The long, trying voyage of the Yellowstone and Missouri gave Paul a keen
relish for a few week's rest at home. He recuperated so rapidly,
however, that when he received an invitation from a friend to go on a
hunting expedition aboard a private steamboat, he was ripe to accept it.
The steamer was then on the Mississippi and Paul joining her at Memphis,
her nose was turned for southwestern waters. They steamed up the
Arkansas to Bayou Meta, and were soon far in the depths of the woods.
Though the water of the bayou was very deep, it was so narrow at places
that trees and vines had to be cut away so the boat could push her way
through. Several weeks were spent in shooting deer and bear, catching
coon, opossum and other game. At their manufactured salt licks, they
succeeded in taking all the deer they wanted. Boyton's love for
pets quickly manifested itself and every odd corner of the little
steamer had an occupant. Among these was a cub bear, captured after
killing the old one, by throwing a coat over it. It was a vicious
little brute at first, spitting and clawing at everything that went
near it, and it seemed impossible to train. After many things had
been tried without avail, a stick with some honey on its end was thrust
between the bars of the cage. The little fellow struck at it wickedly
at first, but noticing the honey on its paws, began to smell, then to
taste it. The honey was so much to its liking that it was soon eating
out of Boyton's hand and in a short time it was as tame and playful as a
kitten.
Tiring of hunting, Paul was taken with a desire to feel the current of
the Arkansas, to which river they returned and with such intention, he
packed his dress and tender and proceeded to Ft. Smith, starting above
that city at the mouth of the Poteau river, Choctaw Nation, Indian
Territory, January 12th, 1882, for a four hundred mile run to Pine
Bluff. The weather was cold and the chill of Rocky Mountain snow was in
the river. The course was rather lonely, winding amid bleak hills and
for long stretches there would be small signs of life. At the end of
the first day's paddling, he hauled up at a farm house to request
shelter for the night. A woman told him that the men were not in yet,
but she "reckoned he could stay, though there was no bed." Paul told
her he did not require a bed and when the men came in they tendered
him the comforts of the cabin. After supper the time was passed in
chatting over their pipes around a spacious fireplace, in front of
which, Paul was to sleep. During the evening he admired a beautiful
little girl four years of age. She was as shy at first as she was
pretty; but finally mustered sufficient courage to edge timidly up to
his side and ask:
"Please sah, gimme a chaw tobacca?"
"Why, my dear little girl you do not chew tobacco at your age, do you?"
exclaimed Paul.
"Yo' bet she do, stranger," answered the father, "she's jus' a chawer
from away back," at the same time giving her a goodly sized piece of the
weed.
The mother, who was attending to score domestic affairs, overheard the
conversation and turning to Paul, remarked:
"Now, stranger, do yo' raily think uts right t' give a chile like thet
tobacca?"
"Decidedly I do not," said Paul.
"Look ut thet; look ut thet, Dan," she exclaimed triumphantly,
addressing her husband, "even a stranger don't think uts right. What hev
I allus been a tellin' yo'?"
The farmer laughed as he replied: "Oh, she'll git over thet w'en she
gits sixteen an' goes sparkin' an' wants t' whiten her teeth."
Leaving the hospitable farm house with the tobacco question still
unsettled, an early start was made for a run to Ozark. Before reaching,
that place, he was driven past a high wood-covered butte when he heard
the rhythmic melody of a plantation song and observed an old negro
pulling across the stream below. For the purpose of a little amusement,
Paul stood up and shouted:
"Aha, I've got you now."
The darkey facing around, caught sight of the curious figure. The look
of fright which shone on his black features, was woeful as he struck for
the shore, yelling:
"'Taint mine; 'taint mine, sah; it's de kunnel's, 'taint mine."
When within four feet of the shore, he sprang out, leaving the dugout to
drift. Not wishing to frighten the darkey into the loss of his boat,
Paul pulled in and ran it up on the bank. He then noticed that she had a
cargo of stone jugs filled with "Arkansaw lightning," held in with
corn cob stoppers. The negro was engaged in the missionary work of
smuggling the liquor to Indians on the reservation. As Paul swung off
into mid stream, he saw a pair of frightened eyes shining at him from
among the bushes.
That night he rested at Ozark. For two days following, the weather was
very bad. The first night he was compelled to camp on a sand bar for a
few hours and build a fire to thaw himself. The rest so invigorated him
that he paddled into the night of the second day. Sleet coated his
dress until he resembled a cake of ice and his paddle became so thick
that he could scarcely handle it. About nine o'clock he went ashore and
found a cabin, the light from a blazing fire within shining through the
chinks between the logs. He hammered on the door and was invited to
enter. As he pushed in, a line, of black, kinky heads raised from beds
on the floor, and several pairs of eyes gazed inquiringly in the
direction of the door. When the glistening black figure was discovered,
some shrieked and covered their heads. A powerful negro jumped up and
seized an ax, moving rapidly toward Boyton with it uplifted.
