There being many dangers to encounter on his contemplated voyage down
the Yellowstone and Missouri, every precaution was taken that might
possibly lessen them. General Terry kindly sent information to all the
military posts and Indian agents along the rivers of Boyton's voyage and
requested them to tell the Indians so that they would not shoot him in
mistake for some strange water animal.
On the 15th of September, 1881, Boyton arrived at the terminus of the
railroad at Glendive, Montana, then a little town made up of rough board
houses and tents, which was the highest point on the Yellowstone he
could reach. He went to a hotel and asked if he could be accommodated
with a room. "I reckon you can," said the landlord, "there's only sixty
in there now."
He was not compelled to occupy that general sleeping room, however, as
the superintendent of a construction train provided a place for him in
one of the cars. He remained two days in Glendive, completing
preparations for his journey. Besides his usual equipments in the Baby
Mine, he added an ax, a double barreled gun which could be taken apart
and made to occupy a very small space. This was a necessary weapon, as
he knew he would have to depend largely on his own exertions for
provisions through a greater part of the country he was to traverse.
These with signal lights, rockets, compass, maps, etc., completed the
Baby's cargo. As he knew he had three-thousand five-hundred and eighty
miles of river to haul under him, he determined to put into practice
a theory he had long maintained, that hardship can better be endured
without the use of alcoholic liquors. As a substitute, he reduced two
pounds of strong black tea to liquid form, to be used as a stimulant
when one was necessary, and his subsequent experience proved that his
theory was correct.
General Merritt was in command of the post at Glendive and did
everything in his power to assist Paul in his preparations. During
the last evening spent at the post, the General asked him what time he
would start in the morning.
"At five o'clock," was the answer.
"For goodness sake," facetiously replied the General, "don't start so
early. At that time our sentries sleep the soundest."
The river at Glendive is narrow and quite shoal, the channel not being
more than eighteen inches deep. The bottom is composed of gravel, but
having been solidified by the alkali, is like a solid rock. The channel
runs in every direction and is at times diverted by great sandbars
strewn with the most beautiful agates, on which no human foot had ever
trod before Paul touched them.
In deference to General Merritt's wishes and a fellow feeling for the
sleepy sentinels, Paul did not start until seven o'clock on the morning
of the 17th. All the inhabitants of the town went to the river bank,
among them, the General's handsome daughter, who presented Paul with a
set of colors, which he flew on the Baby throughout the trip. A cannon
salute was fired and he began his lonely and dangerous journey.
In an incredibly short space of time he was away from all signs of
civilization and running very fast on the lonely river. He had been
warned at the start to look out for hostile bands of Crow Indians who
were hunting in that vicinity, so he made fast time all day. Now and
again he struck rapids and had to exercise the utmost care to keep his
suit from being cut on the rocks. He saw any quantity of game along the
route, particularly black tailed deer that frequently came to the
water's edge. He amused himself by blowing blasts on the bugle and watch
them dash up the banks and disappear in the timber. That evening he
decided to camp on a bar across which a cottonwood tree was lying, that
promised an excellent back log for a fire. Either shore was heavily
wooded. Taking off his suit, he gathered a quantity of brush; but was
careful not to create too much smoke for fear of guiding Indians to
his resting place. He cooked supper and leaving a little fire
smoldering, put on the rubber pantaloons, using the tunic as a pillow
and laid down, the hooting of owls furnishing music to soothe his
slumbers. Being somewhat anxious about Indians, he slept lightly and
about two o'clock, he was startled by what seemed to be a canoe landing
on the bank near by. He rose cautiously from behind the cottonwood
log. Instead of a canoe full of hostile Indians, he saw a magnificent
elk sharply defined against the dark background of the shore, his
sides glistening like silver, being wet from his swim across the river.
The huge animal was uneasy, throwing his splendidly antlered head
back, sniffing the air and pawing the ground. Boyton raised his revolver
and fired. The great head swayed from side to side and the noble animal
dropped to his knees. Thinking the shot was fatal, Paul seized the
hunting knife and sprang forward to silt its throat, having first
flung a lot of brush on the smoldering fire. As the flames shot up, the
elk rose to his feet and commenced to retreat slowly across the bar.
Fully expecting to see him fall at every step, Paul followed as fast as
the cumbersome rubber pants would permit. Instead of weakening, as
Boyton thought he would, the elk gained strength and speed and went
crashing through the timber out of all possibility of pursuit.
Boyton returned disappointedly to the camp, where the blaze of the fire
was casting a reflection almost across the river. Excited and blown
after his chase, he sat down to rest, when to his surprise he saw the
paddle in the fire, nearly burned in two. Hastily snatching it
out, he found one blade utterly ruined and it was anything but cheerful
to contemplate his helplessness in those wilds without the means of
propelling himself; like a steamer without her wheel. He was not a man
to be easily overcome by trifles, however, and he did not helplessly
contemplate the situation for long; but seizing a hatchet, he chopped
down a small sapling and with his knife, began whittling out
another. He worked steadily until ten o'clock next morning before it was
completed and then pulled away to make up for lost time. If anything,
the river was rougher and wilder than it had been the day before;
running between high buttes which formed the upper edge of the Bad
Lands. Late that afternoon, just as he had noticed a break in the hills,
a tremendous roaring sound struck his ear. The river seemed to
quiver and dance. He thought there was an earthquake; but he soon
discovered the cause of the unusual commotion. A herd of buffalo
was approaching the river. They came down the slope as thick as ants,
waded out as far as they could and swam across. The river was perfectly
brown with them and they were fully three-quarters of an hour in
passing. The last to cross were the calves and a few stragglers.
They paid no attention whatever to Paul, who was hanging to the root
of a tree for safety; he pushed ahead as soon as he could get by. The
river for miles was churned to foam by their passage. It was the last
great drove of buffalo to cross the river, as they were nearly all
killed off in a very short time after.
About sundown he decided to camp under some high buttes. He built a
fire, removed his dress and then, in his stocking feet, climbed to
the heights in the hope of seeing some habitation; but as far as the eye
could reach, there was no sign of anything human. The only living thing
in sight was a herd of antelope, crossing an opposite hill, and far to
the southward he could see the mysterious buttes of the Bad
Lands. Returning to camp, he partook of supper and slept soundly all
night, pulling away before daylight next morning. For two days he was
utterly lonely. Not a thing in sight except wild game; but nearing the
Missouri river, he was suddenly informed that there was something else
around. A bullet struck the water just below him. He stood upright,
placing the Baby between himself and the near 'shore and blew a blast on
the bugle, discovering the Indian who had fired the shot as he did so,
with the smoking gun still in his hand. Paul yelled lustily at him but
he did not stop to investigate; he sprang away through the woods.
Late that afternoon, Paul saw a number of buildings ahead, with a pole
on which a flag hung at half mast. He had reached Fort Buford. He sent a
rocket whizzing in the direction of the fort and in a moment the bank
was lined with soldiers who received him hospitably. On inquiring the
cause of the flag being at half mast, he was informed that they had just
received the news of President Garfield's death.
He remained at Buford two days, a soldier making him a splendid paddle
during that time. He also visited the settlement of Ree and Mandan
Indians near by, and it was by them he was given the name of
Minnewachatcha, meaning spirit of the water. The Indians exhibited great
curiosity and asked all manner of questions. When he started again, the
entire garrison as well as the Indians assembled on the bank of the Big
Muddy, shouting a good bye as he was borne away. The officers of the
fort had warned him about a party of Indians that had gone out hunting
before they had received word from General Terry, and Paul did not fail
to keep a careful eye on the banks until he reached Fort Stevenson.
