"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.