"What's the matter with you?" said Paul, stepping back a few paces
toward the door, "put down that ax. I am on a trip down the river
and seeking shelter."
After some persuasion, the negro put the ax down in a handy corner and
gave his queer guest permission to sleep in front of the fireplace,
while the family peered at him curiously from under their bed clothes.
At daylight they all crawled out to see him start and they formed quite
a large gathering. It was the sight of a lifetime with them and their
yells of delight were unrestrained as he pulled away towing the Baby,
which was covered with ice.
As Boyton approached Dardenelle, a party of reporters met him in skiffs.
He was informed that a steaming hot breakfast was prepared for him at a
hotel and invited to stop; but feeling in good shape, he thought he
would go ahead. Mr. James K. Perry, a merchant of Dardenelle, whom Paul
had met in New Orleans, rowed up and was so pressing in his offers of
hospitality, that the voyager could not refuse. A perfect mass of
humanity had gathered at the wharf and a carriage was there to convey
him to the hotel. He was soon divested of his rubber dress and made
quite comfortable. An invitation from Mr. Perry to dine at his house was
refused because of lack of clothing; but the hospitable citizens would
not allow a little thing like that to stand in the way of his pleasure,
and they attired him in a brand new suit from head to foot. The
pantaloons had to be held up as he walked along the streets and were the
source of much amusement. There were numerous other guests at the dinner
and he spent a most pleasant day and evening.
Next morning was dark and threatening when he resumed the voyage. He
hoped to make Lewisburg that night. Toward evening he again ran into
rain and sleet which almost blinded him and the numerous islands made it
difficult for him to keep the channel. Seeing smoke pouring from a
cabin that stood dangerously near the brink, he sounded the bugle in
hope of stirring up some one from whom he could glean a little
information. A frowsy individual sauntered out, glanced over the river
and without displaying the least interest, was proceeding to arrange
some crocks and pans about the cabin door.
"Hello, my friend," shouted Paul.
The man slowly turned and ramming both hands into his breeches' pockets,
calmly eyed the figure in the water. As he was turning toward the
cabin again, without a word, Boyton asked:
"How far is it to Lewisburg?"
"Its a putty good distance," slowly answered the man. "How far do you
call that?" "I don't never call ut as I knows on."
"Look here, my good-"
"Ain't I a lukin?"
"Well, is Lewisburg one mile, five miles or a thousand miles from here?"
"I reckon its one o' them numbers."
Paul was beginning to feel out of humor, but realized that he was
conversing with a lineal descendant of the "Arkansaw Traveler;" he
determined to get some information. Pointing to an island just below, he
again put a question:
"Which side of that island shall I take?"
"Any side thet you're a mind to."
"On which side is the channel?"
"Sometimes on one side, sometimes t' other."
"Which side do you consider best?"
"I aint 'tendin' t' other people's business."
"Which side do the steamboats take?"
"Its owin' to what captain's on."
"Wouldn't you kindly advise me which side to take?"
"Reckon I bes' not."
"Why?"
"Frien's o' mine on both sides wants to see you."
"Plague take your incivility; how long will it take me to reach
Lewisburg?"
"'Ts owin' ter how fas' yo' travel."
"How long does it take you to go?"
"I don't never go."
"How long did it take you to come from there?"
"Tuk me right smart while; but the team broke down."
"Confound it. Do you know what I think of you?"
"Nothin' thet ud spite my appytite."
"I think you are the blamdest fool in Arkansaw."
"Know what I think o' yo'?"
"What?"
"Thet yo're the devil come up ter cool himself off."
The fellow deliberately entered the cabin and closed the door, and Paul
luckily struck the channel around the island.
The Arkansas river cuts under its banks much after the manner of the
Missouri. Several places were seen where they had been undermined and
sunk carrying sheep down that had been grazing near the edge, leaving
the poor things hemmed in on one side by high banks and on the other by
water. There they would starve rather than take to the river to get out.
Whenever Boyton ran across such places, he would either drive the sheep
off or tell some one below to go up and get them.
Four days from the time of starting, he ran into Little Rock, the State
capital, where he was pleasantly entertained. When the voyage was
resumed, he was accompanied by Opie Read, the famous humorist, who
enjoyed the river experience. They amused themselves during the day with
the negroes, many of whom thought Boyton was a drowning man floating
along. They would run close to the water's edge and yell at Read, who
was pulling leisurely behind in a row boat.
