mark twain meaning of riverboat

Mark Twain Claimed He Got His Pen Name From a Riverboat Captain. He May Have Actually Gotten It in a Saloon

P owerful gravity drew young men west during the Civil War, especially after the armies began drafting to fill their ranks. One of the thousands who traveled “the plains across” was an obscure Missourian named Samuel Langhorne Clemens who had spent a few weeks riding with a band of Confederate irregulars. Despite Sam’s mild secessionist sympathies, his older brother Orion Clemens had campaigned for Abraham Lincoln. As reward, the new president appointed Orion secretary of the Nevada Territory, then in the throes of a mining frenzy centered on the Comstock Lode beneath booming Virginia City, the largest town in the territory. Sam went west with his brother on the overland stage in the late summer of 1861, there being, as his first great biographer wryly observed, “no place in the active Middle West just then for an officer of either army who had voluntarily retired from service.”

Orion Clemens took up his official duties in Carson City while Sam dashed about the territory trying to attach himself to some of its fabled wealth. (Writing as Mark Twain a decade later, he’d immortalize the experiences in Roughing It , making judicious use of “improved facts.”) Sam Clemens spent the rest of the year mining, and he found the labor “hard and long and dismal,” not to mention dangerous and un-remunerative.

Clemens did a measure of hard work as a miner through the first half of 1862, more than he allowed in Roughing It. One of his letters told of “picking” until blisters covered his hands. Clemens owned “feet,” meaning “shares,” in several promising mines, and his hopes for riches ran high. Clemens described one prospect to his brother as “a dead sure thing” before adding, realistically, “but then it’s the d—dest country for disappointments the world ever saw.”

Fortunately for American literary destiny, none of Clemens’s mines came in rich, or anything close. A gifted yarner, he amused his companions with lively storytelling, and he wrote burlesque sketches, a few of which found their way into the pages of Virginia City’s leading newspaper, the Territorial Enterprise , over the pseudonym “Josh,” a pen name presumably intended as more verb than noun. Like so many others in the Nevada Territory, Sam Clemens was rich in “feet,” but poor in cash. By July 1862, he was trying to sell writing to newspapers all over the West.

Joseph T. Goodman, publisher of the Enterprise , recognized a talent for clear, colorful, humorous writing in the author of the “Josh” letters and offered Clemens a job at $25 per week, steady employment that promised to save Clemens from penury. Accepting it meant surrendering his dream of mining wealth. After some soul-searching, Clemens resigned himself to the dead sure thing.

In simple frontier language, the budding but unpolished genius quickly demonstrated a unique ability to use embellishment, hyperbole, satire, caricature, parody, mock-flattery, and ridicule to flay bare essential truth. As his voice matured, Clemens’s stories, hoaxes, and brutal sketches grew into something entirely American, encapsulating the terrible whimsy, painful irony, and outrageous hilarity of life on the mining frontier. No conceit, swelled head, or stuffed shirt lived safe from his slashing pen, and the Enterprise soon raised his salary. “They pay me six dollars a day,” Clemens wrote his sister, “and I make 50 per cent profit by only doing three dollars worth of work.”

No matter. The readership reveled in his half day’s labor. Clemens had become widely known in Virginia City — if not necessarily widely liked — by the time the pseudonym Mark Twain first appeared in the Enterprise on February 3, 1863. A decade later, Clemens claimed he’d appropriated his by-then-famous nom de plume from a staid Mississippi riverboat captain. However, according to more convincing Virginia City legend, Clemens acquired the nickname before it appeared in print, derived from his habit of striding into the Old Corner Saloon and calling out to the barkeep to “Mark Twain!” a phrase Mississippi river boatmen sang out with their craft in two fathoms of water, but that in Virginia City meant bring two blasts of whisky to Sam Clemens and make two chalk marks against his account on the back wall of the saloon.

Although later in life, Clemens claimed not to have had “a large experience in the matter of alcoholic drinks,” men who knew him in Virginia City remembered substantial quantities of chalk ground down to a nub on his behalf. Regardless, one of the Comstockers Clemens had become acquainted with was the quiet, industrious, up-and-coming, and largely abstemious Irishman who superintended the Milton mine — John Mackay.

One day, Clemens visited Mackay in the Milton’s new office. Clemens found Mackay’s situation “rather sumptuous, for that day and place.” Mackay hadn’t been in “such very smooth circumstances” before. His office “had part of a carpet on the floor and two chairs instead of a candle-box.” Perhaps needing fodder for one of his fancy sketches, Clemens proposed they switch jobs. Mackay could have his place on the Enterprise . Clemens would run the Milton.

Mackay considered the offer. Superintending a mine required knowing how to bore, sink, stope, and ventilate underground workings, pump water, and hoist ore. A superintendent needed to understand the basics of static and dynamic mechanics, surveying, mineralogy, and geology, and possess the ability to lead and motivate men. Ever the practical and considerate man, Mackay asked how much Clemens’s newspaper job was worth.

“Forty dollars a week,” Clemens answered.

“I never swindled anybody in my life, and I don’t want to begin with you,” Mackay stammered. “This business of mine is not worth $40 a week. You stay where you are and I will try to get a living out of this.”

Decades later, when Mark Twain was the most famous American writer and raconteur in the world, he delighted in the light the anecdote shone on John Mackay, a man who was not just his friend, but who had by then become, in Twain’s description, “the first of the hundred millionaires.”

They stayed friends until Mackay’s death in 1902, with the taciturn old miner justifying his relationship with often testy Mark Twain by saying, “I’m addicted to the society of literary men.” By then, Clemens hadn’t set foot in mining country in more than thirty years, but he looked back on his formative years on the Comstock Lode with affection. As he wrote a mutual friend of both his and Mackay’s three years after Mackay’s death, “Those were the days!—those old ones. They will come no more. Youth will come no more. They were so full to the brim with the wine of life; there have been no others like them.”

