics, which
had been sadly misrepresented to him by some of his countrymen who were
inclined to joke, he had an exaggerated notion as to how he must dress
and act for such a trip as he was going to take. When he was at St.
Paul, he thought he was on the skirts of civilization and it behooved
him to appear in such a manner as not to be imposed on as a novice. So
when he was presented to Boyton, he was gaily attired in a buckskin
suit, with revolver and bowie knife trimmings, looking rather out of
place with the scholarly spectacles that bridged his nose. He really
outdid the most fanciful cowboy of the far western ranches. Such an
outfit he imagined just the thing for a trip among the wild characters
on the Upper Mississippi. The other member of the party was a broad
nosed, Herculean negro whom Paul hired to pull the row boat he
had purchased for the Doctor's accommodation.
Boyton found that the scenery on the Upper Mississippi was more
beautiful than on any river he had yet traversed. There was not that
startling grandeur which characterized the shores of some of the rivers;
but it was beautiful--with high buttes and pleasant shores, while the
people throughout its entire length are exceedingly hospitable. If the
loveliness of this river were better known, it would be more generally
visited by tourists in search of rest or recreation. On the morning of
May nineteenth, 1881, the start was made, the usual crowd of people
lining the banks to see them off.
Several of the Doctor's enthusiastic friends presented him with a keg of
beer. It was placed in his skiff. Unfortunately, they forgot to give
him a faucet. All that day was very hot, and the entire party longed for
a drink from its cooling depths. Late that evening a steamer, towing a
raft, came slowly down the river. Paul told the negro to pull alongside
and have the raftsman open the keg. They had no faucet but they had an
auger, with which they willingly started to bore into its head. A moment
afterward a white fountain shot to the sky and all hands held their
hats to catch the descending shower.
They ran along without other adventure, until the second day out, when
Lake Pipin was reached, where they were met by a heavy head wind and an
enormous sea, that almost swamped the Doctor's boat; but they hauled up
at Lake City in safety, where they passed the night.
The first reception accorded the voyagers was at La Crosse, where they
were greeted with a blaze of fireworks and the roaring of cannon.
Below La Crosse as they were swinging along between the willow-laden
banks of the beautiful river, whose waters, unlike the thick yellow of
its lower half, where it partakes of the character of the Missouri, are
clear and pure, the Doctor developed a taste for hunting and
asked permission to use the shotgun that had been stowed away in the
boat. Boyton readily consented; but seeing that the Doctor knew nothing
about handling the weapon, which was an improved breech loader, some
pains were taken to instruct him in the use of it. It looked so simple
that the Doctor thought he had mastered it without any trouble at all.
The negro, however, was not so confident and eyed the gun in the
Doctor's hands with great suspicion.
"Ise not sayin' nun' Cap'en" he remarked to Paul, "but that man aint
been rised aroun' whar da do much shootin', suah's yo' libe. Dar aint
no tellin' whar he gwine fur to pint that weepin' an Ise running chances
in hyah wid him. Dat's right, Cap'en."
He was assured that there would be no danger; but he was far from being
satisfied and kept an anxious eye on the Doctor's movements.
After further instructions and admonishing the Doctor to be very
careful, Boyton resumed his paddle and was soon ploughing ahead of the
boat. He had not proceeded a mile when he heard a report of the gun and
turning, saw both the Doctor and the darkey gazing intently into the sky
at a gull that was sailing leisurely around a half mile or so above
them. The Doctor nervously rubbed his glasses and looked again, at a
loss to determine why the bird did not fall. When the boat dropped
alongside, Paul explained to the astonished Doctor that a shotgun only
carried a short distance and he could not expect to hit anything so far
away.
As the sun was sinking that evening, Boyton heard the negro yelling:
"Great Lawd, come hyah Cap'en! Oh, my soul, come quick! quick! Dis hyah
Dutchman gwine t' kill me suah!"
Wheeling around, Paul witnessed the most ludicrous spectacle. The
Doctor, with the muzzle of the gun turned on the negro, was
excitedly hammering a cartridge into the breech, while the negro was
stretched on his back nearly over the gunwale of the boat, with the
broad sole of his foot held as a shield toward the muzzle, yelling at
the top of his voice. The doctor saw some blackbirds in the bushes and
not remembering how to put a cartridge in the gun, was pounding it in
with the handle of his bowie knife. Of course it was liable to explode
at every stroke, and the poor negro knew the danger.
