He will long keep green in his memory the royal hospitality he received from the Californians.
Paul next decided to go to Salt Lake City and try the waters of its wonderful inland sea. After a few day's rest in San Francisco, he found himself on the shore of the Great Salt Lake. He had been told that the water was so dense that he would be able to walk on it in his rubber dress; but actual experience did not verify the assertion. In fact, he could discover but little difference between the water of the lake and that of the ocean. He might, possibly, float higher on the surface of the former, but very little. He found the water as clear as a crystal; but a veritable dead sea so far as animal life was concerned. There is no life in its depths except little worms that are found around the bottom of piles or on pieces of submerged wood, and these turn to flies. Wishing to prove to his own satisfaction that fish would not live in the lake, Paul procured some trout and turned them in. The moment they touched the briny water, they died as though shot by an electric current.
On the second evening after his arrival, Paul entered the water to paddle out to Antelope Island, about fifteen miles from shore. He was warned of danger in case of a wind; but thought nothing of it at the time. After slipping over the glassy surface of the lake for about ten miles, he noticed a heavy cloud coming down from the surrounding mountains and in a short time it was churned into a short, choppy sea by a squall blowing thirty or forty miles an hour. The waves were not very high, but slashed about him in such a manner that his eyes, nose and mouth were filled with the salty foam which caused intense agony. He still struggled for the island, hoping to reach it before he would die of suffocation. He steered by the sound of the waves washing against the shore. At last he heard the flap, flap, of the breakers and he was swung against the rocky coast of Antelope Island. He knew that no human being lived there; only a flock of sheep that had been taken thither in flat boats to graze. He also knew there was something else on the island for which he longed—fresh water. He groped about for a time until he could open his eyes to see a little and fortunately discovered a spring not far from where he landed.
The gale continued all night and he dare not enter the water while it prevailed. Next morning a little steamer that was sent out to hunt him, found him on the island and conveyed him back to shore, pretty badly used up. He remained at the lake some time after, but did not make any more excursions.
During the month of March, 1887, Paul, who had returned from a short visit south, was feeling a trifle malarious. Regardless of the time honored and tested remedies for this complaint which were prescribed freely by his friends, he believed that the only thing for relief was a run in the ocean in the rubber dress, with the Baby as his sole companion. He also felt the necessity for a practice voyage before going down the Hudson, a trip which he then had in view. Getting his paraphernalia together, he boarded the pilot boat, Fannie, on a Wednesday, and on Saturday, attired in his dress, he slipped over her side with the intention of paddling to the Jersey coast, which he hoped to strike in the vicinity of Cape May.
The weather was not very cold when he went overboard and the sea was fine and smooth. Bye and bye the wind commenced to blow off shore and as he wanted to go to the westward, he had a hard fight against it all day and night. He sighted a great many vessels and signaled them to pick him up; but they did not see him for they all continued on their way. The constant battle against the stiff land breeze began to tell on him toward morning. The compass would not work and he was compelled to determine his course by the stars. The morning sun showed him that he was out of sight of land. During the forenoon, the wind shifted to the east which was more favorable, though he could take but little advantage of it on account of being stiff and sore from the severe buffeting to which he had been subjected during the night. All day Sunday, he continued working to the westward. About four o'clock he sighted the smoke of a steamer to the south and pulled across her course. He fired three rockets to attract her attention and waved his flag, the "union down" fastened to the paddle. His heart sank when she glided by apparently without seeing him; but to his joy, after passing a short distance she stopped and he saw a boat lowered. He was taken aboard and learned that she was the William Lawrence of the Norfolk and Baltimore line, Captain M. W. Snow. When picked up, he was sixty miles off Sandy Hook. Captain Snow and everyone on board treated him with the utmost kindness. Directly after getting on board he turned in and slept for twelve hours. He landed at Providence on Monday, and he immediately wired his friends in New York that he was all right.
The contemplated voyage down the Hudson river, was delayed on account of ice; but on the fifth of April, a freshet broke it up and the voyager started from Hudson, accompanied by several representatives of the New York papers, who occupied a boat which was in charge of the famous oarsman, Wallace Ross assisted by George Whistler. The voyage was not of unusual interest, outside of the difficulty of forging ahead through the ice floes and considerable suffering from the cold. On that account and from the fact that the party were compelled to watch for favorable tides, progress was somewhat slow. They were enthusiastically received at every town and village and at several places, physicians advised Boyton to abandon the trip, fearing that the exposure would prove fatal but he made light of their fears.
One of the most interesting sights was encountered in the middle of the Tappan Zee. An enormous tow of one hundred canal boats and five schooners was passed, drawn by four powerful tugs. Six hundred people inhabited this floating village and they stood on the decks of their migratory houses, going north with the spring, like the ducks, and hurrahed, and each tug screamed a salute. The oyster dredgers cheered and schooners changed their course to hail Boyton.
Less than seven days from the time of starting, Paul landed in New York, having been escorted down the North river by a large party of friends aboard a gaily decorated tug. Fully 20,000 people saw the finish. To Wallace Ross, who rowed the reporters' boat, much of the success of the trip was due. He watched Boyton with the anxious care of a trained nurse. He stood by regardless of his own fatigue, keeping a careful eye on the tides and was ready at all times to exert his skill and muscle for the success of the undertaking. George Whistler, too, who has been Boyton's attendant for years, withstood the fatigues of the journey and attended manfully to his duties.
In March, 1888, the Captain had a thrilling experience in Lake Michigan. For the purpose of reducing his weight, he began to take short runs through the icy water. On the 27th he left shore, intending to paddle a few miles out in the lake. A fresh west wind was blowing. He pushed through the ice for some time and then encountered great floes onto which he climbed. Heavy clouds obscured the sun and the wind had gathered the ice together. He struggled for a time with what he judged to be the western border of the field and then ran into a sort of pocket. Through this he pulled until he again encountered floes. A heavy fog now shut down on the lake and all trace of land had vanished, and on stopping to take his bearings, he was horrified to find that his compass was lost. There was nothing by which he could determine his position or the direction of the city. He began to get drowsy from the cold and knew he would perish if he did not labor incessantly to keep up his temperature. He concluded that he only had to pull away from the ice to reach Chicago, and for at least five hours he worked in what he considered to be the right direction. Still there was no sign of the city. Then he changed his course and pulled with all the energy of desperation. The ice gathered about him again and when night came, he was fighting it for his life. Sometimes he would dodge the drifts, at others he climbed upon the cakes and crossed them. He got a flash view of the moon when it rose and then saw that he had been working wrong. He had crossed the field in the morning when he got into what he thought was an opening and all the long day he had been driven toward Michigan. The turn he had taken sent him south. Observing the moon he changed his course, and in a couple of hours saw the glare from the furnaces of South Chicago. Taking his bearings from them, he sighted the lights at the water work's crib, where he arrived at midnight and aroused Captain McKay by a blast of the bugle and was hauled up. He was given refreshments and retired. He had been seventeen hours in the water.