From The Bonanza King by Gregory Crouch. Copyright © 2018 by Gregory Crouch. Reprinted by permission of Scribner, an Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

More Must-Reads from TIME

• How Kamala Harris Knocked Donald Trump Off Course
• Inside the Rise of Bitcoin-Powered Pools and Bathhouses
• What Makes a Friendship Last Forever?
• 33 True Crime Documentaries That Shaped the Genre
• Long COVID Looks Different in Kids
• Your Questions About Early Voting , Answered
• Column: Your Cynicism Isn’t Helping Anybody
• The 100 Most Influential People in AI 2024

Contact us at [email protected]

Your cart is empty

£0.00 GBP

The origin of Mark Twain’s name

Before “Mark Twain” he was “Thomas Jefferson Snodgrass”. And before “Thomas Jefferson Snodgrass” he was “Sieur Louis de Conte”, “John Snook” and even “Josh”. Samuel Clemens, America’s classic satirist, used a litany of pseudonyms before settling on the name we know him by today. In the latest issue of the Mark Twain Journal Kevin MacDonnell reveals how and when Samuel Clemens decided conclusively to adopt Mark Twain as his pen name.

Up until now there have been a number of competing theories about Clemens’s pseudonym. Most popular is the suggestion that the name derived from the riverboat call, “by the mark, twain”. Twain was an old-fashioned way of saying two, and the call referred to sounding a depth of two fathoms, which was just safe enough for a steamboat travelling down the Mississippi. The problem with this interpretation is that “twain” would have been an uncommon word choice on the Mississippi – MacDonnell’s research shows that Clemens’s own journals from his steamboat days use “mark two” instead of “mark twain”.

Another theory surfaced while the author was still alive. In 1873, The Nevada Sentinel reported that the name came from Clemens’s habit of spending his nights drinking at the Old Corner saloon in Virginia City, a bar that “always had an account with the balance against him” tallied in chalk marks on the wall. Clemens supposedly asked the barman to “mark twain” against his tab so often that the phrase became a nickname.

When Clemens stumbled across this interpretation in a newspaper he decided to settle the issue once and for all by responding in a letter, which reads: “‘Mark Twain’ was the nom de plume of one Captain Isaiah Sellers, who used to write river news over it for the New Orleans Picayune: he died in 1863 and as he could no longer need that signature, I laid violent hands upon it without asking permission of the proprietor's remains. That is the history of the nom de plume I bear.”

MacDonnell, however, argues that this response is only a symptom of Clemens’s notorious tendency to tell tall tales and stretch the truth. MacDonnell’s research led him to discover a sketch that uses the name in 1861, two years before Clemens says he adopted it. The magazine in question was the comedic journal Vanity Fair (unrelated to today’s Vanity Fair) – which Clemens later referred to as an early influence on his work. The sketch depicts a group of Charleston mariners who are “abolishing the use of the magnetic needle, because of its constancy to the north”. The characters involved are named “Mr. Pine Knott”, “Lee Scupper”, and “Mark Twain”.

The three names are nautical puns: the first for dense wood, the second for a drain and the third for shallow depth. Clemens took a liking to the latter, adapted it and invented the Captain Sellers story later in order to promote his burgeoning series of riverboat writings. Though MacDonnell’s theory may undercut Twain’s self-romanticisation, it reveals his cunning in developing an authorial brand. Of all Twain’s tall tales the history of his name may be the tallest.

Kevin MacDonnell’s discovery is published in Volume 50 of the Mark Twain Journal. Reported in the Los Angeles Review of Books by Daniel Hernandez.

Leave a comment

Please note, comments need to be approved before they are published.

• Choosing a selection results in a full page refresh.
• Opens in a new window.

Lit. Summaries

• Biographies

Uncovering the Depths of Mark Twain’s Life on the Mississippi: A Literary Analysis

Mark Twain’s Life on the Mississippi is a classic work of American literature that explores the author’s experiences as a steamboat pilot on the Mississippi River. However, there is much more to this book than meets the eye. Through a literary analysis of Twain’s writing, we can uncover the deeper themes and meanings behind his work, as well as gain a better understanding of the man behind the pen. From his commentary on race and class to his reflections on the changing landscape of America, Life on the Mississippi is a rich and complex text that continues to captivate readers today.

The Mississippi River in Mark Twain’s Life and Writing

Mark Twain’s life and writing were deeply intertwined with the Mississippi River. Growing up in Hannibal, Missouri, Twain spent much of his childhood playing along the riverbanks and watching the steamboats pass by. As he grew older, he worked as a steamboat pilot on the Mississippi, gaining firsthand knowledge of the river’s twists and turns. This experience would later inform his writing, as he wrote vivid descriptions of the river and its surroundings in works such as “Life on the Mississippi” and “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.” The Mississippi River was not just a setting for Twain’s stories, but a character in its own right, representing both the freedom and danger of life on the frontier. Through his writing, Twain captured the essence of the Mississippi River and its impact on American culture and history.

Twain’s Childhood on the Mississippi

Mark Twain’s childhood on the Mississippi River was a formative experience that would shape his writing for years to come. Born Samuel Langhorne Clemens in 1835, Twain grew up in Hannibal, Missouri, a small town on the banks of the Mississippi. As a boy, he spent countless hours exploring the river and its surrounding wilderness, developing a deep love and respect for the natural world.

Twain’s experiences on the Mississippi also exposed him to the harsh realities of life in the antebellum South. He witnessed the horrors of slavery firsthand, as well as the poverty and inequality that plagued many of the region’s inhabitants. These experiences would later inform his writing, as he used his platform to critique the social and political injustices of his time.

Despite the challenges he faced, Twain’s childhood on the Mississippi was also filled with adventure and excitement. He and his friends would often sneak aboard steamboats and explore the river, living out their own versions of the stories they had read in books. These experiences would later inspire some of Twain’s most beloved works, including The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

Overall, Twain’s childhood on the Mississippi was a complex and multifaceted experience that would shape his writing and worldview for years to come. By exploring the depths of this period in his life, we can gain a deeper understanding of the man behind some of America’s most iconic literary works.

Twain’s Career as a Riverboat Pilot

Mark Twain’s career as a riverboat pilot was a significant part of his life and greatly influenced his writing. Twain began his career as a pilot in 1857 and spent four years navigating the Mississippi River. He became an expert in reading the river’s currents, sandbars, and hazards, which allowed him to safely navigate the steamboats through treacherous waters. This experience provided Twain with a wealth of knowledge about life on the river, which he later incorporated into his writing. His most famous work, “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” is set on the Mississippi River and features vivid descriptions of the river and its surroundings. Twain’s career as a riverboat pilot not only provided him with material for his writing but also gave him a unique perspective on life in the South, which he would later use to critique the region’s social and political issues.

