Title: The Story of Paul Boyton - Voyages on All the Great Rivers of the World
Author: Boyton, Paul, 1848-1914
Language: English
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THE STORY OF PAUL BOYTON

VOYAGES ON ALL THE GREAT RIVERS OF THE WORLD, PADDLING OVER TWENTY-FIVE
THOUSAND MILES IN A RUBBER DRESS

A RARE TALE OF TRAVEL AND ADVENTURE

THRILLING EXPERIENCES IN DISTANT LANDS, AMONG STRANGE PEOPLE. A BOOK FOR
BOYS, OLD AND YOUNG.

To my beloved and gentle wife, whose patience and help have enabled me
to present the public the story of my life. --Paul Boyton


CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.-On the Allegheny. First Attempt at navigation. The Grey
Eagle. Voyage on a coal fleet.

CHAPTER II.-College days. Bruce's dam. The Fort of the Wild Geese.

CHAPTER III.-In the U. S. Navy. A voyage to the West Indies. Diving for
treasure.

CHAPTER IV.-Wrecking with Captain Balbo. In the hull of a slaver. A
swarm of sharks. Joining the Mexican revolutionists.

CHAPTER V.-Entering the life saving service. Grateful people. In the
Franco-Prussian war. Failure of the Cuban expedition.

CHAPTER VI.-As a submarine diver. The Diamond fields of Africa. A
floating Hell. An escape at Malaga.

CHAPTER VII.-The rubber dress. Overboard from the steamer Queen. Landing
on the coast of Ireland.

CHAPTER VIII.-Arrival in Queenstown. The first lecture. In Dublin.
Appearance before Queen Victoria.

CHAPTER IX.-Voyage across the English Channel. Pigeon dispatches.
Landing in England.

CHAPTER X.-In Germany. A voyage down the Rhine. Through the whirlpool of
Lurlei. The press boat.

CHAPTER XI.-A short run on the Mississippi. The funny Negro pilot. Down
the Danube and the Po. Attacked by fever. Lucretia Borgia's castle.

CHAPTER XII.-Voyage on the Arno from Florence to Pisa. Narrow escape
over a fall. Down the Tiber to Rome. Across the bay of  Naples. Knighted
by King Victor Emmanuel.

CHAPTER XIII.-The Straits of Messina. Attacked by sharks. Whirlpools of
Scylla and Charybdis. Lake Trasimene.

CHAPTER XIV.-Quick voyage down the Rhone. The smugglers' chain. The
gambling palaces of Monte Carlo. Down the Loire. In the Quicksands.

CHAPTER XV.-On the mysterious Tagus from Toledo to Lisbon. Over great
falls and through dark canons. Ancient Moorish  masonry.  The villianous
brigands.

CHAPTER XVI.-From Europe to Africa, across the Straits of Gibraltar.
Preparing for sharks. Contrary currents and heavy  overfalls.  Landing
at Tangier.

CHAPTER XVII.-Paddling in the ice floes on the Allegheny. Down the Ohio
to Cairo. Queer characters. On  the  Mississippi.  Strange  sights  and
sounds. The comical darkies. Alligators. "Dead man in a boat."

CHAPTER XVIII.-Voyage on the Merrimac. Some peculiar people. A rough
trip down the Connecticut. Lost in a Snow Storm. A winter in Florida.

CHPATER XIX.-Off for South America. An officer in the Peruvian service.
Placing torpedoes. Caverns of the  sea.  Inca  Tombs.  An  escape  from
prison and rescue from a lonely island.

CHAPTER XX.-The Upper Mississippi. The German Doctor and the negro
boatman. Arrival at Cairo. Hunting and fishing.

CHAPTER XXI.-The longest voyage. Down the Yellowstone and Missouri.
Thrilling adventures through the  western  wilds.  In  the  tepees  of
the Indians. Caving banks, snags and mud sucks. Camp of the Rustlers.
Arrival in St. Louis.

CHAPTER XXII.-Hunting in Southern bayous. An interesting voyage down the
Arkansaw. Haytien insurgents. Down the Sacramento. A  night  on  Great
Salt Lake. Down the Hudson. In the ice on Lake Michigan. Catching seals.

CHAPTER XXIII.-Boyton to-day.



CHAPTER I.

One bright day in July, 1858, two women carrying well filled market
baskets, were crossing the old Hand Street bridge that spans the
Alleghany River between Pittsburgh and Alleghany City, Penn.

"Oh, Mrs. Boyton, do look at that child in the middle of the river
paddling around on a board."

"Well," said the one addressed as Mrs. Boyton, "I'm glad it is none of
mine. My son Paul, loves the water dearly, but I took the precaution  to
lock him up before I started for market."

After observing the child, who was evidently enjoying his aquatic sport,
for some time, the two women proceeded on their way. On reaching home,
Mrs. Boyton, with a feeling of remorse for keeping her young son so long
in captivity, went up stairs to release him, and to her  consternation
found that he had escaped. Three minutes later an excited woman stood on
bank of the Alleghany, vigorously waving  her  hand  and  hailing  the
youthful navigator. The forward end of the one by twelve inch board was
reluctantly headed for shore, and slowly idled in. As the child reached
land, he was grasped by the angry and anxious mother, who beat a merry
tattoo on a tender portion his body with a shingle.

This was not the first time that the young hero had received punishment
for loving the water. His home was within one block of  the  clear  and
swift flowing Alleghany; and whenever he could escape the vigilant eye
of his mother, he was found either on the bank or in the water. One day,
Mrs. Boyton, who had a continual dread of his being drowned, was going
on a visit, and she determined to secure Paul against accident. She took
him upstairs, undressed him and removed his clothes from the room. She
locked the door and went away content.

The day was lovely; the water lay clear and blue in sight and Paul could
hear the delighted  cries  of  the  boys  as  they  plunged  into  its
refreshing depths. The temperature was too strong. Paul searched the
room carefully and to his joy, discovered a pair of his father's
drawers. He got into them and tied the waist-string around his neck.
Then forcing a window, he slid down the  convenient  lightning  rod like
a  young monkey, and was found in his usual haunt by his astonished
mother some hours later. From this time on, she gave him more liberty to
follow  his natural bent. From early May until late in October, when not
at school, Paul spent most of his time in the water.

In those days, driftwood, consisting of slabs, logs and boards, were
continually floating down the river from the headwaters, where  the
great forests were being cut down. When he saw a nice piece of wood,
Paul would cut through the water like a young shark, and swim with it
ahead  of him to the shore, where his lumber pile was a goodly sized
one. He kept his mother's cellar well supplied with firewood and sold
the surplus to the neighbors; the proceeds of wich were devoted to
gingerbread and even at that early age to the abominable  roll  of
tobacco  known  as  the "Pittsburgh Stogie."

Great rafts of lumber were coming down the river daily and a favorite
amusement when he saw one, was to run up the river bank about  a quarter
of a mile, swim off and board it. In this way he became acquainted with
many of the hardy "buck-tail" boys who piloted the huge rafts down  the
river. His knowledge of the different bars that were formed by the
bridge piers was utilized, and often  proved  of  great assistance  to
his friends, the raftsmen. One day, he boarded a raft, the captain of
which was evidently a stranger to the channel in the vicinity of
Pittsburgh, and Paul saw that it was certain to run aground. He told the
captain and was so earnest in his manner, the course  was  ordered
changed.  Less than 500 yards further down, the ugly bar showed up not
five feet from the side of the raft, as it went gliding by. The
raftsman  insisted  on keeping the little fellow by his side until he
was safely moored to the Pittsburgh shore; then as a reward for  his
services,  presented  Paul with a little flat boat about twelve feet
long by five feet wide and ordered two of the crew to tow it with a
skiff to the Alleghany side.

The generous present was most joyfully and thankfully received, for
Paul's sole and only ambition for a long time had been to own  a  boat.
As the two sturdy oarsmen with the boat in tow, neared the Alleghany
shore, Paul stood erect in the stern,  his  eyes  shining  with  triumph
and satisfaction, and loudly hailed his playmates to come and see his
prize. It is safe to say, that no commander of  a  vessel,  ever  viewed
his craft with more pride, than Paul did his little flat-bottom boat. He
named her "Gray Eagle." He was ever tired of  overhauling,  scrubbing
and cleaning her. All the money realized by the capture of drift-wood,
was devoted to the purchase of paint. He selected and shipped  a  crew
from among his playmates. They were soon able to drive her where they
liked upon the river with long poles and paddles, and many a successful
battle royal was fought with their old enemies across the river, the
Pittsburgh boys. The "Gray Eagle" was generally  half  loaded  with
nice,  round stones that served as ammunition.

The "Eagle" would be carefully poled up the Alleghany shore against the
current, then headed out and vigorously paddled towards the  Pittsburgh
side. Nearing the enemies' headquarters a skirmish would be opened by a
shower of stones sent into their ranks. If the Pittsburghers  were  not
sufficiently numerous to repel the invasion, the "Gray Eagle" was
landed. The majority of the  crew  pursued  the  flying  enemy  up  the
back streets, while the balance remained and hastily loaded up the best
of the driftwood from the piles gathered by their  antagonists.  When
their cargo was secured, the skirmishers were called in. All leaped
aboard, and the "Eagle" headed  for  Alleghany,  where  the  wood  was
carefully stored, far beyond the reach of a probable invasion by the
Pittsburghers.

About this time a new enterprise opened for the commander and crew of
the "Gray Eagle." The city commenced to pave the streets with large
round stones called "Pavers," many of which were found in pockets at the
bottom of the river. One day a contractor met Paul on the bank and said:

"Say, son, could not you boys gather a lot of pavers? I will buy them
from you and give you thirty cents per hundred."

The offer was eagerly accepted. Next day the "Eagle" was anchored with a
piece of rail-road iron, over a pocket, and the crew engaged in diving
through the transparent water to the bottom, where they would gather one
or two pavers, return to the top, and drop them into  the  boat.  Paul
had much difficulty in teaching his companions to keep their eyes open
while under water. This occupation  was  pursued  with  varying  success
during the summer months of '59. The contractor came down every week to
cart the "pavers" away; and many a dispute the boys had with  him  over
the count. The dispute was generally decided by the carts driving off,
and the contractor paying whatever he pleased.  The  boys  discovered  a
rich pocket right near the old Aqueduct bridge. They worked it
enthusiastically and were loath to leave such a find, until they had
overloaded the Eagle. When all the divers climbed aboard, the additional
weight almost swamped her. The strongest swimmers were compelled to go
overboard and resting their hands gently on the gunwale, they propelled
her by swimming toward the shore. They had not proceeded far when the
bottom  of the well-worn "Eagle" fell out and the cargo disappeared.
While the boys hung on to the framework of their wrecked craft, their
enemies  across the river observed their predicament and sallied forth
in a skiff to chastise them. The Alleghany boys swam for their own shore
as  rapidly  as possible. On gaining shallow water, they faced about on
their assailants and a battle was fought that was long remembered by the
inhabitants on both sides of the river. In the meantime, the wreck of
the "Gray Eagle" floated gently down to the Ohio, where the powerful
current  caught  it and hurried it off to the southward.

After the loss of the "Eagle" the boys resumed their old sport of
swimming and  gathering  wood.  About  this  time,  owing  no  doubt  to
the complaints of the riverside inhabitants, the city authorities
determined to stop all further rows and displays of nudity.  The  orders
against naked bathing were strictly enforced by a constable named Sam
Long. Before the boys got thoroughly acquainted with him, he  often
captured  an offender's clothing, which he detained until the boy came
ashore. Then Sam would escort him to the Mayor's office to receive a
stern reprimand, or his parents would be compelled to pay a small fine.
Paul was never caught, for he was always on the outlook for the watchful
Sam.  On  the constable's approach he would swim rapidly to his wardrobe
which always lay conveniently close to the water. As  it was  neither
weighty  nor large, he would pile it on his head, tie it with a string
under his chin; then swim swiftly off to the first pier of the bridge.
This was fully fifty yards out in the stream, and here Paul would sit on
the abutment rocks until Sam's patience was worn out and he would
depart.  Then  Paul would swim leisurely to the shore, dress himself and
go home.

Paul's elder brother, Michael, was a studious sedate boy who took no
pleasure in the sports and adventures of his aquatic brother.  But
Paul's glowing descriptions of the pleasures of plunging and paddling in
the cool, clear river, at last induced Michael to join in the watery
gambols. One warm afternoon he accompanied his brother to the riverside.
Paul slipped out of  his  clothes  and  was  soon  disporting  himself
in  the refreshing water, while he shouted encouraging remarks to his
hesitating brother to follow his example. Michael slowly disrobed and
cautiously stepped into the water. He was no swimmer; but being
surrounded by Paul and his companions, he grew bolder, waded farther out
from shore, where he was soon enjoying himself as heartily as any of
them.

Suddenly the cry of "Sam Long" was raised. Many of the boys seized their
clothing and disappeared in the direction of their homes. The  hardier
swimmers, with Paul, struck out for the abutment on the pier in their
usual way and poor  Michael  was  left  alone.  Sam  gently  gathered up
Michael's clothes, and retired to a lumber pile where he leisurely
seated himself and waited for the owner to land. Michael had often heard
of the terrible Sam Long so he did not go ashore, though Sam called him
frequently. At last growing weary, the  constable  walked  away  with
the captured wardrobe. As he disappeared, Michael started on a dead run
for home. His clothes were recovered; but it was some time  before
Michael was inclined to calculate how many cubic feet of bread Paul
would consume in a week, or to reckon how much time he lost  from  his
studies  by going into the water, as had been his custom. It is needless
to add that it was many moons ere Michael went swimming again.

It was the custom then, as it is at present, to run enormous tows of
coal barges, propelled by a powerful tug, from Pittsburgh to New
Orleans. These grim and heavily loaded fleets had an intense fascination
for young Paul. Many and many a day he spent in assisting the inland
sailors in lashing boat to boat and diving overboard after spars, etc.,
that had slipped into the river. He often dreamt of the  time  when  he
would  be large enough to go down the mighty Ohio and the great
Mississippi. He made many friends among the coal men and eagerly
devoured  their  stories of danger, of voyages down the river and of the
comical "darkies" in the far off south. Time after time he implored
permission from his  mother to go away on one of those barge trips, but
she would never consent. One day while assisting as usual on a fleet
that was about  to  depart,  a great, dark whiskered man named Tom, who
was his particular friend, said: "Why don't you come with us, Paul? We
will take good care of you  and bring you safe hme again."

The temptation was strong, but the thought of his anxious mother
deterred him. Tom  still  urged  and  the  wonderful  stories  he  told
about brilliant New Orleans and the mighty "Father of Waters" rapt
Paul's attention so that he did not at first notice that the tug  "Red
Lion"  was driving the huge fleet of barges ahead of her. Would he jump
into the river and swin ashore or would he go ahead?

"He who hesitates, is lost."

"Paul remained on board. Tom took him to the lookout far ahead on the
tow and Paul forgot all about home and gave himself up to the delight of
watching the swiftly passing banks while he listened to the swish, swish
of the water as it beat against the bows of the barges. He was seated
with the men on the watch, who passed the time telling stories and
laughing at rough jokes. When it was getting late his big friend Tom,
said:

"Now Paul, it's time you turned in. There's your bunk," pointing to a
shelf in the dark and damp look-out house. Paul prepared to retire while
the men continued their stories. The river-men of that time were rather
given to profanity, so their yarns were freely interspersed with oaths.
Suddenly Tom said in a loud whisper:

"Dry up! Don't you see the youngster is saying his prayers?"

A hush fell on the group, all looked around. Paul, kneeling on the damp,
dirty beam alongside his bunk, was repeating the  prayers  learned  at
his mother's knee.

With the return of daylight, the remorseful feeling of a runaway boy
came strongly upon him and Paul thoroughly realized how cruel he had
been to his dear mother. He begged his friend Tom to get him back or to
send a letter home. Tom dissuaded him from returning, but helped him
write a letter which was posted at Wheeling, Va. This informed his
mother that he was safe and would be taken good care of. Much relieved
in mind, Paul was soon enjoying again the beautiful scenery and bright
sunshine along the Ohio. His work was to carry the coffee to the forward
men  on  the lookout, and to help in many other little ways.

When nearing Evansville, Indiana, about seven hundred miles below
Pittsburgh, a great shock was felt on the fleet, and a  shower  of  coal
was sent flying into the air. The cry "Snag! Snag!" was heard on all
sides, the big engines of the "Red Lion" were stopped  and  reversed and
the headway of the fleet was checked, as it slowly swung to the shore.
All hands rushed to the damaged barge and found that a snag, a sunken
log, had penetrated the bottom. Fearing that she would go down and drag
other barges with her, she was detached and a line passed to the shore,
then luckily near. A crew shoveled the coal from the ugly rent. The snag
was cut away and vain attempts were made to pass a tarpaulin under  and
so stop the hole. Paul stood near his friend Tom, and suggested that he
dive under, take a rope with him, and so enable them  to  pass  a
canvass below.

"Do you think you can do it without drowning?" said Tom.

"I am certain," was the response.

Tom handed him the end of a rope. Without hesitation Paul sprang into
the water and dove under the then sinking barge. The rope was  hauled up
and another passed to him with which he repeated the operation. Two
ropes were fastened to the  tarpaulin,  two  more  fastened  to  the
other corners. The canvas was lowered into the river and the men on the
opposite side hauled it under the ragged hole. As the canvas covered it,
the inflow of water was instantly checked. With a loud cheer, the crew
sprang to the pumps. When the water got low enough,  the  carpenters
nailed planks over the hole. The barge and the valuable cargo of coal
were saved. In less than three hours from the time  the  snag  had
struck,  the injured barge was again lashed to the fleet and on her way
down the Ohio. Paul was the hero of the hour. The Captain of the "Red
Lion" solemnly transferred him from his damp and grimy quarters on the
head to the comfortable cabin and pilot house. He confessed to the kind
Captain that he had run away from home and how anxious he was about his
mother. That day the Captain wrote a glowing letter to Mrs. Boyton  and
posted  it  at Paducah, Kentucky. From that time, he took great pleasure
in teaching Paul how to steer, and many  other  arts  in  river  craft.
Paul  keenly enjoyed this first voyage down the Mississippi. The strange
scenes on the river were of deep interest; but  he  never  tired  of
watching  the slaves, either at work in the fields, or at play on the
banks of an evening.

At last the "Red Lion" and her tow were safely moored at New Orleans.
The Captain found a letter waiting from Mrs. Boyton requesting that Paul
be sent back by the first mail packet. While waiting her departure, the
Captain took Paul out to see the  great  city.  Among  many  places of
interest they visited that day, the slave mart at the foot of the fine
statue erected in honor of Henry Clay,  lived  long  in  Paul's memory.
Numbers of slaves were to be sold. The Captain and Paul pushed their way
well to the front, so  that  they  stood  near  the auctioneer.  With
feelings hard to describe, Paul saw slaves disposed of, singly and in
parties. Fathers, mothers, sons and daughters were bid for and sold,
and the critical purchasers examined them as if they were prize cattle.
While the sale proceeded, Paul spelled out the inscription on the
monument which said "that if he (Henry Clay,) could be instrumental in
eradicating this deepest stain, slavery, from our country, he  would  be
prouder than if he enjoyed the triumphs of a great conqueror." Even to
his childish mind this seemed sadly inconsistent  with  the
surroundings.  The auction concluded with the sale of three boys, who
seemed to be brothers, or at least close friends for they wept bitterly
when parted. As they moved away, Paul's eyes were full of tears at the
agony of the unhappy creatures, and turning to the Captain he said:

"Do you think this is right?"

"No," responded the Captain, "I'm darned if I do. It is an outrage and a
shame that human beings should be sold like cattle,  but--Great Scott!
Did you notice what big prices they brought?" then added reflectively;
"I'm blessed if it wouldn't pay me better to run a cargo of them down
from Pittsburgh, than a tow of coal barges!"

Late that evening the Captain and Paul returned. As they approached,
they saw an excited crowd, pushing their way through near the  boat.
They met the mate on the gang-plank keeping the people back.

"What's the matter?" demanded the Captain.

The mate explained that there had been a fight on the levee, and that
big Tom had been stabbed, he feared fatally. Paul rushed into  the cabin
where his friend lay helpless and gasping.

"Tom, Tom!" he wailed.

"Ah! Paul, my boy," faintly responded Tom, "I fear I'm about to slip my
cable. I want you lo help me say a few prayers. Just ask the good  Lord
not to be hard on me. I've been rough and careless all my life, but I
never meant to be really bad. You talk for me."

The doctor came in and pushed the weeping Paul aside. One half hour
later Tom had quietly floated out to eternity.

No one knew his full name or where his people were, so next day they
buried him, the entire crew attending the funeral, and  fervent  were
the prayers poured out then and often afterwards by little Paul for the
friend so much beloved and so deeply mourned.

The Captain secured passage for Paul on a Northern bound boat and bought
him many little presents ere wishing him God  speed.  Among  them  and
prized most highly, were two red birds and a young alligator. At five
o'clock that evening came the order: "All  aboard!  Haul  in  your gang-
planks!" Just then a weird musical chant was struck up by the slaves
working on the levee, which was answered by the boat's crew, as she
backed out into the river and headed away on her long northern trip.
Paul had snug quarters and spent much of his  time  feeding  the  red
birds  and playing with his alligator. He saw great fun ahead in the
tricks he hoped to spring on his sisters and friends with the cunning
little reptile. Whenever the boat made a landing, he was always on deck
watching the negroes, as they rolled bales of cotton down the steep
bluffs or struggled with the refractory hogs who refused to come aboard.
The loud commands and fierce oaths of the mate made him feel very
grateful that he was not a roustabout. About five weeks from the time he
had so thoughtlessly embarked on the coal fleet, he stood hesitatingly
half a  block  from  his mother's home, holding in his hand the cage
containing his red birds, while snugly stowed away in the bosom of his
shirt was his much cherished pet, the alligator. He was not sure of the
reception he would receive; but at length he steeled his nerves for
whatever was in store and made a rush for the house. The delighted
mother folded him in her arms and covered his face with kisses. His
brothers and sisters grouped around  with words of welcome for the
prodigal.

"Thank God that you are safe home again, dear Paul," exclaimed his
mother, as she embraced him again and again.

"But what's this?"

She started back, for she had felt something squirming inside of his
shirt.

"Oh, that's my dear little alligator," and Paul put in his hand and
pulled out his pet. His  sisters  ran  screaming  away.  His  mother
gazed sternly at him and said:

"Put out that ugly reptile!" Paul placed it tenderly on the floor beside
the red birds' cage and received from his fond mother a  well  merited
castigation. That evening, however, all was forgotten and Paul
entertained his family with stories of his adventures and was
doubtlessly looked upon by the little group, as a wonderful traveler or
a hardened young liar.

Paul's father, a traveling man, came home a few days after this. He had
a long consultation with his  wife  regarding  the  escapade  of  their
venturesome son. They came to the decision that they had better move
from the vicinity of the river and so wean him from his unnatural love
of the water. A week later found the family at the head of Federal
Street, about as far as they could get away from the river and still
remain  in the city. Paul spent his last night before moving on one of
his friends' woodpiles; (his own had been pirated during his absence,)
and bitterly bemoaned the fate that took him so far away from his
beloved element.

A rigid discipline was now pursued in regard to Paul. He was given a
certain space of time to go and return from  school.  After  that  he
was expected home and made to stay there. He studied hard all winter and
advanced rapidly. But he had to cross a bridge going to  and  coming
from school. He would always stop to gaze into the water he loved so
well, even if had to run to make up for lost  time.  Spring  came  on
and  the longing increased to enjoy again the piney smell of the newly
arrived rafts, to dive into the clear depths, and revisit  his  old
friends  the "pavers." He took off his shoes and felt the water's
temperature. "In two weeks," he thought with rapture, "In two weeks I
can take a plunge."

In less than two weeks he enjoyed this plunge and finally remembering
that he had to be at home by four o'clock, he scrambled onto a  raft and
discovered that his body was covered with some unknown, greasy, tar-like
substance. He could not get it off, and at last asked a raftsman, who
stood by, what it was:

"Why, son," answered the lumberman; "That is petroleum. Don't you know
that they struck oil at the head of the river and great  quantities  are
pouring into the Alleghany above. It will be a long time before the
river will be as clear as she used to be, and you, my little man, will
have a nice job getting that off your skin."

When Paul reached home, his mother's scrutiny revealed the fact that
something was wrong.

"Have you been swimming again, despite your promise?"

Paul murmured something that might be either "yes" or "no." His hat
removed, showed his hair quite damp further investigation revealed the
fact that his shirt was on wrong side out, while round his neck was a
well defined dark line from the oil cakes he struck while swimming
against the stream. His sister Teresa revenged herself that evening for
many a raid on her dolls by scrubbing him into the appearance of a
boiled  lobster, so that he would be neat and presentable for school
next day. Even this lesson did not teach him. One warm day while on his
way to  school,  he lingered so long on the bridge that the tower clock
struck ten, and then he argued that it would be useless to go until the
afternoon  session, when he could easily hoodwink his teacher with an
excuse. But the afternoon came, and  the  wild  boy  was  still  in  the
water,  too  deeply interested in the navigation of a plank to realize
that he was playing "hookey" and risking its shady consequences. About
two o'clock he  heard loud cries from the St. Clair Street bridge.
Looking up, he saw an excited crowd gathering. The object of their
excitement was a little boy who had waded out on a shallow bar above the
bridge until he had stumbled into deep water and was being carried away
by the  strong  current.  Paul caught one glimpse of him as he
disappeared and springing from his plank he swam out with a strong,
steady stroke to his assistance. The  crowd on the bridge shouted loud
cries of encouragement. As Paul reached the spot where the body went
down, he could find no traces of him. A man  on the bridge shouted:

"A little farther down! A little farther down! I can see him at the
bottom."

Paul swam in the direction indicated and at the cry, "there, there,"
dove to the bottom like a seal. He came directly on  the  body  which
was doubled up against a large boulder. He grasped it by the arm and
rose with it to the  surface.  Loud  ringing  cheers  from  the  crowd
above, encouraged him. He swam with one arm, supporting the body with
the other. They were being rapidly carried away down the  stream,  when
a  boat which had been sent out, reached the almost exhausted boy. Paul
and the unconscious boy were taken ashore and conveyed to the back  room
of  a saloon where a doctor soon revived both. He then proposed that,
some token of recognition should be presented by the  assembled  crowd
to  the brave little fellow who had made the rescue. Paul's hat was
taken and soon filled to the brim with silver. Then the two boys were
loaded  into an express wagon and escorted by a policeman, they started
for home. When the wagon reached the house of the boy  who  had  been
rescued,  the policeman lifted him out carefully and carried him in,
while the mother's affrighted cries alarmed the neighborhood. The
officer  assured  her that there was no danger, so she grew calmer and
helped to roll her son into a warm blanket and tuck him snugly in bed.
The  old  grandmother, who was blind, heard the story and asked that
Paul be brought to her. Her trembling hands were passed over his face
and head. She  blessed  him fervently and then to the delight of the
grinning urchins, looking in at the door and to Paul's intense
embarrassment, she kissed  him  several times. At last the policeman
told him to come on and Paul and his silver continued their homeward
journey. When Mrs. Boyton saw her truant  son under police escort, she
turned pale, but the officer called out, "Don't be frightened, ma'am,
he's all right. You ought to be  proud  of  this boy," and he told her
the story of the rescue and handed over the silver. The mother's eye's
beamed with pleasure as she listened. She  praised her gallant little
son and thanked the officer for his kindness. After he was gone she put
the silver carefully away and interviewed the  hero, as often before,
with a shingle.

"Not only for playing hookey," she said; "but for going into the water
at all."

The little fellow rescued that day is Thomas McCaffery, now a member of
the Alleghany City Fire Department. Many years afterwards he gave  Paul
a gold medal in remembrance of their first meeting.

In vacation Paul started out to look for work, for with all his wildness
he was industrious. He secured a place in a paper box factory  at  the
princely salary of fifty cents a week. His business was to lower great
packages of boxes from the upper story to the ground floor.  He  thought
how delightful it would be to go down himself on the rope. One day he
induced a small boy who worked near, pasting, to mind the windlass while
he descended by hanging on above the usual pits of boxes. The sensation
was novel and pleasing and it became exciting when the boy above leaned
over and shouted: "The boss is coming, look out for yourself. I'll have
to go." An instant later Paul and the boxes  crashed together  on  the
bottom floor. The proprietor dragged him out of the ruin he had made and
assisted him energetically to the street, without even the hint  of  a
recommendation.

As Paul slowly and painfully wended his way home, a lady called him:
"Little boy, do you want a job?" Paul said he did and was put to work.
He had to sprinkle the street and keep the brick sidewalk clean in front
of her house. He was happily aided by a long hose, so that he thoroughly
enjoyed his new work and gave entire satisfaction. About ten days after,
Mrs. C., his employer sent him to escort her son to  the house  of  a
relative living in Lawrenceburg, a village a few miles up the river from
Pittsburgh. She warned Paul to be careful of her little boy, who was a
delicate child about his own age and gave him street car fare to pay his
way up and down. Her last instructions were to  leave Harvey  at  his
aunt's and return as soon as possible. When Paul was about to take the
car back, he thought of a pleasanter way, one in which he could save his
car fare, too. So he went to the river where he selected a large sized
plank and a piece of driftwood for a paddle. Then  he  piloted  himself
down in safety and was back in time. A few days later, the trusty little
messenger was sent to Lawrenceburg to bring Harvey  home.  Instead  of
taking the cars as instructed, Paul induced his charge to go with him to
the river. The little boy was very timid and refused to  embark  on  a
steering oar that Paul found near the shore. A steering oar consists of
a plank securely pinned into a spar about thirty feet long and used  on
stern and bow of a raft to guide it. Paul at last half forcibly seated
him on a block of wood on the steering oar and  procuring  a  pole  they
started on their voyage. All went well until they had passed under the
old Aqueduct Bridge. Then a crowd of Pittsburgh boys who were in a skiff
recognized Paid as the leader of their enemies from Alleghany and opened
up hostilities. Paul bravely kept them off with his pole and  whenever
the chance offered propelled it nearer and nearer to his own side of the
river. When almost ashore they rammed the steering oar with the bow of
their skiff, struck Paul with the oar and tumbled poor Harvey into the
river. Paul never thought  of  himself;  but  seizing  the  son  of  his
aristocratic mistress, he swam in for the shore, then only a few feet
away. The Pittsburgh boys were satisfied with the prize they had
captured in the steering oar and towed it away to their own side of the
river. They were followed,  however,  by  a  shower  of  rocks  hurled
by  the infuriated Paul. A sad looking pair greeted the maid who
answered their ring. Paul turned young Harvey over to her, then sneaked
around to  the alley to await developments. Hearing loud lamentations
coming from the direction of Mrs. C.'s room, he started  for  home
where  he  told  his mother that the work was too severe for him and
fearing the lady would refuse to let him go, he left without bothering
her for a reference.

About this time the war of the rebellion broke out and the fever burned
fiercely in Pittsburgh and vicinity. Paul  longed  to  join  the  great
bodies of troops that were being hurried to the front, especially so,
when he saw boat loads of his old friends, the gallant  "buck-tail" boys
coming down the river to enlist. He spent all his spare time hanging
around the headquarters of the forming  regiments.  One  day  he asked
a recruiting officer if he needed a drummer boy. "You are pretty small,
sonny," said the soldier, "can you drum?" "No," said  Paul,  "but I  can
learn mighty quick." Pleased with the answer, the soldier took him to
his headquarters and said: "Here is a little volunteer." Paul was
closely questioned and untruthfully assured the officers in charge that
his mother would be glad to get rid of him.  That  night  he  was
enrolled  in Colonel Cass' Regiment. Next day he began his drum
practice, an exercise that was rudely interrupted by the appearance of
his mother, who  lead the "warrior bold" home by the ear.



CHAPTER II.

His parents now decided to send Paul away to school. The college they
selected was situated in the heart of the Alleghany Mountains about four
miles from the Pennsylvania Railroad. It was far from any water course
or river, and surrounded by a  dense  forest  of  pines.  Paul's mother
accompanied him to the college. She told the faculty of his peculiar
passion for the water and the dread she had of losing him. Mrs. Boyton
was assured that her boy would be taken good care of. Paul was permitted
to escort her as far as the village where she took the stage for the
rail road again. Their farewell was most affectionate. Paul cried
bitterly, not only for the parting from his mother whom he loved so
well, but  for the feeling that he was being exiled for all his crimes
and misdemeanors. The fall session had not yet begun so he had ample
time  to  become acquainted with the few boys who were already at the
college and to explore the dark pine woods that seemed a new world to
him.  Paul  inquired eagerly if there was any water in the vicinity. The
boys told him there was a place called  the  "swimming  hole"  about two
miles  from  the college. Next day he coaxed some of his companions to
show him the way. He found a pond,  little  larger  than  a  hole,
surrounded  by  heavy vegetation and inhabited by a colony of frogs. He
was soon swimming in its depths and had induced two or  three  of  the
boys  to  follow  his example. Day after day he visited the hole and
made out to enjoy a swim; but he always thought longingly of the far
off, bright Alleghany.

One day a teamster who sometimes came to the college, told Paul of a
sheet of water that was much larger than the swimming hole. He  called
it "Bruce's Dam." Next morning Paul and a Philadelphia boy named
Stockdale, who was his particular chum, obtained permission to go out of
bounds. They had managed during breakfast to appropriate a sufficient
supply of bread and butter for all day. They started out to find Bruce's
dam.  A long and weary tramp they had over the mountains. They turned
aside often to chase the gray squirrels that abounded in that country,
and  they wasted much time in a fruitless attempt to dig out a red fox,
that had crossed their path and shot down a hole in the ground. They
were so long reaching the dam that they thought they must have been
misdirected. They were about to return, when Paul suddenly said, "Hark!
I think  I  hear water!" They listened intently for a few seconds. A
sound again came through the woods. They struck out a little to the
right and were soon  at the long-sought, dam. It was a body of water
about one hundred yards wide and five hundred yards long. Enormous pine
stumps  protruded  through the surface. There was a miserable looking
saw-mill situated at the lower end. Two men were employed in drawing out
logs and  ripping  them  up into boards. Paul tittered a joyful cry as
he perceived that the water was both clear and deep. Hastily he divested
himself of his clothing and "Stockie" slowly followed his example. As
they stood naked on the bank, before their plunge, a snake shot out
almost from under then feet,  and swam gracefully over the surface to a
stump a little distance off. That was enough for "Stockie," who resumed
his clothes. Paul  did  not  like the idea of snakes in the water, still
he had traveled far for a swim and he was resolved to have it and so he
plunged headlong in.  Round  and round among the stumps he swam. He saw
several snakes and also a number of water lizards. After his bath, Paul
and "Stockie" went down  to  the mill and had some talk with the men
engaged there. The latter assured them that the snakes and water lizards
were  perfectly  harmless.  This restored "Stockie's" courage. He agreed
to try the water before leaving, provided Paul would go  in with  him.
The  two  chums  had  a  long, delightful swim and finally, as sunset
approached, they suddenly thought that they might be needed at the
college. It was dark  when  they  got back. They both received a severe
lecture for their long absence. Bruce's dam was several times revisited
and always with great  enjoyment.  At last vacation was over and these
pleasant pilgrimages came to an end. Paul kept the promise made to his
mother. During study  time  he  applied himself with all his energies to
the task before him and so rapidly increased his store of knowledge;
but, he was  also  learning  many  things outside the school room. The
loneliness and surroundings of the college increased the natural
wildness of  his  nature.  When  recreation  time approached, Paul would
pass the sign to the ever ready "Stockie." Then he would obtain
permission to leave the room on some  pretext,  and  the other, by some
clever maneuver, would soon be after him. Then down to the dark, cool
pine woods to visit their "figure four" traps  which  they had set in
different places to catch squirrels. This trap consisted of a square box
placed on a piece of board and set  with  a  little  wooden trigger.
When a squirrel would enter to get the walnut fastened inside, he would
spring the trap and would not succeed in cutting his  way  out before
his young captor's arrival. They would slip a pillow-case, furnished
unconsciously by the college, under one corner of the box,  turning it
off the bottom board until a little opening was made into the bag. The
squirrel of course would jump in, and was grabbed and  twisted  until it
was squeezed down to one corner. Then his captors would get a firm grip
on the back of his neck. If the squirrel proved to be a  young  one,
they would put on a collar and little chain, that they had always ready,
and keep him to train for a pet. Once  Paul  caught  a  gray  squirrel
kitten so small and young that he had to feed it on milk and crushed
walnuts. He called it May. The tiny creature lived in his pocket and
desk and shared his bed at night. It would sit on the off page of his
book whilst he studied and comb its little whiskers  and  brush  its
tail  in perfect contentment. Every one marveled at the affection of his
pet and at the control he had over it. Paul would let it loose in the
woods, it would run up a tree and at his call, "Come May," it would
return at once and with a chuckle drop into his pocket. Paul kept this
squirrel until after he had left college. The crowded streets of the
city seemed to bewilder it, and it jumped from his pocket to the
sidewalk. A man  passing struck it with a cane and killed it. Paul
grieved long over his pet; but from this experience he acquired a  great
control  over  animals  and always had a supply in hand to train. He
carried snakes and bugs and mice and lizards in his pockets and at one
time had a white rat that  came very near to filling the place of the
lost May. If the boys captured an old squirrel, they generally let it
go; but sometimes it  was  retained for another purpose.

It would be taken back to the college and that evening put down through
a knot hole in the study-hall floor. The hole was carefully covered  by
a small piece of board with the leg of Paul's desk to keep it down. Next
morning when all would be deep in their studies and a profound silence
filled the hall, Paul would quietly slip the board away from the hole.
Attracted by the light, the squirrel would soon come out.  The  studious
(?) boys who were posted, kept one eve on their books and one on the
hole. When the squirrel appeared, as it usually did in a short time
these would start up with well feigned cries of alarm. In a moment the
entire study-hall was in an uproar, all pursuing the bewildered
squirrel.  The first or second time this occurred, the staid professor
took active part in the exciting chase. The frequent recurrence of
squirrel  hunts  in the study-hall awakened suspicion in the minds of
the faculty. An investigation was made, Paul and Stockie were called to
the president's  room and interviewed regarding squirrels and their
habits. After this, the study-hall was no longer  disturbed  by  these
little  denizens  of  the forest.

About the last time that Paul went swimming to Bruce's dam, a decayed
thorn was driven into his foot, a portion  of  which  he  was  unable to
remove. This troubled him occasionally. During the month of November the
foot commenced to swell in an alarming manner. He had to remain in the
dormitory for over a week. While he was still an invalid, a box arrived
from home full of cakes, candies, preserves and many other goodies dear
to a school-boy's heart. In the box was also a present from his younger
brother. It had been packed in without the knowledge of his mother.  It
was a large Chinese firecracker. Paul carefully concealed this precious
gift until a grand occasion would come to fire it. At recess  many  of
the boys came up to see him, and incidentally to share in the delicasies
he had received. Stockie came also and told Paul that their crowd  had
discovered a tale-bearer in the person of a youth from Johnstown, Penn.
He wound up by adding:

"And how are we to fix him?"

Paul answered mysteriously: "Leave it to me. I have it; bring me all the
string you can find."

From day to day Stockie produced liberal supplies of the desired
article. No doubt most of it belonged to the boy whose  innocent pastime
was that of flying kites during recess. Paul wound this string firmly
and tightly around the Chinese cracker  until  it  had  assumed
considerable proportions. He argued on the principle that, if paper
resisted the force of the explosion, the additional binding of string
would cause a much louder one. The bomb was at last completed and
Stockie received a hint to keep his ears open for music that night. The
little iron bed  of  the doomed talebearer was not far distant from
Paul's, and between them was a stove in which burned a brisk fire every
night to drive out the chill mountain air. When all were asleep, Paul
slipped from his bed, and touched the fuse to the red hot side  of  the
stove.  Then  he  placed  the ignited bomb under the tell-tales bed and
hastily scrambled back to his own. He had just time to roll himself up
in the  blankets,  when  there was a flash and terrible explosion. The
bed of the tell-tale turned a  complete  somersault,  while  the  entire
building  trembled  with  the concussion and a shower of broken glass
was scattered around. No serious damage was done; but Paul was horrified
and frightened half  to  death at the result of his first essay with
explosives. The boys in the dormitory were only too glad of an excuse
for  excitement.  They  immediately began the usual battle with pillows
accompanied with the wildest yells and whoops, until they were suddenly
quieted  by  the  entrance  of  the officials. No one could find out the
culprit, so the investigation was postponed until morning. Classes were
suspended next day. Every student, including the invalid, was present in
the study-hall. The entire faculty sat in judgment. The  president
opened  the  meeting  with  a  severe lecture, during which he quoted
that it "was better that ten guilty ones should escape rather than that
one innocent person should suffer."  He called urgently upon the guilty
ones to stand up and declare themselves. His invitation was not
accepted.

"Now boys, you know that it is a strict dormitory rule that no one there
shall speak above a whisper. The noise you made last night  was  heard
distinctly in the village a mile away. All of you who did not break the
rule last night put up your hands."

Every boy's hand in the study hall was at once raised. The president
looked perplexed, and said: "Perhaps you  misunderstood  me.  To  make
it plain to you, I want every boy who did not raise his voice above a
whisper after retiring last night to stand up."

The first on their feet were Paul and Stockie, whose good example was
followed without any exception by every boy in the school. The president
was dumbfounded. He shook his head sadly. After a brief consultation
with the professors  he  remarked.  "The  young  men  now before  me
are grievously lacking either in understanding or veracity." Numerous
were the mishaps that befell Paul and his companion Stockie, owing  to
their love of wandering through the woods. When they were missed, a
professor was generally sent after the  fugitives.  In visiting  their
squirrel traps they often separated, Stockie examining one trap, Paul
another. They would appoint a place of rendezvous, close to some well
known  giant pine. The one to arrive first would call the other by a
loud whistle in close imitation of a  quail.  The  other would  answer
by  a  similar whistle. One day when about to mount the tree and give
his usual signal of recall, Paul discovered the professor, who had been
sent after them, approaching. Quickly he climbed into the tree and
concealed himself in the dense foliage. At this moment he heard
Stockie's  familiar  signal quite near the rendezvous, and to his
dismay, the professor, hidden behind a  tree  close  by,  repeated  the
quail  call,  thus  leading  the unsuspecting Stockie to his doom. As
Stockie neared the tree in which Paul was hidden, he  shouted:  "I've
got  two!"  The  professor  stepped forward and said: "I have one!"

Paul could distinctly over-hear the professor question Stockie in regard
to his chum's whereabouts, all knowledge of which the  latter  loyally
but untruthfully denied. He had grasped the situation at a glance. The
professor with his captive remained a long  while  and  the  latter  was
compelled to repeat the quail call time after time in hopes that the
other victim would respond. But the moaning of  the  pines  was  the
only answer. Finally the professor and his prisoner started for the
college. Paul slid down the tree and taking a shorter cut, was deep in
his books when they entered. Though strongly suspected, he escaped that
time, the poor captive receiving a double dose. Stockie was generally
unfortunate enough to get more than his share of punishment, but he was
thoroughly loyal to his friends and never murmured. It was customary,
when  a  boy had misbehaved himself or broken any rule, to send him to
the president's room where either reprimand or a thrashing awaited  him.
One  day  a professor called Stockie during recess and said:

"As you are a good, swift runner, I want you to go over to the
President's room and ask for his letters. I want to put them in  the
mail  bag. The coach will be starting in a few minutes."

The president was not in his room and Stockie availed himself of the
chance to view the pictures hanging around the walls.  The  president
had just made the discovery that several of the boys had utterly ruined
some growing tobacco that he had been experimenting on, so he  was  in
bad humor when he entered his sanctum.

"What! You here again?"

And without permitting the astonished Stockie to speak he began to
administer a severe thrashing. The door was  opened  by  the  professor
who wanted the mail.

"Has he been in mischief already? Why I told him a few moments ago to
come here and get  your  letters."  "Oh,"  exclaimed  the  president, "I
thought he had been sent here as usual, for punishment. Well, if he does
not deserve it now, he certainly will before the week is out."

Paul had organized a company of choice spirits who were known by the
title of the 'Wild  Geese'.  Each  member  named  himself  after  his
own particular hero, such as Dick Turpin, Jack Shepard, Capt.  Kidd  and
other  distinguished  gentleman  freebooters.  The  headquarters  of the
association was in an abandoned log house about three miles from the
college. On half holidays the  company  would  escape  out  of  bounds
by different ways and assemble at headquarters. The cabin consisted of
one large earthen floor room with a loft above. The stairs  leading  up
to this loft had been cut away and a light ladder that could be easily
hauled up, substituted. The aperture closed down by a rough trap door
made for the purpose. This was done to afford concealment, in case any
of the professors should come looking for them, or protection against a
rival organization of larger boys, known as the "Wild Hens." When the
company assembled, it was customary for Paul, who was their  chosen
chief,  to detail parties to different duties. While some would be
cutting and collecting wood to burn in the huge fire-place in the lower
story,  others would be off through the surrounding farms on a forage
for chickens, potatoes, apples, etc., etc.  All  the  money  in  the
society  would  be entrusted to a committee of the most reliable
members. These would be dispatched to the village store to  purchase
cheese,  crackers,  ginger-bread and other delicacies for the banquet.
The village store was owned by an old fellow by the name of Philip
Hardtsoe. He had  expelled  both Paul and Stockie from his territory on
account of an incident which had happened some time previous. The two
chums went in one day to buy a few cents worth of candy. They were
difficult to please and insisted that Philip should hand them some from
a jar on an upper shelf. While his back was turned Paul reached far into
a barrel where a few nice, red apples lay on the bottom. As he balanced
on his stomach over the chime  of  the barrel, Stockie saw his
opportunity for mischief and gave him a push that toppled him down on
his head. The noise caused  old  Philip  to  turn around. He thought the
lads only intended to fool him when they asked for the candy. He rushed
from behind the counter, easily capturing  Paul, who was helpless in the
barrel, while Stockie dashed through the door roaring with laughter.
This was the reason that Philip would never  allow either boy in his
store, so Paul and Stockie had to buy their candy by proxy.


But to return to the "Wild Geese." As the various committees reported,
they would find a roaring fire and everything  ready  for  cooking.  The
banquet table was generally prepared in the upper story or loft and
consisted of two long boards on trestles. The seats were  round  blocks
of wood. The chief luxuries of the banquet itself, besides the store
supplies, were chicken and  potatoes.  The  chickens  had  been prepared
by rolling them in mud; then baking them. When fully cooked the feathers
came off. A sharp knife ripped them open  and  the  baked entrails  were
easily removed. The potatoes were simply roasted in the hot ashes. The
commoner articles of the banquet menu, such as bread, butter,  salt  and
pepper were always appropriated from the college table. The first
banquet that ever took place in the old log cabin followed  the
election  of officers. Paul was unanimously elected chief and escorted
to the head of the table. Stockie and Billy O'Meara,  of Washington,  as
first  and second lieutenants, sat on either side. It is doubtful if
ever a pirate captain looked with more pride on  his gallant  crew,  or
if  a  real banquet was ever more thoroughly enjoyed by the
participants.


Several times during the winter the "Wild Geese" were attacked by the
"Wild Hens." They were always repulsed excepting one day when the latter
were re-enforced by an alien crowd. The "Wild Geese" defended their
cabin bravely, but, were driven foot by foot, until they wore compelled
to retreat to the loft and draw up the ladder. The lower portion of the
cabin was in full possession of the besiegers, who demolished
everything they could lay their hands on, with much gusto. They did
their utmost to pry up the trap door, but were beaten  back. Suddenly
to  the  "Wild Geese's" surprise, the lower part of the cabin was
abandoned by the Hens. They thought it a ruse to draw them out, so I
they lay quiet for some time. There were no windows in the loft. Bye and
bye Paul knocked a hole through the shingles of the roof. Protruding his
head he saw the  Hens in a wild flight towards the forest. He could see
no cause for this until he knocked a hole through the other side of the
cabin roof.  What  he beheld was not calculated to cheer his heart.
Eight or ten of the professors were almost on the cabin. There was no
time or chance  to  escape. Paul commanded all hands to lie down and
keep still while himself and lieutenants sat on the trap door. The house
was quickly  entered  by  the professors. Remarks such as "They must be
here," "The fire is still burning," "See the chicken feathers," etc.,
etc. ascended to the  trembling urchins above.


"Is there no loft or upper story?" said one finally.


"I don't think so," responded another; "There is no means of getting up
there. They have all left. Here is their trail in the snow  leading  to
the woods."


All would have been well with the "Wild Geese" had not the unlucky
Stockie at this moment, given a loud sneeze. At  which  some  of  the
minor members of the company giggled. The chief looked sternly at the
culprit. He saw Stockie about to repeat the involuntary sneeze and
grabbed  him by the nose and throat. Too late! The noise had been heard
below and the imperative command was given to "come down." Slowly the
trap-door  was opened and the ladder descended. Then a scuffle ensued to
see who would go down last. The consequence was that two or three of the
Geese  went down at the same time. Slowly and sorrowfully the prisoners
marched to the college where to add to their misery they beheld the
faces  of  the smiling and triumphant "Wild Hens." These had regained
"bounds" without being discovered and their loud cackling  grated
discordantly  on  the nerves of the late banqueters. That evening,
singly and in pairs were the "Wild Geese" called over and interviewed by
the president.  On  their return to the study hall their flushed faces
and reddened eyes accompanied by rapid, mysterious signals, gave warning
to the  waiting  ones  of the wrath to come. Paul and Stockie were the
last to be summoned. They found the president and the prefect of studies
in the star chamber.


"Be seated" was the brief command. "Do either of you know anything about
a secret organization called the 'Wild Geese'?"


The culprits saw that the customary denial of everything would not
answer in this case. They  acknowledged  that  they  had  heard  of such
a society. The President was satisfied that he had learned from the
other members about all the information that he needed, and that the
present interview would not add much to his knowledge, so he turned to
the two boys with a kindly smile and gave them a fatherly lecture on the
error of their ways. He urged them to promise that in the future they
would be more faithful  to  study  and  more  obedient  to  the rules
of  the institution. His kind tones made Paul and Stockie feel ashamed
and inspired them with the hope that this gentle lecture  would be
their  only punishment. They glanced congratulations at each other out
of the corners of their eyes.


"Now boys," said the president in conclusion, "you have promised me
faithfully to mend your conduct. To keep this promise fresh in your
memory, I have something to give you. My motto is to leave the best for
the last,  so  Master  Paul  will  retain  his  seat.  Take  off  your
jacket, Stockdale."


Disappointment and dismay were depicted on the two faces. Stockie made
many fruitless attempts to unbutton his jacket, unbuttoning two  buttons
and buttoning one. At last the president's patience gave out and he
rushed on his victim with the strap. Now, in the room was an  old-
fashioned bed, in which ropes were fastened from side to side, in lieu
of slats. To escape the strap, Stockie dove under this bed. The
president, who was somewhat rheumatic, could not reach him very well, so
he called upon the prefect and Paul to assist him in removing the bed.
They moved it from side to side around the room in vain, for Stockie was
holding on to the bed cords. Paul felt like an executioner to his
friend;  but  life  is sweet. He glanced furtively at the prefect and
saw him convulsed with smothered laughter. The  president  made  frantic
attempts  to  dislodge Stockie and Paul dashed through the door to
liberty. Later, Stockie appeared and cheered Paul with the information
that  his  punishment  would come when he had gone to bed. Paul looked
the situation over and at last thought of a plan of escape. He sent
Stockie into the hall to call out an unsuspicious youth whom he named.
This boy soon appeared and Paul told him all about the tribulations of
the "Wild Geese." He  said  he  was certain he knew the informer, the
villain who had brought all this dire disaster. He had a plan to punish
the tale-bearer.  He  would  like  to exchange beds that night with his
listener, so that he would be near the villain's bed. Then he would put
a handful  of  red  pepper  over  the mouth and nose while he snored.
Was his friend willing? His friend thought the cause a just one and
readily agreed to the proposed arrangement. That night the innocent
youth slipped into Paul's bed and the avenger joyfully nestled in his,
at the other side of  the  dormitory.  About  an hour after the boys had
retired, a tall figure, with stealthy step passed in the direction of
Paul's bed. There was a  suppressed  scuffle  and the clear sound of a
strap coming in contact with its victim, while a low, stern voice was
heard saving: "Not a word sir;  not  a  word.  Don't dare to raise your
voice above a whisper. You deserve it all and more." After a few moments
Professor Justice retired with  the  same  stealthy step. There was
convulsive sobbing in Chief Paul's bed, and the other boys covered their
heads with  their  blankets  in  dread  of  a  similar visitation.


The boy who suffered that night is now a brilliant judge and well known
politician. But he always  believed  that  he  had  been  punished  for
changing beds and wondered not a little that his companion had escaped
similar castigation.


The boys were obliged to rise very early in the morning. The first duty
of the day was to proceed to the  chapel  for  prayers,  and  religious
instruction. But many of the lads preferred to gather around the red hot
stove of the study hall where they could tend to their devotions  with
more liberty and comfort than in the chilly chapel. If they were missed,
a professor was sent to ascertain their whereabouts. He was  generally
discovered in time by the boy detailed by his companions as look out.
The study hall and dormitories formed a building separate from  the rest
of the college. As the professor approached from the main building, the
boys would leap from the low windows of the study hall into  the snow.
Sometimes the professor was suspicious and would reconnoiter outside the
study hall; but the boys were alert and as he passed around a corner,
they would get around another and so they often escaped to the chapel.
One morning the president missed  several  of  his jewels  and  started
himself for the study hall determined	to capture them. As usual, the
boys clambered through the windows and  escaped  in different
directions always keeping the hall between them and their pursuer.
Stockie, Billy O'Meara and Paul adopted the old rule of sneaking away
from  one  corner of the hall, while the president advanced around
another. The pursuit was very close, for the president was sure from the
tracks in  the  snow, that some of the boys were dodging him.


Stockie and O'Meara broke for the shelter of another building; but Paul
continued to dodge around the study hall. Once the president failed  to
appear at the expected corner. Paul feared that he might be doubling on
him and so crept cautiously on all fours back to the corner he had left
to take a look around that side of the building. As he warily put his
head out to take the observation it came in hard contact with that of
the president, who had adopted Paul's own tactics to catch him. The
situation was so ludicrous that even that austere gentlemen burst out
laughing and Paul scampered away to the chapel.


A favorite resort for the boys during winter weather was a barn where
they had rare sport tumbling over the great  quantities  of  hay  in the
loft. A party of them were one day enjoying this pastime, when a stern
voice below commanded them to "descend immediately," supplemented by the
ominous and oft repeated expression, "I know you all, I, have your
names." Some of the boys descended, but Paul and four  companions
clambered out on the roof of a wagon shed. This roof was very steep and
was covered with about three feet of snow. Here they squatted  down  and
awaited results. The professor took the names of the boys who had
descended and ordered them to the study hall. This gentleman, by the
way,  was  very successful in discovering culprits, and was known
facetiously by the boys as the "blood-hound." He was sure he had not
found all  the  truants, but he saw they were not in the loft, so he
began a tour outside of the barn to ascertain how they had escaped.
Slowly  he  walked  around  the wagon shed carefully scrutinizing every
place in which he thought they might be concealed. The snow, loosened by
the heat and extra  weight  of the unlucky boys, gave way and
precipitated them over the head and shoulders of the astounded
professor.


One form of punishment inflicted by the faculty was termed "corrence."
The culprit was deprived of his meals mid compelled to remain  at  study
in the hall while the others enjoyed their repast. This was a severe
punishment to healthy, growing boys, whose appetites were whetted by the
keen mountain air. On the "corrence" list one day appeared the names of
William O'Meara and Paul Boyton. This  was  no  infrequent occurrence.
These boys did not seem much distressed. There was a secret
understanding among the then suppressed "Wild Geese"  that  none  of
their  number should suffer the pangs of hunger while provisions could
be  obtained  from  the  table.  The  faculty  must  have  found  out
this  fraternal understanding, for on the day in question every boy was
examined as he left the refectory and everything eatable in his
possession confiscated. The day was hard for Billy and Paul. By night
they were wild with hunger and vowed to make a raid  on  the  kitchen or
die.  The  kitchen  in question was in the deep basement of the main
building, lit up by small windows fully six feet above the floor. When
the  cooks  had  retired, Billy and Paul made their way to one of these
windows. They pried it open. Paul persuaded his companion to crawl into
the  window  head  first, while he lowered him by holding on to his legs
and feet. He instructed Billy that when the floor was reached he could
with the aid of  a  chair easily pass out the much needed supplies.
Billy began his descent. When lowered as far as Paul could reach he
said:


"I can't feel the floor, pull me up."


Just then there was a deep growl heard in the kitchen and footsteps
approaching from the outside. Paul did not have time or  strength  to
haul Billy up again, so letting him go by the run, he started to his
feet and disappeared in the darkness. Billy was seized by a large
Newfoundland dog that held him fast until discovered by the cooks who
came down to find out the cause of the noise.


The refectory of the college was a long, narrow room with a table
extending its entire length. Each boy was supposed to stand in his place
with folded hands and bowed head, while grace was being said by the
professor at the end of the table. But such keen appetites could hardly
wait for the blessing to be called. While one hand was devoutly raised,
in case the professor would look down along the table, the other grasped
a  fork and all eyes were fixed of the dishes of meat. Smothered
exclamations of "That's my piece with the fat;" "The middle piece is
mine,"  "I  like the lean," etc., passed along the line. As the amen
rang out, every fork was darted into the longed for meat, as  a  harpoon
is  sent  into  a whale.

Not far from the college lived an irascible old gentleman who owned a
rich farm and some very fine horses of which he took  great  pride. Paul
and his chums looked on these lovely animals with envious eyes, and
often wished that they could capture one and enjoy a ride. One day
Stockie and Paul went to the woods at the bottom of a field that led by
a gentle ascent to the farm house. They had with them a pillow-slip half
full of oats. They were trying to induce a magnificent looking colt to
approach them. The colt was shy, but the oats were  tempting. He  came
near enough to taste them and submitted gently to the boy's caresses and
even permitted them to lead him around by the forelock. "Now Stockie,"
said Paul, "I will hold him by the nose and mane. You jump from that
stump and take the first ride."

With a spring, Stockie mounted the animal's back. The colt broke from
Paul and dashed madly away, Stockie clinging  to  him  like  a  cat. The
creature never stopped in its mad career until it had reached the farm
yard. With a terrific leap it unseated Stockie,  who  tumbled uninjured
but paralyzed with fear, into a pile of manure from which he was dragged
by the enraged farmer. As his friend disappeared, Paul made a  beeline
for the college. Soon after poor Stockie was brought in by the farmer
and delivered into the hands of the president. It was  some time  before
the victim was able to sit at his desk with any degree of comfort.

With such adventures as these, two years of college life glided by and
then the parting came. Paul had progressed rapidly in  his  classes  for
his was a character that applied itself to books, as devotedly as it did
to play. His best loved study was navigation, and he  often  surprised
the gray-haired old professor by his knowledge in this quarter. His
open, fearless nature had endeared him to  his  teachers  and  despite
the punishments; he had learned to love the college life so his going
was viewed with regret by both sides. The college was  in  its  infancy
when Paul's name was on the pupil's roll. He returned to visit it some
years ago, to find it grown into one of the great educational
institutions of the land. Many of our brightest and best men lovingly
roll it their Alma Mater. The venerable president received him with open
arms.  He  put Paul's picture in his gallery of the boys who were a
credit to the institution, and both talked over old times and  life's
many  changes  with emotion, and laughed heartily over certain well
remembered experiences. Paul felt a deep pang of remorse at the praise
and the welcome, for his memory bore another record.

During Paul's sojourn at college, his family had moved from Alleghany to
New York. His father was an importer  of  sea-shells,  corals,  marine
curiosities anal oriental goods, of which he made annual sales in the
chief cities of the country. He took Paul with him and gave him the
first lesson in business. Travel suited Paul immensely; but business was
irksome and the civil  war  was  still  raging.  Stirring  accounts  of
the conflicts in the south, and the martial air that pervaded the entire
country, filled Paul's soul with longing to go to the front.



CHAPTER III.

On the morning of April 15th, 1864, young Boyton presented himself at
the Brooklyn Navy Yard, and was enrolled in the United States Navy  as a
sailor before the mast. After a few weeks drilling he was transferred to
the United States Steamer, Hydrangea, Captain W.  Rogers  in command.
Paul was now in his fifteenth year. He had no difficulty in passing the
scrutiny of the enlisting officers. He was of a powerful build and very
muscular. His outdoor life in the woods and on the river made him look
older than he really was. The Hydrangea was ordered to Fortress  Monroe,
and Paul received his baptism of fire while the steamer was running up
the James river past Malvern  Hill,  where  a confederate  battery  was
stationed. Much has been written about the war, and as this is simply a
story of adventure, it will be left to better  writers  to  record  war
history many of whom have already described scenes enacted in that
vicinity during the year 1864. The last engagement  Paul  was  in,  was
the memorable assault on Fort Fisher. When the war closed, he was
mustered out. At that time he held the position of yeoman.

Mr. Boyton discovered that Paul did not have much aptitude for
commercial pursuits, so he sent him to  the  West  Indies  for  the
purpose  of collecting and shipping all kinds of marine curiosities.
Paul's companion was a submarine diver whom his father had engaged. They
took  passage on the bark, "Reindeer," bound for the Barbadoes. They had
all kinds of the latest dredging apparatus, including submarine armor
and  pumps  in their outfit. After a tedious voyage of twenty-seven
days, the "Reindeer" cast anchor in Bridgetown. Paul and the diver,
whose  name  was  Tom Scott, were kindly welcomed by the merchant, an
old friend of Mr. Boyton's, to whom they carried letters of
introduction.

His father's instructions were to charter a fishing boat, or some
suitable vessel at Bridgetown for a six month's cruise  among  the  keys
and islands surrounding, for the purpose of fishing up coral, shells and
other curios that he could gather. A few  days  after  his  arrival,
Paul engaged a staunch little sloop commanded by a negro, who was
assisted by four strong sailors also colored, as crew. The first cruise
was around the island of Barbadoes. Several curios were collected and
purchased and a goodly shipment sent back by the "Reindeer." When he
received  them and read Paul's accompanying letter, Mr. Boyton was
satisfied that his son was now engaged in  a  business  that  thoroughly
suited  him.  The Cayosa, for such was the name of the little sloop, was
then provisioned for a voyage to the group of islands that  lay  to  the
westward,  and where it was said rare shells would be found. For a small
consideration the captain had agreed to bunk forward with crew, leaving
Tom Scott and Paul his little cabin all to themselves. This cabin was
thoroughly scrubbed and cleaned by the pair, after which they fitted it
up  and  placed therein their baggage, rifles, fishing gear, plenty of
reading matter and their private stores.

While in port, Paul remained the guest of Mr. C., the merchant, whose
home was a beautiful villa situated a little way out of town. The merry,
bright-eyed daughters of his host made sad havoc in the susceptible
heart of young Boyton. At last all the stores were  aboard and
everything was ready. One bright morning the anchor was weighed, and the
sloop stood away on her cruise to the island of  Vincent,  which lay
about  one hundred miles to the westward. During this voyage a heavy
tornado tested the little sloop to her utmost. She was driven far out of
her  course. It was four days ere they reached Kingston on the southward
of the island, instead of Richmond whither they were bound. They spent a
few  days in the quaint, old town and picked up several curiosities. The
sloop was then headed for the Cariacou islands, a large  group  which
dot  the ocean between St. Vincent and Granada. Many of these islands
are uninhabited by human beings. They are low and loaded down to the
water's  edge with rich, tropical vegetation. The sloop spent six weeks
in this group. Every available part of the boat was packed with coral
and  all  kinds of curiosities. A run was then made to Charlottetown,
Granada, where the collection was discharged, cleaned and packed in
hogsheads  all  ready for the first boat that would call, bound for New
York. Here the sloop was again provisioned, then she set out for  Tobago
about  one  hundred miles southeast. A cruise was made around the entire
island, but the collection was not remunerative. The sloop was then
headed  to  Trinidad, and along the north coast, valuable specimens were
picked up. In this same locality they struck on a reef of exquisite
brain coral, with  which they loaded the sloop. Sail was then made for
Port of Spain, the principal town of the island. In going through the
Dragon's Mouth,  a  narrow, dangerous passage between the mainland of
South America and Trinidad, the Cayosa was nearly wrecked. A sudden
change in the wind when they were rounding the point drove her into the
breakers. Her mast was badly sprung and only with the utmost difficulty
was she  saved.  Under  shortened sail she entered Port of Spain, a
curiously picturesque old town. Here the collection was discharged as
before and the Cayosa  beached  for  an overhauling. Among those
employed to assist in the repairs were three English sailors who were
held prisoners on  the  charge  of  mutiny. The prison regulations in
Trinidad were very lax, so much so that the three mutineers were
permitted to come down daily and  take  a  hand  in the sloop's
overhauling. They were from Liverpool and hard characters. The captain
of their vessel delivered them over at Trinidad preferring to go
shorthanded rather than have them aboard. On the shady side of the
sloop, that was then high up on the beach, they entertained Scott  and
Paul with their varied adventures. One day Paul expressed astonishment
that being prisoners, they were allowed such unusual liberties. One of
them, Dick Harris by name, answered:

"We are a burden to the authorities here. They would be glad to be rid
of us without the trouble and expense of sending us to  England,  where,
no doubt, we would get the rope's end of the law. Last night when you
paid us off, we stayed out late. When we got back at the jail we  had to
knock again and again. At last the jailer called out: 'Who's there?' We
gave our names, when he exclaimed:  'Now  if  you  blasted  shell-backs
can't get home at a reasonable hour, you can stay out. This is the last
time I will be disturbed from my slumbers to let you in.'"

The three worthies implored Paul to take them away on the Cayosa. I
referred them to the negro captain. The latter earnestly assured them
that, he would sooner run a cargo of scorpions than risk himself and
crew to the tender care of the mild mannered Liverpool tars.

When the sloop was fully repaired, she started on a trip around the
island, but the breakers were too heavy for successful work.  She
directed her course northward and soon reentered the Cariacon group. A
couple of months were spent in those lovely  islands.  The  great
breakers  that swept in along the coast of Trinidad, Tobago and Granada
were missing. In the tranquil bays  and  inlets,  they  pursued  their
occupation  of bringing up the natural treasures of the deep with more
profit and less risk. They would anchor the Cayosa as near shore as
possible,  in  some well sheltered bay. Here soundings wouid be taken,
and the vicinity thoroughly inspected. When the bay gave promise of
shells and coral, a camp was made on the silver-like beach under the
shade of the towering cocoanut trees. The mainsail was detached and
carried ashore to serve  as  an awning. The large sheet-iron boilers
were also landed. While two of the crew gathered wood and decayed
vegetation for  fuel,  the  others  were busy erecting a crude fire-
place with rocks, over which the boilers were set. The shore camp being
ready, the submarine pump would  be  lowered into the yawl and with Tom
Scott, encased in his diving armor, would be conveyed to the most likely
place on the bay. When this was reached,  a kedge anchor was dropped,
the face piece of the armor screwed on, the pipes attached and Tom
quietly slipped over the side and descended to the reef. Two of the crew
turned cranks to force air down to him, while Paul seated in the stern
held the life line. When the diver reached bottom, he gave the signal to
shift the boat wherever his explorations led him. When a lot of shells
or curious objects were found,  several  pulls  on the line were given
indicating, "to anchor and send down the bucket." This bucket was a huge
iron affair, holding about five  bushels.  It  was sent to the bottom.
Tom soon filled it with living and dead specimens of brilliant and
beautiful shells. Then it was hoisted and  the  contents transferred
aboard. In the clear waters on the coral reef, Paul, by hanging over the
stern, could distinctly  see  Tom  on  the  bottom  moving around in his
ponderous dress. He longed for the day when he could go down and behold
the strange sights below in the green, transparent water. At last, the
yawl was loaded. Tom came up and the helmet of his suit was removed and
he enjoyed the pure, salt air  once  more.  The  boat  was headed for
shore and the treasures landed. All living shells were quickly
transferred to the boilers full of  hot  water.  They  were  left  to
simmer over the fire for a couple of hours, after which they were dumped
on the sands. The thoroughly cooked inhabitants  were  easily  removed
and the shells sweet and clean and glowing with all the beautiful tints
of the rose and lily, were placed in  piles  under  the  shade  of  the
awning.

While the crew was engaged in this latter occupation, Scott, and Paul,
armed with rifle and shotgun, would saunter through the heavily perfumed
tropical forests in search of any game they could find. In expeditions
of this kind, they captured three young monkeys and a couple of parrots,
who were soon trained pets on the Cayosa, furnishing all hands with
amusement. Scott and Paul shot many iguanos. These are  huge  lizards
that abound in the tropics. The captain and crew considered this game a
great delicacy and broiled and ate them with relish. It was a long time
ere Scott or Paul would touch the reptiles. One day the black captain
offered	all a young lizard, daintily broiled. He assured them that it
was  as sweet and tender as an angel's dream. They tasted it and found
it really excellent, and from  that  time  on  partook  heartily  of the
dish, whenever it was on the table. At night they frequently stretched
their hammocks from tree to tree for their cabin was uncomfortably hot.
After a refreshing bath in the cool phosphorescent water and a scamper
up and down the level sands in lieu of a towel, they would turn in and
enjoy a sound sleep. They were generally awakened before daylight by the
shrieking and chattering of the parrots and monkeys. Then with a  spring
from their hammock, they would dash merrily in to the reviving water.
After this they donned their white canvas suits and  were  ready  for
another day. Breakfast was taken on shore. This consisted of fresh fish,
coffee, cocoanuts, pineapples and bread fruits. Abundance of  this
fruit  was found on all the islands they visited. On some of the islands
they could not enjoy their nights in the cool hammocks, owing to the
attacks  of the malicious jigger spider and ferocious mosquitoes.

One day while at anchor over a coral reef at the southern part of
Vequin, Torn Scott agreed to give Paul his first lesson in  diving.  Tom
had been feeling sick and feverish for some days so it made him willing
to let Paul take his place for once. He gave Paul full instructions how
to act, especially warning him not to gasp in the compressed air, but to
breathe naturally and easily. When the helmet was screwed on, Paul felt
a smothering sensation but it soon passed. Encouraged, he stepped down n
the rope ladder over the side of the sloop and slowly slipped to  bottom
about five fathoms below. The descent was easy, but bewildering. When
his heavily leaded feet struck on the coral, it seemed to him as  if the
top of his head was being lifted off. For the moment he wished to regain
the surface, but Scott's advice to keep cool and steady came back  to
him and he quickly regained control of his nerves. He peered through the
heavy plate glass visor curiously around at the strange sights  under
the green water. The bottom was as white as snow drift and the powerful
sun lit lip the water so That  he  could  distinctly  see all  objects
within twelve or fifteen feet of him. He signaled "all right" to Scott
with the line and started to walk around. The signal line and hose  were
played out to him, so that he could take a wide scope around and under
the sloop. Notwithstanding the enormous weight of lead attached  to  the
diving dress, Paul found that he had to walk as easily and lightly as if
there were egg shells under his feet; the least little pressure on the
bottom had the tendency to send him up. After a half-hour below, during
which  he  thoroughly  enjoyed  his  novel surroundings,  he  felt  an
oppression on his chest and signaled "to haul up." The strong arms of
the crew helped him regain deck, the helmet was removed and  his
flushed and eager face exposed. He remarked to Tom that "diving was
glorious." After a rest of two hours, the sloop  having been  shifted
to  another anchorage, he again descended. This time the bottom had a
different aspect. It was full of dark rocks over which grow great masses
ofsea weeds. A few feet from where he descended, sprang up a reef of
branch coral which extended as far as he could see on either side. This
coral grew like shrubbery. It was hard to believe that, all this was the
product of an invisible insect, instead of being a miniature forest
turned  into  pure white stone. The scene was surpassingly beautiful;
coral branches ran up to a height of eight or ten feet from the bottom,
where  they  locked and wove together like vines. Paul walked to the
edge of this reef and gazed with delighted eyes into its  liquid
depths.  Schools  of  bright colored fish were swimming gracefully in
and out through the delicate coral branches. Some, more fearless than
their companions, swam round and round Paul's copper helmet, and looked
into the thick glass at the front. When Paul made a sudden move of  his
hand,  they  darted  away;  but returned soon again to satisfy their
curiosity and ascertain what strange monster had invaded their fairy
land.

