As he went
over the sloping volume of water, he was met at the bottom by an
immense back wave which drove him under. Where the clashing waves
embraced each other, he was checked and held, being rolled like a log
that is caught between a back and an undertow. Thousands of people
crowded the banks in the vicinity of the pescaia and they gave Boyton
up as lost. Men turned pale and women fainted. Now and again they could
see an arm protruding from the dark, angry waters; then a leg and an end
of his paddle which he had the presence of mind to retain. It was
impossible to get a rope to him and certain death to attempt a rescue
with a boat.
"Only God can save him now," yelled some excited Italian, "no man can do
it."
The multitude felt there was nothing to be done but to stand helplessly
by and watch him drown. And what were Boyton's thoughts? He stated
afterwards: "I thought of it being Christmas eve. The news of my death
would be telegraphed to New York, my mother would hear of it and it
would make a sad Christmas for her." The voyager straggled with all the
strength he possessed against the awful power of the contending waters
and fortunately succeeded in throwing himself out on a big wave and was
carried down. A great sigh of relief went up from the crowd which
sounded like the rush of distant wind.
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