"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!'