Three sudden jerks of the life line held in the hands of the anxious
Tom, recalled Paul to his work. The three pulls meant, "Where are you?
Is everything right?" He then signaled for the bucket to be lowered.
Taking his pry he broke off  some  exquisite  specimens  of  the
undergrowth coral, which he loaded in and sent up. He then explored on
the side of the coral forest until he came to a small portion of the
bottom, covered with sand and surrounded with rocks. Under the growth of
marine vegetation, he passed his hand, and pulled from the rock a living
shell.  Paul had been fully instructed by his father in the science of
conchology, so he recognized this specimen as very rare and much sought
after. It was the shell called "voluta musica." This was the first one
of those shells found during the expedition. After a careful search he
found  twenty-three more of the same kind, and several large shells
known as "Triton's trumpet." The bucket was filled. Paul followed it to
the surface  well satisfied with his first day's work as a submarine
diver.

Scott was not enthusiastic over the "volute musica", but the captain of
the Cayosa was delighted. He knew the value of the shell. He told  Paid
he had sold many of them to the tourists and collectors in Barbadoes
receiving from fifty cents to a dollar and a half  apiece.  He  also
said that where one of those shells was found there was generally many
in the vicinity, and advised Paul not to move the sloop that  night, but
to descend again the next day.

When the sun was sufficiently high the next morning, Paul again donned
the armor and resumed his search for the voluta. Not thirty  yards  from
where he had discovered the first one, he found a basin in the rocks
filled with sand. From around this basin he took out two hundred and
forty specimens of the desired shell. Afterwards it was ascertained that
no greater find of this species had ever been made. Scott was not
pleased with Paul's success. He grew more sullen every day. Several
tunes be tried to resume his position as chief diver,  but  his strength
was  not equal to the strain, and Paul gladly took his place, which only
made Scott furious. The abuse and curses he heaped upon captain and crew
would have resulted in something serious only for Paul. The captain
wanted to maroon the growler, that is, to  place  him on  an  island
with  some provisions and sail away. To this Paul answered that he would
blow off the head of the man that attempted  such a  thing.  He  then
tried  to restrain Scott but with poor success. There was no other way
out of it, so Paul decided to end the cruise. The sloop had a pretty
fair cargo so he ordered the captain to make sail for Bridgetown,
Barbadoes. They arrived there a month before the charter expired. Mr.
C.  settled  to  the satisfaction of the Cayusa's Captain and Scott was
placed in the Marine Hospital. Three weeks later, after intense
suffering  from  fever,  the poor fellow died. Then Paul understood all
his growls and abuse and was sincerely sorry. The collection was boxed
ready for shipment  and  Paul had a pleasant time on the island, while
waiting for a northern bound vessel.

One day while sitting at the mole, fishing, he saw a staunch little
schooner with dilapidated sails bear into the harbor. When her  anchor
was let go, a boat was lowered into which two sailors and a man
evidently the captain, entered. Paul, folding his fishing line,
sauntered  down  to find out who the new arrivals were. A custom house
officer standing by, hailed the stranger as he came ashore with, "Why,
Captain Balbo.  I  am delighted to see you."

"Shure it does me eyes good to see yureself," said the new arrival, in a
rich Irish brogue. "Me papers air all right, so we'll have no trouble.
O'ive just called in to get a bit av fresh wather, an' if the Lord's
willin' somethin' a little stronger."

"You're always welcome," responded the officer, "even if you do neglect
to get your clearances. You know there is no love lost between you  and
the custom house."

The schooner captain way a stout, thickset man with a face bronzed to
the color of mahogany and a head of hair as red as a  Pittsburgh furnace
at midnight. His blue eyes sparkled with good nature and merriment, and
a continual smile hovered over his massive mouth. After several  hearty
greetings to acquaintances on the landing, the captain proceeded to the
warehouse of the merchant, where Mr. C. soon afterward introduced  Paul
to the jolly old sea dog. When Captain Balbo learned that Paul had come
down after seashells and curiosities, he was delighted and invited  the
boy to come aboard.

"O'im in the same line meself. But instead of lookin' afther dirthy,
bad-smellin' sea shells, it's afther the shells of ould Vessels Oi am."

Paul gladly promised to go aboard that afternoon. The captain purchased
a supply of provisions and made arrangements for  his  casks  of  fresh
water and "stronger stuff," but in vain Mr. C. entreated him to remain
over and take dinner with himself and  Paul.  The  captain  declared  he
could "fill himself up at the hotel with more liberty and less
embarrassment." Mr. C. told Paid that Captain  Balbo  was  a  good
natured  old wrecker and treasure hunter, well-known in all the West
India Islands. Late that afternoon Paul rowed out to  the  schooner, and
received  an enthusiastic welcome from the captain, who had evidently
been enjoying himself "without restraint or embarrassment." He took Paul
into a  roomy cabin, and introduced him to his wife, a Very obese yellow
woman, who was reclining on a sofa. The woman was undoubtedly of negro
blood; but to Paul's profound astonishment, she had as fine a brogue as
her husband. After some conversation Paul  ventured to  ask  the
captain  how  this happened. The latter laughed heartily and answered:

"Me wife wuz born far enough away from dear ould Ireland. Oi'll tell ye
how it wuz. Many years ago a parthy of immygrants left county Kerry for
Nassau, New Providence oisland. Their ship wuz driven far out av her way
in a sthorm an' wrecked on a small oisland in Flamingo Bay. A  few  av
thoze thet survived, settled on the oisland, an' soon had foine homes on
its fertile soil. They found only a few nager inhabitants,  an'  shure
they tuk thim fur servants. Me parents were among the survivors from the
ship an' Oi wuz born about a year afther the wreck. As toime went  on,
the nagers gradually acquired the accent of their masthers. Whin Oi grow
up Oi shipped on a tradin' schooner in which we  wus  cast  away  near
Nassau. There Oi joined an English ship; n' fur foive years put in the
loife av a sailor forninst the mast. Me  heart  always  longed  fur  the
sunlit, happy oisland an' me people an' at lasht Oi got back there, an'
there Oi married Betsy thet ye will see on her beam ends on the  sofia.
Soon afther, in company with others, Oi bought fur a trifle, a schooner
that wuz wrecked on the Keys. Afther hard wuerk we got her afloat,  an'
re-masted. We did good wuerk in her as a wrecker. Wan be wan Oi bought
me comrades out, until to-day Oi am masther av  the  good  little  craft
that's under yez. Me wife is always the companion av me voyages. Ehen
she has the will to shake hersel', she can put more weight on a rope
then the balance av the crew. An' there's not a cook in the gay city of
Paris that equal her. Me business is tradin' and wreckin.' Mr. C.  tould
me that ye had submarine armour an' some improved dredgin' appyratus.
Now Oi know where both will be useful to ye an' to me. There's many a
wreck that Oi know, that's out av me reach wid the appliances Oi have.
Wid your appyratus we can get treasure in abundance."

His stories of wrecks and treasures were of deep interest to Paul.
Gladly would he have joined the captain, but his father owned the
submarine armour and apparatus and he felt that he ought to consult him
first. But he promised to answer Captain Balbo later on. A was about to
leave the schooner, he remarked, "Your good lady sleeps very soundly,
but she is very fat."

"That fat, me b'y," responded Balbo, "is av great valey to me. The
English law makes us to give wan fourth av  all  treasure  trove;  but
it's devilish little they find on board the 'Foam' afther me wife lands.
They ofthen remark to me, that it's queer how fat Betsy is  whin  she
goes ashore an' how much flesh she loses afther a short sojourn. Now, me
b'y, Oi'll meet ye to-morrow. Oi loike ye an' Oi hope ye'll jine me.
Ye'll niver regret the day ye do. An' now ye black devils," he said,
turning to the boat's crew, "set this young gintleman safe  ashore,  er
be  the port bow av Noah's ark. Oi'll break ivery bone in yer black
shkins. Good night, God bless ye, me son," was shouted over the dark
waters as  the boat shot away to the landing.

That night Paul entertained Mr. C. with an account of his visit to the
"Foam" and his interview with the captain.  Mr.  C.  assured  Paul  that
Balbo was reliable and thoroughly honest in his dealings. At the same
time he strongly advised him to take passage in the brig  that  had just
arrived in the offing bound for New York and consult his father before
embarking in the enterprise proposed by the wrecker. The  next day  Mr.
C., the captain and Paul dined together. Paul promised the captain, that
if he would consent to his gathering curiosities  during the  voyages
they would make together and give him a share of all treasure recovered,
he would lay the matter before his father on his arrival in New  York.
If Mr. Boyton consented he would join him in Nassau, with all the
improved apparatus he could secure for the business. The  form  of
agreement was drawn up and a bargain concluded subject to the approval
of Paul's father. Three days later Paul sailed for New York on the brig
Saco,  and after a quiet voyage arrived safely at home once more. The
collection of curios he had  with  him  and  the previous  shipments  he
had  made convinced his father that in no other position would Paul be
so valuable to him. He was delighted with his success and allowed  him
a  liberal sum for his labors. Paul was glad to be with his family once
more and proved to his much loved mother that he had not forgotten her
in all  his wanderings as he had a splendid collection of the richest,
rarest and most beautiful specimens he had gathered during his voyage as
a  present for her. The liberal supply of money obtained from his
father's generosity was recklessly  divided between  his  sisters.  A
few  days  after reaching home, he broached the subject of Captain
Balbo's proposition to his father. Mr. Boyton did not like the idea of
wrecking  or  treasure hunting, but he was perfectly content that Paul
should join the captain for the purpose of collecting curiosities, and
was  willing  to  supply him with money and all the improved apparatus
required for that purpose. Paul promised his father that the outlay
would be applied according to his directions; but made the firm resolve
to himself that he would tackle the treasure ships mentioned to him by
Balbo.



CHAPTER IV.

A month after he reached home, young Boyton started again for Nassau
where had sent several letters to the captain of the "Foam" informing
him as to when he might be expected to arrive. He sailed on a trading
schooner, and when they entered the harbor at Nassau, he was glad to
find the "Foam" at anchor there. As the schooner glided past the "Foam,"
Paul loudly hailed her. Captain  Balbo  protruded  his  red  head
through  the gangway. When he recognized Paul, he greeted, him with a
burst of semi-nautical and semi-scriptural eloquence and shouted: "Oi'll
sind  a  boat afther ye. Come aboard quick as ye can."


As Paul could not leave the schooner without first having his effects
passed through the Custom House, the  captain  himself  came  ashore. He
nearly dislocated Paul's arm with his vigorous hand shaking and said
that he had been waiting at Nassau a week for  him.  The  apparatus
being duly passed, all embarked in the captain's yawl and were speedily
conveyed aboard the "Foam." There he received the same warm welcome
from the captain's good natured wife, who had a neat little cabin
prepared for him. After supper the captain and Paul had a long talk on
deck where they sat smoking cigars under the brilliant starlight. Paul
described fully his father objection to his embarking in the wrecking
business,  though he was willing to enter into the arrangements,
providing his share would be the shells and curiosities, which the
captain regarded as  so  much trash.


"Now, Paul, me b'y," said Balbo, after listening intently to his
proposition; "Oi'm an old man an' Oi consider meself an  honest  wan. Ye
can have all the shells an' other things ye consider curiosities that we
pick up; but ye must also have share in anything valuable we recover,
an' ye can depind on me to give you a shquare dale. As fur that paper
Mr. C. drew up, there is no occasion fur it. Oi'm not fond o' papers  av
ony koind fur Oi've always had more or less throuble wid im. Oi give ye
me wurrd an' Oi've yure wurrd an' that is sufficient. The paper can  go
to the shaarks where it belongs."


He then descended into the cabin and returned with the paper they had
signed, which he tore in two and cast into the sea. The next morning the
Captain and Paul went ashore for the clearance papers and that afternoon
anchor was weighed and the "Foam" stood away  for  the  south. Island
after island was visited in the Great Bahama group. Many wrecks well
known to the  captain  were  visited  and  worked  successfully.
Anchors, chains, windlasses, etc., were found in abundance until the
"Foam" was well loaded and sail was made for Kingston, Jamaica.  Off
Morant  Point they picked up a negro pilot in his little canoe far out
at sea. The pilot wore a pair of blue pants, white shirt and stove-pipe
hat, given him no doubt by some passenger or captain of a merchantman.
He gravely saluted all on deck as he passed his bare feet over the
bulwarks and turning to the captain said in the peculiar dialect of the
Jamaica negro:


"Does yo want er pilot, sah?"


"No," responded the captain, "Oi know this coast well enough, but Oi
think ye had bother hoist that craft av yure's on boord an'  come  wid
us into Port Royal. There is signs av a cyclone if Oi'm not mishtaken;"
an invitation which the pilot gladly accepted. His outlandish  attire
and quaint English greatly amused Paul, who after supper, sat beside him
on the deck and plied him with questions about Jamaica. The pilot told
him many interesting tales, among them one of a famous shark known as
"Port Royal Tom" who  was  supposed  to  inhabit  the  waters  of
Kingston's beautiful bay. "Tom, sah, was a pow'ful shahk, 'bout thirty
feet long; but nobody know how ole he was. In de ol'en times big fleets
ob  English men-ob-war use to anchoh off Port Royal, an' dat shahk got
fat on de refuse dat was frown ovahboahd. Sometimes de sailors would
heah de  yallow gals laughin' an' dancin' on de shoah at night an' dey
longed fur to jine dem. Dey wasn't 'lowed to go of'en in  dose  days
'cause  de  yallow fevah was dere; but when de sailor boys got a chance
dey would slip sof'ly down de side an' strike out fur de shoah. Tom, he
know  dis  custom, an' he kep sharp eye on de boys, an' I 'shure yo'
sah, dat dat shahk gobbled up moah seamen dan 'uld fill de bigges' ob de
Queen's  men-ob-wah. As lots ob de sailors went ashoah fur 'sertion as
well as fur 'musement, de navay people winked dere lef' eye at de tricks
ob ole Tom. After  a while de sailors got to belibe dat he wah under de
pay ob de gove'ment, an' many a red-hot cannon ball ware sec'etly
dropped ober  de  side  to Tom, yafter firs' temptin' him wid nice
pieces ob salt junk. I nab neber seen ole Tom myself, sah, but dey say
dat  he  is  'round  heah  yet. Lucinda Nelson, de great fortune tellah
an hoodoo 'oman done tole me dat Tom's now livin' in a big ware-house
down in ole Jamaica  an'  dat  he sel'om comes out 'cause he's getting'
quite ole. Ole Jamaica, yo' mus' remembah, sah, is fifteen fathom below
de ocean  now.  Great  earthquake come up one night an' swallowed de
whole town an only a few yeahs ago, when de watah was right cleah, yo'
could see  de  tops  ob  some  ob  de houses still standin' at de
bottom. I belibe Lucinda Nelson, sah, fur she's a great 'oman an' known
a heap ob tings. Niggah folks all go to her fur hoodoos an' chahms an' I
reckon she mus' be close on two hun' yeahs ole."

Captain Balbo who was laying close by did not seem to pay much attention
to the story of Port Royal Tom. He had heard it often before;  but  he
pricked up his ears when Lucinda was mentioned and eagerly questioned
the pilot as to her present whereabouts. Turning to Paul, he said:
"Oi've heard a good dale about, this fortune-teller, an' Oi intind to
visit her; she may be able to put us onto somethin' good" Paul  laughed
at  the idea of her knowing anything about wrecks or sunken treasure;
but the captain persisted in his determination to find her when they
landed.


The wind having dropped, the schooner was becalmed and lazily pitched
around on the gentle swell. The captain called loudly  to  his  help-
mate Betsy to bring up some fresh cigars and a bottle of grog and
settled himself more comfortably on deck to enjoy the pilot's stories.


"Have you ever seen Port Royal Tom?" Paul asked the captain.


"No," responded the Captain; "but a frind av moine did an' ye may rest
ashured that he is around here somewhere. Oi wouldn't be surprised if he
were in the ould ware-house that our frind, the pilot mintioned."


"I guess yo' see a great many shahks in yoah time, massa Cap'in:" said
the pilot.

"Yis," responded the captain, "Oi saw lots av thim." He nudged Paul with
his foot and a merry twinkle lit his eyes. "They're curious brutes an'
not built like human bein's."

The pilot and Paul were now all attention as the captain seemed inclined
to spin a yarn.


"Whin Oi wuz a shtrapping young fellow about eighteen, Oi wuz sailin'
aboord a trader. Wan day we were layin' becalmed,  as  we  air  now, off
Turk's Island. While we were quietly sittin' on the bulwarks, we saw a
monstrous shaark off our starboard beam. The ould mon at the  toime was
snorin' away in his cabin, an' it was a foine chance to have a little
fun. We out wid the shaark hook and havin' baited it wid a temptin'
piece av junk, attached it to a shtrong line which we rove troo the
davitts. Afther smellin' round it, the shaark turned on its  side an'
swallowed it. All hands clapped on to the rope an' we hoisted him clear
out av the wather. A bowline wuz passed over his tail an' we got him on
boord an' a few blows wid the axe along the spine quited him down. His
floppin' on the deck niver woke the skipper, so we cut him open. We
shlit him from close under the mouth to near the tail and overhauled
everything that wuz in him. In the stomach we found a collection  of
soup  an'  bouillon cans an' bottles enough to shtart a liquor house. As
we wuz examinin' the stuff, the ould man came on deck an' thundered
out:"


"'What the blazes are ye doin' there messin' me decks up! Get that brute
overboord quick an' wash down.' We histed  the  carcass  av  the  gutted
shaark an' passed it over the side. We watched the body as it struck the
wather. It remained still fur a few minutes, thin, to  our  amazement,
turned over an' began swimmin'. He casht his eye inquiringly up at the
crew, who were all standin' along the rail lookin' at him, as though  he
wanted somethin'. The skipper himself was so overcome at the shtrange
soight that he furgot, fur the toime  bein',  all  about  the disgustin'
state av the deck. Quickly recoverin' himself, he hoarsely ordered the
crew to git the stomach and internals av that shaark overboard  and  git
cleaned down. Three av us grasped the shaark's insides an' liftin' thim
to the rail, cast thim into the say. Whin they shtruck the wather  they
were grabbed be the shark an' swallowed. As his belly was cut wide open,
they went through him an' came to the surface. Three  times  he  done
this, but did'nt succeed in holdin' thim in their proper place. At this
toime all hands were on the rail  watchin'  the sport  an'  ivery  wan
laughed loud at his maneuverin'. The shaark seemed to grow more vexed at
each failure an' to resist the merriment of the crew for he cast  many
furious and malicious glances at the vessel. Once more he backed off fur
a charge to swallow thim an' this toime succeeded in holdin'  thim  in
be a nate trick. Instid av turnin' partly on his side an' showin' his
dorsal fin afther he had swallowed he kept bottom up and swam slowly
away waggin' av his tail with a gratified air while a huge grin spread
over his repulsive countenance."

"Great lo'd, sah," said the pilot, "dat was wonderful indeed!"

The captain gazed sternly into the pilot's eye to see if there was the
glimmer of a doubt  therein,  while  Paul  tumbled  into  the  cabin  to
suppress his fit of convulsive laughter.

During the night the threatened cyclone made its appearance and the
"Foam" let go her anchor in Kingston harbor just time to  escape  the
full fury of the storm. After some considerable trouble at the Custom
House, the cargo of the "Foam" was landed and disposed of; except  the
shells and curiosities gathered in the months' run through tint islands.
Those as usual were cased and left in the hands of a merchant for
shipment to New York. The sale of the wreckage amounted to three hundred
and twelve dollars. After deducting the stores consumed on the vessel,
the captain offered half the balance to Paul, who refused, as the shells
obtained were equal in value to the wreckage. The captain insisted that
he  should at least accept one hundred dollars. All business was
concluded and the "Foam" provisioned; but the weather was still stormy
and  unsettled  so they decided to remain over until it cleared up. The
captain and Paul made many excursions around Kingston. One of them was
to the camp of  the English soldiers. It was situated on a plateau above
the town about four thousand feet from the sea level. To  reach  this
camp  they  had  to charter jackasses. Captain Balbo was not at home on
this stubborn craft. All went well on the plains below; but when  they
reached  the  steep path up the mountain side the captain could not hold
his seat. His fat body would continually slip down on the flanks of the
donkey, who  would begin to practice as though he wanted to kick a hole
in the sky. Three times the captain was unseated but finally he struck a
plan  of  holding on to the donkey's tail and in this manner was towed
up the mountain. The magnificent sight from the camp amply repaid them
for  their  arduous ascent. They could distinctly see every part of
Kingston as it lay stretched along the shore of its superb bay, while on
the other side, a long tongue of land covered with cocoanut trees
reached out and almost made the harbor a lake. At the extreme point was
the entrance  out  into  the ocean, where immense naval store-houses
covered the beach and off them were moored great  hulks  belonging  to
the  British  government.  They thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful view
and did not regain the town until almost nightfall. Instead of going
aboard, the captain proposed to have dinner at a hotel; after which he
persisted in making a visit to the fortune teller. The pilot was easily
found and consented to act as a guide to the cabin of the dark seeress.
Along tramp through the narrow streets and a little out in the country
brought them to the habitation of this famed dealer in "Black Art." The
house was almost buried by banana trees and heavy vines. In response to
the captain's  impatient  knocks,  the door was opened by a little girl,
who said:

"Gran won't see any one to-night, no use in trying."

"We must see her fur we're goin' away to-morrow an' won't have another
chance," urged the captain.

A querulous voice from the inside was heard saying: "Come Captain, come
in if you insist," an invitation which  was  quickly  accepted  by  the
captain who was followed by Paul and the pilot. On entering the back
room, a curious sight presented itself. The seeress looked  far
different from the picture Paul had formed of her in his mind. She was
not over five feet high and so thin and wrinkled that she resembled a
mummy rather than a human being. On her head she wore a turban formed of
some bright colored cloth, while the balance of her apparel  consisted
of  a  dark robe embroidered with snakes and other reptiles. The room
was adorned with skins of serpents, bunches of herbs, and many weird
looking objects.

"So, Captain Balbo, you came to see me at last," exclaimed the old
crone; "and who is that young stranger from the far off north that I see
at your side?"

The captain was dumbfounded at hearing his name announced by a person
whom he had never seen before, but shrewdly remarked:

"If ye know me, why is it ye don't know this young stranger?"

"Ah," responded the fortune-teller, "if he sought me I would know him.
He has simply accompanied you as a sightseer. Now, Captain, what  can  I
do for you?"

"How ye know me, Lucinda, is morn than Oi can comprehend, Oi've often
heard av ye. As ye know me ye must be aware av me business an'  can also
tell phat Oi'm here fur."

"Yes, Captain, I know both and the yellow curse you are after lays in a
little bay in sufficient quantities to satisfy you on the most southern
island in a group of three that bear the same name."

The captain pondered for a while, then said, "It must be the Caicos, for
they're the only three islands in a group that bear  the  same  name
that Oi know of."

She then went on in a mysterious way to describe to the captain a rock-
locked bay, giving him  points  and  descriptions  by  which  he  easily
recognized the island of East Caicos. She ended the conversation
abruptly and ordered them out. Before leaving the captain placed  a
sovereign in her hand and came away deeply impressed with what the
fortune-teller had revealed to him.  For  quite  a  distance  he
remained  profoundly silent, then turning to Paul he said: "Oi know the
exact place the old devil manes. Though she didn't name  the  island she
described  it  so closely that it is impossible to mishtake it. It is
East Caicos, Oi know the bay well an' it has a great  reputation  of
bein'  a  resort  fur pirates in olden days; an' mark me wurrd, b'y, the
visit to that old black will be the means av makin' our  fortune.
Instead  av  headin'  fur Little Cayman to-morrow mornin', we'll pint
her fur East Caicos. It is over fure hundred miles north by east from
here; but it will pay  us  to make the run."

Next morning being fair, the "Foam" left Jamaica and stood off in the
direction of the island. They had good weather and fair  winds.  In four
days they passed Cape Maysi, the most easterly point or Cuba. Here they
met head winds that caused them to tack four more days, then  they got
under the lee of the Great Inagua island. The weather was very
threatening and every indication pointed to another cyclone, so they
decided  to run the sloop into one of the sheltered bays that abound on
those coasts. Here they lay for two days  while  the  wind  whistled and
shrieked through the naked rigging. As they were about to get under way
the third morning after the dropped  anchor,  a  native  came  off in  a
canoe containing pineapples and cocoanuts which he exchanged for a few
biscuits. The captain questioned him closely in regard to  wrecks around
the island and was told about a large Spanish ship that went down years
ago on the southeast coast and it was a legend among the inhabitants
that she contained a vast amount of treasure. None of her crew ever
reached shore so the information was rather  vague. Nevertheless,  the
captain determined to make a try for it. The Indian swore that he knew
about the exact location and for the promise of a dollar  a  day  he
agreed  to pilot them to the place. After a cruise of about thirty miles
eastward, they came to the place where the Indian said the wreck had
occurred and taking sounding they found bottom a little over nineteen
fathoms. The weather being fine they hove to and the yawl containing the
diving  pump was lowered.

"This is a pretty deep dive," remarked the captain to Paul as he was
equipping himself in his armour.

"It is," responded Paul, "the deepest I ever made; but nothing risk,
nothing win. Fasten on the face piece  and  you  yourself  attend  to
the signal line."

He dropped overboard and commenced descending slowly, while the captain
anxiously and watchfully plied out the signal line and hose. He reached
bottom which was full of rocks covered with a slimy growth of marine
vegetation; the pressure on him was something enormous. It was  very
dark and he groped for some time without discovering anything. He
signaled the boat to move with him as he pursued his  explorations.  At
last  his heart was gladdened by the sight of a wreck overgrown with a
heavy mass  of  weeds  and  sea  plumes.  After  a  closer investigation
he  was disappointed to find that she was not nearly as large as the
vessel described by the Indian; but by her appearance he judged she must
have been under water many, many years. All the iron work was eaten away
and the timbers badly decayed. He gave the signal, "kedge and buoy." The
answer from above was "all-right," and soon after he grabbed a kedge
that slowly and silently descended near him. Having fastened it to the
wreck,  he signaled "haul away," and was soon to the surface and helped
aboard the yawl. When the helmet was removed  he  was very  much
exhausted.  The captain was enthusiastic over his discovery, but was
rather disappointed when told of the dimensions of the wreck. The
schooner was then hailed to come alongside and all sails were lowered.
One of the largest dredges was sent down and Paul descended after it. He
used the dredge to clear away the masses of vegetation which covered the
wreck. He fastened the claws in the decayed wood and signaling them to
haul away,  an  entrance was at last effected into the hull. He found
nothing there to reward him for his trouble and work except long white
rows, which on  examination proved to be grinning skulls and bones and
the traces of rusty iron chains that bound them together in life. Paul
was horrified at his  ghastly discovery and signaled "haul away." On
reaching the dock be informed the captain of his find.

"A slaver, be the mizzen top av the ark," he exclaimed. "There's no use
av huntin' through that fellow. They would have no cash aboard  if  the
skeletons are there. They'd have to sell the nagers before they'd have
anything av value."

Three days were now spent in looking for the phantom treasure ship, but
the captain lost patience finally and unceremoniously kicked the Indian
overboard into his canoe and the "Foam" bore away with a fair wind to
the island of East Caicos.

The second morning after, East Caicos lay under their port bow. It
towered high and forbidding far up in the mist. They beat around to the
bay which the Captain supposed was the one described by the fortune-
teller. The schooner was anchored to the lee of a reef, while the
captain, Paul and two of the crew embarked in the yawl on a tour of
investigation. They pulled close under the cliff and into an inlet
between two great jaws of barnacle-covered rock that towered high above
them. Paul was astonished to see the exact reproduction of the word
picture  painted  by  the black fortune-feller of Jamaica before his
eyes. They rowed through the inlet on the swell and entered a bay that
was perfectly landlocked. All around it to the height of a couple of
hundred feet arose a mass of irregular rock, out of which great flocks
of gulls and other sea birds flew and angrily circled around the
intruders. "This is the place shore enough, Paul. There's no other place
loike it on the oislands,  Oi  could'nt be mishtaken."

At this moment one of the oarsmen exclaimed: "Almighty Lord, Captain!
Look over there! See the sharks!"

A short glance was sufficient to reveal the fact that the water was full
of these wolves of the deep and they commenced to  gather  around  the
yawl in alarming numbers.

"Be careful there, Paul," cautioned the Captain, "keep yure hands in
boord," as he hurriedly ordered the crew to swing around and pull out.
By this time fully a hundred pair of hungry eyes were following in the
wake of the boat. As she retreated, the sharks grow bolder  and
approached closer; many of them diving from side to side under the boat,
while one of them made a snap at the oars. It did not require much
encouragement for the black sailors to pull, as their eyes were standing
out of their heads at the time and the muscles showed up on  their  arms
like  whip cords as they sent the boat flying to the schooner. They
reached the side in safety and then every fire-arm  and  harpoon  on the
"Foam"  was called into play on the ferocious brutes. Many and fervent
were the prayers that the captain sent up for the welfare  of the  black
witch  at Jamaica, whom he swore he would kill on sight.

After this adventure the schooner was headed to the northwest and for
four months the islands and keys wre thoroughly worked. During that
time, three trips had been made to Nassau and valuable cargoes of
recovered articles discharged. No treasure of  any  account  was  found,
with  the exception of one enormous piece of coral, in which were
embedded a number of old Spanish dollars. This object was sold to a
tourist  at  Nassau for the suns of $250. Experience convinced Paul that
the tales of vast treasure in the Indies were more fabled than  real;
still,  strange  to say, old Balbo firmly believed in them. Every time
the water closed over Paul's copper helmet, his sanguine nature firmly
expected that  untold wealth was about to be opened up to them. During
this cruise Paul had neglected no opportunity to secure rare specimens
of  shells  and  other marine novelties. In a letter he received from
his father during his last visit to Nassau, he was informed that his
share of the goods  shipped had covered the cost of the submarine
armour, dredging apparatus, etc., and that he had placed eight hundred
and sixty dollars to his credit in a New York bank. This letter he
showed to Balbo who to use his own expression, was "thrown on  his  beam
ends"  with  astonishment.  Paul  now persuaded him to give up the
dredging of wreckage and treasure hunting and devote the whole time to
seeking curiosities. The old man  was  loth to give up his pet ideas of
treasure-hunting and of making long, useless voyages in quest of
phantoms. Paul assured him  that  there  was  more chance of finding
treasure ships by systematically working one locality, so he  agreed  to
turn  the  schooner  into  a  "shellhunter"  as  he sarcastically termed
it. Everything was ready for another cruise through the Keys and small
islands, when the captain, who  had  secretly  been interviewing	another
fortune-teller, announced his intention of sailing to the coast of
Mexico. The first point sighted was Cape  Catoche,  the northeast point
of Yucatan. Along this coast they were most successful and soon filled
the schooner with a large  and  valuable  collection  of curios with
which they sailed to Campachie where they were transferred to a vessel
bound for New Orleans. While at Campache, news  came  in  of the wreck
of a Mexican brig that occurred on the Alakranes Bank.

The daughter of a rich planter living near Merida, Yucatan, was one of
the lost passengers and her father offered one thousand  dollars  reward
for the recovery of her body. An agent was sent down from Sisal to
negotiate with Captain Balbo, with the result that the "Foam" bore  away
to the north taking along one of the surviving sailors of the brig. They
sailed to the  Alakranes  Bank  that  lay  about  eighty  miles  off the
mainland. They arrived there on a Saturday night and soon found
anchorage. Sunday morning the sea was as smooth as a pond of quick-
silver. When they embarked in the yawl and commenced their search, the
Mexican sailor was confused owing to different conditions of the water.
When he  been there last, a wild sea broke over the reefs. In the
afternoon they discovered a dark object below, which proved to be the
ill-fated  brig.  Her bottom was almost completely torn out by her
contact with the reef so that she sank instantly to the leeward. Through
the  clear  water  they could distinctly see her two masts standing
while her shattered sails lay thick and tangled through the rigging.
Next morning the schooner  was taken out and anchored close by and Paul
descended to the wreck. As he struck the bottom a few feet from her, he
found her  heavily  canted  to star-board. He walked around taking care
that his hose pipe would not become entangled in the rigging and
clambered over  her  side.  Two  good sized sharks shot away from the
deck when they heard the hissing of the air escaping from his helmet. He
could see  very  clearly  all  around, owing to the direct rays of the
sun reflecting on the coral reef. On gaining the deck which lay at an
angle of about 35 degrees  he  discovered the iron pumps detached from
their place and pinning to the bulwark the body of a dead sailor, or
rather part of a body as his legs and stomach had been eaten away. This
sight rather unnerved Paul, but he worked his way aft to the cabin hatch
which he  found  securely  fastened.  A  few blows with his pry forced
it open and descending the gangway he found himself in a cabin with four
state rooms on each side. The rooms  on  the tower side were rather dark
but he opened each door and carefully felt the bunks and bottoms for the
body he was in quest of.  Finding  nothing in the first four state-
rooms, he tried the upper ones. There was much more light in these as
the sun shone  down  through  the  green,  clear, water and in through
the glass port holes. Everything buoyant in the staterooms had floated
up against the deck so that he had to haul and pull them down for
examination. The third door he reached he could not open. It was
fastened by a bolt on the inside, but with the aid of his pry he soon
shot it back. Then swinging the door impatiently toward him, the eddy
brought out the upright body of a young woman in her nightdress. Her
hair floated around her head like golden sea-weed as it came forward and
fell against the glass face-piece of his armour. For a moment  he  was
paralyzed with the shock, but, he quickly regained his nerves, and
gently placing his arm around the dead body, he reverently bore  it  to
the deck. Her hands were clasped as though in last supplication to the
great power above, while her eyes protruded with terror at the fate she
had met. Hastily signaling those above to lower a line, he laid the body
carefully against the shattered rigging while he went to grasp  the
rope. Passing it under her arms and putting two secure half hitches on
it, he signaled again to haul away.  It  gently ascended  through  the
clear water, while a school of fish played around her as though sorry to
see her go. Paul followed after and found all on  deck  solemn  and
silent, while the captain's good-natured wife was in the cabin wrapping
the corpse in a sheet. That night a rude coffin was made in which  the
remains were placed and the schooner headed for Sisal, where she sailed
in with her flag at half-mast. The father faithfully paid the  promised
reward and the schooner under charter, returned to resume her work at
the wreck. Out of this job the captain and Paul made about nine hundred
dollars each.

A cruise was then made around the Gulf of Campechie which was most
successful. The catch was landed at Vera Cruz whence it was shipped  to
New York. Sometime before this, Paul had informed his father of the
changed condition of his contract with  Captain  Balbo  and  requested
him  to forward the captain's one-half of the proceeds of the goods
shipped. At Vera Cruz they found letters, one containing a robust check
for Captain Balho, which so pleased that worthy individual, that he
determined to spend at least one week ashore and enjoy hotel quarters
for which he  had a weakness. The gamblers, who abound in Vera Cruz,
found a rich victim in the captain, who parted with all the money he
could conceal from  the watchful eyes of his wife, Betsy, with the
guilelessness of a boy ten years old.

A cruise was now made along the coast of Mexico; but the collection of
curiosities did not pay for the  time  engaged,  so  they  concluded  to
abandon it and stand away again to the islands. At Tuxpan, where they
landed for fresh water, they received information of a steamer  that had
been burned and sunk near Tampico, so they headed the schooner for that
port. The steamer had been burned about three weeks before and the hull
lay on a bank in eight fathoms of water. The agent offered to engage
them to recover the safe for which he would pay them five hundred
dollars, or they could have the usual salvage, ten per cent. As it was
reported around the port that the safe contained over  thirty  thousand
dollars, besides a number of valuable packages belonging to the
passengers, they concluded to take ten per cent. For four days they
worked hard  on  the wreck, removing the confused mass of iron, which
was twisted into fantastic shapes by the action of the fire. On the
forenoon of the fifth day, Paul sounded something solid and heavy with
his pry, far down through the debris near the keel, and after about an
hour's hard work sent up the joyful signal: "I've got it," which was
received on deck with loud cheers. The chain hooks were now sent down
and after a  lashing  was  placed around the safe, the order to "haul
away" was given. All hands manned the windlass and the safe was soon
suspended between the bottom  and  the surface. Paul now went up to
assist in getting it aboard. Sail was then Made and with light hearts
they stood in for the  port.  The  safe  was locked and to all
appearances uninjured.

"There is three thousand dollars there fur us, Paul me b'y," said the
captain as he patted the safe affectionately.

On arriving at the dock, the safe was transferred to the ware-house,
where it was forced open and to their dismay and  disgust  found  that
it contained nothing of any value. It was subsequently found out that
the purser, seeing the ship in danger, had quietly  transferred  the
safe's money to himself and when he landed had vanished and so all the
hard work of raising the safe was in vain. Paul  laughed  at  their  bad
luck, while the captain swore picturesquely in several languages.
Preparations were again made for the voyage to the islands which had
been postponed on account of this misadventure. One evening the "Foam"
stood away to the east. Three o'clock the next  morning  a  furious gale
set  in  and increased hourly until the vessel was under bare poles and
scudding for the coast. It was impossible to attempt to beat against the
storm,  so they stood away helplessly before it, running on to a very
dangerous coast. At six o'clock that evening, she stuck in the breakers
on the beach opposite Pueblo Viego. Enormous seas poured over her and
swept everything from the decks. A boat was lowered but immediately
smashed to  atoms. In this critical position, the coolest person aboard
was Betsy. She a life preserver strapped firmly around her and was
covered with one of the captain's oil-skins.

"I guess it is a matter of swim for it," roared Paul to the captain, "as
she won't stand this very long."

At this instant the mainmast went and as it swung clear, the stays were
hastily cut by the captain and Paul. The captain  frantically  motioned
Betsy to grab one of the lines attached to the mast. The next moment a
sea broke over her that carried the three of them, with two of the  crew
hanging on to the mast, which, clear of the wreck, was rapidly driven
towards the shore. Once a great  sea  broke  Paul's  hold  and  he found
himself unaided swimming in the mad surf. He was fortunate enough to
catch a hatch that was floating near which  supported  him  to  the
shore where he was thrown with considerable violence and half stunned.
He managed to stagger up the beach and  in  a  few  minutes  discovered
Betsy dragging the insensible form of the captain out of the reach of
the sea. The captain was not dead, but very near it. One of the crew had
an arm broken while the other landed without injury. The three men left
on the wreck were lost.  When  the  skipper  recovered  consciousness he
was inconsolable at the loss of his craft. That night the party found
shelter in a house  about  half  a  mile  from  the  beach  where they
were hospitably entertained. At the break of day the captain and Paul
were on the beach. The sea was still breaking heavily and all that was
left of the staunch little "Foam" were her timbers scattered far up and
down on the sands. Among them were found the bodies of  two  of  the
men,  the other was never heard of. So sudden and unexpected was the
loss of the vessel that Paul never thought of his money he had safely
stowed away in the cabin and he stood on the beach that morning without
a cent in his pocket. The loss of his armour and apparatus grieved him
deeply  but  he felt a keen sorrow for the distress of his old friend
Balbo. Yet in a way, the captain was more fortunate than himself as
Betsy had carried all their earnings safely ashore, stowed away in the
voluminous folds of her dress. All day long the Captain, Betsy  and Paul
and  the  uninjured seaman, patrolled the beach in the hope that
something valuable might wash up. But outside of a  few  articles  of
clothing  and  some  casks, nothing came ashore. In the evening they
gave it up in despair and returned to the house that had sheltered them
the previous night.  The  next morning after another visit to the beach
a conveyance was obtained for Tampico, where they arrived the same
evening.

For some days they were at a loss what to do until a vessel appeared in
harbor bound for New Orleans. On this the Captain, Betsy  and  the  two
seaman procured passage and they vainly urged Paul to do the same; but
he had a lingering hope that he might yet recover his apparatus with the
aid of the primitive dredgers of the Mexican fishermen, so he refused to
leave. He saw them on board the ship and took an affectionate farewell
of his old friends. Before parting, the Captain insisted on his
accepting a small loan which he said he could return to Nassau whenever
he felt like it. There was a suspicious dimness in his eyes as he
crushed Paul's hand in his own, while Betsy cried outright as she
heartily kissed him good-bye. When the weather became mild again, Paul
engaged a small fishing craft and went down the coast to the vicinity of
the wreck  but  his efforts were in vain. His armour by that time was
buried far below in the quicksand so he abandoned the search and went
back to Tampico.

While sitting disconsolately on the piazza of the little hotel in
Tampico, he was approached by an American: "Well young fellow I've heard
that you have had pretty hard luck. What do you intend to do?"

"That's just about what I would like to know myself."

"Well, I think I can post you," said his new acquaintance as he
leisurely seated himself and hoisted his heels on the rail. "There  is a
good chance for active young fellows just now. I presume you never did
much soldiering, but I guess you can fire a gun."

"Why yes," responded Paul, "I think I could manage that."

The stranger then told Paul that he was connected with the
Revolutionists, whose headquarters were then at Palmas and assured him
that he would be well taken care of. Paul, who was at the time, open for
anything that would turn up, quickly accepted the proposition. The next
morning  he and fourteen others mounted on mules, and conveying a pack
train were pursuing their  way  up  the  mountain  road  in  the
direction  of  the headquarters. His filibustering friend furnished Paul
with a pretty good rifle and revolver, and informed him that they were
on  their  way  to join a party under the command of General Pedro
Martineze. He also told him that his own name was Colonel Sawyer; that
he  had  been  born  in Texas, but had spent most of his life on the
frontier and was concerned in many of the Revolutions that disturbed the
Republic of  Mexico.  His principal occupation was running arm and
ammunition from the coast to the Revolutionists in the interior. For
three  days  they  pursued  their journey, camping every night. About
ten o'clock on the morning of the fourth, they were stopped by the cry
of "Halts, halta." Looking  up  from where the hail came, they saw the
muzzles of thirty or forty rifles pointed at them. Colonel Sawyer loudly
cried in answer  to  their  command, "Amigos." In a few moments they
were surrounded by a skirmishing party of Revolutionists and conveyed to
the  camp.  Here  Paul  found  several Americans, all soldiers of
fortune, none of whom gave him very encouraging accounts of the
prospects. Two weeks were spent  in  the  camp  from which small
expeditions were sent out every day. Paul accompanied one of these to
the National road  running  from  Tampico  to  Monterey,  and between
the villages of Liera and Maleta. They had a skirmish and succeeded in
capturing a carriage, hauled by four horses which contained some person
of importance as he was treated with the utmost respect by the Commander
and conveyed a prisoner to the camp. The horses were  unhitched from the
carriage which was left on the road. Soon after Paul and a party under
the command of Sawyer, were sent to the town of Bagarono  where a cargo
of arms had been landed. These by the aid of pack mules were safely
transferred to the camp. Soon after there was a heavy engagement in
which the entire body of Revolutionists participated near Ciudad
Victoria.  The  revolutionists  were  badly  repulsed  and  retreated to
the mountains. After this it was nothing but a series of raids which
were both laborious and unsatisfactory. Paul was fast  tiring  of  this
semi-barbarous mode of warfare so that he and four of his companions
decided to discharge themselves on the first  favorable  opportunity. It
came sooner than they expected. They were sent under command of Sawyer
and others to Metamoras for ammunition. On reaching  there,  they found
the schooner with the promised supply had not arrived. After waiting for
some days news came that the Revolutionists had again  been repulsed
and were all in retreat. This decided Sawyer, who said:

"Boys, the jig is up and the best thing we can do is to get across the
river and into the United States."

That night they crossed the Rio Grande in an old tub of a boat that they
expected would go to the bottom every moment and landed in  safety  at
Brownsville, on the American shore. Here Paul wrote letters home and
requested his father to send him  a  remittance  to  Galveston.  With
the little money they bad, mustangs and provisions were purchased and
they started on a long ride to Corpus Christi. It was a wild journey
through the chaparral, over the burnt and dried grass of the prairie,
across swamps and rivers; but they made the two hundred miles in eight
days. Here they separated. While his companions sought employment with
the ranchers, Paul for consideration of his mustang, rifle  and
revolver,  induced the captain of a coaster to give him passage to
Galveston. He arrived in Galveston and found himself without a cent. He
opportunely  remembered that his father had a friend there in the person
of ex-Governor Lubbock, whom he hunted up. He was cordially received by
the Governor, who  not only supplied him with all he wanted, but
insisted upon his remaining in his house until his correspondence should
arrive. In ten days the long looked for letter and remittance came to
hand, and Paul lost no time in securing a passage on the steamer Haridan
for  New  Orleans,  and  from there to New York, where he arrived June
2d, 1867.



CHAPTER V.

He was warmly received by his family and found that his father had a
smug sum to his credit in the bank. Paul was now in his  nineteenth
year; he was strong and so bronzed with the sun that he looked fully
twenty-five. For some time after his home coming he was unsettled  what
to  do, and once or twice was on the point of investing in a new outfit
and re-embarking for the West Indies.  But  the  pleadings  of  his
mother  to abandon the wandering life he liked so well, and to settle
down to a steady business prevailed, and his father assisted him to open
a store  in Philadelphia for the sale of curiosities and Oriental goods.
A branch at Cape May was also opened. It was very successful and
disposed of large quantities of goods to the visitors there. For two
years he successfully pursued this mercantile life and was establishing
a good business; but while at Cape May during the summer time his old
love for the water drew him continually to the  beach,  where  his
magnificent  and  fearless swimming attracted the attention of all. At
times he would swim so far out in the cool, dancing waves that the
people could not see  his  head. His extraordinary power in this line,
proved of great value to many unfortunate bathers who were carried out
by  the  under  tow  and  were  in danger of drowning. Paul always swam
to their assistance, and the first season he spent on the beach, he
succeeded in saving fourteen who would certainly have lost their lives
had it not been for his help. Many testimonials were presented to him
for his bravery. He became  very  popular with the visitors, but not so
with the native boat men who looked upon life saving and the perquisites
attached, as their own, and wondered how a volunteer dared to do better
than they. His second season on the beach was still more successful in
both life-saving and business, and he met with many curious individuals
in the persons whom he had saved. One day an excursionist swam far out
over the breakers. When he turned to  come ashore, he was alarmed either
at the distance he found himself out, or feeling the under tow against
him, he lost his courage and cried  loudly for help. Paul was on the
beach at the time, and, quickly divesting himself of his clothing,  he
sprang  away  through  the  breakers  to  his assistance. The man was
very difficult to handle, for he was thoroughly frightened. He would
obey none of Paul's injunctions, but persisted  in clambering on his
back. After extraordinary difficulty Paul succeeded in landing him. The
man  was  unconscious  and  Paul  himself  thoroughly exhausted. The
same afternoon, while Paul was standing talking to a group of gentlemen,
the rescued excursionist appeared, and, calling him  to one side, said:


"Say, mister, I hear that you are the man who saved me this morning, and
I tell you I am very much obliged to you. I am going home now, and  if
you ever catch me in that darn water, I'll give you leave to drown me.
Before going, I wish to present you some token of my esteem and regard."


Paul assured him that he required nothing, stating that the knowledge he
had saved his life was sufficient reward  in  itself.  The  persistent
individual was not satisfied. He slipped his hand in his pocket and drew
forth a pocket-book, from which he  extracted  a  dilapidated  looking
fifty-cent note. Fervently pressing it into Paul's hand, he said:


"You take that and remember me."


Paul was surprised at the liberal present, but quickly recovering, he
said to  the  departing  excursionist:  "Hold  on,  my  friend,  you are
forgetting something." Carefully counting forty-nine cents from a
handful of change he drew out of his pocket, he handed it to the rescued
man and remarked: "I could not think of taking a cent more than your
life is worth."


On another occasion, Paul succeeded in rescuing a young lady who was
being rapidly carried out to sea and who would certainly have been
drowned but for his aid. In his struggles to get her ashore, he was
compelled two or three times to grasp her roughly by the hair. When
landed, she was unconscious and in that state was conveyed to her hotel.
Paul met a friend of the lady on the beach  and  inquired,  how  Miss --
--------  was getting along. "Oh very well," was the response; "but she
is a very curious young lady."


"How is that?" asked Paul.


"Well, when I visited her this morning I remarked that she ought to be
very grateful to you for saving  her  life. 'I  am,'  she  hesitatingly
answered. 'But I think he might have acted a little more gentlemanly and
not caught me by the hair. I have a frightful headache.'"


There is an old saying, "That if you wish to make enemy of a man, just
save his life or lend him money." Paul's experience convinced  him  that
the saying was true. Many and many a person has he saved from a watery
grave, who never even took the trouble to seek him out and thank him.


In the Fall of 1869 Paul lost everything he had in the world by a great
fire at Cape May and he left there heavy  hearted  and  disgusted  with
business. Soon after, his father died and the home was very, very
lonely. When the estate was settled  up,  Paul's  old  love  for  travel
and adventure came strongly back to him. The Franco-Prussian war broke
out. He believed that it was the opportunity that he  was  looking  for.
He embarked from New York to Liverpool, thence to Havre, where he
presented himself at the Hotel de Ville and offered his services as an
American volunteer. At this time the French military authorities were
not accepting volunteers as readily as  they  did  later  on,  so  Paul
had  much difficulty in getting rolled in the service as a Franc-tireur.
A few days after he had landed in Havre, he was marching away with  a
chassepot rifle on his shoulder and a knap-sack and blanket on his back.
His uniform consisted of a black tunic with yellow trimmings,  blue
pants  with wide red stripe along the side, a red sash bound around the
waist, over which circled the belt which supported his sabre, bayonet
and revolver. It also held an arm, the only one of the kind in his
company, viz: a bowie knife which he had carried from America. Shoes,
leather gaiters  and kepi or cap completed the uniform. The company was
about sixty strong, all picked men and Paul was the only foreigner in
the lot. It was  known as la Deuxieme Compagnie Franc-tireurs du Havre.
The only visible difference between the regular  and  the  irregular
army  was  the  lack  of regulation buttons on the latter, and that they
had no commissary department and had to provision themselves as they
went. Their pay was thirty sous (cents) per day and they received their
salary every morning. Out of this they were supposed to support
themselves.  Notwithstanding  this small pay it was the highest given to
any body of troops in the French army, as the regulars received but six
cents per day, but the Government furnished them with provisions. The
company was divided into six messes of ten men each. One of the ten had
to act as cook  when  it  came  his turn, while others were told off to
visit the farm houses in the vicinity of the camp to purchase the
necessary provisions. At this time Paul's knowledge of French was very
limited; but the Marschal de Logis, a petty officer and a Havre pilot
named Vodry  could  speak  English  after  a fashion. They acted as
interpreters for him and gave him instructions in French. In the few
weeks the  company  was  camped  near  Havre,  Paul acquired a little
knowledge of the most necessary words and learned thoroughly to
understand the commands given in French. He was instructed in the manual
of arms by the Marschal de Logis. The command from his instructor such
as "portez  armes,"  "armes  a  gauche,"  "a  droit"  sounded strangely
in Paul's ears. During his previous military career with the freebooting
revolutionists of Mexico, there had been no drill  whatever. Before the
orders arrived to proceed to the front, he was sufficiently acquainted
with the commands and terms to pass muster with  any  in  the company.
While still in camp, the news of the fall of Sedan was received and the
tireurs were hurried forward to the vicinity of Paris on which the
Prussians were rapidly advancing. Their first engagement was at Creteil.
They did skirmishing for the army of General Vinoy, who had  about
fifteen thousand men. This was on the 11th of Dec., 1870. The engagement
opened early in the morning by the Franc-tireurs  and  skirmishers  on
the hills of Mely. They were soon dislodged by the powerful artillery
fire of the enemy and retreated to Charenton. Five of Paul's company
were killed in the engagement and several wounded. After this they were
engaged almost daily in skirmishing  and  light  engagements  around
Paris. During those stirring times all was pleasant confusion. Paul knew
nothing of what was going on, except through the reports of his comrades
and they were but half understood; but that they were being slowly and
surely driven back was apparent to him. In many of the engagements with
the enemy, while several of their skirmishes were successful, he noticed
that the tireurs never  pursued  them  in  the  direction  in  which
they retired. One day near Evereux the company to which Paul belonged
saw a balloon coming towards them and a cloud of dust on the  road  far
below showed them that a party of Uhlans were pursuing. At the time the
balloon was rapidly descending. The company was ordered into ambush  on
each side of the road, while the Uhlans with upturned eyes and the
occasional popping of a carbine at the balloon, dashed along the road
unconscious of the hidden enemy. As they rode past the ambush, the order
was given to fire. Twenty riderless horses dashed madly  up  and  down
the  road, while the balance of the Uhlans sought safety in flight. The
balloon descended but a short distance from thee scene of the engagement
and  was found to contain a man named Du Norof. He had with him
dispatches from Paris which was then besieged. Their next engagement was
at Martes. They were then under command of General Mocquard, a brave
soldier who was always seen well to the front mounted on a little wiry
Arab  steed.  Soon after this engagement the company, to which many new
faces had been added to fill up the gaps caused by the shot and shells
of the  enemy,  was joined to the Arme de la Loire.


On the 7th of October, the Franc-tireurs skirmished and opened the
engagement at Tourey. This struggle lasted from seven in the  morning
until noon and many of their number bit the dust. Here for the first
time  Paul  saw  the  Turcos,  a  French-African  regiment,  who
distinguished themselves during the fight. Forty-seven prisoners were
conveyed from the field by the survivors of Paul's company. On the 9th
of  October  the great battle of Orleans commenced, which lasted for two
days. The battle was a desperate one, and losses on both sides were
great. The enormous armies engaged in this battle, the marching and
counter-marching so rapid, and the deafening roar of the artillery, all
added to confuse  Paul, and he did not know that the army was in retreat
until told by one of his companions. From that time until January, '71,
the Franc-tireurs were engaged in many skirmishes and harassed the enemy
whenever an opportunity presented itself. But they were slowly and
surely driven back by  the great and well disciplined army of Germany
until they crossed the Seine and found themselves in the Department of
Seine  Inferieure,  that  was then invaded by the advance corps of the
enemy. Notwithstanding all the scenes of carnage that Paul  witnessed,
and  the  dangers  surrounding them, he has remarked that those were the
happiest days of his life; free from all business troubles and with no
property on earth except  that contained in his knapsack. The old spirit
of mischief that deeply imbued his nature was continually asserting
itself, and he was always  happy, no matter how somber were his
surroundings. Notwithstanding all the dangers he had passed through, he
only received two  slight  wounds,  which quickly healed on his healthy
body. In the part of France they were now encamped the peasants were
rich though very economical. They had a holy horror of the Franc-
tireurs, and when they heard of a company approaching, orders were given
to the sturdy servant girls to convey all  poultry to a place of safety.
The place selected was generally the bedroom of the farm house, where
the fowls roosted in tranquility on  the  head  and foot of the bed
while the disappointed Franc-tireurs searched in vain for material for
their soup. As before  stated,  when  the  Franc-tireurs camped, parties
were detailed to purchase provisions for the different messes. Two would
go after bread and  beef,  two  after  coffee,  sugar, etc., and yet
another two after potatoes and vegetables. The last detail was always
the favorite of Paul and his friend Vodry, the  pilot.  The majority of
French peasants generally believed Americans were wild Indians. Paul and
his friend utilized this belief to their own advantage  in this fashion:
Taking a sack with them they would depart for one of the  surrounding
farm  houses;  concocting  a  scheme  on  their  way  that invariably
met with success. Before reaching the house they separated, Vodry going
in advance with the sack. When he entered the kitchen of the spotlessly
clean Normandy farm house, he would politely remove his cap and in a
most courteous and insinuating manner inform the  inmates  that he was
from the Franc-tireur's camp, and came for the purpose of purchasing
some pommes de terre (potatoes). At the announcement that he was  a
Franc-tireur, his reception was never cordial; but knowing that they
were compelled by the government to sell provisions to this branch of
the army, as a general thing they sullenly complied with the request.
Vodry's good manners and pleasing address  usually  caused  them  to
relent. While the potatoes were being gingerly measured out, he would
have them interested in some story of the war, which would invariably
end up with the query: "By the way, did you know that we had an American
in our company?"


This information immediately aroused their curiosity and they showered
questions on him in regard the customs of the wild creature. Vodry  then
entertained them with the tale of how Paul had left his distant home,
thousands of miles away and crossed the  ocean  to  fight  for  La Belle
France. He generally finished by saying: "Perhaps you would like to see
him; he accompanied me on my way over, but as a general thing  he does
not like to come into a house so he remained outside while I came in."


Then without waiting for an answer he would step to the door and loudly
hail the American. Paul would quickly appear from around some out-house
or hay stack. Hi appearance would be far different from that which he
presented at roll call. A slouch hat filled with  feathers  waved around
his head in graceful confusion, a silver gray poncho blanket covered his
uniform, outside of which was wrapped his revolver  and bowie  knife.
Several daubs of wet brick dust and blue pencil marks adorned his face.
In response to Vodry's call he would bound in with a yell that made the
windows in the farm house rattle. He saluted the farmer with a vigorous
shake of the hand and gracefully kissed the hand of the  good  dame  of
the house and her daughters, if she happened to have any, then stolidly
walking around the kitchen he would examine all different utensils  and
instruments with an absorbing interest as if he never saw such things
before. While observing him both with awe and admiration for his
devotion to France, they would exclaim, "What a good child, what a brave
fellow," etc., etc.


Finding that the time for action had arrived, Paul would approach the
farmer and while ringing his hand, would say in  broken  French: "Cognac
bon, cognac bon." The enthusiastic and sympathetic mistress of the house
would immediately say:


"Ah, the poor boy wants a drop of cognac! Get him some father!" The
reluctant farmer procured a big bottle and a very diminutive glass known
as the "petit verre," which held about a thimbleful. Paul would
congratulate the good dame on her keen perception.  At  this  period
Vodry  would generally object saying:


"It is not good to give him cognac as the Americans can not control
themselves when they take liquor."


His objections were over ruled and the farmer presented Paul with a
miserable little glass full to the brim. This Paul insisted that the
matron should drink first and on its being replenished he more
emphatically insisted that the farmer should drink before him.  While
the  farmer  was drinking, Paul generally secured the bottle as if to
relieve him from its charge while drinking. The moment he secured it he
gave a wild  whoop and placing it to his lips took a seemingly long
swig, after which he executed a fantastic war dance around the kitchen
to  the  alarm  of  the farmer and his worthy family who were only to
glad to see him disappear through the door, Vodry remaining to
remonstrate with them in regard to their folly in having given fire-
water to this untutored child of the forest. He assured them that if he
could  procure  the  liquor  he  would return it, and then shouldering
his bag of potatoes expressed the most profound sorrow at the
occurrence. He would not proceed far until he was waylaid by Paul who
was concealed in some hedge or dyke and the two conspirators resumed
their way  to  the  camp.  That  evening  Paul's  mess enjoyed the much
cherished coffee and cognac so dear to every French heart.


The Gardes Mobiles, a large number of which were in this part of France,
were  regiments  formed  of  clerks,  lawyers,  merchants  and  other
citizens, many of whom volunteered and were formed into an army to
assist the regulars and Franc-tireurs in repelling the invasion.  They
were brave fellows but unsophisticated in the ways of war. They were
well supplied with nice blankets and abundance of provisions as they
were never camped far from their native places. This branch of the
service was looked upon by the fight-worn and weather  beaten  Franc-
tireurs  as  their lawful prey. To be camped near one of them was looked
upon as a direct gift from above. At  such  times  the  Franc-tireurs
never  thought  of cutting wood for themselves. They frequently changed
their dirty and dilapidated blankets for the fresh warm ones of the
inexperienced Mobiles.


Hares abound in this part of France and many of them helped to make soup
for the freebooters. So  frequently  had  the  shots  been  heard  and
needless alarms raised that a strict order was given out that there was
to be no firing unless at an enemy. One day Paul was doing  duty  as  a
sentinel on an outpost, when a large, fat hare appeared on a little
hillock not thirty yards from where he stood. Before  he  remembered
about the order he had raised his rifle and sent a bullet crashing
through its body. Paul had no time to pick up the hare before he  saw
the  relief advancing on "double quick." So he stood on his post,
saluted the officer in command, and in reply to his inquiry said that
his  gun  had  gone off accidentally. The officer scrutinized him
closely, then looking around soon discovered the cause of the accident.
He sent a soldier for the hare, examined it, and placed Paul under
arrest, at the same time remarking "that for an accidental discharge of
a gun it had a most remarkable effect and that only an American could
cause such an accident." After a few hours detention in the guard house,
Paul was allowed  his  liberty. Being the only foreigner, he was a
favorite in the company and many of his escapades were overlooked, if a
Frenchman had  been  guilty  of  the same he would have been severely
punished. The captain of Paul's company at this time was an officer
whose voice was very weak,  and  he  could never finish a command in the
same pitch he had started. He invariably broke down, and the command
which was commenced in  a  stentorian  voice was ended in a hoarse
whisper. This peculiarity often caused the Franc-tireurs to smile. One
morning  the  company  was  ready  to  march;  the captain, mounted on a
powerful horse, was at their head. Wheeling about and drawing his sword
he gave  the  orders:  "Attencion  compagnie!  En evant." He then
suddenly broke down and paused to recover his breath and Paul in a low
undertone and in exact imitation of the  captain,  added the word that
ought to follow, "Mar-r-che!"

This drew forth a smothered laugh from the whole company. The captain
turned fiercely around and demanded to know who it was that mimicked
him. Dead silence prevailed. He gave them a lecture on the respect due
to an officer and stated that  the  next  offender  of  this  kind would
be severely punished; then added: "I can't find out who it was, but on
my soul I believe it was that sacre American."


After this the company took part in many engagements through Normandy,
principally at St. Roumain, Beuzeville, Yvetot, Rouen  and  Bulbec.  The
company suffered severely and in the last battle were a mere handful.
There they lost their brave lieutenant Boulonger, who  was  shot through
the breast. Paul and a party of his companions were detailed to convey
the body to Havre, his home, where he was well known and respected. Here
Paul saw for the first time in his life the French military burial Mass.
This was the most solemn ceremony he had  ever witnessed.  The  great
cathedral was draped in crape, which added to the already somber
appearance of the surroundings. The coffin of the lieutenant  was
carried  on the shoulders of four Franc-tireurs and deposited on a bier
near the altar. The soldiers then retired and joined their comrades.
Every gun  was polished and every bayonet shone as the Franc-tireurs and
about four hundred of the mobiles and regulars marched with military
precision  into the cathedral. No soldier's cap was removed, while the
citizens stood around with bare heads. An officer occupied a position on
the  steps  of the altar and with unsheathed sword faced the soldiers,
then standing in the body of the church. He gave orders in a loud  voice
at  intervals during the service and his commands sounded strangely
through the echoing arches of the cathedral. At the order "restez
armes," the  iron  shod butts of the muskets dropped together on the
stone floor, reminding those present of the stern realities of war and
the sweet  consolations  of religion.


At the elevation of the sacred host, came the orders "Portez armes,"
"Presenter armes," "a genoux." Every  soldier's  right  knee  touched
the floor and remained there while the muskets were held "a presenter."
The solemn tones of the gong  floated  through  the  cathedral.  When
they ceased, the sharp order of "debout" rang out and all were on their
feet in an instant. At the conclusion of the ceremony, the  body  was
again carried out; a line was formed while the band struck up a mournful
dirge, and they marched to the cemetery as escort of  their  lost  and
well loved officer.


The survivors of the company to which Paul belonged were now drafted
into the regular army in the section known as "Bataillon Des
Tirailleurs." Paul did not relish the change from the free and easy life
of the Franc-tireurs to the strict discipline of the regular army.  The
company  to which he was joined had two "Gatling guns" or
"Mitrailleuses" as the French called them. It was drill, drill all day
long and as  the  pay  was now only six cents a day and payments only
once a week, they had but little chance to play their favorite game of
"Petit paquet," a  game  that had been more regular than prayers in the
camp of the "Franc-tireurs." Having become thoroughly drilled in the use
of  the  "Gatling  gun"  the company was ordered to the front. One
evening a comrade said to Paul: "We will  have  bloody  work  to-morrow.
General  Menteuffel's  army  is advancing and all the out posts have
been driven in." But the expected battle was never fought. That night
news came that caused a  heavy  gloom to settle on the camp. No longer
the laughing joke passed from comrade to comrade. No longer the
patriotic songs were heard through  the  camp. Bronzed heads were bowed
in sorrow and tears trickled down many a cheek. Paul anxious to know the
cause of the  general  depression,  asked  an officer what was the
matter and received the answer: "Paris has fallen." Soon after came the
news of the armistice and that  no  more  fighting should take place for
thirty days. Notwithstanding the armistice and the conditions that
neither army should  move,  the  "Mitrailleuses"  were advanced to a
favorable point nearer the enemy and the heavy and constant drill
resumed.


All expected that hostilities would continue at the close of the
armistice. The two armies lay within plain sight of each other.
Discipline was strictly enforced; several French soldiers were executed
for neglect and disobedience of orders. One cold night Paul stood two
hours guard over a Gatling gun that was placed in a shed with no sides
and the fierce, cold wind whistled and penetrated his very bones. He was
worn out with  a heavy day's drill and concluded that he could watch the
gun as well above in the shelter as by standing alongside.  He  mounted
the  beam  and stretched himself out on a board. He knew, that it was
instant death to be caught sleeping on guard, but he could not refrain
from closing  his eyes and was soon in a fretful slumber from which he
was awakened by the crunching of the frozen snow under the feet of the
advancing  relief. Quick as lightning he dropped to his post and sang
out the hail: "Halt, who comes?" the answer sounded, "France." On being
questioned  by  the officer why he did not hail them sooner, according
to orders, he assured him that, "the words had been frozen down his
throat and he could  not get them out sooner." The gay Frenchman laughed
at his unique excuse and relieved him; but it was a close call for Paul.
Before  the  armistice was ended, the news of the peace declared arrived
in camp and soon after orders were given to march for Havre.

The discipline of the regulars was never enjoyed by Paul, neither was
their commissary department. Horse flesh was served  out  three  times a
week. On other days they received pork and beef. Coffee, sugar, rice,
bread and wine were served every second day. The  two  day's  rations of
wine never lasted over fifteen seconds. The trade in tobacco is
monopolized by  the  French  Government.  Who  ever  bore  an  order
from  his commanding officer could receive a certain amount by simply
paying for the tax stamp. On railroad trains the regulars could ride for
one  third and gain admission to theatres and amusement halls at about
the same rate, so that the munificent salary they received of  six cents
per  day enabled them to enjoy themselves in a very limited manner.
Every barracks and military building in Havre was  overflowing with
soldiers;  and when Paul's company arrived they could find no place to
sleep. So they received a document entitled a "billet de logement" that
entitled  them to a bed in the house on which it was drawn. Sometimes
they received an order on the houses in the poorer part of the town  and
again  in  the most aristocratic mansions. As a general rule, when a
billet carried by two war-worn Franc-tireurs was presented at the door
of a chateau,  the proprietor would gracefully excuse himself with many
suave and flattering expressions. He would present the soldiers with two
francs  each  and request them to get a room at the hotel, at the same
time expressing regret at his inability to  oblige  the  gallant
defenders  of  Le  Belle France. His house was just then filled by the
unexpected arrival of some relatives. Feigning sorrow at being deprived
of the supreme  honor  of sleeping under his roof, the Franc-tireurs
would make their adieux. As the door closed they kicked each other for
joy because they had obtained what they appreciated more than a nice
soft bed. They could sleep as soundly in any of the parks or on the lee
side of hogsheads, or  on  bales of cotton on the quay, after they had
enjoyed spending the proceeds of the "billet de logement." The army was
now quickly  disbanded  and  Paul found himself once more a citizen. He
still retained his uniform, for without it he would have been devoid of
clothing.

At this time the Communes were causing the government great trouble in
Paris and regiment after regiment was being hurried thither. With one of
these regiments Paul managed to reach the capital. Being left to his own
resources he was greatly bewildered. The nature of  the  stirring  and
exciting scenes he little comprehended. One evening while passing along
the boulevard near the Madeleine, a soldier wearing the uniform of  the
Foreign Legion peered into his face and eagerly inquired if he could
speak United States. Paul answered, "yes." The  soldier  seemed
delighted and said, "Have you got any money? I am from Baltimore," all
in the same breath. Paul told him that he  had  a  few  francs  and that
he  was perfectly willing to divide and invited him to take dinner.

"I will take dinner gladly with you," responded his new acquaintance,
"but we  had  better  strike  some  cheaper  quarters  than  our present
surroundings."

So the two turning off the boulevard, pursued their way along the narrow
streets until  they  struck  something  more  in  keeping  with  their
financial standing. Here they entered a modest looking cafe and ordered
a ragout. While seated at the table they continued  their  conversation
in English. The sour looking landlord after taking their order eyed them
suspiciously for a few  moments,  while  trying  to  understand  their
conversation. Rushing to the door of an adjoining room he loudly called:

"Corporal, come here. Prussians!"

The room was quickly invaded by a Corporal and one of his friends with
drawn sabres in their hands. Paul and his companion, who saw  that  they
were about to be attacked, grabbed chairs and backed into a corner,
where they defended themselves against the onslaught. Paul  asked  them
in his best French what they meant and assured them that they were not
Prussians but American volunteers. On receiving this information the
sabres were lowered and their assailants put them through an
examination. Receiving satisfactory answers to all their  questions  and
convinced  that Paul and his friend were what they represented
themselves to be, the Frenchmen gravely begged to be pardoned and warmly
invited them  into  the adjoining room to take supper in their company.
During supper Paul ascertained that their entertainers were officers in
the Communes that  were organizing in all parts of Paris. They were
invited to join the ranks of the "liberators" as the called themselves;
after  the  reception  they had received from the gentlemen they wisely
thought they had better acquiesce, so they were duly enrolled. That
night they had a  good  lodging provided for them and were told to
report at ten o'clock next morning. During the night Paul and his
Baltimore friend had a long talk over  the situation but they were far
from satisfied. Leonard, the Baltimorean, suggested that before they
took arms up against the government; they  had better investigate a
little further. With this intention they rose very early and started for
a  more  respectable  quarter  of  the  city.  On turning the corner
they were amazed to meet the gentlemanly Corporal, who was trying the
night before to slit their throats. He wanted to  know where they were
going. They plausibly assured him that "as they could not sleep in their
lodgings on account of fleas they had decided to  take a mouthful of
fresh air." "Well" responded the Corporal, "you better take a mouthful
of something else. Come with me and have a 'petit  verre'." They
accompanied him to the café and pretended to enjoy themselves, which
however, they were  far  from  doing.  After  some  conversation  the
Corporal said:

"Mes enfants you must be around here at ten o'clock". They assured him
that they would be on hand and to have no fear.  When  he  had  departed
they quietly stepped out of the café and resumed their walk towards the
Tuilleries. They wandered round and round through  the  narrow  streets
until they utterly lost their bearings. They came at last to a wide
avenue in which there seemed to be great excitement.  The  cafés  were
all full of men and women, the sidewalks were thronged with a mad crowd,
while cries of "Vive la Commune" were heard  on  all  sides.  Through
the crowds on the sidewalks and cafés they observed many soldiers of the
"Gardes Nationales" who were well under the influence of liquor. The
names of "Lecompte," "Thomas" and "Darboy," Paul heard frequently,
mentioned by the half drunken and excited crowd. Then a fierce cheer
echoed  along the street. The women of Monmartre with long ropes
attached to cannons came streaming up the boulevard. It was a wild and
never to be forgotten sight. Many of the women wore army coats over
which their hair floated loose. While one upraised hand grasped a naked
sword or sabre the  other held a rope that dragged the cannon. Through
such exciting scenes as these, Paul and his Baltimore friend lost all
count of the hours.  It  was noon before they thought about their ten
o'clock engagement. Even had they desired  they  could  not  have  found
the  place  owing  to  their bewilderment. Wandering round, they came to
the boulevard near the Rue de la Paix. In this vicinity they saw the
first  engagement  which  took place between the Communists and a body
of citizens called "Les Hommes d'Ordre." While the firing was going on
they stepped in a door way  that sheltered them from the flying bullets.
Shortly afterwards they found themselves on the Rue Rivolo. Here they
saw great bodies National troops. As they were marching past a large
building, Paul noticed an officer whom he recognized as his former
Marechal de Logis in  the  Franc-Tireurs. Calling to his companion he
quickly entered the same building, where they were confronted by a
sentinel. They were permitted to pass  in,  when they informed him that
they wished to see the officer who had just entered, but they failed to
find him. As they we about to retire  they  were stopped by the
sentinel, who refused to permit them to leave.