The currents and whirls on the Missouri were more savage than on the
Yellowstone and the bends were something indescribable, as he took
every point of the compass within the space of a couple of hours. If the
Yellowstone was lonesome, the Missouri, after leaving Buford, was doubly
so. The scenery was wild beyond expression. Great buttes towered darkly
on either shore and they were being continually undermined by the swift
and erratic current, causing avalanches of yellow soil to slide into the
water, so that it was necessary to keep well out in the stream in order
to avoid the dangerous banks. There was not a sight nor a sound of human
presence in all the vast territory through which the river wound. To see
a pile of wood or a stump which the crew of some boat that had wandered
up that far when the river was higher, had cut, was cheering amid that
awful loneliness. A blast from the bugle was echoed from butte to butte,
caught in the recesses of one hill to be thrown back with double force
into the solitude of another; until, from far below, the blast was
returned with such distinctness, that Paul would strain his cars to
catch the sound again, sure that his call had been answered by some
being down the stream.
He began to make thirty-six hour runs, camping every second night. His
program was to make an early start, run all that day and night until
sundown next day, when he would land. His manner of camping and except
on a few occasions, always the same, was to pick out the lee of a bank
where there was plenty of driftwood, Just before leaving the water, the
gun would be put together and one or two ducks knocked over without
difficulty as they were so thick everywhere that it required no hunting
to get them. These were put on the Baby and hauled ashore at the place
selected for camp. Landing, the suit was removed and a fire built. Two
stakes across which a stout pole was laid, were driven in the ground and
the suit hung up to dry. He then skinned the ducks, drew some thin
strips of bacon from the stores of the Baby with which he fried the
most tender parts of the fowls, cooking enough for breakfast so there
would be no necessity of delaying the start next morning. Supper was
usually eaten with a little hot beef tea. After the evening meal, as
soon as the dress was thoroughly dry, it was reversed and a pile of wood
gathered for the purpose of replenishing the fire during the night. The
softest place to the windward of the fire was selected for a bed,
the suit donned, his alarm clock wound, hatchet and arms placed on the
deck of the Baby near at hand in case of danger. Then as night closed in
on the lonely buttes, the pipe was filled and he would lie down to the
full enjoyment of a most delicious smoke, soon to be lulled into sound
sleep by the melodious gurgle of the swift flowing river. Often during
the night he was awakened by the "honk," "honk" of immense flocks of
wild geese on their way to the southward, or by the whistling of wild
ducks that flew closer to the water. Whenever awakened, he replenished
the fire and consulted the clock. He became possessed with an
unaccountable desire to push ahead and was jealous of every moment that
detained him. This was a feeling he had never before experienced. He
knew that winter was following him closely and the river would soon be
freezing behind him; yet that could scarcely account for the unusual
desire for haste. The moment he heard the whirr of the little alarm
clock, he was up. Hurriedly swallowing breakfast, he slipped into
the river for another thirty-six hours run.
Driving along one afternoon, he thought he saw a man in a tree and
spurted ahead in the hope of obtaining some information as to his
location, to say nothing of the pleasure of hearing A human voice. The
man proved to be a cinnamon bear standing with its face toward the trunk
of the tree, reaching for some kind of nuts or berries. The bear looked
gravely at Paul as he passed; but paid no more attention to him,
though he yelled, blew the bugle and splashed the water. A shot from
the revolver, however, caused the big fellow to skin down the tree in a
hurry.
Whenever the wind blew up stream, which in the northern part of Dakota
was very often, the current turned to a choppy, yellow sea that was
trying. While beating against a head wind of that kind one morning, half
blinded, he saw a covered boat fastened to the shore, from which a man
was emerging, gun in hand. Looking up the river he discovered Paul and
raised the gun to his shoulder. The voyager blew his bugle in a hurry
and waved his hand in sign of amity.
"Wall, stranger," said the man as Paul drew up to the boat, "thet er's a
lucky horn for you. I took yer fur a bar on er log."
Paul was invited in and learned that the man was a hunter and trapper.
He was exceedingly hospitable and insisted on his guest partaking of a
breakfast of beaver tail which is considered a great delicacy, but which
the voyager found rather too fat to agree with his palate. Noticing
that his guest was not particularly fond of the beaver tail, the trapper
wanted to go out and get a deer. He said he could get one in an hour
without the least trouble, as he would only have to go over the hill and
shoot one. The huntsman was as highly pleased to have some one to talk
to as Paul was and wanted him to remain on the boat for a few days; but
the necessity for haste was too pressing, and Paul could spare but an
hour.
According to program, that was the regular camping night. Heavy clouds
began rolling up before sundown. The high, caving banks on either side
were dangerous to approach, as the least touch of the treacherous soil
might loosen an avalanche that would bury him. Seeing no suitable place
to land, he pulled ahead extemporizing songs to cheer himself into the
belief that he was not tired. His idea was to run until nearly morning
when the chances of finding a suitable place to rest would be more
favorable. After nightfall as he was moving rapidly along, singing at
the top of his voice, the glow of a fire ahead claimed his attention and
stilled his vocal efforts. He was debating whether friend or foe was
nears when a gruff voice called from the bank:
"Hello, there. Who are you?"
"Hello; I'm Paul Boyton. Who are you?"
"Pull in, pull in."
"Can't see where you are."
"Come just around this point, you can get in all right."
Paul pulled around as directed and saw the fire plainly. Three or four
men approached the bank, heavily armed and carrying torches made of
knots. He heard a whispered conversation, betraying astonishment at his
appearance; but he was greeted kindly and invited to the camp. Nearing
the fire through the woods, his nostrils were assailed by a horrible
smell which one of the men explained by saying he had just shot a
skunk. There were eighteen in the party, comfortably fixed with two good
sized tents and an abundance of buffalo robes. After he had removed his
suit the cook prepared an excellent meal and urged him to eat heartily
which he was not loth to do. They also had a large supply of liquor, but
he refused to touch it and they did not insist. Refreshed by the warm
meal, he lit his pipe and began to talk. He told the men his object
in making voyages and described some of the rivers he had navigated.
When he told about crossing the English Channel, one of them jumped
up, exclaiming:
"Great snakes! I know you now. I've just been tryin' to place you. Why,
I read all about you in an almanac."
"Well," said another, "when I first heard you out there, I thought you
was a deserter from the fort. The're about the only people we see comin'
down the river this time of the year."
The same man also volunteered the information that they were traders,
and Paul afterward saw that the woods were full of cattle. Seeing he was
growing weary, the men insisted that he should turn in under the buffalo
robes and take a good sleep, though he told them he could stretch out
anywhere by the fire and not deprive them of their robes. He did as they
desired and the moment he was snugged under the warm covering, the men
showed their thoughtfulness by lowering their conversation to whispers
so as not to disturb him.
At daylight they called him up as he had requested, and after a splendid
breakfast he started, with the Baby loaded almost to the water's edge
with provisions. All the cattle dealers accompanied him to the bank,
cordially shook his hand and wished him God speed.
About ten days after the above adventure, Paul learned that his
hospitable friends were notorious "rustlers" the western name for
cattle thieves, and that on the very day he left their camp, they had
been rounded up by a party of ranchers and every one of them shot to
death.
During the forenoon after leaving the camp of the rustlers, Paul was
hurled violently against a snag and his dress began leaking. Though
not more than twenty yards from the shore, he was filled to the neck
with the icy water before he could land. Fortunately there was
plenty of driftwood near and he soon had a roaring fire. He dried and
warmed himself while repairing the damaged suit, which he completed just
in time to escape a violent rain storm that followed him all day. Toward
evening, as he was entering a narrow passage between the buttes, he
felt as though he was leaking again and landed on a bar to investigate.
He found that though slightly wet, the leak was not occasioned by
another rent; but owing to the improper adjustment of the belt. As his
matches were too damp to light a fire, he gathered a pile of driftwood
and placed one of his signal lights in the barrel of a twelve caliber
pistol, made for the purpose; the signal light fitted the barrel like a
cartridge and threw out a strong, steady blaze when exploded. He shoved
the pistol into the center of the pile of wood and pulled the trigger.
Instead of lighting the fire he was hurled several feet away, and
righted himself with a numb feeling in his arm and only the pistol stock
in his hand. It was several minutes before he recovered sufficiently
from the shock to discover that he had received no serious injury. He
found the pistol barrel had exploded into countless fragments and the
wonder was that he had not been wounded by some of the flying pieces.
