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Title: The Story of Paul Boyton
       Voyages on All the Great Rivers of the World

Author: Paul Boyton

Release Date: September 9, 2006 [EBook #19230]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF PAUL BOYTON ***




Produced by Jerry Kuntz as part of the Lawson's Progress
Project. Digitization effort dedicated to Enid Fiatte.






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.