He called for the Corporal du garde who placed both of them under arrest
and marched them into a room where many officers  were  seated.  Among
them, Paul discovered the one he sought, who also immediately recognized
him and advancing asked him how he came to be in Paris. Paul told  him
he had come to Paris simply through curiosity and if necessary to take a
hand in anything that was going on. Paul  and  his  friend  were  then
introduced to the officers present. One of them, a gray headed old
fellow said:

"Well boys, I think we will find something for you to do; but as this is
a quarrel among Frenchmen, I don't like the  idea  of  any  foreigners
being mixed up in it. However as you are here we might as well use you."

Paul and his companion looked at each other with perplexity for they did
not really know what they were about to join. Turning  to  his  friend
the Marechal de Logis, he told him in English of their adventures of the
night before and asked him if this was the same army as the other. The
officer laughed heartily and translated the story for the benefit of the
others, who all joined him in his mirth. The gray haired man  who  had
first spoken to Paul and who was evidently an officer in high rank said
in pure English:

"Sons, I think you have done enough for France and it is best for you to
leave Paris and go home."

Then calling an orderly he gave instructions that they should be taken
to the rail road station and sent to Havre. Before leaving, he presented
each with twenty-five francs and instructed the orderly to secure them
transportation to the seacoast. The orderly who accompanied them to  the
station was an enthusiastic admirer of everything American. He had a
brother in Quebec, which city he thought was about fourteen miles
outside of New York. So vehement was the hospitality he had pressed on
Paul and his companion that when he entered the station his military
dignity was lost and nothing remained but his idea of treating his
American friends to the best in the land. He placed them in a  first
class  compartment against the remonstrance of the guard, whom with
drawn sabre, he defied to eject them. As the train rolled out of the
station cries of "Vive la France," "Vive l'Amerique," were exchanged.

At Rouen, then held by the Germans who had military guards all around
the station, the train was detained for over half an  hour  owing  to an
accident. While waiting, Paul and his companion left the station to
procure some tobacco. They passed a German soldier on guard at the gate
who did not intercept them. On returning, the sentinel stubbornly
refused them permission to enter notwithstanding the fact that  they
showed  him their pass-ports and transportation; but they could not
persuade him either in French or English to let them pass.  At  this
moment  a  German officer arrived, when Paul advancing told their
situation in French. Taking the transportation card from  Paul's  hand
he  showed  it  to  the sentinel, and after many harsh sounding remarks
in German he struck him with his open hand across the face. The soldier,
still presenting  arms to his superior officer showed no sign of
resentment; not even a flush mounted to his cheek. The officer passed
them in and  Paul  remarked  to him:

"No French soldier would have stood that treatment."

"Possibly not," answered the officer, "but German soldiers know what
discipline is."

On arriving in Havre, Paul found many volunteers placed in the same
position as himself. All were waiting a chance to return to  America;
most of them looking to the French government to assist them home. While
waiting for these orders that were very tardy  in  coming,  Paul  made
the acquaintance of a Danish Count who had served all through the war.
His quiet, gentle manners and evident embarrassment at being  surrounded
by the rough crowd of adventurers and soldiers of fortune with whom Fate
had thrown him, appealed to Paul's sympathy, He said to the Count: "Come
with me and I will take care of you." They secured lodging together on
the upper story in a house in the Rue de  l'Hospital  for the  princely
consideration of one franc a week, which the landlady informed them must
be paid in advance. With the air of a millionaire, Paul paid the  rent
for the first week and cheerfully intimated to the landlady that they
would require the best room in her house as  soon  as their  remittances
arrived. Their room was a miserable affair in the attic, lit up with one
small window. The scant bed clothes often compelled them to  sleep  in
their uniforms of a cold night. When they reached their apartment they
compared notes and found that  all  the money  they  had  between  them
amounted to eight francs and seventy five centimes, (about $1.75).

"We must sail close to the wind now, Count," said the ever cheerful Paul
to the despondent Dane. "With good management we can live  high  on  a
franc a day."

They did not live high, but they subsisted. Paul had entire charge of
the household affairs and he drove  hard  bargains  with  those  whom he
favored with his patronage. The little square, two cent cakes of sausage
were eagerly scrutinized while he weighed the one cent loaves of bread
in his hand. Every two cent herring was examined as closely as a
gourmand would a porter-house steak or some rich  game.  When  the
provisions were secured, Paul returned to their apartment where he
generally found the Count with his head between his hands, seated near
the window. "Now for the banquet," he would exclaim as he lit up a sou's
worth of wood with which to fry the herring. The little squares  of
sausage  would  be placed on the soap dish. At times he prevailed on the
Count to go down and get the cracked pitcher full of water, which made
up  their  morning drinking cordial, while Paul was frying the herring.
After it was cooked, it was scrupulously divided into two  equal  parts
and  they  seated themselves. After meals they generally went out to
ascertain news from the government in regard to sending them home. Some
days  they  treated themselves to a regular table d'hote dinner at a
little eating house kept by a widow on the quay. The cost of this dinner
was thirteen sous and they could not often indulge in such a luxury. As
time advanced things were getting more and more  desperate.  The  Count
was  so  gloomy  and despondent that Paul feared he would end his life
as he had threatened to do several times unless something turned up.
They were  now  indebted to the landlady for two weeks' room rent. She
had a very sharp tongue and used to fire a broadside at them every time
she would meet  them.  In passing her door while ascending or
descending, they generally removed their shoes as they did not wish to
disturb her ladyship for  whom  they entertained great respect. Things
continued to grow worse and worse until at last Paul spent the few last
sous they had on two small loaves and a herring. They did not have even
wood to fry the herring and were compelled to use the stump of a candle,
which remained,  to  cook  it  with. Before retiring that night, Paul
suggested to the Count the necessity of their trying to get some work,
to which  the  Count  replied  that  he would prefer death any time to
the idea of going to work. Long before daylight Paul slipped quietly out
of bed,  dressed  himself  in  his  old uniform and proceeded in the
direction of the docks. Near one of the bridges he saw a large group of
men standing. He joined them  and  learned that they were all waiting
for work, and that they expected the contractor along in a few minutes.
The  boss  soon  made  his  appearance  and commenced reading from a
slip of paper: "I want ten men at such a dock, five men at another
place, eight men at another place  and  twenty-five men at the dry
docks." The crowd separated itself into gangs, Paul joining the one that
was called last. As the men passed the contractor, each one was handed a
slip. When Paul's turn came to get his slip, the contractor looked at
him curiously and said:

"Why, you are an American volunteer, what do you want here?"

"I want work," answered Paul, "and pretty badly too."

"Well," said the contractor: "I am sorry that I have no better job to
give you today, but by to-morrow I will have something better."

Paul followed the gang to the dry docks where a large steamer had been
hauled up. On exhibiting his piece of paper to the foreman, he  received
a three cornered scraper, a piece of sharp steel with a handle about
eighteen inches long. He was told off to  a  certain  plank  suspended
by ropes down the side of the vessel in company with two old dock rats
who eyed him rather sullenly as though he was  an  intruder.  Paul
quickly slipped down the rope and seated himself on the plank, while the
two professors climbed leisurely down and  took  a  seat  on  either
end,  he occupying the middle. The side of the ship was thickly studded
with barnacles and other shell fish. She had just returned from a long
voyage to the tropics and was very foul. The air was chilly and raw down
on the dark, damp stone dock. Paul was  anxious  to  warm  himself,  so
made  a furious onslaught on the barnacles and soon had them flying in
every direction. He stopped for breath and  found  his  companions,
instead  of following his example, were gazing at him with looks of
disgust and astonishment. One of them exclaimed:

"Regard him, look at him!"

While the other, with feigned pity, tapped his forehead with the tips of
his fingers, as much as to say, "He is crazy, my brother." One of them
then placed his hand on Paul's arm and asked him how long he had been
engaged in scraping ship's bottoms.

"This is my first day," answered Paul, thinking he might have done
something wrong.

"I thought so," responded his questioner. "A few more mad men like you
would ruin our work in the dock. Why, at  the  way  you  are  going  the
ship's bottom would be clean before night fall. This is the way to do
it," and he put	his scraper against the side of the vessel and slowly
and laboriously removed a single barnacle. Then he laid the scraper on
the plank beside him and drew out his pipe which he  leisurely  filled
with tobacco and lighted. After taking a few whiffs he asked Paul where
he was from and what caused him to seek work there. Paul fully explained
his position and the cause that compelled him to work. After this, his
two companions seemed to thaw out and entertained him with words of
advice, instructing him in many methods of killing time when the foreman
was not around. At noon all hands were called up out of  the  docks  and
each received a card to the value of two francs, which the foreman told
Paul he could have cashed at the canteen by purchasing a dish of soup or
a small piece of bread. Paul indulged in a five cent dinner and deeply
regretted that the Count was not there to share it with him.  He
received one franc and seventy five centimes which he carefully stowed
away. After dinner the plank was shifted and they resumed work at the
barnacles. Before the six o'clock bell rang to cease work, Paul and his
two preceptors were quite friendly. They told him that if he  intended
to  pursue the business he should remember one thing:

"Never do what you did this morning, that is slip down the ropes first,
particularly when there are three men to work on a  plank,  for,"  they
gravely explained, "the two coming down last would occupy seats close to
the ropes that net only act as a back brace when resting yourself, but
would also be a means of saving your life in case the plank broke; when
you could grab hold on the rope and the man in the middle would drop to
the stones below and be killed. Of course the two clinging to the rope
could be hoisted to the deck or be carefully lowered to the bottom."

At six o'clock Paul received a ticket for two more francs. To get it
cashed, he purchased a glass of wine for two sous and then  started  on
a run for his lodgings where he fully expected to find the Count dead.
He ran the blockade of the landlady's door without the formality of
taking off his shoes. Dashing into the room he exclaimed:

"Count! Count, where are you?"

"Here I am," exclaimed a faint voice from the bed.

"Well, I'm glad you are not dead, we dine at the widow's to-day. Look at
this."

The Count started up and gazed on the seventy-three cents Paul exhibited
with eager eyes, then looking reproachfully at him he said:

"Paul, I hope you have not taken to the highway." "No," said Paul, "I
worked for that and hard too, so come on and we will have such  a dinner
as we have not had in two weeks."

Under the genial influence of the banquet, the Count confessed to Paul
that he had retired to bed in the hope of dying quietly  of  starvation,
providing the landlady had not disturbed him as he felt convinced that
Paul had abandoned him. That night the landlady received one week's room
rent and graciously gave them three days more to settle up in full. Paul
was out again before daylight and sought out the contractor. This  day
he got a job on the ship Fanita of San Francisco, discharging grain. It
was much cleaner and easier than scraping the steamer's bottom. His job
was to guide the sacks of grain out of the hold while a horse on the
dock attached to a long line passed over a block hoisted them up. While
at this work the two mates of the ship stood near the hatchway and
commenced making remarks about Paul whom they thought was a Frenchman.

"There is one of those French soldiers," said one.

"Yes," added the other; "he looks pretty hungry and thin; it is no
wonder the Dutch licked them."

Paul smiled, but said nothing until a better opportunity presented
itself, when he entered into  conversation  with  the  mate,  who  was
much surprised to find that he was an American. At dinner time he was
invited into the galley and regaled with a sea-pie until he was scarcely
able to hail "Allons" to the driver of the horse on the dock, when he
resumed work in the afternoon. That evening he was engaged by the
captain  of the vessel to keep tally on the sacks at five francs per
diem. A few days later an order was issued from the Hotel de Ville  that
all  foreign volunteers should assemble there. A hundred and twelve
responded to the call and a motley group  mustered  from  all  quarters
of  the  globe, representing every branch of the French service and
wearing every conceivable kind of a uniform. Notwithstanding the fact
that  some  of  them were from Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Ireland,
Belgium, etc., they all wanted to be sent to America. The mayor informed
them that arrangements had been made to transport them there at the
expense of the French Government. He also said that he was authorized to
give each volunteer  the  sum of twenty-five francs, a mattress, blanket
and a supply of tin-ware. This joyful news was received with loud cries
of "Vive la France! Vive  la Republique!" and three hearty cheers were
given for the mayor. As the volunteers joyously dispersed, an officer
informed Paul  that  the  mayor wished to see him in his private office.
When he entered, His Honor informed him that he desired him to take
charge of the men on their passage over.

"I know they are a pretty wild lot, and no doubt will not obey orders,
still I will depend upon you to do your utmost to keep them  quiet,  and
not have them disgrace the uniform they wear."

He then gave Paul a strong letter of recommendation commending him for
his courage and service to France, also presenting him with the arms  he
bore in the service. To this day Paul retains his chassepot as a memento
of the happy,  careless  days  he  passed,  while  serving  under  the
Tricolor of France.

Two days after, all the foreign volunteers were mustered to embark on
the steamer Stromboli, the authorities taking the precaution not to give
them the promised twenty-five francs until they had passed up the gang-
plank. As the steamer moved out of Havre  the  citizens  turned out  in
large numbers to bid them God speed. And when the bows of the steamer
were kissed by the waves of the channel, the boys were all pretty
hoarse shouting "Vive la France" in exchange for the cries of "Vive
l'Amerique," that was sent over the water to them from the mighty crowd
on shore.

The voyage to Liverpool was an uneventful one and the volunteers behaved
well with the  exception  of  emptying  a  cask  of  wine  which  they
conscientiously filled again with water. This was the property of two
French passengers who spent most of their time playing cards on deck and
whose amazement when they discovered that their wine bad turned into
water, knew no bounds. When the volunteers arrived in Liverpool they
found that the steamer England of the National, which was to convey them
to the United States was broken down, so they were compelled  to  remain
in Liverpool several days at the expense of the steamship company, until
the Virginia of the same line was ready to sail.

While in Liverpool they were treated very well and aroused a great deal
of interest owing to their varied uniforms and war-stained  appearance.
While Paul and three of his companions were slowly sauntering one
morning watching the sights, they beheld smoke proceeding from  the
basement of a rubber store from which the affrighted employees were
madly rushing. Paul grabbed one of them and asked him if there  was
water  anywhere around, and was informed that there was both water and
hose attached in the basement, but that he would be smothered if he
attempted  to  reach it. Without hesitation, Paul plunged into the
basement, and fortunately came on the hose. Turning on the water he
pushed his way  back  through the thick smoke and soon had the fire
under control. It was a heap of rubbish and scrap rubber that emitted
far more smoke than flame. When the fire engines arrived, it was found
that they had nothing to do and the proprietor was so well pleased that
he gave Paul five pounds.

When the Virginia was ready to sail, all the soldiers were transferred
off to her in lighters. On reaching the deck they were all examined  for
revolvers and other weapons that when found were immediately placed in
the charge of the quarter-master to be returned on  reaching  New  York.
There were a number of German emigrants and the steamship officers
thought there might be some trouble. Besides the soldiers, there were
eight hundred emigrants from different parts of Europe, mostly from
Ireland and about fifty cabin passengers. The voyage was very rough and
occupied twenty-one days. Many a wild trick was played in that steerage.
Many a skirmish was nipped in the bud through the watchful care of the
officers of the Virginia, which otherwise might have led to bloodshed.
The favorite amusement was cutting down hammocks. Dark forms might be
seen on all fours making their way on the greasy and slippery deck in
the direction of selected victims. The sharp blade of a knife would be
drawn  across the taut cord that supported the hammock. Then an uproar
that awakened the entire steerage would take place.  If  the  one  who
was  cut  down happened to be an Irishman, he would loudly challenge all
the passengers to come up and fight him, not caring whether  they  came
in  ones  or hundreds. His invitation not being accepted he would
generally pounce upon some unfortunate swinging near, and a scuffle
would ensue  in  which the contestants were encouraged by hundreds of
yells and cat-calls that would bring every steward on the ship into the
steerage.

During the long voyage the soldiers suffered greatly from want of
tobacco. The ship's doctor, a little Irishman  from  Dublin,  often
supplied them with the much needed article, and he had more influence
over them than all the other officers on board. His quick wit one day
prevented  a fight that threatened to end most seriously. It was one of
the few fine days that they experienced in the passage  and  all  the
hatches  were being removed for fresh air. A German emigrant drew a
knife on one of the soldiers and made a vicious slash  at  him.  Sides
were  immediately formed between the soldiers and emigrants and the
fight commenced right under the main hatch. It was interrupted by loud
cries from above:

"Here you are! Here is what you want. Stop that fighting!"

Looking up they perceived the little doctor seated above with a large
supply of tobacco, which he was throwing among the contestants. The
fight stopped immediately, all scrambling for the much coveted weed.
Before the supply was exhausted their good humor  was  restored  and the
fight forgotten.

On arriving in New York the volunteers scattered in every direction.
Paul and his friend the Count started for his home. Their odd uniforms
and equipments attracted much curiosity and comment. At this time,
Paul's mother and elder brother  owned  a  store  on  Broadway  near
Thirteenth street, and when he entered in his French uniform, his mother
did not know him. On recognizing him  she  almost  fainted.  She  had
been  told nothing about his being in the French army and believed he
was off on one of his usual voyages. Paul discarded his uniform and  was
once  more attired as a citizen.

While in New York, the Count received a heavy remittance from Denmark.
He insisted that Paul must share in remembrance of the dark days when he
had stood his friend, in Havre. He also consulted Paul as to what
enterprise or adventure they should next embark.  At  this  time
expeditions were being secretly sent out from New York to aid the Cubans
in their struggle for liberty. Paul thought this the most promising
enterprise  in which to engage and the Count readily acquiesced. They
secured the address of an agent in the lower part of the  city  with
whom  they  had  a consultation and it was agreed that they should leave
on the next expedition under  General  Jordan;  but  the  expedition
never  sailed.  The schooner was captured off Sandy Hook. They returned
in company with a lot of others as violators of the neutrality law and
spent  two  days  in the Tombs. While there they were recipients of
generous  supplies  of  pies  and  other  delicacies  and  beautiful
flowers  from  fair  Cuban sympathizers, and looked upon their discharge
as a misfortune. After this the Count requested Paul to go to California
with him, but the latter refused as he had decided to take another trip
to the West Indies and pursue his former occupation of diving. He had
sent letters  to  his  old friend Captain Balbo with whom he often
corresponded, and impressed the Count so with the description of the
life they should  lead  among  the sunny islands that he consented to
join in the enterprise. They commenced negotiations for the purchase of
the submarine armour  and  necessary appliances and only waited to hear
from Captain Balbo before purchasing them. A letter from Nassau at last
arrived informing Paul of the  death of his old friend which caused him
sincere regret and of course changed their plans. While still hesitating
about what  to  do,  a  letter  was received by the Count requesting him
to return immediately to Denmark. It was so urgent and of such
importance  that  he  sailed  by  the  next steamer.



CHAPTER VI.

After the Count's departure Paul joined a submarine company in New York
and pursued the occupation  of  diver  for  over  six  months.  He  was
wonderfully successful and when he resigned he had the largest salary of
any diver in their employ.  The  cause  of  his  resignation  was  the
reports he had had heard about the diamond fields in South Africa. He
determined to cast his fortune with the diamond hunters that  were going
from different parts of the world to the promised "Eldorado,"

Having secured a supply of implements and stores that he considered
necessary, he took passage on the tall rigged ship Albatross, commanded
by a friend of his. The Albatross was bound for China by way of Cape
Town, and the captain promised to land him there. They had a  long,
pleasant voyage, during which Paul spent his time shooting at sharks
over the side and trolling for fish. One day in the vicinity  of  the
equator  his hook was snapped by a dolphin, which he succeeded in
bringing to the deck. It was laid on the shady-side of the galley and
the sailors  watched with great, curiosity the innumerable tints which
radiated from its body. This transition in color  was  considered  by
the  on-lookers  as  a visible evidence of the pain which it suffered.
Picking up an ax Paul quickly dispatched it. In passing the equator the
usual  tom-foolery  of receiving Neptune and baptizing those who had
never crossed the line before, was enjoyed with one slight exception.
The imitation  of  the  god Neptune when coming out of the fore chains
over the bow, missed his footing and fell into the sea. Fortunately for
him the ship was becalmed at the time. With the aid of a line and a boat
hook which one of his mates fastened firmly to his collar, he was drawn
aboard. His appearance  was certainly far from god-like. Paul often
enjoyed the conversation of sun old sailor named Joe Clark.  He  was  a
misanthropist  at  the  unjust inequality that existed in the conditions
of life, and often sung a verse of his own composition which gave him
intense  satisfaction,  as  he chanted it while sewing sails or making
sennet. It consisted of a few lines, the import of which was, that no
matter how rich or  gorgeous  the outer apparel might be, all alike have
to eat, drink and die. He was a typical tar and proved a source of
continual amusement to Paul.  He  had sailed a long time with the
captain of the Albatross on different ships, and the captain told Paul
that he never made a voyage but that he  did not express his
determination that it would be the last one; and no matter what
occupation he could  get  ashore,  either  street  cleaning  or farming
he would take it in preference to going to sea again. After three days
of shore life old Joe was tired of it and always headed for some outward
bound ship. Once when Paul and Joe were leaning over the bulwarks and
gazing out on the glass-like surface of the equatorial waters  in which
they were then sailing, old Joe reflectively exclaimed:

"Mister Boyton, I wish I had a hundred thousand dollars. You may be sure
that I would never make another voyage and it would save me  from  the
fate of many an old shell-back that is dying around now."

Joe's firm belief was that every old sailor who died, turned into a sea-
gull. Prompted by curiosity, Paul said: "Now, Joe, what  is  the  first
thing you would purchase supposing you had one hundred thousand
dollars?"

"A quart of good Scotch whisky," promptly exclaimed Joe with a string of
oaths  to  confirm  his  assertion,  and  he  smacked  his  lips  in
satisfaction as though already enjoying it.

About two months after leaving New York, Table Rock was sighted and the
same day anchor was let go off Cape Town. During this long voyage  Paul
improved the opportunity in studying and getting more practical ideas of
navigation. By the time they cast anchor  at  Cape  Town  the  captain
assured him that he was as competent as himself and begged him to keep
on with him to China as the man holding the position of first  mate  was
very unskillful and he wished to get rid of him. Paul, however, had the
diamond fever and no amount of persuasion could  change  his  mind.  He
landed and secured quarters in Cape Town. With his usual happy-go-lucky
disposition he had never inquired before leaving New York in regard  to
the location of the diamond fields, and he presumed that they were
situated thirty or forty miles  from  the  Cape.  In  Cape  Town  he
became acquainted with an officer of the steamer Cambrian, named John
Lord, who also had the diamond fever and intended going  to  the fields.
Their pursuits being similar they naturally drifted into
acquaintanceship. After a little conversation, Paul asked him how he was
going up.

"Well," responded Lord, "I would go upon the regular wagon but my
finances will not permit me. It costs twelve pounds and one is  only
allowed twenty pounds baggage."

"Twelve pounds? Sixty dollars? Why, good Heavens, how far is it? I was
thinking about walking up."

"A little over seven hundred miles," was Lord's reply. Paul nearly fell
over in his astonishment but said: "We are here  and  will  get  up  no
matter how far it is!"

On comparing notes they found that they could not afford to take the
regular wagon that generally consumed twelve days in reaching the
fields. They were told about another town named Port Elizabeth by going
to which they could save three hundred miles of overland travel. Owing
to  the enormous fares charged in those times, they found it would be
cheaper to go from Cape Town direct by ox trains. It took  one  of these
trains from fifty to sixty days to get up and was anything but a
comfortable trip. While waiting in Cape Town very much perplexed as to
how they would get up, Paul made the acquaintance of an agent of Cobb &
Co., who were engaged in the transportation business from the coast to
the  diggings. After some conversation, Paul was engaged to go as
assistant superintendent of a heavy train which was  about  to  start.
On  their  long  and tedious trip, the average time was about fifteen
miles a day, when the order for outspanning would be  given.  This order
meant  to  unhitch, dismount and camp for the night. As there were very
few restaurants or hotels on the way, a large quantity of provisions was
carried  and  like an army the train was made up in messes and did their
own cooking. The Hottentot drivers and assistants made one mess, the
passengers  another, while those in command formed a third. Lord was
also fortunate in getting transportation with the same train. This
opening was looked upon as a Godsend as they not only got up themselves
with their tools but had their provisions free.  The  train consisted
of  fifteen  immensely  long covered wagons of the stoutest build. Each
wagon had between seven and nine thousand pounds made up mostly of
provisions  and  for  which  the moderate price of nine dollars per
hundred pounds was made for transportation. To each wagon was hitched a
long line of oxen,  harnessed  to  a strong chain. The Hottentot drivers
were artists in handling their terribly long whips. Besides the oxen and
fifteen wagons, was  a  mule  team with the officers in charge. Three
days after leaving Cape Town, the train drove into Wellington, fifty
miles north. Soon  after  they  entered the mountain, Bain's Kloof. They
had great difficulty passing over this road through the mountains.
Frequently they were obliged to double  the ox teams on a single wagon
in order to climb some steep ascent. The scenery through the mountains
was exceedingly wild and picturesque, and the Hottentot driver with whom
Paul was conversing, assured him that far away in the mountain tops were
leopards and fierce baboons. The mountains being passed after a hard
day's travel they entered the little village of Ceres where they
outspanned for the night. From Ceres they passed  on over a level plain
occasionally passing a kail or cottage. At some places on the road the
natives sold them hot coffee and cakes.  The country over which they
traveled was thinly populated. Occasionally a tramping adventurer or two
would come with the wagons, all heading  in the  same direction. About
ten days later the train entered Caroo Port, a vast desert, horribly
desolate and forbidding. It was dead level and lay like a sea asleep.
The heat was overpowering. Before entering the desert, a large supply of
water was laid in and the order of travel was changed  so that they ran
at night instead of in the day time. This wilderness is about sixty
miles wide and it took them five days to cross it. Whenever a wind rose
on this desert the mouth, eyes, ears and nose were filled with dust,
making life miserable. At Durands, a  solitary farmhouse  stood like an
oasis. They got a fresh supply of water there. After leaving the Caroo
they entered a desert called Kope. In crossing this waste,  they
stumbled on many and many a skeleton of poor fellows, who had no doubt
succumbed on account of the heat and lack  of  water. The  crossing  of
these two deserts cost them many oxen. These were replaced at Beaufort
by a relay that was in reserve for  such  an emergency.  After  leaving
Beaufort they struck into a thickly wooded country that was a relief.
Sometimes during the day, while the train was  slowly  wending  its  way
onward, the superintendent and Paul would ride ahead for a hunt. They
got some antelope and  a  large  number  of partridges.  Paul  was  much
surprised to find that game was much scarcer than he had been lead to
believe by reading about South Africa.

They now entered a country where there were many ostrich farms, a
business which was very remunerative. Ostrich chickens cost from twenty-
five to fifty dollars apiece. In three years they will furnish plumage
worth from twenty-five to thirty dollars each year.  A Hottentot  told
Paul that many of the ostriches that then stood around in sight had been
hatched by fat old Hottentot women who took two or three eggs away from
the hens and lay with them in feather bed until they were hatched. The
truthfulness of this story, Paul never verified.

After passing Victoria they wended their way slowly through great plains
covered with  a  stumpy  herbage.  Here  they  saw  large  numbers  of
secretary birds and bustards and maramots and springbok antelope.
Several of the latter were shot and added greatly to the comfort of the
mess. Every few days they met the up or down carts, going or coming from
the diamond regions. These would sometimes stop and give the news  of
above or below. It did not take much penetration to know the successful
from the disappointed, coming from the mines as they got out of the
train  to stretch themselves. Forty days after leaving the Cape, they
outspanned on the banks of the Orange river, into which Paul, without
any ceremony, plunged with eagerness and enjoyed his first swim in
Africa. Here they had to ferry and a slow and tedious occupation  it
was.  About  a  week later they entered Pneil to which place the freight
was consigned. The village was a small one, more like a camp. Down  a
steep  ravine  tents were pitched on every available spot, where a level
surface afforded a floor. They were raised without regard to symmetry or
order.  Paul  and his friend Lord looked around the camp and secured
lodging with an old Californian who agreed to board them during their
stay for ten shillings a day. At the same time he assured them that he
did not intend to remain long there as the diggings were nearly played
out and he was going  to shift the following week to Dutoitspan. After
prospecting for several days and finding that they could not get a claim
unless  it  was  for  an exorbitant price, they decided to adopt the
Californian's idea and start over for the "dry diggings" at Dutoitspan.
On arriving there they  met a sorter who assured them that he was fully
posted in regard to claims, the value of the stones found and everything
else and agreed  to  enter partnership providing they purchased the
outfit. After some hesitation and examination, they agreed to  this.
They  bought  a  sieve,  sorting table, and tent with cooking apparatus,
etc., and started for a claim. They were fortunate in getting one about
thirty feet square. There  they erected their tent, under the
supervision of the sorter who unceremoniously made himself head of the
camp and who did more talking  than  work. Then they began the digging
of the trench around their claim. Their sorting table was set up and
they went to work with a will that was  backed with enthusiasm and hope.
The result of their digging was turned into the sieve, which was
suspended by a rope from a cross bar,  with  handles on one side. The
digger would swing it backwards and forwards until all the loose
fragments of earth were broken off and nothing  remained  but the small
stones like line gravel. These were then carried over and dumped on the
sorter's  table,  who  examined  them  carefully  and  placed anything
promising to one side. But for three weeks nothing of any value was
found. The small specimens that were obtained were disposed of  to the
dealers who daily visited every camp and digging. The amount derived
from their sales barely kept the diggers  in  provisions.  About  this
time Lord fell ill of dysentery, which was prevalent in all the camps in
this vicinity, and Paul had to do double work to give the  gentlemanly
sorter, who refused to do any digging, occupation. Being tired and worn
with the two-fold labor, Paul was tempted many  times  to  abandon  the
claim and take a rest, and was prevented only by the fear that jumpers
would take advantage of the work already done. The unwritten law at that
time was that if a miner ceased working his claim for a certain length
of time it could be "jumped" by others. About this time Paul also  began
to suspect the honesty of the sorter and kept a close eye on him. These
suspicions he communicated to Lord, then recovering and found that Lord
entertained the same ideas. So one evening after a hard day's work they
grabbed the sorter and held an inquest  on  his  pockets  after  calmly
seating themselves on his head and knees. Their suspicions were verified
by discovering stones on him that were valued  the  next  day  at  one
hundred and ten pounds. The frightened sorter willingly surrendered all
they found, and confessed under the pressure of a revolver that he  had
been systematically robbing them for some time. Though pleased that they
had discovered so much, Paul and his friend were both discouraged  and
disgusted with the diggings and they agreed that the first good strike
they made they would leave it.  After  that  they  acted  as  their  own
sorters but with indifferent success. A couple of weeks later, Lord who
had been out to purchase provisions returned with a speculator who  was
willing to purchase the claim. A long talk followed. At last they
disposed of it to him with all their outfit for the sum of fifty pounds
which left them not much richer than when they had started for the
diamond fields. A short time after that they were in Cape Town once
more, smelling the fresh, salt air. Here Lord obtained a position on one
of the Union Co.'s line of steamers, while Paul remained in the hope of
finding  some ship going to China or Japan. Paul remained in Cape Town
three weeks; but no chance opened to go to the  eastward.  He  embarked
on  a  French vessel that came in shorthanded, bound for Marseilles. He
went before the mast as there as no other position on her and he had had
enough  of South Africa.

After a quick passage along the west coast of Africa they reached the
straits  of  Gibraltar  and  stood  across  the  blue  Mediterranean  to
Marseilles. While there, assisting to discharge a cargo, Paul fell
through a hatch and was badly wounded on the leg by coming in  contact
with the ragged edge of a roll of copper. At first he did not think he
was much injured but as his  leg  kept  on  swelling,  the  captain
strongly advised him to go to the marine hospital and conveyed him there
in a cab. The ward in which Paul was placed contained  about  one
hundred  and fifty little iron beds filled with unfortunates like
himself. The hospital authorities ran the institution on the principle
that the less  they gave the patient to eat, the sooner he would recover
and get out. Breakfast consisted of a slice of bread and a little cup of
very  weak  wine; dinner of some very feeble soup, bread and the same
kind of wine. The supper was a repetition of the breakfast. After a
couple of day's sojourn in the hospital, Paul was ravenous with hunger
and would have willingly left if he had been able to do so. In vain he
assured the  good  sister in his best French that it was his leg and not
his stomach that was ill. In response she would smile sadly as she
placed the  meager  allowance on the little stand at the head of the
bed.

Paul was in bed number eleven. Number twelve was occupied by a
Frenchman, who was fast dying, and number thirteen by an English sailor
with  a leg and arm broken. The Frenchman was so far gone that his
appetite had failed so that he could neither eat nor  drink.
Notwithstanding  this, his rations were always left on his stand at the
head of his bed. The invalid and his provisions were watched by the
English  sailor  and  Paul with deep interest. Two or three times by the
aid of his good leg Paul succeeded in confiscating the major portion,
before  the  sailor  could reach his unbroken arm out. One day after a
consultation, the doctor shook his head slowly and told the sister that
number  twelve  would  not much longer remain a charge in her hands.
This news was gladly listened to by Paul and the sailor. His dinner was
placed as usual at  the  head of the bed but the Frenchman paid no
attention to it. His labored breathings showed plainly to the watchers
that  the  end  was  near.  A  few convulsive heavings followed, then
the English sailor remarked: "I think he has slipped his cable." Paul
got quietly out of  bed  to  ascertain the truthfulness of the sailor's
remark and made a grab for the soup and bread at the same time the sun-
bronzed arm of the sailor  reached  out for the wine. Soon afterwards
the nurse discovered that the patient had passed away and his body was
carried to the dead house.

A couple of weeks later Paul was discharged from the hospital thoroughly
cured, and eager to embark in anything that promised adventure. He was
anxious if possible to secure some ship bound for America, and for this
purpose haunted the docks and watched every new arrival closely.  While
sauntering around one morning he was accosted by a rough looking man who
inquired if he was a sailor and wished to ship, Paul answered yes  but
that he wanted to ship on a vessel bound for the United States. "Well,"
said the stranger, "I am the captain of the bark Pilgrim and  am  bound
for Valparaiso, why not that trip?"

Paul absolutely refused to go around the Horn. The captain then told him
that they intended to start that night; but on the way out would  stop
at Malaga where he could land, and by going to Gibraltar get a ship much
easier. He promised to pay him well for the run, so Paul consented  to
go. The Pilgrim was then laying in the offing and when Paul went to the
landing to take the small boat to go to her, he found two other sailors
belonging to her, who were going to Malaga on the run, the same as
himself. One of them confidentially informed Paul that she  was  a
floating hell and that he might expect lively times on the run down.
Paul responded that he could stand it if the rest could. The  row  boat
containing the sailors ran along side and the line was passed down. One
of the sailors jumped lightly into the chains and took hold of his
mate's bag.  He tossed it on the deck without looking where it was
going. His own was then passed up to him which he mounted the rail and
jumped  on  deck.  He had no sooner reached it than he was struck a
powerful blow on the face and knocked on his back. His companion jumped
on  deck  and  found  his comrade lying bleeding and half stunned. Over
him, as if about to kick him, was the form of a powerful looking man who
proved to be  the  first mate.

"What's the matter," exclaimed the sailor last landed. "What's this?"

"Perhaps you would like the same kind of a dose my hearty," exclaimed
the mate as he came towards him with clenched fists.

"Well, no," was the response, "I don't intend to take any, but I will
give you one that will teach you not to bill sailors in open  port," and
he drew his sheath knife and made a lunge that would certainly have
disemboweled the first mate had  he  not  quickly  dodged  the  thrust
and retreated to the cabin.

While the sailor who had drawn the knife was bending over his wounded
comrade, the captain appeared, and exclaimed:

"This kind of work won't do! What's the meaning of this row?"

The sailor who had been struck explained to the captain how he had
accidentally hit the mate while  throwing  his  bag  aboard,  and  that
his partner had only come to his assistance when he thought he had been
killed.

"Go forward, boys, go forward," the captain said. "I'll see that no more
of this occurs."

This scene had been witnessed by Paul as he sat quietly on the rail.
When the men went forward he stepped  down  and  approached  the
captain, saying:

"Captain, I have been informed that your ship is a pretty wild one and
by what I have seen I think she bears out her reputation all right.  Now
I consider myself fully competent to do my duty and will do it; but I
want to give you fair warning that if I am molested  by  either  of your
bully mates, as I presume you have two of them, I will take good care of
myself. The days when an officer can treat sailors with impunity are a
thing of the past."

To which the captain responded: "You'll be all right, go away forward
and stow your things."

When Paul entered the forecastle he found that the crew consisted of
nine men seated on their sea chests and bunks, holding a council  of
war. They all agreed that it was a pretty bad ship and they determined
to stand by one another. The council was broken up by a gruff voice:

"Come my hearties. Turn to with a will. Get your hand spikes and man the
windlass."

All hands sprang out and quickly the clanking of the windlass chain was
heard coming in. "Look over the head, young fellow," said the  mate  to
Paul, "and see how she is." Paul complied and reported, "straight up and
down." Soon after a tug came alongside, the line was  passed  over  to
her, the anchor catted and the Pilgrim stood away on her voyage. All
hands were sent aloft to shake out sail and everything was ready to
sheet home when the tug slacked up and cast off the cable. As the tug
came around and returned to port she passed close  alongside  and  the
captain saluted the commander of the Pilgrim who was then showering
oaths on the quarter deck and said sarcastically:

"My brave and gentle captain, the Lord have mercy on the unfortunate
sea-infants who have trusted themselves in your hands."

Paul, who stood near by, overheard the tug captain's farewell and it
convinced him that the Pilgrim's commander  bore  an  unsavory
reputation with sea-faring men. Every sail being set and lines coiled
the decks were washed down. The crew, except Paul, who was at the wheel,
were called up and ranged in a line along the deck. The two mates then
advanced and tossed up a coin for first choice. The first mate won and
said,  "I'll take the man at the wheel." The second mate's choice then
fell to a sailor at the right end of the line. Then  they  selected  men
alternately until they were divided into two equal parts. The first
mate's watch being known as the starboard and the second mate's as the
port watch.  One watch was then ordered below while the other remained
on deck. Soon after Paul was relieved from  the  wheel  by  another
seaman  and  walking forward met the sailor who had been knocked down by
the first mate as he came aboard. This man called him aside: "Did you
notice that the first mate selected myself and mate in his watch? He
evidently intends to do my friend some mischief for the slash he made at
him."

He also informed Paul that he had a strong suspicion, which was shared
by his mate that it was the captain's intention to take them all out  to
Valparaiso and not allow any to land at Malaga. This suspicion was
confirmed next day in Paul's mind by the captain who sent for  him  to
come aft. When he entered the cabin the captain said: "Young fellow, I
like your appearance and wish you would change your mind and come on out
with me to Valparaiso, I carry no boatswain, but I will give you that
position and a pound a month extra, providing you can induce those two
shell-backs who came aboard with you to do the same."

To gain time, Paul answered that he would speak to them and report in
the evening. It was at that moment the farthest thought  from  his mind.
After a consultation with his shipmates, both of whom assured him they
would never consent, it was agreed that they should feign willingness to
go. They knew that the captain had the power to hold them in the offing
and prevent their landing so they determined to  escape at  the  first
opportunity at Malaga. The captain was so delighted with Paul's report
that he insisted on his having a glass of grog, and  was in  such  good
humor that he went on deck and amused himself by smashing the nose of an
unfortunate Norwegian, who was then at the wheel. This was a  favorite
pastime of both captain and mate's, but it was generally practiced on
those whom they knew would never resist their cruelty. The Pilgrim was
a brute to steer and a very slow ship, notwithstanding they had a fair
wind it took them ten days to reach Malaga, where they anchored  well
off the shore. She then commenced to receive the balance of her cargo of
wine by means of lighters. The crew were closely watched during  the
day. At night the oars were removed from the gig, swinging at the stern
and as an extra precaution a heavy chain and padlock were passed around
it. For three days the lighter came alongside but no chance presented
itself to Paul and his companions to get ashore. Seeing that  the  cargo
was about completed and that it would only take a few more lighters to
fill her, Paul determined to leave that night. A large plank that  acted
as fender was stretched along the side. This he concluded to use for the
purpose of getting his companions and bags ashore.  He  advised  them
to have everything stowed away in as small a space as possible and to
have as large a supply of sea-biscuit and salt meat as they could
secure. It was Paul's anchor watch that night, from one to two. When he
came on deck he found it a clear, brilliant star-light night and the sea
as smooth as a cup of milk. After walking around for about a quarter of
an hour he stepped softly in the  direction  of the  after  cabin  and
listened intently. He was satisfied that all aft were sound asleep.
Coming forward to the forecastle he found the two sailors all  ready  to
join  him. Their clothing and provisions were firmly lashed up in pieces
of tarpaulin. The three silently and cautiously crept to the side; a
sharp  knife severed the rope that held up one end of the fender and the
other was lowered quietly until the plank was afloat on the surface.  A
couple  of turns were taken in the rope that held it over a belaying
pin, and Paul said:

"Now is the time, one of you slip down the rope and deposit the bags on
the planks. Then get in the water and rest your hands on the side." The
water was very phosphorescent and the fish left trails of light after
them as they dashed hither and thither below. Just as one of the sailors
was about to step over and descend, either a porpoise or some large fish
shot from under the vessel and left quite a  trail  of  light in  its
wake. The sailor hesitated: "That must be a shark," he said, "if we get
in that water we are bound to be eaten up."

Time pressed and Paul remonstrated with him in vain to get down. Any
moment either the captain or the mate might wake up and discover them.
To show an example that there was no danger Paul grasped the rope and
slipped silently into the sea. He was followed by one of  the  sailors,
but the other could not overcome his fear and decided to remain. His
decision was irrevocable for he cast off the line and said:

"Good-bye boys, I am sorry that I can't go, I dare not risk it."

Paul and his companion pushed out and quietly passed under the stern and
until sufficiently far away from the vessel, they were very gentle  in
their movement. Feeling more secure they struck out with powerful
strokes driving the plank that supported their  bags,  ahead.  The
mountains that surround Malaga on all sides and tower far up in the
starlit sky seemed only a few hundred yards away; but it was a full mile
before  the end of the plank grated on the shore and the sailors
scrambled out on the slippery and weed covered rocks. They landed a
little to the north of the city and grasping their bags commenced the
ascent of the mountain. This was very steep and rough and exceedingly
dangerous work as  it  was not yet daylight. Having gained a good height
up the side they rested. A faint glimmer was just then tingeing the  sky
and  everything  around them was still as death. The gentle lapping of
the waves against the rocky shore, the barking of the dogs in Malaga,
and the occasional crow of a rooster rang out with wonderful
distinctness. The anchor light of the ship about one mile away twinkled
as though only a little distance off. Not yet feeling secure they began
climbing upwards. The progress was arrested by a hoarse sound coming
from the direction of the ship. As  they sat on the rocks to listen,
they heard the voice of the mate baying out oath after oath, calling the
watch and asking:

"Who was the last on watch? Where is the watch? Turn out all hands!"

Then oaths from another voice came floating up and they had no
difficulty in recognizing the choice maledictions of the captain as he
rushed on deck to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. After this a
confused murmur arose from the deck through which they fancied they
could hear the blows of massive fists rained down on the heads and faces
of the unfortunate seaman. They distinctly heard the sharp  order:
"Lower  away  the gig!" The click, click of the cleat as the rope ran
through the blocks sounded alarmingly near to them. Soon after, advanced
daylight  revealed to them the boat as it was swiftly rowed to the
shore. They recognized the captain seated in the stern and laughed
heartily over the thought of the great rage of the commander whom they
knew was eating his heart out. They surmised that his mission was to go
to the Consul and report them as deserters and also start the Carbineros
in search of them, by means of a reward for their capture. But they felt
secure in  the  place  they had selected, far up on the mountain. They
quietly enjoyed the scenes below and watched the lighters as they
carried out the last of the cargo. They laughed as they saw the
captain's gig shoot fretfully from ship to shore many times during the
day, while they enjoyed their pipes and ate with relish their salt beef
and sea-biscuits. Late in the afternoon they observed with glee the last
lighter leave the side of the Pilgrim, the captain's gig hoisted on
board, and the heavy sails loosened and dropped down. The clanking of
the anchor chain was  joyful  music  as  it  was taken on board and the
Pilgrim under full sail soon glided away on a tack to the eastward. That
night they decided to camp  in  the  mountains, but it proved so chilly
and uncomfortable that when the hour of three boomed out from the clock
below, they decided  to  move.  They  carefully descended the mountain
side until they found a road. This they followed  until  they  entered
the  town  which  they  passed  through  without molestation. They took
the road to the south which they thought led to Gibraltar. By daylight
they were well out of Malaga and walking  rapidly along. During the day
they met many peasants and exchanged the "buenos dias" and proceeded on
their way undisturbed. That night they came to  a monastery, where a
peasant assured them they could find rest and supper.  They  were
hospitably  received  in  the  traveler's  quarters.  The assistant did
not seem to comprehend the Mexican-Spanish which Paul brokenly spoke. He
finally succeeded in making the monk understand that  he could speak
French and that if there was any one around who could understand that
tongue he would be more at home. In response to  his  request the
assistant disappeared and soon returned with a venerable looking priest
who spoke French fluently. Paul explained to  him  that  they  were
seamen en route from Malaga to Gibraltar and that they wished to get
some information as to the road, also hospitality  for  the  night.
Their request was complied with and they were assured that they were
perfectly welcome. Paul then questioned the  priest  in  regard  to  the
Carlos revolution and said that he would just as soon join that as join
a ship. The priest, who proved to be an ardent admirer to Don Carlos,
assured them that it was impossible, as the seat of the revolution was
away in the north and too far for them to  hope  of  reaching  it  by
foot.  He advised them to continue on their way. Next morning after
breakfast they resumed their march and two days after entered the gates
of Gibraltar. Here they proceeded to a sailor's boarding house, where
they were assured they would have no difficulty in  getting  a  ship.
Next  day  while hesitating over an offer they had from the captain of a
fruiter to run down to the Grecian Islands where he intended to load
with dry fruit and return to New York, a little English bark entered the
bay. Her first mate was so ill that they decided  to  land  him  and
leave  him  in  the hospital. Paul sought out the captain and after a
close examination was engaged in the position vacated by the  sick  man.
The  bark  was  the George, of North Shields, England. Paul induced
Captain Moore also to ship his companion before the mast. The same day
she weighed  anchor  and stood away on her course to Alameira. The crew
of this little bark was a happy family. The captain was an easy, quiet
humane man and a thorough sailor; the second mate was the owner's son
who came out more to gain experience than to do duty as an officer. This
was a far different  craft from the blood-stained and wild Pilgrim that
was then ploughing her way to the westward. An oath or an angry word was
newer heard on the  decks of the George, and the sailors seemed to do
more work than the sullen and harassed seamen on the Pilgrim. They
sailed up the beautiful coast of Andalusia and close in to the foot of
the mountains that towered from the clear blue, waters of the
Mediterranean far above the  clouds,  where their snow-white caps were
cool and refreshing to look at from the burning deck below. The bark was
laden with coal  consigned  to  a  firm  in Alameira and the captain's
instructions were to bring back a cargo of Spanish grass and copper ore.
At Alameira they had to anchor in  an  open roadsted and the George's
cargo was discharged into lighters. The method of discharging coal where
there are no steam engines or docks  to  run alongside, is rather
primitive and is known as "jumping." An upright stairs or ladder is made
on the deck by lashing spars together. A block is fastened far above in
the rigging over the hatch through which a rope is rove leading down
into the hold. The end of this rope is fastened to a long spar just the
height of the ladder and terminating in a number of lines called whips.
These are grasped by six or eight sailors who  climb the ladder, made of
spars, that has been set over the hatch. When the large bucket is filled
with coal below, the order is given to  jump.  The seamen simultaneously
spring from the spar while banging on to the whips, and their combined
weight brings up the huge tub of  coal,  which  is grasped by the
lighter men and dumped over the side into their boat. When the cargo of
coal was discharged they commenced taking in copper  ore until she was
sufficiently ballasted to proceed up the coast to Motril to finish her
cargo with Spanish Grass. This article is a coarse grained material
something like a rush and of the nature of willow and bamboo combined,
and is used extensively in England in the manufacture of  mats, chair
bottoms, etc. It was put up in bales and proved a most disagreeable
article to stow away in the hold.

The cargo being completed, anchor was weighed to the cheerful sound of
"homeward bound" and the George started  on  her  voyage  to  Newcastle,
England. Owing to head winds the bark had to tack all the way to
Gibraltar. Sometimes  close  under  a  mountain  and  again  far  out in
the Mediterranean, she beat her way down the coast. The weather was
clear and beautiful and the crew did not have much to do  outside  of
cleaning her down, mending and making sails. All who could handle the
needle well were engaged in that occupation. They sat  on  the  quarter
deck  and sewed industriously while the boatswain chalked and cut the
lines for them. Good natured Captain Moore spent his watch on deck,
chatting  away with them and listening to their yarns. He thoroughly
enjoyed their jokes and superstitions with  winch  many  of  their
quaint  stories  were intermingled. While doing so he usually smoked a
long clay pipe and being a very forgetful man the moment he laid it out
of his hands he  never remembered where he had left it. He was also a
very short sighted man and the boys often had a quiet joke on him  by
shifting  the  pipe  from place to place while he was looking for it.
Once the boatswain, named Smith, who was as mischievous as a monkey,
thought he would play  a  good joke on the captain. Seeing him lay his
pipe on the lattice work aft of the wheel and run down into the cabin to
get his glasses, Smith  jumped up and threw his pipe overboard and
sketched one in chalk in the same place. On mounting the deck the
captain took a long look at the  stranger that had just hove in sight
over the starboard bow; then laid his glasses on the skylight and looked
around for  his  pipe.  When  he  saw  the sketch he reached forth his
hand to pick it up. Being convinced by the suppressed murmur of
merriment he heard among the sail-sewers that  they knew of the joke, he
quickly disappeared down the hatchway. The sailors drove sail needles
into each other in their  hilarity.  As  he  captain made no remark, the
incident was forgotten.

The following Sunday morning the captain called Paul down and told him
to order all hands on deck and get the chain hooks. This order surprised
Paul as it was very unusual for any work to be done on Sunday except to
stand watch, steer and trim sail.  He  made  no  remark,  however,  but
proceeded to the deck and ordered all hands out. The men let their
washing, sewing, and other domestic duties to which they  generally
devoted their attention on Sunday, and came on deck more astonished than
Paul was. He then told the boatswain to get out the chain hooks.  The
captain now appeared and gave the order to "hoist away that starboard
chain and trice it along the deck." This  was  a  terrible  job  as
fully  sixty fathoms of the heavy anchor chain lay stowed away in the
chain locker below. The men sprang to work and fathom after fathom of
the  chain  was pulled up with the aid of the hooks and tried in lengths
along the deck. When the boatswain reported "all up, sir," the order was
given,  "Get up the port chain." The men groaned, but complied without a
murmur and link after link of the heavy chain from far below was drawn
up  through the iron bound hole in the deck. It was almost noon when the
perspiring and worn out sailors had it all up. Again the report, "It  is
all  up, sir," was given to the captain:

"That's impossible Mr. Smith, look down and see if you can't find more."

In compliance with the order, Smith applied his eye to the hole and
again assured the captain that it was taut.

"Look again and see if you can't find it."

"Find what?" irritably enquired Smith.

"Why, my pipe to be sure. You can now let the crew go below."

Notwithstanding their fatigue, the boys had to laugh and all agreed that
that was one on the boatswain.

The crew was great on debating and many and many a foolish question came
up in the forecastle. After long argument,  Paul  was  generally  made
referee. One evening during the dog watch he could hear a violent debate
in the forecastle and wondered to  himself  what  ridiculous  question
would now be presented to him for decision. He was quickly enlightened
by seeing two of the sea-lawyers approaching the quarter  deck.  One  of
them was named Hiram Young, a very ignorant but positive American
sailor, the other named Daniel Sneers, an Englishman equally ignorant
and  if possible more positive. When they neared the quarter deck Paul
asked: "Well what is it?"

"We want you to decide a question sir," said Young, "this 'ere Sneers
says and maintains as what England put in a challenge in  the  paper and
kept it in for six months, offering to fight any country on the face of
the earth, and I argues as she never put it in a American paper or she
would a' been snapped up like that," demonstrating his remark by
snapping his forefinger and thumb.

Paul tried to show them the difference between nations and prize
fighters, but neither of them seemed thoroughly satisfied with the
explanation given. As they walked back to the forecastle, Paul overheard
Young remark, that "She might a put it in French or a Italian paper, but
he  was d--d if they ever put in a American paper!"

When they reached Gibraltar a heavy west wind was blowing in through the
strait. Under lowered top-sails they were compelled  to  beat  up  and
down under the shelter of the rocks. A large fleet of weather bound
vessels kept the George company. It is too deep  to  anchor  here,  so
the vessels are compelled to keep moving up and down until they get a
fair wind to go through the straits into the Adriatic. While cruising
about, the vessels passed so closely that the crews could hold
conversation with each other, and many a friend was recognized and
hailed. Their second morning under the lee of the rock during Paul's
watch the large bark Culpepper, commanded by a very irritable old
mariner was  slowly  passing. The angry voice of the captain, as he
heartily cursed his crew was plainly heard on the George. In a lull in
the  torrent  of  abuse  an  Irish sailor who was leaning over the
George's rail, said derisively:

"Hould on, hould on Captain, till the waters bile and Oi'll go over and
shave ye."

The remark was overheard by the captain of the Culpepper who cried
loudly and angrily:

"Bark ahoy, there! Bark ahoy, there."

"What do you want?" responded Paul coming to the side.

"Are you the captain?" demanded the infuriated ruler of the Culpepper.

"No," said Paul, "he is below."

"Then call him up," he thundered.

At this moment, Captain Moore, who had heard the conversation, protruded
his head through the hatch and Paul informed him that the  captain  of
the Culpepper desired to speak to him. He hailed the Culpepper and
desired to know what was wanted.

"Why one of your ----- shell-backs insulted me," was the answer that
floated across the water.

"What did he say?" inquired Captain Moore.

"Why he told me to wait till the water boiled and he would come aboard
and shave me," thundered the angry captain of the Culpepper.

"And why the blazes don't you wait, it would add to your personal
appearance considerably," said Captain  Moore  as  he  disappeared  down
the gangway.

About noon the wind changed and the long looked for easterly breeze came
rippling over the waters of the Mediterranean. All sail was  made  and
the fleet stood away through the straits. The Culpepper stood side by
side for about five miles during which time the crews keenly enjoyed the
broadside of compliments that was hurled from vessel to vessel by the
two commanders. The George made a fair run and in due  time  entered the
mouth of the Tyne and was soon after moored at the docks at Newcastle
where Paul left her. He was loth to do  so  as  it  was  the pleasantest
vessel, captain and crew he had ever shipped with.

He then engaged himself as first mate on the ship Campbell, a Nova
Scotia boat bound from  North  Shields  to  Philadelphia  with  a  cargo
of chemicals. When a couple of days out he discovered that the second
mate was more brutal than either of the worthies  on  the  Pilgrim.  He
was always below during the second mate's watch on deck so he had no
chance of witnessing any acts of brutality, but he was posted on  the
subject by the men in his own watch, whom he always treated with
kindness and consideration. He informed the captain about the reports he
had  heard. The latter agreed that it was wrong to maltreat sailors; but
Paul felt sure that he closed his eye to many strange doings on his ship
and  that when a man representing himself to be a sailor came aboard and
proved incompetent, there was no punishment considered severe enough
for  him. Three such unfortunates were aboard this ship, one in Paul's
watch and two in the second mate's watch. Paul soon discovered that  the
man  was unskillful. He could neither steer, reef nor splice so he set
him to scrubbing, and by a few encouraging remarks got him to work
harder  than any one on the watch. The unfortunate would-be sailors in
the second mate's watch did not fare so well. He instructed them in the
mysteries  of navigation through the agency of his fists. While the
watches were being relieved, Paul noticed their blackened eyes and
swollen  cheek  that evidenced all too plainly the effect of the second
mate's bad temper. One night during the second mate's watch, the vessel
was  struck  by  a number of baffling squalls that seemed to come from
every direction. This necessitated constant trimming of the sails and
the  men  were  kept hard at work. Every few minutes one could hear the
hoarse orders given as the men scampered hither and thither to man  the
ropes.  The  oaths, blows, and fighting on this watch, kept both the
captain and Paul awake. Seeing the captain turn out of his  bunk  and
light  his  pipe,  Paul remarked: "They are having a pretty warm time on
deck."

"Yes," responded the skipper, "I presume Stanley is drilling some of
those landmen."

At eight bells, when Paul's watch on deck commenced, he relieved the
second mate, who was in a towering rage at the stupidity of his watch.
The vessel was then under reefed topsails only and prepared for the
uncertain squalls that were driving all around. At daylight Paul ordered
hands aloft to shake out the reefs and set top gallants. As the top sail
was raised he noticed dark blotches all across it and hailing the man
aloft he asked him what caused them.

"Blood, sir," answered the sailor.

Paul well understood the meaning of it and knew it to be the work of the
second mate, who had beaten the men over the head with a belaying  pin
while they were reefing. Shortly after the captain came on deck, Paul
called his attention to the blood-stained sail and said: "This  work has
got to be stopped."

The captain shrugged his shoulders. "What can we do?"

"That's for you to say," answered Paul. "You're in command here."

"Well, I'll have to talk with Stanley when he turns out."

At seven bells the order: "Pump ship, call the watch," was given. The
watch was called but failed to respond. The sailor sent to call it again
reported that port watch did not intend to turn out. It was now eight
bells and time for Paul's watch to go below. The  captain  came on  deck
followed by the second mate, with whom he had been remonstrating. Paul
reported that the watch had been called out but refused  to  come.  The
second mate with a terrible oath started forward saying:

"I'll have the dogs on deck mighty soon."

He reached the forecastle door and flung it back. The same moment both
Paul and the captain saw him stagger  and  fall  to  deck.  He  bellowed
lustily for help. The captain and Paul rushed to his assistance and
found him bleeding profusely from knife wounds in the breast  and
abdomen, while the port watch with drawn knives stood sullen and
determined looking in the forecastle. This sight staggered the captain
who exclaimed:

"Mutiny by the eternal!" and called loudly for the steward to bring him
his revolver.

Paul ordered some of his watch to carry the mate, who was groaning, aft,
then advancing to the forecastle door said:

"Boys, this is not right. This must not be. Put up those knives. If you
have any grievances come out like men and give them to the captain."

"Oh, we have nothing to say against you or the captain," responded the
leader, "but we have determined to die before we turn to under that  man
again."

Paul requested the men to keep calm and cool and he would speak to the
captain who, during this interval, had slipped back to the cabin to  arm
himself. Paul advised the captain, as he met him coming out of the cabin
with a revolver in each hand, not to go to the men in that shape.

"I am sure those men are determined. Their bloodshot eyes and frenzied
manner convince me that they have not slept  a  wink  during  the  watch
below and have deliberately planned this outbreak and mean mischief. I
cannot guarantee that my watch will  not  join  them  as  they  are  all
heartily sick of the second mate's inhumanity."

The captain thought it over for a few minutes and said, "You go forward
and find out what they want."

When Paul returned to the forecastle he informed the men that the
captain was anxious to hear their complaint and see that they  were
righted, and advised them to walk aft in a body and speak for
themselves, assuring them at the same time that they would  receive
justice.  After  some hesitation they agreed to go aft. Paul preceded
and told the captain that they were coming and he could hear their
complaints for  himself.  At first the captain seemed inclined to bully
the men and assert his authority; but the determined look caused him to
change his mind, and he  was very diplomatic in his treatment of them.

"Boys," he said, "I have sailed the seas for many a year and always like
to treat my men well. One thing I object  to  and  that  is  murdering
mates. Now you are all in open mutiny and I am authorized by law to
shoot you."

Here the men laughed derisively.

"Now," he continued, "I am against bloodshed and I want to know just
what you men want and what I can do for you."

They looked at each other and to the one whom they regarded as leader.
He was a sturdy, powerful Scotchman who stepped forward and said:

"If you were against bloodshed, why didn't you come out last night when
the second mate tried to kill some of us. We are  willing  to  turn  to
again; but not under that hound. We meant to kill him, he deserved it
and if he is not dead it is not our fault. We are well aware  that there
is no law for a sailor before the mast, so at times the sailor has to
take the law in his own hands. Now me and my mates are  willing  to work
ship under you and the first mate but you must keep that brute out of
sight providing he recovers."

The captain made another speech to the sailors in which he promised them
that they would not again be molested by  the  second  mate.  He  also
stated that Paul could take the port watch and he would take the
starboard watch. The men appeared well satisfied  with  this arrangement
and turned to with a will. The captain and Paul walked up and down the
quarter deck talking over the situation. The determined attitude of the
men seemed to have caused a change in the captain's opinion, so much so
that he gave Paul a long lecture on the duty of superior officers to
treat their men kindly.

An examination of the second mate proved that he had been cut in five
different places. All the simple remedies in the sea-chest  were applied
to relieve him from his sufferings. Neither the captain nor Paul had
sufficient medical knowledge to know whether he was seriously wounded
or not. They ad the steward wash the cuts which they covered liberally
with plasters to stop the bleeding. The captain then insisted on giving
the wounded man a tumblerful of strong whisky, saying "that it was the
best thing in the world to kill a fever." They came to the conclusion
that there was no danger of the mate passing away quickly owing to the
savage kick he made while laying in his bunk, at the head of the
inoffensive steward who was doing all he could to help him. But his
wounds proved so severe that he was not able to leave his bunk until the
vessel reached Philadelphia. Owing to the new arrangement, everything
went well. There was no more fighting, cursing, or driving and the  work
on  board  was done promptly and cheerfully.

In a conversation with one of the two young fellows who were the special
victims of the wounded mate's ferocity, Paul ascertained that he was a
delicate and well educated youth from Hartford, Connecticut, whose
romantic dream for years had been to go to sea. He ran away  from  home
and fell into the hands of the master of a sailor's boarding house who
robbed him of all he could and put him aboard a ship  bound  for  Hull.
The captain and officers of this ship proved humane, and though not
absolutely ill-treated or beaten, his life was a misery. From Hull he
went  up to the Tyne on a coaster, where he joined the Campbell. He
assured Paul with tears in his eyes, that several times before the
outbreak  in  the forecastle he had concluded to dive overboard and swim
far down in the sea to end his misery. He is a type of the many boys who
think there  is nothing but pleasure and romance in connection with life
on the sea.

About this time heavy westerly winds set in against the Campbell and
drove her far out of her course and for weeks she beat about in  the
most horrible weather. To add to their discomfort some of the water
casks were stove, so that the crew were placed on  short  allowance
until  they were relieved by a barkentine named, The Girl of the Period.
She was from Palermo with fruit, sixty-three days out and bound for New
York.

In exactly seventy-one days after the Campbell had made sail out of the
mouth of the Tyne she tied up at the docks at Philadelphia.  Paul  left
this ship thoroughly satisfied with his experience and with the firm
resolution never again to tread the plank of a ship either  as  sailor
or officer.



CHAPTER VII.

While in Philadelphia he met the President of the Camden & Atlantic
Railroad Company, who was desirous of negotiating with  him  in  regard
to taking charge of the life saving service at Atlantic City, a great
watering place at the ocean terminus of the road. After  a  few
interviews, the arrangements were made and the contract signed. Paul was
installed as captain of a station built out on the beach  and  equipped
with  all kinds of life saving apparatus. During the seasons of 1873 and
1874 he held this position and so careful his watch and so efficient his
system that not a single life was lost, and when he left the service he
had the glorious record of having saved seventy-one lives. He also spent
much of his time perfecting his appliances. It was while in this service
that his attention was first attracted to the life saving dress in which
he afterwards became so famous. As this dress will often be alluded to
in the pages  to  follow,  it  may  be  well  at  this  time  to  give
its description:

It was invented by C. S. Merriman of Iowa, and consists of a pants and
tunic made of highly vulcanized rubber. When the pants are  put  on  the
tunic is pulled over the head and down over a steel band at the upper
part of the pants where it is firmly  secured  by  a  rubber  strap. All
portions of the body are covered except the face. There are five air
chambers in the costume; one at the back of  the  head  which  acts  as
a pillow and when fully inflated it draws the thin rubber around the
face so that no water can wash down. The other chambers are situated in
the back, breast, and around each leg from the hip to the knee. The
entire dress weighs about thirty-five pounds. When in water, the wearer
of this suit can be horizontal or perpendicular on the surface. When
standing upright, the water reaches to about the breast. When voyaging,
he propels himself by a light double bladed paddle six feet long. He
assumes the horizontal position feet foremost and some times uses a sail
to help  him along. During the winter of 1873 and spring 1874, Paul
devoted much of his time to experimenting in this dress and became very
expert  in  its use. His fearlessness in the water was no doubt of great
aid to him. Many a fine, warm summer night he spent far out at sea in
his  dress  and dreamed of the many voyages he would make in the future;
but he never for a moment imagined the fame he would acquire in  after
years  or  the extraordinary voyages he would make through its means;
but he thought of the thousands of lives that would be saved by this
dress  if  properly introduced to the world. With the confidence of
youth and the strength of manhood he was willing to take any chances to
attain this object.  At this time his passion for life saving amounted
to a craze. He studied long and deeply on the best method to attract the
world's  attention.  At last he struck upon a plan which he considered a
good one and which he determined to put into execution at the close of
the life saving season.

In the fall of 1874 he proceeded to New York. He spent a week with his
mother, to whom, however, he did not confide his intention, fearing that
it might worry her. His plan was to take passage on an outward bound
vessel and when two hundred miles off the American coast to drop
overboard and make the best of his way back to land. For this voyage he
secured a rubber, water-tight bag with air chambers sufficient to
support  about fifty pounds of provisions. It also contained a
compartment for fresh water. Into this bag he packed sufficient
provisions in a condensed  form to last him ten days; also two dozen
signal lights with striker for same, some rockets, compass and a knife.
Besides this his baggage consisted of his suit, a strong double bladed
axe to be used for protection against sharks or sword fish.  He
innocently  boarded  several  vessels  and confided his intentions to
the captains. They unanimously agreed that no attempt at suicide should
be made off  their  vessel,  for  such  they termed his enterprise. The
newspapers at this time got hold of the plan and made it a subject of
fun. Tired at failure to get a captain to take him off shore, Paul
decided to adopt another plan. So on Saturday, October 11th, 1874, he
quietly walked up the gangplank of the National  Line Steamship
Company's steamer The Queen. He carried his little store of baggage as
if it was the property of one of  the  passengers.  He  walked forward
and deposited his stuff; then mingled among the crowd. It was not his
intention to cross the ocean so he neglected the  necessary  form of
purchasing a ticket. When The Queen steamed away from her dock, Paul
descended into the steerage and stowed away his outfit in an unoccupied
bunk. From that time until Sunday evening, he kept very quiet and no one
on board knew of his intentions. About eight  o'clock  he  slipped  on
deck and under the shelter of a life boat commenced to dress himself in
the suit. The weather had been fair and the  steamer  was  making  good
headway so he calculated she was at that time two hundred and fifty
miles out. He was quickly dressed in his armor, and with the rubber bag
in one hand and the paddle in the other he was about to make a leap into
the sea, when a hand was laid roughly on his shoulder and a  gruff voice
said:

"Here, where are you going?"

Paul mildly explained that he was going ashore. The deck was all
excitement in a moment as the deck hand loudly reported to the officer
on  the bridge.

"Bring him aft," was the command.

Equipped in his strange looking dress, bag in one hand, paddle in the
other and an ax strapped to his side and firmly gripped by  two sailors,
Paul was ushered back. They were followed by a crowd of curious
passengers. On the captain perceiving him he exclaimed:

"Ah! Boyton you are aboard of me. Take off that suit and pass it over to
the steward."

Paul remonstrated and told the captain that he had no ticket to
Liverpool. He thought this confession would excuse him and cause the
captain to assist in his return to America; but the captain would not
even let him put himself off. Paul was compelled to undress and  his
entire  outfit was turned over to the steward with orders to place it in
the captain's cabin. The latter then took Paul into the chart room,
where  he  had  a long conversation with him. All Paul's pleadings and
excuses that he was not prepared and that he would get safely back on
shore were  made  in vain. The captain told him not to worry about his
ticket, and requested the steward to give him an unoccupied bunk in the
officer's quarters.

Paul's disappointment could not be described in words. He was in no way
prepared for the enforced voyage to  Europe  having  but  one  suit  of
clothing and only fifty dollars in cash. He had presented his entire
salary with the exception of the  money  he  had,  to  his  mother
before leaving New York, with the excuse that he was simply going down
the coast and did not need it. The quarters given to him by Captain
Bragg  were very comfortable and his treatment was of the kindest. The
next day the captain sent for Paul and they had a long talk. The captain
drew  from him many of his former experiences and adventures and was
favorably impressed by the frank, open nature of the  young  fellow.  He
sympathized with him in his too apparent disappointment and shared his
earnest desire to introduce an apparatus that would be the means of
saving the lives of many sea-faring men. The captain promised that
should they reach the Irish coast in good weather, he would allow Paul
to  go  off  and  thus carry out his original idea on the European
coast, which he assured him would be just as effective as on the
American  side.  During  the  trip across, Paul spent much time with the
captain in the chart room. While they studied over the charts, the
captain pointed out to Paul one  place off the Irish coast and several
in the Irish sea where he could make a landing in either Ireland or
England. The place selected by Paul was off the coast of Ireland in the
vicinity of Cape Clear, as he was assured he could get under the lee of
the island in case of a high wind from  any direction. The news of the
captain's permission to Boyton to leave the vessel when off the Irish
coast, was spread  among  the  passengers  and every one, both fore and
aft, manifested the most lively interest in the experiment. Some of the
officers  protested  vigorously  against  it. Captain Bragg was a
determined man and when he gave the word the only course was to obey
him. On the evening of Tuesday, the 21st, the  captain called Paul into
the chart room and said:

"We are now nearing the Irish coast and the barometer is as low down as
I have seen it for many a year and there is every indication of a gale.
The coast you intend to land on acts as a breakwater for all northern
Europe and the waves that pile up on it  during  a  storm  are something
astounding. The cliffs that resist them are from one hundred and eighty
to three hundred feet high and they are as straight up and down  as  a
mainmast in a calm. Cape Clear that I expect to sight soon lays several
miles off the mainland. On it is a powerful light that will guide  you.
The gale may not break for some time yet if you can make the Cape, you
can drop around to leeward and land on it. And when the weather  clears
you can cross to the main."