The Impact of the Civil War on Twain’s Life and Writing

The Civil War had a profound impact on Mark Twain’s life and writing. Twain, who was born in 1835, was in his late twenties when the war broke out in 1861. He initially sided with the Confederacy, but later changed his mind and became a staunch supporter of the Union. This change in allegiance had a significant impact on his writing, as he began to use his platform to criticize the South and slavery.

Twain’s experiences during the war also influenced his writing. He served briefly in the Confederate army before deserting and fleeing to Nevada, where he worked as a miner and journalist. These experiences gave him a firsthand understanding of the brutality and chaos of war, which he would later incorporate into his writing.

Perhaps the most significant impact of the Civil War on Twain’s writing was the way it shaped his views on race and social justice. Twain was deeply troubled by the legacy of slavery and the ongoing oppression of African Americans in the post-war South. He used his writing to challenge these injustices, often through the use of satire and humor.

Overall, the Civil War was a pivotal moment in Mark Twain’s life and career. It forced him to confront his own beliefs and values, and inspired him to use his writing as a tool for social change.

Twain’s Literary Inspiration from the Mississippi River

Mark Twain’s love for the Mississippi River is evident in his literary works. The river served as a source of inspiration for Twain, who spent his childhood near its banks. He once said, “The Mississippi River will always have its own way; no engineering skill can persuade it to do otherwise.” This quote reflects Twain’s fascination with the river’s power and unpredictability.

In his most famous work, “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” the Mississippi River plays a central role in the story. The river serves as a symbol of freedom for the main character, Huck, who escapes from his abusive father and embarks on a journey down the river with his friend Jim, a runaway slave. The river represents a path to a better life for both characters, as they seek to escape the constraints of society and find their own way in the world.

Twain’s experiences on the Mississippi River also influenced his writing style. He was known for his use of regional dialects and colloquial language, which he picked up from the people he encountered on the river. This style of writing helped to create a sense of authenticity in his works, as he captured the unique voices and perspectives of the people who lived along the river.

Overall, the Mississippi River played a significant role in shaping Mark Twain’s literary career. His love for the river and the people who lived along its banks is evident in his works, which continue to be celebrated for their humor, insight, and authenticity.

The Role of Race in Twain’s Mississippi Writings

Mark Twain’s Mississippi writings are often praised for their vivid depictions of life on the river, but they also offer a complex exploration of race relations in the antebellum South. Twain’s own experiences as a steamboat pilot and his observations of the people and customs along the river inform his portrayal of black and white characters in works such as Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Life on the Mississippi. While some critics have accused Twain of perpetuating racist stereotypes, others argue that his use of dialect and satire exposes the hypocrisy and cruelty of slavery and racism. Ultimately, Twain’s Mississippi writings offer a nuanced and challenging perspective on the role of race in American history and literature.

The Mississippi River as a Symbol in Twain’s Works

The Mississippi River is a recurring symbol in Mark Twain’s works, serving as a metaphor for the journey of life and the search for freedom. In “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” the river represents a path to freedom for Huck and Jim, who are both seeking to escape the constraints of society. The river also serves as a symbol of the natural world, which is often contrasted with the artificiality of civilization. Twain’s use of the Mississippi River as a symbol reflects his own experiences growing up in the river town of Hannibal, Missouri, and his deep connection to the river and its culture. Through his writing, Twain invites readers to explore the depths of the Mississippi River and the complexities of life on its banks.

Twain’s Critique of Society through the Mississippi River

Mark Twain’s Life on the Mississippi is a literary masterpiece that not only captures the essence of the Mississippi River but also serves as a critique of society. Through the eyes of the protagonist, Twain exposes the flaws and injustices of the society of his time. The Mississippi River serves as a metaphor for the society, and the journey down the river represents the journey of life. Twain’s critique of society is evident in the way he portrays the characters and their actions. He exposes the hypocrisy of the upper class, the greed of the businessmen, and the ignorance of the masses. Twain’s Life on the Mississippi is a powerful commentary on the society of his time and a timeless masterpiece that continues to resonate with readers today.

Twain’s Relationship with the Mississippi River

Mark Twain’s relationship with the Mississippi River was a significant aspect of his life and literary works. Growing up in Hannibal, Missouri, Twain was exposed to the river at a young age and developed a deep connection with it. He worked as a steamboat pilot on the Mississippi for several years, which provided him with firsthand experience and knowledge of the river’s intricacies. This experience would later serve as inspiration for his most famous novel, “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” which follows the journey of a young boy and a runaway slave down the Mississippi River. Twain’s love for the river is evident in his writing, as he often describes it in vivid detail and uses it as a symbol for freedom and adventure. The Mississippi River played a significant role in shaping Twain’s life and literary career, and its influence can be seen throughout his works.

The Significance of Twain’s Mississippi Writings in American Literature

Mark Twain’s Mississippi writings hold a significant place in American literature. They not only capture the essence of life on the Mississippi River but also provide a commentary on the social and political issues of the time. Twain’s works, such as “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” and “Life on the Mississippi,” have become classics and continue to be studied and analyzed by scholars and readers alike. Through his vivid descriptions and use of dialect, Twain brings to life the people and places of the Mississippi River, creating a sense of nostalgia and longing for a simpler time. Additionally, his portrayal of race relations and the hypocrisy of society in the South during the 19th century remains relevant and thought-provoking today. Twain’s Mississippi writings are a testament to his skill as a writer and his ability to capture the complexities of American life.

Twain’s Use of Humor in Depicting the Mississippi River

Mark Twain’s literary masterpiece, “Life on the Mississippi,” is a humorous and insightful portrayal of the Mississippi River and the people who lived and worked along its banks. Twain’s use of humor is particularly effective in depicting the river, as it allows him to both celebrate its beauty and expose its flaws. Through his witty observations and clever anecdotes, Twain captures the essence of life on the Mississippi and the unique culture that developed along its shores. Whether he is describing the antics of the riverboat pilots or the idiosyncrasies of the townspeople, Twain’s humor adds depth and richness to his portrayal of this iconic American waterway.

The Influence of Twain’s Mississippi Writings on Popular Culture

Mark Twain’s Mississippi writings have had a profound impact on popular culture. From literature to film, Twain’s stories have been adapted and reimagined countless times. One of the most famous adaptations is the 1949 film “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” which starred child actor Mickey Rooney as Huck. The film was a box office success and helped to cement Twain’s place in American popular culture. Other adaptations include the 1993 Disney film “The Adventures of Huck Finn” and the 2013 film “The Mark Twain Prize: Celebrating the Humor of Mark Twain.” Twain’s influence can also be seen in music, with artists such as Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash drawing inspiration from his works. Overall, Twain’s Mississippi writings continue to captivate and inspire audiences across generations.