"Hyah, man. Doan yo' see dat ar man drownen? G'on an pick him up."
"Not much, I wont pick him up." Opie shouted, "I'm going to let him
drown."
"Hi, Eph; git yo' boat. Drownen man in de ribber. Spec he done drownded
now," excitedly yelled one old auntie to a broad shouldered darkey who
was running to the bank. Then as both boat and Boyton swept by, they
could hear her say: "Dere's de onliest man ebber I see dat'll let a
fellah human drownd afore his eyes. Him de wickedest man in de worl'."
One old negro with an armful of ear corn, dropped it with a look of
horror and stood as if petrified, as far as the voyagers could see him.
Below Little Rock as night came on, a small steamer was encountered tied
up to the bank and Paul and his companion spent the night aboard of
her. It was that night that Boyton succumbed to something worse than
rapids, quicksand or waterfalls. They had lighted their pipes after
supper and were lounging about the cabin talking of their adventures,
when Paul asked Read what kind of smoking tobacco he used.
"Old natural leaf," said Opie, "have some?"
"Don't care if I do."
The pipe was refilled and puffing away, Paul continued relating some
adventure.
It was an interesting experiment to his listeners and they watched
anxiously. They knew that that kind of tobacco must form a
man's acquaintance gradually. It will brook no sudden familiarity. The
smoke curled in fantastic wreathes about Boyton's head and the stories
became less thrilling. His eyes gradually became yellow and his swarthy
countenance turned a pale green. The words tumbled over one another and,
got mixed up woefully.
"Look here," he said, struggling to keep his eyes open, "where did you
get that tobacco?"
"In Little Rock."
"Whew! its stronger than the falls of the Arno," and turning over, he
slept, perhaps to dream of red oak tobacco sticks, and bare legged boys
with green hands, killing worms. He succumbed to "Arkansaw natural
leaf."
Next morning they pulled out for Pine Bluff, the last run of the voyage.
Above the city, the steamer Woodson met them with a party of
excursionists on board. Capt. F. G. Smart, of Jefferson, was detailed to
deliver an address of welcome to Boyton as soon as they met him. The
Captain was an enthusiastic admirer of the voyager and had taken
numerous doses of "Arkansaw lightning" for the purpose of inspiring
his oratorical powers. As Boyton swung into sight, the Captain sprang
upon something laying near the rail and throwing both hands up as
though a highwayman had him covered with a Winchester, he began his
speech.
"Standing here on this sack of salt," he roared, "I say standing here
on--"
"Git offen me," yelled a colored roustabout who had laid down and upon
whom the Captain had planted himself.
"Get out of my way then," shouted the orator, "don't throw yourself in
the attitude of a rostrum unless you have credentials. I say, ladies and
gentlemen, we have assembled on this boat, to come up to meet a man
coming down. It is my principle never to shove a man down; but on
this occasion, I stand merely as a spectator. As a rule, a man goes down
on whisky, but this man goes down on water. May we all meet on
that beautiful shore, where every man can show a life saving suit of
clothes."
The Captain's voice was drowned in a round of cheers and the sound of
the steamboat's whistle, as she was headed down stream to escort Boyton
to Pine Bluff, where he was warmly received, completing his voyage of
four-hundred miles in six days.
Again embarking on his friend's little steamboat, a cruise down the
Mississippi to the mouth of Red river followed, where some time was
spent in hunting and then the boat was headed for New Orleans.
For two years following, with the exception of a run down the rapids of
the James river at Richmond, Boyton was engaged in business. During
that time he became an agent of the Haytien insurgents, as a purchaser
of supplies and he barely escaped going out on the ship Lapatrie, which
was captured and all on board executed by order of Hippolyte.
In 1884, Paul decided to give up his adventurous life, and settle down.
He continued in business on shore until 1886, when his health became so
affected by confinement that he was advised to resume his old outdoor
life for a time, to recuperate. So he concluded to limber his joints
with another voyage. On looking about for a course, he found he had made
all the rivers in America that promised adventure, except those of the
far west. He went to San Francisco and prepared for a run down the
Sacramento from Red Bluff, four-hundred and fifty miles.
He entered the water, March 26th. It was a beautiful morning and the
people from the town and surrounding country gathered to see him start.