Having thus explained the nature of the coast they were then rapidly
approaching and the possibility of a gale which might dash him  to
pieces against the cliffs, the captain requested Paul to defer his
experiment until they reached some part of the Irish sea where a landing
could  be made with more safety to himself. Paul was anxious and eager
to get overboard and firmly held the captain to his word.

"As I have promised I will stand by it," said the captain.

At nine o'clock that night Paul fully prepared, with ax, paddle and bag
securely lashed to him, was ready to leave. It was a wild, dark  night.
Great swells caused The Queen to roll heavily. In a few moments the cry
of "A light on the port bow, sir" rang over the decks.

"That's Cape Clear," said the captain, "Now, Boyton, if you are ready,
I'll stop her."

"Ready and willing," was Paul's response.

At this moment the first officer approached and earnestly remonstrated
with the captain saying:

"This will cause us all trouble. This man will surely lose his life."

The answer to his protestation was:

"On the bridge there, stop her."

The great screw ceased to beat the foaming water behind and The Queen
glided along with her own impetus.

"Good night captain! Good night ladies and gentlemen," said Paul as he
stepped over the rail and grasping a rope commenced to descend the side.
The vessel rolled heavily to port; he felt the sea around his feet, then
up to his armpits. He let go the rope and  kicked  himself  vigorously
off the side. A loud cheer of farewell echoed over the waters. The
vessel driving rapidly forward soon left Paul behind. He  stood  upright
in the water and shouted cheerfully.

"All right captain, I'm all right."

His cheery call was echoed by the command "All right, go ahead."

A few moments after the lights of the Queen disappeared, and Paul was
alone on the dark, rolling sea. From his  position  on  the  deck before
going overboard, he could distinctly see the gleam of the Cape Clear
light; but on the sea far  below  he  could  not  find  it.  He knew
the direction of the wind, that was then south west and guided his
course accordingly. On every mighty swell that lifted him  high  up,  he
looked eagerly in the direction of the light and soon discovered it
ahead. Perfectly content and without a fear  of  danger  he  kept
paddling  along occasionally cheering himself with a few snatches of a
sea song as he drove his paddle strongly in the water and propelled
himself  toward  the light which he observed more frequently when raised
high up on the swells. The wind was steadily increasing and soon burst
into terrible gusts. The long lazy roll of the sea changed and sharp,
snapping waves continually broke over him. These grew larger and more
powerful  every  moment. About two hours after he left the Queen the
gale was on him in all its fierceness and the light was lost to  his
view.  The  heavy  rain  that accompanied the gale almost blinded him,
and the seas grew so high that he abandoned paddling and sought only to
keep  his  head  against  the overpowering waves that then drove down on
him. An indescribable feeling of loneliness came over him. Once his
paddle  was  wrenched  from  his hand by a heavy sea, but he fortunately
recovered it. At times a great wave would completely submerge him. Then
he would  shoot  to  the  crest where he would have time to breathe
before he was again hurled down a sloping mass of water that seemed to
him fully  a  hundred  feet  to  the bottom. During this terrible
ordeal, he has since confessed that he firmly believed that his  last
hour  had  come.  He  thought  of  all  his transgressions. To use his
own words:

"I recalled every mean trick I had ever committed against God and man in
my reckless life and I did my utmost to remember  the  best  and  most
effective prayer that I was taught when a boy."

For hours, that seemed weeks to him, he was driven along before the
mighty seas. About three o'clock in  the  morning  the  water  became
more agitated and a booming sound struck Paul's ear. Coming to an
upright position, he peered eagerly to leeward thinking he might be
close to  Cape Clear. He saw what seemed to him to be a dark mass of
clouds banked up against the morning sky along which ran flashes  of
white.  He  quickly realized that he was nearing the cliffs and the
flashes were the mighty waves that broke in fury against them. Knowing
that  to  approach  them would be certain death, he unlashed his paddle
and made a frantic endeavor to back off through the enormous waves that
were driving him  slowly but surely to destruction. Notwithstanding his
almost superhuman efforts he was carried in by an irresistible force
closer and  closer  to  the death dealing cliffs. At the same time he
noticed by the changing head lands that the currents were driving him to
the southward and hoping for an opening in the threatening wall of rock,
he redoubled his efforts to gain more sea room. At times the enormous
waves  seemed  to  lift  him almost to the surface of the cliffs, then
again he sank far below while they seemed to raise like a cloud against
the sky. Closer and closer he was driven in until their frightful roar
almost deafened him. A streak of early daylight now showed through the
black cloud of  rock  that  was gradually approaching. He thought that
this might be some cut in the cliffs and reversing his paddle propelled
himself  cautiously  toward  it. While hesitatingly examining the
entrance a sea struck him. Another and another followed in quick
succession and nearly in a  senseless  state, he was hurled into a
little ravine. To save himself from the retreating wave he grasped a
piece of rock. The  next  moment  he  was  struck  by another sea that
sent him high up, and gaining his feet he rapidly reached a position in
which he  was  safe  from  the  surging  breakers.  He discovered that
the cleft into which he was washed was the course of a fresh water creek
which flowed into the sea. After resting himself for a short time on the
rock, he examined his bag and found that it was all right. He then
commenced to ascend the cliffs and on reaching  their  top the force of
the gale almost blew him off his feet. He struck a signal light. This is
a light  made  of  chemicals  which  burns  with  intense brilliancy.
Bracing himself against a rock he held it above his head. The flare lit
up the surrounding cliffs. While it was  still  burning  he turned to
windward and looked down on the huge breakers that made the cliff on
which he stood tremble as  they  dashed  in  against  it.  While gazing
down on the mad water, he realized for the first time the terrible
danger he had passed through in safety and recognized in his  escape,
the hand of the Great Pilot above. And as the flare died out and the
beating gale struck him fun  in  the  face,  he  sank  to  his  knees
and fervently thanked the good God who had so miraculously steered him
to safety.

He had struck the light in the hope of attracting some coast guard's
attention. He was not sure whether he was on the island of Cape  Clear
or on the mainland. Receiving no response, he started inland over the
cliffs and found a well worn road. This he followed for some distance
until he came to a place where it branched off, one road leading to the
coast and one leading into the country. He chose the one running to the
coast and soon afterwards entered the street of a village. No light was
visible. The furious gale tore along the street carrying slates from off
the roofs of the low houses. These crashed around him in an
uncomfortable and dangerous manner. Rounding a bend to the village
street he observed a light burning brightly in a window. To this he made
his way hoping to find some one up. In answer to his repeated knockings
a man  appeared  at the cautiously opened door. At this moment the force
of the wind pushed Paul suddenly forward and carried the door and man
bolding  it  heavily in. The affrighted expression of the man as he
gazed on the strangely clad figure was ludicrous. While braced against
the  door  he  hesitated whether to close it or to let go and expel the
intruder. Paul turned and helped him close the door against the fierce
gusts of wind pouring in. The man recovered himself and inquired:

"Phere air ye frum?"

"New York," responded Paul.

"Phat air ye doin' here? How did ye come?"

Paul explained to him that he had left a ship that night when off Cape
Clear.

"Phat did ye lave her fur?" questioned the perplexed life-guard for Paul
had noted at once that he was in a life-saving station.

"Well, just to come ashore," said Paul.

"An' d'ye mane to say that ye came ashure in this gale?"

"I do."

"How many came ashure wid ye?"

"No one."

"Phere's ye're ship now?"

"God knows, I don't."

Question after question followed; but Paul was unable to convince the
coast-guard that he had left the  ship  voluntarily  and  had  landed in
safety. The guard could not understand why any man should leave a vessel
and come in on the coast of Ireland in  such  a  gale  unless  he was
shipwrecked. He thought Paul's brain had been injured by concussion with
the rocks and a pitying expression came over his face as he said:

"Well, me poor fellow, 'ts no matther where ye're frum. It's me duty to
help ye and yure mates an' if ye'll only tell me phere they  air  Oi'll
collect the b'ys an' have thim out. Now tell me as calmly as ye can, how
many is drohwned besides yureself?"

Paul saw his mistake and positively assured the guard that he was the
only person to land, and that there  had  been  no  wreck  and  that the
steamer had proceeded on her way to Queenstown. Notwithstanding all his
protestations the coast guard could not realize the situation. The man
before him was, however shipwrecked and in distress, so with the
proverbial hospitality for which the Irish are famous, the guard said:

"Niver moind me lad how ye came ashure. Ye look tired enough. Come in
here an' lay near the fire."

When Paul entered the warm room he removed his uncouth costume. He was
thoroughly worn out buffeting the waves and with his long tramp down the
road, so he gladly accepted the proferred bunk close to the fire and was
soon in a sound sleep from which he was awakened  by  a  kindly  voice
saying:

"Here me poor fellow, take this, 't will do ye good."

Before Paul could realize it he had poured a glass of whiskey down his
throat, the strength of which raised every individual hair on his  head.
It was then about eight o'clock in the morning and the coast guard house
was full of the villagers, men and women who curiously crowded  around
his bunk. They were a wild looking lot. Paul noticed the women
particularly. They looked strong and rosy. They all wore long cloaks
with a hood covering the head, and their feet were naked and as red as a
pigeon's. From the expressions he overheard, he concluded that the
coast-guard man had drawn on his imagination in explaining the
stranger's appearance in the station.

"Did he railly swim from New York?" he heard time and again.

"Oh, thin he's not human if he could do that," and many other
exclamations of like nature greeted the astonished Paul as he drowsily
turned out of the bunk.

The coast-guard man now approached and driving the curious villagers out
of the station, he invited him to breakfast in a little tavern  across
the way. The entire village was out. Crowds blocked their way as they
crossed the street. While eating breakfast Paul learned that the most of
the excitement was created by a report that he had swam all the way from
New York. In conversation with  the  guard,  he  found  out  that the
village was called Baltimore, a little coast town about thirty miles
from where he had left the steamer; and also that there was  no
telegraph office nearer than Skibbereen, a distance of nine miles. There
was but one conveyance in the village and as the driver  was  a  very
eccentric character, it was doubtful if he could be induced to go out on
such a stormy morning. Paul requested that this man be sent for. Soon
afterward he appeared pushing his way through the villagers. He was a
strange looking man. The coast guard introduced him:

"Here is Andy," said he.

The latter acknowledged the introduction, by pulling his head forward
with a lock of hair and exclaiming, as he eyed Paul curiously:

"Did ye railly swim from New Yark'"

Paul laughed, saying: "I hear you have a horse and I am anxious to get
over to Skibbereen and send off a telegram. I would  like  to  have  you
take me over there."

"It's no harse Oi have," he solemnly responded, "but Oi've wan av the
finest mares in the south av Ireland an  Oi'll  drive  ye  over  for six
shillin'. But did ye railly swim from New Yark? Shure it's not natural."

Paul urged him to get his animal as quickly as possible and the driver
rushed through the door only to be surrounded by a group of wild looking
villagers, who questioned him both in Irish and English. Soon after Andy
re-appeared coming down the village street  driving  a  sorry  looking
nag. As he approached the tavern and saw Paul and the guard at the door,
he shouted loudly to the crowd to separate, as though wishing to  show
Paul the blood in his favorite mare. He punched her with a little stick
from which the sharp point of a  nail  protruded  and  by  a  dexterous
movement dodged the flying hind feet that were aimed at his head.

"Phat de ye think o' that, sur? There's blood fur ye." A murmur of
admiration stirred the crowd.

"But where is your cart? Hurry up and get her hitched," urged Paul.


Soon after Andy drove up to the door of the coast guard station with his
jaunting car.  The  mare  was  hitched  to  the  car  with  a  curious
combination of harness composed of twisted hay, rope, cords and leather.
As nearly every one knows, a jaunting car  is  a  two-wheeled  affair.
Over each wheel runs a seat, fore and aft, and in the centre is a little
receptacle for small baggage, called the well. A car generally carries
four passengers, two on each side. On such occasions, the driver sits on
a little  seat  over  the  well,  looking  to  the  front,  while  the
passengers' backs are turned toward each other. Having only one
passenger, Andy decided to sit on the opposite side of the car to
ballast  her evenly. After Paul bid good-bye to the coast guard and
thanked him for his hospitality, he placed his rubber suit on the
forward  part  of  the seat and sprung up behind. Andy seemed in no
hurry to get under way. A multitude of knots in the harness required
attention  and  he  carefully scrutinized every part of the car while
the villagers kept up a volley of comments such as: "Shure it's a quare
customer ye have this  mornin', Andy my b'y. The Lord betune ye an'
harrum, Andy avick. Shure it's no human bein' ye're drivin' away wid."
And  many  other  remarks  made  in Irish, no doubt, of the same
encouraging character.

"Come, come," exclaimed Paul impatiently, "let us get off?"

Andy reluctantly clambered on the opposite seat and commenced driving
slowly up the village street, followed by a loud huzza. He seemed ill at
ease and was loth to leave, driving so slowly that Paul had to urge him
on. Reaching the last  house  on  the  straggling  village  street, he
stopped the car and turning to Paul said: "Oi want to get a light fur my
pipe, sur."

After a little time, during which Paul heard a vehement conversation
going on inside, Andy re-appeared holding a coal of fire on  the  bowl
of his clay pipe. He remounted again and slowly drove away followed by
the shrill blessings and good wishes of the barefooted woman that stood
at the door. Their way now lay along the cliff-road and squall after
squall came bearing in from a roaring sea outside. At times Andy would
reach across when the booming of the breakers could be heard coming up
through ravine on the cliffs and say:

"Shure no human bein' could live in that sea, sur. Did ye come on top of
the wather er under?"

"Oh, drive on, drive on," was the impatient response, "never mind."

Seeing one more than usually severe squall coming down on them from the
sea,  Paul,  who  was  facing  windward,  thought  he  would  be  more
comfortable if he would slip the rubber tunic over his head and
shoulders. This he did without attracting the attention of Andy and  he
leaned forward pointing the comical shaped head-piece to the rapidly
advancing squall. The head-piece not being inflated, the aperture  for
the  face hung down like a great mouth. The car suddenly gypped and Paul
felt his side sink a little. Turning around find the cause and pulling
the head-piece from over his eyes, he saw the affrighted Andy about
twelve yards away in a ditch. His eyes filled with terror, seemed to
protrude  from his head while he rapidly made the sign of the cross over
his face and breast.

"What's the matter? What are you doing there?" thundered Paul. "Come on,
get up, get up. What's the matter with you?"

"Och, shure, it's well Oi knew that it was no christian Oi had wid me
this mornin'."

"Come on now, or I'll drive on without you," angrily exclaimed Paul,
"don't you see that this is only a rubber dress that I put on  to
protect me from the rain."

After considerable persuasion, Andy was induced to remount and they
continued through the heavy rain in silence. Soon after Paul asked:

"Andy, how far is it yet to Skibbereen?"

"About fure miles, ye're honor, and Oi wish it was only fure feet," In,
added in an audible undertone.

Shortly after the houses on the outskirts of Skibbereen began to appear
and Andy brightened up wonderfully and became quite  communicative.  He
informed Paul that a friend of his had a hotel there and that it was a
good one and that he would drive straight to it.

"Con Sullivan kapes the foinest hotel that mon er beast iver shtoped
at," he concluded.

There were few on the streets as they drove up to the hotel. Paul
dismounted and taking his suit into the hotel, asked for a private room.
He then inquired of the landlord where the telegraph office was and
started for it. He wrote a telegram, one to the captain of the Queen and
one to the English office of the "New York Herald," Fleet Street,
London. The lady operator scanned over  the  dispatch  to  London,  then
closely scrutinized Paul. Seeing her hesitation about accepting the
telegram, Paul demanded to know what was the cause of it. "Excuse  me,
sir,"  said she, "but we have to be very careful about the nature of the
telegrams we send out from here. I must first call the  superintendent,
before  I can accept this."

When that individual appeared he looked it over and asked Paul if the
contents were all true and correct.

"They assuredly are," impatiently exclaimed Paul, "I want you to get it
off as quickly as you can," and he followed this up by several  remarks
not over complimentary to their methods of doing business.

Paul then returned to the hotel where he found Andy surrounded by a
crowd to whom he was relating his adventures and giving a  history  of
his eccentric passenger in his own way. When they saw Paul he was an
object of the wildest curiosity. The crowd poured into the hotel after
him and invaded the dining room, so he had to remonstrate with the
landlord who unceremoniously shouldered-them out. The news of Paul's
arrival on  the coast seemed to have spread with the rapidity of a
prairie fire all over Skibbereen, and people commenced gathering from
all parts of the  town around the hotel. One of the gentlemen who
insisted on coming in was the superintendent of the telegraph, Mr.
Jolly.  He  apologized  for  his seeming discourtesy at the office and
assured Paul that the dispatch he had written seemed so improbable that
he could  not  in  justice  blame them for not receiving it. He proved
to be a very friendly, sociable gentleman and gave Paul all the
assistance and information he desired.  He informed him that he would
have to leave Skibbereen by stage which would depart in a couple of
hours. This stage would convey him to the  first railway station, some
ten or twelve miles away where he could get a train in the afternoon for
Cork. He urgently requested him to  remain  over for a few days and
enjoy the hospitality of Skibbereen. Paul, being anxious to reach Cork,
declined. He requested the landlord to send Andy  in to settle up. As
the hero was ushered in, it was easy to observe that the people had been
filling him as well as pumping him.

"Here are your six shillings, I believe that is what you asked me."

"That's roight, sur," said Andy as he reached his hand, "that's fur
meself, but how about me mare?"

"What have I got to do with your mare?"

"Shure, sur, ye don't want the poor baste to starve to death."

"Certainly not, she is yours and you ought to feed her."

"But, sur, Oi niver had a traveller yet as didn't pay fur the mare's
eatin' an' drinkin' as well as moine."

Paul was amused at this new rule, but was informed by Mr. Jolly that
such was the custom in that part of Ireland.

"Well, Andy," said he, "how much do you think it will take to keep your
mare from starving until you get back to  Baltimore?  Here's  your  two
shillings more."

Andy accepted the two shillings with evident satisfaction on behalf of
the mare.

"That's the eight shillin' ye gave me fur the mare an' meself, an' Oi
think yure honor ought to give me two more in consequince av  the fright
ye gave me. Shure it'll be a long day befure Oi git over it! Whin Oi
turned an' saw that ingia rubber thing over ye Oi thought it was the
very divil himself."

Paul laughed and handed him over the other two shillings, with: "Now,
that's all you get."

"Well, good luck an' may the--" here his flow of blessings were cut off
by Mr. Jolly who threw him out of the room.

When the stage coach drove up to the door almost the entire population
of Skibbereen was out. Lusty cheers were given for Paul  as  he  mounted
the outside of the coach, in answer to which he fastened the American
flag to his paddle and waved it to the cheering populace as he drove out
of town. On reaching Dunmanway, Paul entered the train and started for
Cork.



CHAPTER VIII.

Soon after Paul left the Queen, the gale that almost cost him his life,
broke down on that gallant vessel. The captain put her nose in  it  and
headed her off for sea. All night she ploughed against it while the huge
seas burst over her and whitened her smoke stacks  with  salt  to  the
very top. Not a soul on board believed that Paul would last in the gale
half an hour after she broke out, and the captain blamed himself keenly
for letting him go. The steamer did not succeed is reaching Queenstown
harbor until noon next day. When the lighter came  along  side  for  the
mails a man passed a telegram up to the captain. He feverishly tore it
open and found with great relief that it was from Paul.

"Thank God that he is safe," he exclaimed, and he then read it aloud to
the passengers.

Cheer after cheer went up as the news was spread along the decks. Having
discharged her mail and passengers for Ireland, the Queen resumed  her
way to Liverpool, while the lighter steamed into Queenstown. Evidences
of the ravages of the storm were visible on all sides. Dismantled ships,
unroofed houses and vessels ashore told the story of its force in that
vicinity. It was afterwards ascertained that fifty-six vessels were lost
in the same storm on the southern coast of Great Britain that night.
When  the  lighter  reached  Queenstown,  the  passengers  were  full of
excitement in regard to Paul's wonderful feat and they spread the story
broadcast both in Queenstown and Cork. To  their  disgust,  they found
that the people disbelieved them and laughed at them saving:

"This is a fine Yankee yarn you are springing on us now."

To convince the skeptical people of Cork, a party of them telegraphed
all over the coast to see if they could not find Paul,  to  verify their
story and from Skibbereen they learned that a man answering that
description had passed through there and was now on his way to Cork.

When Paul arrived at the station he found himself surrounded by many of
his late fellow  passengers,  who  enthusiastically  received  him  and
escorted him to the hotel. The news of his remarkable adventure spread
over Cork as rapidly as it had over Skibbereen, so that  the  hotel  was
thronged with eager people, the newspaper fraternity being well
represented. It was late that night before he got through with  his
persistent interviewers and before he woke next morning, the story of
his extraordinary adventure and  daring  was  all  over  America.  The
Cork  papers contained columns, describing his struggle with the ocean.
Before he could dress himself, cards came showering into his room and
when  he  went down he found the hotel packed with people eager to see
him. For a few days Paul enjoyed the extravagantly warm hospitality  of
Cork.  He  was taken everywhere worth visiting, entertained with
dinners, parties and receptions until his head swam with the whirl of
attentions that he  was so unaccustomed to. During his stay in the hotel
a large party of huntsmen who came to Cork to participate  in  a  grand
hunt  nearby,  had  a banquet to which he was invited. Paul was made the
hero of the evening and so many were the toasts drank in his honor that
he looked  anxiously for a chance to escape the profuse but reckless
hospitality. When an opportunity presented itself he slipped out and
took a long  walk  in  the night air. As he returned to the hotel and
was about to ascend to his room, he could hear his late companions in
one  of  their  hunting  songs enjoying themselves. Observing a stalwart
porter connected with the hotel, laboriously bearing one of his late
red-coated entertainers  on  his back as he mounted the stairs, Paul,
thinking some accident had occurred ran to the porter and  asked:  "Why,
what  is  the  matter  with  the gentleman? Is he killed? Has there been
a fight?"

"Oh, no sur, it's wan of the gintlemen, he's only a little overcome. Oi
put thim all to bed this way,  yure  honor,  and  moight  ave  had  the
pleasure av puttin' yureself to bed if ye had remained."

With sailor-like recklessness, Boyton never thought of how all this
would end and he spent what money he had freely. One morning before
rising from his bed, he began thinking the situation over. As he
examined it closely and counted what money he had left, the outlook took
on  a  most gloomy hue. He was confident that he did not have coin
enough to pay half his hotel bill alone, not to think of getting  home.
After  studying the matter over for some time he came to the conclusion
that the only course he could pursue was frankly to confess to the
landlord how he  was situated and offer to leave his rubber suit until
he could return home and send for it. Then he would go to Queenstown and
see if he could  not procure a position on some vessel bound for
America. Just as he came to this conclusion he was interrupted by a
knock at the door.

"Ten to one it's the landlord with my bill," thought Paul.

When he opened the door he was confronted by an energetic, little man
who talked with great rapidity.

"Captain Paul Boyton, I believe, sir. Here is my card, I thought I would
bring it up myself to save time. I have a great scheme for you. Go on,
proceed with your dressing and I will talk about it. I am the manager of
the Opera Company now playing at Munster Hall and I have a  scheme  by
which you and I will make a considerable amount of money. I presume you
are not averse to making money?" looking inquiringly at Paul.

"Well, no," responded Paul. "It's very useful at times."

"Well, sir, I have a great scheme. A great scheme, indeed."

"What is it?"

"You know all Cork is wild to see you, and my idea is that you shall
give a little lecture. We can fill Munster Hall from pit to dome."

Paul looked at the man curiously for a few moments and made up his mind
that he was crazy.

"Why, my dear sir, I am not a lecturer. I could not lecture. I never
even made a speech in my life."

"That's nothing, that's nothing," responded the nervous and energetic
little manager, "So much the better. I will do the lecturing for you.
All you will have to do will be to stand there and exhibit your dress."

"Well, under those circumstances," responded Paul, who still considered
the manager a little off, and seeing a probable  means  of  paying  his
hotel bill, "What terms will you give me if I consent?"

"One half the house and I will do the advertising."

"And the lecturing too, remember," said Paul.

"Yes, yes, that's all right, we'll sign the contract immediately."

"But hold on," said Paul, "there is another question I want to ask you.
How much do you suppose my share will be?"

"Between thirty and forty pounds. I am almost certain."

"Are you positive it will be twenty-five pounds?"

"Absolutely positive, confident my dear fellow."

"Then," said Paul "I will sign this contract on condition that you will
pay me five pounds in advance."

Paul thought this stroke of policy would end the interview and rid him
of his visitor. To his intense surprise, the five pound note was laid on
the table without any hesitation. It was quickly transferred to Paul's
pocket.

"Now make out your contract and we will sign it."

"Have done so, have done so; did it last night when I thought of the
scheme. Have it all made out. Sign here."

Paul carelessly glanced over the contract an affixed his signature;
after which the manager shook him warmly by the hand and congratulated
him on having entered on such a brilliant enterprise, and said "I will
now go and attend to the printing. We will dine together," he  added  as
he disappeared through the door.

"And remember you do the lecturing," Paul called after him as he rushed
down stairs.

When he left, Paul locked the door, drew out the five pound note which
he carefully examined to convince himself that it was genuine.  He  then
in his great joy took two or three handsprings and made such a noise
that the chambermaid rapped on  his  door  and  desired  to  know  if
the gentleman was knocking for anything. During the day, the manager
visited Paul frequently and gave him encouragement. By evening the
report  of the intended lecture had circulated pretty well and Paul was
frequently stopped on the  street  by  acquaintances  who  assured  him
of  their pleasure at having a chance to hear him speak. Paul took pains
to tell all who questioned him in regard to it that it was not he but
Mr. Murphy who was going to give the lecture. Next day Cork was covered
with great bills announcing the lecture for the following evening and a
feeling of nervousness overcame Paul as he beheld his name in such
enormous letters. This nervous feeling was in no way allayed when he
perused one of the bills and found that the enterprising manager, had
not only promised that he would give a description of his landing on the
Irish  coast  but that he would relate many thrilling adventures he had
passed through in the American, French and Mexican wars; would describe
time  methods  of life-saving in America, and compare it with the
British method of life-saving service, and many other things that Paul
did not dare to read, as he had sufficient. He sought out the plausible
Mr. Murphy and vehemently went for him for deceiving the public.

"Never mind, my boy, never mind, the people all understand how it is.
You will have nothing to do except to make a few remarks."

But Paul was not satisfied. He tried to commit to memory the few remarks
he supposed he would have to make when he was introduced; but he would
no sooner get them in ship shape than they would disappear again. The
night of the, to him, terrible ordeal arrived. Manager Murphy took him
to the Hall in a carriage. Great crowds surrounded the building and the
manager assured him that it was already full inside. The arrangements
were that Paul was to appear between the acts of the opera, which that
night was "Madame Angot." Murphy took Paul to his own private office  in
the second story and encouraged him in every way he could. Paul listened
to the music of the first act, as it rolled  by  with  fearful
swiftness. Never before in his life did he experience the feeling of
nervousness which now seemed to possess him. Once during Murphy's
absence  from  the office he raised the window and looked down into the
river Lee that ran alongside the building and wondered if he could  drop
into  the  water without breaking his leg. All that deterred him was the
thought of the five pounds that had  been  advanced.  The  fated  moment
arrived;  the manager said:

"Your suit and paddle and appliances are out on a table on the stage.
The curtain is down and the moment it rises you walk boldly  out  to the
side of the table and I will follow you. Don't be afraid, the audience
is most kindly disposed toward you and will give you a warm welcome."

Up went the curtain, Murphy's hand was laid on Paul's shoulder as he
said:

"Now, my boy, step right out."

Paul braced himself and with his heart as near his mouth as he ever had
it before during his existence, walked over to the table on  which  lay
his suit, paddle, etc., etc.

The deafening roar of applause that greeted him set him more at his
ease. He looked around for Mr.  Murphy,  but  failed  to  see  that
worthy gentleman. So making a few steps towards the foot-lights he
thanked the audience, in a trembling voice, for their kindness. He told
them  that he was no speaker and that Mr. Murphy had promised to do the
lecturing part of the business. At this moment cries broke out all over
the house:

"Brace up, Captain, never mind Murphy, its yourself we want to hear,"
and many other similar good-natured remarks.

This encouragement had the effect of steadying Paul's nerves and he
calmly proceeded to give a vivid account of the terrible adventure  he
had passed through a few days before. He grew more confident as he
proceeded and the frequent outbursts of applause gave him ample time to
collect his thoughts and express himself with ease. His mind flew to
what he had read on the bill and he traveled over the ground in  a  very
thorough manner. When he concluded and bowed his thanks, the applause
was as warm and loud as any ever heard in the Hall.

When he reached the wings he was embraced by the enthusiastic Murphy,
who was vehement  in  his  congratulations  and  easily  smoothed Paul's
feelings against him. To his intense surprise, Paul found that he had
been speaking over one hour and he could not persuade  his acquaintances
but that he was an old hand at the business. Next morning Paul read his
speech in the papers and it caused him  as  much  surprise as  it  did
Manager Murphy when he read it. His portion of the proceeds amounted to
thirty-two pounds. When manager Murphy paid him over the balance  after
deducting the advanced five pounds, he felt more like a gentleman
traveling in Europe for his  health.  On  the  same  day  he received
three telegrams from Dublin all offering engagements to lecture; also an
offer from the Cork Steamship Company to appear in Queenstown harbor in
his suit where they would run excursions. The Dublin offers he left in
the hands of Manager Murphy while he accepted the  offer  of  the
Steamboat Company. A couple of days after he appeared in Queenstown
harbor and every steamer in Cork was loaded on that occasion. From this
appearance he realized a little over ten pounds. In the meantime the
story of his remarkable adventure on the Irish  coast  had  been
commented  on  by  the English press and so many doubts cast on it, that
prominent English papers  sent  their correspondents  to  Cork  to
investigate  the  matter thoroughly. These gentlemen questioned Paul
closely and got his whole story. Then they went to Baltimore and got the
testimony  of  the  coast-guard. They thoroughly examined the coast and
under the guidance of the coast-guard discovered the exact place be made
his miraculous landing.

They learned that the place he came ashore was the only available
landing for miles, the coast being formed by precipitous rocks and that
if he had drifted one mile to the southward lie would have been cut to
atoms on the sharp and dangerous reef known as the "Whale  Rocks."
Thoroughly satisfied with their investigation they returned to London
and confirmed the story in every particular.

Paul next went to Dublin where he had a week's engagement to lecture in
the Queen's Theatre. His reception was if  possible  more  enthusiastic
than in Cork. He cut his lecture out of one of the newspapers and
studied it, so on that point he felt more easy. He appeared  every night
at the theatre, which was filled to its utmost capacity. At the
conclusion of his lecture, he would bow his acknowledgements to the
audience  and retire behind the curtain, where a tableau was arranged.

It represented the scene of his landing, and he standing with uplifted
paddle on which was tacked the American flag. A supe threw a  bucket  of
water over him, previous to his mounting the imitation cliffs, the
curtain would roll up and behold the hero as he just emerged from the
sea in his glistening rubber suit. The applause was tremendous. The last
night, every one being paid off and feeling good,  Paul  stepped  behind
the curtains in his suit to receive his customary ducking. The bucket of
water was missing. The stage hand who was very mellow exclaimed:

"I had it here a moment ago but I can't find it now. Ah, here it is,"
and he drew a pail from under a table  and  deluged  Paul.  Up  went the
curtain, the audience screamed, Paul looked down on his armor in dismay,
instead of water he was covered with white  calsomine,  when  a voice
from the gallery roared:

"That's the first rale white-washed Yankee I've ever seen."

A white washed Yankee is an Irishman who has spent about two years in
America and returning to his own country apes the accent and
eccentricity of the down east Yankee.

Before leaving Dublin, Paul gave an exhibition in the lake in the
Zoological Garden, Phenix Park and so intense was the desire to  see him
in the water that the sum of seventy pounds was received from
admissions. He also made a run down the Liffy through the heart of the
city,  during which time it is estimated that over a hundred thousand
people turned out to see him.

On November 9th Paul made a swim from Howth Head to the historic Island
of Dalkey, a distance of about ten miles.  The  following  day  he  was
presented with an illumined address signed by many of the most prominent
people in Dublin, also with an elaborately worked  American  flag  and
gold medal. The address concluded with the following words: "The
subscribers desire that Captain Boyton will  regard  this  presentation
as  a reminiscence of his visit to Ireland and as a token of the high
estimation in which they hold him as a  fearless  experimentalist  in
bringing under public notice the most valuable life saving apparatus
that has yet appeared."

Paul made many good friends during his stay in Dublin and visited almost
every point of interest in that historic city. He  discovered  a  very
original character in the car-driver who conveyed him to the theatre
every evening. Whenever he had a leisure  hour  always  spent  it
driving around he quaint old city with the driver, Pat Mullen, who
entertains him with his stories and witicisms. While driving along the,
Liffy  one day Pat said:

"Would ye loike a little devarsion, Captain? If ye do, Oi'll take ye
through Pill Lane; but ye must look out fur yure head, sur."

Pill Lane he described as a street mostly inhabited by fish-women who
displayed their stock in trade on a tray on the head of a  barrel, These
ladies, like their sisters in Billingsgate, London, bad a great
reputation for their vigorous use  of  the  English  language  and  the
choice epithets that they often hurled at the heads of passers by who
did not purchase from them. Pat explained that his method was to drive
down  the Lane at a good gait and by picking out two or three of the
star performers he would arouse them by a method peculiarly his own.
That  consisted in driving quite close to these barrels and so near some
of them that the step projecting from the side of the  jaunting  car
would  send  the barrel and fish flying all over the sidewalk. Of coarse
this was presumably quite accidental.

Paul consented to try the experiment, being assured that there was no
danger in it. As they drove into the head of the Lane, he soon
discovered that Pat was well known in that locally. The cries of:


"There's the the dirtily blaguard agin. Look out there, Mrs. Murphy,
etc."

All these salutations were received by the imperturbable Pat with smiles
and bows and a cheery remark, as he dodged a dead fish or  some  other
missile aimed at his head. When little farther down the Lane, Pat said:
"Look out now, Captain, do ye see the fat woman  down  there?  She's  a
beauty an' Oi'n goin' to shtir her up. Ye'll hear a flow av iloquence
such as ye niver heard in yure loife, sur. Oi'm sorry she's on yure side
as the car, sur. Droivin' up, sur, ye wud not be so liable to get hit."

At this moment, by a dexterous twist of the horse's head, the iron step
struck the barrel and scattered the contents, while Pat  leaned  across
and said:

"Ye'll excuse me, Mrs. Olahan, that was an accident."

"Oh it's ye," exclaimed the lady addressed, as she hurled the cup that
she was drinking tea out of at Pat. Then a  torrent  of  language  burst
forth which could be heard far down the Lane as they drove quickly
through; but not fast enough to escape the fusillade  of  decayed  fish
and every other missile, even to the head of a barrel, which could be
hurled by Mrs. Olahan and her sympathizing friends. When  they  emerged
from the Lane, Pat turned around and said:

"Air ye bruised, Captain?"

"No," said Paul, "but I don't want any more of that kind of diversion."

A long time afterwards, while in London, Paul read of a Dublin driver
who was taking a party  of  women  home  one  night  and  either through
accident or design drove them all into the middle of the canal. Their
loud outcries attracted people to the rescue and when they arrived on
the scene, they found the driver seated high up on the seat trying to
control the mad struggles  of  his  steed,  while  he  calmly  requested
the rescuers to "niver moind the women but to save the harse."

At the time Paul thought this must certainly be his old friend, Pat
Mullen, and afterwards ascertained that he was correct in his surmise.

When his engagements in Dublin terminated, Paul went to London, where he
found that interest in his  exploit  on  the  Irish  coast  was  still
manifested. He then began a series of experiments down the Thames and in
the waters in the vicinity of London. The London papers  were  teeming
with accounts of him and his adventures. About this time he formed the
resolution to cross the channel from England to France and  was  busying
himself in preparations. One morning he was surprised to receive an
order from Osborne to appear before the Queen. Paul's friends  assured
him that this was a great honor and one which would be of much advantage
to him in England.

The order was for him to appear before Her Majesty on the river Modena,
East Cowes, Isle of Wight. He left London, having made his preparations
Saturday morning and went to Portsmouth, where he was entertained by the
Mayor, American Consul and members of the Yacht Club. The  same  night
he crossed over to Modena on the Isle of Wight, where he took rooms in
the hotel. Sunday morning he went aboard the royal  yacht  Alberta,  and
introduced himself to the captain, whom he found to be a jolly old sea
dog. From a letter written home by Paul about this date,  the  following
extract is taken: The yacht I boarded seemed as big as a man-of-war. A
Marine stopped me on the gang plank with the  question:  'Whom  do  you
wish to see?'

'Why the captain of course.'

The sentry called to a petty officer, who escorted me to the captain. He
conducted me to  a  gorgeously  furnished  cabin.  When  I  introduced
myself, the weather beaten tar grasped me warmly by the hand. He invited
me to be seated and accept some refreshments. While  discussing  them,
we also talked over my exhibition before the Queen the next day. I was
anxious to acquit myself in the presence  of  royalty  in  a  creditable
manner, so I plied the captain with questions to obtain all the
information possible. He told me that to please the Queen anything I did
had to be done quickly. In answer to my question, how will I hail her,
he said: 'In addressing Her Majesty, you must say first,  Your  Majesty.
After that you can continue the conversation with the word madame.'

Well that won't be very difficult thought I, and I can get through with
it all right. Before leaving the Captain, I requested him to send down a
few men in the morning to help me get traps aboard. Returning to my
hotel I spent most of the afternoon  writing.  I  was  interrupted  by a
waiter, who informed me that General Ponsonby, Private Secretary to the
Queen, and two ladies desired to see me. I ordered them shown right in.
The General, a fine, dignified old gentleman came in followed by two
very handsome  ladies.  He  introduced  himself  and  the  ladies
saying: 'Captain, this is the Hon. Lady Churchill and this is the Hon.
Lady Plunkett. The ladies curiosity was so great to see you that  we
came  down from the Castle to have a little talk.'


I invited them to sit down and consider themselves at home. The General
then put a number of questions in regard to my former  life  and  Irish
coast adventure. In a brief manner I gave them a story in the best way I
could. It seemed to entertain them considerably as  the  ladies  often
laughed heartily. As they were about to leave the thought occurred to
me, 'these are my guests, I ought to offer some hospitality.  So backing
up to the fire-place I took hold of the bellrope saying; 'General and
ladies I hope you will mention what you will take.'

At this both the ladies laughed merrily and the General said: `No,
Captain, thank you. The ladies and  myself  have  already  been
entertained handsomely.'

By the twinkle in the ladies' eyes I think they would have accepted my
invitation and taken a drink if it had not been for the austere presence
of the General. During the conversation I confided to them my
trepidation about meeting the Queen, but they assured me that Her
Majesty  was  a very kind lady and that I need have no fear, whatever,
of any breach of court etiquette. After a warm handshaking, they bade me
good-bye  and said they would see me on the morrow.

After their departure I resumed my writing when I was again interrupted
by the re-appearance of the General, who explained to me in  behalf  of
the ladies that much as they would have liked to accept my hospitality,
I must not feel hurt by their refusal. They were ladies of Honor to Her
Majesty and it would be a terrible scandal if they accepted any
hospitality in the hotel. 'But that won't prevent  you  and  I, Captain,
from drinking the ladies' good health.'

The General and I passed some time together and he gave me many useful
hints. The next morning about twenty able-bodied British tars  presented
themselves at the hotel to transfer my effects on board the royal yacht.
By their united efforts they succeeded in getting  it  aboard;  but  I
could much more easily have carried the whole outfit myself. When on
board I descended to the Captain's cabin where I donned my  suit  and
got the appliances in the rubber bag. All this time carriages were
rapidly driving up to the side of the yacht,  which  was  moored  at the
dock; depositing their loads of courtiers, who came aboard and
promenaded up and down the decks. I was standing forward with the
Captain at the  time and he told me the names of several noted
personages and high officers who were pouring up the gang plank. One
venerable looking man  attracted my attention. I said:

'Holy blue, Captain, look at that man coming aboard now without any
pants on.'

'That gentleman,' said the Captain, 'is John Brown, Her Majesty's most
faithful servant and that is the National Scottish costume he wears.'

As I was gazing on John Brown with considerable curiosity, the Captain
said:

'Stand by now. Her majesty is coming. When I tell you, you walk aft, bow
to her and get over the side and do your work.'

The crowd on board obstructed my view so that I could not see the Queen
come aboard. In a moment the Captain returned from the  gang-way  where
he had been to receive her, and said:

'Walk right aft. Her Majesty is waiting for you.'

I might as well confess to you that my idea of a Queen had been formed
by seeing the play of Hamlet, where the Queen of Denmark  comes  on  the
stage with long white fur robe, covered with pieces of cat's tails and a
crown on her head. I certainly did not think that the Queen of England
would dress in this exact way, but I thought she would have something to
distinguish her from the coterie of  ladies  that  surrounded  her  on
deck. So I walked aft, paddle in one hand, rubber bag in the other and
dressed in my suit. I came to a group  of  ladies,  a  little  separate,
around whom bare headed courtiers stood and was about to pay homage to a
fine, grandly dressed maid of honor, when turning  around  I  observed
the face of the Queen which was made familiar by the thousands of
photographs, which grace the windows in nearly every store in London.
She  is a stout, motherly woman, more plainly dressed than any one
around her. I looked at her for a second and said:

'Your Majesty, I believe.'

With a kindly smile she answered, 'Yes.'

'Will I take the water, Your Majesty?'

I was confused by the mistake I came near making, in taking the maid of
honor for the Queen.

'If you please,' she responded with the same kindly and encouraging
smile.

It didn't take me long to get over the side of that vessel, you can rest
assured. Remembering the Captain's injunction not to keep her  waiting
long, I drove through all the exhibition I could give and as I clambered
aboard again the perspiration stood all over my forehead.  On  gaining
the deck, I bowed to the Queen again and was about to go forward. The
Queen stopped me and said:

'Captain Boyton, I am both delighted and astonished at your wonderful
work in the water; I believe that dress  will  be  the  means  of saving
numbers of valuable lives.'

She asked me how old I was and many other questions. A handsome young
lady who stood at her side said:

'Don't you feel very much fatigued after such an exertion and are not
your clothes wet under your dress?'

'Oh, no, Miss, not the least.'

At this answer of mine a laugh went up from the royal group and I
suspected that I had made some mistake. I added. 'To prove  to  your
Majesty that I am perfectly dry underneath the suit, I am, with your
permission going to take it off. You need not be afraid, I  am perfectly
dressed underneath.'

Seeing that she did not object, I quickly unbuckled the tunic and hauled
it over my head cast it on the deck and kicking off my rubber pants, I
stood in my stocking feet before them. The Queen examined the mechanism
of the dress with much interest and said:

'I would like to have a suit made for the use of this yacht, and I wish
you a safe journey across the channel.'

Seeing that the interview was about closed I said:

'Now, Your Majesty, I hope you will excuse any error I have made, for
you see that you could not naturally expect me  to  be  posted  in court
etiquette.'

The Queen laughed heartily in which she was joined by the surrounding
crowd and said:

'You did very well, Captain.'

When she left I again joined Captain Welch, of the Yacht, who told me
that Her Majesty was well  pleased.  'You  may  be  sure  of  a handsome
present.'

I then asked him what was the cause of all the laughter. He said:

'Why that was the only mistake you made. You should have addressed
Princess Beatrice as Your Royal Highness; but that is all right.'

Soon after, Paul received an elegant chronometer gold watch with motto
and heavy chain by General Ponsonby from the Queen and with the  request
that he would send her his photograph.



CHAPTER IX.

Paul now commenced plans for his channel trip. He visited Boulogne,
Calais, Folkestone and Dover and decided on taking a course from
Folkestone to Boulogne. M. L'Onguety, the President of the Boulogne
Humane Society, offered to give him the best French  pilot  on  the
channel  and  his lugger to steer him across. The steamer Rambler was
also engaged to accommodate the press representatives and invited
guests. The most  intense interest prevailed not only in Europe, but in
America. Letters and telegrams came  pouring  in  on  Paul  to  reserve
space  for  the  special correspondents of the most noted newspapers in
the world. Mr. McGarahan, the brilliant and lamented correspondent of
the New York  Herald,  who was one of the party on the Rambler, wrote
the following account of this memorable trip.

"The start was to be made at 3 o'clock on the morning of April 10th,
1875, from Dover, that hour being set on account of the tide favoring.
In order to be up in time, the newspaper correspondents and friends who
were to accompany the intrepid voyager on the tug, did not go  to  bed
at all, the hours intervening being spent in the parlors of the Lord
Werden hotel. The morning was cold and raw and when  the  sound  of  a
bugle apprised the crowd that the time for starting had arrived, there
was a hustling for warm wraps. At the quay from which  the  start  was
to  be made, a great number of people had gathered regardless of the
unseasonable hour and the chill air. There was a most horrible din and
confusion, caused by the shouting and rush of the people, the whiz of
rockets, the puffing of steamboats and the hoarse sound of  speaking
trumpets,  all amid the glare of Bengal lights and burning pitch. The
firing of the tug's gun announced the start. A black figure, like a huge
porpoise, could be seen in the cold, grey water and then disappear in
the darkness. Those on the tug thought they would lose him; but at
length  his  horn  was heard far out on the water and the tug
immediately headed in that direction in order to take the lead and show
him  the  way.  Pursuing  slowly forward he was kept within hail, as the
lights of Dover gradually grew dim in the distance and the lighthouse on
the Goodwin Sands shone  clear and bright like the star of morning."

"The pilot was one sent over from Boulogne by the French Societe
Humaine, said to be the best on the French coast. The course agreed upon
was as follows: Take the tide running northeast from Dover at three in
the morning, which would carry them seven or  eight  miles  in  that
direction somewhere off Goodwin Sands. Here the tide turns about six
'clock and runs southeast down the channel. They would follow this tide
to  a  point considerably below Boulogne, where the current sweeps again
to the east and flows into Boulogne harbor, which they hoped to reach
about  three in the afternoon, making a distance of sixty miles."

"At five o'clock in the morning, when daylight came, everything was
going well and the exact course indicated by the pilot  had  been
followed, except that the start been about twenty minutes late. Boyton
now paddled alongside and called for his sail, which he adjusted to  his
foot  by means of an iron socket without getting out of the water, lit a
cigar and struck out again. The little  sail  instantly  filled  and
commenced pulling him along in fine style, making a very appreciable
difference in his rate of speed. At six o'clock  they  were  off Goodwin
Sands,  a little short of the point that it had been planned to reach.
The tide now commenced turning and they were soon running down the
channel under a very favorable breeze; but a nasty sea and thickening
weather. Nearly in the middle of the channel, there is a sand bank
called the  Ridge  or, by the French, the Colbart, which splits the
current in two, throwing one along the French coast and the other along
the English.  It  was,  of course, the intention of Boyton and the pilot
to get into the French current; but either because the swimmer did not
get  far  enough  to  the east, with the tide running out or what seems
more probable, because the pilot, owing to the thick weather,  which hid
both  the  French  and English coast, missed his reckoning, they were
swept down the English side of the Ridge and all chance of reaching  the
French  coast  before night was lost. Paul resolutely attacked this
ridge, hoping to get over it and reach the French current in time. It
proved  to  be  a  terrible struggle. The sea here was foaming and
tumbling about in a fearful way for the voyager. It was not a regular
roll or swell, but  short,  quick, chopping waves, tumbling about in all
directions, that whirled him round and round, rolled him over and over,
rendered his  puny  sail  utterly useless and blinded him with foam and
spray. It was a strangely fascinating spectacle to watch him in his hand
to hand struggle with the ocean. The waves seemed to become living
things animated by a terrible hatred for the strange being battling
with  them.  Sometimes  they  seemed  to withdraw for a moment, as if by
concert and then rush down on him from all sides, roaring  like  wild
beasts.  For  two  hours  the  struggle continued, during which time he
did not make more than a mile; but at last he came off victorious and
reached the  current  running  along  the French coast, where the sea,
although nasty, was not so unfavorable. But it was now one o'clock and
instead of being  several  miles  south  of Boulogne, as he had hoped,
he was almost opposite and the current had already turned again to the
north, thus carrying him far past the place. He determined, however, to
push on and endeavor to land at Cape Grisnez, about ten miles north of
Boulogne. He did not seem tired although  he had eaten scarcely anything
since taking to the water. The weather grew rainy, foggy, cold and
miserable. Boyton worked steadily forward;  but the pilot began to grow
anxious. It was evident that he would not make the French coast before
dark, and he expressed his determination to push on all night if
necessary. The wind and sea were both rising, promising a bad night. It
would be impossible to follow him in the  darkness  and fog. He would
inevitably be lost and if he should miss Cape Grisnez, he would be
carried up into the North Sea. At length, towards six o'clock, the pilot
declared that he would not be responsible for the safety of the ship, so
near the coast in the darkness and fog. The Captain was,  of course,
unwilling to risk his ship, and it was decided that the attempt would
have to be given up. Paul and his brother, who was  on  the  tug, both
protested against this resolution in the most energetic manner. The
former maintained his ability to finish  his  undertaking,  declaring
that he was not in the least fatigued, and to prove it swam rapidly
around the ship. It was agreed that  he  had  thoroughly  demonstrated
his ability to cross the channel and that it would be folly to risk the
ship, the life of everybody on board, as well as himself by cruising
along the coast all night in the fog and darkness. He at last agreed to
go aboard and give it up maintaining, however, his ability  to  stay  in
the water all night. It was just half past six o'clock when he set foot
on the deck of the tug, after having been a little more than fifteen
hours in the water."

Paul felt keenly the disappointment at the failure of his first attempt
to cross the channel, notwithstanding the telegrams  of  congratulation
from the Queen, Prince of Wales and many high personages on both sides
of the Atlantic. He firmly resolved to attempt it again.  He  was  young
then, only twenty-seven years of age and did not know what fatigue or
fear was. When he returned to London, he received many offers to exhibit
himself in his dress. He at last closed with a well known Manager for
the sum of fifty guineas per day, about $250. At this time he did
little more than paddle around in the water, fire off a few rockets and
his exhibition would not last more than, perhaps half an hour.  He  has
often laughed heartily since, to think of the miserable apologies for a
exhibition that he then gave, when compared with the magnificent  show
that himself and company of water experts give at the present day.
Notwithstanding his lack of knowledge of the show business, he  always
succeeded in pleasing the public, who gathered in enormous crowds
wherever he was announced. His managers reaped a rich harvest through
his  work.  Their share for three days' exhibition in Birmingham alone,
amounted to over six hundred pounds, $3000.

Invitations showered in on him from every quarter for dinners, banquets,
receptions and society gatherings of every  description.  Hundreds  of
these he was compelled to decline, on account of press of business.
Notwithstanding all this flattering attention and flood of  prosperity,
he never lost his head or changed in either action or speech. He looked
upon it as a matter of course and felt just the same as he did when
diving with Captain Balbo, or bush-whacking under Colonel Sawyer.
Towards the end of May he had his arrangements completed for his second
attempt  to cross the channel. This time he determined to reverse the
course. Instead of starting from England, he decided  to  leave  from
Cape  Grisnez, France, and land on any part of the English coast he
could. A couple of days before the attempt, he went to Boulogne. It was
arranged  that  he should leave at three o'clock in the morning, when
the steamer containing the English correspondents would arrive.

John Laty, a well known London newspaper man wrote the following account
of his second attempt:

"As we draw near Cape Grisnez light, aboard the Earnest, Capt. Edward
Dane, preparations are made by Mr. M. Boyton  for  proceeding  ashore to
assist in his brother's departure. A boat is lowered from the davits. It
is soon manned, your artist slipping down the rope with the agility of a
sailor. He is the last straw. The boat is pulled off. The Earnest steams
slowly on, for three o'clock is close at hand and that is  the hour
fixed for Captain Boyton's start from the Cran aux Anguilles, El Chine,
about two hundred yards to the east of the Grisnez light.

"Three A.M.--A rocket rushes up from the boat sent ashore. It is the
signal of Captain Boyton's departure. It is answered by a display of
fire-works from the Earnest. A gun is fired and Grisnez light flickers
and goes out. Day is breaking; but Captain Boyton  is  not  discernable
yet. Over the gray waters one sees through a good glass, the white
fringe of surf breaking on the sandy beach, which is lined by  a  black
mass  of people behind whom is burning a large bonfire. A speck is at
length made out to the right of the boat, 'three points off,' as the
white  haired old salt on board remarks. The sky gets lighter, the sea
deep blue. We can now plainly see the dauntless Captain paddling
actively away  toward us, riding buoyantly over the swelling waves, and
making good progress in his gray suit of india-rubber. His brother comes
on board soon,  with the news that the boat can not venture through the
surf that foams up the beach. The stout little craft now receives a
compass which is  placed in the stern, where the mate takes his place to
act as pilot. Off the boat puts once more, to act thence forth as
Captain Boyton's guide.

"Four A.M.--We give the Captain a ringing cheer as he paddles alongside
the Earnest. He answers that there are some people on shore who want to
come aboard and that his sail too has been left behind. His message
delivered, he paddles away again. In a few minutes he shouts out that if
a boat is not sent off for those on shore he will turn back himself.

"If you don't do it," he says, "they will have to walk back to Boulogne,
thirteen miles."

A crew having volunteered, Mr. Michael Boyton determines to brave the
surf. The Earnest steams back as near  as  she  can  safely  go  to Cape
Grisnez. A second boat is lowered. Before it can reach the shore a
fisherman's skiff makes from the beach, and transfers to  the  boat  of
the Earnest the three or four drenched passengers invited by Captain
Boyton to accompany him on his voyage. They  are  Baron  de  la  Tonche
(Sub-Prefect of Boulogne) Mr. Merridew, Pilot Mequin and others. It is a
quarter to six by the time the Earnest overtakes Captain Boyton. He
gives a cheery trump of satisfaction from his foghorn, when he learns
that his sail and his guests have been  fetched  from  land.  He  does
not  have recourse to his sail yet as the wind (w. n.-w.) continues
unfavorable. He has nevertheless paddled to such good purpose by six
o'clock that  he has covered seven miles from Cape Grisnez, albeit he is
but five miles from the French coast, having been carried up channel  by
the  current. His plan is totally opposite from the one followed by him
in his last voyage. Whereas he then went with the tide, he is now
endeavoring to  cut across the tides, in accordance with the advice of
Captain Dane and the counsel of an eminent hydrographer, who had most
courteously  made  out an elaborate chart and entered into the minutest
details as to the channel currents, for Captain Boyton's guidance.

"Quarter to eight:--Boyton calls for his sail. The staunch little lath
of a mast is fixed into the socket attached to one of his feet. The tiny
sail fills; but sends him on a wrong tack, wind still blowing w. n.-w.
Nothing daunted, Boyton paddles onward for another hour. He  then  sends
the laconic message, 'All right!' by the first pigeon post of the
Folkestone Pigeon Club. Wind w.s.-w. Captain Boyton  hoists  sail again
at twenty-five minutes to ten and now scuds along beautifully, like some
large sea-bird skimming over the blue waves.  A  critical time  for  him
approaches. Captain Dane relieves the mate as pilot. When he is pulled
out to Boyton, the daring voyager is paddling mechanically. He  is  very
drowsy. Captain Dane's quiet, calm encouragement revives the failing
Boyton. He feels greatly invigorated by the  plain breakfast.  No
Liebig mess, this time, taken to him by Dr. Benjamin Howard, Honorary
Secretary of the New York Humane Society. This morning meal and  the
two  other meals taken by Boyton during his arduous undertaking cannot
be considered very epicurean. Each frugal repast consists of nothing
more than half a pint of good strong tea, green with a dash of black,
and a couple of beef sandwiches. The tea wakes him up directly.
Inspirited  by  the  cup that cheers, he is roused to fresh vigor, and
zestfully plies his paddle with wonted dexterity.

"Quarter to twelve.--Captain Dane says that Boyton is now in mid-
channel. The tide has swept him north-easterly. The French cliffs are
dim. The white cliffs of Dover are not yet visible to the naked eye. In
half an hour the coast line of England looms in sight. Clearer and
clearer  the cliffs grow out of the haze as the afternoon wears away. At
twenty minutes from two a steamboat full of excursionists from
Folkestone,  decked with flags from stem to stern, sends a volley of
rattling cheers across the water, and fair hands flutter handkerchiefs
in  honor  of  Captain Boyton, who runs up the stars and stripes in
acknowledgement of their hearty encouragement. Another steamer
proceeding across  the  channel  is cheering Captain Boyton and dipping
her ensign in his honor. More and more distinct grow the Dover cliffs.
The outline of the Castle is clearly defined. 'Thou art so near and yet
so far' might be appropriately struck up by the Captain, whose  voice is
strong  and  cheery  whenever  he exchanges a shout with us.

"6:30 P.M.--A calm and beautiful evening. Boyton sailing with a faint
wind and in slack water. He has by this time crossed two tides. The
flood up channel still. 8 P.M.--The ebb down channel to the Varne, being
carried many miles north and south respectively by each, and  is  now in
a fair way to reach England, being only four miles from Dover Castle,
according to the encouraging news of Captain Dane. So clear is the air
that Cape Grisnez and the Varne buoy are still in sight. The last
pigeons are now dispatched. Twenty-nine in all  have  gone  during the
day.  The longest three miles ever known are now entered upon. Hour
after hour passes and three miles is ever the distance from shore,  so
says  Captain Dane. The south Foreland lights flash out in our face.
Dover lights shine brightly a little distance to our left. The
interminable three  miles are not lessened a jot. The crew of the Royal
Wiltshire Life Boat, specially sent by the National  Life  Boat
Association,  warmly  cheer  the plucky Boyton. He again asks the
distance.

"Three miles", shouts back Captain Dane.

"Ah," grimly answers Boyton, with a spice of the Mark Twainish humor
peculiar to him, "that's about it. They've just told me from the life-
boat its five miles, and, as your steamer is two miles long, we're right
in our reckoning all around; but I don't  care  if  it's  twenty-five,
I'm going to make it."

"Quarter to nine.--Boyton takes supper, lights a cigar and paddles
perseveringly along, although he has now been close on eighteen hours in
the water. Bravo heart! He is now paddling more strongly than he was in
the morning. The three miles shrink, at last into two  and  three
quarters and about this time the one sensational incident of this voyage
happens.

"Captain Boyton's own words best describe the episode: 'About an hour
before I got on land, I heard a tremendous blowing behind me. It
startled me for the moment, for I guessed it was a shark. I instantly
drew out my knife, but while I was in the act of doing this, a second
snort  came closer to my head. I out with my knife and instantly threw
myself into a standing position, ready  to  strike  if  I  had  been
attacked;  but simultaneously with this movement of mine a tremendous
black thing leaped completely  over  me  and  darted  away  like
lightning.  It  was  a porpoise.'

"The Earnest slowly steaming, Captain Dane casting the lead every few
minutes, creeps so near to the towering South Foreland by 2 A.M. that
one might almost throw a biscuit ashore. The feat is on the eve of being
accomplished. The ebb is not yet so strong that he  cannot  make
palpable progress through the tide. The curlews up in the cliffs are
shrilly heralding the dawn, or welcoming Boyton, which you  please.  A
fisherman's skiff has put off to show the safest landing place. The
intensest interest is felt by the group on the bridge of the  Earnest.
Though  day  is breaking, the sea is still so dark that only the two
boats can be discerned close to the shore. A cheer comes over the waters
at half past two. Our hearts give a bound. We know the young hero has
accomplished his daring task, and we send back our heartiest cheers to
him. A rocket rushes up and curls in triumph over the cliffs. No one on
board can be more exultant than Mr. Michael Boyton. Yet he coolly calls
through the speaking trumpet, 'Come back now. That will do for to-
night!'

"The rocky strip of beach on which the Captain has landed is in Fan Bay,
a hundred yards or so west of South Foreland Lights. There from he  is
speedily rowed to the steamer. Receiving a fresh round of British
hurrahs on nimbly embarking, he is warmly shaken by  the  hand,  his
comely, bronzed face lighting up with a modest smile, albeit his eyes
and skin must be smarting terribly from the continual wash of the salt
sea  waves for twenty-three hours and a half.

"Captain Boyton is sufficiently recuperated before Folkestone is
reached, to receive anew the homage which Englishmen are ever ready to
pay  to heroic pluck and endurance. Dover honors him with a salute of
eleven guns as the Earnest glides by. Folkestone harbor is gained  at
last.  Our adieux paid to Captain Boyton, no one seems loth to land."
Paul received congratulatory telegrams from the  Queen,  the  Prince  of
Wales  and President Grant. Dover gave the Captain a dejeuner.
Folkestone, or rather the South Eastern directors, entertained him at a
banquet on Saturday evening, when he felicitously thanked Captain Dane
and others for their generous services during his channel voyage.

After his successful attempt, which caused the wildest excitement over
all the world, he rested a few days  before  resuming  work,  under  his
managers. Medals, flags, jewelry, addresses and presents of all kinds
poured in on him. The Humane Society at Boulogne voted him their massive
gold medal representing the First Order of French Life Saving.

All during the summer, Paul appeared in the different towns and watering
places in England, getting his regular pay of  fifty  guineas  a  day,
equal to $1,750 per week. In September his agent accepted of two week's
engagements for exhibitions in Berlin at Lake Weissensee. The  business
that was done there was simply stupendous, and Paul's treatment by the
inhabitants of Berlin will never be forgotten by him. For the first time
in his life he fell in love. His inamorata was a blue-eyed young German
lady, the sweetest and loveliest girl in Berlin; he carried her  colors
in many a lonely voyage in after years. But it never amounted to
anything more than warm friendship, as his love for his free  and
adventurous life was much stronger than any chains Cupid could weave.



CHAPTER X.

At the close of his Berlin engagement, Paul determined to make a voyage
down the Rhine. With that intention he started for Basle,  Switzerland.
Several correspondents of French, German and English papers desired to
accompany him on his trip. As the river is very rough and swift  between
Basle and Strassburg, they decided to join him at Strassburg when he
arrived there. In October, 1875,  he  started  on  his  first  long
river voyage, four hundred miles, to Cologne.

At five o'clock in the morning he stepped into the rapid Rhine, with
nothing but his bugle and paddle. His first run was to Strassburg,
seventy miles below. News did not travel along the upper Rhine fast in
those days and the peasantry did not  know  of  his  trip.  His
unexpected  and strange appearance caused no little fright among the
people along the banks. At one point he came on  three  workmen, engaged
in  mending  an embankment. While approaching them on the swift current,
he raised himself up in the water and blew a blast on his horn.  The
workmen  looked around and seeing a strange figure standing in the water
blowing a trumpet, perhaps thought it was old Father Rhine.  They  did
not  wait  to investigate; but disappeared up the bank in a hurry. About
noon Paul arrived at Breisgann, where he got some refreshments. The
course  of  the river now ran along the Black Forest, and is much
narrower there. The scenery is weird and somber and although the region
is interesting, it is somewhat monotonous. People of the Black Forest
are a dreamy and superstitious race; they would stand and look at the
uncouth  figure  in  the water for a moment and then run. One old man
who was gathering driftwood was so surprised and frightened that he
sprang from his boat  and  ran up the bank without waiting to secure it.
At nightfall Paul was still driving along. He heard a peasant whistling
and singing on the  bank,  he hailed him and inquired in German, how far
Strassburg was below. "Eine stunde," (one hour,) was the reply.

He afterwards found out that it was the custom in that part of the
country to give distance by time. In half an hour afterwards the  lights
of the bridge at Kohl showed up. There were two bridges there, one for
the railroad and one a low pontoon bridge. While watching the high
railroad bridge, as he was rapidly approaching on the current, he struck
on one of the pontoons and was whirled under. On  coming  to  the
surface,  he hauled for the shore and landed. It was then eight o'clock
and no one was visible. Knocking on a door a woman  opened  it.  She saw
the  dark figure all glistening with water and sent forth a series of
yells that  caused  the  entire  neighborhood  to  turn  out.  A German
policeman approached, took Paul in charge and conducted him to a hotel
near by. He said:

"I recognized you, Captain, and your friends are all in Strassburg and
do not expect you till to-morrow. The city is about three miles from the
river. I will send immediately for a carriage."

When it arrived, he found that it contained three of his friends, who
had been apprized of his landing. They drove to a  hotel  in Strassburg.
The next day was spent in hunting for and purchasing a flat bottom boat
for the reporters. The  Berlin  press  was  represented  by Count  Von
Sierasowsie, an invalid officer with both legs cut off. He had to be
carried around in a perambulator. He had  a  private  soldier, which
the German government allowed him, as a servant. The balance of the
reporters were from France and England. A boat about forty feet long and
eight feet wide was purchased and two men, who professed to know
something about the channel of the Rhine, engaged to navigate  it.  It
was  nothing more than an open craft; no roof, so the correspondents put
in straw and chairs to make themselves comfortable. A place was reserved
in the bow for the Count's perambulator. The following day all the
baggage was placed aboard. Paul had three trunks which had been
forwarded from  Berlin. Dr. Willis, the English correspondent, observed
that Paul passed a strong line through the handles of his trunks and
secured each firmly one to the other. Then he tied a buoy to the end of
the line. The doctor inquired why he did so.

"Oh," answered Paul, "I always like to be prepared. In case this boat
sinks I can easily find my baggage by means of this buoy which will
float on the surface."

This remark had not a very encouraging effect on the doctor. That
afternoon the voyage was resumed and they ran all night on a  swift
current. Great danger and difficulty were experienced from the floating
mills. They kept the crew busy guiding the unwieldy  boat  out  of
danger.  The reporters did not rest much. The only one on board who
slumbered with pleasure was Simnick, the Count's servant, who seemed to
take to sleep as naturally as a duck to water. Paul kept well ahead of
the boat and warned them of dangers.

Next day came out clear and warm. As the approached Worms, they were met
by gaily decorated steamers and large parties of ladies and  gentlemen
in small crafts. The burgomaster in an official boat was rowed off to
Paul's side. His boat contained a  liberal  supply  of  the  famous Lieb
frauenmilch. He presented Paul with a magnificently chased goblet
saying:

"Captain, you must accept the hospitality of Worms even if you do not
stop," and filling the glass to the brim, also his own and the
officials' who accompanied him and gave a "Lebenhoch."

The fairest and most interesting part of the Rhine was now reached, that
which teems with historic and legendary associations;  the  part  too,
that possesses a population second to none in the Fatherland for
generosity and hospitality. The whole voyage was now  a  continuous
fete.  At almost every place they passed the Burgomaster with his
friends came out and invited them to drink a cup of wine for which every
part  of  the Rhine is famous. All day they continued down the blue and
rapid water and at three o'clock the next morning landed at Mayence,
where they  woke the sleepy inhabitants with rockets and bugles. The run
from Strassburg lasted thirty-six hours; they were glad to get warm
comfortable beds in the hotel where they rested till Monday. Before
leaving Mayence, telegrams poured in from every point  on  the  river
below.  One  was  signed Elizabeth, Princess of Schaumburg-Lippe,
congratulating Paul and inviting him to stop at Wiesbaden.

The party left Mayence on Monday and continued dropping down the river.
From this place on, the banks presented  a  very  thronged  and  lively
appearance. Perhaps no other river in the world could be found to equal
that from Mayence to Cologne  in  the  variety  of  its  life  and  the
multiplicity of its associations. Reception after reception was tendered
the voyager and his party and every  place  seemed  to  vie  with  the
others in the warmth and good will of its welcome. At Geisenheim, the
committee who met Paul on the river, insisted that he must come ashore
as a reception was prepared for him. They landed and found a number of
Americans, including Consul General  Webster.  About  twenty  lovely
girls dressed in white and carrying baskets of flowers met the party at
the bank. They all  implored  Paul  to  come  up  with  them  and  see
their picturesque town and insisted that he must join in the parade.
Paul was anxious to continue his way down the river; but the bright eyes
and the sweet, soft tones of the beautiful daughters of the Rhine made
him an easy victim, so a procession was formed, the  young  ladies
leading  and Paul and his party were marched to the hotel, where an
informal reception was held. When they left Geisenheim,  the  press boat
was  literary loaded down with hampers of delicious wine.

That same evening they reached Bingen. Here the Captain was warned to
beware of Bingen Loch and the Lurlei. He took but  little  stock  in the
stories about their dangers and secretly determined to dash right into
the legendary whirlpool. That whirlpool which  has  been  the theme  of
Heine's song, has also been the dread of Rhine boatmen from time
immemorial. Legend says it is presided over by a fairy maid who lures
hapless fishermen to the spot by her syren voice and rejoices in their
destruction. The beauty of this part of the Rhine  is indescribable.
Mountains tower directly up from the water's edge, here and there dotted
with historic castles. Time after time was Paul's bugle salute answered
on  the ramparts far above and many a fair hand waved a handkerchief.
When they approached the Lurlei, the boatmen used superhuman efforts to
get  away from the dreaded whirlpool and hugged the opposite shore.
Their cries of:

"This way Captain, the Lurlei," were unheeded by Paul who kept directly
for the jutting rock which causes the eddy known as the whirlpool.

"Where are you going?" thundered out one of the members of the press,
"Come to this side of the river!"

"Oh, I'm going to visit the mermaid," responded Paul and a few minutes
afterward he was in her embrace; or rather in the embrace of  the  noted
Lurlei. Instead of swallowing him up, as had been anticipated, it only
whirled him around a few times; he soon succeeded in getting away with a
few strokes of his paddle and rapidly overhauled the terror-stricken
occupants of the press boat. He dashed  alongside  and  with  a
dexterous twist of his paddle, sent a shower of water over the astounded
and horror-stricken Simnick, who was sure that the voyager must be crazy
to take such risks.

"Why," said Paul, "there are a thousand more dangerous eddies in the
Mississippi that have never been heard of," and he laughed heartily at
the danger he had passed.

At Coblentz the Strassburg boatmen refused to go any farther so they
were sent home. The guiding of the press boat was now left to  the
tender mercies of Simnick. Some of the press men occasionally
volunteered to help him.  His  erratic  steering  brought  him  showers
of  abuse,  the occupants of the boat became so nervous that they
earnestly desired Paul to remain as near them as possible. Paul knowing
that his baggage  was aboard, did not require a second invitation. Once
Simnick landed the party on a bar, before they got  the  boat  afloat
again,  all  excepting Simnick's master, the Count, were compelled to
take off their shoes and shove her off.

Shooting pontoon bridges was the greatest danger. On approaching one,
all were aroused and the press men's-hearts were  kept  pretty  close to
their mouths. The Count, seated forward in his little carriage, was
almost knocked over board, while the boat grazed some spar  or  bridge.
On each of these occasions, the imprecations of the Count, both loud and
deep, fell harmlessly around the stolid Simnick. The  Count  adopted new
tactics when approaching a place where bad steering would be likely to
cause serious trouble. He would, by the aid of his hands, get down from
his carriage and seat himself in the bottom of the boat with the
expression of his face, saying:

"Well, if I have to die, I will not have my brains knocked out."

The fifth day after leaving Strassburg, the party reached Cologne, where
they were received by the booming of cannons and ringing of bells. The
greatest excitement prevailed in the quiet old town and Paul was the
recipient of many honors and presents. Several  poems  were  dedicated
to him, good, bad and indifferent. One very persistent poet, whose
knowledge of English was rather limited, bored  him  considerably.  He
got  so inflated over Paul's feigned praise, who had tried this ruse to
get rid of him, that he had his poem put in  a  German  paper  and
printed  in English at his own expense. It was as follows:

Hall my boy! coming to us with a ton full of reason, Bringing that, what
now is most of season: The best of these we did meet since years In  a
period of apprehensions and fears.

You are, no doubt of those good hearted fellows, Who like to lead the
men through friendly meadows; God bless always your  noble,  humane aim,
And give to it the success you do claim.