The thought of the horrible predicament he would have been in had some
of those fragments struck his eyes and left him blinded in those
lonely wilds, almost sickened him. It was a providential escape and he
kneeled on the bar and earnestly thanked the Almighty.
The incident so weighed on his mind, that he concluded not to build a
fire, but to push right along. Seeing that the belt was properly
fastened, he resumed the journey. That seemed to be his unlucky day,
however. As night was coming on he was driving along at double
speed trying to get up temperature enough to dry his underclothing.
Between eleven and twelve o'clock, he found himself in a place where
there was no current and realized that he had lost the channel. He tried
to stand upright to see where he was; but his feet struck the slimy,
working mud at the bottom. It appeared to grasp his legs and he
immediately threw himself on his back again, putting forth extra
exertions to extricate himself. He could make no headway and the mud
seemed to get thicker all around and he could feel it touching the under
side of the band of his dress. He then realized that he was in one of
the dreaded mud sucks that are numerous on the Missouri. They are
something in the nature of quicksand or quagmire and it is seldom
anything escapes from their slimy embrace. Seeing no way out, he grew
exceedingly nervous. He beat around in every direction without
success. Now and then he put his hand down and could feel the deadly
suction right under him. He had turned and twisted so much that he had
no idea where the channel was. The shore seemed near at hand but
impossible to reach. A cold perspiration started from every pore as
he began to realize the frightful situation. Then he thought of the
tactics he had employed in the quicksands of the Loire and he inflated
every chamber of his dress to its utmost capacity. That raised him
higher, but he could not get out. Then he thought he would remain
perfectly still until daylight, when he might see his way clear and get
the direction of the channel. And in his helplessness he begged for
aid from Heaven. While lying there half exhausted, he was startled by a
brilliant light. It looked like the blaze of an enormous lamp. He
could see it rise as if from the ground below him, and sail silently and
solemnly over to the side of a butte where it lodged. The thought
occurred to him that perhaps God had sent the light to guide him to the
channel, and pointing his feet toward the spot where it was shining
with great brilliancy, he made an almost superhuman effort to break
through the suction in that direction. To his intense joy, he found that
after a little while, he was slipping off the slime and getting into
deeper water. When he felt the current under him and knew he had
struck the channel, he stood up and gazed in awe at the light which was
still glowing against the butte, and he uttered a heartfelt prayer of
thanks.
Boyton is in no way superstitious; but that incident is so strongly
impressed on his mind that he often speaks of it. He understands that
he saw only an ignis fatuus, a phenomenon easily explained; but he
believes that it was sent that night by the great Pilot to guide a
helpless human being out of danger.
Two days later he saw the Indian agency of Fort Berthold on a bluff
overlooking the river. He sounded the bugle and soldiers and
Indians swarmed to the water's edge. The latter covered the sloping
bank, standing like statues, watching for the water spirit whom they had
been told was coming down the river. Each one wore a blanket of bright
red or blue and they formed a picturesque foreground to the high bluff
and sullen fort. As Boyton came opposite, he stood up in the water and
lighted a detonating rocket. Not a breath of air was stirring and the
thick white smoke from the rocket hung on the surface of the water,
hiding him from sight. Indeed, it looked to the Indians as though he
had disappeared entirely, and when the rocket exploded over their heads
with the roar of a cannon, their superstitious hearts could stand it no
longer and they rushed up the slope like a flock of frightened sheep,
tumbling over one another in their anxiety to get out of the way.
That night he stopped with the Agent who informed him that the tribe had
pronounced him good medicine, (lucky) at one of their pow wows. This
opinion of the red men was a source of much annoyance to Paul, for they
stole every little thing belonging to him they could put their hands on
for their medicine bags. The Indians belonged to the Ree and Mandan
tribes and have been peaceful for many years. They have one stubborn
custom which all the talk of the agents and assurances of the military
officials, will not remove. In the early days the Sioux were their
deadly enemies and made frequent disastrous raids on their villages.
Though years have passed since they have been disturbed, a lookout is
constantly kept. Every warrior in the village takes his turn at stated
times, to mount an elevation where he stands, like a statue, watching
the distant hills for their ancient foes.
Next day, prior to Paul's departure, all the chiefs shook hands with him
exclaiming, "how;" which, by the way is a most elastic word. It means
good-bye, how-do-you-do, expresses anger, friendship, pleasure, sorrow,
hate, insult, and in fact, almost every feeling of the human heart, all
depending on the intonation given the voice and the manner of uttering
it.
About twenty miles below the fort, Paul was again shot at, this time by
an Indian boy whose aim, luckily, was bad. He scampered away when the
voyager stood up and shouted: "How, how, cola."
That night Boyton ran into Fort Stevenson, where he was kindly
entertained, and next morning started on another thirty-six hours' run,
beating against head winds and heavy weather through another wild
stretch of country. The next camping place was in a sort of circular
basin that had been cut out of the prairie by the floods, and was
surrounded by high mud banks. He found plenty of drift in the eddy
and picked out the driest; but experienced great difficulty in
starting a fire with it. He only succeeded in getting sufficient heat to
cook his supper; he was not able to coax enough blaze to warm
himself. Night came down black as ink and he heard the distant yell of a
coyote which was answered from all directions by others. In less than
half an hour the top of the bank was covered with a horde of the dirty
little beasts, snapping and snarling at one another, their eyes
shining like balls of fire through the black night. They were frightened
away by a shot or two from the revolver; but soon returned, to set
up such howls as would freeze one's blood, though they are arrant
cowards. Paul concluded that the river was more pleasant than their
company and he started away, making a two days and two nights' run. He
had hard work to keep his eyes open during the night and possibly would
have dropped off to sleep but he heard the water swashing against an
occasional snag of which he had a wholesome dread.
Day broke cold and chilly with the same threatening sky as had darkened
the heavens the night before. Head winds fretted him and he felt cold
and miserable. Toward evening, utterly tired out, he began looking for a
camping place. There was no sound of life. Below he saw a belt of
timber which looked promising and just as he struck out for it, he was
surprised to discover on his right, at the edge of a small bit of
prairie, a log cabin. He immediately sounded the bugle, but there was no
response. Note after note failed to stir up any signs of life, so he
headed for the place pulling vigorously to clear the swift current which
he was compelled to cross. He reached a muddy shore scantily mixed
with sand, which extended a considerable distance from the bank. He
landed and on testing the soil with his foot found it unstable.
Fearing another mud suck, he put the Baby down and made his way with
quick steps to the cabin, the soil bending under him like rotten ice. He
then saw that the hut had long been deserted. Grass grew high and rank
all around it, while elk and deer antlers, bleached white by the sun,
were strewn everywhere and strips of blackened deer skin were nailed
over the chinks in the door. Pushing his way in he stood in a single
room with a big fire place at one side and two rude bunks covered with
old hay.
Paul was delighted with his find. Here was a royal shelter from the
threatening storm and a famous place to take much needed rest. He
felt himself a king in his palace. Going outside, he gathered several
pieces of wood which he placed one after another on the treacherous
soil making a series of steps to the water's edge, on which he could
walk without so much danger of sinking. Shouldering the Baby, he soon
had her safely deposited in the cabin and then removing his suit,
gathered a big supply of wood which he stowed on one side of the fire
place, closed and fastened the door securely, just as the storm broke
with considerable fury. Over a blazing fire he cooked an excellent
supper, which was eaten with a keen appetite, filled his pipe and
threw himself on a pile of hay which covered a portion of the floor
between the fireplace and bunks, that was boarded. There he reposed,
toasting his feet, watching the fragrant smoke from his pipe curling to
the browned rafters, smiling at the battling elements outside and
congratulating himself on the good fortune that had directed his eyes
toward such a castle. He was dozing off into a comfortable sleep, when
he felt a movement in the hay under his back. Thinking it was a field
mouse or a mole, he paid no attention to it; but when the pressure
against his back became stronger, he leaped to his feet and was
horrified to see the shining, hissing head of a snake rise out of the
hay. The reptile elevated its head two feet or more from the floor,
swaying from side to side in an angry fashion as though indignant
at the unusual intrusion. As it continued to uncoil its hideous length,
Paul seized a piece of wood and aimed a blow at its head. It quickly
disappeared and he could hear it drop somewhere underneath, hissing as
it went. Removing a portion of the litter, Paul found a kind of pit
covered with boards, apparently six feet deep, made, no doubt, for
storing provisions during the winter. Not caring to investigate
further, he dropped the board in its place and covered it again. He
determined not to be driven from his rest by the snakes, as he had been
by the coyotes, so he put on the dress and laid on the floor away from
the pit, covering his face as that was the only part of his body
exposed, and was soon sound asleep.