A boat load of reporters accompanied him, intending to go as far as
Tehama. As Paul felt his well beloved element under him again, he
answered the characteristic California salute of the good people of Red
Bluff, with rockets and bugle and was soon carried out of sight. When
the noise of the town was left behind, the newspaper men were surprised
to see him throw his paddle in the air, and catch it with a whoop of
almost boyish pleasure. He answered their inquiries by saying that he
could not restrain his joy at feeling himself at home once more.
Directly after the start, the Baby was discovered to be leaking. Her
long sojourn ashore had subjected her to the malevolent attacks of
rust, which had eaten a small hole in her bottom that had been
overlooked. How to stop the leak was a serious problem. No solder was
obtainable. They used some of the tar off the bottom of the reportorial
boat; but it would not stick. The dilemma was overcome by a young
gentleman in the boat who had been suspected of a tendency to ape the
fashions of the effete east. When he blushingly produced a slug of
chewing gum, they were satisfied that their suspicions were well
founded. The gum proved efficacious, however, and the leak was plugged
up.
Tehama was reached about noon, where they were saluted by volleys fired
from shot guns, rifles and revolvers. Paul hauled up and sent a
messenger for glycerin and oil to use on his face which began to feel
the effects of the burning sun. As he lay in the dock answering a shower
of questions, about his name, age, fighting weight etc., an old
gentleman stepped to the front and said:
"Captain, why don't you come out? Tehama is famous for its widows. They
are handsomer and more of them than will be found in any other town of
her size in the world, and if you ain't married, I guarantee you will be
in an hour after you're ashore."
The widows present shyly smiled.
After being supplied with the glycerin, he left the newspaper men and
struck away alone. He kept on all night and passed Chico bridge early
next morning. Before sun-rise he noticed a tree that was strange and
wonderful. It was full of what appeared to be large white clusters
of feathery-like blossoms, which swayed to and fro as though alive, yet
not a breath of air was stirring. His wonder at the beautiful
spectacle was so great, that he ceased moving the paddle and drifted
with the current toward the snowy looking tree. When opposite, he saw it
was a roost for some sort of water fowl. He shouted and a cloud of white
heron rose in the air and soared away.
He now entered a stretch of river that was very lonely. The ranches were
far away from the banks. The sand bars were full of geese, ducks and
heron, while many buzzards sailed gracefully above. He noticed one large
flock of these scavengers, that hung over him and which gained in
numbers as they moved along, no doubt mistaking him for a dead body,
floating. He had commenced the voyage on Friday and the old
sailor superstition affected him. He did not like the persistence with
which the ill-omened birds kept him company; but they were far out of
range of pistol shot. He grew so nervous looking at the buzzards that
he could see nothing else along the river. Then he thought of a plan to
get rid of them, which he immediately put into execution. Taking a
powerful detonating rocket from the Baby, he fired it into their midst
and it bursted above. They darted away toward the Sierras and he was
annoyed by them no more.
There was one companion he could not get rid of, however, that was the
snow clad peak of Mt. Shasta. It appeared ever present and always at the
same distance. He would think he had left it in the rear, when at the
next bend of the river, it again loomed up in front of him. He saw it at
sunrise and at sunset for days, gloriously colored as the variations of
light bathed its towering sides.
At Grimes' Landing, a Sunday school picnic was encountered. Arches and
banks of flowers, made bright a beautiful grove. On one arch were the
words, "Baby Mine," spelled out in roses. Boyton had not intended to
stop, but could not resist getting out and shaking hands with the
little ones. That night he stopped at a wood cutter's camp.
Next evening he was met by a gentleman in a boat with a servant, who
extended a most cordial invitation to spend the night. They repaired to
an elegant residence on the river bank and the gentleman proved to be
the Hon. John Boggs, proprietor of one of the great ranches which
make California famous. He was profuse in his hospitality, sending
messages by his private wire to Sacramento and San Francisco. His ranch
consists of eleven thousand acres, requiring hundreds of men to work it;
herds of cattle and droves of sheep, numbering into the tens of
thousands, graze on the ranges. Ocean vessels are docked at his
warehouses and loaded for foreign ports. Boyton always remembers the
night spent at that California ranch as one of the most pleasant of
his life.
Next day Colusa was reached and for some distance below, people were
numerous on the banks, school children sometimes running along a mile
or more. At one place a tall, raw boned woman, who looked as though she
possessed a mind of her own, gathered up her skirts and trotted along
the bank for same time, talking to Boyton. She wanted to know if he
lectured.
"No; I am taking notes so as to write a book," replied Paul.
"Well, you're just the fellow I'm looking for. I want you to take notes
about the slickens that are filling up this river and go for the
miners, good and strong, who make them." With that she dropped her
skirts and pointing her index finger impressively at Paul, concluded:
"Now don't forget that, young fellow," and turned to retrace her steps.
