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