Twain’s Legacy on the Mississippi River

Mark Twain’s legacy on the Mississippi River is one that has endured for over a century. His writings, particularly his most famous work, “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” have become synonymous with the river and its culture. Twain’s ability to capture the essence of life on the Mississippi has made him a literary icon, and his influence can still be felt today. From his vivid descriptions of the river and its surroundings to his portrayal of the people who lived and worked on its banks, Twain’s legacy on the Mississippi River is one that will continue to inspire and captivate readers for generations to come.

The Importance of the Mississippi River in American History and Culture

The Mississippi River has played a significant role in American history and culture. It has been a vital transportation route for goods and people, a source of inspiration for artists and writers, and a symbol of the nation’s growth and expansion. Mark Twain, one of America’s most celebrated writers, was deeply influenced by the Mississippi River. His experiences as a steamboat pilot on the river provided him with a wealth of material for his literary works, including his most famous novel, “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.” In this article, we will explore the importance of the Mississippi River in American history and culture, and how it shaped the life and work of Mark Twain.

Twain’s Impact on Environmental Awareness through the Mississippi River

Mark Twain’s impact on environmental awareness through the Mississippi River cannot be overstated. In his literary works, Twain often depicted the river as a living entity, with its own personality and moods. He also highlighted the impact of human activities on the river and its ecosystem. Through his writing, Twain raised awareness about the importance of preserving the natural beauty and resources of the Mississippi River. His works continue to inspire environmentalists and nature lovers to this day.

The Mississippi River as a Character in Twain’s Works

The Mississippi River is not just a setting in Mark Twain’s works, but a character in its own right. Twain’s personal experiences as a steamboat pilot on the river undoubtedly influenced his writing, and he often used the river as a symbol for freedom, adventure, and the passage of time. In Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, the river serves as a means of escape for Huck and Jim, and represents their journey towards freedom and independence. In Life on the Mississippi, Twain describes the river as a living, breathing entity that has a personality and a will of its own. The Mississippi River is a constant presence in Twain’s works, and its significance cannot be overstated.

Twain’s Exploration of the Human Condition through the Mississippi River

Mark Twain’s exploration of the human condition through the Mississippi River is a central theme in his literary works. The river serves as a metaphor for life, with its twists and turns, highs and lows, and the constant flow of change. Twain’s characters, such as Huck Finn and Jim, navigate the river and encounter various challenges and obstacles that reflect the complexities of human existence. Through their experiences, Twain highlights the themes of freedom, morality, and the search for identity. The Mississippi River becomes a symbol of the journey of life, with its unpredictable nature and the need for resilience and adaptability. Twain’s exploration of the human condition through the Mississippi River is a testament to his literary genius and his ability to capture the essence of the human experience.

The Mississippi River as a Metaphor in Twain’s Writings

Mark Twain’s writings are often associated with the Mississippi River, which serves as a metaphor for various themes and ideas in his works. The river, which runs through Twain’s hometown of Hannibal, Missouri, is a symbol of freedom, adventure, and the American spirit. In his most famous work, “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” the river represents a journey towards freedom and self-discovery for the protagonist, Huck. As Huck and Jim float down the river, they encounter various obstacles and challenges, but ultimately find a sense of liberation from the constraints of society. The river also serves as a metaphor for the passage of time and the inevitability of change. In “Life on the Mississippi,” Twain reflects on his own experiences as a steamboat pilot and the changes he witnessed along the river over the years. Through his use of the Mississippi River as a metaphor, Twain captures the essence of American life and the complexities of the human experience.

American South

A Smithsonian magazine special report

How the Mississippi River Made Mark Twain… And Vice Versa

No novelist captured the muddy waterway and its people like the creator of Huckleberry Finn, as a journey along the river makes clear

David Carkeet

Josh. Rambler. Soleather. Sergeant Fathom. Thomas Jefferson Snod­grass. W. Epaminondas Adrastus Blab. A Son of Adam.

I ran through the names in my head as I devoured dry-rub barbecue and piled up napkins at Memphis’ bustling Rendezvous. The restaurant’s slogan—“Not since Adam has a rib been this famous”—had reminded me of Mark Twain’s fondness for comic allusions to Adam, to the extent that he based an early pen name on him. But “A Son of Adam,” along with “Josh” and “Rambler” and his other experiments, belonged to an amateur, a man who occasionally wrote while otherwise employed as a printer, steamboat pilot and miner. Not until he became a full-time journalist, far from the river, in the alkali dust of the Nevada Territory, did he settle on “Mark Twain.”

You work up a hunger walking half the length of the Mississippi—even along a virtual version of the river. I had come to the Rendezvous from the Riverwalk on Mud Island near downtown Memphis—a gurgling scale model of the lower half of the Mississippi from its confluence with the Ohio all the way to the Gulf. The Riverwalk affords an outdoor stroll that covers 1,000 miles on a scale of one step to the mile. A mockingbird kept me company as I sauntered on the buff-colored concrete mosaic and watched kids tumble over the elevation intervals layered on the model’s riverbank, rising from the channel like a stairway of stacked pancakes. What would Samuel Clemens have made of the Riverwalk? He was a grown child who readily took a God’s-eye view of life on earth. He would have loved it.

All that the model lacked was the highway running the Mississippi’s length—the Great River Road, my home for the next several days. My guiding star would be the signs with the pilot-wheel logo that beckons all who are willing to suspend time and turn off the GPS. The Great River Road is a map line drawn in many inks, consisting of federal, state, county and town roads, and even, it sometimes seems, private drives. In Illinois alone, it comprises 29 different roads and highways. Touted as a “scenic byway,” it is often not scenic and occasionally a thruway. But it is a unique way to sample this country’s present and past; its rich, its formerly rich and everyone else; its Indian mounds and Army forts; its wildlife from tundra swans to alligators; and its ceaseless engines of commerce.

One of which was the steamboat—indigenous, glorious and preposterous.

Indigenous. Europe had nothing like it. Charles Dickens, who in 1842 rode three different steamboats down the Ohio and up to St. Louis and back again, had the vocabulary knocked out of him when he first saw one. In American Notes , he writes that they were “foreign to all the ideas we are accustomed to entertain of boats. I hardly know what to liken them to, or how to describe them.” Lacking any “boat-like gear,” they looked as if they were built “to perform some unknown service, high and dry, upon a mountaintop.”