The people by his loud acclamation, May prove to you that it feels no
temptation To cut the throats, to break the necks around And make a
grave of all European ground.

It is a sort of cry that's rising, To prove that there are men enough
despising Armstrong and Krupp etcetera With Dyrose, Snyder, Mauser, yea.

Are you returned to Uncle Sam's cottage, Then make aware your countrymen
of every age: Your finding the German people sorry for human life, But
not for scorn and war and strife.

And now, farewell, my boy, with your ton of reason, May God you bless at
every season.

The trip on the Rhine concluded, Paul in company with Doctor Willis
visited several cities in Germany,  Holland  and  Belgium,  where  he
gave exhibitions till the ice stopped his work. He then crossed to
England and took a steamer to New York on a flying trip home,  where  he
arrived December 28th, 1878. He had been gone about sixteen months.



CHAPTER XI.

After spending a few weeks with his family, Captain Boyton received an
invitation to visit a friend in St. Louis. While there the swift current
of the Mississippi, which was then flowing with ice, tempted him and he
made a voyage from Alton to St. Louis, about twenty-five miles. A  boat
containing newspaper reporters was to accompany him down; but the
weather proved too cold for them and they abandoned him after a  few
miles. The thermometer was below zero, and a man was frozen to death
that morning in a wagon at Alton.  His  reception  in  St.  Louis  was
something extraordinary. The deafening noise made by the steamers and
tug boats as they passed the bridge was heard far beyond the city
limits. Before he left St. Louis he gave a lecture for the benefit of
St. Luke's Hospital, and on that occasion was presented  with  a massive
silver  service. General Sherman made the presentation speech.


From St. Louis he went to New Orleans where he decided to feel the
waters in the stronger currents of the lower river. He concluded to take
a run of a hundred miles and gave himself twenty-four hours in which to
make the voyage. Several members of the press intended to accompany  him
on the trip and a row boat was procured for their accommodation. This
boat was placed on board the steamer  Bismarck  that was  bound  to  St.
Louis. It was arranged with the Captain to drop them off at Bayou Goula
exactly a hundred miles above. As the  steamer,  to get  ahead  of  an
opposition boat, started an hour before the advertised time, all the
newspaper reporters except one, were left behind. At six o'clock the
next morning, Paul and the reporter were landed on the levee at a
miserable looking little Louisiana  village. They  breakfasted  at  the
solitary hotel; after which they made enquiries in regard to a pilot.
All agreed that a colored man named Gabriel was the best. They sauntered
forth  on the levee to hunt up Gabriel. They were followed by a large
crowd of negroes, young and old who had heard about the  wonderful  man-
fish.  Paul was informed that Gabriel was out in the river catching
driftwood, and the entire colored population appeared to join in yelling
for "Gabe"  to come ashore. Gabriel, who was a tall, sad looking negro,
was called on one side by Paul who  explained  that  they  desired  his
services  for twenty-four hours, he stated that there was plenty of
provision aboard for him and that he would send him back from New
Orleans by steamer,  so that his trip would not cost him a cent. Gabriel
received the communication in stolid silence. He then retired to a log
where he seated himself in the centre of a number of his darkey friends.
After a consultation, he returned and announced that the figure would be
twenty-five dollars.


"Why, what do you mean, you black rascal!" exclaimed Paul, "it will
really be only one day's work.  How  much  do  you  make  a  day
gathering driftwood?"


"Two an' foah bits a day sah."


"And you want twenty-five out of me for one day's work? I will give you
three dollars."


"All right, boss, all right, sah," responded Gabriel without a moment's
hesitation.


Soon after, Paul and the newspaper man were approached by a darkey, who
introduced himself as Mr. Brown. He said:


"I heah dat yo' hab engage Gabe fur pilot ye' down to New Yorleans. Dat
niggah don' know nofing 'bout de riber, sah, no sah, me do  dough,  an,
me'll go down fur nothin' sah."


"Are you sure you understand the channel down the river?" asked Paul.


"Deed I do, sah, I knows mos' oh the cat-fish tween heah an' dere."


"Consider yourself engaged, providing you can get the boat away from
Gabriel."


"Dats all right sah, lebe dat to me," Mr. Brown answered. A liberal
supply of hay for the comfort of the reporter was placed in the row
boat.


As the hour approached for them to depart, the levee was thronged with
darkies of all sizes and ages, who gazed in open  mouthed  astonishment,
when they saw the dark form in rubber appear and step into the
Mississippi. By a clever ruse Mr. Brown got charge of the boat  and
shoved  her off, much to the discomfiture of Gabriel. He returned
Gabriel's maledictions with bows and smiles. They shot rapidly away on
the  yellow  flood and were soon far below Bayou Goula. As night came
on, Paul requested Brown to light his lantern and get ahead.  Brown  lit
the  lantern,  but insisted on keeping behind instead of taking the
lead. To all Paul's remonstrances he would reply: "Yo' doin' all right,
Capen, jus'  go  right 'long, right 'long, sah."


Paul soon discovered that the negro knew far less about the river than
he knew himself and so he threatened that if Mr. Brown did not keep  up,
he would be tempted to dump him overboard, where he could renew his
acquaintance with his old friends the cat fish.


All night they glided between the dark forests on either side of the
river. Paul frequently  amused  himself  by  startling  a  camp  of
negro fishermen. They spear fish by the light of a fire they build close
to the bank. All he had to do in order to break up a camp was to float
down quietly until the glare of the fire played on him, then stand up in
the water and utter a few howls to  attract  the  darkey's  attention.
One sight of so hideous a figure in the rubber dress was enough. Their
fishing was adjourned for that night.


About three in the morning, Paul found himself far ahead of the press
boat and made the forest ring with the echo of  his  bugle  to  wake Mr.
Brown up. Two or three times he had to wait for the boat. At last he
decided that there was no use in dallying or he would  never  get  to
New Orleans in twenty-four hours; so he shot ahead and let the boat take
care of itself. Before daylight in the morning he  heard  the  roar  of
a great crevasse that had been formed near Bonnet Carre. The river bank
there had been washed away for about four or five  hundred  yards  and a
great volume of water was being swept into the forests and swamps below.
Without much difficulty he passed this dangerous break and at daylight
his bugle called the early risers in the village to the river bank. Here
without leaving the water, he got a cup of hot coffee and while he was
drinking it, those on the bank informed him that there was a white boat
just coming around the bend in the distance, so he concluded  to  wait
for it. Soon after, Mr. Brown, pulling lazily along, arrived. Paul rated
him soundly for his tardiness. The reporter was sound asleep,  doubled
up in a pile of hay at the bottom of the boat. At five o'clock that
evening, exactly twenty-four hours after they started, they tied up at
the levee in New Orleans where they were received by about ten thousand
people, who covered the levee and crowded the deck of the steamers.


While resting in New Orleans after his run, Paul was waited on by a
party of gentlemen, who announced themselves as a  committee  appointed
to call on him and see if they could induce him to give an exhibition
in......, an interesting little town up the river.


"Have you got any water that can be enclosed?" Paul inquired.


They said they had a beautiful little lake right back of the town that
could be properly fenced, so that no one could look on  without  paying.
They promised that Captain Boyton should have the entire receipts, and
that they would make it a gala day  providing  he  would  come  up,  and
assured him of the warmest kind of reception. "We'll have music too,"
added one of the committee men.


Being so assured, Paul promised to be on hand. The committee started for
home where they commenced to rouse  the  country.  One  morning  Paul,
accompanied by Mr. Brown stepped off a steamboat at .........., and was
received by the committee who were waiting for him and who  immediately
escorted him to the hotel where he was cordially invited to "limber up."
After breakfast, the voyager was escorted to the lake and saw  to  his
annoyance that there was no fence or enclosure around it. He
remonstrated with the committee and said that they could never get a
fence  around it in time. The answer was, "Never mind, Captain, never
mind. We'll guarantee that no one stands around that lake without
paying."


All the morning crowds kept pouring into town. By noon, the main street
was filled with wagons, ox-teams and mules with vehicles of every kind,
shape and color, all carrying crowds of whites and negroes. Paul dined
with the Mayor, at the hotel and after dinner commenced to dress in  his
suit. The Mayor informed him that there would be a parade to start from
the hotel door and that he would be escorted to the lake by  the  guard
and the band. When the hour arrived, Paul was led from the hotel by his
honor and was mounted on a cart to which two white mules  were  hitched
in tandem. The Mayor mounted with him. Behind this cart, drawn up in
military array were fifty men armed with shot guns. In front of  the
cart rode the Grand Marshall of the occasion followed the band which
consisted of a solitary hand-organ. Order for advance being given,  the
parade started for the lake. When they reached the water-side, Paul was
requested to step into the little tent which had been erected for him
and  to be seated until the fence was made. The Grand Marshal then
ordered all the people to fall back, while he stationed the guards with
loaded  shot guns at intervals around the entire lake. Then riding his
horse wildly up to the crowd he informed them that "this line of guards
was the fence and that	any person coming within one hundred yards of the
line would be shot."


"This," pointing to two of the committee men, who stood with shot guns
near an old soap box in which a slit was cut to receive the  money,  "is
the entrance gate. Niggers twenty-five cents, whites fifty cents. Now
get right in or get off this prairie."


The whole exhibition was unexpectedly successful. There was not a dead-
head around the lake. Paul took for his share  two  hundred  and  thirty
dollars, beside spending one of the pleasantest days he remembers. This
town is now a smart city  and  Paul  withholds  the  name  because  the
citizens may not relish this reminiscence.


Soon after, Paul went to Louisville, Ky., where he made a run over the
Falls of the Ohio. This feat  caused  the  most  intense  excitement  in
Louisville and vicinity. He then went to Europe and commenced his
exhibition season at Amsterdam, Holland, in May, for by this time he was
well launched in the show business. He exhibited with much success all
through Holland and Germany. August 3d, 1876, he found himself in the
town of Linz, Austria. Here he met with an accident from which he almost
lost his right eye, by the premature explosion of a torpedo. He was an
invalid in the hotel on the banks of the Danube for two weeks. The
constant sight of the inviting water of the Danube started the desire in
his  heart for another voyage, and it did not take him long to make up
his mind to take a run to Buda Pesth, about four hundred  and  fifty
miles  below. When he announced his intention to take this voyage, it
was quickly telegraphed all over the country bordering on the river.
Almost  the  whole city of Linz turned out to bid him goodbye as he
stepped into the Danube. The current was very swift; but the  river  was
greatly  cut  up  by islands and bars. He could see nothing blue about
the Danube. That river was almost as yellow as the Mississippi. Like all
rivers  it  has  its bug-bear. The Struden is the terror of the Upper
Danube. It consists of a sharp and dangerous rapid,  picturesquely
surrounded  by  high  wood covered hills. Great crowds were gathered
here to see Paul make his plunge. He passed under two or three heavy
waves that completely  submerged him. As he was hurried away on the wild
current, he held his paddle high up in acknowledgment to the cheers.


His reception in Vienna was most enthusiastic. From Presburg he was
accompanied for about two miles by the swimming club and  he  was  made
an honorary member by a vote taken while he was paddling in the river
surrounded by his swimming friends. He was then left alone and all that
day he traveled through a barren and desolate country. He occasionally
ran across parties of gold dust hunters who were at work on the  sand
bars. They were a wild looking lot of people and all wore white shirts
and baggy trousers. His appearance as he skimmed along on  the  current
never failed to produce the utmost consternation among the groups who
had possibly never heard of him. It was a very warm day and the sun
burned  his face cruelly. In the evening the mosquitoes hovered around
him in clouds and made his life miserable. That night he was drowsy and
fatigued  in consequence of his hard work all day. About eleven o'clock,
in spite of himself, he went to sleep, though well aware of the danger
he ran  from the mills. The Danubian mill consists of two great barges
fastened together by beams and decked over with a large wheel between
them. They  are anchored in the swiftest part of the current which
drives the machinery. He was awakened from his nap by hearing a
tremendous  crashing  noise and found himself just passing in between
two barges and in a second or two would be under the rapidly revolving
wheel. The current hurled  him against it. Before he could recover one
of the planks struck him over the eyebrows and the next struck him on
the back of the head driving  him completely under. His paddle was
smashed in two and one half of it gone, while he could feel the warm
blood running down his forehead. With the broken piece of the paddle he
managed to gain the eddy back of one of the barges. The miller was
awakened by his cries for assistance  and  the stalwart Hungarian
appeared on the deck with a lantern and threw a rope to the almost
fainting man. Paul grasped this firmly and was hauled  up till the light
of the lantern revealed his blood covered face and glinting rubber head
piece. The miller uttered a cry of terror,  let  go  the rope and ran
into the mill where he securely fastened himself, thinking no doubt that
some evil sprit of the Danube had appeared to  him.  When the terrified
miller loosened his hold on the rope, Paul now almost entirely exhausted
dropped back into the current  and  floated  away  in  a semi-conscious
condition. With his half paddle he succeeded in keeping clear of the
mills and drifted till day  light.  His  eyes  were  almost closed by
the swelling of his forehead. Soon after he discovered a castle high up
on the banks on one side of the  river,  the  inhabitants  of which he
stirred up by a blast on his bugle as he was drifting helplessly. A boat
shot away from shore and picked him up. The boat contained an Austrian
officer and two soldiers. The officer informed him that the castle to
which he was being conveyed, was the fortress Komorn. His wounds were
quickly dressed by the surgeon and in two days he was sufficiently
recovered to resume his trip.


From Komorn he ran all day and the following night to make up for lost
time. About daylight next day great mountains towered up  each  side  of
the river that was there narrow and rapid. About eight o'clock he
arrived at a little village and was informed that it was  Nagy,  about
forty miles above Buda Pesth. Here he got some refreshments and started
on his last run. A few miles below he saw a very high mountain,
surmounted by a cross, up which ran a zig-zag road. At each bend of this
road was erected a grotto containing some scene from the Passion of Our
Lord.  This Way of the Cross is a celebrated place of devotion to the
pious people of Buda Pesth. As he passed the mountain he saluted a party
of  ladies and gentlemen standing on the shore. One of the gentlemen
hailed him in German with the request to slack up a little and they
would come off in a boat. Paul complied with their request and stood
upright in the water and drifted quietly along. The boat was soon beside
him:  it  contained two ladies, evidently mother and daughter, and two
gentlemen. The daughter, about eighteen years of age, was, in Paul's
estimation,  the  most lovely girl he had ever seen. He gazed with a
look of admiration on her wondrous beauty  and  paid  but  little
attention  to  the  shower  of questions that were put to him in
Hungarian-German by the male members of the party. In his best German,
he asked her  what  he  already  knew, that was, "how far it was to Buda
Pesth?"


She smiled and answered in French, "about thirty-five miles. I presume
you can speak French better than German?"


This was just what Paul wanted. She now acted as interpreter for the
whole party and her sweet voice drove away all feeling of fatigue. As
the current was driving the party rapidly down, the mother suggested
that it was time that they should say  good-bye.  Before  going,  one of
the gentlemen asked through the young lady, "if M. le Capitaine would
take a glass of wine?"


Paul responded, "that it was pretty early in the morning for a toast,
but if he was permitted to drink  to  the  health  of  Hungary's fairest
daughter, he would sacrifice himself."


With a musical laugh she handed him a glass filled with sparkling Tokay.
A general hand shake all around followed and as Paul's rubber-covered,
wet hand grasped that of the young lady, he begged her to present him
with the bunch of violets she had pinned to her breast, as a  memento of
the pleasant moments he spent in her company. She complied with his
request, he gallantly kissed  them  and  pushed  them  through  the
rubber opening of the face piece, down into his breast.


As he resumed paddling, the thought occurred to him, that the frank
cordiality of the male occupants  of  the  boat  had  undergone  a
decided change, and their farewell was a little more formal than their
introduction; but he paid little attention to that  and  struck  away
for  Buda Pesth with a strong steady pull, while he hummed:


"Her bright smile haunts me still."


The news of his approach had been telegraphed to Buda Pesth. When he
arrived at the Hungarian capital both banks and  the  bridges  were
black with people and the cry of, "eljen Boyton, eljen America," re-
echoed on every side. The warmth of  his  reception  in  Buda  Pesth was
simply indescribable. In narrating the story of his voyage down the
Danube, he mentioned the fair vision he had encountered at Visegrad.
This was duly published with his other adventures. From Buda Pesth he
returned by railroad to Vienna, where he had an engagement to give  an
exhibition  for the Boat Club. This contract being filled and free to go
anywhere he wished, he followed his fancy and took the  first  train for
Buda  Pesth again. Here he gave many successful exhibitions; one of
largest was for the benefit of a girl's home at was a favorite charity
in  Buda  Pesth. At the close of the exhibition he was bewildered by the
shower of flowers and bouquets thrown on him in the  water.  Next  day
he  received  a letter addressed, as follows: Sir Captain Paul Boyton a
Buda Pesth, Hotel Europa.


The contents of the letter were:


Sir!--Accept our hearty thanks for your generous complaisance, having
succored foreign interest in a foreign land. We  assure  you,  that your
name and the remembrance of your noble action never leave the hearts of
these young girls,  whom  we  can  help  through  your beneficence  to
instruct them useful professions. Let me render you our thanks, we do
never forget your gentlemanlike conduct.


I remain very much obliged, your esteemer ELMA HENTALLERF, Secretary;
MRS. ANNA KUHNEL, President of the Union of  Ladies.  Buda  Pesth, 1876,
Sept. 18.

During all this time Paul kept his eyes wide open in the hope of again
meeting the beautiful young lady, who had made such an impression on his
heart. One day a Hungarian officer met him on the street and said
"Captain wouldn't you like to be presented to the young lady you met  on
the river at Visegrad?"


"Would a duck swim?"


The officer told him to be ready that evening and he would take him
around to their private box in the  National  Theatre.  Paul  was  ready
a couple of hours before the appointed time. They entered the box and
the object of Paul's dreams arose and advancing with a charming smile,
said in English:


"I'm so delighted to see you, Captain."


"Not any more than I am to see you. Why didn't you speak English to me
on the river?"


"Well," she exclaimed, "I was a little confused and did not remember
that Americans spoke English, but let me present you to my mother and
the gentlemen."


Paul was then introduced to an Austrian officer and a count who with her
mother were occupants of the box. Little attention  was  paid  to  the
play going on by Paul, who kept up a running conversation in English
mixed with French, with the charming girl at his side, but  wily
diplomat that he was, he got in an occasional remark to her mother in
German. At the close of the performance, Paul offered his arm to the
young  lady, while the Austrian officer took the mother in tow. The
other gentlemen in the party took the lead at  the  door.  They  walked
leisurely  home through the narrow streets and the officer who was
escorting the mother clinked the scabbard of his long sword in a savage
manner on the cobble stones. Before they parted at the door of her home,
Paul had asked for and obtained permission to call  the  next  day.  He
then  turned  away accompanied by the officer and walked in the
direction of his hotel. The officer asked him how long he intended to
remain in Buda  Pesth.  Paul did not give him very much satisfaction as
he was running free at the time and had no course mapped out. On
arriving at the hotel, the  Captain invited the officer to take some
refreshments. While seated at the table, the latter introduced the
subject of dueling and asked Paul questions in regard to the code in
America. Paul easily seeing the drift of his thoughts, entertained him
with  accounts  of  hair-raising  combats  with bowie knives, revolvers,
shot guns and cannons, assuring him they were of frequent occurrence in
the part of the States where he came from.  He told the officer that he
did not know one of his friends who would not rather participate in a
duel than be invited  to  a  banquet.  When  the warrior parted from
Paul he was stuffed fell of harrowing yarns, all of which he seemed to
believe, at least his demeanor was much more  gentle than when he had
entered the hotel. Paul remained in Buda Pesth two weeks longer than he
expected, during which time he was a frequent  visitor at the home of
the fair Irene, where he was always welcomed by herself and parents.
Then followed  a  trip  through  the  principal  cities  of Hungary.


He then went to Italy where on the 4th of November, 1876, he started on
a long voyage down the Po from Turin to the  Adriatic,  a  distance  of
about six hundred and seventy miles. He was determined to make this trip
in one continuous run, intending it as a feat to test  his  endurance.
Paul's knowledge of Italian was very limited and his knowledge of the
river he was about to embark on,  less.  All  the  inhabitants  of Turin
seemed to have turned out to see him start. To carry his provisions,
map, etc., he had a little tin boat made about two feet, six inches
long and eight inches wide. This little craft bore the name, "Irene
D'Ungeria," Irene, belle of Hungary, and was the model from which his
well known "Baby Mine" was the evolution. The weather was cold and the
water intensely so. Its source was the Alps, then in plain view  and
covered  with snow.


He started on a Saturday morning at nine o'clock. The current was
exceedingly strong, rushing over gravel beds on which he frequently
grounded. The country in the vicinity was very beautiful with high
ground on each side. At  every  little  village  and  hamlet,  he  was
received  with enthusiastic "vivas" and many were the kind invitations
he was tendered to stop and take refreshments. All these he declined as
he  had  ample provisions in his little boat for a four day's run. This
boat he had attached to his belt by a line about three yards long.  She
behaved  very well; but when he reached very violent rapids he was
compelled to pick her up and place her on his legs before him. About
nightfall a lady  and gentleman came off in a small boat and requested
him to stop for the night assuring him that the danger in the river
below was very  great.  It contained many mills under which he might be
carried; but his mind was made up and he went steadily along on his
perilous voyage. The night was very cold and the struggling moon
occasionally lit up the valley. He struck many times heavily  on  the
rocks  and  frequently  entered  false channels. About three o'clock
Sunday morning, he heard a loud roaring noise and supposed it to be some
freight train passing over the bridge at Casale, a village below, which
he considered was then near. About the same time a thick, white fog
peculiar to the Po, settled over the  river. Through this he picked his
way cautiously and as the current swept in around the bend of the river,
the noise he heard before seemed to  be  no great distance away. The
speed of the current seemed to increase and in a few minutes afterwards,
he was shot over a  dam  and  hurled  in  the tumbling water below.
Before he could extricate himself, the little boat had been upset and
was about sinking when he grabbed her. The  current soon drove him far
below the dam, where he landed on a bar and emptied his tender of water.
He knew her contents were ruined; but  it  was  too dark to examine, so
he kept on his voyage until sunrise, when he landed and found that all
his  provisions  were  converted  into  a  kind  of pudding, dotted with
cigars instead of fruit. The small flask of Cognac and a bottle of oil
were the only  things  uninjured.  A  pull  at  the Cognac flask served
him for breakfast and he paddled away on his voyage with vigorous
stroke. The sun rose that morning in a deep red color and as the rays
illumined the snow clad Alps, that looked so near him, the valley of the
Po and the remnants of the fog were bathed in a  soft  red light, so
that even the very water seemed turned to blood. A sight more beautiful
and peculiar than this, Paul never witnessed since or before. The river
now seemed to shoot from the hills into the low land. On either side was
a heavy growth of willows.


He saw no one until about nine that morning, when sweeping around a bend
he came on a boat containing two men with a swivel gun,  after  ducks.
Both men were greatly excited and one of them turned the swivel in his
direction. Paul shouted vigorously at him not to fire,  and  fortunately
he did not. He ran along side and held a conversation in the best
Italian he could muster. They informed him that he was nearing the
village of Frassinetto and offered him provisions. He accepted a piece
of bread which he ate and again started on his journey. A couple of
hours afterward he came to a flying bridge, an institution peculiar to
many European rivers. It consists of a long line of small boats  strung
together  on  a heavy cable, anchored in the centre of the river. The
boats supported the cable. The last boat on the line is the ferry or
bridge. This is much larger than any of the others and has a steering
oar. When cast away from one shore, the ferry is steered diagonally
against the current to the opposite side while the line of boats
supporting the cable swing with it. Paul often found these bridges
exceedingly dangerous, particularly at night time. Then the ferry is
always tied and the line of small boats lead from the centre to the side
for about a  hundred  yards  below.  The bridge men at Frassinetto were
notified of Paul's approach by his bugle and never having heard of him
before, rowed out in  a  skiff  and  were very indignant when they found
that he would not be rescued. All day Sunday he drove ahead on the rapid
current. By consulting his maps,  which he fortunately saved and dried
on the deck of the Irene, he found that he could not make the run in
four  days  as  he  had  expected  when  he started. Sunday evening he
obtained some provisions from a miller and though feeling very sleepy
and much fatigued, he kept driving  along  all night. The roar of the
waters as they dashed against the mills, put him on the alert. Monday
morning he was faint and fast becoming  exhausted; but was encouraged by
the hope of soon reaching Piacenza. There he expected to meet his agent,
get a little rest and  a  full  supply  of  much needed provisions.


The agent in question, was a Scotchman, he had met in Milan, before
going to Turin. His occupation was that of a tenor singer; but he failed
to make a success of it, he was open for anything that turned up.
Finding that he was a good Italian scholar, Paul engaged him. He was not
exactly Paul's idea of what an agent ought to be, as he showed too much
fondness for the good things of this life. When seated with a dish  of
cutlets and truffles flanked by a generous sized bottle of wine, he was
apt to make statements that were rather unreliable. Before  leaving
Milan  for Turin, Paul told him, as the Po was to him an unknown river,
he could not tell at what time he could make on  it,  so  that  he  must
use  his judgment from the reports he would get from above, in regard to
the progress he was making down the river. He then  instructed  him  to
go  to Piacenza on Saturday as he expected to be able to reach that
point on Sunday evening. Paul afterwards learned that  instead  of
waiting  until Saturday; his courier, full of self importance, started
for that city the same day Paul left  on  his  way  to  Turin.  On
arriving  there  he introduced himself to the Sindaco and newspaper men,
by whom he was feted and ample opportunity was  given  him  to  indulge
in  his  favorite dishes. On his own responsibility, he informed the
journalists that Captain Boyton would be sure to arrive on Sunday
evening, and at that  time almost every man, woman and child in Piacenza
was on the banks of the river two miles away from the town. Finding that
the  Captain  did  not appear at the time he announced and that the
crowd was getting angry, the agent slipped away and got back just in
time to  catch  a  train  for Ferrara much farther down the river. Most
of the crowd waited on the banks until dark, then returned and commenced
to hunt for the  agent;  not finding him, they satisfied themselves by
burning his effigy in the public square.


Monday broke on Paul, chilly and uncomfortable. Once in a while a faint
gleam of sunshine would light up the river and he took advantage of any
long reach before him, free from mills, to take a nap. He woke from one
of these naps by hearing a cry on the banks and saw a fisherman  gazing
intently at the floating object. He half opened his eyes, but never made
a move, curious to see what effect his  presence  would  make  on  the
peasant. At this time the current was setting him into the shore. The
fisherman ran down along the bank to a point and  there  stood,  pole in
hand, waiting to capture what he no doubt thought was a dead body. As he
was thrusting the pole out, Paul quickly assumed an  upright position in
the water and saluted him with the words:


"Buon giorno."


The pole dropped from his hand and with one frightened shriek he rushed
up the bank and disappeared. About one o'clock the bridge  at  Piacenza
came in sight but instead of being full of people, as he expected, Paul
saw only a few working men and some soldiers. No sight of the agent was
visible, so he decided to run through and stop at Cremona about thirty
miles below. He saluted the workmen and soldiers as he was carried under
the bridge with frightful velocity. At this time his strength was almost
gone and he was heart sore that he should  fail  in  his  self-imposed
task; but felt that he was able to continue on as far as Cremona, about
twenty-five miles below. The day grew more dreary and it seemed to  him
as if it would soon commence to snow. He continued working slowly and
stubbornly along, when he was  arrested  by  a  cry  behind  him. Coming
upright and wheeling around, he saw a young officer standing in a boat
pulled by about twenty pontoneers. As he  shot  alongside,  the officer
stretched forth his hand to shake Paul's and said in French:


"You must come on board and go back to Piacenza. The public are greatly
disappointed. Your agent said that you would be here  yesterday  and  a
great reception was prepared for you."


Paul thanked him but firmly declined to return. The officer then asked
him if he desired anything and Paul informed him that he  was  badly  in
need of provisions and some oil for his lamp. He had missed the little
light on the head of the Irene during the long,  lonely  nights  on  the
river.


"There is a village a couple of miles below," said the officer, "and if
you will slack up a little, I will run ahead and have all you  need  by
the time you come opposite."


The pontoneer's boat shot away and Paul followed quietly after them.


When he arrived off the village, the boat again pulled out into the
stream with not only the supplies  desired,  but  a  most  excellent
meal, consisting of boiled eggs and other nutritious edibles, along with
a bottle of fine old Barolo, the sparkling red wine of that  country.
While eating the food, Paul, with the boat alongside, drifted slowly
with the current and during that time, he ascertained that  the  young
officer, who had manifested so much interest in him, was the son of
General Pescetta, Minister of Marine. Shortly before being overtaken by
the friendly Italian, Boyton was beginning to feel terribly fatigued and
had serious thoughts of throwing up the trip; but under the influence of
the hearty meal and the invigorating wine, his courage was renewed and
he felt he could easily complete the journey. All that day he passed
through lonely and miserable looking country. Swampy lands and rice
fields bordered either side of the river. About five o'clock he saw two
men  on  the  bank and called out to them, asking how far it was to
Cremona:

"Motto, Signor; motto," was the answer which means, "very much, very
much." It is the usual reply of all Italian peasants when asked
regarding distance.

Paul was so refreshed that he did not mind the discouraging answer. He
was on buoyant spirits and to it seemed to him as though he  could  dash
along forever without tiring, his strength was so great. He felt there
would be no difficulty in  completing  his  undertaking  in  time.  This
unusual animation and feeling of wondrous power, he could only attribute
to the effects of the food and wine. Pulling gaily along, he  suddenly
felt a tremendous pressure in his head, and apparently without the
slightest cause, blood spurted from his mouth and nostrils. It  occurred
to him that he had burst a blood vessel.

Brilliant lights seemed to be burning in front, behind and all around
him, with the intensity of electric search lights. A village appeared on
the bank and he concluded to stop. Pulling in shore, he was bewildered
to  find  only  the  mud  bank.  This  discovery  startled him  into  a
realization that something was wrong with his brain. The mind was
wavering between the  hallucinations  of  a  fever,  and lucidity.
Vagaries occasioned by a high temperature, would suddenly vanish as the
struggling mind briefly asserted itself. As he resumed paddling,  some
swaying willows became three ladies attired in the Grecian bend costume,
then a fad in America, smiling and bowing to him. His mind told him they
were only willows; but his eyes would not be convinced.

Darkness fell about him. He had no idea of where he was going, and the
lights burst on him again with increased brilliancy. No matter where his
eyes turned, the intense rays would shine into them. He thought he had
arrived at Cremona, and that some men  were  turning  the  reflector  to
annoy him. "Keep those lights off," he shouted, "don't you see they are
blinding me?"

Reason came for an instant and told him there was no town and no lights.
He knew he must call for help, but several minutes elapsed  before  he
could remember the proper Italian word. Then he cried:

"Soccorso, soccorso!"

But only the echo responded from the lonely shore.

He again reached the bank, formed by a dyke which protects the lowlands
from the floods. He climbed to the top, carrying the little  tender  in
his arms. Then he could hear the tack, tack, tack, of some one pounding,
and through an open door he saw a shoemaker hammering away at the sole
of a boot on his knee. Attempting to enter, he staggered against a tree.
The shoemaker appeared in another  direction  and  the  sound  of  the
hammer was continually with him. Almost overcome with fatigue he decided
to sit down, and then his paddle assumed the character of a companion,
remonstrating with him and advising him to move on.

"I think I'll sit down here," Boyton would say.

"Indeed you won't," answered the paddle.

"But I must."

"If you do you will die. Come on."

Endeavoring to obey the commands of the paddle he continued to stagger
on, falling at every few steps; but  regaining  his  feet  and  pressing
forward. Intense thirst consumed him and he went often to the brink of
the river and drank quantities of water, burying his face in  the  muddy
stream; the paddle all the while urging him to move on. Along the top of
the dyke he came upon three posts placed for the  purpose  of  keeping
cattle from getting off the road. These posts became sneering, laughing
men, wearing cloaks flung across their breasts, Italian  fashion.  They
were insolent, and he challenged them to fight; but they only ridiculed
him.

"You are the fellows that have been bothering me all night," he shouted,
and dropping on one knee, he took a sheath knife from the  tender  and
plunged it into the breast of one of the men. In a flash of reason he
saw the knife quivering in a post.

Again the fevered voyager started, the paddle all the while telling him
that he would soon strike some town or village. Two or three times  the
overwhelming desire for water compelled him to return to the river and
drink. Every time he descended or climbed the dyke he  grew  weaker  and
finally decided to lie down at all hazards and sleep. The paddle
earnestly remonstrated:

"It is death. Death if you lie down. Keep on," it said.

Fatigue obtained the mastery and he sank on the ground determined to
sleep. Scarcely had he stretched his limbs on the muddy dyke, than he
was partially aroused by the "dong, dong, dong," of a great bell
clanging on the still night air. He counted twelve strokes.

"Ah, that is another illusion," he thought; but it brought him to a
sitting posture, just as a bell of  different  tone  sounded  "ding,
ding, ding," and again he counted twelve strokes.

The second sound convinced him that he was near a village, and heeding
the commands of the paddle, he struggled to his feet and entered a  road
which he followed, passing under an old arch that spanned the highway,
but he was afraid to touch it, thinking that it  too,  would  disappear.
Shortly the cobble stones of a street were felt through the rubber soles
of his dress. He saw houses on  each  side,  but  kept  on  under  the
impression that if he approached them they would vanish, and he also
conceived the idea that he must tread lightly or he would scare them
away. As he advanced through the village street, arguing with the paddle
that no real village was in sight, a light shining through  a  transom
over the door of some outbuilding, attracted his attention, and he
thought he might be in the vicinity of human beings. Hearing the sound
of  voices he approached the door, listening. Then another mad thought
came to him, that he must make a desperate rush at the door and get
inside  before it melted away. He did so, and the frail barrier gave way
before the pressure of his shoulder and he  stumbled  headlong  into the
place.  He disturbed several men who were drinking and playing at some
game and as he regained his feet he observed  two  of  the  men trying
to  escape through a window, while the others seized chairs and benches
to repel an attack of what they imagined to be the Evil one.

"Molto malado!" cried Boyton.

At hearing this, the men gained confidence and put down their weapons.

"Medico? Albergo?" inquired the voyager.

One of the most intelligent of the party, said: "Ah, he wants a doctor
and a hotel. He is sick," and they went out with  him  into  the  street
which was then lighted by the moon. The men advanced in a group while
Paul brought up the rear and in this way they proceeded until  the hotel
was reached, when some of the party began to throw pebbles against the
upper window to awaken the landlord. While  they  were  doing  that and
shouting, Paul counted them and found they numbered twelve. He concluded
they were the twelve apostles.

"Pedro, Pedro, come down," shouted one of the apostles, "a Frenchman
wants to get in."

Pedro at last appeared at the door with a light in his hand; but on
seeing his strange  visitor  in  the  black  dress  covered  with  mud,
he exclaimed: "No room, no room."

Boyton said "vino," a touch of reason coming to his aid.

"Yes," replied the landlord, "you can have wine."

He opened the door and the entire crowd entered a large room with an
earthen floor and ranged around were several common board tables
polished to a snowy whiteness, while on shelves were bright colored
vessels and measures. On ordering the wine, Paul noticed  the  landlord
eyeing  him suspiciously, so he took from the little boat which he still
carried, a book, among the leaves of which was some Italian paper money.
Throwing a ten lire note ($2.00), to the landlord, he ordered wine for
the full amount, and the twelve apostles were soon enjoying it. Boyton
sat  down and mechanically took the measure every time it was handed to
him and drank. He tried to listen to the conversation of  his  strange
comrades, but found himself dozing. The uproar made by the twelve, who
had seldom experienced such a windfall, awakened the landlord's wife who
entered the room and began to question the roysterers in a very emphatic
manner. Going to Boyton, she lifted the rubber from his forehead  and
turning angrily to men, exclaimed:

"Can't you understand? This man has febbre del fuoco."

Taking the measure of wine away from Paul, she ordered her husband to
build a fire and began to take off the rubber dress,  in  which  she was
assisted by some of the men. When the tunic was off, steam arose from
the voyager's body as  from  a  boiler,  and  when  the  pantaloons were
removed, the good hostess unceremoniously ordered the twelve apostles
into the street. She procured a chicken  which  was  soon broiling,  and
brewing some kind of tea, she compelled Paul to eat and drink, after
which he was escorted to a room and snugly covered up in a big,
canopied bed. He was no sooner stretched on the mattress than he was
sound asleep, not waking until the sun shone through the window next
day.  He  then heard the murmur of voices in the street. Jumping up, his
feet struck a cold tiled floor which sent a  chill  over  him.  Peering
through  the curtain, he discovered a crowd of people looking up at his
room and a buzz of voices was heard all about the house. Not remembering
where  he was, he pulled a bell cord and the summons was answered by the
landlady, who greeted him kindly and hoped he felt better. She also
informed him that two gentlemen were below who wished to see him.



"Let no one up but a doctor," answered Paul; but in a few moments three
men were ushered in. Boyton was  unreasonably  suspicious  and  testily
told the men that he only wanted a doctor. One of the gentlemen
explained in French that  he  was  the  mayor  of  Meletti;  that  one
of  his companions was a doctor and they had come to take care of and
entertain him. Such gracious answers to rough and suspicious questions,
disarmed Paul and they were soon on friendly terms. The mayor informed
him that a carriage was at the door to convey him to his own house,
where  better care could be had. It was explained that the patient had
nothing to wear except his underclothing, and the mayor  immediately
procured  him  a suit of clothes and escorted him through a gaping crowd
to the carriage, nor would he permit Paul to settle the hotel bill.

After an hour's drive the voyager was comfortably installed in a
mansion, under the ministrations of a distinguished physician.  No  one
could have been better treated. He afterward learned that his host,
beside his official position, was a large landed proprietor, owning most
of  the village, and was a member of the great family of Gattoni de
Meletti.

Reports that the man in the rubber dress had been attacked by the fever,
spread  all  over  Italy,  and  great  numbers  of  people  came  from
surrounding towns to see him and inquire as to his condition. The fire
fever with which Paul was attacked (febbre del fuoco),  is  peculiar  to
the districts along the lowlands of the Po, and he had been eighty-three
consecutive hours in the water when it overcame him.

For more than a week the doctor was in close attendance and then Boyton
was sufficiently restored to health to go about. He  was  treated  with
the utmost consideration. The mayor took pains to show him everything of
interest. Among his other possessions, the  hospitable  Italian  owned
great droves of cows. The cows of that vicinity are known all over the
world, the famous Parmesean cheese being made there.  The  mayor's  herd
wintered in long sheds and were so near of one size that looking along
the stalls over their backs they seemed as even and as level as a floor.
The stalls and everything about the sheds were as clean and as sweet
smelling as could be.

The notoriety given to the town of Meletti by the presence of Boyton
created much jealousy in the breasts of the people  of  Castlenuovo
Bocco d'Adda, the town in which he first appeared. They became impressed
with the idea that their village had been cheated out of  considerable
fame by reason of the action of the mayor of Meletti in taking him away;
so in order to even things up they formed a Boyton club and promoted a
big banquet in his honor. This was followed by a more stupendous
entertainment given by the people of Meletti, and thus  there  was great
rivalry between the villages to honor the distinguished guest. At the
Meletti banquet people were present from Cremona, and Boyton gave an
exhibition in the lake for the benefit of the poor.

When thoroughly restored to health, Paul continued his voyage and was
tendered an ovation all the way. On the fourth day he ended  the journey
at Ferrara. When he landed he found that the enterprising agent before
alluded to, had pursued the same tactics there  that  had distinguished
him at Piacenza. He had told the people that Boyton would surely be down
on a certain day, while at the time he was ill at Meletti. On the  day
set by the agent for his arrival, great crowds gathered on the bridge
and along the banks. A log floating down on the current was hailed by
the agent as the voyager, much to the disgust of the people who strained
their eyes until darkness sent every one home. The  agent  having
reached the limit of his credit in Ferrara, as he had at the town up the
river, secretly disappeared to the shades of Milan, where it is supposed
that he resumed his operatic career.



CHAPTER XII.

After leaving Ferrara, Boyton gave many exhibitions through the interior
towns of Italy; and finally made arrangements for a  voyage  down  the
Arno from Florence to Pisa, a distance of about one-hundred kilometers.
All Florence was worked up to a  state  of  great  excitement  when  it
became known that the intrepid American, as he was called, was going to
start on a voyage from that city. The banks of the Arno were  literally
jammed with people to witness the start. The river, which is fed by
mountain streams, was rising rapidly owing to recent heavy rains above
and many were the exclamations of doubt regarding his ability to
accomplish the undertaking. A dam, called the pescaia, spans the river
diagonally in the midst of the city and it was looked upon as a
dangerous obstacle by the people. The start was made shortly before  two
o'clock  in  the afternoon and the rapid current, assisted by the
powerful strokes of his paddle, soon carried Paul beyond sight of the
crowds and he went  over the dam in safety.

At nine o'clock he arrived at San Romano where an immense crowd,
including the notables of the district, together with the municipal
junta  of Montopoli, awaited patiently as possible his arrival. Torches
blazed along the bank to show him where to land and loud huzzas  rolled
up  from the multitude when he stood on the shore. He was escorted to a
small inn where his only refreshments were two cups of tea. The crowd
demanded a speech, and to quiet the yelling, Paul stepped to the porch
of the inn and delivered most of the Italian words he knew:

"Signori, taute grazie di vostra accoglienza, arrivederie, ciao!"

The speech was greeted with great applause and the crowd was satisfied.
He remained at San Romano but a short time and again entered the water.
At some little distance below the village, there is a weir which is
considered a most formidable spot by the inhabitants.  They  endeavored
to persuade Boyton to remain until morning and not attempt its passage
in the darkness, especially as the river was now much higher than  when
he started. Paul laughed at their fears and amidst the plaudits of the
spectators, disappeared in the darkness. The weir so feared by the
people, proved a mere toy for him.

A demonstration in his honor was prepared at Pontedera, where he arrived
at 12 o'clock. Regardless of the late hour, the banks were crowded and
torches gleamed along the entire length of the town. The whole
population seemed to have turned out. As Paul came opposite, he stood up
in  the water, saluting the assemblage. As he resumed his recumbent
position, his hand came in contact with the upturned face of a dead
woman.  For  a moment he was horrified; but fastening the body to a
line, he carried it to shore, while  the  band  played  and  the  people
cheered,  little suspecting that the voyager had such a ghastly object
in tow. He called out that he had the corpse of a woman with him. Some
of the authorities took charge of it; but the crowd gave it no heed as
they followed up the street, cheering and tumbling over one another in
their anxiety to see him. One enthusiast, who thought he was being
unduly crowded, rammed his torch down another's throat. Boyton was
compelled to repeat the speech he made at San Romano. The banquet was a
noble success; but very trying to the landlord who appeared to be
completely  upset  at  having  such unusual trade. Instead of heeding
orders for edibles, he would rush into the banqueting hall every few
moments and nervously  count  the  empty wine bottles. The guests yelled
at him to hurry; but those bottles were counted several times before
anything was set on the table to eat. Paul remained at Pontedera until
morning, simply because he did not wish to reach Pisa until the
following mid-day, which was  the  time  appointed. Consequently it was
8 o'clock in the morning when he resumed the voyage; he was escorted to
the river by the same enthusiastic crowds. At  noon he arrived at Pisa.
A unique reception had been arranged. The mayor and all the authorities
were out to meet  him  in  those  peculiar  looking boats that are seen
nowhere else in the world, called Lancia Pisana. Those boats are of
ancient make; none of them being  manufactured  at  the present day.
They are about thirty feet long, richly carved and  gaudily  painted.
Under  the  escort  of  these  gay  boats,  containing  the
notabilities, Paul landed and again great crowds tendered him an
ovation.

Under the impression that Boyton could neither speak nor understand the
Italian tongue, the officials had engaged a man who was supposed to  be
a great English scholar, to act as interpreter for him at the feast to
be given in the evening. The fellow was a burr, sticking  to  the  outer
skirts of respectable society, and when he was engaged to act as
interpreter on such an occasion, he felt himself to be a  great  man. He
was over weighted with his importance. At the banquet he sat at Boyton's
right hand and at every toast proposed, he would rise and bow in the
most gracious manner. This rather embarrassed Paul, who understood about
all that was being said and could speak  enough Italian  to  make
himself understood. He mentioned the fact to one or two of his
entertainers, at the same time expressing a desire to be rid of  the
interpreter.  The fellow was having too much pleasure to be easily
disposed of, and it was not until some very vigorous words were passed,
that he  concluded  to abandon the scene. In the meantime he had been
honoring every toast with copious draughts of wine, and was very much
intoxicated when  he  left the hall. He wandered about the streets and
the more he thought of his dismissal, the deeper became his wrath and he
concluded that he had been insulted. A few more measures of wine,
partaken of at the café, determined him to wipe the insult out in blood.
Having  made  up  his  mind  to write Boyton a challenge, he entered a
hotel with an air of great importance, and called to a waiter in a voice
that could be  heard  all  over the place:

"Waiter; a pen, ink and paper. I wish to write to Captain Paul Boyton."
The materials were given him and the following is a  verbatim  copy  of
the challenge sent by the accomplished English scholar to Paul:

[Image of obviously illegible gibberish]

Next morning Boyton returned to Florence and that evening while
entertaining some friends in his room, one of the  guests  looked  out
at  the window and remarked how much higher the river was than it had
been when he started for Pisa. Some of the guests advanced the  opinion
that  it would be impossible for him to go into the river while it was
in such a flood. Paul, overhearing them, said: "Ladies and gentlemen, if
you will step out on the porch and wait a few moments, I will enter the
river and paddle through the city in order to show you that I am equally
as safe in such water as I would be were it as smooth as glass."

While he was preparing for this short trip, the news spread over the
city like wildfire and by the time  he  was  ready,  people  lined
either shore. When he proposed the trip, he had forgotten about the dam
before alluded to, and did not know that the water was pouring over it
in such torrents that it was extremely dangerous. He entered the raging
current and was rapidly carried toward it. When he realized the danger
he  was approaching, it was too late to retreat, owing to the terrific
power of the current that was bearing him to the falls.  As  he  went
over  the sloping volume of water, he was met at the bottom by an
immense back wave which drove him under. Where the clashing waves
embraced each  other, he was checked and held, being rolled like a log
that is caught between a back and an undertow. Thousands of people
crowded the  banks  in  the vicinity of the pescaia and they gave Boyton
up as lost. Men turned pale and women fainted. Now and again they could
see an arm protruding from the dark, angry waters; then a leg and an end
of his paddle which he had the presence of mind to retain. It was
impossible to get a rope to him and certain death to attempt a rescue
with a boat.

"Only God can save him now," yelled some excited Italian, "no man can do
it."

The multitude felt there was nothing to be done but to stand helplessly
by and watch him drown. And what  were  Boyton's  thoughts?  He  stated
afterwards: "I thought of it being Christmas eve. The news of my death
would be telegraphed to New York, my mother would  hear  of  it  and  it
would make a sad Christmas for her." The voyager straggled with all the
strength he possessed against the awful power of the contending  waters
and fortunately succeeded in throwing himself out on a big wave and was
carried down. A great sigh of relief  went  up  from  the  crowd  which
sounded like the rush of distant wind.

Soon after Paul was pulled from the river insensible. When he recovered
from that adventure, King Victor Emanuel gave  permission  for  him  to
appear in the Jardin Boboli. The excitement was so great during that
appearance and the crowd so large that ticket  takers  were  carried
away from the gates, and though many thus entered free, several thousand
francs were realized.

Paul was now the fashion in Italy. Songs were composed and sung in his
honor at the theatres, brands of cigars and other  articles  were  given
his name; business men had their calendars for the new year printed with
his  adventures  detailed  on  them,  and  the  citizens  of  Meletti
christened a lake after him. Managers of places of amusement advertised
that he would be present at  their  entertainments  in  order  to  draw
crowds, and everywhere could be heard the praises of the wonderful
American.

From Florence Paul went to Rome, where he visited General Pescetto,
Italian Minister of Marine, with  whom  he  had  a  pleasant
conversation, during which the meeting with his son on the Po was
mentioned.

"What can I do for you?" cordially asked the General.

"Well," answered 'Paul, "my business is introducing my life-saving
dress, which will be the means of preserving many lives on the coast as
well as on the men-of-war you are now constructing."

"Ah, you have proved the value of your dress. I have no doubt of its
efficiency; but our government has expended vast sums of money already
for the benefit of shipwrecked mariners and we are not as rich as we
would wish to be. The means we now have for  saving  life  on  the coast
are considered sufficient, and in regard to adopting your dress on our
men-of-war, I fear you do not understand the nature of the Italian
sailor. If we placed a number of your dresses on the Duelio, for
instance, or on any of our men-of-war, the sailors would reason that the
vessels  were not seaworthy and we would have much difficulty in
persuading them to enlist." "Suppose I could prove to you that it would
be possible to  slip under one of your men-of-war on a dark night and
blow her to atoms. How would that be?"

"Ah," responded the General earnestly, "that is a different question. If
you can prove that to me, I will call a  commission  to  examine  into
it."

Ample proof was given as to the efficacy of the dress in the torpedo
service, and to-day there are many drilled experts in  the  Italian
navy, which serves to show how much more interest is manifested in life
taking than in lifesaving. Arrangements were made for an  exhibition  in
the bano del poplo. In preparing for this entertainment, Paul first
experienced the manner most of the European artisans have of doing
business and their original way of preparing bills for services
rendered. It was necessary for him to engage a carpenter to build
several  small  boats  for use in the exhibition. Paul asked the
landlord to assist him in making a contract with a  workman.  With  the
accommodating  host's  help,  an agreement was made with a skilled
worker in wood to build six little boats according to specifications
given, for the sum of  five  lire  each. The carpenter had the boats
ready on time, and during the exhibition, constituted himself a sort of
major domo, making himself  very  busy  and very much in the way about
the place, as though he had charge of the entire affair. At the close of
the entertainment, he presented a bill  for seventy-five lire, when
according to his contract, it should have been but thirty lire. Paul
refused to pay until the landlord  should  examine the account and
pronounce it correct. When it was shown to that gentleman, he vigorously
protested against its payment, pronouncing it  robbery and compelling
the carpenter to render an itemized account. Following is a copy of the
itemized bill, which will be of interest to business men and artisans of
other countries:


To six boats, per agreement................30 lire.
Wood for building..........................11
Nails.......................................2
Labor and making...........................14
Pieces broken in bending....................5
Carrying boats to the bano..................2
Time lost while at exhibition..............10
Wine for poor boy who fell overboard........1

                                     Total 75 lire

The above is a fair sample of how contracts are adhered to in many
European countries. Paul paid the fellow the thirty lire that were due
him, receiving the profane blessing of the irate builder. Boyton was
just in time for the great Roman Carnival and had the pleasure, if such
it  may be called, of witnessing the spectacle of barbrie barbrie. This
was cruel and dangerous sport--a horse race  along  the  Corso,  the
principal thoroughfare in Rome; which is a narrow, winding street. The
race was contested by five or  six  thoroughbred  horses,  nearly  wild
and  very vicious. They were turned loose in the street without bridle
or any other harness with the exception of a surcingle, from the  sides
of  which hung like tassels, steel balls, with sharp, needle-like points
projecting from their surface that served to prick and goad  the animals
to  a frenzy of speed. The streets were lined with people and it was all
the enormous force of guards could do to drive them out  of danger  to
the sidewalks. The balconies and windows of the houses were also
crowded. The start was made near the upper end  of  the  city  at the
Place  del Popolo, where anxious grooms held the struggling horses;
until, at the firing of a cannon, the bridles were slipped and the
frightened  animals dashed madly down the street, with those wicked
steel balls swinging in the air and cruelly beating their sides,
spurring them  to  a  terrific pace. Each horse bore a number and as
immense sums of money are wagered, cannons were placed at intervals
along the route which  were  fired  a number of times to correspond with
the number borne by the horse in the lead, thus indicating to the
betters the number of the horse  in  front at the different stations.
Perfect pandemonium reigned during this wild dash down the Corso. Men
and women yelled as though they were mad,  and the shrill voices of
children were also heard above the roaring of the cannon.

At the end of the Corso a net was dropped across the street, into which
the frenzied steeds plunged and were flung to the ground, a tangled and
bleeding mass of noble horse-flesh. Some were killed outright and others
were so maimed that they had to be  dispatched  to  put  them  out  of
misery. More or less people were always killed at these barbarous races;
but for some years the barbrie has been abolished.

While in the ancient city, Paul determined to make a voyage down the
Tiber. He went up the river as far as he could get, to Orte. The
distance from that town to Rome is about one hundred and ninety miles by
river. News of his determination to try the Tiber having preceeded him
to Orte, he was royally received by the authorities and populace. When
the start was made, the mayor escorted him to the river, lustily blowing
a  horn all the way, like a fish peddler trying to attract attention.
The Tiber is an uninteresting stream, running through the Roman
Campagna, and  is made up of great bends. He left Orte in the afternoon,
and night came on terribly cold. Now and then he would get a cheer from
people along the banks; but in a moment it was lost. He drove rapidly
along all night without an adventure worth recording. About six o'clock
next  morning  he was caught in an awkward manner in the branches of a
tree that had washed into the stream and he only freed himself by
cutting away  the  limbs with his knife, causing considerable delay. All
day he drove energetically along, and the stream turned and twisted so
much that he  frequently passed the same village twice in swinging
around great bends. At nightfall he came near frightening the life out
of  a  shepherd.  Not  knowing where he was and hearing the bark of a
dog he climbed up the bank to ascertain, if possible, his locality. He
met the shepherd on  top  of  the bank, who looked at him a moment and
then scampered away across the plain as fast as his legs would carry
him.

That night Paul was met by the Canottiere del Tevere, the leading boat
club of Rome, and was accompanied by them for the rest of  the  journey.
Next morning, when they neared Rome, they hauled up at a clubhouse for
breakfast. For some miles before they reached the city, people came  out
on horseback and on foot, saluting them with vivas. At three o'clock
they pulled into Rome and were welcomed by thousands of people,  and
Paul was agreeably astonished at hearing a band play Yankee Doodle in a
house which was profusely  decorated  with  American  flags.  In  fact,
the reception was something indescribable. People were crowded into
every available space. A barge upset in the river, but all the occupants
were saved. Boyton landed at Ripetta Grande and so great was the
pressure of the throng that the iron band about the waist of his dress
was  crushed like an eggshell. No end of fetes followed, the citizens
seeming  to  vie  with  one  another  as  to  which  could give  the
most  splendid entertainment.

Naples was next visited with the intention of crossing the famous bay.
Paul arrived in that city in time for the carnival, and  enjoyed  seeing
Victor Emanuel, that grim but good natured old king, open the
festivities by driving through the streets and submitting to the
bombardment  of confetti. His majesty smiled and bowed as he passed
along, throwing some of it back at those who were standing near. The
confetti  is  made  of plaster of Paris and easily crumbles to powder,
as flour and it is thrown everywhere and at everybody by the gay,
laughing people.

On the afternoon of February 16th, 1877, Boyton crossed on the steamer
to Capri, having decided to start from that point. While on  the  island
that afternoon, he visited the Blue Grotto, an opening in the island
leading into a cave of rare beauty, which is daily visited by tourists.
A boat passes through the entrance and directly the visitor is
enshrouded in intense darkness; but the moment anything  touches  the
water,  the phosphorus causes it to light up a vivid, silver-like color.
Paul put on his dress and paddled all through the  wonderful  grotto,
the  rubber appearing like a bright, silver armor as he agitated the
water with his paddle.

At three o'clock next morning he started on his trip across the bay from
the  steamboat  landing.  Notwithstanding  the  early  hour,  all  the
inhabitants of the island were on hand to witness the start. To his
surprise he found the effect of the water of the bay in the dark, the
same as had been observed in the Blue Grotto. Even the fish darting
about, would leave a phosphorescent trail.

When the sun rose that morning, Mt. Vesuvius loomed up before Paul in
the clear atmosphere. It seemed very near and he thought he  would reach
Naples before time. About nine o'clock, the bay became very rough and
soon the blue waves covered him. He kept paddling  on  and  on,  yet the
grim, smoke-covered mountain seemed no nearer. At three o'clock in the
afternoon, he sighted a felucca bearing down on him. When  near enough,
he stood up in the water and hailed her. The occupants of the little
vessel came to the rail, pointed at the unusual object in  the water
and then the great sail was veered around and they scudded swiftly away.
Sailors on that bay have a superstition about picking up a dead  body
and they either supposed Paul was a drowned person or some mysterious
denizen of  the  deep.  At  any  rate  they  were  too  badly frightened
to investigate. At five o'clock, the voyager was nearing Naples in a
rough sea. The excursion boats went out but almost missed him.  Sounding
the bugle, he attracted their attention. He landed at the city at about
seven o'clock before  an  enormous  crowd,  among whom  were  King
Victor Emmanuel, the sindaco with the other authorities of Naples. The
usual banquet was prepared and it  was  a late  hour  that  night
before  the ceremonies were concluded. The fishermen of the city
presented Paul with an address signed by over four thousand  people
connected  with  the water, and Marianne Aguglia, Comtesse Desmouceaux
published a poem commemorating the event. Victor Emmanuel invited Paul
to exhibit before  him in the arsenal, or military port. The King was
accompanied by his morganatic wife, the Countess  of Miraflores.  He
was  delighted  with  the performance, more particularly with the
torpedo display. One of the pieces of timber from the explosion fell
near his feet; he laughed  merrily about it, while the Countess drew
away in alarm. After the exhibition, Boyton divested himself of the
rubber dress and stood clad  in  a  well-worn naval uniform. He was
escorted to the presence of the royal pair by Admiral del Carette. The
King asked Paul many questions in his quaint, Piedmontese French, and
then observing that the voyager was fatigued, he ordered two goblets of
wine to be brought in, which  good  health  and fortune were pledged.
Then an officer was ordered to bring the cross, which the King himself
pinned on Paul's blue shirt,  knighting  him with the Cross of the Order
of the Crown of Italy saying:

"You are a brave man and deserve this token of our appreciation."



CHAPTER XIII.

In several engagements about Naples, enormous sums of money were taken.
Then Boyton proceeded to Messina. Before leaving Naples, he had made up
his mind to attempt the dreaded straits of that name, and dare the
dangers  of  the  noted  whirlpools  of  Scylla  and  Charybdis.  Every
one cheerfully assured him that the attempt would result in death, for
beside the dangers of the whirlpools, the straits were infested with
sharks.

Arriving at Messina, he determined to test the report of sharks. At
early morning he went to the market place and procured  a  large  piece
of meat which he took out near the fort, where the sharks were said to
be numerous. He threw a piece of the meat into  the  water  and  it
slowly sank. Paul, as he saw it going down, believed that the stories of
the sharks were exaggerated; but suddenly it was drawn out of sight.
Another piece was thrown in and had scarcely touched the surface when
there was a rush and a swirl and the meat was snapped up in a twinkling.
An  old hat was thrown in next and it was torn to shreds in a second.
This undeniable proof that sharks were plentiful in the straits, made
Paul  feel very blue, as he did not fancy giving up an undertaking after
once setting his mind to it.

It was noised about that Boyton would attempt to swim the straits. The
people of the city and surrounding country grew excited, and all  manner
of bets were made on the result. One night as Boyton sat gloomily at a
small table in the corner of a café, he overheard a man wager  his  oxen
that the American would not attempt the passage and that he could not
cross if he did. Though much disheartened, when Paul heard this, as well
as many more doubts expressed as to his ability to accomplish the feat,
he determined to attempt it at all hazards. An  old  legend  is extant
among the fishermen and peasants of the locality that the only human
being who ever crossed the straits without the aid  of  a  boat, was
St. Francisco, who, being pursued by his enemies, spread his cloak on
the water and stepping on it was wafted across without harm and escaped.
So the proposed attempt of Boyton was looked upon as certain death.

After deciding to try the passage, Paul engaged a felucca, owned by the
most expert spearsman in those waters, to accompany  him,  and  another
for the invited guests and newspaper men. These boats were ready on the
morning of March 16th, 1877, and sailed from Messina for the  coast  of
Calabria, from which point the start was to be made. They arrived there
at seven o'clock the same  morning.  The  party  consisted  of  several
prominent men of Messina, among them the editor of the Gazette.
Everybody was armed for sharks, the editor being especially well
equipped  for slaughtering these wolves of the deep and very bold in his
assertions of how he would protect Boyton from their attacks.

At a small, scattered village on the Calabrian side, the felucca
containing Paul and his guests landed. The dress and those on board were
put ashore and preparations were at once made for the start. A sirocco
was blowing at the time, setting a  heavy  tide  in  the direction  of
the whirlpool of Scylla, or the Faro, as they call it there. The sea
grew rougher while the little party stood on  the  beach and  as  Boyton
was dressing the most anxious one in the group was the enthusiastic
editor. His nerve was slowly oozing out at his finger ends.

The inhabitants of the village began crowding down to the shore and when
they learned what was going on, an old white-haired man approached the
voyager, and in the most earnest manner, addressed him in the Calabrian
dialect: "Don't go, don't go," he cried. "I had a boy such as you,  who
was lost out there and the devils of the straits will get you."

The appeal of the old man was interpreted to Paul and was the only
occurrence of the day that had a tendency to upset his nerves.

The expert spearsman had arranged a place on his boat where he could
stand and harpoon any sharks that might attack the adventurer,  while
the guests on the other craft thought they were pretty well fixed to
keep the monsters off. Everything being ready, the felucca backed in
from  her cable to get the guests aboard. All were safely on except the
bold editor. He was pale and his knees were knocking together.  His
courage  was gone and he persisted in remaining on shore, until one of
the sailors lifted him bodily aboard.

The sea was very rough when Boyton stepped into it. He struck away as
fast as he could and both feluccas kept a sharp lookout. He reached mid-
channel without encountering any danger, and stopped to look about and
take his bearings. He  perceived  that  he  was  nearing  Charybdis. On
looking around, just as the foremost boat rose on a huge wave, he saw
what he thought to be a shark directly under it. He pulled his knife and
prepared for an attack. He was rather nervous, and the feluccas seemed
an awful distance away. He  called  out  that  a  shark  was  in sight.
Immediately, as Paul was afterward informed, the brave editor dropped on
his knees and began to pray that they might not all be swallowed  up.
The shark was darting from side to side of the boat, but spying Boyton's
black figure, it turned on its side and swam for him. Paul braced  for
the attack, and when the monster was close enough he ripped it under the
mouth, and in going down it struck him a severe blow in the side  with
its tail, then disappeared, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. Boyton
made away as fast as he could, glad to escape the monster  so  easily.
He was not attacked again. The tide was carrying him right to the place
where he had first discovered the presence of sharks; but a  number  of
boats came off from Messina, their occupants yelling and splashing the
water, which served to frighten the brutes away.

On the outer edge of the whirlpool of Charybdis, which is a great eddy
caused by a jutting point of land on which a fort is built, and  on  the
ebb tide strong enough to swamp a boat, Paul worked for one hour without
advancing a single yard; the people all the while expecting to see him
swallowed up. He held out, however, and at last landed safely at
Messina. The American ships laying there dipped their flags in salute,
and the entire population was filled with astonishment at the successful
termination of the feat. The valiant editor  of  the  Gazette,  after
feeling himself safely ashore, became quite a lion, graphically
picturing the adventures of the day to admiring crowds. From  the  wharf
to  the  city hall, where a reception had been arranged, the streets on
both sides were lined with troops to protect Paul from the crowds. On
arriving at the hall, he fainted and an examination showed that three of
his ribs had been broken by the shark's tail and that the steel band of
his dress  was bent close to his body by the great force of the blow. He
was conveyed to his hotel where he remained for two weeks until he was
quite  strong again. For some time after the attack by the shark, Boyton
took life easy. He visited Mt. Etna, Catalana, Syracuse and other places
of interest in Sicily. At Syracuse, he spent a lazy week. It is one of
the dirtiest town in the world; but Paul enjoyed everything  he  saw.
When  on  the street, he was generally followed by a crowd of boys who
were trying to sell all sorts of little trinkets. One of  them
especially,  was  very persistent in trying to dispose of an ancient
coin of the Ceasars, which he guaranteed to be very valuable and for
which  he  would  take  the paltry sum of ten lire. Boyton finally told
him that he knew all about the coin, and would give two lire to find the
man who made it. The young villain mysteriously whispered the
information, which later on was found to be correct. Some of the boys
would get him ten fine oranges for one cent on being given an extra
penny for going on the errand.

It was a favorite amusement for Paul and his agent to go out on the road
in hope of encountering brigands, who were reported numerous and bold.
They would enter some low cabriolet that was suspected of harboring
these knights of the mountains. With carbines concealed under their
coats, they would make an ostentatious display of rolls of Italian paper
money, expecting that some of the robbers would follow them out on  the
road and stir up a little excitement. The brigands were either too busy
at something else, or they regarded the American as rather too dangerous
a customer to attack for they never materialized. Before leaving the old
town, the authorities induced him  to  give  an exhibition,  which  was
witnessed by the entire population, brigands included. Just before the
entertainment, Boyton hung his rubber-suit on a stone wall in  the  sun,
to dry. When the crowd had gathered, he hurried on with the dress; but
flung it off with much greater rapidity, when he found it  was  full  of
the little green lizards which abound on the island.

When the P. & O. steamer arrived, Paul and his agent embarked for Malta,
where they had their first clash with  the  authorities.  There  is  a
peculiar law in that sleepy old town which prohibits the posting of any
bills larger than a small sheet, about the  size  of  note  paper.  The
night after their arrival, they plastered the town with one sheet
posters, which looked to the natives bigger than  one  hundred  sheet
stands would in this country. Next morning the inhabitants stood aghast
at the audacity of the Americans in doing such an unheard of thing. They
were summoned before the Governor and the enormity of their offense
solemnly revealed to them; but owing to the plea of ignorance of the
law,  they were discharged, and ordered to take down the bills as
quickly as possible. In obedience to the  mandate  of  the  Governor,
they  employed  a sleepy-eyed native to do the work, with instructions
to take his time. It required two days to undo the work of one night,
but the  authorities were satisfied and the exhibition was the best
advertised of any that had been in Malta for years.

Paul was a great favorite with the boatmen and fishermen of Malta, and
spent all of his leisure time with these  acquaintances,  going  fishing
with them almost daily. The boatmen are peculiar and their boats are
queer affairs, every one having a large eye painted on each  side  of
the bow. Paul asked a fisherman why eyes were painted on the boats, and
he gravely replied:

"How could the poor things see without eyes?"

Not one of these men could be induced to go out in a boat that had no
eyes painted on her.

From Malta, Paul went to Tunis, and on landing there, was genuinely
surprised. The passengers and their baggage  were  loaded  into  boats
for transfer to shore, nearing which, they were met by crowds of bare
legged natives who waded out as far as they could and when a  boat  was
near enough, they grabbed the baggage and trotted off with it,
regardless of the remonstrances of the owners. At the custom house, the
luggage  was found; each native sitting stoically on whatever he had
chanced to capture, with an air of absolute proprietorship. After it was
passed by  the custom authorities, it was carried to the hotel by the
howling mob, where, with many kicks and cuffs  administered  by  the
landlord,  it  was reclaimed. Paul gave an exhibition at this place on
which the awe stricken Moors gazed in wonder. He then returned to Italy
in which country he gave exhibitions with extraordinary success. While
working north, he received an  invitation  to  visit  Lake  Trasmene,
celebrated  in  Roman history. All the villages about the lake joined in
a demonstration that was to take place at Pastgnano. Boyton's program
was to cross from  the old town of Castiglioni de Lago to the former
place. The mountaineers living near the lake came out in queer boats
loaded to the water's  edge, in which they followed him across. He
observed the wind rising and knowing that the heavily laden boats would
not live in  any  kind  of  rough weather, he warned them and begged
them to go ashore; but very few heeded him. Scarcely had he landed when
an  Italian  officer  rushed  in  to where he was undressing, excitedly
shouting:

"Oh, go back. Go back. They are drowning out there."

As quickly as possible, Paul returned to the lake and saw that one of
the boats had swamped. The three men who occupied  it  were  drowned and
could not be found. The accident put a damper on the festivities of the
day. The bands of music were hushed and much sorrow expressed  for the
unfortunates. The Syndaco, however, invited Boyton to a dinner, and they
were enjoying themselves very  well,  considering  the circumstances,
when a delegation of the people called and made the statement that a
majority of the crowd was dissatisfied. Many were from a  great
distance, and demanded to see L'uomo Pesce, a name they had given to
Boyton, meaning "Man Fish." Some of the leading men of the town advised
Paul that it would be better for him to give some kind of an
entertainment, otherwise there might be a riot. So much against his
will, he went out and  gave an exhibition, before the bodies of the poor
fellows were recovered. The mountaineers were satisfied, however, and
went to their homes with all sorts of ideas of the "Man Fish." That
night after sundown, the bodies were found and the weird cries of the
relatives  rang  dismally  through the streets until morning.

Next day Paul and his agent remained over to pay their last respects and
attend the funeral. They witnessed  the  peculiar  ceremonies  of  the
Misericordia, a society that has for its object the burial of the dead.
They wear long, white robes, covering their entire person,  with  holes
cut for the eyes, nose and mouth. They formed a grim looking procession,
and as they turned those expressionless faces toward one, they sent  a
cold shiver down the spine. Regardless of this uncanny feeling, Boyton
and his friend followed the procession into the church and by so  doing,
gained the good will of the villagers, who assured them that they were
in no way to  blame  for  the  accident.  The  entire  receipts  of  the
entertainment, with a liberal addition, were presented to the families
of the drowned men.



CHAPTER XIV.

Exhibitions followed in Milan, Turin, Genoa and other cities of northern
Italy, then the travelers passed into France, to the headwaters of the
Rhone. Paul had selected this river for his next voyage. With the
intention of making the entire stream from its source to  the
Mediterranean, he visited Geneva, in Switzerland. Here he discovered
that it would be impossible to start from the lake, as by doing so he
would  be  carried into the great cavern known as Per du Rhone, in which
the entire river disappears and makes a  mysterious  and  unexplored
passage  under  the mountain. He was anxious to try the underground
current through the cavern and did not give up the idea until several
experiments had convinced him that it would be foolhardy to make the
attempt. He stationed one of his assistants at the point where the Rhone
again comes to the  surface and with the help of others, miles above at
the mouth of the cavern, he sent in logs of wood, bladders and other
buoyant objects, none of which were observed to pass through by the
watcher below. The last and deciding experiment, was sending in a pair
of live ducks and these, also  were lost. He then concluded to start
below the cavern and selected the little village of Seyssel as the best
point to prepare for the voyage.

The Rhone when high is one of the most rapid rivers in the world, and
Paul's trip from Seyssel to the Mediterranean was the  swiftest  he ever
made. The entire distance is five hundred kilometers, or three hundred
miles, and his actual running time was sixty hours. He  was enabled  to
push along at this unusual rate on account of the freshets swelling the
river to a flood. He passed in safety the perilous rapids of the  Saute
du Rhone; but near the frontier of France he had a marvelous escape from
a frightful death. The authorities  on  the frontier  are  kept  busy
watching for smugglers who work contraband goods from Switzerland into
France. A quantity of goods were smuggled through the lines by  floating
them down the river at night, and in order to catch such articles the
officers of the Duane stretched a strong gate of chain  work  across
the river just at the border. This gate is thickly set with sharp iron
hooks which hold the packages that float against them. Paul was not
informed of this dangerous bar to his progress. As he neared the
frontier village he noticed the utmost excitement amongst the crowds
congregated on the banks. From their wild gesticulations, he could see
they were shouting; but he thought they were simply cheering him and
continued  his  rapid approach on the swollen stream. When near enough
he saw that their faces were pale and they were making  motions  for
him  to  stop;  but  the current was so swift that such a thing was
impossible. He was irresistibly carried along by the terrible force. He
next noticed several  guards rush out on the bridge, who, throwing off
their coats, began quickly to turn heavy cranks, and then he saw the
sheet of glistening hooks rising slowly from the water. Now he
understood why they had tried to stop him. To be thrown with all that
force against those hooks  meant  not  only certain death, but fearful
mutilation.