It was almost sunrise when he awoke. He replenished the fire and cooked
breakfast. The storm had passed and the sun was rising in a cloudless
sky, promising a fine day. After breakfast, when everything was prepared
for a hasty departure, he concluded to find out what had become of his
friend, the snake. Removing a few boards from the mouth of the pit, he
took up a burning brand from the fire and thrust it into the dark hole.
The sight sent a chill through every vein. Had he looked upon it the
night before, he would have trusted himself to the mercy of the
storm rather than sleep where he did. The place was alive with a
squirming mass of hideous reptiles, hissing and gliding about at being
disturbed. They were probably in their winter quarters and the fire had
roused them from their torpor. Quickly throwing the burning wood amongst
them, he dropped the planks and seizing the Baby, quitted the den and
was in the water like a flash. Many miles below, in a sharp bend that
headed him toward the northwest again, he saw a column of smoke
standing straight up in the sky and knew it was the burning Cabin of the
Snakes. He had not intended to fire the house, but on the whole, was
not sorry.
During the afternoon of the following day, a lazily moving flat boat
attracted Paul's attention as it drifted with the current at some
distance ahead. It was desirable to see and talk to any human being and
he increased his speed. As the flat boat with its unwieldy load was
in no particular hurry, he soon overhauled it and a blast from the
bugle caused the navigator of the craft to cast his eyes up stream.
He gazed curiously at Paul for a moment and exclaimed:
"Wall, drat my buttons, I never thought I would see a human critter
goin' down the Missouri in sich a rig as thet."
He leaned back and awaited the "critter's" approach. He was a tall, raw
boned man with a shock of reddish grey hair and tangled beard; a pair
of keen grey eyes shown from behind deep, overhanging brows. Though he
had the appearance of a farmer, he might have been anything from a
deacon to a rustler, so far as could be judged by his appearance. The
craft he was piloting down was loaded with a miscellaneous collection of
household effects and a couple of sad eyed hounds were the man's only
companions.
Paul quickly observed all this as he pulled up and heard the boatman's
remark. Reaching the side of the boat, he asked:
"How far are you going down, stranger?"
"Ain't pertic'lar how fur so as I git outen this country. I had a farm
on this river once; but she's gone now, stranger, gone slick an' clean.
River cut under and rounded me out an' I reckon the feller on the other
side owns my land now."
It is a fact that the constantly changing currents of the Missouri,
frequently cut into and swallow up acres upon acres on one side only
to leave exposed as much land on the other and the owner of the land
next to that left exposed, becomes richer by so many acres, while the
man on the other side becomes impoverished to that extent. Thus the
expression is common in the Upper Missouri country that "a man may go
to bed owning a fine farm on one bank and wake up in the morning to
find it owned by the fellow on the opposite side."
"Well, where do you propose going to now?" inquired Boyton.
"I don't propose goin' anywhare. I only want to git outen this country.
She's a holy terror an' I stood it jest as long as I could. All thets
left of my farm is on this ere boat an' I don't reckon its goin' to cost
me much trouble to take care of it an' locate anywhare outside of this
country. This ere cantankerous river has done me up, done me up brown,
straanger."
"It is a curious sort of river."
"Cur'ous! Wall, I should snicker, Cur'ous ain't no name for it. I think
God Almighty built her all right enough, but I don't think He's made up
His mind whar to locate her yit. She's running wild, straanger; she's
runnin' wild."
He leaned back against a worn mattress with a melancholy sigh and his
boat dropped astern.
The next day was dark and gloomy and Paul felt an unaccountable falling
of spirits. The atmosphere was oppressive and he could not overcome a
premonition of evil that effected him all day. About the middle of the
afternoon, he was startled by a peculiar noise above him. Black, heavy
clouds hung low on the prairie lands. An ominous roar caused him to look
up stream and he beheld a funnel shaped cloud driving to the eastward
across the river. In less than half an hour, another one bore down from
the buttes and swept across with a terrible roar, about one mile below.
While congratulating himself on having been sandwiched between these
fearful whirlwinds and thus escaping them, he was horrified to see
another bearing directly on him from the west. He made all possible
speed to reach the willows on the windward shore; but before he could
grasp them, the outer circle of the cyclone struck him and he was
enveloped in a whirling mass of buffalo grass, twigs and dust. He
grasped the Baby close to his sides fearing to be separated and the
next moment felt himself lifted with a great volume of water and borne
away as if he was of no more weight than a feather. When he
recovered from the shock, he found himself stuck in the mud on the
opposite shore. It was some minutes before he recovered
sufficiently to proceed on the journey, fortunately uninjured.
Paul was favored with fairly good weather after the cyclone and in a few
days ran into Bismarck, where he was welcomed and entertained on board
the Northern Pacific transfer boat, by Captain Wolfolk. He was joined
there by the correspondent of the New York Herald, Mr. James Creelman,
who was sent out by that paper to accompany him the rest of the way and
write up the Indian country.
After a brief rest at Bismarck, Boyton continued his course down the
muddy river followed by Mr. Creelman in a canvas canoe. Contrary to
his usual custom, he did not start until afternoon, in deference to
friends in the town, and they had not proceeded many miles until night
came on and camp was struck on a muddy bar. They were under way at
sunrise next morning, and all day the river ran through a lonely
country. Ranges of buttes stretched away from the banks until they were
lost in the distance and from every gully, purling streams flashed their
clear waters into the yellow of the river. The banks were blushing with
the glory of autumn and vines hung among the trees like curtains of the
richest pattern. Game was utterly fearless until frightened away from
the water's edge by a blast from the bugle or a shot. A bar was utilized
for a camp that night and at ten o'clock next morning, the white
tepees of an Indian village were seen, and piles of wood along the
river indicated the approach to some settlement. On rounding a great
bend, Fort Yates and the Standing Rock Agency were sighted. Paul was
warmly received by the officers of the Fort and entertained in the
most hospitable manner. Among the notorious Indian chiefs whom Boyton
met at Standing Rock, were Rain-in-the-Face, Gaul, Low Dog, Long
Soldier, the young chief Flying-By and others.
On the morning of October 5th, they resumed the journey, the banks being
crowded with soldiers and Indians to see them start. After passing an
Indian village a few miles below Fort Yates, the country through which
the river twisted and turned, again assumed a lonely aspect. Mile after
mile was passed without the faintest sign of civilization. Sand bars
divided the river into five or six different channels and it
required careful paddling to avoid the countless snags which stuck out
of the water, sullen and threatening. The shores were strewn with
driftwood,--logs that had floated from far up the river; red willow and
cottonwood trees that had been gnawed from their roots by beavers; horns
and bones of wild animals and the countless ingredients of drift piles
were heaped on all sides. Amid all this desolation the Big Muddy
flowed, making fresh ruins at every turn. That night camp was pitched
on the bank and a wild goose was the leading feature on the supper bill
of fare. The next day proved another lonesome one. Not a single
habitation on the rusty hills that rose on either side and hid the
fertile country beyond. Toward evening a ranch was sighted and they
landed to test the hospitality of its proprietor, who proved to be a
squaw man, the name applied to white men who marry Indian women. The
travelers were cautiously received and finally invited to remain over
night, on condition that they furnished their own provisions.
Several comely half breed children sat around the room while supper was
being prepared by a good-looking Indian squaw. Noting the inquiring
looks of Boyton and his companion, the rancher said:
"Yes, them's my children and that's my wife. She cost me a tidy bit,
too. I gave up a durned good horse fur that squaw."