Glorious. They were “floating palaces,” and their tiers and filigrees made them “as beautiful as a wedding cake but without the complications,” as Mark Twain did not say. And they transformed the movement of people and goods on the river, formerly limited to flatboats and keelboats borne by the current, which were destroyed for scrap wood at the river’s mouth or laboriously pulled and poled back upriver. Nicholas Roosevelt (great-grand-uncle of Teddy) introduced the steamboat to the Mississippi when he steered the New Orleans into the river from the Ohio in 1811. During his journey, when he had occasion to turn the boat around and steam upriver, onlookers gaped and cheered.

Preposterous. You can heat an average New England house for an entire winter on four or five cords of wood; the larger steamboats in mid-century burned 50 to 75 cords of wood in one day. And thanks to commercial greed, frontier recklessness and the lust for showboating speed, steamboats were mayflies of mortality. In 1849, of the 572 steamboats operating on the Western rivers, only 22 were more than five years old. The others? Gone to a watery grave from snags, logs, bars, collisions, fires and boiler explosions. Smokestacks discharging the exhaust of open furnaces belched cinders onto wooden decks and cargoes of cotton, hay and turpentine. The most calamitous blows came from boiler explosions, which hurled boat fragments and bodies hundreds of feet into the air. When they didn’t land back on the boat or in the water, victims flew clear to shore and crashed through roofs or, in the words of one contemporary account, “shot like cannonballs through the solid walls of houses.”

Memphis saw the aftermath of many river tragedies. Mark Twain sadly chronicles one in Life on the Mississippi , his river memoir that treats his four years of steamboat piloting before the Civil War. In 1858, Sam, still a “cub” or apprentice pilot, encouraged his younger brother, Henry—sweet-tempered and cherished by the family—to take a job as an assistant clerk on the Pennsylvania , Sam’s boat at the time. On the way to New Orleans, the abusive pilot, under whom Sam had already been chafing for several trips, went too far and attacked Henry. Sam intervened, and the two pilots scuffled. Sam was forced to find a different boat for the upriver return, but Henry remained on the Pennsylvania . Two days behind his brother on the river, Sam received the awful news of a boiler explosion on the Pennsylvania . Henry, fatally injured, was taken to a makeshift hospital up the river in Memphis. When Sam reached his bedside, the sheer pathos of the meeting moved a newspaper reporter to single out the pair of brothers by name. The sympathetic citizens of Memphis—which Clemens would later call “the Good Samaritan City of the Mississippi”—worried that Sam was unhinged by grief and sent a companion to accompany him when he took Henry’s body north to St. Louis.

Fortunately I had no need of the ministrations of the city, though I did find myself delighted to receive many a “sir,” “my man” and “my friend.” An encounter with a stranger on an isolated street in Memphis seemed to call for a nod or greeting, not the averted gaze of a Northern city. Such is the South. But so is this: On my way to my car to head north, I swung through Confederate Park, which sits on the bluff from which Memphians watched the Southern river fleet lose the battle for the city in 1862, and I wandered over to a bronze statue that had caught my eye. It was Jefferson Davis. Etched into the granite base: “He was a true American patriot.” A Yankee leaves a tribute like that scratching his head.

The Great River Road often hugs the river for miles; at other times it seeks high ground. In the Kentucky stretch, to see the river you must take a side trip, say, to the Columbus-Belmont State Park, peaceful now but not always—some of its gentle hills are trench walls from the war. In December of 1861, Ulysses S. Grant, based just up the river in Cairo, Illinois, led 3,000 Federals in a harassing attack here, not on the dug-in Confederate force on the bluff but against a smaller encampment on the Missouri side of the river. The long day of advance and retreat, essentially a draw, included several close calls for the Union brigade commander. Looming over the site is a Confederate cannon, unearthed by a local historian 16 years ago from under 42 feet of soil.

The river has a long history of diggers and salvagers. A few miles up the road, another side trip delivers you to Wickliffe Mounds, site of one of the many Mississippian culture villages along the river. This one dates from circa 1100 to 1350 and was first excavated in the 1930s by a Kentucky lumber magnate and devoted amateur archaeologist, Fain King, who created a tourist attraction that presented the exposed bones of Native Americans as objects of curiosity. But, more important, they are the remains of venerable ancestors, as Congress declared in the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act of 1990. This requires that disposition of native skeletal remains be transferred to tribal descendants or, if unknown, to a tribe best representing them. The “Ancient Buried City” skeletons were ceremonially reinterred by members of the Chickasaw Nation, and the mounds were restored to their original form.

I drove on to St. Louis to meet Kris Zapalac, an energetic historian and preservationist—and debunker. Don’t be surprised if her first words to you address misconceptions she suspects you are laboring under. She might warn you to be suspicious of memorials: “Just because there’s a tunnel somewhere doesn’t mean it was part of the Underground Railroad.” Or she might tell you that slaves escaping to freedom weren’t invariably helped by outsiders, white or otherwise: “People are always looking for a Harriet Tubman.”

Kris picked me up outside the city’s Old Courthouse, where I had spent the morning studying the comprehensive Dred Scott display. Driving north on Broadway, she pointed to the 1874 Eads Bridge, for which she had managed to find a railing design that met code requirements and also closely matched the original. James B. Eads—“B” for Buchanan, but it should stand for “Brainstorm”—was a dynamo of ingenuity. He devised ironclad gunboats for the Union, created the navigation channel for deep-water ships at the mouth of the Mississippi and—my personal favorite—invented a diving bell. Like Henry Clemens, Eads began his river career as an assistant clerk, and as he watched steamboats all around him go down, he saw money to be made from reclaiming their cargo and fittings. He invented a contraption that for years only he was willing to use, and no wonder. It was a 40-gallon whiskey barrel with one end removed and the other linked to a boat by a supporting cable and an air hose. Once he was installed in it, the barrel would be submerged, open end first to capture the air (imagine an inverted glass in a full dish tub). At the bottom, he would wander the underwater terrain, fighting the current and the dismal murk in search of treasure. Eads should have died many times. Instead, he established himself as a pioneering, if somewhat zany, engineer.