Swiftly he drew near the wicked looking points and slowly, oh, so slowly
they rose above the water. The  people  watched  with  nervous  dread.
Could they be hoisted high enough before he reached them? Many a silent
prayer was murmured that the guards would be successful. Bravely  those
men strained every muscle; but the thing was unwieldy and the work was
slow--fearfully slow. The terror of the people  was  depicted  on  their
faces. They now saw that the last row of hooks was nearing the surface,
but Boyton was almost upon them.  The  panting  and  perspiring  guards
redoubled their efforts. Paul swept under and the lower line of hooks
barely allowed him to pass unscathed. A great  shout  went  up  from the
crowd.

The current at that point was running fully twelve miles an hour. Boyton
was asked how he felt when going so rapidly: "Such lively motion,"  he
said, "greatly excites you. Your heart beats fast; you feel as if you
had enormous power, whereas you have no power at all. There is something
in the danger that pleases and thrills you."

After passing under the smuggler's chain gate, his course ran between
lines of hills which fringe the banks of the river. He could see here
and there on the slopes, an old woman with a cow. Every cow seemed to
have a woman attendant in that country. Now and again one of them would
catch sight of Paul as he sped along. For a second she would gaze at the
unusual object and then move off--she and her cow. One old dame happened
to be nearer the water's edge than the others, the voyager saluted by
standing up in the water and shouting:

"Bon jour"

She crossed herself, and fled.

Next morning he was nearing the rapids of the Saute du Rhone, and
inquired of the people he saw: "How far is the Saute?

"About two kilometers," was the answer.

"Which side shall I take for safety?"

"The left."

The next one told him to take the right, and at last he was advised to
keep in the middle.

Finding he could gain no reliable information, he stood upright and
looked about to see, if possible, what the danger was. Ahead of him  was
a rapid, running amid big, black rocks and crossed by a bridge which was
crowded with people. It was too late to think of stopping himself and be
swept into and through it like an arrow; but at the bottom he was
carried against a wall of rock and nearly blinded. He hung there  for  a
few moments to recover himself, and again felt the current bearing him
away almost as fast as he approached. He was kindly received all along,
and had he accepted one-third of the invitations to entertainments, some
months would have been required  to  finish  the  voyage.  On  one
lonely stretch, he saw a solitary countryman standing on the bank.

"Ho, ho; my good friend," he shouted.

"Who is there?" asked the startled farmer.

"The devil."

"Where are you going?"

"To Lyons."

"Well, get along, then; you are going home."

Probably the farmer had visited Lyons, and was not pleased with that
city.

Paul entered Lyons at two o'clock, having been twenty-four hours under
way. He was tendered a splendid reception  and  presented  with  several
rich souvenirs. Resuming the journey, he traveled at the rate of fifteen
miles an hour and many people accompanied him in  boats  for  quite  a
distance down the stream. At places along the route, the banks were
broken, the river flooded the lowlands, and he was frequently carried
among groves of trees, requiring no little exertion to keep from being
pounded against them by the force of the current. He paddled  that night
and all the next day and night without meeting unusual adventure, when
he reached Pont St. Esprit, with its long stone bridge, through one arch
of which, the river rushes with much force. The next day ended this
rapid voyage, as he landed at Arles in safety. The entire population
was  out to receive him. Not thinking of his exhausted condition, a
force of gendarmes who had been sent by the Mayor to escort him  to  the
hotel  de Vine, turned a deaf ear to his demands for a carriage, but
insisted on his marching through the hot, dusty street, encased in the
heavy  rubber dress, carrying his little boat and paddle so the people
would have a good chance to see him. The gendarmes meant everything in
kindness;  but in that case, kindness coupled with ignorance, resulted
in Paul's arriving at the hotel barely able to walk; he  expressed  his
gratitude  in rather vigorous terms.

From Arles, Boyton visited Monaco on the invitation of Monsieur Blanc,
who was then at the head of the  great  gambling  institutions  of  that
place. At the instance of this world-famous gambler, Paul gave an
exhibition for which he was presented with  two-thousand-five-hundred
francs by his host and his agent received five-hundred francs. The
evening after the exhibition, Monsieur  Blanc  escorted  the  voyager
through  the sumptuous gambling palace. Thinking to please Monsieur, who
had been so generous with him, Paul thought he would wager a few francs
at  one  of the numerous rouge et noir tables and was proceeding to put
down a Napoleon, when he  was  observed  by  his  host  whose  attention
had  been distracted for a moment.

"Don't you do it," said he quickly, grasping Paul by the arm, "there are
fools enough here without your becoming one."

Monsieur drew his guest away from the table and took him into the
private office where rouleaux of gold were stacked in great piles  about
the walls.

One of the queer superstitions of gamblers was vividly impressed on
Boyton at this place. Leaving Monsieur Blanc's office  he  sauntered
about through the rooms, deeply interested in the exciting scenes before
him. It became noised around that he was in the place, and some one
pointed him out. He was immediately besieged at almost every step by
ladies who had been playing  with  ill  success.  They  represented
almost  every nationality, French, American, Russian, English and
Italian. Looking upon him as a lucky man, they tried to persuade him to
play for them.

"Ah, Captain Boyton," one would say, "you are a man of great luck. If
you put this bet down for me, I know I shall win."

That was the request made by several, when they had an opportunity to
speak to him. One or two assistants would have been needed to
accommodate all of them.

Leaving Monaco, Paul gave successful exhibitions in the principal cities
of southern France and was honored with several decorations. At  Lyons
he gave an entertainment for the benefit of the poor in the Park of the
Golden Head, at which fifteen thousand francs were realized. One of the
handsomest ladies of the city, donned a suit and went into the water
with him. As a mark of appreciation,  the  people  presented  him  with
a magnificent poinard, sheathed in a richly carved scabbard, ornamented
with a handle of artistic design, weighing, with  the  exception  of the
blade of fine steel, ten pounds solid silver.

Exhibitions were given through Belgium until November 15th, 1877, In
Brussels they took one thousand dollars a day for  four  days,  and  at
a benefit for the poor given in the lake of the Bois de Cambrai, under
the patronage of King Leopold, at which the Royal family was  present,
an enormous sum resulted. The king bestowed on Paul the medal of the
First Order of Life Savers of Belgium.

November 17th, he began a voyage down the Somme, which occupied two
days. He started at Amiens. On the evening of the first  day,  just
before reaching Ponte Remy, where he intended to stop for the night, he
was surprised at receiving a charge of shot. While he was  drifting
around  a point above that place, a duck hunter who was concealed in the
bushes mistook his feet for a pair of ducks and fired at them. Luckily
the  shot struck the heavy rubber soles of his dress and no damage was
done. Boyton rose up in the water with a torrent of forcible comments in
English, and the frightened sportsman rapidly disappeared in the
darkness.

Starting early next morning, he arrived at Abbyville in the evening,
where the customary generous reception awaited him. Next day  he
returned to Amiens where he gave an entertainment, and thence to Paris.
He had a new tender built in the latter city, in anticipation of a
voyage  down the Loire. He christened the new tender the Isabel Alvarez
du Toledo, in honor of a fair maid of Italy. He  began  the  voyage  of
the  Loire, December 8th, 1877, at Orleans, to make a run to Nantes, a
distance of four hundred and nine miles. The weather was  cold  and
miserable.  The river is bad, numerous shifting sand bars making it
difficult to keep the channel, and added to this are many beds of
treacherous  quicksands. The lowlands, through which the course of the
river runs, leave a free vent for the wind to strike its surface, making
it  desirable  for  sail boats to navigate. They are mostly wood and
provision boats, flat bottomed and built somewhat on  the  plan  of
canal  boats.  They  carry  an enormous square sail on a single mast,
larger than any sail used on the greatest ships.

At nine o'clock in the morning the start was made from Orleans and Paul
arrived at Blois in the evening, where he came very near having his arm
broken by coming in contract with a pile as he was leaving, so instead
of running all night as he had intended doing, he hauled up and remained
at Blois, much to the satisfaction of the citizens who entertained him
in the most pleasant manner.

The following afternoon he started for an all night run, in order to
make up for lost time. At nightfall the weather grew  intensely  cold
and ice soon covered all exposed parts of his dress. A small, but
powerful lamp on the bow of the tender, gave him plenty of light and
that evening furnished the means of some amusement. Along the frozen
road which follows the river bank for quite a distance, he heard the
clattering of  the sabots of a belated peasant, who was singing to keep
his courage up. Paul darkened the lamp by putting a piece of rubber over
it, and when  the profile of the peasant stood clear between him and the
sky, he suddenly removed the rubber and turned, the light full on the
man, at  the  same time sounding an unearthly blast on his bugle. The
startled peasant uttered no sound; but the distant clinking of his
sabots  down  the  road, told how badly he was frightened.

About four o'clock that morning, Paul felt his dress touching bottom,
the current slackened, and he knew he had wandered into a false channel.
With some difficulty, he assumed an upright position and the moment he
did so, found his legs grasped as in a vise.

He was caught in the quicksand.

With a feeling of horror he felt himself settling, settling in the
treacherous sands, until he was slicked down nearly to the  neck,  his
face almost even with the surface, the dark water gliding by him like
some slimy serpent into the night.

The tender swung round with her bow pointing toward him, the strong
light from the bull's eye glaring him in the face with its  blinding
rays. The little boat seemed to realize the awful situation and she
tugged at the cord which fastened her to the dress, as though struggling
to  free him. From the moment the sands were felt, he' had worked to
free himself, only to find that the effort sunk him deeper. He began  to
think  he was not going to get out; that his time had come and not a
trace on earth would be left to tell of his dreadful end. But his was
not  a  nature to give up until the last gasp. The thought struck him
that there was some chance for life by fully inflating the dress  which,
would  have  a tendency to lighten and give him more buoyancy. He seized
the air tubes and in the desperation of a final hope, he blew for his
life. He  could feel himself lighting as the chambers filled. He had the
dress inflated almost to bursting and with a powerful effort, he threw
himself on  his back. He was lifted clear and moved away on the gliding
water, continuing the lonely journey with a prayer of thanksgiving in
his heart.

At ten o'clock next morning he arrived at Tours, with nerves
considerably shattered, and he accepted the invitation  of  that
municipality  to stop for refreshments. The kindness of the citizens and
the officials was overwhelming, but he remained only long enough to
become  thoroughly rested when he again sought the river.

At every village during the entire trip, he was given a warm reception.
The weather being cold, the mayors insisted on his drinking hot, highly
spiced wine, and he was also invariably greeted with the question asked
in all countries and all towns, American as well as European: "Are  you
not cold?"

The little boat was loaded down with supplies and invitations were
continuous from chateau and cottage to  stop  and  partake  of
refreshment. Sometimes he would run far into the night before hauling
up, but usually his rest was broken by bands of music turning out to
serenade him, and at one place, where there was no band, an enthusiastic
admirer blew a hunting horn most of the night under his window. It was a
frightful  but well intended serenade.

When he reached Ancenes he was met by a crowd, headed by the mayor with
a liberal supply of hot  wine.  From  this  point  a  boatman  who  was
employed in placing stakes indicating the changes of current, for the
guidance of navigators, insisted on accompanying Paul. He had been  on a
protracted spree and proved annoying.

"I know the river well," he said, "and will pilot you down."

"I assure you there is no necessity for a pilot," Paul answered, "I have
journeyed so far without one and can go the rest of the way."

He could not get rid of the fellow that easily, so he concluded to try
some other plan. After they had proceeded a short distance Boyton  asked
the persistent boatman to have a drink, at the same time handing him a
bottle of very strong wine that had been given him to  use  in  case  he
needed a stimulant. The fellow, already half intoxicated, absorbed most
of the contents and was soon maudlin. He ran his boat around and across
Boyton to the latter's great annoyance. He became drowsy, however, and
finally fell into a deep sleep. That was the opportunity  Paul  desired.
He seized the anchor that was in the bow of the fellow's boat and
dropped it in the stream. The boat swung around  and  hung  there,  and
Paul paddled away. When quite a distance down he heard faint cries of
"Captain, Captain, where are you?" The boatman thought he  was drifting;
but Boyton never saw him again.

Below Ancenes Paul was met by Jules Verne, the distinguished novelist,
who came up the river on a  boat  rowed  by  some  of  his  sailors.  He
accompanied the voyager all the way to Nantes, where the trip
terminated. The  two  men  became  great  friends,  the  navigator
enjoying  the novelist's hospitality on his yacht and also at his
residence in Nantes. Monsieur  Verne  afterward  made  use  of  the
life-saving  dress  to illustrate scenes in a novel entitled "The
Tribulations of a Chinaman." Nantes was reached eight days from  the
time  of  starting.  Excursion steamers met them and fired salutes, The
Hospitaliers des Sauveteurs Bretons, the leading  life-saving  society
of  France,  elected  Paul  an officer of the first rank and gave him
diplomas and medals.



CHAPTER XV.

Until January 15th, Paul remained in Nantes, then he went to Madrid. The
weather was very cold. It was his intention to make a voyage  on  some
of the Spanish rivers. On looking over the country, he selected the
Tagus as being the least known and promising more adventure than any of
the others. When it was announced that he was going to attempt that
river, several of the-leading residents of Madrid endeavored to dissuade
him; he received letters from many prominent people telling him that the
river was not navigable, running as it did,  through  a wild,
mountainous country, and full of waterfalls. He concluded to take a look
at the stream himself and so form his own opinion. For this purpose  he
went  to Toledo and found there a narrow, turbulent river, rushing over
great masses of rock. He hired a mule and rode several miles down its
banks  and discovered no improvement. In making inquiries of the natives
about the character of the river, the invariable answer was, "Mucho
malo, Senor; mucho malo." "Very bad, sir; very bad."

Boyton was far from liking the looks of the river; but made up his mind
to try it anyhow, especially as everyone told him he could not  do  it.
After deciding on a course, he returned to Madrid and witnessed the
fetes attending the marriage of King Alfonso and Queen Mercedes. The
young King took great interest in the proposed voyage; he sent word over
the country that the American was the guest of all Spain, and requested
his people to receive him hospitably. Before leaving Madrid to begin the
perilous undertaking, the Minister of the Interior gave Boyton maps of
the river and all the information concerning it he possessed, which was
surprisingly little: The maps were glaringly incorrect,  as  was
afterward learned. Many towns that the maps located on the river were
not near it.

When all was ready Paul's agent and baggage were sent to Lisbon to await
the termination of the voyage. Paul returned to Toledo to  make  final
preparations for the trip, which was one never before attempted. In
fact, as far as was known, the river had never been navigated  from
source to mouth. It is three thousand five hundred feet above sea level
at Toledo, which accounts for its rapid descent. On his return to  the
famous old city, Boyton was met by an aid-de-camp of the governor, who
tendered the hospitality of that official, which was  gratefully
accepted  for one day. That day was spent in visiting interesting
points. The next morning, Thursday, January 31st, 1878, Paul drove to
the river through the Gate of the Sun, and found a crowd of people
assembled to see him start. In a few moments he was in the water, and
the people cheered  lustily as he began energetically to ply his paddle.
As he turned the bend at the end of the first half mile, he took his
last  look  at  the  stately Alcazar, away on the Crest of the hills,
and at the ruins of the Moorish mills on the riverside below. Onward,
and the  bright,  sunlit  vision faded from his view.

"Now that I was started," said Paul, detailing an account of the
wondrous journey, "I felt easier and stopped at noon to  partake  of  a
light dinner. I knew I was in for a tough job and made up my mind to go
through with it. The river ran all over the country and was as
changeable  in temper as a novelist's heroine. Sometimes it was a mile
wide, running slowly, with as calm and smooth a surface as a lake.
Again, at  the  next bend it would dart toward a range of hills, and
instead of going around them as its previously erratic course led me to
expect, it would plough straight through the solid rocks. Then it would
become as narrow as a canal, deep and rapid as a mill race, and in some
places  hurried  along with the speed of an express train. The country
was utterly wild, and it was not an unusual thing to paddle from morning
until  night  without seeing a human being. As I knew nothing of the
river except that I was bound for Lisbon, it may be imagined that I was
not perfectly easy in my mind, I did not know but that the next angle in
a canyon might land me in a whirlpool or over a fall.

"A great majority of the peasants do not read and were therefore
ignorant of my undertaking. They  are  somewhat  superstitious  and  my
first adventure was with two of them. It was some hours after I left
Toledo that I spied these men. They were  great,  hulking  fellows,
engaged  in rolling a large stump up the steep hill, rising from the
bank of the river. Slipping quietly along the surface, I got close
behind them without their seeing me. When I hailed them, they gave me
one startled look, released their hold on the stump which crashed down
to  the  river,  while they ran up and disappeared in the recesses of
the hill. They never stopped to look the second time.

"I thought I would reach Peubla the first night; but owing to the
extraordinary bends of the river, nightfall found  me  in  a  terribly
rough portion of the country. I kept dashing from waterfall to
waterfall, from rapid to rapid, until two o'clock in the morning, when
the barking  of a dog caused me to haul in. It was intensely cold and I
was very tired. I blew a blast on my bugle and some very rough looking
men came down to the bank. They proved to be shepherds and very kindly
took me to their hut, which was not far from the water. They  had  the
queerest  way  of keeping fire I ever saw. It was made of straw, the
embers banked in such a way that there appeared to be only a black mass;
but when they  blew on the mass, a red glow would blush from it,
throwing out considerable heat. Over this fire, they cooked a little
soup for me.  I  remained  in the hut until morning, stretching out on
the floor for a little rest, while they stood about, speaking their
mountain patois which I could  not understand. I left them early in the
morning, passing through wild mountain scenery and seeing no signs of
habitation. No railroad or telegraph lines cross the river until near
Lisbon and there was no way for me to get word to my friends. I arrived
at Peubla at twelve o'clock and  owing to the fact that I ran on to an
old, broken bridge which cut my dress, I was compelled to haul up. The
Alcalde was out in his high, picturesque cart, drawn by a tandem team of
mules. I accepted his invitation, and was driven up through the olive
groves to his house, followed  by  crowds of people. That night there
was a sort of entertainment given in my honor and having no clothing
with me except the heavy suit of underwear;  I had to borrow a suit from
the Alcalde in order to be presentable. The women of that place were
most  gracious  and  the  girls  as  pretty  as pictures. The Alcalde's
little daughter took an interest in me. She talked to me a great deal,
and in fact I could understand her Spanish  much better than I could the
adults. What a pretty little thing she was--a perfect type of Spanish
beauty. She tried  her  best  to  deter  me  from continuing my voyage;
but next morning she went to the river to see me start. In fact the
entire village was there. When I was  about  to  step into the water and
was bidding her adieu, she pressed a small religious medal into my band,
saying:

"Oh, I am so afraid you will never get to Lisbon. Take this, it will
help you through, The Blessed Madonna will protect you from danger."

"I kissed the little one good bye and slipped into the water amid the
vivas of the crowd. I was much grieved to hear, on reaching Lisbon, that
the little girl died a few days after my departure.

"Nothing of interest occurred during the day except that it was very
cold and rough and a snow storm was raging. On Sunday morning I arrived
at Talavera, where the kindness of the people was so great I was
compelled to leave the water and rest  for  awhile.  From  there  the
river  ran through a lower country; but wound about so that I could
never see more than a quarter of a mile ahead anywhere. There was a
continual  change of current, now very rapid and again sluggish and
smooth. Just below the town is a water fall of considerable proportions
and a great crowd had gone down there to see me shoot over. In a spirit
of bravado, I stood up when near the brink and was hurled over head
first. Had I hit a  rock, it would have killed me. The people cheered,
thinking that was the way I always went over them, but I tell you I made
up my mind never  to  try the experiment again.

"It was not long until the land began to rise higher and higher, or
rather, as it appeared to me, the river seemed to sink lower and lower
and settle down among the great hills. I could not tell from the maps
how I was working and I was anxious to see anyone in the hope  that  I
could get some information. During Monday I swept on a flying current
around a point of rock and was glad to catch sight of two men on the
bank.  One stood on the ground surrounded by a group of sheep, the other
was up in a tree with a knife, lopping off the young limbs, throwing
them to  his companion who distributed them to the sheep. I hailed them
with the cry of 'Hey, brother.' The man in the tree looked around and on
discovering my black figure in the water, helplessly let go all holds
and fell to the ground. His companion was startled; but  when,
recovering  from  the shock, I was pointed out, he ran to the bank,
yelled something that seemed to be a warning and then both disappeared.
As I passed on, I saw why he had shouted. A young, gipsy-like girl stood
on a shelf of rock surrounded by goats. As the current was carrying me
toward her,  she  gave  a cry of alarm and faced me, the long-bearded
goats doing the same. They formed a beautiful picture. Not wishing to
frighten her,  I  called  out some reassuring word in Spanish, and to
show that she was not frightened, as were her male protectors, she
seized a big stone  and  raising  it defiantly over her head, awaited my
approach. As I passed, I waved her an adieu and then she  dropped  the
stone  and  fled  up  the  mountain followed by her goats.

"All day I picked my way cautiously along, using every energy to avoid
the varied shaped boulders  which  filled  the  river.  At  one  time  I
appeared to shoot down a very steep hill. I was hemmed in by huge rocks
that rose like a high wall on either side and there was no possible way
to get out. The thought struck me that I was going into some
subterranean passage, the perpendicular walls seeming to close in and
swallow  up the entire river. I was swept down by the mighty, though
narrow current, and was beginning to feel sure that I  was  being
carried  into  some underground rapids, when I was suddenly dumped into
a deep pool, where the course of the river was running smooth and
placidly along almost  at right angles with the rapids above. At this
abrupt turn, evidences of former floods were plain. Immense rocks were
cut  and  carved  in  spiral columns as skillfully as any sculptor could
have chiseled them. Great flocks of wild black ducks peculiar to the
Tagus, were continually rising at my approach.

"At ten o'clock that night, hearing the heavy roar of rapids below and
the river becoming wilder, I decided to stop  until  daylight.  I  crept
cautiously in shore until I found an opening and there landed. There was
no wood to build a fire and I laid for several hours in my  dress.  At
daybreak I resumed the voyage and it looked as though I was penetrating
the very bowels of the mountains, whose crests loomed high in the  sky.
I soon discovered the cause of the roar that had arrested my progress
the night before. It was an ugly  rapid,  madly  fighting  sharp, broken
rocks and I was dashed in amongst them. In trying to make a passage to
escape a back water, something like that I had gone through on the Arno,
at Florence, I turned so quickly that the little tender was thrown into
the vortex on one side, tearing loose from my belt, while I was rapidly
carried down the other. I never saw her again and what was more, I was
left without provisions of any kind.

"That afternoon the river increased in speed and, dashed along at a mad
rate. Once in a while, as I wheeled around some sharp bend, I could hear
a sullen roar that plainly indicated the presence of falls below; but it
seemed so far away that I paid but little  attention  to  it.  I  kept
driving steadily along, enjoying the exhilaration of the rapid pace,
when my attention was attracted by the report of a gun. Looking up I saw
a guarda civil, the gendarme of Spain, who held his carbine aloft and
vigorously waved his hat with the other hand as  I  shot  by.  The
current increased and the roar below became more audible. Going around
another bend I saw a number of people on the  bank  waving  their  hats
with  a downward motion. That is the signal used in Spain when you are
desired to approach. I misunderstood it, and thought it meant for me to
take the other side, which I did and found I was in a current from which
I could not extricate myself. Another sharp, turn and the village of
Puente del Arzobispo came into sight with the heavy spray from the falls
rising high in the air. The roar was like the deep rumbling of thunder
when  near at hand. I paid no attention to the shouts of the people to
stop, for I saw could not possibly get out of the current, so I exerted
myself  to pass the falls safely. I saw where the water sank on the
brink and I knew that was the course of the channel, and I  also  knew
that  my  only chance of safety was to reach that point. All my energies
were directed to it and in an instant I was on the  brink  of,  a series
of  falls, tumbling from ledge to ledge like the steps of a colossal
staircase. Fortunately I struck the deep channel--my only safe course. I
was  covered with foam and spray and could not see. All I could do was
to trust to Providence and the depth of water, and I shortly  found
myself  twisting around in a great pool below. Half stunned and almost
smothered by frequent submerging and the weight of the volume of water
that had fallen on me, I drifted helplessly toward the bank. The next
thing I remembered was hearing sounds above me and a hand reaching  down
and  grasping  me, while a voice in French said:

"You live!"

"It's about all I do," was my answer.

Then strong arms hauled me out on the bank. The one who had addressed me
was a priest, and through the  midst  of  a  madly  excited  crowd  he
escorted me up the street to the palace of the archbishop, a quaint old
building, almost in ruins. Here every possible  kindness  was  extended
from the civil, military and religious authorities. At the banquet
tendered me I was dressed in a suit of clothes half clerical, half
military; but I enjoyed it as well as my tired bones would permit. I
excused myself as early as I could and went to bed with the intention of
making  a start in the morning; but when morning came I felt so broken
up and sore that I concluded to remain over and rest a day.

I was taken in hand by some of the prominent people and shown the places
of interest in the village. Among those visited and one  that  greatly
interested me, was the olive mills. The town is noted for the production
of a superior olive  oil;  but  the  mode  of  producing  it  is  most
primitive, being almost the same as that used by the Moors hundreds of
years ago. They first place the round, green olives in  sacks  that  are
then set in a large stone bowl into which a flat cover lifts. An old
time screw with beam attachment presses on the stone cover, and as an
ass, hitched to the end of the beam, tramps wearily round and round the
screw presses the stone tight on the olives, squeezing the oil into
cemented grooves at the bottom of the bowl through which it flows into
casks. The refuse, or pummies, as we would call them, is  fed  to  the
hogs  and cattle. It struck me at the time that with our improved
American machinery, we could extract about four times as much oil out of
the  pummies thrown away, as they got out at the first pressing.

"Another place I visited under the escort of the good padre and an
officer, was the prison. This prison contained as  choice  a  collection
of murderers as ever drew a knife across a helpless traveler's throat.
The news of my coming had  preceded  me  and  these  free  knights  of
the mountains stood in rows along the corridors to receive me, backed up
by several well armed carbineros. The worthy padre  would  point  out
the most distinguished of these gentlemen. 'That one,' he'd say, 'is in
for killing two travelers at such or such  a  pass.  This  one  abducted
a wealthy man and demanded ransom from his family, to whom he sent the
ears of the unfortunate, and the ransom not coming, his throat  was
slit. The one over there, killed four men before he was caught,' and so
on down the line, such cheerful histories were told. I politely saluted
each artist of the knife and carbine as I passed, and on leaving, one of
them stepped up and addressed me in a patois which  the  padre
translated. The request he made, struck me as being so ridiculous, that
I could scarcely refrain from laughing. It was to the  effect  that they
all  had heard of my voyage down the river and all of them were anxious
to witness my departure on the morrow and knew if I would kindly
intercede  with the Governor, they would have that happiness.

"The request was so absurd, that I had no thought of saying anything to
the Governor about it. In going out, the Governor invited us  into  his
private apartments, and while being entertained there, I jokingly told
him of the queer request the brigands had made. I  was  more  than  ever
astonished at his replying:

"Como no? Senor"  "Why not, sir?"

"When starting, next morning, I was frequently warned that the river was
very bad; but could get no information of any consequence, except that
it wound through many canyons. The whole town turned out to see me off
and as I was feeling very much refreshed, I was soon ready. Going to the
bank, what was my astonishment to see all those gentle murderers
standing in a row with carbineros on either side, guarding them.  One of
the brigands, the spokesman of the day before, stepped forward and
addressed me thus.

"'Illustrious Captain. We would like much to form your escort down the
river as a protection against the lawless characters which we are  aware
infest the mountains below; but being detained here against our will, we
are unable to offer you that homage. But as a mark of our pure regard,
on behalf of myself and worthy companions, I present you with this
purse, a specimen of our own handicraft and may you never lack means to
keep it full.'

"The purse was a long, knit affair in colored yarns,  looking  like  an
old  fashioned  necktie.  I  thanked  them  and  regretted  the  cruel
circumstances which prevented their accompanying me, while secretly
rejoicing that such a disreputable looking  set  of  villains  was
closely guarded.

"I took to the stream again and the mountains once more looked as if
they were closing in on the river. At times I would sink into quiet
pools, requiring incessant paddling to push through and then emerge into
rapids that would necessitate the utmost labor to keep from being dashed
on the rocks. I ran all that day without meeting any one. About ten
o'clock at night, I noticed a light down the stream and sounded  my
bugle.  I was tired and chilly and glad to hear a hail from the
direction of the light. I landed at a sort of ferry and found a man and
woman awaiting me with a lantern. They escorted me to a little cabin and
the woman bustled about, building a fire out of weeds and other stuff,
wood  being  very scarce. Their patois was of the mountains and I could
not understand their speech nor they mine. By signs, however, we
understood  each  other very well and I intimated to them that I would
stretch out before the fire all night. But they refused to allow me  to
lie  on  the  floor.  I understood them to mean for me to take the bed
as the man was going away somewhere. This I did and was soon sound
asleep. At one o'clock in the morning, I was awakened with an impression
that some one was in the room near me. I looked up and by the dim  rush
light  saw  a  tall  figure standing by the bedside, upright and stiff,
a three cornered hat on his head, a carbine strapped across his back and
a sword by  his  side.  In answer to my look of wonder, he simply raised
his right hand and gave a military salute. I asked:

"Que esta, Senor?" "What is it, sir?"

"His reply was: 'By order of the king, I am here to offer you protection
and assistance.'

"Thanking him for his courtesy, I turned over in bed and went to sleep
again.

"After breakfast of wild boar bacon, which was the sweetest meat I ever
tasted, the guard and my host accompanied me to the river. I carried  a
good supply of gold and silver with me; but all offers of money
throughout the entire eight hundred miles of  this  voyage,  were
peremptorily refused. It was impossible to spend a cent. In fact, the
money wore through the little bag I carried it in and I found it loose
in  my  dress. The only place I used a cent on the trip was at Talavera.
A boy who had done an errand for me, accepted a peseta. When it was
found out, he was sent back with it and apologized for his conduct.

"The river now began to get very narrow and to bury itself in canyons,
so that during the day the sun scarcely ever shone on the  water  except
at noon when it was directly overhead. Since losing my little tender, I
had no way to carry provisions except in a small oil cloth strapped  on
my breast. The host of the cabin had insisted on my taking some of the
wild boar bacon with me; but seeing their stores were low,  I  took  but
very little, which I easily devoured at noon. For three days I continued
the voyage through canyons and during the entire time the  only  signs
of human life I saw was an occasional glimpse of people far up in the
mountains, passing along, but too distant to attract their attention. My
progress was slow owing to the long stretches of dead water I would
strike, it was silent and lonely. The wild black ducks  I  would  scare
up were the only signs of life on the river. All the sleep I took was
during daylight. I would haul up on some dry rock near the shore  and in
a moment be buried in profound slumber. At night I dare not sleep, for I
could hear the howling of the wolves that are fierce and plentiful along
that part of the Tagus, and their dismal yells warned me to keep to the
river.

"On the morning of the third day in the canyons, I was stiff, sore and
hungry, having eaten nothing but wild olives, gathered near  the  banks,
for two days. That morning the idea struck me that I must have wandered
into some false channel, or some branch from the Tagus, as I could make
no headway. I came to an upright position and with every sense sharpened
by hunger, listened to hear, if possible, the ringing of a  bell,  the
barking of a dog or any sign of life; for I had about reached the
conclusion that it was time for me to leave the water and climb the
mountain in search of some house or village; but not a sound broke the
deathlike stillness, except the distant rumbling of rapids I had passed
over  or those below that I must soon encounter. As I wearily sank back
in the water and grasped the paddle in the hope that farther down  some
opening in the mountain might give me a chance to escape, something
familiar struck my senses. I could not tell what it was. It was
intangible,  yet  I felt there was something about that belonged to
human beings. Again I came to an upright position, peered in every
direction and  listened.  It was then discovered what it was that had so
affected me. It was the smell of smoke which the breeze was gently
carrying up the river. I  pushed down on my course with all my strength
in hope of finding the fire, and on rounding a sharp bend was rewarded
by seeing  a  thin,  blue  streak curling up from the mountain side. I
landed a little above it and commenced clambering over great, detached
rocks, until I gained a terrace  on a level with the line of smoke. I
paused to listen and heard the muffled sound of voices near me. The
voices came from  the  other  side  of  a small promontory around which
I crawled. My soft rubber boots made no sound, and as I rounded the rock
I was surprised to  find  myself  almost alongside of two shepherds. One
of them was stooping over the fire stirring something in a stew pan,
while the other was rolling cigarettes  in corn husks, their backs
turned toward me. Previous experiences with these simple people of the
mountains had taught me  how  superstitious  and easily frightened they
are, and wishing to gain some information from them as well as something
to eat, I let the point of my iron shod  paddle strike a rock, at the
same time saluting them with 'buonos dias mis hermanos,'--good day, my
brothers. The men sprang to their feet and  turned around at the
unexpected salutation. Then a wild yell rang through mountain top and
ravine and they dashed away like a pair of frightened deer. At every
hail for them to stop they only redoubled their efforts to escape and
soon disappeared up the ravine. I sat down and made a  breakfast off the
provender they had left behind and enjoyed it as I never enjoyed
anything before. I also absorbed a pig  skin  flask  of  Spanish  wine
which afforded me great consolation in my exhausted condition. I then
took off the dress and dried myself before the fire and  rising  sun, in
hopes the shepherds would take courage and return; but they never came
back. Before dressing I left a Spanish dollar on the upturned bottom  of
the stew pan, and returned to the river much refreshed and all traces of
hunger gone.

"I had not proceeded more than a league when I observed a man seated on
a mule, occupying a point of rock overlooking the river.  The  man,  on
seeing me, raised a bugle to his lips and sounded a merry blast, which
was, answered by loud cheers further  down.  On  arriving  opposite  the
lookout, I was informed that the Governor of Caceres and a party of
ladies and gentlemen were waiting for me at a short distance below, and
in a few moments I sighted the party and landed. I was warmly received
by a numerous gathering. The Governor informed me they  had  driven
across from Caceres the day before, to intercept me; that he had had a
message from King Alphonso to see that I  wanted  for  nothing.  He
pleasantly remarked to me in French, that it was an old Spanish custom
to say to a guest, 'my house is yours,' but he  would  change  the
saying  to  'my country is yours.'

"The place at which I landed was a ford or ferry. The Governor and his
party were sheltered under a large tent which had been erected  for  the
occasion, and were attended by a troop of servants and cooks. The latter
had prepared a  regular  banquet  and  oh,  how  I  wished  I  was  so
constituted that I could take enough food aboard to last me some days.
As it was, the bounteous feast deserted by the shepherds, had filled  me
to repletion and I could do but scant justice to the load of luxuries
they spread before me. I spent the day pleasantly with them, however,
and parted that evening with many kind wishes and warnings. The
Governor's engineer, who was one of the party, told me all he knew about
the  river and said I would soon reach the terrible rapids known as the
Salto del Gitano--the Gypsey's Leap.

"After leaving the delightful company, I bowled away on a flying current
and ere long heard a roar below warning me that I  was  approaching  a
dangerous point. I prepared to take it, no matter what it was. The river
closed in between two natural walls, as narrow as a canal, and  danced
away at a lively pace. The water dashed over the rocks that obstructed
its passage, and was churned into foam and spray that leaped  high  into
the air. As the roar below grew more terrible, I lost some courage and
endeavored to check up, fearing to encounter backwater. In attempting to
stop myself, I grasped a rock as I was being carried by; but did not
have strength enough to resist the force of the current, and so was
hurled along. The current ran about thirty kilometers an hour, and the
rocks were so high on either side that only a small strip of  sky  was
visible overhead. The stream took on an abrupt turn about every hundred
yards and was running in the most peculiar currents. I  was  tossed
repeatedly from one side of the river to the other by sortie unseen
action and bumped against the rocks. I dashed through two or  three
rapids  and  then came to a fall that almost deafened me with its roar.
I saw the water in front of me rushing together in big waves and  then
jumping,  leaving nothing but white foam to show where it disappeared. I
was drawn down and whirled and thrown about; how I came out I can't
tell.  I  do  know, however, that I was puffing and trying to breathe.
It was quite a while before my head became clear after that shaking up;
but  I  kept  right along.

"All that night I ran through another series of canyons until about two
o'clock in the morning, I saw in the moonlight what seemed to be a thin
string across the river, but on drawing closer, it proved to be the
bridge at Alcantara. It is a queer stone bridge, with two abutments and
one arch stretching across from one mountain to another, high up in the
air. There was no one out and I climbed up to the level of the  bridge.
By calling and making a lot of noise, I succeeded in rousing the bridge
tender, who took me to the house of the Alcalde where all turned  out
and welcomed me. I stopped there over Sunday and thoroughly enjoyed
myself. At night I went to a theatrical entertainment and was called on
for  a speech, to which I responded to the best of my ability. I was
presented to many ladies and thought them the handsomest I had seen in
any  part of Spain.

"I started early next morning and a short distance below, came to the
point where the river is bordered on one side by  Portugal,  and  I soon
noticed a Portuguese flag flying from a mast and heard loud vivas from
the crew of a flat bottomed boat with a cabin, which I ran alongside  of
and was informed that the boat had been sent by the Portuguese
government to meet me. The captain also carried a letter from the
Minister  of Marine stating that the boat had been placed at my
disposal. At this I felt wonderfully relieved. The hard work was now all
over, as  I  simply followed the government craft for the remainder of
the journey. It was quite a novelty at first to begin taking my meals
regularly again and as there was an abundance of everything, I began to
thoroughly enjoy the trip. We would tie up every night and I occupied
the cabin.

"At Portes de Rodas, the first town we struck in Portugal, I met with a
peculiarly  Portuguese  reception.  Every  person  was  supplied  with
detonating rockets which were fired off in showers and that was the
manner of showing good will at every place in the country.  There  were
no rocks in the river now. The stream broadened majestically and the
tides from the Atlantic began to be  felt.  At  Abrantes  and  Santarem,
the receptions accorded me took the wildest form of enthusiasm and I
there heard for the first time the peculiar name given me in  Portugal
'Homen das Botas',--'the man with the boots'. This name grew out of an
ancient story connected with the Tagus. Many years ago the government
officials wished to pass a law which was obnoxious to the people, who
made a terrible clamor against it. A shrewd politician, to  distract the
people's attention from the proposed law, circulated the report that a
man in boots was going to walk on the surface  of  the  Tagus from
Santarem  to Lisbon. This was such a wonderful thing that the people
lost sight of the  political  question,  in  watching  the  river and
discussing  the performance. In the meantime the law was passed. For
years the people talked and at last joked about the 'man with the
boots,' and  so  when  I came down, there was some reason for their
cries of 'here comes the veritable Homem das Botas.'"

As Paul approached Lisbon, he had to work tides. The river ran through a
very low country and stretched into so wide an expanse, as  almost  to
form a bay. He arrived in Lisbon just eighteen days from the time of
starting, which included nine night's paddling. The  welcome  he
received there was something tremendous. It was estimated that one
hundred thousand people were out to see him land. Just before going
ashore,  a  steam launch put out to him with dispatches of
congratulations from the King of Spain and his Minister of Marine. A
company  of  horse  guards  took charge of him and escorted him to a
hotel. The usual banquets and entertainments followed this winding up of
one of the hardest voyages he ever made.

The fact that the Tagus had been navigated, created a profound sensation
throughout Spain and Portugal, and Boyton was kept busy  acknowledging
telegrams of congratulation. The governor of Toledo sent the Spanish
consul at Lisbon a telegram which, translated, read as follows:

"I beg you to heartily congratulate Captain Boyton in my behalf for the
happy termination of his difficult voyage on the river Tagus, which has
once more shown his intelligence and courage."

"Before leaving Madrid to begin the journey," remarked Paul to an
American friend, "the foreign colony warned me not only of the dangers
of the Tagus, but also against the people along the river, who were wild
and ignorant, and  would  kill  me.  On  the  contrary  I  found  them
kind, hospitable and generous, both in Spain and Portugal."

The Geographical Society of Lisbon requested the navigator to deliver a
lecture. Though the members of the society lived right on the banks  of
the river, they knew comparatively little about it, and Boyton's lecture
was of great scientific importance to them.  Among  other  things,  he
told them of the abutments and ancient masonry he had seen while going
through some of the wildest canyons, that could not be approached in any
way. This masonry, he thought, must be the remains of ancient Moorish
structures which stood there before the great earthquake  had  shaken up
and changed the surface of the country through which the Tagus flows.

An expedition sent out by the Society soon afterward, verified Boyton's
words and opinions.

Paul remained in Lisbon during Carnival week, and was entertained until
he grew weary of so much pleasure. He gave an exhibition in the Arsenal
de Marinha before the king and queen of Portugal, and received numerous
presents and decorations.



CHAPTER XVI.

Paul next went to Gibraltar. On arriving there, he expressed his
determination to cross the straits; but was given very  little
encouragement. He was repeatedly warned against sharks which were
reported numerous in those waters. An English officer took him to  the
rear  of  the  place where cattle are killed for the army. This building
abuts on the water, and there, in the clear depth, they could see big,
blue  sharks  laying for the offal that is thrown from the slaughter
house. Even this sight did not intimidate Paul and he began preparations
for the trip.

At first it was his intention, to paddle from Gibraltar to Ceuta, which
is almost on a straight line across; but on account  of  the  currents,
that course was changed and Tarifa, the lowest land in Europe, was
selected as the starting point, from which place he was confident  he
would be able to strike the African coast somewhere. Two gentlemen of
Gibraltar agreed to accompany him and the Spanish felucca, San
Augustine,  was chartered for their accommodation, manned by a captain
and crew of five sailors.

On Thursday, March 19th, they sailed from Gibraltar. As they neared the
Spanish side, carrying the American flag, a Spanish gunboat put out and
overhauled them, under the impression they were tobacco smugglers. It
was some time before the officials could be made to understand the
object of the voyage; but finally allowed them to proceed. They arrived
off Tarifa at eleven o'clock at night, and lay to for a couple of hours,
when, as the captain of the felucca refused to start across without
clearance papers, they landed and went into the old,  Moorish  looking
town  and woke up one sleepy official after another; but it was not
until seven o'clock in the morning that clearance was procured.

The danger of this undertaking was by no means confined to sharks alone;
the wind and currents are usually variable. Through the middle of  the
strait a current may be considered to set constantly to the eastward,
but on each side, both flood and ebb tides extend to a quarter of a mile
or to two miles from the shore, according to the wind and weather, and
are consequently very irregular.

At 7:30 o'clock Boyton had donned his dress and was ready to take the
water. For the first time in the history  of  his  voyages  he  took the
unusual precaution against sharks, of screwing sharp steel sword blades
on each end of his double bladed paddle. With these he  felt confident
that he could stand up in the water and rip open any shark that
approached him. He also carried a large dagger fastened to his wrist. He
jumped into the sea amidst the enthusiastic cheering of quite a crowd
that had assembled on the beach to see him start. He paddled out to a
rock close by Tarifa lighthouse, said to be the extreme southern point
of Europe, which he touched, turned and waved an adieu to Spain. He was
then fairly launched on his journey, steering southwest in a smooth sea
and calm weather. He was in excellent spirits and fully confident of
success.  The southwestern course was taken as he expected to meet the
current setting eastward,  which  would  carry  him  toward Malabata,
the  point  he determined to make his port of destination. His
calculation, however, proved to be false, for the current turned out to
be  setting  from  the opposite direction and therefore gradually
conveyed him toward the westward.

Shortly after 8 o'clock Paul was singing as he paddled along and came
very near running into a school of porpoises.  A  couple  of  shots were
fired into them from the felucca in order to frighten them away, as it
is generally supposed that sharks are following them up. A  few moments
afterward another school appeared astern, when the operation was
repeated with the desired effect. Paul finding that the  current  was
setting too rapidly westward, turned his course due south and as the
wind was beginning to rise, a small square sail was handed to him; but
as that did not seem to increase his progress to any perceptible degree,
he put it back in the boat after about ten minutes' trial. As he was
passing  over Cabezes Shoals the breeze freshened; but he was still
being carried westward. At that stage of the journey, about 9:30,  he
hauled  up  for  a moment and partook of a little bread and cheese, and
before resuming work with the paddle he attached a white pocket
handkerchief  to  a  cord about eighteen feet long and fastened one end
to the belt of his waist, allowing the handkerchief to drift astern.
This was another  precaution against sharks, as it is well known that
their malevolent impulses are more likely to be excited  and  their
attacks  directed  against  white objects than any other. His idea was
that a shark attacking the white handkerchief would jerk the cord and
thus give warning of its presence in the rear, in time for him to be
ready with his sword blades.

The wind increasing from the east, Paul again tried the sail, still
steering south, toward Malabata Point; but again found it  ineffectual.
He was then about nine miles from Tarifa and though having paddled
constantly, he did not show  the  slightest  signs  of  fatigue.  The
westward current continuing, it looked for a time as though he would be
carried into the Atlantic. He turned his course southeast and fought
against it. At two o'clock, he was passed by the British steamer,
Glenarn, eastward bound, and was loudly cheered by the people on her
deck. At  two-thirty o'clock, a very strong breeze with a rapid current
setting eastward, caused a high sea and Boyton had great  difficulty  in
keeping  near  the boat, his distance from her increasing every moment
until he disappeared from view altogether. But by dint of hard pulling
on the part  of  the sailors, for about twenty minutes, he was sighted
more than half a mile to the leeward and sail was hoisted on the felucca
in order to  get  up to him, which was done after much trouble and
anxiety. The master and crew of the boat then advised him to give up the
attempt  to  cross,  as from their long experience of the straits, they
believed it to be impracticable under existing circumstances; but Boyton
positively refused  to give up the undertaking, and forged ahead,
undismayed and in the most hopeful spirits. As it was found impossible
to keep up with him with  the aid of the oars alone, the boat's sails
were reefed and hoisted and by steering close hauled, was enabled to
keep nearer him.

At three o'clock, he was about half way across, steering south south
east. The wind continued to increase, and it again  seemed  as  though
he would be carried into the ocean. The sea broke over him constantly
and he suffered greatly from the salt encrusting on his eyebrows and
causing his face to smart. It was nearly five o'clock when he was off
Boassa Point, bearing south and only distant about three and one half
miles  from the African coast. He made another attempt to use the sail
but the wind was too strong and he was compelled to give it  up.  The
current  with heavy overfalls, caused him to be constantly taken under
water, and also proved very trying to those in the boat. The overfalls
are  caused  by two currents rushing in opposite directions, meeting
with a great crash and making a tremendous wave. Paul bravely continued
to paddle  despite such dreadful obstacles and at five-thirty o'clock,
he was bearing due south off Alcazar Point two and one half  miles.  One
hour  later,  the current was setting to the west again, driving the
voyager and the boat further and further away from the African coast. It
began to grow  dark with increasing wind and every sign of a gale coming
on. The boisterous sea and wind, in conjunction with the rapid currents
and  heavy  over-falls, again caused Boyton to drift away from the boat,
so that those on board soon lost sight of him altogether. After cruising
about  in  all directions and hailing at the top of their voices, his
friends on board the St. Augustine were relieved by hearing a distant
hail which  proved to be a guide to his whereabouts and by proceeding in
the right direction they got up to him; but not without great risk and
very hard work.

On reaching him, the crew became very violent in their language and
conduct and insisted on his getting aboard, as they were all drifting
into the Atlantic Ocean. Boyton, however was firm in his resolve to keep
on until he reached the African coast. Seeing no other  way  to  stop
him, three of the crew leaned over the boat's side and endeavored to
drag him on board by main force. That movement caused Paul  to  become
greatly excited in his turn. He stood up in the water and with the sword
blade raised and pointing at the crew, he glared at them with blazing
eyes and told them he would rip open the first man that dared to touch
him.

The men took to their oars again. Boyton began to sing, with the
intention of encouraging the men and dissipating their apprehensions.

At seven-thirty o'clock, he was again lost sight of in a heavy overfall,
the current setting to the eastward at a place commonly  known  as  La
Ballesta. He was sighted after the lapse of about twenty minutes. The
increasing darkness and bad state of the weather necessitated harder
work on the part of those on board the boat in order to keep near him.
Clouds gathered fast and a heavy mist partly obscured the moon, which
wore  a large circle, called by the sailors a "weather band." Directly
after finding Boyton, those on board of the felucca, were startled by
his cry of "Watch; oh, watch!"

In answer to excited inquiries from on board, he directed that they
should stand by with arms, at  the  same  time  calling  attention  to
the weather side of the boat, where was observed a great commotion in
the water causing a bright, phosphorescent glow, which left no doubt  of
the unpleasant proximity of a shark, or some other huge denizen of the
deep. Fears for the safety of Boyton, however, were quickly dispelled by
the disappearance of the creature, whatever it may have been, and all
preparations to give it a warm reception proved needless.  Bonfires were
at that time seen at long distances from each other on the African
coast. It was subsequently ascertained that they had been  built  by
order  of Colonel Mathews, the American Consul General at Tagier, as
beacons for Boyton's guidance. A current setting to the  westward  was
encountered, which drove them in a northwesterly direction and the wind
increased to a gale with a heavy sea. In answer to  a  hail  from  the
boat  as  to whether he had been attacked or needed anything, Boyton
replied: "No, thank you, all's right."

It began to rain and the boat labored, rolling heavily. At 8:30 o'clock
Malabata Point was distant about four miles. The crew was again  losing
heart, as matters bore a very serious aspect. For the fourth time they
were obliged to go about and pull in  various  directions  in  quest  of
Boyton, whom they missed for more than a quarter of an hour.

After nine o'clock the most exciting and anxious moments of the entire
trip were experienced by all concerned. With the wind blowing violently,
the current driving fast to the westward and a high sea increasing every
moment, Paul was lost  sight  of  for  nearly  forty  minutes,  in  an
unusually heavy overfall. It is not to be wondered at that under these
most trying circumstances, the boat's crew, having nothing to  eat,  and
exhausted by the fatigues of the day, after pulling about for a
considerable time, should have dropped the oars accompanying  the action
with language more forcible than elegant. Happily the cessation of their
labor was of short duration, for they soon yielded to the admonitions
and entreaties of Boyton's friends, who sought by every possible means
to buoy up their spirits, although they, as well as the crew,  were  of
the opinion that any further attempt to find Paul would be utterly
futile. The joy of all may easily be imagined when they heard  the  echo
of  a distant hail, amid the roaring of the wind and hissing of the
seething water, that once more restored their hope  and confidence  in
him  and announced after all that he had not been lost beyond, recovery.
A little more pulling in the right direction brought the boat alongside
of him, when, despite the entreaties of the crew and the great risks he
was running, he refused to get on board, but continued with  undaunted
courage and characteristic firmness in his endeavor to accomplish the
daring task.

Boyton was missed for the last time and found again about 10:30 o'clock.
At that time the severe strain he had imposed upon himself began to be
felt, for when within hearing distance he stated that he had fallen
asleep for a few moments and had been unceremoniously  awakened  by  a
sea breaking over him with such force on the side of the head as almost
to stun him.  The  crew  now  expressed  their  thorough  appreciation
and admiration for Boyton's intrepidity and powers of endurance, and
declared he had done as much as to cross the straits three times over in
point of distance; but he persistently turned a deaf ear to their
entreaties to get into the boat. At 11:20 o'clock the bay of Tangier
opened  ahead and the force of the current began to abate. They were
rapidly approaching Tangier reef, which was a source of uneasiness to
the  boat's  crew, who were afraid of being driven on it. They passed
the headland between Tangier and Cape Malabata and were inside the bay
before  one  o'clock. When within one hundred yards of the outside of a
reef of rocks,  forming  a  natural  breakwater,  and  the  landing
place  at  Tangier,  the impracticability of the boat clearing the reef
(toward which the current was driving her) with the aid of the oars
alone became manifest.  They therefore advised Boyton to take a line as
they were going to set sail and would tow him around the point, for
otherwise they would  inevitably be dashed against the rocks. On further
representing to him that as the tide was high he ran the risk of
fracturing his leg or arm  in  passing over the slippery obstruction, he
acceded to the request, particularly as he considered that his feat was
accomplished. He accordingly took the end of a line and discontinued
paddling for a short while until they arrived opposite the town,  within
three-quarters  of  a  mile  from  the landing, when he let go and
shaped his course for the beach, the boat standing to the southward and
anchoring.

Boyton emerged from the surf and stood on the beach at 12.55 o'clock.
The moon was shining. Some of the native soldiers were aware that  a man
was paddling across the straits; but many were not. One of the guards on
the wall surrounding the city, seeing him come out of the water,  set up
a terrific cry in the Arabic tongue. Soon the bells were ringing from
the mosques and a great commotion was evident within the walls of  the
city. Paul, not knowing what the natives might do with him, walked down
the beach a short distance and coming  upon  the upturned  hull  of  a
wrecked vessel, crawled under it. He had scarcely done so, when the gate
to the city opened and a  crowd  of  soldiers and  citizens  carrying
torches, rushed out. They soon got on his trail and followed it to the
old hulk which they surrounded with wild and discordant  cries.  In  the
midst of all the hubbub, Paul heard a voice calling in English, and he
stepped out to be met  by  the  son  of  the American  Consul,  Colonel
Mathews, who explained the cause of Boyton's appearance to the natives.
It was afterward learned that the peculiar cry of alarm  given  by  the
guard on the wall, was:

"Awake, awake. 'Tis better to pray than to sleep, for the devil has
landed in Tangier."

All the explanation, however, did not prevent one of the natives from
running back into the city with the statement that, he had actually seen
a Christian walking on the sea.

When those on the boat heard all the commotion ashore, their anxiety for
Paul was  great.  They  rightly  apprehended  that  the  superstitious
feeling of the Moorish guard had been excited at the apparition of so
strange an object emerging from the sea at  that  advanced  hour  of the
night, and might lead them to resort to violence.

In answer to Mr. Matthew's invitation to enter the city as his guest,
Paul told him that he must first paddle back to the boat and Mr. Mathews
agreed to meet him there. As soon as he returned to the boat, he was
divested of his rubber dress, when it was found that  his  under
clothing was completely saturated with salt water. He accounted for it
by the fact that having been so frequently drawn  under  by  the
overfalls,  the water had entered at the sides of the face. As soon as
he had been provided with a change of clothing, he began to  display
evidences  of  the most complete prostration, coupled with acute pain in
the wrists and hands which were covered with large blisters, while he
was almost  blinded by the action of the salt water on his eyes. A fire
was lighted in the cooking stove on board, but it was long ere Paul
could obtain sufficient warmth to stay the violence of his shiverings.
In due time they were all gladdened by the arrival of the pratique boat
alongside, with  Colonel Mathew's son, who took the party to the landing
stage, where Boyton was highly honored by the presence of several
officials who were waiting to offer him a welcome and their
congratulations, for which purpose they had exposed themselves  to  the
discomforts  of  a  cold  and  cheerless morning. The time was half past
two. Accommodations were provided for the party at the house of Colonel
Mathews. In  company  with  the  Consul General next day, Paul visited
the old Sheriff of Tangier, to whom he was introduced as the water god
of America. The  superstitious  old  Moor looked at Boyton with great
respect and remarked, Colonel Mathews interpreting:

"I am well pleased that the water god has made his appearance on these
shores as there has been a terrible drought here for  sometime,  and  we
are sadly in need of a rainfall to moisten the parched lips of our soil
and I hope the great water god of your country will deign to favor us."

Boyton had been noticing the clouds since morning; his sailor training
told him it would not be long before rain would fall, so he answered the
Sheriff's appeal with a sly wink at the Colonel, as follows:

"The request of the Sheriff is well. I promise that rain will come
before a great while."

Before they left the house, luckily for Paul, it did begin to rain and
the old man was absolutely bewildered with astonishment, having not  the
least doubt that the rain had been called by the American. To this day,
the Moors of Tangier tell the story of how the drought was ended  by  a
wonderful American who came out of the sea one night.

On returning to the Colonel's house, Boyton was waited on by a
delegation of distinguished Moors; old, white bearded fellows,  in
turbans  and burnouse. Each of them offered a present of some kind. One
of them brought a beautiful pair of Barbary pheasants, another a young
wild pig in a crate; others, quaint arms, and one had a chameleon of a
rare species, which he carried on the twig of a tree. An address of
welcome to Morocco was read by one of their number and then they asked
Paul he would not kindly walk on the water in the daylight for them  as
the  soldiers  had seen him do when he landed, so that all the people
might behold him.

In response to the request, Boyton promised to favor them and on the
following day, he gave a demonstration of what he could do in  the
water, much to their enjoyment and surprise.

After the exhibition, he was shown the pleasures of the city. One of his
most interesting experiences was in  encountering  the  great  dangers
afforded by a wild boar hunt. Early one morning the hunting party,
headed by Colonel Mathews, mounted on wiry little Arab horses, and
carrying bamboo sticks pointed with a sharp spear, rode over the hills
back of the quaint old city and descended to the desert.  They proceeded
for  a long distance and chanced on no signs of game. They were
beginning to get somewhat discouraged, when they met a camel train from
Fez.  "I  will ask some of these people if they have seen any boars on
their way hither," said Colonel Mathews, "but you can place very little
dependence  on what they say. They are naturally inclined to
exaggerate." He rode up to the leader of the train  and  the  following
conversation  which  the Colonel's son translated, took place:

"Mahomet protect my brothers. You came from afar; but your journey will
soon be ended and you will have blissful rest," said the Colonel.

"Allah bless you, master. We are weary and glad to approach our
journey's end," replied the head of the caravan.

"Have you seen the wild boar in your last day's journey?"

"We have, my master, in great numbers, not far from here."

"Good ones?"

"As large as an ass, my master."

"In which direction?"

The Moor responded by raising his hand and solemnly pointing to the
south-east.

After riding in the direction given for an hour or more, the party
halted on the crest of a hill, scanning the desert for game, and
discovered two sickly looking little pigs running across the valley
below.

"Those are not the ones the Moor saw?" said Paul.

"Oh yes, they are. It's a wonder he imagined them so small as an ass,
for it is their national characteristic to exaggerate."

There was rather meager sport in running down and spearing the skinny
little wild pigs, but after it was done the party returned to  the city,
as the experienced hunters knew there would be no use looking further
that day.

One place in the queer old Moorish city which Paul never tired of
visiting, was the  market.  There  the  Moorish  women  with  covered
faces, squatted on the ground displaying their little bowls of beans,
peas, etc., for sale. The tired camels from the desert were  laying with
their noses buried in the sand, taking much needed rest, while their
owners stood about and bartered the goods of which they  were possessed.
Once, while walking around the market place with Colonel Mathews, Paul
saw a man seated cross-legged on the ground  in  the midst  of  a
circle  of merchants, who were deeply interested in the discourse and
gestures of the central figure.

"I'll wager something that I can guess what that fellow is, though I do
not understand Arabic," remarked Paul to the Colonel.

"Well, what is he?" asked the Colonel.

"An auctioneer," triumphantly asserted Boyton.

"Wrong. He is a professional story-teller. He is as imaginative as
Scheherazade and the merchants here are so busy that they always  have
time and inclination to listen to his long fairy tales."

After each story the listeners dropped a small coin, valued at one-
twentieth of a cent, into the story-teller's hat.

Another thing that amused Paul was the indiscriminate use the guides
made of the stout sticks they carried, whacking the  natives  who  got
in their way in the narrow streets as mercilessly as they did the asses
they drove.

The women were all heavily veiled, their faces jealously hidden from the
eyes of men, except when some giddy girl with a taste  for  flirtation
allowed her veil to slip down as if by accident, and one then, as a
general thing, beheld a very pretty countenance.

Returning to Gibraltar, Boyton visited Cadiz, Seville, and the principal
cities of Southern Spain, with  extraordinary  success,  and  was  the
recipient of continued ovations. While giving exhibitions in those
cities, he concluded to take a run on the Guadalquivir, from St.
Geronime to Seville. It was an uneventful though pleasant trip. His only
adventure was that of being driven back into the water after going
ashore to  take observations, by one of the famous Andalusian fighting
bulls that was feeding close by. He completed the journey in three
days--March  29,  30 and 31.

Madrid was again visited on the invitation of the King, and preparations
began for a grand exhibition at Casa de Campo, the royal garden, which
contains a beautiful little lake. A tent was erected on its bank and
every assistance rendered  Boyton  in  preparing  for  the
entertainment. Several small boats were built for him with which to
illustrate torpedo work in naval warfare. The King took great interest
in the work and  in fact in everything American. He treated Paul in the
most affable manner;  among  other  attentions,  showing  the  royal
boat  house  and  was astonished when told that boats, such as his
mahogany ones, that required four men to lift out, were made in America
out  of  paper,  so  light that a man could take one of them under his
arm and carry it where he pleased.

On the morning of the exhibition, the finest military band in Madrid was
present. The affair was private, only the notables of the  city  being
there. When the King, Queen, and members of the royal household arrived,
a signal for the exhibition to begin, was given. In one  part  of  the
entertainment, pigeons are used to illustrate the sending of dispatches.
On that occasion, Paul had procured a pair of beautiful  white  doves.
One of them when loosed flew away, while the other, bewildered, circled
about and finally lit at  the  feet  of  the  Queen.  The  Princess  of
Asturas, the King's sister, caught it and handed it to the Queen, who
held and petted it during the rest of the time.

The exhibition was a complete success and at its termination, the King
summoned Paul to  land  where  the  royal  party  was  seated,  when  he
congratulated the hardy navigator, as did also the Queen. As she thanked
him for the pleasure he had given her, Paul  said,  referring  to  the
dove that had gone to her feet:

"I hope it will prove a good omen, your Majesty." Turning her wondrously
beautiful, though melancholy black eyes on him, she  replied,  with  a
sad smile:

"I hope so; I hope so."

She then conferred on Paul the order of Hospitaliers of Spain, making
him for a second time a knight. He is the only foreigner ever knighted
by Mercedes during her short reign. The King also presented him with the
Marine Cross of Spain and photographs of himself and Queen.

Before he left Spain the beautiful young Queen was dead. Might not the
erratic action of the dove have been an omen?

Leaving Madrid, Paul appeared in the principal cities of the northern
division of the country  and  was  everywhere  received  with  the usual
cordiality. At Barcelona, he gave an exhibition for the benefit of
several families of fishermen who had been lost in a gale but a  short
time before. The fishing folk of Barcelona, as well as those of Northern
France are unlike those in any other part of the world. They  are
peculiar in their costumes and characteristics and form a little world
unto themselves. After Paul had given the benefit exhibition,  he  was
surprised one morning to be summoned from his room. He found the
courtyard of the house full of fisher folk dressed in  their  holiday
attire,  who  had appeared to tender him their thanks. An address was
delivered, and he was also presented with a curious, pear-shaped iron
locket,  inlaid  with gold and silver, that had been made by one of
their number who was a cripple. It was suitably inscribed and of
ingenious workmanship. He values it among his most cherished
possessions.

Toulouse, France, was next visited and a voyage made from that city to
Bordeaux on the Garonne, which occupied six days, from May 19th  to  the
25th. There was nothing but pleasure on the trip down that beautiful
river, which winds through the rich wine valleys of France.  The
greatest hospitality was shown Paul and when his little tender was not
loaded down with flowers, it was filled by his admirers with provisions
and  rare wines.

After the Garonne he went to Paris, where his steam yacht, the Paul
Boyton, which he had ordered before departing for the Tagus, was
delivered to him. She was a magnificent little vessel, in which he
intended to sail and steam to India, China  and  Japan.  This  was
during  the  Paris Exposition of 1878, and he remained on board the
yacht, whose dock was at the exposition grounds, most of  the  time. The
little  vessel  was always full of distinguished visitors, and many
pleasant excursions were taken up and down the Seine. During that time
Paul  became  acquainted with the ex-President of Peru, Don Nicholas de
Pierola, then in banishment. They became fast friends, the ex-President
taking much interest  in torpedo work, and they frequently made quiet
experiments at isolated places down the river. Before they separated he
assured Paul  that  if  he ever regained his position in Peru, he would
remember their pleasant times aboard the "Paul Boyton," and their
torpedo experiments.

August 12th, Paul began a voyage down the Seine from Nogent-sur-Seine to
Paris, a distance of two hundred miles, which he accomplished in  four
days, landing at the Exposition buildings, Champs de Mars, before an
immense concourse of people. The crowds that lined the banks of the
Seine were estimated at half a million by the Figaro. As he passed under
Pont Neuf he stood up and dipped the stars and stripes in salute.  A
mighty shout went up from thousands of throats, "Vive l'Amerique, Vive
Boyton."

During November of the same year, he voyaged the Orne from Lou to Caen,
occupying two days. The trip was an uneventful one, and soon  after  he
returned to America.



CHAPTER XVII.

For some weeks Paul remained in New York, much to the delight of his
mother and family and he was also feted and entertained  by  many  of
the prominent citizens of the metropolis. During his stay at home, he
amused himself by paddling from the Battery around to Hunter's Point and
one night crossed down the bay through the Narrows, and came near losing
his life in the ice off Staten Island.

On an invitation from a member of Congress, Paul visited Washington and
was cordially received by President Hayes and his Cabinet,  all  paying
him high compliments for the daring things he had performed in the
interest of life saving. During the afternoon of February 1st, 1879, at
the instance of the President, he gave an exhibition in the navy yard,
before the members of the Senate and House of Representatives.

While in Washington, Paul received an invitation which highly pleased
him. It was signed by leading citizens, asking him to revisit his former
home, Pittsburgh. He was glad to have the chance of seeing the old river
of his boyish gambols, and cheerfully promised to go. After a day  or so
in Washington he went to Pittsburgh, where met with the most cordial
greeting on the part of the citizens and was also happy to see many  of
his playmates of former years. On the evening of his arrival, while
resting in his room at a hotel, he was visited by a man wearing the
uniform of the Fire Department, who grasped his hand with more warmth
and enthusiasm than  ordinary  visitors  were  wont  to  do,  at the
same  time remarking:

"I don't suppose you know me, Captain Boyton?"

"My memory certainly fails me in that respect," replied Boyton

"I am Thomas McCaffery, whose life you saved more than twenty years ago.
Of all men in the world,  I  most  desired  to  meet  you,"  and  Paul
returned the warm hand pressure of the fireman.

An evening most agreeable to both was passed in recounting their
adventures of other days. Before Paul left Pittsburgh, Mr. McCaffery
presented him with a gold medal, commemorating the important event in
his life, which, but for Boyton, would have terminated so disastrously.

Some time was spent about Pittsburgh, while preparations were made for a
voyage down the Alleghany and Ohio rivers, which  he  had  decided  on
making. It was the first intention to start on the Alleghany at
Kittanning, but on looking over the ground,  Paul  selected  Oil  City
as  the starting point, distant above Pittsburgh about one hundred and
forty miles.

There was great excitement at Oil City when it became known that Boyton
had arrived and contemplated  paddling  down  the  river.  Many  people
believed the attempt would not be made on account of the extremely cold
weather. These were astonished when Boyton appeared on the  morning  of
February 6th, equipped for the dreary voyage, and he was given an
enthusiastic send off. His progress the greater part of the  first  day,
was slow, owing to, the blocks of floating ice. At Black's Riffles he
struck on a rock, with such force as to turn him completely over  and
almost knock him senseless. Fortunately his dress was not punctured by
the blow and he continued the journey to Emlenton, forty three miles
from  Oil City, where, on account of the accident and the fact that he
was almost frozen, he decided to remain  over  night  instead  of
rushing  on  to Kittanning as had been his intention.

At all towns he passed, crowds of people lined the banks and offers of
hospitality were numberless. There was great rivalry between some of the
towns as to which would get the voyager to stop off, and the arguments
used by the inhabitants to induce him to favor them, were very funny.  A
citizen of Parker come to the front with a statement which he thought
would surely be a winner.

"Tell Boyton," he said to one of the newspaper men who followed by train
from one station to the other along the river, "that  he  should  stop
off at Parker instead of Kittanning, because Parker is an incorporated
town and Kittanning is not."

Paul was not greatly refreshed by his rest at Emlenton. He arose in the
morning, stiff and swollen, his hands and  face  very  much  so,  being
slightly frost bitten and very painful. He was somewhat depressed in
spirits and said he could not reach Pittsburgh until  Sunday.  He
bravely entered the water, however, and that day he shot over Parker's
Falls.

Before he reached Mahoning, a big crowd lined the bank awaiting his
approach. In the crowd was one of those wise bodies who  are  never  to
be fooled and who knows a thing or two about the ways of the world. This
individual made himself exceedingly  conspicuous  in  the  gathering and
confidentially told everybody that would listen to him, that he was
smart enough to size up the whole affair and that they were all fools to
be taken in by the report that a man was going to swim down such an icy
current.

"I'm on to the whole thing," he said, with a real knowing look, "this is
gotten up by the newspaper men. They have a block of wood  dressed  up
in a rubber suit and let it float down, while this 'ere Boyton sneaks
along the river with the reporters. They can't close my eye, not much."

He was one of the front line on the bank when Paul arrived. He had made
up his mind to grab the rubber covered chunk of  wood  and  expose  the
whole thing to the public, and then it would be seen that he was "jest a
leetle smarter than the rest of mankind." As Boyton drew  in  at  that
point and walked up on the land, the clever fellow's eyes looked as
though they would burst from their  sockets,  and  he  beat  a
precipitate retreat, followed by the derisive shouts of the crowd.

Paul was much interested during a great part of the cold, cheerless
trip, in the immense pillars of fire that belch from the natural gas
wells that are numerous along the river, which runs through the famous
oil country of Pennsylvania.

A reception was tendered him at Kittanning, notwithstanding that little
city's misfortune in "not being incorporated," and the mayor  delivered
a warm address of welcome.

From the moment Paul neared Pittsburgh's suburban places there was a
continued ovation until he completed the voyage at the  Point,  where
the confluence of the Alleghany and Monongahela forms the Ohio.
Thousands of people jammed the bridges and thousands lined the shores to
salute the intrepid voyager. He was picked up at the Point and quickly
placed in a carriage in order to avoid the crowd and hurriedly driven to
a  hotel. He was half frozen and his worn appearance showed how trying
had been the trip, which was accomplished in a little less than four
days.

After a brief rest, he made ready to resume the voyage. The start was
made from the foot of Seventh Street, February 24th. The Ohio was so
full of ice that it was difficult to forge ahead. The first day's run
was to Rochester, where he hauled up for the night. Owing to his being
behind time the band and many people who had been waiting for him, went
away, while those who remained occupied their time in patronizing a
convenient bar. Mr. James Creelman, of the New York Herald, who had been
assigned to write up the voyage, and another newspaper man,  accompanied
Boyton, making their way in conveyances along the shore. When they
arrived at Rochester, Paul was tired and wanted to sleep,  so  they
repaired  to  a hotel as quickly as possible, and all three were put
into one room. It became, noised around that the travelers had arrived
and crowds gathered at the hotel. They demanded a speech and the
landlord waited on Paul with the information. He was sent back to tell
the people that Boyton  was in bed and did not wish to be disturbed.
Then they wanted him to fire off just one rocket. That was also
impossible, because the  "Baby  Mine," the name of the little tender,
had struck a piece of ice before reaching the town and sprung a leak,
wetting all the fireworks.  The  landlord, however, thought he could
touch off one of the rockets anyway, so he seized a large detonator and
with a red hot poker  tried  to  see  how  it would work. Finding the
fuse, as he thought, too wet, he threw the rocket on the floor and left
the room. Directly after, Paul heard a  hissing noise and realized that
the landlord had succeeded in leaving a live spark in the fuse. He
simply drew the bedclothes around  himself  and  let the rocket sizz. It
went off with a terrible report, shaking the whole house and frightening
his companions out of  their  wits.  The  landlord rushed into the room
with a "hip, hooray," much delighted.