After some expostulation, the Doctor was persuaded to put the gun away.
Below Dubuque, the weather grew stormy and so continued for the rest of
the voyage. They were treated to some marvelous lightning effects. Its
forked tongues lapped the water in the most eccentric manner--fearful,
though intensely beautiful. The poor darkey cowered in fright on the
bottom of the boat with covered eyes, while Paul and the Doctor were so
impressed with the grandeur of the manifestation, as to be unmindful of
the danger. After that, whenever dark masses of clouds began to roll up
in the sky and the wind commenced to sough mournfully through the
willows, no power on earth could prevent the darkey from pulling in
shore and staying there until the storm had passed.
"Ole Mastah above kin hit me evah w'en he wants to; I knows dat; but den
Ise gwine to climb fur the shoah foah dat lightnin' play tag aroun'
dis niggah's head agin, dat's shoah as yo' libe," he explained to Paul
after one of his hurried retreats into the bushes.
Twelve days after the start the party arrived at Davenport. Paul had
been greatly retarded in his progress on account of false channels
and sloughs into which he wandered and through which he paddled many
weary miles. Early one morning, emerging from one or these sloughs just
as the sun was rising, he was treated to a concert such as he had never
heard. The music seemed to him almost heavenly--so exceedingly beautiful
that he remained motionless on the water, charmed by the entrancing
melody. It burst from the throats of thousands of birds on one side
of the river, and the refrain was taken up by a swelling chorus of
feathered warblers on the other shore. It was a concert that paid him
for the labor of a thousand miles of paddling.
At Davenport, and in fact at all the river towns, the party was tendered
enthusiastic receptions. All the members of the boat clubs at
Burlington rowed up to meet them and formed an interesting flotilla into
the city. They frequently encountered rafts of logs, containing
millions of feet of lumber. The raftsmen were always glad to meet Paul
and converse with him as long as he would paddle alongside.
Below Davenport, the Doctor's passion for hunting was again displayed,
much to the disgust of his dusky boatman. He insisted on firing at some
blackbirds and the promise of a quarter to the negro, persuaded that
worthy to row him close in shore. He took deliberate aim and fired into
a tree that was covered with birds. Not one of them fell; but a cow that
had been drinking among the willows, ran wildly up the bank with her
tail in the air, bellowing mournfully. The darkey received the promise
of another twenty-five cents for pulling away from the scene as fast as
he could. It had usually been Paul's complaint that the boat was too far
behind; but after the cow incident, it was just the other way. They
were always so far ahead that it was hard to keep them in sight. The
darkey was bribed to this unwonted exertion by presents of neckties
and other fancy articles which the Doctor sacrificed from his wardrobe.
The latter had visions of that cow's owner in vengeful pursuit.
While paddling along one morning, the boat being quite a distance below
him, Boyton heard a terrific fusillade from the gun. He thought the
Doctor was shooting away all the cartridges. The boat was surrounded by
smoke and Paul drove ahead to see what was going on. As he drew near,
he saw the doctor holding a small object in his hand while a look of
pride glowed on his countenance. It was a little squirrel.
"See what I have killed," enthusiastically cried the Doctor in German.
"Yaas," chimed in the darkey, "dat squi'l him swimmin' de ribber an' de
Doc, he shot an' shot an' den I kill um wid de oah."
After leaving Quincy, the Doctor again distinguished himself, by firing
into some ducks that he saw in a slough on the Missouri side. The negro
had encouraged him to shoot and to his intense satisfaction, he
accidentally killed one. He made the darkey row in and pick it up, and
a few moments later, a gruff voice was heard on the bank:
"Pull ashore; nigger."
Looking up they saw a gigantic Missourian with his rifle pointed at them
and the negro pulled in as though he was trying to escape another
lightning storm.
"Mister; I want six bits fur that er pet duck of mine," the man remarked
to the Doctor.
The price demanded was promptly paid and the Doctor was glad to get away
from that wicked looking weapon which the Missourian handled as though
familiar with its use. After that adventure, he lost all interest in
hunting.