Four miles north of the St. Louis Arch, Kris and I arrived at our destination—an Underground Railroad site she had discovered. Here, in 1855, a small group of slaves attempted to cross the river to Illinois, among them a woman named Esther and her two children. However, authorities lay in wait for them on the Illinois riverbank. A few slaves escaped, but most were apprehended, among them Esther, who was owned by Henry Shaw—a name known to all St. Louisans for the vast botanical garden he developed and bequeathed to the city. To punish Esther for the attempt, Shaw sold her down the river, separating her from her two children. Kris, working from newspaper accounts and receipts of slave sales, put the facts together and arrived at the likely spot on the river where the skiff had cast off. In 2001, the site was recognized by the National Park Service’s Underground Railroad Network to Freedom.

At the crossing, I tried to imagine the silent nighttime boarding and departure and the bitter disappointment across the river. Because of the 1850 Fugitive Slave Act requiring citizens of free states to aid in the capture of freedom seekers, Illinois represented not freedom to a slave but rather a different kind of danger. I thought of Mark Twain’s Jim in Adventures of Huckleberry Finn , hiding on the island to avoid the fate ultimately dealt to Esther. Meanwhile, Huck, disguised as a girl, learns from an otherwise kindly Illinois woman that she suspects a runaway slave is camped on the island and that she has alerted her husband, who is about to head out to capture him. That scene leads to the most famous use of the first-person plural pronoun in literature: Huck dashes back to the island, awakens Jim, and instinctively signs on to his struggle with the words, “They’re after us.”

Kris and I stepped into the nearby information center housed in a square metal former Coast Guard building and were welcomed by a lively, loquacious host. Kris hadn’t been to the site in a while, and when our host learned that she was the one who had discovered the facts of the crossing, he beamed and high-fived her and included me as well, though entirely undeserving. He said to her, “You’re a great lady. You’re a great lady.” Kris shook her head. “I’m a historian,” she said.

I left Kris to her current project—researching hundreds of freedom suits filed by slaves in Missouri courts—and drove up the Missouri segment of the Great River Road known as the Little Dixie Highway. I passed through the small town of Louisiana, where young Sam Clemens was put ashore after being found stowed away on a steamboat from Hannibal, 30 miles up the river. He was 7 years old. I thought about the difference between the boy who had grown up in Hannibal in the 1840s and ’50s and the Mark Twain who had written the island scene in Huckleberry Finn . I had recently read Searching for Jim: Slavery in Sam Clemens’s World , a book by Terrell Dempsey, a former Hannibalian now living not far from that town in Quincy, Illinois. Dempsey had long doubted that Hannibal’s full slave history had been properly told, and he and his wife, Vicki—an attorney like himself—began to spend evenings and weekends spooling through the local newspaper archive.

To read Searching for Jim is to understand the racist cruelty of the society in which Clemens grew up—the grinding labor that was the slaves’ daily lot; the beatings they endured, sometimes to the point of death; the white citizens’ loathing for abolitionists and free blacks; the racist jokes passed from one newspaper to another, some of which young Sam, as an apprentice printer, set in type. The Clemens household kept slaves, and Sam’s father sat on a jury that sent three abolitionists to prison for 12 years. To reread Mark Twain with a fuller sense of that world is to appreciate the long moral journey he had to make in order to—like Huck—sign on to Jim’s struggle.

I met Terrell and Vicki in their home in Quincy—an 1889 Queen Anne, one of dozens of enviable Victorian homes in the town’s East End Historic District. Terrell proposed a boat ride despite threatening weather. We drove to the dock on Quinsippi Island, unwrapped their modest pontoon boat and headed out. We passed close by a tow pushing nine covered barges and speculated about their contents. Three of the barges rode high in the water—empties, Terrell explained to his landlubber guest.

We talked about Clemens’ early environment and what he wrote—and didn’t write—about it. I mentioned something that had struck me in my recent rereading of Life on the Mississippi , a book not just about Clemens’ piloting years but also—the bulk of it, in fact—about life on the river when he revisited it in 1882. Slaves were a constant presence on antebellum steamboats, both as forced laborers on the deck and in chained droves being taken downriver. Yet there is no mention of them on the boats in the memoir portion, nor is there reflection on their absence in 1882.

Terrell, a bluff fellow, said, “He didn’t want to remind people where he came from.”

As the hum of the outboard stirred large carp into the air (but not into the boat), we talked of other omissions and shadings in Mark Twain’s works. A memoir by a piloting colleague of Clemens’ tells of how they both avoided being drafted as Union pilots in the summer of 1861 when the general in the St. Louis office who was about to complete the paperwork became distracted by some pretty women in the hall and stepped out the door. This allowed the near-conscripts to desert via a different door. It’s a perfect Mark Twain story that Mark Twain never told.

Vicki, huddling against the wind off the river, said, “He also never wrote about defrauding the abolitionist society.”

This was a curious episode uncovered by literary scholar Robert Sattelmeyer and then skillfully sleuthed by him. The Boston Vigilance Committee was an abolitionist group that rendered financial support to fugitive slaves and occasionally put its funds to other uses. For example, if someone wrote to the society from, say, Missouri, that he needed financial help to go to, say, Boston, the committee might very well respond with cash if the circumstances were right—as they seemed to be in this case, according to a September 1854 entry in the treasurer’s ledger book: $24.50 paid to one “Samuel Clemens” for “passage from Missouri Penitentiary to Boston—he having been imprisoned there two years for aiding Fugitives to escape.” Sattelmeyer established that only one Samuel Clemens lived in Missouri in this period and that no Samuel Clemens had served in the state penitentiary. The explanation must be that young Sam, like his later creation Tom Sawyer, enjoyed a good joke at others’ expense, and what better dupes to hoodwink than those meddling abolitionists?

Why would Clemens do such a thing? Because he was an 18-year-old who had grown up in a slave state. A little over a decade later, he would woo Olivia Langdon of Elmira, New York, daughter of an abolitionist not just in theory but in practice: Her father, Jervis Langdon, helped fund the work of John W. Jones, a former slave and Underground Railroad conductor who aided hundreds of escaped slaves on their flight north. I wondered aloud, there on the boat, if Clemens’ anti-abolitionist prank ever made it into the Elmira dinner table conversation during his two-year courtship.

“Doubtful,” said Terrell. He revved the outboard, looked back at the carp leaping in our wake, and grinned. “That really pisses them off,” he said.