"How long have you been married to her?" inquired Paul.
"Wall, I ain't been married very long to this 'un. I had another
almighty good lookin' one, that I lived with some years; but she got
tired workin' an' run away to the tribe. This un's a good cook an a hard
worker."
Supper was announced by the woman, who spoke to her husband in the
Indian tongue, as she had not acquired English. The travelers and the
master of the ranch sat at a small table, while the woman and the
children retreated to a dark corner near the fire, where they ate.
"Will not your wife eat with us?" politely inquired Boyton.
"Eat with us!" exclaimed the rancher in breathless astonishment, "I shud
say not. Do you think I'd eat with a durned Indian?"
After breakfast next morning, the travelers again took to the river, the
squaw man extending an invitation to drop in on him again if they ever
chanced up that way. As they passed below the mouth of Grand river, the
scenery began to change. Instead of grassy buttes, the prairies were
crowned with clay hills, riven as though by volcanic action and the
river flowed under huge cliffs of a peculiar slate color. Wild vines
twined their tendrils over shores ancient and fossilized, that were trod
by tribes whose camp fires had burned out before Columbus ever dreamed
of the new world. About four miles below Grand river, on a bluish cliff
that shot out in the water almost at right angles, they landed and found
many beautiful specimens of petrifaction--fish retaining their prismatic
beauty of exterior. The mother of pear-like shells of the extinct
anomite lay about as though the place had once been the bed of a mighty
ocean. The shore was covered with agates and looked gray and instead
of mud sucks, there were pebbly beaches for some distance. Sometimes a
bank that had been eaten away by the water, would exhibit strata of
clay and soil so variegated in color that they resembled vast cameos.
At many places the soil was rich and black for six or seven feet deep,
showing its wonderful agricultural properties, while here and there the
alkali deposits seemed like frost work. The storms had eaten some of
the massive cliffs into forms of castles and there were galleries of
arches and columns sculptured by the rain, stretching for miles on
either side. At nightfall the scene was ghostly and imagination easily
peopled the dark galleries with strange images.
At midnight the sky began to threaten rain. Paul sounded the bugle again
and again in hope of reaching the ears of some hospitable rancher; but
only the musical echoes were returned, until he was about to land and
camp on the shore when he was hailed by a voice which proved to belong
to another squaw man and the weary travelers slept on the floor of his
house until morning. The ranchman had several grown up half breed sons
who could not speak a word of English. One of them had just returned
from a hunt on which he had slaughtered two-hundred buffalos, taking
their hides and leaving their carcasses to fester on the plains.
The start next day was the beginning of a long and tiresome run to Fort
Bennett. During the afternoon, several geese and ducks were shot and a
number of deer were seen in the timber points. When the sun went down,
the country was lit up by remarkably beautiful hues, which died away as
the moon rose clear and bright, and when it shone high above, the
spectacle was magnificent. In some bends of the river the voyagers
seemed completely landlocked and allowed the current to carry them
safely through the quagmires and sand bars. They floated among a number
of white swans and the whole flock flew upward with shrill cries,
startling the cranes that stalked in the shadows and sending clouds of
cackling geese and ducks whirling up from every gloomy nook and ravine.
Toward morning a heavy head wind sprang up that was very trying and just
as dawn was approaching they entered a bend which was twenty-five
miles in length, while the distance across by land, was but four miles.
By hard pulling Fort Bennett was reached at four o'clock in the
afternoon and Paul and Creelman were conveyed to the house of Major
Love, the Indian agent, in an army ambulance after twenty-eight hours
of incessant pulling. They determined to rest next day and were shown
everything of interest at the Cheyenne Agency, where there were over
two-thousand Indians. The principle chief was Little-no-Heart and among
the others were Rattling Rib, White Swan, The Charger and Four Bears.
These men were all peaceably disposed and belonged to the tribes that
farm and raise stock on the reservation. They were driven about two
miles from the fort to a tree in which a number of Indians, according
to the custom of their tribe, had been buried. It was a goodly sized elm
that had grown straight out of the ground to a height of twenty five
feet, at which point the trunk forked into a dozen gnarled and twisted
limbs, the peculiar black bark of which, gave them an unnatural
appearance. Everywhere among the yellow leaves were perched heaps of
decaying garments and bones. In some places, storms had torn away the
gaudy funeral paraphernalia and whole skeletons were exposed. All the
implements which the dead are supposed to need in the Happy Hunting
Grounds, were placed at the side of the corpse and in one branch there
was a trunk belonging to the skeleton just underneath it. So many
Indians had been placed in the branches of this ancient elm, that it was
said to have had a more vigorous growth than any other tree in its
neighborhood in consequence of the fertilization afforded by the bodies.
Since the establishment of the agency, however, the Indians have not
been permitted to keep up this disgusting practice.
There was an Indian school on the reservation, which was also visited.
The officials have a hard time of it to get the children to attend the
school. The older ones are opposed to educating the youngsters and do
not want them to learn to speak English. Some of the boys who were able
to speak it fluently were ashamed to do so. They are apt pupils and can
comprehend ideas with wonderful accuracy; the Government hopes that
time will remove their prejudices and so they will become more
civilized.
The journey was resumed next day at noon, pulling against a head wind;
but their long rest gave them strength to contend with it, and the storm
died out with the setting sun. Some of the buttes below Fort Sully are
shaped wonderfully like pyramids; walls and cones loomed up against the
sky and one could easily imagine himself on the Nile floating past the
sphinxes and temples of Egypt. Occasionally the voyagers would be
startled by the splash of a gigantic catfish as it leaped out of the
water, and the loons driven southward by the approaching winter,
filled the air with their melancholy cries. Shortly after midnight a
gale sprang up which quickly churned the water into heavy waves and
before daylight a regular hurricane was blowing. Acres of fine sand
eddied and swirled about in the air, making it impossible to see more
than a yard or two ahead and almost suffocating them. By daylight the
fury of the storm was so great that the voyagers laid down on the bank
to take a much needed rest. When they started again, they found the town
of Pierre only one mile below where they had camped.
A halt was made at Pierre for a brief rest, the travelers stopping at a
comfortable little hotel. Paul had no more than arranged himself to
enjoy his pipe before sleeping, than he was called on by the editor, a
bustling, little man who was warmly enthusiastic on the resources of the
country about Pierre. He flitted into the room, introducing himself in a
breezy manner, and immediately produced a bottle from his hip pocket
and two glasses from the recesses of his coat tails; they were a recent
purchase for the straw had not yet been removed from them. His
astonishment at Paul's refusal to drink was so great that it quieted him
for a moment; but he soon broke forth again on the resources of the
country, depositing divers samples of what appeared to be black mud on
the table, which he called gumbo.
After a restful sleep, Paul and Creelman visited some of the sights of
the town, among which was the grave of "Arkansaw." He was a desperado
whose crimes were said to throw the exploits of Rocky Mountain ruffians
into the shade. Something over one year before, "Arkansaw," who was
then living at Fort Pierre, expressed a determination to visit Pierre,
on the other side of the river and "clean out the town." With this
philanthropic purpose in view, he crossed the river one bitter cold
night on the ice; but found a party of gentlemen, called
vigilantes, awaiting him and while he was loading in some liquid courage
at the principal bar of the place, some one called him to the door and
he was shot full of holes. They buried him next day and the funeral was
a very enthusiastic affair. One of the chief executioners, who was also
principal mourner at the burial, made the following characteristic
speech which was heartily endorsed by the citizens present:
"Arkansaw was a good feller, boys, and no mistake. He on'y got off his
bearin's w'en ther idee struck him thet he cud clean out this ere town.
But he were clear game. Three cheers fur the corpse."
The cheers were given with a will and another vigilante cried:
"A tiger fur Arkansaw."
With that the hero was lowered into the grave which is one of the sights
of the town.