The slickens spoken of by the strong minded female, is refuse from the
mines filling the channel of the river and ruining navigation. It is
produced by hydraulic mining, powerful streams of water washing the dirt
down from the hills into the river. Boyton found the slickens very
trying to the eyes.
At the mouth of Feather river he met a boat load of Sandwich Islanders,
who were up that far fishing, they kept along with him for several
miles and he found them to be very intelligent companions. That night he
landed at a ranch and sounded his bugle. No one answering, he climbed
to the top of a high hank and discovered a number of Chinamen coming
toward him. At sight of him they all returned to the house in a hurry
and Paul knew it was useless to apply for accommodation there. He
entered the river again and paddled on until he reached another ranch.
At the call of the bugle, a man came out and in answer to Boyton's
request for lodging, said:
"Why, certainly Captain, glad to have you come in. I've heard all about
you."
On entering the house, the host explained that he was a bachelor and all
alone, at the same time bustling about, baking biscuits and boiling
eggs. Next morning there was the same liberal supply of eggs and as Paul
was devouring a goodly share of them, the bachelor remarked:
"You needn't think, Captain, that because we had eggs last night and
this mornin' too, they're cheap. No, sir. Why, 'pon honor, Cap, them
eggs is worth fifteen cents a dozen in Sacramento."
The Captain assured him that they were most nutritious food and that he
heartily enjoyed them. Before resuming the voyage that morning, Paul
discovered, that back of the ranch, thousands of acres of splendid land
was overflowed and rendered useless by the slickens falling into the
Sacramento.
From the egg producing ranch, the river took on the appearance of a
southern bayou. Trees and festoons of vines hung in the water, which
was clear and beautiful and numbers of water snakes were continually
crossing and recrossing. Seeing one handsome yellow fellow, Paul paddled
after and captured it. It made no attempt to bite; but coiled tightly
around his wrist and hand. It was three feet long and beautifully
marked. He stowed it in the Baby and it remained his companion for the
rest of the journey.
Groups of Chinamen were occasionally seen, fishing from the banks or the
branches of overhanging trees. Some of these stared at him while
others ran away. During the afternoon, he saw two celestials in a tree.
He silently ran under them and uttered a terrific yell. One of the
Chinamen was so frightened that he let go all holds and dropped into the
water, while his companion remained in the tree, his teeth chattering
like castanets.
Further down Paul encountered beating head winds and suffered from the
slickens. His face was badly burned and the skin peeled off in flakes.
On April 1st, he reached Sacramento and the usual hearty California
reception was tendered him. For five days after leaving that city,
the going was heavy and tiresome, having struck tide water directly
below. The runs through Suesun and San Pablo bays were very trying.
Saturday, April 6th, he made John's Lighthouse at the head of San
Francisco bay, and remained there until four o'clock in the morning,
intending to start on the last run to San Francisco on the ebb tide. He
made Angel Island at seven o'clock, where he was compelled to stop
because the tide as it then was, would have carried him through the
Golden Gate to the Pacific. When the tide turned, he again struck across
the bay and was met by a fleet of boats to escort him in. Foremost
among these was the yacht of Mr. Matt. O'Donnell. Calling to him, Boyton
said: "Halloa Matt, I have a present for you." The boat was pulled
alongside and Paul took the yellow snake out of the Baby, putting it
into his friend's hand so quickly, that the latter did not have a
chance to see what it was. The reptile coiled about his wrist and with
an exclamation of fright, he shook it off on the deck much to the
consternation of those aboard. As Boyton sheered off, O'Donnell,
assuming an oratorical attitude, called out:
"Thanks for the snake."
Before Paul could reach his destination, the wind and tide suddenly
changed and he was swept in the direction of the ocean, so he hauled
around and headed for Sauscilito where he became the guest of the yacht
club for the night. Next morning he made his way across and landed
safely at San Francisco, after a laborious journey of twelve days.
He will long keep green in his memory the royal hospitality he received
from the Californians.
Paul next decided to go to Salt Lake City and try the waters of its
wonderful inland sea. After a few day's rest in San Francisco, he
found himself on the shore of the Great Salt Lake. He had been told that
the water was so dense that he would be able to walk on it in his
rubber dress; but actual experience did not verify the assertion. In
fact, he could discover but little difference between the water of the
lake and that of the ocean. He might, possibly, float higher on the
surface of the former, but very little. He found the water as clear as
a crystal; but a veritable dead sea so far as animal life was
concerned. There is no life in its depths except little worms that are
found around the bottom of piles or on pieces of submerged wood, and
these turn to flies. Wishing to prove to his own satisfaction that fish
would not live in the lake, Paul procured some trout and turned them
in. The moment they touched the briny water, they died as though
shot by an electric current.