"That's it," he cried, "that's good," and he yelled again, regardless of
the fact that his carpet was on fire and the  room  terribly  littered
up.

Between Rochester and Wellsville, Paul had an awful time in an ice
gorge. He could hear it cracking and grinding below as though warning
him of danger. He succeeded in climbing on a cake which saved him from
being carried under, and made his way to clear water on the other side.

Below Steubenville, a native from the West Virginia side rowed
frantically out to him.

"Hold on, stranger, I'll resky yo' in a minit," he yelled. When he drew
nearer and Paul spoke to him, he appeared as tickled  as  a  boy  at  a
monkey show. "Wal, ef yo' aint jus' th' cutes' little cuss I ever seed
paddlin' aroun' out here in the ice like a beaver."

However, he expressed much disgust, not to say contempt, when Boyton
refused to land and take a drink of "Virginia's own Mountain Dew."

After hard work through the ice gorged river, Paul reached Wheeling and
rested there until the next morning. On  resuming  the  voyage  he  was
frequently compelled to mount an ice cake to look for the best place to
strike open water, where he could get at least enough paddling to  keep
up his temperature. While on one of those lookouts he heard the clear,
ringing sound of an ax  on  the  frosty  morning  air,  wielded  by  the
powerful arm of some hardy chopper. Looking along shore Paul discovered
the wood cutter just about the same instant that worthy discovered him.
The tall, lank West Virginian eyed the strange looking creature far a
second, dropped the ax and started in a lope for  his  cabin. Suspecting
that the curious landsman was going after his rifle, as it is customary
for them to shoot at anything in  the  water  they  cannot understand,
Boyton sounded a lusty blast on the bugle to attract the chopper's
attention from the shooting iron. The man  returned  to  the water's
edge, loosened a flat bottomed boat from the ice and with an iron shod
pole pushed out from shore toward Paul, who was rapidly approaching
with  the floe. As Boyton neared the woodcutter he thought, "Here comes
another lantern-jawed individual who wants  to  ask  me  if I'm  cold."
To  his surprise the man never opened his mouth, but ran his boat as
close as he, could get it to the object of his curiosity and after  a
long  stare turned his craft and began poling back to shore. When about
twenty yards away he stopped as though he had forgotten some important
matter,  and seriously inquired:

"Say, mister, be yo' stuffed wuth cork or wind?"

"Wind," tersely answered the Captain.

He waited for no further reply, but poled solemnly and silently back to
his cabin.

Below Pomeroy, Boyton, making his first all night run and feeling drowsy
was moving along mechanically, when he was  startled  by  hearing  the
paddle wheels of a steamer, which proved to be the Telegraph, bearing
right on him. With all his energy he rose up and shouted: "Port, port,
or I am a dead man."

Instantly the wheel was put over and the steamer glided by, barely
missing him.

At six o'clock next morning, as he was nearing Gallipolis, he observed a
boat putting out from one of the floating houses, or Jo-boats that are
frequently met along the Ohio and Mississippi, containing two river
gypsies. Boyton paid no attention to them until  they  were  close
behind. Then he stood up expecting to ask the time of day. He made that
movement just in time, for one of the men, pale  with  excitement,  was
taking deliberate aim at him with a musket. Boyton yelled out a warning
as the trigger was about to be pressed, and saved his life. The  river
pirate was profuse in his apologies.

"Great etarnal jeehosophat, straanger; I wouldn't a shot yer 'fur two
dollars an' a half, I wouldn't, by golly, fur I'm loaded bang up ter th'
muzzle with slugs fur geese. It were a narry escape fur me."

When nearing the mouth of the Big Sandy river, which forms the boundary
between West Virginia  and  Kentucky,  Paul  was  met  by  the  steamer
Fashion, loaded with ladies and gentlemen, who gave him a hearty welcome
to the shores of old Kentucky. At Cattlettsburg, a banquet was  spread
on shore, of which he partook and slid back into the water. He arrived
at Ironton at nine o'clock that night where he remained until morning.

From that point to Cincinnati, every town turned out to greet him. The
banks were lined with people and bonfires were built at night.  A  short
distance above Cincinnati he was met by an excursion steamer containing
notables of that city and newspaper representatives.  Madame  Modjeska,
who was with the party, presented him with a handsome silk flag. The
river at Cincinnati was crowded with excursion boats. A large barge
loaded with people, was driven against a pier and was barely saved from
sinking with all on board. He made a brief stay in Cincinnati,  and
continued the voyage accompanied by a boat load of reporters, among whom
was also Oliver Byron, the actor. The ice was then disappearing though
the water was very cold. He averaged about five miles an hour on the
lower river, and the rowing of the newspaper men to keep their boat up
with him, was something beautifully scientific. At Delhi the two
experienced oarsmen, who had been engaged to row a  short  distance,
went  ashore,  leaving Creelman, Byron and two Cincinnati newspaper men
to manage the lumbering  boat.  It  was  fortunate  for  their
reputation  as  oarsmen,  that spectators were directing most of their
attention to Boyton, for such pulling was never seen before on the Ohio
and will probably never be seen again. Paul felt like shedding tears
every time he looked around to see how they were getting along. His own
safety had something  to  do  with his watchful care, for they came near
running him down several times. The enthusiastic oarsmen first removed
their overcoats; their  undercoats followed and then collars were
unbuttoned. One of them said it wasn't the length of the river that
bothered them so much as the  breadth.  They worked independently of
each other, and it was pretty hard to tell which was the bow and which
the stern of the boat. A ragged urchin rowed out from shore to see what
they were doing and sarcastically inquired if they were rowing over
stumps. That was an unkind allusion to  the  extreme height at which
they elevated their oar blades from the water between strokes. There was
no revolver or shot gun in the party, or  there  would have been a
funeral in that lad's family.

Row boats would pull out from shore all along, and the questions asked
by the parties pulling them were ridiculous, and painfully monotonous. A
sample of some of them: "Have you springs in your arms?" "Blow your
horn. How far can it be heard?" "Are you going to travel all  night?"
"Are you going back to Cincinnati to-night?" "Let me sit on you." "Don't
you get tired?" "Are you cold?"

When the press boat was not trying to climb the Kentucky hills, Paul
would cheer himself by running alongside and converse with the  boys;
but as a rule he was wary of getting too close to them.

Nearing Louisville, a fleet of excursion steamers ran up to meet him.
There was a heavy fog and the excursionists were so eager to see him,
the boats pushing close around, that before he could bear into the city,
he was carried over the falls, and was picked up  five  miles  below.
The newspaper men were also carried over and rescued by the life saving
crew.

Leaving Louisville next morning, he intended to make the run to
Cloverport, over one hundred miles below, without leaving the water.
There  was a strong head wind all day, turning the yellow waves of the
Ohio over his face, and night closed in with dark, low hanging clouds.
An  electric storm began to rage about him. Flashing sheets of lightning
ran over the surface of the water, cracking and sputtering as though
angry  at  his presence. It was a grand, though fearful sight. Tree
after tree along the shore was splintered by the sharp flashes and peals
of thunder  added to the terrific grandeur of nature's display. Fearing
that his copper bugle would attract the lightning, he lowered it as far
under  the  water as he could. All night he ran through that fearful
storm, arriving at Cloverport  very  tired.  He  rested  there  several
hours  and  ran  to Owensboro. The mail boats, Idlewild and Morning
Star, steamed up from Evansville to meet him, lashed together  for  the
occasion,  carrying  a large crowd of people, and flying Boyton's
colors, the Geneva Cross, which is the international life saving
standard. Miss Maggie  Morgan,  one of Evansville's fair daughters,
stepped off the Idlewild into the press boat and presented Paul with his
colors.

An amusing incident occurred just as the flag was being presented. The
commander of the steamer Hotspur, with an eye to business in  running  a
little speculation of his own, loaded his steamer at so much per head,
holding out the inducement that Boyton would give an exhibition  up  the
river and that would be seen better from the deck of the Hotspur than
from any other boat. As the young lady  finished  her  presentation, the
Hotspur steamed up, her deck black with people eager to witness the
exhibition. Boyton had been told about the Hotspur by his agent who was
on the other steamers and so, despite all the efforts of the captain and
pilots of that boat, Paul kept the Idlewild and Mayflower between
himself and her, in such a way that the people aboard of her could see
nothing. For an hour or  more,  this  amusing  dance  around  the  two
steamers continued, until the Hotspur's captain, swearing and tramping
his decks in a rage, ordered the boat back to Evansville,  and  to  make
matters worse with him, he could not collect a cent from the people he
had inveigled aboard, having lost his sunshade during the night, his
eyes  were almost blinded and his face scorched by the intense heat.

He reached Cottonwood at 6 o'clock in the evening and through sheer
exhaustion was compelled to leave the water for rest,  after  a
continuous run of thirty-two hours. About 2 o'clock the next afternoon
he met a heavy head wind and a high sea. He kept up a pretty good  rate
of  speed, however, until he was struck by a storm off Hale's Point. The
rain descended in torrents and darkness became so intense that he could
scarcely tell whether he was going up, down or across. His matches were
wet and he could not strike a light. He determined to go ashore, and if
he could find no habitation, at least to remain along the bank until the
storm had abated. A landing was effected in a thick woods, and there  he
found that he had not bettered the situation, because he was in danger
of the lightning. He was debating whether to return to the water or not,
when he caught the tiny glimmer of a light among the trees and he struck
out for it, leaving the "Baby Mine" under a log near the shore.  The
light guided him to a lone negro cabin and he unceremoniously pushed the
door open and entered, frightening the inmates, a newly wedded couple,
half out of their wits, until he had explained who he was. The negro
took it all good humouredly, however, saying: "Yo' done scart de life
mos'  out o' us. I knows who yo' is now, do Boss."

"How about a little fire, my friend," asked Boyton.

"All right boss, all right, sah, yo' kin have a fiah quicker 'n yo' kin
skin er cat," and the negro began tearing boards off the  side  of  the
cabin. It was too much trouble to gather fuel in the woods or cut down a
tree and besides, the boards burned more easily.

They soon had a roaring fire and Paul, divested of the rubber dress, was
drying and thoroughly enjoying himself. The negro was  so  tickled  at
having such a guest that he disappeared in the recesses of the forest
for some time and returned with a  whole  delegation  of  his relatives,
including his mother. By the time they had arrived, Paul was dry and
prepared to re-enter the water. The old woman was not perfectly
satisfied that he was of the earth and she looked upon him with
considerable suspicion, mingled with a great deal of fear.

"Boss," she said, edging into a corner and peering over the shoulders of
her stalwart son, "yo' 'suredly looks like  a  suah  'nough  man;  yo'
certn'y isn't got de looks ob de debbil 'bout yo' face; but dey say de
debbil's get cow hoofs an' I kaint see yo' feet."

Her son assured her that he had seen Boyton's feet and they were just
like any other human beings; but the old  woman  kept  something between
herself and the Captain all the time and when he stepped out, he could
hear her sigh of thankfulness as he walked off among the trees.

After leaving the cabin, another storm came up and the heavy rain turned
to hail. In a short time the light on the Baby Mine was again put  out
by the waves which also soaked the matches procured from the Negro. In
the darkness there was great danger of his being run down by the  fleets
of empty coal barges that were being towed up from New Orleans to
Pittsburgh. Those great tows cover acres of river space  and  it  is  a
hard matter to tell which way they are going to turn. Observing one of
the Government lights which are now placed along the rivers  as  a guide
to mariners, he steered for it. He landed and climbing the ladder to the
lantern, was proceeding to get a light for  his  lamp,  when  a big  dog
rushed furiously up and held him treed on the lamp post. The light
keeper hearing the victorious barking of the dog, came out with  a gun
and Paul could not explain his presence there any too quickly. The
keeper called off the dog, gave the Captain a supply of matches, who
lighted  up his bull's eye and was soon forging ahead again. During the
small hours of the night, he passed the steamers Osceola,  James  Howard
and  Andy Baum, all of which spoke him and inquired if he was in need of
anything. At daybreak, the Osceola Belle stopped and gave him  some  hot
coffee and the City of Helena gave him a cheer.

Around the Devil's Elbow, he encountered another furious head wind which
required heavy work to go against. So vigorous were his exertions that
he stopped at Bradley's, Arkansas, for the night and started next
morning at 11 o'clock for Memphis which city  he  reached  at  four
o'clock. Above Memphis he was met by a fleet of excursion steamers and
the sight of his flashing paddle as he approached them was  the  signal
for  the firing of a salute from a ten pound parrot gun on the deck of
the General Pierson. Miss  Jeanette  Boswell,  one  of  the  reigning
belles  of Memphis, handed him a banner and made a pleasant address of
welcome.

Holding on to the gunwale of the gig, Paul replied in a felicitous
manner as he accepted the trophy from her hands. The  reception  at
Memphis was in accordance with the enthusiasm of the excursionists and
Paul resumed the voyage Monday afternoon with the well wishes of the
populace.

That night another terrific storm almost overwhelmed him. Huge trees
were borne to the earth on either side of him as though they  were
reeds. Rain turned to hail and the river was whitened by the icy stones.
So great was their forge that he was compelled to stand up in the stream
to shield his head and face with the broad blade of his paddle and his
knuckles were badly bruised. In a short time he experienced a sensation
of leaking. He thought the hail stones had cut his dress; but next
morning, landing on a sandbar, he found himself as dry as a pebble, the
leaking sensation having been caused by the sudden change in the
temperature of the water owing to the melting of the hail stones. In the
darkness,  he missed the cut off, by which he could have saved fifteen
miles of paddling, and went around Walnut Bend. At daybreak, he saw  a
negro  on  the bank and inquired his whereabouts.

"Yo'se in de bend shoah 'nough Cap'en; but I'se pow'ful glad yo' missed
the cut off, cause I wanted to see yo' awful bad."

Paul did not sympathize with the darkey's joy and that unnecessary
fifteen miles was the hardest pull of the entire trip, to his mind.

That morning was very lonely along the river and he was still lecturing
himself for missing the convenient cut off, when away around a  distant
bend he could hear the beating paddles of an approaching steamboat. That
animated him and he pulled with renewed vigor  until  he  met  a  boat
which was loaded with excursionists from Helena, Arkansas. He hauled up
alongside and the excursionists begged him to go ashore and visit their
city. He was feeling sore and declined the kind invitation; other boats
came up until he was surrounded. They insisted earnestly and so  kindly
that he should stop oft at Helena, that he finally consented to do so
and rest a couple of hours, as his watch and lamp were smashed  and that
would give him an opportunity to get them fixed. He was enthusiastically
welcomed to the city, and a committee of citizens was appointed to get
anything he might want. The mayor and several other officials requested
him to remain that night and deliver a lecture. He declined to  do  so,
because his wardrobe had been shipped on ahead to Vicksburg, and he had
nothing to wear but a suit of heavy underclothing and the rubber dress.

"That'll be all right," said the mayor, "we'll fix you up in a dress
suit and attend to all the details. We'll get out bills,  hire  the
hall, get a band and just fix you up as snug as a bug in a rug. Don't
you let anything worry you; but just stay here and rest up while  we
make  the arrangements."

The people had been so kind that Boyton could not resist their desires
and consented. That evening the mayor drove up to the hotel and  entered
Paul's room with a swallow tail coat, white vest and tie, and a collar
that was fastened around  his  neck  without  the  assistance  of  shirt
buttons. The upper half of him looked all right and quite appropriate
for presentation to the public.  They  waited  for  the  gentleman whose
pantaloons just fitted Paul, but he did not appear.

"All right," said the mayor again, "I reckon he's gone to the hall with
them and there's a dressing room there. Come on now, just hop  into  my
carriage and we'll drive there. No one will see you."

They reached the hall and waited in the dressing room for the other
gentleman to get there with the pantaloons. It was  growing  late  and
the people who crowded the hall began to get impatient.

"That's all right," once more exclaimed the ever ready mayor, "we can
fix that."

He shoved a stand to the middle of the stage and taking a large table
cover; arranged it so that it hung to the floor  in  front,  thus hiding
everything behind it from the eyes of the crowd. On the stand were
placed the rubber dress, the Baby Mine, a pitcher of water and a glass.
Then Boyton stood behind it and from the front he looked as though
attired in an irreproachable dress suit. The curtain was rung up
discovering  him standing in the shelter of the table, the mayor on one
side, ready to introduce him. In that position Paul acknowledged  the
introduction  and proceeded to describe the rubber dress, his 'mode of
navigating in it and an account of his voyages. In recounting his
adventure with  a  shark in the straits of Messina, he became somewhat
excited and without thinking, stepped from behind the protecting folds
of the table cloth in  all the glory of a dress coat, white vest and
violently red drawers.

There was a stare of wonder, an awful silence for a moment and then a
wild roar of laughter, which brought the orator to a sense of the
comical figure he cut, and he fled from the stage with the unfinished
shark story on his lips. The mayor after a violent effort, got the
attention  of the crowd and explained the situation. They took it so
good humouredly that they gave three rousing cheers for Paul, and a
tiger.

To make up for the time he had lost with the hospitable citizens of
Helena, Boyton was compelled to make an extra long run and  he  paddled
to Arkansas City without leaving the water, a distance of one hundred
and sixty miles in thirty one hours, which was the longest continuous
run he ever made up to that time. That night on the lonesome stretches
of the river, he frequently started a loon from its resting place and it
would fly off into the darkness with a wild, unearthly shriek, so
ghostly in its echoing cadences that with a nervous start, Paul would
glance around for that "dead man in a boat."

Early in the morning the voyager struck a big eddy and was twisted round
and round for quite a while before he could  clear  himself  and  then
found he was pretty close in shore. Through the thick growth of
cottonwoods he observed a thin spiral of smoke rising, and  knowing  it
to  be from the cabin of some negro, he blew a merry blast on his bugle.
Before the clear notes had faded from the morning  air,  a  venerable
darkey with whitened head and slightly bent, though walking without the
assistance of a cane, appeared on the bluff overlooking the river.  He
raised his eyes to the eastern horizon, as though to determine the
weather probabilities, and then he scanned the river up and down. He
failed to  see Boyton at first, and another blast was given on the
bugle. Slowly, and with evidences of some fear, the old darkey bent his
eyes on  Paul,  and then as slowly he deposited his white, broad brimmed
hat on a stump by his side, reverently raising his eyes and  with
outstretched  hands  he solemnly said:

"He bloowed his trumpet on the watah. Bless God, bless God."

He remained in this attitude until Paul disappeared around the bend, no
doubt expecting to be summoned any moment by the archangel Gabriel.

Directly after leaving the old negro, Boyton espied something in the
river below him, which he thought was a snag or the floating branches of
a tree; but as he drove swiftly along and looked more closely, he saw it
was a large deer swimming across. Quickly loosening the "Baby  Mine"  to
let her drift along with the current, he unslung the large hunting knife
and started for the  deer  with  the  intention  of  bleeding  it.  He
anticipated no trouble in paddling alongside while it was swimming, and
putting the knife into its throat. When the buck discovered the pursuer
it redoubled its efforts to reach the shore, but Paul was faster and was
soon close on the antlered beauty. As he raised the knife to stab, the
deer also raised and struck viciously with its front feet, and Paul
barely dodged the blow which would have cut through the rubber suit like
a keen edged knife. Again and again did he try to get an opening for a
thrust, and as often did the deer, with eyes  blazing  like  a
panther's, beat him away with its sharp hoofs. At last Boyton concluded
to follow if to the edge of the river, where he felt sure his game would
sink  in the mud and then become an easy victim. The animal did stick in
the mud as was expected, but as Boyton was about to stab, its feet
struck a bit of log so small that its four hoofs were all bunched
together on it; but thus hampered, it sprang with wonderful power,
landed on the bank  six feet above, and galloped off into the forest,
waving Paul a farewell with its white, stumpy tail.

That night he arrived at Arkansas City, very tired after his long pull.
It was there he ran across a silent admirer--an extraordinary character
who appointed himself Boyton's body guard. All that night he sat and
watched the voyager while he slept. He put wood on when  the  fire
burned low and whenever Paul wakened he was at his bedside with a drink
of hot tea, but never uttering  a  word.  Next  morning  he  assisted in
the dressing and when leaving, he wrung the Captain's hand as though
parting with his dearest friend; yet he hadn't a word to  say,  nor
would  he accept any recompense for his services.

A short distance below Arkansas City, a blast from Paul's bugle brought
a troop of negroes to the bank. As they gazed on him  in  open  mouthed
wonder, he asked them the distance to the next place; but they were so
overcome either with fright or astonishment they could not  answer.  One
old auntie, however, leaned over the bank and in a trembling voice
asked:

"Chile, does yo' belong to the chu'ch?"

She drew a sigh of relief and seemed satisfied that he was a human being
when he answered, "yes."

A lonely run of one hundred and forty miles brought him to Milligan's
Bend where he stopped at a planter's house over night. The next  day was
Sunday and as he only had a twenty mile run to reach Vicksburg, he did
not propose to start until rather late in the day, so that he would land
at Vicksburg during the afternoon. While he was taking it easy, chatting
with the planter, and enjoying a fragrant cigar, the old minister  of
the parish called, and was introduced to him.

"God bless you my son," said the venerable gentleman, pressing Paul's
hand, "I must say I have called expressly to see you and ask you to do
me a favor."

"I would be pleased to do anything in my power for you," replied Boyton.

"I knew you would, God bless you, I knew you would," fervently spoke the
old minister, "my congregation is waiting along the bank of the  river
to see you start away and not a soul of them will enter the church until
you go, if it is not until dark to-night. And I wanted to ask  if  you
would start soon, so that I may begin services?"

The old man spoke with profound sincerity and his face brightened when
Boyton told him that preparations would be made for leaving at once.  He
called down a benediction and joyfully departed for his little church,
the weather beaten side of which could  be  seen  in  a  grove  not  far
distant. Paul immediately donned his dress and took to the water,
paddling a few miles down and hauling up on a muddy bank to wait until
it was time to start for Vicksburg. Though it was not so pleasant there
as it was on the cool porch of the planter's, and he had  suffered  much
from the heat, thoughts of the satisfied old minister did much to
lighten the discomforts of his surroundings.

He arrived in sight of Vicksburg at four o'clock in the afternoon and
was met by the steamer  Silverthorn  towing  a  big  barge,  loaded with
excursionists. It appeared as though the entire population of the town
and surrounding country had assembled on the river bank.  So  dense was
the crowd, that it caused a philosophical negro to remark:

"Ef dose yere people keep on a crowdin' on dis en' ob town, de whole
place are gwine fur to tip ober in de ribber, suah 'nough."

With the aid of the city marshal and a few policemen, Boyton got through
the crowd to a carriage in which the Mayor was awaiting  him.  As  the
carriage was about to move off for the hotel, a man jumped in and seated
himself between the Captain and the Mayor. Paul did not think much  of
the incident at the time, being under the impression, that the fellow
was one of the Mayor's friends, though he noticed that official  did not
seem to be particularly pleased. When they reached the hotel, the man
made himself obnoxiously officious, entering Boyton's room with an air
of proprietorship and taking refreshments as though he was paying for
them all. At last Paul made inquiries concerning him and found  he was
the most desperate character in all that section of country--a killer
who had more than one murder to his account and who had the citizens  of
the town so terrorized that they were afraid to interpose any objections
to his conduct. As soon as he  learned  that,  Paul  was in  a  rage
and remarked that the citizens might submit to such intrusion, but he
would not. The desperado, who had gone out of the room for  a  few
moments, returned and was met by the angry navigator, who caught him by
the neck, threw him bodily out of the room and  kicked him  down
stairs.  That cuffing did the fellow some good for it had the effect of
encouraging other men to thrash him until he became mild-mannered and
inoffensive.

The next run was from Vicksburg to Natchez, one hundred and nine miles.
The start was made in a gale and Boyton was not much  more  than  under
way when he felt symptoms of fever. Indeed, so violent did the attack
become, that he felt as though he must give up. He took an enormous dose
of quinine which braced him and he kept pushing ahead until he arrived
at Natchez, twenty six hours from  Vicksburg.  He  was  so  ill on  his
arrival that he could scarcely notice the hearty reception given him;
but went immediately to bed and fell into a deep sleep. A  doctor called
and pronounced him in danger of swamp fever, but thought it might be
kept off with proper attention, and prescribed some  remedy.  Boyton
felt considerably refreshed by the sleep, assisted, probably, by the
prescription of the doctor, and one or two callers were admitted to  his
room. Among them was a gentleman who stated that his wife was an
invalid. The windows of her room overlooked the river and as she saw
Paul  passing, on his way to Natchez, she had composed a little poem,
which she begged the voyager to accept. The lady's name was Mrs. Francis
Marschalk,  and the poem follows:

Hail, King of the wat'ry world, New Neptune, grander than the old,
Serene as thy great prototype, 'Mid storm and wave, mid heat and cold!
Great victor! Man of nerve and will, Ingenious mind and wondrous skill,
Laurels of peace are thine to wear, More blest than those  of  battle
field; Begemmed with tears of gratitude And brighter than a Spartan
shield--The world acclaims this crown to thee, And glories in thy
victory.

The greatest boon of God is life, The dearest trust to mortal given And
God-like 'tis to keep and save This precious heritage of  heaven,  This
holy aim, this task divine Thy proud achievements claim as thine.

When all the waves of time are past And earth's rude storms with thee
are o'er, Oh, may'st thou sweetly rest at last Upon the peaceful shining
shore, And may thy spirit's pastime be Life's river and the Jasper sea.

Paul was deeply affected by so delicate a tribute from the accomplished
stranger, and did all he could do under the circumstances--sent her  an
autograph note of grateful appreciation.

He did not stop long at Natchez, feeling anxious to finish the voyage as
soon as possible. Among the crowd that followed him to the wharf  when
he resumed the trip next day was the doctor who had prescribed for him.
That gentleman was very earnest in advising him not to start as he  was
in great danger of being seized with the fever.

"You have every indication of the fever now," said the doctor, "and if
it attacks you on the water you will to a certainty die. However, if you
will persist in going, all I can do is to tell you that as soon as you
feel the symptoms, make for the shore and get into a bed as soon as  you
can."

"What are the symptoms?" inquired Boyton,

"You become chilly and have a numb feeling all over."

"All right, I'll look out for them," and with that Paul waved a good bye
to the multitude and struck gamely away in the teeth of the  wind.  As
night came on he was tired and imagined he could feel the symptoms of
which the doctor had warned him. He was just heading for  shore  when he
heard a steamboat. He burned a red light for her and she slowed up. The
passengers on deck cheered him and the Captain sang out:

"How do you feel, Paul?"

"All right, report me above," was the answer, and the boat headed on up
the river. The diversion gave him courage to go ahead,  and  he  struck
out with renewed determination, running so well that he reached Baton
Rouge at eight o'clock in the morning. From that city it was a  home run
of one hundred and thirty four miles to New Orleans. He started early
next morning, though feeling  very  stiff  and  sore.  The weather  grew
intensely hot, he suffered terribly and was burned almost black in the
face, the skin of which peeled off. About eleven o'clock in the morning,
on the glassy surface ahead, he noticed something bobbing up and down in
a queer manner, and pulled away to investigate. He found it  to  be  a
dead mule swollen to gigantic size. While looking at it its tail flipped
out of the water as though it were alive. It was then he became  aware
of the fact that a swarm of alligators were feeding on it, and he pulled
away with about as much speed as he has ever been able to attain.

During the day he ran through a thickly populated country, along what is
known as the lower coast of Louisiana; the river was fringed with rich
sugar plantations, and a majority of the negroes who rowed out to see
him, spoke the language of the French Creole. Magnolia trees  were thick
on either side and framed a picture of rare beauty.

While paddling for a short distance close in shore, Paul discovered a
most unique and lazy style of angling. Happening to look up at the bank,
he saw two pair of bare feet of heroic size, from which two fishing
lines hung, the corks bobbing on the surface a few yards  from the
shore. The broad bottoms of their pedal extremities turned to the river,
the line passing between the great and second toes to the  water, and
there they lay enjoying delicious sleep, waiting for a fish to swallow
the bait, when the pull on the line would  be  felt  between their  toes
and awaken them to attend to business. Paul took in the situation at a
glance. Quietly drawing near one of the lines he gave it a vicious jerk.
The negro on the other end of it flipped to a sitting posture as though
he was worked on a spring like a jumping jack. When he saw the black
figure as he thought, on his line, he let out a shriek that could have
been heard for a mile, at the same time springing to his feet and
starting on a sprinting pace for some hiding place, yelling, as he ran,
to his companion:

"Hyah Bill, git away from dar; git up an' cut. I'se done cotch de debbil
on my hook."

The other restful fisherman sat up stiffly as if worked on a rusty
hinge, and seeing Boyton, was seized with an uncontrollable fit of
laughter. He laughed as though he was never going to catch his breath,
and Paul was afraid he would choke. He rolled on the ground in paroxysms
of mirth, stood up and leaned against a tree shouting out such loud
guffaws that it was difficult to tell whether it was  through  amusement
or  fright. Paul got out on the bank and tried to quiet him, but was
unsuccessful and entered the water again and paddled away. For some
distance the voice of that hilarious fisherman was borne to him on the
breeze.

As evening closed in he could hear the darkies who had been paid off, it
being Saturday night, singing and arguing along the shore. A dense fog
soon enveloped everything, however, and he could not see which way he
was going. He seized the roots of a drifting tree, knowing it would keep
in the channel, mounted it and sat there for hours floating with the
current. All night the mocking birds along shore serenaded him.  He
would have remained on the tree until morning; but he heard the whistles
of steamers below. Knowing that a fleet  left  New  Orleans  every
Saturday afternoon bound north, and that each would be trying to gain
the lead on the other, he was afraid he would be run down, so he slid
off the tree and made for shore. That course was not without its danger,
also; for mingled with the beautiful songs of the mocking bird, he  had
heard  the hoarse bark of alligators and there was no telling but that
he might run right on to some of them. They are thick along shore,  but
rarely  go out into the river, except as in the case of the dead mule,
they follow their prey. Luckily he avoided those dangerous reptiles. He
sounded the bugle and a Frenchman came down to the bank. Paul explained
who he was and the man eagerly invited him ashore. "I am sitting  up
with  my  old master who is dead," said the Frenchman. "What was the
matter with him?" inquired Boyton, somewhat alarmed.

"Oh, it wasn't the fever, you need have no fear."

Paul decided to land and wait until the fleet had passed at any rate,
then he lighted his lamp and pushed off through the fog,  preferring the
solitude of the river to the society of the grief stricken Frenchman.
The fog lifted in the morning and he found that he was on time. Ten
miles above New Orleans, he was met by excursion steamers with
enthusiastic crowds aboard. Captain Leathers of the  famous  old  boat,
Natchez,  was determined to outdo the others in the way of welcoming the
voyager, for Boyton was an old friend. He had a cannon placed on  the
deck  of  his boat, loaded to the muzzle. A crowd of negroes were jammed
on a lot of cotton bales, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Paul
and Captain Leathers fired right in amongst them. The concussion was so
great that at least forty of the darkies were knocked off their  feet
and  thought they were killed by the explosion. Paul landed at New
Orleans, April 27th, finishing a journey of two thousand four hundred
and  thirty  miles. He was feted and lionized in the Crescent City until
he was in danger of becoming enervated, so he boarded a train for the
north,  some  thirty pounds less in weight than when he started at Oil
City.



CHAPTER XVIII.

The summer of 1879 was idly spent. Boyton visited the most celebrated
watering resorts of America and enjoyed a well earned good time.  As the
autumn leaves began to fall, he was seized with an irresistible desire
to feel himself again afloat, so he turned his attention to  the rivers
of the New England States. He went to Boston, made a careful study of
the maps, and concluded to take a voyage on  the  Merrimac; this  river,
with its numerous falls and rapids, he thought would furnish some
excitement. The start was made from Plymouth, New Hampshire, at  six
o'clock in the morning of October seventh. The river was too rough for
him to tow the Baby Mine along, a fact which he very much deplored.
Boyton  had not paddled many yards from the shore ere he found the water
so shallow that he was compelled to wade quite a distance  before
getting  fairly under way, then he soon left the cheering crowd in the
distance. About nine o'clock, approaching a bridge, he heard a rumbling
sound.  Looking up he beheld the figure of a man and horse outlined
against the sky like a shadow picture. The countryman also  discovered
the  queer  looking figure in the water. He craned his neck, jerked his
arms up and with mouth and eyes wide open slapped  the  reins  on  the
horse's  back  and galloped off at a faster pace than the good
agriculturalists in that locality are wont to ride. He had not read the
newspapers.

An hour later, Paul blew his bugle in front of a farm house that stood
near the river. The people ran to the water's edge and  began  firing  a
broadside of down east interrogatives with such rapidity as to nearly
swamp him.

"Ain't yeou nearly drowned?" "Ain't yeou afeard yeou will be?" "Ain't
yeou hungry?" "Ain't yeou cold?" "Ain't yeou hot?" "Kin yeou keep
awake?" "Ef yeou cain't, would yeou sink?" "Air yeou a orphing?", "Dew
yeou like the water?" "What circuse dew yeou belong tew?" "Who  hired
yeou  tew dew this?" "Why on airth dew yeou travel this way fur instead
of in a boat?"

Paul could not stand the rapid fire system of the New Hampshire rustics,
and with a pained expression on his face he, pulled  silently  out  of
hearing. The narrowing river brought him closer to the banks, and as he
was forging ahead an old gentleman  hailed  him.  Paul  stopped  for  a
moment and was sorry for it, as the man tried to chill his blood with
doleful stories of the dangers  in  the  river  below.  "Yeou  air goin'
straight ahead tew destruction," he bellowed, "thar's a whirlpool jist
ahead, where six lumbermen was drowned one time."

Boyton had no fear of sharing the fate of the lumbermen, so he pushed
ahead, leaving the old man standing on the bank with  clasped  hands and
pained expression.

The voyager shortly reached the junction of Squam river, and there
encountered the first waterfall. A crowd of men and boys  had  assembled
on the bridge and anxiously watched him dash down on the rushing waters,
in which he was for the moment lost. Emerging from the  boiling  foam at
the foot of the fall, he scrambled on a rock and stood up to look for
the channel. From that point he had a  wearisome  pull  in  dead, choppy
water, until he reached New Hampton. At many places along the route,
well disposed persons were liberal with their advice to give  up such
an "outlandish" mode of traveling and to "git on land like a human
critter." Though the advice sounded well,  Paul  noticed  on  one
occasion  at least, that their methods of travel were not devoid of the
danger ascribed to his. Above him, on the grim rocks of a bluff, he saw
the wreck of a light wagon, and floating along with the current, were
the seat and one wheel.

"Where is the driver of that wagon?" inquired Paul. No one knew and he
plied his paddle vigorously in the hope of overtaking  the  unfortunate
man who had evidently been hurled from the bluff into the stream; but no
trace could be found. Below the sound of rapids was borne to his  ear.
The smooth water began to break and start as if suddenly impelled
forward by some subtle influence that meant to tear the rocks  from  the
bed and crush every obstacle in its course. With all his care in
steering through that rapid, he was thrown against a rock with
considerable force, but caught hold of it and stood up to determine the
course of the channel. Seeing an old lady standing before the door of a
farm house, he rang out a cavalry charge on his bugle. She threw up her
hands as though she had heard the last trumpet of the Day of Judgment,
and rushing into the house she alarmed all the occupants. The look of
horror they gave the Captain as he stood on that rock in the midst of
the rapids, beckoning to them with his paddle, was evidence that they
took him for his Satanic majesty or one of his courtiers.

"Lan' sakes, 'Zekiel!" exclaimed the boldest one or the party, who
chanced to be a tall, raw-boned female, "go git gran'pap's old
blunderbuss, an' shoot it."

Zekiel was rooted to the spot with fear and heeded not the exhortation
of his strong-minded relative. Boyton, who feared the people who did not
keep posted by reading the papers, more than he did the rapids, relieved
them by taking to the water, and was flashed from their  sight  as  he
was drawn into another and larger rapid. He was whirled into a place
where he had a hard struggle over  a  bed  of  round,  slippery  rocks
in shallow water. He could not find the channel, and if he stood up to
take an observation, his feet would be swept from under him. He  was
fully an hour getting over the rocks, walking, crawling or paddling as
best he could. At five o'clock he reached Bristol. There he was advised
to  go no further and a telegram from his agent below, told him the
river was too dangerous to travel  at  night.  The  next  morning  the
landlord's daughter drove him to the bank and a large crowd watched as
he paddled away toward the whirlpool, against which he had been warned.
It  was  a rough passage, but he reached Franklin in safety at one
o'clock. All the way he had kept a sharp lookout for the driver of the
wrecked  wagon, but could discover no trace of him. Before reaching
Franklin a fleet of boats rowed up to the falls to meet him, and
bonfires were built  along the shore in his honor.

The voyage was resumed at eight o'clock next morning, and at ten o'clock
he shot Sewell's Falls, a rather rough place, and from there the river
was lonely until West Concord was reached. Here the booming of cannon
announced his safe arrival to the people. He was met by a fleet of boats
and informed that they had been looking for him two days. He was warned
to look out  for  Turkey  Falls,  and  before  proceeding  he asked  a
countryman which side of the falls he should take, and received the
cheering answer that, "whichever side he took he would wish  he  had
taken the other." Both banks of the falls were lined with people, Paul
always noticed a larger crowd at every point where he was likely to be
killed. He went over Turkey Falls, and for a few seconds was lost to
sight. The spectators waited in breathless silence to see his lifeless
form  rise from the foam, but beheld only the flashing paddle moving
gaily along in smoother water, and so a hero was not lost at  that
uneventful  spot, and there would be no legend of the place to hand down
to posterity.

One mile from the falls, the Captain encountered the first dam, below
which there was a stretch of dead water for seven miles. It was there he
met the first steam craft--a small launch that had sailed up from
Suncook. It was a long, tiresome  pull  through  the  dead  stretch, and
he arrived at Suncook at dark pretty well fagged out. Invitations to
remain were plentiful; but he continued two miles further  to Hookset
where dry clothing awaited him. Next morning an early start was made and
he was able to have the Baby Mine with him for the rest of the journey.
The water from Hookset to Manchester is heavy; but by constant paddling
he reached the latter place at noon. There were more signs of life  as
he progressed. Children ran along the banks calling to him, and one
little girl cried: "Paul, come in here I want see  you,"  as though  she
had known him for years. He passed two of the five falls that barred the
progress to Nashua, when darkness fell with such intensity  that  he
was compelled to depend on shore sounds to determine in which direction
he was going. At eight o'clock, seeing lights on shore,  he  summoned
some people with a blast on the bugle and inquired the distance to the
next falls. As was the case above, he had to listen  to  diverse  and
widely different opinions, with the usual result, that he took his own
course, and succeeded in reaching Nashua in safety at ten o'clock. The
next day dawned dull and rainy and he had a tiresome pull on a sluggish
stream until he reached Tyngsborough. Nearing a crowded bridge  at  that
place, volleys of questions were fired at him. He was choking with
thirst and without looking up, asked: "Is there a hotel here?"

"Naw," shouted a gruff voice, "ner yeou kaint git naw liker hure nowhere
neether."

"I'll take an oath that you never colored that nose of yours with river
water," quickly replied Boyton.

The retort happily hit the mark, for the fellow was the possessor of a
richly tinted proboscis of carmine hue, that was somewhat of a  landmark
in the village. The crowd roared in approbation of the home thrust and
the man, hastily elbowed his way through the crowd until he  was  beyond
hearing.

A number of small boats ascended the river from Lowell to meet Paul, and
he accepted an invitation from the Vesper Boat Club, of that city,  to
land at their club house, which he did at five o'clock. He remained over
Sunday in Lowell and resumed  the  journey  Monday  morning.  He  shot
Hunt's falls in safety and there met a steam launch with newspaper men
from Lawrence, aboard. At Lawrence the river begins to  be  affected  by
the tide, on account of which he was compelled to wait until four
o'clock next morning before  continuing  the  trip.  He  made  a landing
at daylight at a frame house over the door of which was painted the word
"confectionery" and he thought he could get some breakfast. He was
given a room, but it was soon filled with obtrusive questioners. A
farmer, seeing the look of  hunger  in  his  eyes,  volunteered  to
procure  some breakfast. The Captain was prepared to do justice to the
kind of a meal he had been wishing for,  when  the  farmer  returned
with  a  genuine country breakfast consisting of several pieces of apple
and mince pie and a liberal supply of assorted pickles. It was fortunate
for  Boyton's digestion that he was obliged to stay at that place for
five hours, owing to the flood tide.

Directly after resuming the voyage, he was met by a fleet of boats, one
of them being occupied by Sir Edward Thornton, the British Minister  at
Washington, and his beautiful daughter. Being old acquaintances, Paul
enjoyed a pleasant chat with them, and a few moments later, he landed at
Newburyport. The voyage was ended. He had made two hundred miles of very
rough going, in seven days.

Boyton rested but a short time ere he was ready to begin a run down the
Connecticut, the largest and most beautiful river in New England,  from
as near the headwaters as he could get, to Long Island Sound. His
arrival at Stratford, New Hampshire, from  which  place  he  had decided
to start, occasioned a great deal of comment in that and neighboring
villages. The  inhabitants  concluded  he  should  have more  than
ordinary recognition, and in lieu of a cannon they put a pair of anvils
together and  succeeded  in  making  quite  a respectable  noise.  At
night  a deputation of citizens called on him with a request that he
would not start until daylight next morning, so they would have an
opportunity  to see him off. At six forty-five o'clock the following
morning, a goodly sized company was present  to witness  the  start.
After  passing  the railroad bridge at Coos, he had about six miles of
rapids, the river being only about forty yards wide and rather speedy,
the voyager averaging about five miles an hour. At eleven o'clock he
passed Stratford Hollow and inquired of a countryman there how far it
was to Northumberland:

"Seven mile b' road an' twenty-b' river, b' gosh," was the native's
reply.

Though laconic, the answer was correct, for the stream bowed and bended
frequently, and at one time he passed the same farm house twice  in  an
interval of two hours and a half, giving him an opportunity to observe
both sides of it. About two o'clock in the afternoon a  heavy  rainstorm
blew up, while the booms and logs in the river also caused a great deal
of trouble. Whenever a person on the bank could speak  to  him  he  was
invariably warned of the Fifteen Mile Falls.

"Look Bout, straanger, fur them 'ere Fifteen Mile Falls. They'll jus'
squeeze yeou sure'n daylight," was almost always the style of warning.

Paul hauled up to question one man who looked like a waterman,
concerning the falls. The fellow said he had gone over once on a raft,
when  the water was much higher. "An' would yeou b'lieve it," he added,
"one o' them 'ere wimmen were boun' an' determined tew come wuth us."

"Did she go?" asked Paul.

"Neow yeou jus' bet she did."

"Well, how did she act?"

"I'll tell yeou straanger. I tol' her tew go astern an' hol' on hard tew
th' stake. She went aft ju' afore we got tew Holbrook's Bar, an'  then
we jus' tuk it. Slap, bang we went, jus' run pitch right under thet 'ere
rushin' water'n come up b'low all right."

"What did the woman do? How did she act?"

"Wall, sir, yeou wuden't b'lieve it. She jus' guv one loud snort, shuk
herself out'n went right erlong."

The loss of his paddle caused Paul to remain at Northumberland all
night, and fortunately it was found among a lot of driftwood  next
morning, enabling him to drive ahead again.

One of the drawbacks of the voyage was the difficulty experienced in
getting proper provisions at many places. Numbers of  people  were
either thoughtless, or they looked on Boyton as an uncanny sort of
creature, whom they did not care to have about. When he did get food, it
consisted of pie, which seemed to be the staff of life with most of the
country people.  He  inquired  of  a  voluble  fellow  where  he  could
be  best accommodated at Northumberland.

"Oh, stop at th' hotel, b' all means. They feed yeou tip top; high up,"
said he, "I've been ter dinner there w'en  they've  hed  all  o'  seven
kinds er pie on ther table t'onct."

"Have they got apples and squash?" jokingly asked the Captain.

"Yeou kin jus' bet on thet," was the enthusiastic answer.

Just below Northumberland, which place he left at nine o'clock, he
encountered a dam and very rough water. The weather became squally, with
a cold and cutting snow beating into his face; but he plied the paddle
vigorously and made remarkable progress, reaching Lancaster at one
thirty o'clock. Countrymen whom he passed would stare at him and then
burst out into loud guffaws of laughter as though immensely tickled at
the  idea of a man paddling down the river in a driving snow storm.

At length Paul began to feel the livelier motion of the water as he was
nearing Lunenburg, where the Fifteen Mile Falls begin. Wishing to enter
that dangerous stretch a fresh man, he pulled up for the night and
luckily found a hospitable farmer in the  person  of  Mr.  Frank  Bell,
who entertained him handsomely until morning.

He was prepared for heavy work when he started early next day, and well
it was that he was fortified for the  occasion,  as  the  Fifteen  Mile
Falls proved about as rough an experience as he had ever gone through.
At Holbrook's Bar, the last pitch of the falls,  M'Indoe's  Dam,  Barnet
Pitch and other place, he encountered many dangers in the way of
whirling currents and jagged rocks. He suffered but a  slight  bruise in
the descent though his dress was cut and he was obliged to stop and
repair it at Lower  Waterford  where  he  remained  over  night.  At  a
little settlement above that village, someone in a small gathering on
the bank said:

"Hure comes that pesky swimmer aroun' th' bow, an' he's a cumin' like
forty."

"Who's a-comin'?" asked a broad shouldered Green Mountaineer. The very
thought of a man paddling down the river seemed to suggest  some  scheme
of the fakir or dodge of the showman to separate him from the coins that
jingled in his pocket. The old Vermonter, turning a quid of  sassafras
from one corner of his mouth to the other, drawled, with all
impressiveness of a judge to whom some knotty law point had been
presented: "Wall, I wunder what he gits out'n this? He mus' be a darned
critter tew resk himself in thet ere fashion; an' I swan whar th' profit
comes in is agin me tew tell."

The Vermonter's inability to understand what Boyton was going to get out
of such a trip, appeared to be the subject about  which  most  of  the
people along the Connecticut were puzzling their brains. They would
invariably ask: "How dew yeou make it pay?" "Ain't yeou cold?" Many of
them would not respond when asked for information regarding the currents
and rough passages; but would permit him to paddle  along  uninstructed
in order that they "might have the full benefit of the show."

After cutting his dress he became chilled by the inflow of cold water
and was helplessly numb. A little stimulant would have done him  a world
of good; but he could neither beg, buy nor borrow anything from the
spectators. When he reached Lower Waterford Bridge, his agent met him
with supplies, and there he stopped to repair his dress. He was only
about midway of the Fifteen Mile Falls. The suit was injured in the
first pitch and the accident might have been averted had any one in the
large crowd that watched him start in, given him information. As he
approached,  he asked the onlookers where the channel of the river was.
They stared at him and on the question being repeated, looked at one
another  and  put their eyes on the river again. Almost immediately the
current swept Boyton toward the rocks.

Off Morris' place, Paul hailed a fellow in a turnip patch and as he
cautiously approached the river, the Captain removed the cover from an
air-tight jar suspended from his neck, took out a cigar and holding a
match in the rubber tube of his dress, lit the weed. The rustic  removed
his hat, closed an eye and scratched his head in great perplexity.

"Wall, I swaw," he ejaculated, "ef yeou hadn't spoke er I'd er taken
yeou fur th' devil an' swore yeou that ere durned cigar Wuth  th'  end
o' yer tail, I wud, b'gosh. But ain't yer cold?"

Valley Hotel was the name of the tavern at which Paul and his party put
up for the night at Lower Waterford. How long before Boyton's visit the
last guest had registered there is problematical, but the landlady
proved hospitable. During the evening, her sitting room,  which  Boyton
and his party occupied, reviewing the incidents of the voyage, was
overrun with fellows who stalked in and looked at "the show" just as if
it was a menagerie of wild beasts into which they had free admission.
They gathered at the country store opposite and poured across the
street, in sixes and sevens, like so many reliefs on army duty. A gang
would enter the sitting room occupying the chairs and sofa, look on with
open mouths  for ten or fifteen minutes and listen to what must have
been enigmatical to them; then looking one at  the  other,  the  entire
party  would  rise together, stalk back to the store, where they would
relate their experience to others, who in turn would brace up and make a
descent  on  the lion of the hour. They did not rap for admittance, did
not remove their hats on entering, did not wait to be asked to take a
seat, did not  say a word to anybody while present, did not say "good
evening" when they went out--in fact did nothing but stare in the most
ignorant  and  saucy manner. An excuse may be made for there in the fact
that Waterford is isolated from civilization, there being neither
railroad  nor  telegraph communication with the outside world and few
newspapers are ever seen to say nothing of being read. Paul bore the
inspection good naturedly and joked pleasantly as each "relief" went
out.

Just before starting in the morning, an old gentleman met Boyton on the
porch in front of the hotel and  expressed  real  pleasure  at  meeting
him--in fact, claimed close acquaintanceship. The Captain was glad to
meet an old friend and was inquisitive enough to ask where they had seen
each other before.

"Wall," the old fellow answered, "yeou remember w'en yeou crossed th'
English channel?"

"Yes," Boyton remembered it.

"An' that ere rubber suit you wore?"

"Certainly."

"Wall," continued the old man, apparently tickled to the end of his toes
because Paul had not forgotten. "Wall, I saw  thet  ere  suit  at  the
centennial in Philadelphia in '76; I was thar." He looked triumphantly
around to catch the admiring gaze of his townsmen.

The above are only a few samples of many similar incidents and episodes
which occured during the voyage. In shooting Dodge's Falls, a lumberman
called out to Paul to hug the New Hampshire shore and he would get over
safely. That was the only sensible word of warning  or  information  he
received through the entire Fifteen Mile Falls.

He reached Woodville Monday evening after escaping many dangers, pretty
well used up. The worst of the run had been accomplished, though  there
were still several falls and dams to be shot and long stetches of dead
water to be paddled.  Nearing  Bellow's  Falls,  the  people  were  more
enlightened and many offers of hospitality were sung out to him from
shore. The citizens of that place displayed a deep interest in his
attempt to shoot the falls and rendered all the assistance in their
power. He shot them in safety, though narrowly escaping a big log that
was  dashed over directly behind him. From that point to the completion
of the voyage, he everywhere met with kind words and encoragement.

On the evening of November seventh, he landed at Saybrook light, sixteen
days from Stratford Hollow.

The winter of 1879 and 1880 was spent in Florida, hunting, fishing,
alligator shooting and canoeing. He and a party of  friends  made  a
canoe voyage far up on the St. John's river and through the Kissimmee to
Lake Okeechobee, where they had a great deal of sport shooting  deer,
bears and alligators; but at the same time the numerous moccasins and
rattlesnakes afforded more amusement than was relished by several of the
party. Returning north to Jacksonville, Paul made a run down the St.
John's river to the sea, crossing the shark infested bar  at  the  mouth
of  the river.

On his way north during the spring, he made short trips on the Savannah,
Cooper and Potomac rivers and the Chesapeake Bay. In June  he  paddled
down the Delaware from Philadelphia to Ship John's light. That trip was
a very laborious one on account of the sluggish tide.  The  moment  the
tide would turn against him, he would have to strike for the flat Jersey
shore, where in the long grass the  myriads  of  energetic  mosquitoes
almost set him frantic with their attention. Later he paddled the entire
length of Lake Quinsigamond, and in September he ran the  Narragansett
from Rocky Point to Providence.



CHAPTER XIX.

One day in October, while Paul was walking down Broadway, New York, a
gentleman tapped him on the shoulder, saying: "This is Captain Boyton, I
believe?" On being answered in the affirmative, he continued:

"I have just returned from Europe, where I was looking for you. I have a
message for you from Don Nicholas de Pierola, but as I am known  as  an
agent of the Peruvian government, it is hardly safe to talk to you here,
as there are Chilean spies in New York as well as Lima.  Meet  me  to-
night at this address." He slipped a card into Boyton's hand and stepped
quickly away.

That night Paul entered a house in Thirty-fourth street where he met the
stranger, who immediately proceeded to business by  stating  that  Don
Nicholas de Pierola wanted Boyton to start for Peru at once, with a full
equipment  of  dresses,  torpedo  cases,  electrical  appliances,  and
everything necessary for the destruction of Chilean vessels. It did not
take Paul long to arrange the  preliminaries  and  before  he  left,  a
contract was made by which he was to enter the Peruvian torpedo service,
with a commision of Captain. He was  to  receive  one-hundred-thousand
dollars for the first Chilean vessel destroyed; one-hundred-and-twenty-
five thousand dollars for the second and one-hundred-and-fifty  thousand
dollars for the third. Three Chilean vessels that were desired most to
be destroyed were named. They were the  Huascar,  Blanco  Encalado,  and
Almirante Corcoran.

Next day Boyton was busy getting the necessary equipment together, happy
in the thought of more adventure and chances of big  prize  money.  He
also received credentials as a newspaper correspondent under the name of
Pablo Delaport. He told his family he was going to take a  little  run
to Panama, but said nothing about Peru. On October 10th, 1880,
accompanied by his assistant, George Kiefer, he embarked on the steamer
Crescent City for Aspinwall, arriving at that port on the 19th, whence
they crossed to Panama and were compelled to wait there two days for the
Columbia to bear them south, to Peru. One of the passengers from New
York, was a curious and erratic character, who  was  the  possessor  of
a  weighty secret. After much mystery, he decided to make Boyton his
confidant, and he solemnly revealed to him the matter that was bearing
on his  brain. It was to the effect that a great treasure was buried on
a distant island and he was about fitting out an expedition to go in
search of  it.  A female relative, who was a clairvoyant, had located
the treasure and he was sure of finding it. He was anxious for Paul  to
join  him  in  the search, and displayed almost insane disappointment at
receiving a refusal. At Panama, the fortune hunter purchased an outfit
of arms, including a commander's sword which he strapped on and strutted
about with the air of a bold buccaneer. He chartered a vessel in which
he sailed for  the treasure island; but, as Paul afterward learned,
returned after great suffering and loss, minus the treasure.

A Chilean man-of-war, the Amazonas, was anchored at Panama on the
lookout for a torpedo launch that was expected to  arrive  for  the
Peruvian government from New York. In his capacity of a newspaper
correspondent, Boyton went on board the man-of-war to inspect her, with
an  idea  that he might have an opportunity sometime to feel her bottom
with a one-hundred-and-fifty pound torpedo. He was escorted through the
vessel by  her Captain and took copious notes of her construction and
armament. As he was over-going the side into the boat to return  to
shore,  an  English engineer spanned him carefully and remarked: "Your
face seems familiar to me. Where have I seen you before?"

Paul replied that he could not possibly tell as his duties led him to
all parts of the world, and he hurriedly entered the boat.

The next day they set sail and on the 24th, sighted Dead Man's Island at
the mouth of the Guayquil river. From a certain point the island bears a
startling resemblance to a gigantic man afloat on his back. Hence its
name. They steamed up the river about  sixty  miles  to  Guayquil.  The
chattering of parrots and paroquettes along the shore was almost
deafening. Flocks of them would hover over the vessel for several
minutes at a time and fly back to the forest.

Guayquil is one of the hottest towns on earth, though not one of the
cleanest. The stenches arising from the  filthy  streets  and  byways
are overpowering, and fever flags fly from nearly every third or fourth
house. The steamer lay in the middle of the  river  while  discharging
her cargo into lighters and the passengers took advantage of the wait
for a trip across into the city.  From  the  landing  place  crowds  of
boys followed them, offering monkeys and alligators for sale. The latter
were from six inches to three feet long, strapped on boards  to  keep
them from biting. They are much quicker and more savage than the North
American alligator.

After the cargo was discharged, the vessel was again put under way and
on the 26th they anchored off Paita, the first Peruvian port. Paul  took
a long walk on the beach at that place, and for the first time saw the
curious, blood red crabs that dwell in myriads along  the  shore.  At  a
distance they look like a big red wave; but as they are approached,
quickly disappear into holes in the sand, and on  looking  back,  they
are seen in countless thousands in the rear. Their habits are similar to
the hermit crab. They  are  small  and  not  edible,  quick  as  rats
and difficult to catch.

Chimbote was the next place in Peru at which the steamer anchored. That
port was then in the hands of the Chileans and the stop was  only  long
enough to take on the mail, when they headed for Callao, the principal
port of Peru. As the Chilean fleet then blockaded the port  no  steamers
were permitted to land there, but when off the city, the Columbia
steamed through the blockaders, much to Paul's anxiety, because of a man
on board who had been questioning him rather closely regarding his
intentions in visiting Peru and Boyton had every reason to believe him a
spy, and looked every moment for him to signal one of the blockading
vessels; but fortunately the  Columbia  was  allowed  to  proceed  on
her  way unmolested to the port of Chilca where there are only a few
miserable houses. The steamer landed there at night and Paul with his
companion and five other passengers were put ashore in a small boat.
Accommodations for the entertainment of travelers were very poor, but
they made the best of it for the night, though they were nearly devoured
by fleas, which, combined with the fact that it was  necessary  to guard
closely  their baggage, prevented the enjoyment of any repose. A train
of mules was chartered next morning to bear them across the pampas to
Lima.  All  day long they bestrode those razor backed mules, riding
through wild country, now over bleak and desolate hills, then  across
barren  plains.  The absence of even a spear of grass bespoke the
unfruitfulness of the soil, while large condors and galanasas hovered
overhead, waiting for man or mule to fall, overcome by the heat; then
they would alight with exultant cries to a horrible feast.  The  water
of  the  caravan  was  rapidly exhausted and they suffered the pangs of
thirst. Toward evening, with parched throats and weary bodies they
reached an oasis in the shape of  a poor village. There was water in
abundance however, and that was more precious to  the  wayfarers  than
the  sight  of  great  palaces.  Being refreshed, they proceeded to the
town of Lurin, where they arrived late at night and found the place
occupied by Peruvian troops. An  ambitious officer of the company,
selected Paul for a victim and placed him under arrest as a Chilean spy.
The officer would listen to  no  explanations, but compelled his
prisoner to travel on that night, though he was so fatigued by the day's
journey that he could  scarcely  sit  on  his  mule. There was no help
for it, so Kiefer was left with the baggage and Paul, closely guarded,
rode off into the sultry night During the small  hours of the morning,
the troop arrived at Chorrillos, at which place, Boyton positively
refused  to  go  further,  being  too  nearly  exhausted  to proceed.
The officer decided to remain until daylight and go on to Lima by rail.
As tired as the prisoner was, he could not sleep on account of the
ravenous attacks of fleas which drove him almost mad. At daylight he was
taken  by  railway  train  to  Lima  and  on  arrival  there  was
immediately marched to the palace, where he was to be presented as a spy
to his friend, Don Nicholas de Pierola, the Dictator.

The impertinent officer arrived at the palace with his prisoner, under
the impression that he would receive a handsome reward for making such a
notable arrest. When Paul pulled out a packet, addressed to Don
Nicholas, the fellow was rather surprised; but continued to treat the
supposed spy with overbearing harshness, until Boyton was released from
his presence and taken before the Dictator, where he was cordially
received  and many references made to their former pleasant meeting in
Paris.

"But how did you get here so soon?" inquired Don Nicholas, "other
passengers who were on board the Columbia have not yet arrived."

Paul related the story of his capture at Lurin and of his all night ride
on mule back. The Dictator sent for the officer, who, thinking he  was
going to be rewarded for his cleverness, entered the reception room with
a peacock strut that was admirable. By the time Don Nicholas  finished a
reprimand, he slunk away like a whipped cur and it is likely he was more
careful to investigate thereafter when making arrests.

The Dictator sent Paul to the Hotel Americano, where fine quarters were
prepared for him and he took a much needed rest, not waking  until  the
next day when a message was conveyed to him from Don Nicholas to the
effect that they were  going  to  Ancon  that  day  to  try  some
torpedo experiments. Much refreshed, he was quickly ready to accompany
them.

Ancon is a small seaside resort about fifteen miles from Lima. At that
time it  was  almost  entirely  deserted  on  account  of  the  frequent
bombarding by the Chilean cruisers as they passed up and down the coast.
Whenever those aboard the cruisers wished amusement, they turned their
guns on Ancon and knocked over a few houses.

The party consisting of the Dictator, several high government officials,
Boyton and Major Rabauld, who had been transferred to him as  an  aid,
went down on a special car drawn by a little engine named the Favorita,
furnished  by  the  railroad  company,  which  was  largely  owned  by
Americans.

The experiments took place between several rocky islands, that have
probably been detached from the mainland by volcanic action, and the
shore. The torpedoes were tried on dummy vessels, while a troop of
soldiers stood guard at all the  approaches  to  the  place  in  order
to  prevent inquisitive individuals as well as Chilean spies, from
learning the nature of the work going on. Don Nicholas was highly
pleased  and  was  in fine spirits at the thought of getting rid of some
of the powerful vessels that darkened his harbor with their frowning
ports. On their  return trip, the Favorita had proceeded less than one
mile, when the little engine ran plump into a sand pile that had been
carried up  by  the  wind, and was thrown from the track on to a plain
that had once been a burial place of the ancient Incas. All efforts to
put the engine and car  back on the track were fruitless, and a
messenger was sent back to Ancon to telegraph to Lima for an extra
engine to assist in righting  the  little train. As the telegraph
service was extremely slow, the party was compelled to wait all day  for
the  relief  engine.  In  the  meantime,  Don Nicholas and his staff,
went out on the pampas and stood about the sand hills talking over the
struggle they were having with their  neighbors. During that time, a
Chilean cruiser passed about one mile off shore, and had the importance
of the little group been known to those  on  board, they could have
captured the Dictator without a great deal of trouble.

The soldiers gathered up the skulls and bones of Incas that were strewn
about and amused themselves by playing  ten  pins  on  the  hard  sand,
sticking the bones up and rolling the skulls at them. Don Nicholas paid
no attention to the gruesome sport; but stood  calmly  conversing  with
the officers who surrounded him.

It was almost dark when the relief engine came puffing into sight; but a
short time sufficed to place the  car  on  the  track  and  the  party
arrived safely at Lima.

On the following day, Paul went down to Callao, bearing a letter from
the Dictator to General Astate, commander of the fort, requesting him to
furnish Boyton with the best small vessel obtainable for torpedo work.
The General received Paul in the kindest possible manner, and took  him
out to the Punta del Mar Bravo, where fortifications were located, and
calling his attention to some American parrot guns, patted one  of  them
and smilingly remarked:

"These are some compatriots of yours."

With that, the General gave orders to fire at the Chilean fleet which
was then laying near San Lorenzo, an island several miles out from
Callao and so high are its cliffs that they penetrate the clouds. Four
or five shots were fired at the blockading vessels; but they were too
far  off, as the iron balls could be seen throwing spray in the air at
some distance to the landward of them. "That is a salute in your honor,"
remarked the General.

That evening, after having overhauled every available craft in the
harbor, General Astate gave Paul a little sloop, the only thing  that
could possibly be used in torpedo attacks; but far from being the
powerful little steam launch that had been promised. The Peruvian
steamers at  that time were all corralled in the harbor at Callao. They
were not strong enough to grapple with the powerful men-of-war of the
Chileans  that  so saucily watched the port, hence they remained inside
under the protection of the guns at the fort and at the point, while
great piles  of  sand bags were erected to the seaward of the docks as a
shield against Chilean cannon balls.

Paul was therefore compelled to enter upon his torpedo work, terribly
handicapped by the poor equipment of the  Peruvians;  but  determined to
make the best use of the means at hand. The little sloop was called the
Alicran. She  was  quickly  provisioned  and  a  crew  shipped. Before
embarking on her, Don Nicholas sent for Boyton and commissioned him as
Captain in the Peruvian Navy. She was then sailed around  to Chorrilos,
as Paul considered that the best point from which to begin operations on
the Chilean fleet. There he made his headquarters at a hacienda  which a
wealthy Peruvian turned over to him and anchored the sloop close in
shore under the shelter of the  cliffs,  and  began  the manufacture  of
torpedoes. One thousand pounds of dynamite had been sent down to him in
wagons from Lima, and under his directions, the crew was soon  engaged
in stowing it away in the rubber cases.

When the torpedoes were ready, he began cruising to the seaward in order
to reconnoiter the movements of the blockading squadron,  which  every
night would trip anchor and stand off to sea. The Chilean's fear of
torpedoes deterred them from laying in to shore at night. Paul drilled
the officers that were placed under him in the use of the rubber dress
and in handling torpedoes; but he did not  find  them  overly  energetic
in their work. They spent most of their time among the islands, that
were formed by  great  rocks  which  had  been  cast  from  the mainland
by earthquake or volcanic action, watching the movements of the
Chileans. All day long the blockading vessels would lay in  sight; but
at  night they would steam further out to sea and stand slowly up and
down the coast. Night after night Paul and his crew watched for an
opportunity  to place one of their torpedoes under the dark hull of a
Chilano; but the latter were on the alert for them, having been informed
that Boyton  had been engaged by Peru. The phosphorescence of the water
at night was also against them. The least disturbance on its surface
would cause a  glow of silver to flash in the darkness that could be
seen for quite a distance.

One night as they were watching from Chorrillos, a cruiser was sighted
steaming slowly up the coast and Paul determined to test  her  alertness
at all hazards. He put on his dress and taking a one hundred pound
torpedo in tow, paddled out as carefully as possible until he saw  her
head toward him. Then he set the fly torpedo across what he thought
would be her track and pulled in shore. Had the cruiser picked the line
up  with her bow, it would have thrown the torpedo along her side,
setting an automatic wheel in motion that would explode it. When  he had
reached  a safe distance, he turned to see the vessel blown up and to
his intense disappointment, the cruiser turned a gatling gun  on  the
torpedo.  The Chileans were more watchful than he had given them credit
for.

After the Chilean had discovered the torpedo, the little sloop barely
escaped by putting out her sweeps and drawing close up under the land,
by that means reaching Chorrillos next morning in safety. A party of
marines from the cruiser were  landed  on  an  island  near  where  they
had discovered the torpedo, next day, to hunt out those who had placed
it. Fortunately for Paul and his crew they  had  eluded  the  cruiser
under cover of the night. For some two months after the above adventure,
the torpedo men laid under the shelter of the batteries on the top of
Moro, a high bluff. They made sorties every night; but the Chileans were
on the watch for them, besides the  sloop  was  so  slow  as  to  be
almost useless, and Paul's Peruvians had a wholesome dread of the
enemies' guns which could be turned with great rapidity in any
direction. Daily they sailed to some barren, desolate island, hoping for
a chance to blow one of the Chilean's vessels out of the water. The
Huascar  stood  up  and down the coast at times, almost within range of
the Peruvian guns. As she was one of the vessels Paul wanted to get, he
determined  to  lay  in her track and risk an attempt to destroy her.
With such intention, he ran the sloop out as far as he could, one night,
and  went  overboard  in his dress, with a screw torpedo, that would
have blown the Huascar as high as the topmost peaks of San Lorenzo. It
was a favorable night--dark, with a choppy sea that turned the
phosphorescent lights up, all over the surface, so that no single object
could be  distinguished  in  it.  He sighted the Huascar crawling slowly
along the coast, with not a light to be seen aboard of her. Being short
of coal, her fires were banked  and she was carried forward by her own
momentum. When there was danger of her losing steerage way, her engines
would be started again and then shut down as before. Thus she was slowly
creeping along the coast line.

Her bow glided by Paul not more than twenty feet away. He moved
cautiously to her side expecting to catch hold of her rudder chain. He
saw one-hundred-thousand dollars in his grasp. Now, he thought, "one of
the most powerful enemies of Peru will be put beyond doing damage." When
he was about midship and was preparing to reach for her chain, the
steersman's bell rang a signal to the engineer, her wheel began to
revolve and  she slipped by him out of danger, of which those on board
were unconscious. Paul was terribly discomfited at the result of that
attempt  which  was so near being successful. He left the torpedo
floating on the sea and struck out to reach shore before daylight
discovered him, knowing that it would be impossible to gain the sloop.


The next move of the torpedo men was to sail to all the outside islands,
which are literally alive with seals and  sea  lions.  So  thick  were
those mammals, that the guns were frequently turned on them. Their
numbers so emboldened them that unless frightened away,  they  would
attack the intruders on their territory. From those islands Paul took
observations of the movements of the Chileans and came to  the
conclusion  that they were running so short of coal that all of their
vessels did not steam out to sea at night; but some of them anchored
back of San  Lorenzo. He made up his mind to visit that island some
night to assure himself that his idea was correct. One end of it is
detached from the  main  body as though split off by an earthquake, and
is called Fronton. Both Fronton and San Lorenzo are honeycombed by
numberless caves, cut out  by  the continual beating of the sea forced
by the two trade winds against the rocks; so too, is the entire coast of
Peru sieved by caves whose  length or depth have never been explored.


Paul decided to make the reconnoiter of San Lorenzo by running the sloop
to Frouton, then paddle himself across to the main island and make his
way over it as far as he could until he discovered whether or not the
Chilean soldiers guarded the approaches to the night anchorage  of their
vessels. He waited for a dark night and then put his scheme into
operation. He placed two one hundred pound  torpedoes  aboard  the sloop
and stood away for Pronto. The crew displayed signs of nervousness at
running so close to the dreaded torpedo boats of the enemy, and it  was
with some difficulty he kept them close at work. They glided along in a
heavy fog; but having dead bearing for compass and  allowance  for
currents all made, the fog did not bother the Captain in the least. The
crew was armed with carbines and ordered to make no noise as the sloop,
with  a light wind, nosed in through the fog. Suddenly, as if coming
from the thick mist high above them, the sound of approaching oars was
heard.  The men were ordered to get ready and hold their carbines at
ease; but to Paul's consternation, he observed they were ready to give
up even  before they saw an enemy. They said the Chileans were sure to
hang them for being in the torpedo service even if they were not shot
down in fight  and it mattered little which way they went so long as
there was no chance for escape.


Knowing that prompt and harsh measures would be the only means of
handling the quaking cowards, Boyton seized a carbine  and  in  a
determined manner told them that the first man who refused to fire when
the order was given, would receive a bullet through his head.


"Now stand by and await orders, no matter who or what is coming," he
thundered.


A moment later, the strokes of the sweeps were almost under them.


"Que venga," hailed the Captain.


The oars were immediately stopped and a trembling voice answered in
Spanish:


"Fishermen, fishermen; don't shoot."


Seeing nothing more formidable than a couple of poor fishermen who were
willing to brave the vigilance of the Chileans for the sake of a catch,
the crew at once became very brave and bustled about as though they were
willing to sail right into the entire fleet of the enemy.