The next day I visited Hannibal, a town that will always feel as small as it was when Clemens grew up, bounded as it is by a bluff on its north side, another bluff just 12 blocks to the south, and the river to the east. I was curious about changes in the Mark Twain Boyhood Home and Museum, which I hadn’t visited for two decades. The concise narrative in the museum’s “interpretive center” (completed in 2005) presented Clemens’ early life without overload. Mercifully free of the looping banjo and fiddle music that had dogged me through other river museums, the room was silent save for a single whispered comment I heard from one museumgoer to another, “I didn’t know he was so poor.”

I was happy to see a large photograph of Sam’s older brother Orion in the interpretive center, looking more distinguished than his reputation. Orion was a bumbler with a disastrous career record, but he was earnest and good-hearted. Sam, in adulthood, showed an anger toward him that had always seemed excessive to me. Now, looking at the portrait on the heels of that one overheard comment, I wondered if Sam’s anger could have gone back to the fact that when he was just 11 and his father died, poverty forced his mother to remove him from school and apprentice him to a stern local printer, and this would not have been the case if Orion, ten years his senior, hadn’t been an incompetent from birth and had been able to provide for the family.

I next went to the boyhood home, sliced down one side from front to back like a dollhouse, its three rooms on each of its two levels protected by glass but still allowing an intimate view. A high-school boy behind me, upon bursting into the parlor from the gift shop, said to himself, with feeling, “This is sweet!” The home was working its magic on him. On the wooden floor of the kitchen lay a thin rug with a sign explaining that a slave would have slept here, rising early to light the fire for the household. This pallet was installed at the suggestion of Terrell Dempsey, who has agitated over the years for the museum to give more attention to slavery. Before him, in the 1990s, Mark Twain scholar Shelley Fisher Fishkin made a similar appeal, and the museum indeed now does the subject justice.

After my tour, I sought out the museum’s executive director, Cindy Lovell. While I was in her office, curator Henry Sweets looked in on us long enough to hear me express delight in the exhibits before he hurried off to attend to his many duties, as he has done since 1978. The two of them are Twainiacs even beyond what you would expect from their positions. Cindy, speaking of other curators and scholars, will say, “He’s a geek for Twain,” and “She’s got the bug” and “She gets it.” Or the death sentence: “He gets things wrong.” Don’t try to quote Mark Twain in her presence. She will finish the quotation—with corrections—and extend it beyond your intentions.

Cindy gave me a director’s-eye view of Twain World—a place with at least five headquarters (in addition to Hannibal: Berkeley, California; Hartford, Connecticut; Elmira, New York; and his birthplace in nearby Florida, Missouri). “They’re wonderful people,” she said. “It’s a great community.” Unfortunately, though, Clemens’ artifacts are spread hither and yon. A 12-foot mirror from his Fifth Avenue New York apartment is in a Dubuque river museum. “It’s crazy!” she said. “They’re all over the place. Florida has the family carriage!” The carriage properly belonged in Hartford, where it had seen regular use by Sam, Olivia and their three daughters, not in the Missouri burg Sammy had left at age 3. I imagined a coordinated multi-party swap happening, like a kidney exchange, where each museum received the goods that suited it.

At Cindy’s suggestion, we repaired in my rental car to two Twain geek haunts—the Mount Olivet Cemetery, where many Clemenses repose (father, mother and brothers Henry and Orion; as for Sam, Olivia and their children, they are all buried in Elmira), and then the Baptist cemetery, where Tom Sawyer read “Sacred to the Memory of So-and-so,” painted on the boards above the graves, and you can read it now on the tombstones that have replaced them. Here, before Tom’s and Huck’s terrified eyes, Injun Joe murdered Dr. Robinson. Cindy told me of her fondness for bringing school-age writers to the cemetery at night and reading that passage to them by candlelight. They huddle close. (Alas, no more. As if to demonstrate the comity in Twain World, not long after my visit, Cindy became executive director of the Mark Twain House & Museum in Hartford.)

It’s a big river, as they say, and I had to move on. Comedian Buddy Hackett once said that words with a “k” in them are funny. By this measure Keo­kuk is overqualified. Orion moved to this Iowa river town just across the border from Missouri, and although he characteristically struggled as a newspaper editor, he succeeded in becoming an opponent of slavery, much to the chagrin of young Sam.

I stayed at a B&B on Keokuk’s Grand Avenue, well named for the view of the river the broad street commands from the bluff. In the morning, two bright-eyed, white-shirted couples joined me at the breakfast table. They said they were from Salt Lake City, I said I was from Vermont, and we agreed not to discuss politics. Each couple had a son “on mission,” one in Russia, the other in New Caledonia, and the four of them were on a weeklong pilgrimage along the Mormon Pioneer Trail that traces the migration of the faith’s persecuted forebears from western Missouri east to Illinois, then west again, finally to Utah. They asked about my travels, and I mentioned Mark Twain. One of the men, with an ambiguous smile, said that Mark Twain had written that the Book of Mormon was “a cure for insomnia.” (Actually, “chloro-form in print,” which I didn’t recall at the table. Where was Cindy when I needed her?)

I wanted to ask about their pilgrimage, but I hung fire on the phrasing. “Do all Mormons do this?” would sound as if I saw them as a herd. My every thought seemed rooted in stereotype. The sole coffee drinker at the table, I felt like an alcoholic with each sip. When one of the men checked something on his iPad, I thought, “Hmm, so Mormons are allowed to use iPads.” We parted on the friendliest of terms, but I felt the gulf of a vast difference, created mainly by my ignorance.

I drove north on Grand Avenue, passing homes in a range of styles—Queen Anne, Dutch Colonial Revival, Gothic Revival and Prairie School—all in a six-block stretch. But these piles, unlike the Quincy houses I had admired, did not suggest a neighborhood as much as isolated testaments to an earlier prosperity. The road dropped down, wound along the river and then delivered me without fanfare into the tranquil village of Montrose, with churches sized to match its population. Just to the north, I happened upon one of the reasons the B&B pilgrims had come here. Across the river in Nauvoo, Illinois, beginning in 1839, Mormon settlers cleared swamps and established a town that swiftly grew into the largest in the state. The surrounding communities, threatened by the Mormons’ beliefs—and their success—murdered leader Joseph Smith in 1844, and in 1846 they began to drive the Mormons out of the area. The first to flee crossed the river on ice in February, though many perished, and, at the site where I now stood, the survivors huddled and looked back on the temple and the town they had lost. On the trip so far I had passed several crossings along routes once traveled by Native Americans being forcibly relocated to Indian Territory. This place too, I thought, is a Trail of Tears. I looked down the road, hoping that my B&B pilgrims might come while I was there so that we could become reacquainted on their turf, but the timing wasn’t right.