On the second evening after his arrival, Paul entered the water to
paddle out to Antelope Island, about fifteen miles from shore. He was
warned of danger in case of a wind; but thought nothing of it at the
time. After slipping over the glassy surface of the lake for about ten
miles, he noticed a heavy cloud coming down from the surrounding
mountains and in a short time it was churned into a short, choppy sea
by a squall blowing thirty or forty miles an hour. The waves were not
very high, but slashed about him in such a manner that his eyes, nose
and mouth were filled with the salty foam which caused intense agony.
He still struggled for the island, hoping to reach it before he
would die of suffocation. He steered by the sound of the waves washing
against the shore. At last he heard the flap, flap, of the breakers and
he was swung against the rocky coast of Antelope Island. He knew that
no human being lived there; only a flock of sheep that had been taken
thither in flat boats to graze. He also knew there was something else
on the island for which he longed--fresh water. He groped about for a
time until he could open his eyes to see a little and fortunately
discovered a spring not far from where he landed.
The gale continued all night and he dare not enter the water while it
prevailed. Next morning a little steamer that was sent out to hunt him,
found him on the island and conveyed him back to shore, pretty badly
used up. He remained at the lake some time after, but did not make
any more excursions.
During the month of March, 1887, Paul, who had returned from a short
visit south, was feeling a trifle malarious. Regardless of the
time honored and tested remedies for this complaint which were
prescribed freely by his friends, he believed that the only thing for
relief was a run in the ocean in the rubber dress, with the Baby as
his sole companion. He also felt the necessity for a practice voyage
before going down the Hudson, a trip which he then had in view.
Getting his paraphernalia together, he boarded the pilot boat, Fannie,
on a Wednesday, and on Saturday, attired in his dress, he slipped
over her side with the intention of paddling to the Jersey coast, which
he hoped to strike in the vicinity of Cape May.
The weather was not very cold when he went overboard and the sea was
fine and smooth. Bye and bye the wind commenced to blow off shore and
as he wanted to go to the westward, he had a hard fight against it all
day and night. He sighted a great many vessels and signaled them to
pick him up; but they did not see him for they all continued on their
way. The constant battle against the stiff land breeze began to tell on
him toward morning. The compass would not work and he was compelled to
determine his course by the stars. The morning sun showed him that he
was out of sight of land. During the forenoon, the wind shifted to the
east which was more favorable, though he could take but little advantage
of it on account of being stiff and sore from the severe buffeting to
which he had been subjected during the night. All day Sunday, he
continued working to the westward. About four o'clock he sighted the
smoke of a steamer to the south and pulled across her course. He fired
three rockets to attract her attention and waved his flag, the "union
down" fastened to the paddle. His heart sank when she glided by
apparently without seeing him; but to his joy, after passing a short
distance she stopped and he saw a boat lowered. He was taken aboard and
learned that she was the William Lawrence of the Norfolk and Baltimore
line, Captain M. W. Snow. When picked up, he was sixty miles off Sandy
Hook. Captain Snow and everyone on board treated him with the utmost
kindness. Directly after getting on board he turned in and slept for
twelve hours. He landed at Providence on Monday, and he immediately
wired his friends in New York that he was all right.
The contemplated voyage down the Hudson river, was delayed on account of
ice; but on the fifth of April, a freshet broke it up and the voyager
started from Hudson, accompanied by several representatives of the New
York papers, who occupied a boat which was in charge of the famous
oarsman, Wallace Ross assisted by George Whistler. The voyage was not of
unusual interest, outside of the difficulty of forging ahead through
the ice floes and considerable suffering from the cold. On that account
and from the fact that the party were compelled to watch for favorable
tides, progress was somewhat slow. They were enthusiastically received
at every town and village and at several places, physicians advised
Boyton to abandon the trip, fearing that the exposure would prove fatal
but he made light of their fears.
One of the most interesting sights was encountered in the middle of the
Tappan Zee. An enormous tow of one hundred canal boats and five
schooners was passed, drawn by four powerful tugs. Six hundred people
inhabited this floating village and they stood on the decks of their
migratory houses, going north with the spring, like the ducks, and
hurrahed, and each tug screamed a salute. The oyster dredgers cheered
and schooners changed their course to hail Boyton.