In a short time the breakers were heard booming in on the rocks of
Frouton and the sloop was run to a  safe  anchorage  under  the  cliffs,
in smooth water. Paul prepared for the trip to San Lorenzo and ordered
the crew to remain by the sloop until three o'clock in the morning as
that would give them ample time to reach the mainland before the
Chileans could sight them. Launching the  two  torpedoes,  he  paddled
across  the narrow but rough channel, intending to plant the torpedoes
for future use. He struck under the towering cliffs of the island  and
pursued  his way along them looking for a safe landing place. At times
he passed great openings in the cliffs, into which huge waves rolled and
sounded back as though dashing against some obstruction far away in the
bowels of the island, and the heavy, saline smell of seals  and  sea
lions  escaped through the openings. At length he came to a place where
he could land without being flung against the rocks. He hauled the
torpedoes up  on  a smooth beach, placed them carefully under a shelf of
rock, removed the rubber dress and in his stocking feet began to climb
the steep  side  of the island with the intention of discovering how far
the Chilean outposts extended in his direction. It was a tiresome climb.
Up  over  guano beds and broken rock, and as the wind was off shore,
scarcely a breath of air came to cool the heated atmosphere  and as  he
toiled  on,  the perspiration fairly streamed from his pores. When he
reached the top, a cool land breeze fanned his perspiring face and with
an exclamation  of pleasure, he seated himself on a rock to rest and
cool off. At the same moment, a dark figure started up, not thirty yards
away.  There  was  a flash of fire, a report and a bullet passed close
to Paul's head. He drew his revolver with the intention of shooting at
the figure  which  was retreating; but not knowing how many soldiers
there might be around, he refrained. There was a lapse of but a few
seconds, when gun  after  gun was heard cracking in nearly every quarter
and that was proof to him that sentries were stationed all over the
island. Knowing that  a  general alarm had been given, he began a rapid
descent of the cliffs, well aware of the fatal consequences if the
Chileans captured him.  Every  moment he expected a company of soldiers
to pounce upon him, or that their torpedo boats would capture him at the
foot of the cliff. Shot  after  shot followed him as he made for the
place at which he had concealed his dress, with all the speed with which
he was possessed. Being less  cautious in the descent than he had been
in going up, he loosened great masses of guano and rock that rolled down
ahead of  him.  When  he  reached  the breakers again, an avalanche of
guano had covered his dress. He hurriedly searched up and down the beach
until he discovered one  foot  of  the rubber pantaloons sticking out
from under the guano. He pulled it out and was soon paddling across the
gut again. As he  ran  under  the  cliff where the sloop had been
anchored, he could not see her; but as he rose on the waves he
discovered her nearly out of sight, standing  away  for the mainland,
with all canvas spread. The crew had heard the firing, had weighed
anchor and sailed for the protection of their own guns,  under the
impression that their Captain had been killed; in fact, such was the
report they made on their arrival at Lima.


Appreciating the fact that he would surely be discovered by the enemy if
he attempted to paddle to the mainland in the dress; if not during the
night, certainly in the morning, for he could not hope to reach safely
before daylight revealed him. What should he do? He now  knew  that  San
Lorenzo was heavily guarded and there was no hope of shelter on Frouton.
It were better to challenge the mercy of the monsters of the deep than
that of his human foes, so he quickly made up his mind to return and
conceal himself under the crags of San Lorenzo in one of the caverns
which he had passed. He paddled back through the heavily rolling waves
and got under the cliffs of the island, looking every moment to be run
down by a torpedo boat; but fortunately his pursuers missed him and he
felt a wave of hot air, impregnated with that saline smell which
betokened  the entrance to a cave. Then he could see a blacker spot than
the darkness that surrounded him, which he knew was the entrance.  He
unhesitatingly struck for it, the mountain seeming to close over and
swallow him as he entered the mysterious chamber of the sea. Cautiously
he made  his  way back, not knowing what creatures he might encounter.
Slowly and with straining eyes he advanced through the thick  blackness,
until  he  could hear the breathing and stirring of what he rightly
conjectured to be seals. He sounded with his paddle and  found  it  to
be  of  insufficient length to show him the depth of water. Reaching a
ledge of rock which had been rendered slippery by the constant sliding
of  slimy  seals  over it, he drew himself up, having to use great care
not to cut the dress on the sharp edges of numberless shells which he
found everywhere  wedged in the interstices of the rock. When he reached
a place against the back wall where he thought he could keep  himself
from  sliding  into  the water, there was an ominous growl, one or two
splashes below, then for a moment all was quiet again except the
mournful washing  of  the  waves far back in the mysterious depths and
the heavy breathing of the sea animals about him; but what they were he
was not sure, whether they  would attack him or not, he could not tell,
and could only trust in Providence to keep him safe. The noise of
snapping,  snarling  and  growling  was kept up and through the watches
of that dreadful night, he never closed an eye.


As the rays of the tropical morning sun began to penetrate the gloom,
Paul looked around him. Everywhere along the sides  of  the  cavern were
ledges and shelves of rock; covering these was an army of seals and sea
lions waking from their night's rest. They  would  raise  their bodies
half upright from their stony beds, stretch their flippers and yawn,
much after the manner of a human being, then drop into the water and
make off toward the open sea in search of their breakfast. Stretched on
his ledge, in the black rubber dress, Paul was probably taken  for  one
of their own species, for hundreds of them passed without noticing him.
Some of them, however, did discover him to be a strange intruder in
their lodging house. These would turn their great, round eyes on him,
circle off from the ledge, then with a quick flip of their flukes  dart
toward the opening, gracefully cutting the water as they steered for
their fishing grounds. Some returned with a fish in their  mouths,
shining  like silver, and all day he had a chance to watch their
movements.


He was greatly interested in the peculiar manner in which they climbed
upon the ledges. They would raise their bodies almost out of the  water,
place their flippers on the edge of the rock and with a quick flirt of
their flukes, project themselves to  the  shelf  in  the  most  graceful
manner. Later in the morning, Paul noticed one enormous brute on a ledge
opposite him and about fifty feet below. It appeared to be  heavy  and
sleepy. Around it were clustered several smaller ones, seeming to be its
immediate retainers or most  intimate  friends.  The  big  fellow  was
uneasy. Several times he lifted his head, looked about with his blood
shot eyes and then dropped back again as though to  finish  a  nap. Paul
expected an attack and braced himself for it. The monster finally edged
slowly over and plunged into the water. He did not appear  again until
he had passed Boyton's ledge, then he came to the surface, gave a loud
snort, either of defiance, fear or astonishment, sank again and went out
to join his comrades.


Paul dare not venture out of the cave in the daylight. He sat there in
his dress and dozens of baby seals crawled up on the ledge  beside  him,
playing all over and around him, some of them sucking the fingers of his
gloves with mouths like red coral. Sometimes the anxious mothers  swam
in and bellowed at their young; but as they grew accustomed to the
stranger and saw no injury came to the little fellows, they became
quiet.


At sundown, the seals began pouring in again and climbed to their
respective couches, uttering the most weird cries, snarling and
bellowing  as though quarreling about their beds. Paul had had nothing
to eat or drink all day; but owing to the dampness of the cavern, he
felt  no  thirst. Twilights are short in that latitude and nightfall
followed fast in the wake of sundown; so he quietly unlimbered himself,
slipped off the rock so as not to disturb the seals and dipping his
paddle gently in the phosphorescent water, slid out of the gloomy jaws
of  the  cave  into  the starlit night. He made a wide sweep against the
tide  around  Frouton  and  by  steady,  cautious  pulling  all  night,
was  close  under  the fortifications of Callao by morning.


Not wishing to land until daylight for fear of being shot by some of the
sentinels, he laid off and then came very near  getting  what  he  had
waited to escape, for in the grey light of the morning, he discovered a
sentinel with a gun aimed at him.  He  shouted  "Peru,  Peru,"  several
times before the guard would understand and lower the rifle.


Landing safely at last, he immediately proceeded to Lima to report to
the Dictator, and hurried back to take command of the sloop again.


The reconnoiter of San Lorenzo had convinced Paul that the island was
watched from end to end in the closest  manner  and  it  was  useless to
attempt to work from there with the means at hand. He determined to lead
out in a different direction to accomplish his designs, and  his next
move was a cruise due southward to the island off Pachacamac and
generally called by that name. The little sloop wound her way in and out
among the numerous rocky islets off the coast. Under their close shelter
she picked her way hidden from the Chilean cruisers that turned  their
guns on everything not of their own kind, on the sea. The coast is
extremely wild and utterly deserted, formed of lofty  ledges  of  rock,
hollowed into caverns underneath, by the insidious beating of the trade
wind waves. The chiseled doorways to those caves are rare specimens of
Nature's mysterious work; some large, some small and of queer, fantastic
shapes; that black-mouthed gape at chance passers, while towering high
above, a roof of table land--arid, scorching pampas, is just as
uninviting as the water way below. So desolate is that part of the coast
that it is  but little known. Don Nicholas and a group of Peruvian
officers to whom Paul described the caves, expressed the utmost
astonishment,  though  born and bred within twenty five miles of their
mysterious recesses. The desert above is traversed only by a narrow
trail and is seldom used,  while even the fishermen give the caverns
below a wide berth, being superstitious and fearful of the strange cries
that are heard echoing from  their depths. That is why they are so
little known and never explored.


During the day, when a Chilean cruiser nosed around uncomfortably close,
the little sloop would be hugged under the lee of one of the  islands,
sail lowered and anchor dropped. Paul was thus given an opportunity of
exploring the caves. Sometimes he  paddled  into  them  encased  in  his
rubber dress; but generally he used a little gig, carrying an ax, knife,
carbine and a few biscuits, spending whole days in those lonely places
whenever the sea permitted. Once while exploring along the coast, he
observed a great table rock that had been washed down until it rested
upon two natural pillars, forming the capstone of the entrance to a
great cave. The sea was rolling heavily at the time, but by  cautiously
backing the gig, he succeeded in entering. A scene of marvelous beauty
met his wondering eyes. High above, the rays of the  tropical  sun
pierced  the numerous cracks and crevices in the arched roof of the
cavern, illuminating with gorgeous coloring the submarine  vegetation
which  hung  like long snakes from roof and walls. Here the curling
vines and tendrils glowed a deep purple; there,  owing  to  changing
light,  a  dark  green; everywhere, light greens, dark reds, pinks,
crimsons, yellows, greys, bright reds and every conceivable color. Sea
fans and, sea  plumes  there were in endless variety, while outside, in
the scorching heat, no sign of vegetation relieved the eye, inside was
cool and beautiful  with  the luxuriance of the flora of the sea. The
sides of the cavern were filled with molusca--radiantly colored shells,
sea  urchins  and  innumerable specimens of marine life. Along the pale
green surfaces of shelving rocks, sea foxes, a fur bearing animal on
that coast; bright, wicked little fellows, darted about, uttering shrill
cries at the intrusion of the stranger as he drifted slowly back into
their fairylike abode.  Paul  felt as though he would like to have one
of the little fellows and raised his carbine to shoot; but it  seemed
profanation  to  disturb  the  grand serenity and beauty of the scene.
The weapon was lowered and the animals allowed to play undisturbed.


The gig was backed slowly through the brilliant arches until the light
became dim and the darkening recesses wore a gruesome look. Thinking  it
unsafe to penetrate further the vast, unknown aisles, Paul rowed out of
the yawning mouth after picking up many shells of every hue.


Next evening anchor was weighed and the sloop headed for Pachacamac. It
was beautiful moonlight. About midnight, sailing close in  shore,  they
were passing a white, sandy beach when one of the crew asked Boyton if
he would like some turtles, as the place they were then passing, swarmed
with them. An affirmative answer being given, the sloop was hove to,
while Paul and the sailor entered the gig and  pulled  ashore.  Under
the strong rays of the moon, the turtles on the white sand appeared to
be as thick as ants. Selecting two or three of the smaller  size  for
their game, hundreds of them being too large to be turned over by their
united efforts, they quickly threw them on their backs while the  others
ran into the sea with astonishing celerity considering their very poor
reputation for speed. Paul and the sailor transferred their capture  to
the boat and in a short time the ugly animals were turned over to the
scientific ministrations of the cook. About ten o'clock next morning
they put into a little bay, bound in by rocks and well hidden, on the
shore side of the island of Pachacamac. There they passed several days,
and  many fruitless attempts were made with floating torpedoes to
destroy the steamer Pilcamo. They worked only at night time and laid
under the friendly shelter of the rocks during the day.


It was their custom during the daytime to explore the ruins of the
ancient Inca buildings, the island having been the site of their temple
and used also as a place of burial; for their strange tombs are numerous
there. One of the crew was an expert in  locating  those  Inca  tombs.
By sinking a pointed rod in the sand he could easily tell when a grave
was below and after some laborious digging, the oven shaped top of the
tomb was exposed. With a heavy pick an opening would be made through the
sun burnt brick, and instantly a rush of foul air  assailed  the
nostrils, though the bodies had been buried there for perhaps thousands
of years.


When a hole large enough was made, Paul and the expert sailor would drop
through it into the oval space  below.  There  they  invariably  found
several mummies seated in a circle, with their heads on the knees around
which their arms were clasped. Some of them  were  encased  in  wicker
work, others in cloth made of alpaca wool in brilliant colors and
gorgeous with curious designs. The bodies were wonderfully preserved. In
the center of these weird circles were found earthenware vessels
containing petrified corn. As the sun streamed in lighting up  the  awe
inspiring groups, whose history runs beyond all knowledge of the present
day, one could but think of the deep  and  wonderful  secrets  which the
grave conceals.


Paul gathered many curious things of prehistoric workmanship and only
regretted that the limited quarters of the sloop prevented his taking
all he desired. He was so deeply interested in excavating the tombs,
however, that regardless of his inability to carry more relics, he
prosecuted the search in the hope that he might discover something that
would throw mote light on the habits, customs and  peculiarities  of the
strange race. It struck him, however, that laborious digging through the
hot sand was not the best method of reaching the mummies, and he
overcame  the difficulty by dropping a charge of dynamite which blew an
opening with sufficient force to have given the dried up Incas a
headache  had  they been sensible of feeling. He found many stone idols,
specimens of pottery, bracelets, anklets, chains and other ornaments
fashioned out of gold and silver and of strange designs.


Several days passed while exploring the mysterious tombs in the daylight
and watching for a chance to place a torpedo at  night,  when  it  was
discovered that the cruiser they were after had hauled off; so the
necessity of their staying there being removed, the  sloop  was  headed
for Chorrilos. From the latter city they made short runs among the
islands in that neighborhood. While on those trips, they  frequently
passed  an island on one of the ledges of which, they often saw a
monster sea lion--the largest among the thousands in that  locality. One
of  his  crew assured Paul that that lion was known to all the fisherman
and was remarkably cunning. Boyton at once made up his mind to capture
the  brute. With that purpose in view, he ran the sloop for several days
to a point behind the island near the big lion's resting place, in
order  to  get him accustomed to their presence. He was always found
occupying the same ledge of rock, surrounded by smaller lions. For the
first two or three days, when the sloop approached, the monster would
rise on his flippers, bellow and dive off into the sea. Following his
plans, Boyton made  no attempt to molest him; but brought the sloop
close under the island where the men would either sleep or spend their
time at fishing. In  a  few days the lion became so accustomed to the
sloop, that instead of diving he would lay on the rock and watch
curiously. If  he  did  go  off,  he returned again after satisfying his
hunger. When it was thought he had lost all fear of them, Paul gave
orders to the men one morning to  stand by with carbines ready to fire
as soon as the word was given. Sail was lowered and the sloop allowed to
drift in as close as the monster  would permit. As soon as he raised his
great head and showed signs of uneasiness, the man forward let go the
anchor and the crew  pretended  to  busy themselves about the deck
without regarding his presence. For a few moments he hung his ponderous
body from side to side and  settled  down  to sleep again. He was not
disturbed for an hour or more and then Paul ordered his men to get
ready. Raising his carbine, he fired over  the  head of the lion. The
shot had the desired effect, for the brute sprang, to his flippers,
presenting his broad breast to the crew and at that moment the order was
given to fire. The beast staggered and attempted to reach the sea; but
fell over, while the smaller ones dropped off the rock  in fright.
Convinced that the monster was dead, Boyton ordered the boat lowered;
but strange to say not one of the crew would  get  into  it  with him,
they were so terrified. Taking a knife, ax and revolver, he persuaded
one of the men to back him to the rock along which  the  sea  surged
heavily and when near enough, made a spring for it. He managed to draw
himself upon the ledge where the monster laid, though the sea caught him
to the arm pits before he could do it, and found his prize to be fully
fourteen feet long from snout to flukes. He plunged the knife  into  its
throat to make sure of the work. Then he called to the crew to get
ashore as there was no danger; but the men were afraid to risk it, the
other sea lions being greatly excited, and Boyton began to remove the
skin as best he could without assistance. The only way to do it was to
run  the knife along the stomach and cut away the blubber, rolling the
skin back as he did so. He took out the entrails and flesh, so  that
instead  of removing the skin, he really hewed the body out of it,
throwing the offal into the sea. While the cutting was going on all
appeared to go  well with the other sea lions that were swarming about
in a great state of excitement; but when he chopped at the flippers or
any  bony  obstruction with the hatchet, they leaped on to the rock in
such numbers that he had to shoot into them to frighten them away. After
two  hours  or  so  of hard work lie had the body with the exception of
the head and flippers out of the skin. He ordered the crew to haul in
close and  throw  him  a line which he made fast to the skin and it was
pulled aboard, while the small boat backed in and took the Captain  off.
They  sailed  back  to Chorrilos where some fishermen were engaged to
trim the pelt and spread it on a roof in the sun to cure. It was the
finest skin Paul  had  ever seen and he was very proud of it.


The next morning he was ordered to appear at the palace in Lima and was
detained there  for  three  days  on  business  connected  with  a  new
submarine boat. When he returned to the sloop, he was surprised to see
great flocks of galanasas (a species of buzzard)  and  condors  hovering
over the beach; but at the moment paid no attention to them any more
than to think  some  dead  body  had  been  washed  ashore  on  which
the scavengers were feeding. Hastily ascertaining that everything was in
order on board the sloop, he went to the roof to see how  the  sea
lion's skin was curing. To his intense disgust, he found nothing left
but the polished skull of the monster. The birds had torn it  to
fragments  and eaten it. The artistic expression of his overpowered
feelings at the discovery, would have frightened every galanasa and
condor from the  coast had they been familiar with the English, French
or Spanish languages.


Orders were received from Lima to sink torpedoes as far out in Chorrilos
Bay as they could reach without being shot by the Chileans.  As  there
was only a lot of old Russian torpedoes on hand and no dynamite to
spare, Paul decided to set dummies, knowing they would have the same
effect on the Chileans, who would watch the work through their powerful
glasses, from San Lorenzo. He procured a  lot  of  empty  kegs  and  had
them painted a bright red. With these aboard, he pushed out as far as
safety permitted, and  in  an  ostentatious  manner  placed  them across
the entrance to the bay, so they would float within three feet of the
surface and were plainly visible through the transparent water. The
approach of a steamer from the seaward when the work was about finished,
caused them to hoist sail  and  stand  in.  The  steamer opened  fire
on  the retreating sloop, but the shots fell short and her guns were
answered by those on El Punte. A few days after,  they  had the
satisfaction  of seeing two Chilean men-of-war expending thousands of
dollars worth of ammunition at one of the empty kegs that had loosened
from its  anchorage and showed on the surface. From that time, the
little sloop was frequently made a target by the enemy's long range
guns. One day  while  Boyton was lying under the awning of the sloop, he
heard a whizzing cannon ball strike the rocks above where they were
anchored. He leaped to his feet and scanned the sea in every direction;
but as the atmosphere was a little hazy, he could discover no vessel
from which the missile could  have been thrown. Thinking that it was
possibly a chance shot from the fort, he paid no more attention to it,
until he was aroused  by  another  one shrieking overhead and striking
the cliffs a few hundred yards below. Then by closer observation, he
could see the dim outlines  of  a  Chilean ship fully twelve miles away.
It proved to be the Huascar, that had received some new and powerful
guns, practicing. The sloop was anchored  in a less exposed place in a
very few moments.

The next morning Boyton engaged in quite a lively adventure. He was
about to dive over from the side of the sloop into the  cool  water  for
a bath, when he saw some dark object moving on the bottom and checked
himself. It was well that he did so for the object proved to be an
octopus, or devil fish, edging its way nearly under the sloop toward the
shore. Its great tentacles stretched out nine or ten feet from its round
body and a more repulsive or dangerous looking creature is hard to be
imagined. One of the crew, who was an experienced fisherman, told them
all  to keep perfectly still as the fellow was going ashore among the
rocks, which those creatures sometimes do; but for what purpose is not
known.

The fisherman was correct, for in a few moments they saw one of the
powerful tentacles reach up and grasp a rock which was  just  bare  at
low water. A party of fishermen near by, were called to assist in the
capture. They were armed with oars, spears, guns and boat hooks and
formed in a circle outside the dangerous brute, where they began yelling
and splashing the water with their weapons in order to prevent its
returning  to the sea and to drive it upon the shore. It moved toward
the beach, only a few yards distant, and whenever it was submerged
discolored the water almost to inky blackness. At last, harrassed on all
sides, it put its slimy tentacles on the gravelly beach.  Its  round,
pudgy  body  was  no sooner out of the water, than an expert, in the
person of a half naked fisherman, rushed in and struck it a blow on the
head with a heavy  club dexterously leaping away in time to avoid the
waving tentacles. At every blow, all the colors of the rainbow could be
seen glowing through  the body of the octopus. Once it lifted its
powerful tentacles, clinging to the suckers of which were stones and
gravel  and  either  in  pain  or anger, hurled them in all directions.
Nearly every one in the party was hit. At last, after an exciting
battle, it was dispatched  and  cut  up for division. According to the
unwritten laws among those fishermen, one half of it belonged to the
sloop, and Paul was just  telling  them  he did not want it, when the
landlord of a little hotel in town, who happened to be on the beach,
made a proposition to give a supper  that  night if he was given
Boyton's share. The unexpected offer was quickly accepted and sure
enough, that night a magnificent spread was  laid  with  the octopus
served as the principal dish. It was sometime before Paul could be
persuaded to taste  it,  and  then  he  found  it  to  be  the  most
delightful fish he had ever eaten--delicate of flavor and flesh of a
slightly viscous nature. The native fishermen look upon  them  as  a
rare luxury and always have a feast when one is caught.

Notwithstanding the very poor appliances possessed by Peru, two Chilean
men-of-war were blown up during the struggle, by  very  clever  tricks.
They were the Loa and the Covodonga. As has been previously stated, it
was the custom of the Chilean blockaders to pick up  anchor  and  cruise
slowly up and down the coast during the night, to keep out of the way of
torpedoes. One foggy morning as the  Loa  was  crawling  back  to  her
moorings after her customary night's cruise, her lookout discovered a
small sloop containing a crew of four men, who appeared to be in a great
state of alarm. One was up on the mast endeavoring to repair the peak
halyards that were hanging down as though having been disabled. A gun
was immediately turned on the boat by the Chilean and a shot fired over
it. At that the sailor hastily descended from the mast  and  the four
men hurriedly jumped into a light gig and began pulling with powerful
strokes for the mainland. A boat was also lowered  from  the man-of-war
and chase given, while shot after shot was sent after the fugitives. The
man-of-war's boat had no chance of overhauling  the quicker  and
lighter Peruvian gig and when the Chileans reached the sloop, they
abandoned the chase. On discovering the prize they had taken, cheer
after cheer rang over the sea. The sloop was loaded down with baskets of
fruit, crates of chickens, vegetables, in fact the  very things  the
Chileans  mostly needed. A line was quickly fastened to the prize and
she was towed alongside the Loa, and the entire crew joined the captors
in  cheering  when they saw the good things. All hands went to the side
of the vessel to look at the lucky find. It was short work to begin
sending the cargo  up. Almost everything had been passed aboard when the
sailors took up what seemed to be a heavy crate of vegetables. The
moment it was lifted clear of the deck, there was a terrific explosion--
a mighty upheaval of the sea. A mountain of water shooting skyward,
mingled with fragments of  the steamer and bodies of men. As the spars
and timbers dropped back into the sea, there floated on the surface but
splinters where a  few  seconds before the proud steamer had stood. The
Loa and her crew had been swept into eternity. It was then a cheer rang
out from the little gig far  in under the shore. A bold, dangerous game
had been played and won.

The most emphatic orders were issued after the destruction of the Loa,
by the Chilean officers to their crews, to pick up nothing  without  the
utmost care and the most rigid examination. On an afternoon several days
after the above order had been issued, the  Covodonga  steamed  slowly
along in bright, calm weather, on a cruise to the southward of Callao.
One of the crew sighted a pleasure row boat. The man reported it and the
Captain was about ordering the guns turned on it, when an officer
approached him and said:

"Let us examine it. We may learn something."

The Captain consented to the officer going off to the little boat; but
with repeated instructions to examine carefully before touching  it.  It
proved to be a beautifully built lady's pleasure boat that had broken
from its moorings and drifted seaward,  a  piece  of  frayed  line still
hanging from her bow. She was painted white and gilded, elegantly
furnished with cushioned seats and handsomely ornamented. An  open  book
was found on one seat and a single oar rested on the bottom. The officer
carefully examined her, passed a boat hook underneath  her  and
concluded she was harmless. She was towed to the steamer and the Captain
assured that there was nothing suspicious about her.

"She will make a beautiful present for your wife," said the officer. The
Captain responded:

"If you are certain, send her aboard."

Lines were lowered and hooks fastened to the fairy craft. As they
tightened on the polished brass rings in her bow and stern, a deafening
roar told the fate of the Covodonga. She was cut completely in two and
only sixty of her crew were picked up and saved.

The little boat had been made with a thin false bottom in which was
placed a quantity of nitro-glycerine. The friction pins were connected
with the brass rings and the moment her weight was on them the pins were
pulled out and the explosive discharged.

It may be imagined that after such costly experiences, the Chileans
redoubled  their  watchfulness.  They  would  not  approach  anything
seen floating on the water; but turned their guns on whatever they saw
at long range. They were known to fire at a seal that had wandered away
from its usual haunts. Paul and his crew were compelled to keep close
under cover. The Chileans were daily drawing their lines closer to the
doomed city of Lima. Boyton dispatched an officer to Don Nicholas with a
request to be sent with his torpedo crew down to Pisco where he expected
the Chileans would attempt to laud troops. The answer he received was
"Impatience is a bad counselor. Wait for orders."

If Paul had followed his own instincts, he could have knocked two or
three Chilean vessels out of the water, for they landed  at  Pisco  a
few days later and no very sharp lookout being kept, he might have put
torpedoes under them at night.

As the enemy was gradually closing in by land and sea, Paul was ordered
to Callao to take charge of a submarine boat that had been built  by  a
Swiss engineer. The boat was to be run by compressed air under water and
by steam on the surface. It was a complicated affair  and  Boyton  had
but little confidence in it and that confidence was considerably
lessened when the inventor himself refused to go down in her. However,
it  was decided to try her. Having managed all the details of her
construction, Boyton ordered her swung under a big pair  of  shears  and
from  their support hung the boat on chains, so that in case she would
not run to the surface by her own power, she  could  be  hoisted  by the
machinery above. She was then lowered to the water. Paul and two of his
crew entered, but before descending to the bottom, gave orders to those
manning the shears, to hoist at the expiration of twenty minutes. After
fastening the man-hole, the valves were closed. There was an ominous
hissing of air that sounded peculiar; but when she got her weight of
water, she slowly settled on the mud bottom in twenty-three feet of
water.

"Now get at your compressed air and see how she will go on the bottom,"
said Paul to the engineer as soon as they felt they were down.

She wheezed and groaned and moved slightly on the mud; but she refused
to rise. Groping about with his lantern, the  engineer  found  something
was the matter with the valves as lie could not get one of them to work
and he grew excited. He was advised to keep cool as there was no danger
but they would get out all right. For five or six minutes, which seemed
an hour to the men thus caught in a trap, they tried every possible way
to get the machinery to work; but it was useless. The boat refused to
rise. The oxygen became rapidly exhausted and the lights grew  dim. Even
the valve supplying fresh air for the nostrils of the occupants of the
boat would not work and the  situation  grew  more  desperate  with the
flight of every second. As the atmosphere became oppressively heavy,
Boyton wanted to knock the valve off with  a  hammer;  but  the engineer
showed him if that were done, they would be drowned.

It began to dawn on the minds of the three men that they were doomed.
They sat and looked into one another's pale  faces.  Paul  consulted his
watch and estimated that twelve more minutes must elapse before those
above would haul up. He felt that it would be impossible for them to
last so long for already they were beginning to gasp for lack of air.
They became weak; but again tried the valves to no purpose. The least
exertion exhausted them. One of the lanterns flickered out and the other
was very dim.

At last Paul seized a hammer and going up the little iron ladder, struck
three or four blows on the cover of the man-hole, under the impression
that those above might hear. The effort was too much for him and he fell
to the floor where he laid in  an  almost  unconscious  condition.  He
dimly remembered hearing the straining of chains, then the man-hole was
opened and a voice inquired: "How is it?"

There was no answer to the inquiry and the rescuers only found out how
it was when they entered the boat and dragged the three unconscious  men
out to light and air where they quickly recovered. The inventor of the
boat made an examination of her machinery and found that the valves  had
been tampered with and rendered useless. It was fortunate that Boyton
had taken the precaution of swinging the boat to  chains,  for otherwise
they would have died like rats in a trap and remained in their iron
coffin at the bottom of the bay.

The inventor went to Lima to report the occurrence and that night Boyton
received a message warning him to keep a sharp look out as there was a
Chilean spy among the crew and it was he who had tampered with the
valves. At midnight two officers arrived from the capitol and the  crew
was summoned before them. They had an accurate description of the spy
and after close scrutiny, an officer placed his hand on the shoulder  of
one of the crew, saying: "This is the man." Then followed one of the
quickest court martials on record.  A  small  group  of  men  walked  a
short distance out on the dock in the darkness. There was a click of a
revolver and a dead Chilean.

The Peruvian troops were now marshaled at Chorrillos to repel the
further advance of the Chilean army that had landed at Pisco. The flower
of the Peruvian forces marched out of Lima in happy anticipation of
battle. The brilliant ranks were composed of young men in  gorgeous
uniforms, who sang gaily as they marched on to Chorrillos. The native
troops were the Cholo Indians that who had been driven in from their
homes back  of the Cordilleras and almost forced to fight. They marched
stolidly through the streets, turning their eyes neither to the right
nor to the left, though hundreds of them had never seen a town before.
They were followed by a wild though picturesque rabble of rabona  women,
carrying  great bundles tied on their heads or backs, shrieking and
chattering in their native tongue like gariho monkeys. These women
formed  the  commissary department of the native troops. Whenever there
was a halt, the rabonas would quickly unlimber their bundles and in an
incredibly short time be engaged in the preparation of some sort of soup
which they sold to the Indians for one cent per bowl.

The Chileans had advanced beyond Pisco and the first battle near Lima,
on the plains outside of Chorrillos, was imminent.  Paul  and  his  crew
with several torpedoes, went down the coast in a boat in the hope of
being able to get under a Chilean vessel; but those vessels fired  on
the boat and sunk her, while the Captain and his men hastily gained the
shore and joined the army on the heights. On January fourteenth, 1881,
the Chileans began the attack on Chorrillos, the fashionable watering
place about three leagues from Lima. Colonel Yglesi with  but  a handful
of troops made a brave defense and had reinforcements been sent him from
Miraflores, where the main body of the Peruvian army was stationed,  the
tide of battle would have been turned. As it was, he held out as long as
he could and then retreated to the main  body, after  killing  three-
thousand of the enemy, just double the number of his original command.
On his retreat, the Chileans swarmed into Chorrillos,  more  intent  on
plunder and wanton murder than honorable warfare, while the Chilean
fleet continued to pour a storm of shot  and shell  after  the
retreating fragments of the little command. That night the Chileans
broke into the liquor store-houses and soon drunkenness increased their
natural  blood thirstiness. Prisoners were murdered in cold blood and
women were wantonly shot down. They even fought among themselves, many
being  killed  in that way. Next morning the streets of Chorrillos
presented a sad and bloody spectacle. Dead and dying were everywhere.
Even  the  poor  rabona women had not been spared. Their bodies could be
seen all over the place. Many dead were seen on the beach where they had
fallen  when  cruelly bayoneted off the cliffs.

While Boyton and a brave Peruvian officer, Colonel Timoteo Smith, were
hastily crossing a meadow, they saw a young Chilean  officer  fall  from
his horse, wounded. They noticed that he wore the iron cross of Germany
on his breast and ran forward to save him. Before they could reach him,
a Peruvian Indian, knife in hand, bounded to the spot, cut the young
man's throat from ear to ear and tearing the decoration from  his
breast, quickly disappeared. On examining the body it proved to be that
of a young captain or lieutenant. It was learned  afterward  that  he
was  the nephew of the celebrated General Von Moltke, the German soldier
and strategist. His death was outright murder.

After the retreat to Miraflores, a truce was declared and an effort made
to arrange terms of peace.  The  foreign  diplomats,  among  whom  was
United States Minister Christiancy, and high military officers were
holding a conference, while the two armies faced  each  other.  During
the peace conference, a gun was fired. It was said at the time that a
Peruvian soldier fired at a cow. At any rate, the Chileans began  the
attack at once. The crack of their guns along the line sounded like the
running of a finger over the key board  of  a  piano.  The  bullets
began  to shatter the house in which the diplomats were conferring. They
suddenly became aware of their danger  and  fled  in  all  directions.
Minister Christiancy was seen in his shirt sleeves valiantly running
across the fields towards Lima along with many others. Not to speak
flippantly,  it was a genuine go-as-you-please hurdle race, for they had
to jump the low, mud walls forming the fences. The Peruvians were
utterly routed. When Don Nicholas saw the battle going against him, he
gallantly mounted his charger and rode to the front; but  it  was  too
late.  He  turned  in despair and fled to the mountains followed by a
few of his immediate troops.

One of the leading causes of Peru's defeat, was the fact that her
soldiers were armed with two  makes  of  rifles  of  different  caliber.
The cartridges became mixed and hundreds of soldiers were seen to throw
down  their  guns  and  flee  because  their  shells  would  not  fit.
The ammunition, too, was strapped on mules that scampered away out of
reach after the first fire.

Paul with hundreds of others, fled to Lima. The city had been taken
possession of by a mob of drunken sailors and soldiers, who went  about
in large bodies, robbing and killing indiscriminately. The streets were
strewn with the dead. Next day the  foreign  residents  banded
themselves together to put down the mob. Boyton took command of a
company of Americans and went through the streets shooting  down  the
rioters  wherever found. On a street at one side of the palace a row of
little houses was occupied by Jewish money changers. This was an
especial point of attack by the rioters on the first night. They were
under the impression that loads of money would be found there. Next
morning the narrow street  was full of dead rioters, showing the
desperate and successful defense made by the Jews, who shot the robbers
through holes made in their doors and walls.

Hundreds of Chinamen were shot and their valuables taken. The foreign
patrols soon beat the mob into submission, and then collecting silks and
other goods that had been taken from the people, they placed them in a
general repository where they could be claimed by the owners, if alive.
While the rioting was going on in Lima, the Peruvians set fire to all
the shipping in the harbor at Callao, to keep it from  falling  into the
hands of the conquerors. The patrols were kept busy until the twentieth
of January, when the Chileans marched triumphantly into Lima. The  city
presented a queer sight. From almost every house the flag of some
foreign nation was flying, to save  it  from  pillage  and destruction;
but scowling faces appeared at the windows. The first act of the Chilean
army was to break in and rob the custom house.  An attempt  was  made
to restrain the men, but some awful scenes were enacted before it was
done.


During this time, Paul and some friends had a chance to visit the
battle-fields of Miraflores and Chorrillos. And the  sights  they
witnessed! The gallant, young soldiers who had left Lima in brilliant
uniforms, with high hopes of success, and gay songs on their lips,  lay
a  confused mass of bloated corpses. Four days of tropical sun had made
them burst, and the stench was horrible. Dreading contagion, for the
field of death lay near to Lima, the Chileans had forced the Chinamen of
that city to gather the dead, cover them with kerosene and fire.

After nightfall, the blue glow rising from these awful funeral pyres,
lit up the whole field. Bands  of  Chinamen  leading  mules  who carried
panniers containing vessels of kerosene, passed around, and whenever
they saw a corpse not burning, they struck a hole  in  it  with a
spade, poured in the oil and fired. At other points on the road, lay
heaps of mangled dead, while the earth around was torn up in  most
unaccountable manner. This was caused by ground torpedoes placed in the
road by some fertile genius, who thought that he could  thus  destroy
the  advancing Chileans.

After two or three of those hidden mines had exploded with dreadful
effect on the Chilean soldiers, they compelled the  Peruvian  prisoners
to march ahead, and when these were destroyed they set a drove or cattle
ahead in self-defense. Chorrilos, where Paul's headquarters had  been so
long, lay a mass of ruins. Bodies in every fallen house gave forth the
awful stench of human decay.

Paul stood on the cliffs overlooking the pleasant bay, in whose waters
his little sloop had been anchored so many times, and beheld the  result
of a charge of the Chilean army. Bodies of the dead soldiers lay thick
under the foot of the  cliff,  Chilean  and  Peruvian  grasped  in  each
other's arms as they had been hurled in the fury of battle to death
below.

Along the beach from the cliffs to the ocean, lay numbers of the
soldiers who had been wounded, and while endeavoring  to  reach  the
tempting waters and quench their thirst, had perished. Others, who in
their delirium had drank its brine, died in more agony, and lay in
strings  along the side washed by the waves.

At the approach of a human being, flocks of hideous galanasas and great
droves of condors would rise  lazily,  too  heavy  from  their  ghastly
feast, to flap their monstrous wings.

It was a sight to sicken one forever of the vaunted glories of the
battlefield.

Soon after the occupation, General Backadana issued a proclamation
requiring all Peruvian officers to surrender. The Chileans knew that
Boyton was in the country, and for what purpose, but he surrendered
under his assumed name "Delaport," an engineer.

He was paroled, and went to Ancon, a village on the coast that had been
deserted, and no Chilean guards had been placed there.

Plans were laid for his escape; but he found it impossible to get off to
a steamer.

He procured a little boat and spent most of the time on the islands off
the coast and among the caves, his American friends in Lima sending him
provisions. For a companion he had a young Peruvian officer who also
thought it  well  to  keep  under  cover.  For  three  weeks  they
amused themselves fishing, hunting, exploring, and several times they
rowed far out to sea, in the hope of being picked up by some passing
steamer and taken north, but the hope was not realized.

From almost any other country in the world escape would be easy. But
north and south of Peru lay thousands of miles of  sun-parched  pampa,
on the west lay the rolling Pacific patrolled by the enemy's ships,
eastward lay the Cordilleras soaring into the clouds--the only passage
through them held by Chilean soldiers.

One morning while they were cruising among the outer group of islands,
Paul noticed a cave opening into one of them, the entrance to which  was
far above the water and so peculiar in its appearance that he determined
to explore it. Backing the boat in and taking a shot  gun,  he  jumped
ashore, while his companion pulled quickly away to keep the boat  from
being  dashed  against  the  island  which  was  formed  of  an  almost
perpendicular rock. Boyton climbed to the entrance of the cave and found
it ran like a slanting shaft through the island. Far  below  he  could
see the green, surging water lashing the adamantine walls. Picking his
way down over the slippery rocks which almost choked up the passage,  he
had proceeded about half way down the incline, when his attention was
attracted by a strange cry. Turning, he saw something that appeared to
be neither bird, animal nor fish; but partaking something of the
character of all three. He had often heard of the existence of such
creatures  in the remote caverns, but had scarcely credited it.
Fishermen had spoken of them though few claimed to have ever seen one.
They are called  ninas del maris-children of the sea. He had heard they
were gentle and affectionate in captivity but savage in their wild
state.

He raised his gun to shoot; but on second thought concluded to try and
capture it alive. He made  his  way  down  the  incline  as  rapidly  as
possible in order to cut the nina off from the water, knowing that it
would not make its exit from the cave  by  the  upper  opening.  When he
reached the bottom, a wonderful scene unfolded. He could easily imagine
that he had unconsciously stumbled  into  the  playhouse  of Neptune's
rollicking subjects. The water formed a great pool surrounded by an
amphitheatre of towering crags of most fantastic shapes, which reached
far up toward the sky, there being no roof to its vast extent. The waves
beat in from the sea; but  as  no  opening  was  visible,  a
subterranean passage surely formed the entrance. Hundreds of grey ducks
were startled and circled around him or flew back and forth to  their
nests  as  if fearful the intruder intended to do them damage. These
nests were built unlike those of any other duck he had ever seen, or in
fact,  those  of any aquatic fowl, being hung in the cracks and crevices
of the rocks precisely like the nests of the common barn  swallow.  The
sight  was  so strange and unexpected, that for a time he forgot all
about the nina; but recovering himself, he started back, watching
closely to prevent  the queer creature from slipping past-him. With all
his care he could discover no trace of it and had made up his mind it
had escaped through  some hidden passage, when he heard the cry again.
By close examination in the direction of the sound he found a  little
pocket  in  the  rocks  and instead of one, two children of the sea were
hiding in it. He was so anxious to capture them, that without thinking
of the consequences, he ran his hand into the pocket and caught one by
the neck. After a struggle he got it out and threw his arms around it,
holding  it  to  his  breast. With one vicious kick of its claws and
flippers, it stripped his clothes off almost from chin to waist and
scratched his body considerably.  He soon learned that though small, it
was very powerful. Having secured it, however, he left his gun and
carried it to the mouth of the cavern and called for the Peruvian to
throw him a line. With the line he tied the nina's mouth, lashed its
legs securely and as the boat was backed under, dropped it in the stern.
He returned for his gun and was surprised to see the other nina sitting
stupidly where he had left it, having made  no attempt to escape. He
captured it easily, but took the precaution to put his soft felt hat
over his hand before seizing it.  The  second  prize was landed safely
in the boat and the two explorers pulled back to Ancon. As there were
only two or  three  fishermen  in  the  entire  village beside
themselves, there were plenty of vacant houses in which to put the new
pets, but Paul put them into a room in which  he  had  previously placed
a young condor. When the lashings where taken off the ninas, they
waddled to a corner and sat there.

The children of the sea are a species of penguin. Their bodies are
furnished with a downy covering which is  neither  hair  nor  feather.
They stand about two feet eight inches high and have very short, but
very strong legs terminating in web feet. They are of a grey color  with
white breast. Their necks are short surmounted by a bird shaped head
with a powerful but stumpy bill, the lower part is V shaped into which
the upper snugly fits. They are also armed with a pair of minute
flippers much of the same conformation as those of a seal  and  their
eyes  are  large, round and soft, surrounded by a black circle. They
walk, or rather waddle much after the manner of an over fat man. When
resting, their  bodies never touch the ground; but bend over to within
an inch of it, giving them the appearance of doing a very difficult
balancing act, though as  a general thing they sit upright.

Paul's prizes were very sullen and refused to take the fish offered
them, so the door was shut and they were left alone with the  condor.
That night the Captain and the Peruvian, who slept next door, were
awakened by an awful uproar in the room where the pets were confined.

"Ah," exclaimed Paul, "do you hear that? The condor is killing the
children of the sea."

They were too tired and sleepy to investigate, however, and in a little
while the noises ceased. At daybreak, after their usual plunge  in  the
surf, they went to ascertain the condition of their pets. To their
amazement they found the condor gasping its last  breath,  while  the
ninas were comfortably pluming themselves in their corner. Two or three
days passed before the ninas could be induced to take food;  but  they
would snap viciously when approached. At last the male took a small fish
from Paul's hand, and then he knew they were conquered. Both began  to
feed and in a few days became the most affectionate pets, following him
around like dogs. They would swim into the breakers with him without
showing the least inclination to escape to their former haunts.

Paul seeing no hope of escape from Ancon, returned to Lima to consult
with some American friends. These informed  him  that  there  was little
chance of escape from there.

Paul then formed a resolution to wait on General Patricio Lynch, who was
in charge of Callao, six miles away.

From his name, Boyton judged he was some good natured soldier of fortune
who would be only too happy to aid a brother in distress.

With this intention he called at the headquarters at Callao, and
informed the aid-de-camp that he desired an interview with the General.

That officer told him to wait a few hours, which he did. Waiting there,
Paul planned the  interview  to  suit  himself.  He  intended  to  say:
"General, my name is Boyton; down here just like yourself, from the
States, etc." He pictured  to  himself  how  cordially  the  General
would receive him, give him his passport, perhaps, invite him to dine.
Paul regretted that his clothes were dusty and torn.

Eventually the aid-de-camp approached and said: "You may now see the
General."

Paul was ushered into a large room and the officer retired. Paul looked
around, and saw no one but a white-haired, mahogany-faced old  man  who
sat writing at a table. Advancing, Paul stood silently waiting to be
noticed. At last a pair of cold steel gray eyes  were  turned  up  to
him which confused him so that he stammered in English:

"Is this General Lynch?"

"Si," was the sharp reply.

In English, Paul continued: "General, I am a patrolled prisoner who came
down to see if--"

At this moment he was shocked by a heavy hand crashing on the table and
a stentorian voice rang out in Spanish:

"Speak you Spanish, speak you Spanish. Muerte Dios, I understand not
much English."

Paul mumbled a request in Spanish to have his parole transferred to
Callao. "No, No, Anda!" pointing to the door, Paul retired and  soon
after rejoined his companion at Ancon.

Three days after this he received a message from his friends at Lima
which caused him considerable  alarm.  It  was  to  the  effect  that
the Chileans were making a diligent search for him and to be very
careful as there was yet no  chance  to  get  on  a  north  bound
vessel,  every passenger being closely scrutinized and it would be
impossible to cross the mountains.

Late one night, shortly after receiving the above message, he was
awakened by a hammering at the door, he leaped out of bed to find  the
house surrounded by a squad of Chilean cavalry. The officer in command
told him he was wanted at Lima and to prepare to accompany the squad at
once. He was taken to the capitol and ushered into the presence of
General Backadona.

"What is your name?" thundered the General, striking the table with his
fist.

"I surrendered to you General," replied Boyton, "my name is Delaport."

"You were in the torpedo service?"

"Possibly; I held a commission from Don Nicholas de Pierola."

"But your name is Boyton and no one by that name held a commission."

Boyton neither affirmed or denied the charge, and the General ordered
him to be confined in the quartelle with the other  prisoners,  where he
was kept for some weeks while the victors were awaiting dispatches from
Chile that would decide his fate and he could readily surmise what that
would be.

Almost daily during his imprisonment he could hear the barbaric blare of
the Chilean bugles outside the quartelle, the gates swing open  and  a
party of Chilean soldiers enter. An officer would call the names of the
prisoners wanted and surrounded by  a  firing  party,  the  unfortunate
wretches were marched out, followed by white robed priests who walked by
their side administering words of consolation.  With  gay  music,  the
prisoners were escorted to a convenient place for the execution, which
was usually the back of some store or the front of  a  public  building.
The condemned were strapped on a plank, their feet resting on a step two
feet from the ground. This was placed against a wall. Then followed  a
sharp order, a bright flash, the crack of rifles and the poor fellows
were sent to their long home. After the execution  the  planks  with the
bodies on were placed on the death wagon to be unstrapped at the grave.

Paul expected every morning to hear his name called. Every time that
fatal gate opened he thought it meant his farewell to earth,  but
strange to say, he became hardened and did not dread the summons. His
friends on the outside worked  like  beavers  for  his  release  or
escape.  His belongings had been placed in the care of the railroad
company and were safe; even the "children of the sea" having been
brought up from Ancon.

For several days he noticed a Chilean who seemed to be some sort of an
official  within  the  prison,  watching  him.  One  day  this  officer
carelessly passed near him and in a low voice asked if his name was
Delaport. Paul said "yes" and the official walked away.

Next day four officers who looked like the bearers of dispatches rode in
at the gate.  The  prisoners  looked  significantly  at  one  another,
remarking:

"There's news from Chile."

"Yes," replied Boyton to one of them, "I guess my death warrant is
there."

The officers leaped from their horses, allowing them to stand unhitched
in the quartelle and entered the palace through a side  door.  As  Paul
was patting and caressing one of the foam flecked steeds, the officer
who had before noticed him, touched him on the shoulder and whispered
the one word:

"Venga," --come.

Without hesitation, he followed the Chilean, who opened the same door
into which  the  dispatch  bearers  had  disappeared.  Once  inside, his
conductor turned with a finger to his lip and silently passed on. They
descended several steps into what appeared to be a basement, where they
groped among pillars and underground apartments until they came to a
heavy door, through the chinks of which a little sunshine  was
streaming. Boyton's conductor drew the bait and with a gentle push
shoved him out, whispering:

"Anda,"--go.

The Captain found himself in a street as the door softly closed, and at
that moment a party of Chilean soldiers rode by. He dropped his hat and
stooped to pick it up, keeping his face toward the ground until they had
passed. He then started in the  direction  of  the  railroad,  in  the
neighborhood of which he expected to find some friends. When he reached
a bridge over the track, he saw a train dispatcher of the  road,  whose
name was Campbell, of Alleghany City, Pennsylvania, standing below. He
made a sign to Paul, who quickly descended and entered an old warehouse.
He was followed by Campbell who handed him a paper, saying:

"Here is safe conduct through the lines. You are a submarine telegraph
man going down to the coast to repair  the  cable.  Outside  is  a  mule
equipped and ready for you. In one side of its saddle bags is one of
your rubber suits and a jointed paddle, covered with coils of wire. In
the other side are coils of wire, telegraph instruments and some
provisions. To all inquiries, you must answer: 'Comision especial
telegrafos  del sue marina.' There's an English steamer going north to-
morrow, the Captain of which is fixed all right. Your baggage and all
your traps will be aboard of her. Go to Ancon and get to the furthest
island out and stand boldly off; the Captain of the steamer will pick
you up. Your  greatest danger will be in leaving the city and passing
the lines. You must depend on your own resources to get through them."

Campbell then placed a purse of money in Boyton's hand bade him God
speed and disappeared. The Captain unhitched the mule, mounted, and
started across the Pizzaro bridge over the Rimac. At the other end of
the bridge, he noticed a Chilean soldier eyeing  him  intently.  He
thought  the fellow was one of the guard who might recognize him; but
knowing that any quick or startled  movement  would  instantly  excite
suspicion,  he leisurely rode the mule up to a cigar stand, dismounted
and purchased some cigars. This move seemed to allay the suspicions of
the guard and he walked away. Lighting a cigar, Paul remounted and kept
on to the outskirts of the city. Night was falling when he reached  the
first  line  of sentinels and he heard that sound which made his blood
surge:

"Halta, cavagna," shouted by the sentry.

"Comision especial telegrafos del sue marina," he answered, displaying
his forged pass. The officer scanned the paper and gave  him  permission
to pass on. At the second outpost, which was quite a distance from the
city, the same program was enacted; but at the third or  outer  line  of
sentries, that occurred which caused cold beads of perspiration to start
on Boyton's forehead. A young officer was in command who  posed  as  a
strict disciplinarian and acted up to his idea that there was very
little else in the world for him to learn. He critically examined the
paper and then looked into the saddle bags that were swung over the
mule's back. Then strutting haughtily about, said:

"The pass is not correct, you will have to go back to Lima."

It was a terrible blow to Paul's chances for escape and though his heart
was in his mouth, he kept as cool as possible and assumed  a  careless
air. He presented the officer with a cigar, talked about the weather and
other interesting subjects, while a guard was being formed  to  escort
him back to the city.

"I hope," said he, "that you will be pleased to command the guard that
escorts me back. I assure you that the society of the beautiful
senoritas at the capital is far preferable to me than to proceed with
the wet, cold work I have been sent to do."

The officer was polite enough to regret that he could not accompany the
guard.

"I would be sorry to see a brave officer like yourself get into any
trouble over this," continued Paul. "You know how  anxious  your
superiors are to have the wires repaired in order to re-establish
communication with Chile, though I am sure  I  do  not  fancy  the  work
and  am  well satisfied to have my journey interrupted."

The officer took the pass again and carefully ran his eyes over it, as
Boyton, apparently in the most happy humor, puffed away at his cigar.

"I think you are all right," said the officer at last, returning the
paper, "you can go on."

Paul's heart gave such a thump of joy that he was afraid the Chilean
would hear or see it;  but  the  latter  observed  nothing.  With
assumed reluctance, he bade the officer good night, mounted his mule and
rode slowly away. As soon as he was out of sight and hearing, he dug his
heels into the mule's sides and was galloping swiftly across the pampas
toward the coast. He could detect no signs of pursuit and in about an
hour he heard the sweetest music that had ever soothed his ears.

It was the booming of the breakers near Ancon.

Riding close to the edge of the cliff, he stripped everything off of the
mules and with a "good bye, old fellow, you have served me well,"  and a
gentle pat on the neck, he turned its head toward the pampas and it
scampered away. The next work was to fling all  the  wire  and telegraph
instruments into the sea. He then donned the dress, and with his paddle
firmly jointed, began descending  the  cliff.  Reaching  the water  in
safety, he plunged right into the breakers and paddled with all his
strength from the shore.  Island  after  island  was  left behind  and
at daybreak he was to the seaward of most of them. He selected the one
that stood furthest out and steered for it. It appeared like  a  huge
rock standing straight up out of the water; but he found a narrow strip
of sandy beach on which to land, being escorted by a whole  troop  of
seals which offered him no harm, however. Climbing to a high ledge, he
removed his suit and found that from his perch he commanded a  good
view  and could see the smoke of the steamer as soon as it left the
harbor of Callao.

The sun came up with a dull, red color promising a hot day. By nine
o'clock, the heat was so intense that he began to suffer  from  thirst
and then discovered that he had made one grievous mistake. He had
neglected to supply himself  with  fresh  water.  After  partaking  of a
little breakfast, he began a tour of exploration in the hope of finding
some cave in which he would be sheltered from the rays of the sun;  but
none was to be found and he only kept cool by wading into the sea at
intervals, yet such immersions increased his thirst. All day long  he
scanned the horizon in the direction of Callao, looking in vain for the
black smoke of the steamer; but hour after hour passed and there was no
sign of it.

During the afternoon he found a shelf of rock under which there was some
shelter from the heat. He sat under its shade suffering terribly  from
the intensity of thirst. Then his mind was somewhat disturbed by seeing
a tremendous cloud of pelicans headed  for  the  island.  They  circled
round arid round and lit in a confused mass on the narrow beach. There
were several thousand of them and he gazed at them with  interest.  They
went through a regular drill, in squads, which is the habit of those
queer but unclean birds. The smell from them was almost overpowering.
They would stand straight up in long rows, looking wise and solemn,
while two very dignified birds marched up and down in front of the lines
for all the world like military grandees reviewing a dress parade. Their
drill must have occupied at least two hours, then the ranks  were broken
and they went into the sea in search of fish.

Paul's suffering from thirst became almost intolerable, his tongue was
swollen and his mind was being affected. At last he saw the smoke of the
steamer as the sun was going down. He was seized with an idea that she
would miss him in the darkness and he decided to return and give himself
up if she did, preferring to be shot rather than to die of thirst on
that desolate island. He put on his dress and paddled out until  he
could see by the steamer's mast that she was head on, then he laid still
and awaited her coming. Close and closer she approached until he  could
see the lookout. He waved his paddle vigorously and they saw him. To his
intense joy, she slowed down, a boat dropped from her side and he was
soon on board and hurried below much to the amazement of the passengers.
He was received kindly by the Captain and made comfortable. Everything
had been attended to by his friends, all his luggage, even to the pets
were aboard.

The steamer only touched at one more Peruvian port, Paita, and while
they stopped there, Paul went below and turned coal heaver; but on
account of the wires being destroyed no news of his escape had reached
that port and no search was made. Next morning they  steamed  up  the
river  to Guayquil and he felt himself free.

To Panama was but a short run and the twenty-five dollars in gold that
he had to pay for his trip across the isthmus from there  to  Aspinwall,
left him almost penniless. At Aspinwall he found the same steamer on
which he had sailed from New York, the Crescent City, and he  put  up
his baggage for a passage home on her. No trouble was experienced in
making such an arrangement for the trip north, for  as  soon  as  the
Captain learned who he was and the straits he was in, he was received
with open arms and every attention paid him.

Eight days after, Paul stood in Broadway, New York, without a cent in
his pocket, instead of the  hundreds  of  thousands  he  had anticipated
earning when he cast his fortunes with Peru. But he felt rich in the joy
of his mother and family, who welcomed him as it were from the grave.

Kiefer, who had gone south with him, succeeded in making his escape for
the mountains where he remained several years,  collecting  antiquities
and shipping them north. He died of consumption soon after his return to
the United States in 1889.



CHAPTER XX.

In less than a month after his return from South America, Boyton was in
St. Paul, Minnesota, ready to start on a voyage  of  one  thousand  and
eight miles down the Mississippi river to Cairo, this trip being
undertaken in order to complete the length of that river from source to
mouth. Though there were no adventures of extraordinary interest in this
voyage, it was the stormiest one he ever encountered; and he was
diverted  on the way by two peculiar characters that accompanied him,
being almost continually provoked to mirth by  the  humorous  incidents
which  befell them. His companion was a celebrated German artist, Dr.
C., who was on his  first  visit  to  America,  as  a  representative of
that  famous publication, the Gartenlaube. The Doctor was a scholarly
gentleman, but being unacquainted with American characteristics, which
had been  sadly misrepresented to him by some of his countrymen who were
inclined to joke, he had an exaggerated notion as to how he must  dress
and  act  for such a trip as he was going to take. When he was at St.
Paul, he thought he was on the skirts of civilization and it behooved
him to appear  in such a manner as not to be imposed on as a novice. So
when he was presented to Boyton, he was gaily attired in a buckskin
suit,  with  revolver and bowie knife trimmings, looking rather out of
place with the scholarly spectacles that bridged his nose. He really
outdid the most  fanciful cowboy of the far western ranches. Such an
outfit he imagined just the thing for a trip among the wild characters
on the Upper Mississippi. The other member of the party was a broad
nosed, Herculean negro whom Paul  hired to  pull  the  row  boat  he
had  purchased  for  the  Doctor's accommodation.

Boyton found that the scenery on the Upper Mississippi was more
beautiful than on any river he had yet traversed. There was not that
startling grandeur which characterized the shores of some of the rivers;
but it was beautiful--with high buttes and pleasant  shores,  while  the
people throughout its entire length are exceedingly hospitable. If the
loveliness of this river were better known, it would be more generally
visited by tourists in search of rest or recreation. On the morning of
May nineteenth, 1881, the start was made, the usual crowd of people
lining  the banks to see them off.

Several of the Doctor's enthusiastic friends presented him with a keg of
beer. It was placed in his skiff. Unfortunately, they forgot  to  give
him a faucet. All that day was very hot, and the entire party longed for
a drink from its cooling depths. Late that evening a steamer, towing a
raft, came slowly down the river. Paul told the negro to pull alongside
and have the raftsman open the keg. They had no faucet but they had  an
auger, with which they willingly started to bore into its head. A moment
afterward a white fountain shot to the sky and all  hands  held  their
hats to catch the descending shower.

They ran along without other adventure, until the second day out, when
Lake Pipin was reached, where they were met by a heavy head wind and  an
enormous sea, that almost swamped the Doctor's boat; but they hauled up
at Lake City in safety, where they passed the night.

The first reception accorded the voyagers was at La Crosse, where they
were greeted with a blaze of fireworks and the roaring of cannon.

Below La Crosse as they were swinging along between the willow-laden
banks of the beautiful river, whose waters, unlike the thick yellow of
its lower half, where it partakes of the character of the Missouri, are
clear and pure,  the  Doctor  developed  a  taste  for  hunting  and
asked permission to use the shotgun that had been stowed away in the
boat. Boyton readily consented; but seeing that the Doctor  knew nothing
about handling the weapon, which was an improved breech loader, some
pains were taken to instruct him in the use of it. It looked so simple
that  the Doctor thought he had mastered it without any trouble at all.
The negro, however, was not so confident and eyed the gun in the
Doctor's  hands with great suspicion.

"Ise not sayin' nun' Cap'en" he remarked to Paul, "but that man aint
been rised aroun' whar da do much shootin', suah's yo' libe. Dar  aint
no tellin' whar he gwine fur to pint that weepin' an Ise running chances
in hyah wid him. Dat's right, Cap'en."

He was assured that there would be no danger; but he was far from being
satisfied and kept an anxious eye on the Doctor's movements.

After further instructions and admonishing the Doctor to be very
careful, Boyton resumed his paddle and was soon ploughing ahead of  the
boat. He had not proceeded a mile when he heard a report of the gun and
turning, saw both the Doctor and the darkey gazing intently into the sky
at a gull that was sailing leisurely around a half mile or so above
them. The Doctor nervously rubbed his glasses and looked again,  at  a
loss  to determine why the bird did not fall. When the boat dropped
alongside, Paul explained to the astonished Doctor that a  shotgun  only
carried  a short distance and he could not expect to hit anything so far
away.

As the sun was sinking that evening, Boyton heard the negro yelling:

"Great Lawd, come hyah Cap'en! Oh, my soul, come quick! quick! Dis hyah
Dutchman gwine t' kill me suah!"

Wheeling around, Paul witnessed the most ludicrous spectacle. The
Doctor, with the muzzle of  the  gun  turned  on  the  negro,  was
excitedly hammering a cartridge into the breech, while the negro was
stretched on his back nearly over the gunwale of the boat, with the
broad  sole  of his foot held as a shield toward the muzzle, yelling at
the top of his voice. The doctor saw some blackbirds in the bushes and
not  remembering how to put a cartridge in the gun, was pounding it in
with the handle of his bowie knife. Of course it was liable to explode
at  every  stroke, and the poor negro knew the danger.

After some expostulation, the Doctor was persuaded to put the gun away.

Below Dubuque, the weather grew stormy and so continued for the rest of
the voyage. They were treated to some marvelous lightning effects.  Its
forked tongues lapped the water in the most eccentric manner--fearful,
though intensely beautiful. The poor darkey cowered  in  fright  on  the
bottom of the boat with covered eyes, while Paul and the Doctor were so
impressed with the grandeur of the manifestation, as to be unmindful of
the danger. After that, whenever dark masses of clouds began to roll up
in the sky and the wind  commenced  to  sough  mournfully  through  the
willows, no power on earth could prevent the darkey from pulling in
shore and staying there until the storm had passed.

"Ole Mastah above kin hit me evah w'en he wants to; I knows dat; but den
Ise gwine to climb fur the shoah foah dat lightnin'  play  tag  aroun'
dis niggah's head agin, dat's shoah as yo' libe," he explained to Paul
after one of his hurried retreats into the bushes.

Twelve days after the start the party arrived at Davenport. Paul had
been greatly retarded in his progress on account  of  false  channels
and sloughs into which he wandered and through which he paddled many
weary miles. Early one morning, emerging from one or these sloughs just
as the sun was rising, he was treated to a concert such as he had never
heard. The music seemed to him almost heavenly--so exceedingly beautiful
that he remained motionless on the water, charmed by the entrancing
melody. It burst from the throats of thousands of  birds  on  one  side
of  the river, and the refrain was taken up by a swelling chorus of
feathered warblers on the other shore. It was a concert that paid him
for the labor of a thousand miles of paddling.

At Davenport, and in fact at all the river towns, the party was tendered
enthusiastic  receptions.  All  the  members  of  the  boat  clubs  at
Burlington rowed up to meet them and formed an interesting flotilla into
the city.  They  frequently  encountered  rafts  of  logs,  containing
millions of feet of lumber. The raftsmen were always glad to meet Paul
and converse with him as long as he would paddle alongside.

Below Davenport, the Doctor's passion for hunting was again displayed,
much to the disgust of his dusky boatman. He insisted on firing at  some
blackbirds and the promise of a quarter to the negro, persuaded that
worthy to row him close in shore. He took deliberate aim and fired into
a tree that was covered with birds. Not one of them fell; but a cow that
had been drinking among the willows, ran wildly up  the  bank  with  her
tail in the air, bellowing mournfully. The darkey received the promise
of another twenty-five cents for pulling away from the scene as fast  as
he could. It had usually been Paul's complaint that the boat was too far
behind; but after the cow incident, it was just the  other  way.  They
were always so far ahead that it was hard to keep them in sight. The
darkey was bribed to this unwonted exertion by presents  of  neckties
and other fancy articles which the Doctor sacrificed from his wardrobe.
The latter had visions of that cow's owner in vengeful pursuit.

While paddling along one morning, the boat being quite a distance below
him, Boyton heard a terrific fusillade from the  gun.  He  thought  the
Doctor was shooting away all the cartridges. The boat was surrounded by
smoke and Paul drove ahead to see what was going on. As he  drew  near,
he saw the doctor holding a small object in his hand while a look of
pride glowed on his countenance. It was a little squirrel.

"See what I have killed," enthusiastically cried the Doctor in German.

"Yaas," chimed in the darkey, "dat squi'l him swimmin' de ribber an' de
Doc, he shot an' shot an' den I kill um wid de oah."

After leaving Quincy, the Doctor again distinguished himself, by firing
into some ducks that he saw in a slough on the Missouri side. The negro
had encouraged him to shoot and to his intense satisfaction, he
accidentally killed one. He made the darkey row in and pick it up,  and
a  few moments later, a gruff voice was heard on the bank:

"Pull ashore; nigger."

Looking up they saw a gigantic Missourian with his rifle pointed at them
and the negro pulled in as though he  was  trying  to  escape  another
lightning storm.

"Mister; I want six bits fur that er pet duck of mine," the man remarked
to the Doctor.

The price demanded was promptly paid and the Doctor was glad to get away
from that wicked looking weapon which the Missourian handled as though
familiar with its use. After that adventure, he lost all interest in
hunting.

On June nineteenth, the party pulled into St. Louis, where they were
welcomed by a crowd of about thirty-thousand people, and the screaming
of whistles was something deafening. The Mayor was on one of the
steamboats and  extended  Paul  the  freedom  of  the  city.  He  was
hospitably entertained, and after a short visit, began the last stretch
of his journey, two-hundred miles to Cairo, which he intended to finish
without  a stop; the longest continuous run he ever made. On this trip
he had a great deal of trouble with the boat as both  the  Doctor  and
the  darkey would persist in sleeping, after they had been on the route
a short time. On one occasion, after the boat had been lost from him for
a  couple of hours, Boyton saw something limping down the river in a
lopsided manner, which he could not believe was the boat; but on its
nearing him, he saw it was the Doctor pulling away as though his life
depended on it, with one oar and a little staff to one end of which was
fastened a  small German flag. Both occupants had gone to sleep and lost
an oar, and the Doctor had utilized the flag staff that had been proudly
placed  at  the boat's stern. They arrived safely at Cairo, forty-one
hours from St. Louis. The Doctor  poorer  in  clothes  and  the  darkey
much  richer  in wardrobe, parted with each other and Paul at this
point.

At Cairo, Boyton met a friend who was going up the Mississippi to St.
Paul on his own private steamer, a handsome little boat  fitted  up with
every luxury. He invited Paul to accompany him and knowing no more
congenial way to rest, he consented. They  made  the  trip  by  easy
stages stopping at places where good hunting promised and thoroughly
enjoyed themselves. The little steamer was full of pets they picked up
at various points; coons, foxes, opossum, crows and squirrels.

Above Burlington they ran across somewhat of a snag in the shape of a
pilot's union. They were compelled to hire a pilot to  see  them  up the
river, (though they were perfectly able to handle the boat themselves),
or be compelled to pay a fine of fifty dollars. They were hauled up  at
the wharf of an Iowa village when they heard this, and rather than have
any trouble, they concluded to hire a pilot. On inquiry,  they  learned
that there was no pilot in the village except the editor of the weekly
paper. He had a license and could do the work if  he  was  so  inclined.
This placed them in a rather awkward position. They did not feel like
asking so distinguished a gentleman as the editor of the paper  to
pilot them. Several conferences were held on the subject; but the
stubborn fact still stared them in the face, that the editor was the
only  man  in the village who could do the work and if they proceeded to
the next town without a licensed pilot they would have to pay a fifty
dollar  fine. At last in a fit of desperation, Paul said he would call
on the editor and see what kind of a man he was, anyway, and if he
proved  to  be  all right, he might be induced to join them as a guest,
which would be a more polite way to put it. They were willing to give
twenty-five or thirty dollars; but they felt a delicacy in making such a
proposition to an editor.

At any rate, Paul called at the office. After climbing a crazy flight of
stairs on the outside of a little rheumatic looking frame building, he
found the editor seated on a stool at a case of type, setting up some
matter for his next week's issue. Boyton introduced himself.

"Well, I'll be doggoned, Paul," exclaimed the editor, jumping from the
stool, "I'm almighty glad to  see  you,"  enthusiastically  shaking  his
hand, "where in thunder are you swimming to now?"

"Oh, I'm just going up the river on a pleasure trip, with a friend of
mine, on a little steamer."

"Is that so. Well, I'm glad to meet you any way. I'll make a note about
it next week."

"Yes, we are having a little pleasure excursion; hunting, fishing, and
all that sort of thing and we thought you might enjoy a trip with  us  a
little way."

A cunning gleam shot through the editor's eagle eye, as he replied:

"Um, I guess you want me to pilot you up, don't you?"

"Well, yes. If you want to put it that way. You might assist our regular
pilot if you felt so disposed. I can assure you a good time. Plenty of
everything on board."

"I'll be doggoned if I wouldn't like to go up, Paul; but don't see how I
can do it. In fact it's impossible. You see  I  couldn't  get  out  my
paper next week. Have to disappoint all my subscribers and you know that
would hardly be right."

"We would have a good time," persisted Boyton, "you could take a little
vacation, you know, and you might get some one to put out the paper for
you."

"Couldn't do it. There aint a man between here and Chicago that could
get out this paper. No sir. If I went, I'd  have  to  disappoint  all my
subscrib--"

"Well, what will you take to pilot us up?" interrupted Paul in
desperation, willing to offer fifty dollars if there was a chance.

"You see I would have to disappoint all my subscribers and then the
advertisers would kick and want to knock off on  their  bills.  Taking
all those things into consideration, I don't see how I could go up for
less than three dollars."

Of course he was taken along and luxuriously entertained as well as paid
the three dollars. The week following the editor's return,  his  paper
contained an item to the effect that "owing to illness in his family,
the editor was compelled to disappoint his subscribers last week."

At St. Paul, Boyton began preparations for the longest voyage he had yet
undertaken--down the Yellowstone and Missouri.



CHAPTER XXI.

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.



CHAPTER XXII.

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."



CHAPTER XXIII.

"Well, thank goodness, we are through, and I can get out for a little
air once more."

Such was the remark made by Boyton when the preceding chapter, which
completed the history of his adventures, was finished.

He little relished the confinement to which he had been subjected, while
getting into shape such a mass of notes and memoranda.  Several  times
he was on the point of abandoning the work altogether.

"One thing that gratifies me," he added: "I'll never have to talk about
myself or my voyages again. The book tells the story."

Though before the public so many years, Paul Boyton is still in the
prime of life. It is possible  that  he  will  not  attempt  any
dangerous voyages again; still the ruling passion is strong. He may
frequently be seen poring over maps and charts of distant rivers and
often  discusses the probability of adventure on them.

During the summer he is almost daily in the water with his company of
aquatic experts.

In the winter season, he devotes the greater part of his time to
inventing and perfecting new devices in the way of water amusements.

In the large basement of his home he has fitted up one of the most
curious work-shops  in  the  world.  Water-shoes,  sails,  marine
bicycles, torpedo and submarine boats, paddles, etc., lie around in
bewildering confusion to a person unaccustomed to aquatic  traps.  But
Boyton  knows where each belongs, and insists on its being kept there,
his early sailor training making him a martinet of order.

He has never lost his old love of animals. Adjoining the work-shop, is a
large tank for the accommodation of his water pets.  This  is  also  a
favorite spot for his three little boys who often take a plunge.
Sometimes the first mate of the home is compelled to make  a  clearance,
when the pets become numerous and the youngsters bathe too frequent.

It may be well to state in these closing remarks that a cause of
considerable business annoyance is the  persistence  with  which  many
people spell his name, Boy-n-ton instead of Boyton. This mistake happens
only in America.

One thing Boyton seriously regrets, is his inability to remember names
and faces. Consequently he is spoken to every day by those who have  met
him in various parts of the world, and it is a source of much
embarrassment that he cannot always call their names as readily as they
remember him, for being of a social disposition he is always glad to
meet his acquaintances.

While keeping himself pretty busy in his shop over his charts during the
winter he still finds time to make runs in his rubber  dress  on  Lake
Michigan, near his home, "Just to keep his hand in," he says.

He also goes on frequent hunting excursions.

Like most men who have led a roving life, he is fond of his home and a
pleasant smile always lights his face when his little children are
climbing over him asking for a story.





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