It was freezing cold the following day when Boyton and Creelman resumed
the voyage, and Paul knew the rest of the journey would be a race
against the winter which was now following close. He paddled between
gumbo hills all afternoon. These black masses are composed of a
sticky substance which becomes quite slippery in wet weather. Not a
blade of grass will grow upon them except here and there where the
natural soil rises to the surface. Ducks and other wild fowl cowered in
the niches or wherever they could gain a foot hold under the banks, to
escape the keen wind. The sky was overcast and not a ray of sunshine
appeared except a momentary gleam during a slight rain storm which
occurred late in the day. Shortly afterward, the river narrowed
considerably and they were forced to paddle through a field of snags
close to the west shore. The presence of the snags was explained by
the hundreds of beaver slides which were worn in the muddy slopes,
showing that that industrious little animal was far from extinct as
commonly reported. The banks were hived with beaver holes and several
trappers were encountered who made a business of catching them.
Night came on cold and cheerless and at midnight they entered the
greatest bend of the Missouri. Two steamboats were sighted aground on a
sand bar. Paul sounded a salute on the bugle, but received no answer.
Later on the eastern sky was lighted up with a dull glare which
soon brightened into a blaze and they could see a long line of flame and
smoke racing across the prairie before a stiff breeze. At the mouth
of Medicine river, the air was literally clouded with feathered game,
hurrying into warmer latitudes from the frosty air of Montana and
Dakota. At nine o'clock in the morning a landing was effected at the
elbow of the great bend and breakfast made from choice bits of two
ducks, shot just before. About noon they entered a great curving
stretch of river, completely walled in on one side with hills, which
resembled a vast causeway or an arched cathedral. The rain had worn a
wondrous fretwork upon their sides and ribs of blue clay lent this
effect to the whole.
As Paul and Creelman had paddled all night without stopping, the
approach of the second night found them weary and numb with cold. There
were no signs of the Crow Creek Agency and they began to fear that the
settlement had been passed in the darkness. At midnight such a gale
sprang up that they were compelled to land on the east shore under the
shelter of a high cliff. A fire of driftwood was built and supper
cooked. Next morning the sun was melting the ice on the hillsides and
the frost had converted the wild grapes that hung above them into
clusters of pearls. But the beauty of the scene faded into nothingness
when they found they had withstood the cold of the night, while the Crow
Creek Agency was just on the other side of the river. The journey was
resumed in silence and a few miles below, a glimpse of the Stars and
Stripes was caught through an opening between two hills as they neared
Fort Hale, where they were heartily welcomed by the officers and were
soon resting in snug quarters. They remained at Fort Hale over Sunday.
Monday broke clear and there was not a ripple on the surface of the Big
Muddy. By this time, Mr. Creelman had returned to his appetite. At the
start he could not think of drinking coffee made from the dirty river
water and his stomach turned at the thought of eating blue bacon fried
in a pan that was open to receive any little thing that might chance to
drop in. He was now so hardened that he could eat a piece of duck
washed in the thick water, or would snatch a piece of bacon off of the
mud and swallow it with considerable relish.
Early in the afternoon they reached the little town of Chamberlain and
the entire population was out on the bank to see the voyagers pass. An
hour later, the Lower Brule Agency came in sight. Doctor Bergen, of Fort
Hale, and one of the agency officials accompanied them for a few miles
in a canoe, relieving the weary monotony by their pleasant conversation,
while they also gave valuable information regarding several dangerous
points below. Before reaching White river, Boyton frightened an Indian
who was fishing from a bar out of his wits. He darted away leaving his
catch and tackle and they had fresh fish for supper that night. While
eating, a skiff containing two Indians approached and when within a few
feet of the bank, asked Paul in good English, if he had any whisky to
sell. He drove them away by threatening to sink their boat with a
hatchet which he picked up from the deck of the Baby. This incident
showed that there were still whisky smugglers plying their trade among
the Indians. A short distance below they heard wild lamentations issuing
from a clump of trees near the bank and saw the Indians were waking the
corpse of a deceased friend. The mourner was attempting to sing; but the
rhythm was so rude and incongruous, that it was really a series of
howls. At the end of each stanza, the air was rent by a burst of war
whoops that were calculated to make one's blood run cold. The weird
chanting could be heard on the still night air miles below and the
voyagers were convinced that there are many things more cheerful than
an Indian wake. The night passed without incident and after breakfast
next morning, Paul had to spend some time in fixing one or two weakening
places in his dress.
Large flocks of gulls were now seen, which was looked upon as a good
sign--that they had traveled south faster than the cold weather and
would reach St. Louis before winter commenced in earnest. Strange as it
may seem, these birds are found near the head of the Missouri river.
They start from the sea coast in the spring and follow up the streams
for over five thousand miles, retracing their course as winter
approaches without ever going astray. That evening Paul and Creelman
were greatly puzzled by the remarkable spectacle of what seemed to be a
sunset in the east and west at the same time. At last they discovered
that a number of large prairie fires were raging to the eastward and the
reflection of the flames on the sky, caused the apparent dual sunset.
After midnight it was found that mud sucks and snags were so thick as to
render further progress in the dark extremely hazardous, so the
voyagers landed under a mud cliff and built a camp fire. They slept
soundly until sunrise when they were astonished to see a number of
Indian women performing their morning toilet at the water's edge. One of
them was examining the Baby Mine in bewilderment and when Paul
approached them they ran up a path in the side of the bluff and
disappeared. He determined to ascertain where they were going and
hastening after them, heard a stern "halt." Just ahead of him in the
path stood a colored army sentinel. The soldier said they were near Fort
Randall, and he was one of the guards over the Camp of Sitting Bull and
other Indian prisoners of war, who had surrendered themselves to the
United States authorities after the disastrous outbreak that drove them
over the border into the British Possessions. Word was sent to the fort
of Paul's arrival and a conveyance was dispatched to carry him and his
companion to the garrison, where they were warmly received. A steaming
breakfast was prepared to which full justice was done, after which,
under the guidance of an officer, they visited the hostile camp,
situated on a level stretch of ground about one mile distant from
the garrison. There were thirty-two tepees, accommodating one hundred
and sixty-eight people, forty of whom were males over sixteen years of
age and the rest women and children. The tepees were arranged in a
circle with a large space in the center, around which braves, squaws
and almost nude children squatted or lay in the sunshine. One solitary
white man was seen standing in front of a tepee. He was dressed in a
dark pair of pantaloons, brown duck overcoat and his head was surmounted
by a large, broad brimmed, drab felt hat, with a big dinge in each
side of it. The white man proved to be Allison, the government scout and
interpreter. It was he who entered the hostile camp the previous
year and brought in the main body of the Sioux warriors, led by Crow
King. The scout was a medium sized man, compactly and strongly
built; a peculiar expression of shrewdness distinguished his face, and
his eyes were keen and searching.
It was Allison's special care to look out for Sitting Bull, the famous
Uncapapa chief, and after greeting the visitors, he led them into the
presence of the dreaded Sioux leader. Whatever may be said of Sitting
Bull, he certainly had the appearance of a man born to lead men. He was
five feet ten inches tall and weighed probably one hundred and eighty
pounds. His face was an unusually intelligent one and his forehead
large. He was dignified, though modest, as he invited the travelers into
his tepee and seemed to feel keenly his condition as a prisoner. A
number of Indians also entered at the request of Sitting Bull, among
them his young fighting nephew, Kill-While-Standing, who wore eyeglasses
which gave him a student-like appearance. The two wives of the chief
shook hands with every one present and exhibited several half naked and
very dirty children, heirs of the Bull family. Among them were twins
whom the ladies of the garrison had named Kate and Duplicate.
