The old man spoke with profound sincerity and his face brightened when Boyton told him that preparations would be made for leaving at once. He called down a benediction and joyfully departed for his little church, the weather beaten side of which could be seen in a grove not far distant. Paul immediately donned his dress and took to the water, paddling a few miles down and hauling up on a muddy bank to wait until it was time to start for Vicksburg. Though it was not so pleasant there as it was on the cool porch of the planter's, and he had suffered much from the heat, thoughts of the satisfied old minister did much to lighten the discomforts of his surroundings.
He arrived in sight of Vicksburg at four o'clock in the afternoon and was met by the steamer Silverthorn towing a big barge, loaded with excursionists. It appeared as though the entire population of the town and surrounding country had assembled on the river bank. So dense was the crowd, that it caused a philosophical negro to remark:
"Ef dose yere people keep on a crowdin' on dis en' ob town, de whole place are gwine fur to tip ober in de ribber, suah 'nough."
With the aid of the city marshal and a few policemen, Boyton got through the crowd to a carriage in which the Mayor was awaiting him. As the carriage was about to move off for the hotel, a man jumped in and seated himself between the Captain and the Mayor. Paul did not think much of the incident at the time, being under the impression, that the fellow was one of the Mayor's friends, though he noticed that official did not seem to be particularly pleased. When they reached the hotel, the man made himself obnoxiously officious, entering Boyton's room with an air of proprietorship and taking refreshments as though he was paying for them all. At last Paul made inquiries concerning him and found he was the most desperate character in all that section of country—a killer who had more than one murder to his account and who had the citizens of the town so terrorized that they were afraid to interpose any objections to his conduct. As soon as he learned that, Paul was in a rage and remarked that the citizens might submit to such intrusion, but he would not. The desperado, who had gone out of the room for a few moments, returned and was met by the angry navigator, who caught him by the neck, threw him bodily out of the room and kicked him down stairs. That cuffing did the fellow some good for it had the effect of encouraging other men to thrash him until he became mild-mannered and inoffensive.
The next run was from Vicksburg to Natchez, one hundred and nine miles. The start was made in a gale and Boyton was not much more than under way when he felt symptoms of fever. Indeed, so violent did the attack become, that he felt as though he must give up. He took an enormous dose of quinine which braced him and he kept pushing ahead until he arrived at Natchez, twenty six hours from Vicksburg. He was so ill on his arrival that he could scarcely notice the hearty reception given him; but went immediately to bed and fell into a deep sleep. A doctor called and pronounced him in danger of swamp fever, but thought it might be kept off with proper attention, and prescribed some remedy. Boyton felt considerably refreshed by the sleep, assisted, probably, by the prescription of the doctor, and one or two callers were admitted to his room. Among them was a gentleman who stated that his wife was an invalid. The windows of her room overlooked the river and as she saw Paul passing, on his way to Natchez, she had composed a little poem, which she begged the voyager to accept. The lady's name was Mrs. Francis Marschalk, and the poem follows:
Hail, King of the wat'ry world, New Neptune, grander than the old, Serene as thy great prototype, 'Mid storm and wave, mid heat and cold! Great victor! Man of nerve and will, Ingenious mind and wondrous skill, Laurels of peace are thine to wear, More blest than those of battle field; Begemmed with tears of gratitude And brighter than a Spartan shield—The world acclaims this crown to thee, And glories in thy victory.
The greatest boon of God is life, The dearest trust to mortal given And God-like 'tis to keep and save This precious heritage of heaven, This holy aim, this task divine Thy proud achievements claim as thine.
When all the waves of time are past And earth's rude storms with thee are o'er, Oh, may'st thou sweetly rest at last Upon the peaceful shining shore, And may thy spirit's pastime be Life's river and the Jasper sea.
Paul was deeply affected by so delicate a tribute from the accomplished stranger, and did all he could do under the circumstances—sent her an autograph note of grateful appreciation.
He did not stop long at Natchez, feeling anxious to finish the voyage as soon as possible. Among the crowd that followed him to the wharf when he resumed the trip next day was the doctor who had prescribed for him. That gentleman was very earnest in advising him not to start as he was in great danger of being seized with the fever.