On June nineteenth, the party pulled into St. Louis, where they were
welcomed by a crowd of about thirty-thousand people, and the screaming
of whistles was something deafening. The Mayor was on one of the
steamboats and extended Paul the freedom of the city. He was
hospitably entertained, and after a short visit, began the last stretch
of his journey, two-hundred miles to Cairo, which he intended to finish
without a stop; the longest continuous run he ever made. On this trip
he had a great deal of trouble with the boat as both the Doctor and
the darkey would persist in sleeping, after they had been on the route
a short time. On one occasion, after the boat had been lost from him for
a couple of hours, Boyton saw something limping down the river in a
lopsided manner, which he could not believe was the boat; but on its
nearing him, he saw it was the Doctor pulling away as though his life
depended on it, with one oar and a little staff to one end of which was
fastened a small German flag. Both occupants had gone to sleep and lost
an oar, and the Doctor had utilized the flag staff that had been proudly
placed at the boat's stern. They arrived safely at Cairo, forty-one
hours from St. Louis. The Doctor poorer in clothes and the darkey
much richer in wardrobe, parted with each other and Paul at this
point.
At Cairo, Boyton met a friend who was going up the Mississippi to St.
Paul on his own private steamer, a handsome little boat fitted up with
every luxury. He invited Paul to accompany him and knowing no more
congenial way to rest, he consented. They made the trip by easy
stages stopping at places where good hunting promised and thoroughly
enjoyed themselves. The little steamer was full of pets they picked up
at various points; coons, foxes, opossum, crows and squirrels.
Above Burlington they ran across somewhat of a snag in the shape of a
pilot's union. They were compelled to hire a pilot to see them up the
river, (though they were perfectly able to handle the boat themselves),
or be compelled to pay a fine of fifty dollars. They were hauled up at
the wharf of an Iowa village when they heard this, and rather than have
any trouble, they concluded to hire a pilot. On inquiry, they learned
that there was no pilot in the village except the editor of the weekly
paper. He had a license and could do the work if he was so inclined.
This placed them in a rather awkward position. They did not feel like
asking so distinguished a gentleman as the editor of the paper to
pilot them. Several conferences were held on the subject; but the
stubborn fact still stared them in the face, that the editor was the
only man in the village who could do the work and if they proceeded to
the next town without a licensed pilot they would have to pay a fifty
dollar fine. At last in a fit of desperation, Paul said he would call
on the editor and see what kind of a man he was, anyway, and if he
proved to be all right, he might be induced to join them as a guest,
which would be a more polite way to put it. They were willing to give
twenty-five or thirty dollars; but they felt a delicacy in making such a
proposition to an editor.
At any rate, Paul called at the office. After climbing a crazy flight of
stairs on the outside of a little rheumatic looking frame building, he
found the editor seated on a stool at a case of type, setting up some
matter for his next week's issue. Boyton introduced himself.
"Well, I'll be doggoned, Paul," exclaimed the editor, jumping from the
stool, "I'm almighty glad to see you," enthusiastically shaking his
hand, "where in thunder are you swimming to now?"
"Oh, I'm just going up the river on a pleasure trip, with a friend of
mine, on a little steamer."
"Is that so. Well, I'm glad to meet you any way. I'll make a note about
it next week."
"Yes, we are having a little pleasure excursion; hunting, fishing, and
all that sort of thing and we thought you might enjoy a trip with us a
little way."
A cunning gleam shot through the editor's eagle eye, as he replied:
"Um, I guess you want me to pilot you up, don't you?"
"Well, yes. If you want to put it that way. You might assist our regular
pilot if you felt so disposed. I can assure you a good time. Plenty of
everything on board."
"I'll be doggoned if I wouldn't like to go up, Paul; but don't see how I
can do it. In fact it's impossible. You see I couldn't get out my
paper next week. Have to disappoint all my subscribers and you know that
would hardly be right."
"We would have a good time," persisted Boyton, "you could take a little
vacation, you know, and you might get some one to put out the paper for
you."
"Couldn't do it. There aint a man between here and Chicago that could
get out this paper. No sir. If I went, I'd have to disappoint all my
subscrib--"
"Well, what will you take to pilot us up?" interrupted Paul in
desperation, willing to offer fifty dollars if there was a chance.
"You see I would have to disappoint all my subscribers and then the
advertisers would kick and want to knock off on their bills. Taking
all those things into consideration, I don't see how I could go up for
less than three dollars."
Of course he was taken along and luxuriously entertained as well as paid
the three dollars. The week following the editor's return, his paper
contained an item to the effect that "owing to illness in his family,
the editor was compelled to disappoint his subscribers last week."
At St. Paul, Boyton began preparations for the longest voyage he had yet
undertaken--down the Yellowstone and Missouri.