An instance of the wonderful power of Sitting Bull over his people and
his remarkable shrewdness in retaining that power, the following scene
enacted that evening, will illustrate: Paul and some of the army
officers, with the interpreter were seated in the tepee conversing
with Sitting Bull, when a deputation of Indians requested an audience
with their chief. It appears they had been arguing among themselves
about the mysterious manner in which Minnewachatcha floated upon the
water without effort, although he appeared to be constituted the same as
other men. Not being able to reach a conclusion, they referred the
matter to Sitting Bull. The great chief had no doubt been ruminating
considerably on the same subject without being able to settle it to his
own satisfaction; but he was too shrewd a politician to display the
least ignorance of the question. In fact, Bull considered no matter too
trivial to use as a means of displaying to his people his own great
store of knowledge and he would feign to know all about things of which
he was ignorant, frequently claiming to have received his information
from the Great Spirit above. So when the question regarding
Minnewachatcha, was propounded, he took it as a matter of course that
when a thing of importance presented itself, his people must come to
him for information. His dignified manner would have done credit to a
great statesman. Facing the deputation, with Paul standing at his
right, he began a harangue in the Sioux tongue, using gestures that were
at once impressive and graceful.
Briefly, his speech as interpreted by Allison, was to the effect that he
was a great chief, that the Great Spirit made known to him all things.
He knew all about Minnewachatcha, who was good medicine. (Then he would
lightly tap Boyton on the shoulder and step back impressively.) In his
examination, he had found that Minnewachatcha, though he appeared like
other men, was not; because he was possessed of no internal arrangements
as other men, hence he could float on the water like an empty can.
The government sometimes issues canned provisions to the Indians. When
they extract the contents and throw the can in the water, it floats
away, and Bull used that as a simile, knowing they would all understand.
The deputation appeared perfectly satisfied with the explanation and
went away thoroughly convinced that Boyton was supplied with no interior
mechanism in the way of lungs, stomach, etc.
Sitting Bull conceived a strong friendship for Paul and they exchanged
gifts, and Minnestema, Bull's daughter, who was really handsome for an
Indian girl, looked upon him as second only to her distinguished father
in greatness. Paul thought to flatter Minnestema, and through the
interpreter, told her that he had heard her praises sung far up the
river, that she was the toast at every fort and that the fame of her
beauty had even spread to the great cities of the whites. Her copper
countenance expressed much pleasure at this; but she dispelled the
romance by immediately asking Paul in broken English, if he had any
plug chewing tobacco.
The friendship between Paul and Sitting Bull lasted until the latter was
killed in the ghost dance excitement during the winter of 1891. When
the old chief was on a tour of the east in 1885, his face lighted up
with joy when he met Boyton and gave him a cordial welcome.
Paul left Fort Randall, October 20th. After he had encased himself in
his rubber dress, the Indians could not be induced to shake hands with
him. A little girl put her hand into his and all the chiefs, in
admiration of her bravery, exclaimed, "how".
White Dog, Scarlet Thunder, Kill-While-Standing and One Bull were
anxious to see the "Water Spirit" float away, but they kept at a
respectful distance from Paul as he stood on the slope before slipping
into the water.
The afternoon was pleasant and as they glided down on the current
followed by the wondering eyes of the soldiers as well as the Indians,
Paul and Creelman felt refreshed and vigorous and made good time. Just
after dark, they passed the Yankton Indian Agency and were cheered.
That night was dark, even the stars being obscured by the clouds. A
number of prairie fires threw some light on the water, but barely enough
to make the passage among snags and sand bars feasible. At daybreak the
villages of Niobrara and Running Water were passed. A couple of
hours later the weary voyagers hauled up on the bank and cooked
breakfast. When barely under way again, a boat containing a rough
looking stranger approached. He carried a shot gun and rowed along
sometime without uttering a word. Though silent, he appeared to extract
a great deal of satisfaction from his contemplation of Boyton.
"What are you going to do with that gun?" questioned Paul at last.
"Kill a goose," was the laconic reply.
"Oh, I see. You intend to commit suicide," said Creelman.
Not a muscle of the stranger's solemn countenance moved; but he rowed
away suddenly and disappeared among the sand bars, followed by a peal of
laughter.
Springfield was passed at noon and the citizens rushed to the bank at
the first sound of the bugle.
From Springfield to Bonhomie, the river was smooth and straight. At the
latter place it narrowed until the current ran at the rate of six miles
an hour and the travelers were swept under the high cliffs on which the
town stands in a roaring sea of whirlpools and riffles. Cheer after
cheer was sent up by the people as they shot past; but the voyagers had
no leisure to examine the banks, as they had all they could do to avoid
the snags which stuck up everywhere and made navigation exceedingly
difficult. Eight miles below, a landing was effected on a pile
of driftwood; a fire built and supper cooked. It began to rain and they
huddled over the fire to keep warm. At three o'clock the fire was out
and a heavy fog hung on the Missouri. Paul thought it was better to keep
up the temperature of the body by paddling than to sit in the
mud shivering, so they resumed their voyage. The cold rain dashed into
their faces in such torrents that it was more a matter of chance than
skill that they progressed, as they could not see ten feet ahead. In the
midst of the storm, they ran against a snag, but fortunately, no damage
was done. At daybreak another halt was made and breakfast eaten. When
the mists cleared, they found themselves within sight of Yankton, where
they were received an hour later by the citizens.
Leaving Yankton, they arrived at Sioux City without incident and began
to think they were once more within the limits of civilization. They
were greeted by shouting multitudes that followed them to a hotel and
would scarcely permit them to rest. Next morning the same enthusiasm was
manifested when they departed. But there were yet two-hundred good miles
of snaggy river to paddle before they could enjoy the luxury of a bed at
every stage. Less than a dozen miles below Sioux City the weather grew
threatening again and Boyton decided not to rest that night, but to
push on steadily toward Omaha. During the afternoon the wind blew from
every point of the compass. He hoped it would go down with the sun, but
as night approached, the storm continued to develop. The increase in the
speed of the current had the effect of cutting away high banks of
timber and as they dashed along, they ran by immense trees sticking out
of the water with the leaves yet upon their branches, showing that the
channel was shifting. At midnight it began to rain and they tried to
land, but failed to find a safe place as the banks on either side
were undermined and caving constantly. An hour later they entered
"Hell's Bend" and, the roaring of the water as it tore among the snags
was almost deafening. The river was full of obstructions and suddenly
Boyton and Creelman in his canvas canoe, were flung on a snag, the
latter losing an oar. Regardless of his own danger, Paul struggled to
release the canoe, when a large wave lifted them both clear. They were
unable to continue their way in the darkness and managed to get ashore,
where they built a fire and waited until daylight. The little village of
Tieville was just below and when the villagers heard that Boyton was in
the river, they flocked to the camp where the weary paddler lay
stretched out in the mud asleep, looking more like an alligator than a
man. Several experienced boatmen remarked that there were only two
steamboats on the Missouri that could navigate the bend at the point
where the voyagers had spent a portion of the night.
The journey was resumed at eight o'clock and not long afterward a new
oar was procured for the canoe, at Decatur. A disheartening struggle
against adverse wind followed until noon, when it abated. They passed
the reservation of the Omaha and Winnebago Indians during the night. As
the voyagers were watching for the lights of Blair early that night, a
smoky smell directed their attention to a camp fire built at the water's
edge. Two men were seen about it, one of whom was maudlin drunk and
trying to sing. Boyton hailed them and was invited to land and get
some roast goose. As the night was favorable for paddling, the
invitation was declined, when the drunken one raising his gun, yelled:
"You wont come in, wont you?" and fired, the shot striking the water
within a few feet of Paul's head. He had a strong desire to return and
punish the fellow, but concluded that to continue down the river was of
more importance, besides, he could hear that the men were fighting
between themselves and thought they would administer their own
punishment.
At daybreak the travelers sighted Florence and discovered that they were
only sixteen miles from Omaha and at the next bend they landed to cook
breakfast and rest. One of the bores encountered all the way down after
striking the towns, was the man who persisted in telling them all about
the great flood of "last spring." He was found at every town and village
and the voyagers were given all the various details of that flood
until it became nauseating, so much so, that it made Boyton irritable
whenever mentioned. As he lighted a cigar and stretched his limbs on the
sand bar to enjoy a rest before proceeding to Omaha, he remarked to his
companion that they would not be annoyed by flood fiends there; but his
confidence was without foundation. In less than ten minutes after he
made the remark, a man landed from a little skiff and seating himself on
a log, while a gleam of satisfaction shot from his eyes, said:
"Strangers, you couldn't a laid down on that bar so comfortable and
easy last spring. The big flood--"
"Hop into that boat and get away from here," fairly yelled Paul,
springing to his feet, "or I'll pitch you into the river, where you can
tell your miserable flood stories to the fishes."