Less than seven days from the time of starting, Paul landed in New York,
having been escorted down the North river by a large party of friends
aboard a gaily decorated tug. Fully 20,000 people saw the finish. To
Wallace Ross, who rowed the reporters' boat, much of the success of
the trip was due. He watched Boyton with the anxious care of a trained
nurse. He stood by regardless of his own fatigue, keeping a careful eye
on the tides and was ready at all times to exert his skill and muscle
for the success of the undertaking. George Whistler, too, who has
been Boyton's attendant for years, withstood the fatigues of the journey
and attended manfully to his duties.
In March, 1888, the Captain had a thrilling experience in Lake Michigan.
For the purpose of reducing his weight, he began to take short runs
through the icy water. On the 27th he left shore, intending to paddle a
few miles out in the lake. A fresh west wind was blowing. He pushed
through the ice for some time and then encountered great floes onto
which he climbed. Heavy clouds obscured the sun and the wind had
gathered the ice together. He struggled for a time with what he judged
to be the western border of the field and then ran into a sort of
pocket. Through this he pulled until he again encountered floes. A heavy
fog now shut down on the lake and all trace of land had vanished, and on
stopping to take his bearings, he was horrified to find that his
compass was lost. There was nothing by which he could determine his
position or the direction of the city. He began to get drowsy from the
cold and knew he would perish if he did not labor incessantly to
keep up his temperature. He concluded that he only had to pull away
from the ice to reach Chicago, and for at least five hours he worked
in what he considered to be the right direction. Still there was no
sign of the city. Then he changed his course and pulled with all
the energy of desperation. The ice gathered about him again and when
night came, he was fighting it for his life. Sometimes he would dodge
the drifts, at others he climbed upon the cakes and crossed them. He
got a flash view of the moon when it rose and then saw that he had been
working wrong. He had crossed the field in the morning when he got into
what he thought was an opening and all the long day he had been driven
toward Michigan. The turn he had taken sent him south. Observing the
moon he changed his course, and in a couple of hours saw the glare from
the furnaces of South Chicago. Taking his bearings from them, he
sighted the lights at the water work's crib, where he arrived at
midnight and aroused Captain McKay by a blast of the bugle and was
hauled up. He was given refreshments and retired. He had been seventeen
hours in the water.
During the spring, Paul made a run of eight hundred miles down the Ohio
from Wheeling to Evansville for amusement, and another of two-hundred
miles down the Missouri from St. Joseph to Kansas City.
Late in the winter of 1889, he again visited the Pacific coast. His
object was the capture of sea lions which he knew to be plentiful on
the shores of Oregon and Washington. He went to Astoria and located a
large rookery below Tillamook Head; but found it could be reached only
by a most difficult trail. He made up his mind to take chances although
it was not according to his idea the best mode of traveling. It was
not until the 12th of March that everything was in readiness and on that
day he left Astoria accompanied by his assistant, fully supplied with
nets and everything necessary to effect the capture of the lions in the
easiest way. They went to Seaside where they secured pack horses
and launched boldly into the trail for Tillamook. This route proved to
be all that had been described and a great deal more that had not
been mentioned in the way of roughness and almost insurmountable
difficulties. They occupied eight long and weary hours in traversing
seven miles to a ranch on the coast which they proposed to make their
headquarters.
To add to the unpleasant features of the trip, they were tartly received
by the owner of the ranch when they arrived there at night worn out
and hungry. The proprietor was very ill natured and did not conceal his
aversion to entertaining them. Boyton made several polite attempts to
engage him in conversation; but was answered with frowns and
monosyllables. There was no other place where food and shelter could be
procured and they were obliged to put up with it.
At supper some very fine meat graced the table and was more than
relished by the hungry sea lion hunters. Paul thought he could reach
the rancher's heart through praising the excellence of his viands, and
innocently asked:
"Is that elk meat, sir?"
The man became very much excited at the question and angrily answered:
"No, sir. Do you suppose I would kill elk out of season, and a law
against it at this time of year?"
Paul apologized for having unconsciously insinuated such a thing and
remarked that if he was in the woods with a gun and saw an elk, he
would be likely to shoot it.
"It would be wrong to violate the law in that way, young man," replied
the host, "and I would be the first one to inform on you if I caught you
at it."
Next morning while Boyton was out looking over the position of the seal
rocks, his assistant informed the rancher who he was. A change took
place at once in the man's demeanor. He proved a most generous and
entertaining host. "Why, Captain," said he, "I thought I knew you. I
helped you take off your suit once at Hock Ferry, Liverpool."
The sullen host became bright and cheerful and wanted Paul to go out elk
hunting with him every day. His strange conduct at first was
explained; he had been under the impression that his visitors were spies
in search of violators of the game laws.
