At Delhi the two
experienced oarsmen, who had been engaged to row a short distance,
went ashore, leaving Creelman, Byron and two Cincinnati newspaper men
to manage the lumbering boat. It was fortunate for their
reputation as oarsmen, that spectators were directing most of their
attention to Boyton, for such pulling was never seen before on the Ohio
and will probably never be seen again. Paul felt like shedding tears
every time he looked around to see how they were getting along. His own
safety had something to do with his watchful care, for they came near
running him down several times. The enthusiastic oarsmen first removed
their overcoats; their undercoats followed and then collars were
unbuttoned. One of them said it wasn't the length of the river that
bothered them so much as the breadth. They worked independently of
each other, and it was pretty hard to tell which was the bow and which
the stern of the boat. A ragged urchin rowed out from shore to see what
they were doing and sarcastically inquired if they were rowing over
stumps. That was an unkind allusion to the extreme height at which
they elevated their oar blades from the water between strokes. There was
no revolver or shot gun in the party, or there would have been a
funeral in that lad's family.
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