The man looked at the threatening navigator a moment, boarded his boat
and with disappointment lining every feature, pulled a short distance
away, then resting on his oars, triumphantly shouted: "It was high
enough over thet ere bank." A club was flung at him as he drifted out
of sight around the bar.
Resuming the voyage, Omaha came in sight as they rounded the next bend
and beheld the Union Pacific bridge that spans the river.
"Ah," joyously exclaimed Creelman, "We're out of the wilderness. There's
the first bridge."
At that point a party of friends and representatives of the press, met
the travelers and escorted them to the city, where thousands of people
lined the bank to extend a welcome. One man, who probably intended to
commit suicide, threw off his coat and shouting that he could swim as
well as that fellow, jumped in and was drowned. Boyton had great
difficulty in getting through the crowd to a carriage which conveyed him
to a hotel.
That evening, after a wash and getting into suits of clothes which they
had shipped ahead, Paul and Creelman met a party of friends and
newspaper men in their room and entertained them with an account of some
of the adventures of the trip.
On leaving Omaha after a pleasant rest of a day, the voyagers realized
that winter was sweeping down from the northwest with such rapidity that
it was necessary for them to exert their best efforts if they would
reach St. Louis before ice enclosed them. The character of the
country through which they now passed was entirely different from that
above. While there were still many wild stretches, instead of bare
buttes covered with buffalo grass, the hills were loaded with timber,
and well kept fences told that instead of a strictly cattle grazing
country, immense farms stretched from either shore. At places, corn
stalks rustled for miles along the bank and fat swine came to the shore
to wallow in the mud.
The first night out from Omaha, they passed the mouth of the Platte
river and next morning reached Nebraska City. Many towns and villages
were passed and at every place large crowds were looking for the
voyagers and expressed much disappointment when they refused to halt
even for a few moments. As they were enjoying their pipes over a
splendid camp fire one night some miles above St. Joseph, they were
somewhat startled at hearing a gruff voice call out, "Hello, there."
And immediately two men heavily armed, stood by the fire. One was a
tall, muscular fellow and the other shorter and slighter built, both
having the appearance of men that were not to be trifled with. They were
very friendly, however, and chatted pleasantly for some time; inquiring
all about the trip down the river and displaying a keen interest in
everything concerning it. They were intelligent conversationalists and
the two hours they remained in camp passed quickly. On going away they
shook hands and wished the travelers good luck. Later, Paul found
out that the midnight visitors were no other than the notorious Jesse
James and his pal Bob Ford who afterward assassinated him.
The voyagers sighted St. Joseph at sunset next evening but having
grounded in the mud they did not reach the city until after dark and
found the bank jammed with people. They had been watching for them at
St. Joseph all day. During their stay they were honored by a continual
round of receptions, serenades and other entertainments and on leaving,
the crowd was just as enthusiastic as on their arrival. They were joined
there by Mr. Baker, a correspondent of a Kansas City paper, who had been
assigned to accompany them as far as that city. He bad purchased a
rather unwieldy skiff in which to accomplish the trip, and started along
with them pulling a vigorous stroke. Toward night the weather grew very
cold.
Every drop of water that splashed into the boats was quickly frozen.
Paul's head covering was iced. About eleven o'clock he pulled
alongside the boats.
"Boys," he said, "this is going to be a rough night on you and the best
way for you to get along is to pull one hour, turn about and sleep one
hour. I will keep time and call you up."
The plan met with favor and was immediately put into execution. Creelman
was to pull the first hour and Baker rolled himself in the buffalo
robes and laid on the bottom of his boat. He was fast asleep in a
moment. At the expiration of fifteen minutes, Creelman softly called
Boyton alongside.
"Say, Captain, Baker hasn't pulled all the way do n from Bismarck. He's
fresh. Suppose we wake him up and you tell him it's twelve o'clock," he
suggested.
Paul fell in with the spirit of the joke and after pulling away from the
boat, he blew the bugle and aroused Baker with the information that it
was twelve o'clock. The Kansas City man took the oars and Creelman
rolled up for a good nap. After fifteen or twenty minutes, Baker
hailed Paul, who hauled up.
"Say, Captain, Creelman has pulled all the way down the river and is
innured to this sort of thing. I'm not. It's just about knocking me
out. Suppose you call him and tell him his hour is up."
"All right," said the Captain, and in a moment Creelman was rubbing his
eyes.
"Confound it, Captain. It seems to me that was an almighty short hour,"
he said.
"It's one o'clock," sung the Captain, "time's up. Creelman took the oars
without the least suspicion that Boyton would play a joke on him.
"Call Baker up again," he said to Paul after pulling several minutes,
and Baker was called up accordingly.
"By George," exclaimed Baker, rubbing his eyes, "I must have slept
awfully sound. It doesn't seem to me as though I have been down
ten minutes."
He went to work, however, and Paul enjoyed himself calling them up, each
thinking he had the best of the other. At three o'clock, they began to
scan the horizon for daybreak. According to the hours they had pulled,
it should have been five o'clock. As daylight did not appear, Creelman
began to grow suspicious and as Baker was called up again he saw
Creelman with a lighted match consulting his watch.
"What time is it?" inquired Baker.
"Three o'clock," replied Creelman in a mournful voice.
"What?" almost screamed Baker, "only three o'clock?"
They favored each other with a cold, hard look and each seized his own
oars again. So they rowed through the bitter morning hours.
Leavenworth and other towns were saluted, crowds always cheering on the
banks, and the following afternoon, almost frozen, they landed at
Kansas City, where for two miles the bank was a solid mass of humanity.
Among those who greeted them was an uncle whom Paul had never seen, Mr.
Peter Behan, a famous guide and one of the first who ever piloted a
wagon train across the plains to California. The voyagers were tendered
the freedom of the city and were hospitably entertained. Next morning
the journey was resumed amid deafening plaudits.
Speed was now the one thing necessary and Boyton knew there would be
some chance of finishing their trip on skates if they did not reach
St. Louis ahead of the cold wave that was setting down the river. They
passed the United States snag boat, Wright, directly after leaving
Kansas City and in the evening paddled by Berlin. Wild geese and ducks
were still seen in great numbers at places and several mud hens were run
down and killed. At Camden and many other towns, bonfires were built by
the enthusiastic citizens who were determined to catch sight of the
hardy navigator, whether he passed by in the night or day.
They had now four hundred miles ahead of them. The winter had closed in
with great severity. The ice formed rapidly in the river and they met
daily snow storms. At the same time the river raised and increased their
speed so that they easily made ten or twelve miles an hour.
Below Wellington, at two o'clock one morning, the voyagers mounted a
pile of driftwood to rest. Building a fire they went to sleep, but
toward daylight they were startled to find their camp was afloat, which
caused them to resume the journey rather earlier than they had intended.
Below Lexington, Paul shot a beautiful pair of white heron measuring
seven feet from tip to tip. After passing Booneville, the banks of
the river became more permanent and they passed through a rich grape
growing country, populated mainly by Germans, who have established large
wine vaults and make much wine. At Jefferson City, they were met by the
Mayor and tendered the freedom of the city. That night they were
shown through a wine vault and learned that the soil in that country was
as rich and identical with that of the best wine growing districts of
the Rhine.
Wagon teams were crossing on the ice along the upper river. Paul was
much reduced in flesh, and his face bronzed like an Indian's.
At last, one Sunday morning, sixty-four days after the trip was begun,
they camped for the last time at the mouth of the Missouri where it
empties into the Mississippi. St. Louis was twenty miles away. They
entered that city during the afternoon and were given a
tremendous reception. This voyage of 3,580 miles was the longest and
roughest journey Boyton ever made.