The nets were finally unpacked and Boyton with his assistant and three
men from the ranch, started for the rocks. As they proceeded through the
forest, they could hear the lions' bellowing above the noise of the
breakers.
They reached the cliff which towers several hundred feet above the
beach, and from which they had a glorious view of the rocks and
rookeries below that were literally alive with sea lions. Finding a
break in the cliff, they made an easy descent. Paul then donned the
rubber dress and taking one of the nets, succeeded in passing the first
line of breakers without much trouble; but he reached the island
with considerable difficulty. His appearance did not seem to create any
alarm among the horde of mammals on the rock, even when he approached
near them. He went around the island to see where he could make the
safest landing. Having gained the shore he cast loose the net and
then worked cautiously toward a promising young lion, about a
yearling, that was sleeping, and had no difficulty in throwing the snare
over it. It beat around for a time, but quieted down as the running
line was pulled that tightened the meshes. Making fast, Paul returned to
the mainland where he joined a rope to the line of the snare and gave
the signal for his assistants on shore to pull away, at the same time
pushing the captured lion off the rocks. It snapped viciously at him
but did not bellow or make a noise, and was landed without disturbing
the others.
In half an hour another was captured and landed by the same process and
two others quickly followed. Just before capturing the last one, Paul
crawled into a large ravine where there were a number of lions. There
was a magnificent one, about five or six years old and fully developed;
but however much Boyton would have liked to capture it, he did not have
confidence in the strength of the net or his own ability to hold it. He
was going to make the attempt, nevertheless, when in his excitement, he
arose from a recumbent position and frightened the prize away. He says
he can never forget the malevolent look of those green eyes as the lion
rolled off the rock and snapped at him.
The fourth net was followed ashore and they began to devise means to get
their catch up the face of the cliff. They first tried to pack them
up; but the effort was futile as the earth gave way under their feet.
Finally three men went to the top of the cliff and let down a half inch
cotton rope which was attached to the leading string of one of the nets.
The men pulled and succeeded in lifting it half way up, when it caught
on a stunted bush that grew out from the rocks. They tried hard to free
it, when the rope which had been worn weak in places, from contact with
sharp rocks, parted and the sea lion dropped like a shot and was smashed
into a jelly on the boulders one hundred feet below. As darkness was
coming on, with a storm brewing, they decided to leave the other lions
in the nets where they were until morning, when they could get the
horses to the edge of the cliff to draw them up.
That night, a terrible gale, which left many wrecks on the coast, sprang
up and next day the trail was impassible by reason of fallen timber.
Late in the afternoon, they reached the beach again and finding it
impossible to pull the three lions up, or to get them to civilization
if they did, Paul took off the traps and liberated them.
At daylight next morning, they started back across the trail to Seaside.
It was in a much worse condition than when they went in, and they were
until dark traversing the seven miles. Every time they missed stepping
on a root or stone, they sank in the mud to their knees, until they
became so tired that they thought seriously of abandoning their
apparatus.
Fishermen at the mouth of the Columbia river consider the sea lion to be
more dangerous and cruel than a shark. They accuse it of mutilating in
the most horrible manner, bodies that have been drowned off the bar. An
incident of its vicious nature came under Boyton's notice during his
stay in that vicinity. An old Indian who wished to secure the skin of a
lion, went out to the rocks at low tide. He was barefooted and walked
noiselessly to where a lion lay asleep. He had just raised his ax to
strike it over the head when his foot slipped and he fell. In an
instant the animal was awake and upon him and fastening its teeth in his
shoulder, stripped his arm bare to the bone down to the finger nails.
The lion then jumped off into the sea and the Indian was rescued and
carried ashore where he died soon after.
On Paul's return to Astoria, he determined to visit the North Beach. He
and his companion missed the regular steamer and as they were
impatient, they decided to risk the trip across the bar and along the
coast in a small boat. The trip to Ilwaco was made without any startling
adventure and the next day they visited Sand Island and captured several
seals. On Sunday they were storm bound; but Monday they proceeded on
their voyage up the coast in the small boat. They started against the
advice of the fishermen, the men at the life saving station and
everybody else.
They made it all right through the heavy sea until they passed Sand
Island, when the waves struck them. To save the boat from being
swamped, they had to throw her bow up and drift "nose on." They were
tossed about on the turbulent water, and to add to their discomforts,
they had neither food nor drink and were drenched to the skin. That
night they got under Scarborough Head where they had smoother water and
succeeded in making a landing. A blazing fire and a square meal put them
in excellent spirits and the following day they returned to Astoria, to
disprove in person a story that had been published along the coast to
the effect that they were gone to "Davy Jones' Locker."