Onward. The 250-mile Wisconsin segment of the Great River Road recently won a “Most Beautiful Road Trip” survey conducted by the Huffington Post , beating out Hawaii’s Hana Highway and California’s Big Sur Coast Highway. I needed to see it for myself. The next day, I headed out from Dubuque before dawn, crossed into Wisconsin and panicked when the highway seemed to take me at right angles away from the river. But the pilot-wheel signs reassured me and steered me through rolling farmland back to the river. The landscape began to feel different from what I had experienced so far, and I knew why: I was in “the driftless area.” The most recent glacial period in North America, the Wisconsin Glaciation, spared this part of the river basin for reasons “that are poorly understood,” especially by me. “Drift” is the deposit left behind by a glacier (thus the name), but what most distinguishes the terrain is its unscoured range of towering bluffs along the river. These begin to appear about 50 miles north of Dubuque.

The bluffs are one of two surprises in the driftless area. The other is that the river sometimes becomes a lake. Locks and dams are often the cause, flooding upriver sloughs and bottomlands. But Lake Pepin, 21 miles long and so wide that the sight of it is initially disorienting, has a natural origin. At its southern end, Wisconsin’s Chippewa River flows on a steep gradient that delivers massive amounts of sediment into the Mississippi. Over the centuries, the encroaching deposit created a “delta dam,” backing the Mississippi up until it flooded to the bases of the confining bluffs.

Not far from Lake Pepin, I came across a sign for Maiden Rock. The “historical” marker told the tired story of the Indian maiden forcibly betrothed to a brave who was not the brave she loved, the tale climaxing in her despondent plunge to the rocks below. Winona was the maiden’s name, and the cliff looming over me was perfect for the job. Clemens passed by here in 1882—new territory for him, having plied the St. Louis-New Orleans line—and in Life on the Mississippi he tells the tale of Maiden Rock, not in his language but in the inflated style of a professional tour guide who has happened onto the steamboat. In the guide’s version, however, Winona lands on her matchmaking parents, who are gazing upward from below, wondering what their daughter is up to. The impact kills the couple while cushioning Winona’s fall, and she is now free to marry whomever she wishes. The unorthodox denouement, though ostensibly spoken by the humorless guide, is pure Mark Twain. What better way to blast a cliché to flinders?

At one point on the Wisconsin stretch I pulled over to watch a tow approach. I counted the barges: 15, three across and five long, the maximum on the upper river; south of St. Louis, up to 25 barges can be combined. Since the tow was going downriver, it was probably carrying corn or soybeans; upriver loads are more likely to be coal or steel. I watched the pilot navigate a tricky turn, although “tricky” is relative. In Clemens’ day, a pilot navigated by memory and skill at reading nuances in the river’s surface; today, buoys mark a channel 300 feet wide and nine feet deep. Still, it’s not easy. At a museum at the Alton, Illinois, lock and dam, I had entered a pretend pilothouse and bravely manned a panoramic simulator to pilot a tow along a digital St. Louis riverfront—a challenging stretch because of its many bridges with nonaligned pilings. In short order I crashed into the Eads Bridge, but mainly because I was distracted by the anachronistic Admiral I saw moored on the riverfront, a bygone restaurant boat where my wife once had some really bad fish. Later, outside the museum, I watched a northbound tow “lock through”; it rose 20 feet in just 30 minutes, thanks to massive inflow pipes that fill the lock, large enough to drive a truck through. Animals sometimes end up in the pipes—deer, pigs, cattle—and wash into the lock. No human bodies though—I asked. A nice first chapter for a mystery novel, I would think.

Satisfied that the Wisconsin Great River Road deserved its renown, I crossed to Red Wing, Minnesota, and turned around for the trip south.

“Do you love the river?” Terrell Dempsey had surprised me with this blunt question as he guided his pontoon boat toward the dock in Quincy. Before I could answer, his wife said, “We love the river” and then elaborated. As a young woman, Vicki interviewed for her first job in Louisiana, Missouri. Coming from St. Louis, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to live in such a small place until she got a view of the river from a vista above the town. “I’d never seen anything so beautiful,” she said. “I had to live there.” And they did. After a year, what seemed like a better job opportunity arose in Clinton, Missouri. “We hated it,” she said—because it was inland. They moved to Hannibal, to a house three blocks up Hill Street from the Clemens home, and they have lived on the Mississippi ever since.

I met many lovers of the river. An artist at the Applefest in Clarksville, Missouri, told me she had come there decades earlier “with a guy”—she said it in a way that foreshadowed the ending—and then she had happily stayed on “after the guy was long gone.”

In Dubuque, where I toured an old dredge boat called the William M. Black , the amiable guide, Robert Carroll, told me he grew up in Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin, to the grinding roar of dredge boats cleaning out the river channel. He spoke so authoritatively about the William M. Black that I had taken him for a former deckhand. But no—he had spent his adult life as a court reporter in landlocked Cedar Rapids. He moved to Dubuque after he retired. “I missed the river,” he said, though he didn’t have to—I knew it was coming. Carroll now spends his days happily introducing visitors to every rivet on a boat much like the one he heard as a boy.

Get the latest Travel & Culture stories in your inbox.

Mark Twain: His Life and His Humor

• Authors & Texts
• Top Picks Lists
• Study Guides
• Best Sellers
• Plays & Drama
• Shakespeare
• Short Stories
• Children's Books

• MLA, Harvard Graduate School of Design

Mark Twain, born Samuel Langhorne Clemens Nov. 30, 1835 in the small town of Florida, MO, and raised in Hannibal, became one of the greatest American authors of all time. Known for his sharp wit and pithy commentary on society, politics, and the human condition, his many essays and novels, including the American classic, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn , are a testament to his intelligence and insight. Using humor and satire to soften the edges of his keen observations and critiques, he revealed in his writing some of the injustices and absurdities of society and human existence, his own included. He was a humorist, writer, publisher, entrepreneur, lecturer, iconic celebrity (who always wore white at his lectures), political satirist, and social progressive .

He died on April 21, 1910 when Halley’s Comet was again visible in the night sky, as lore would have it, just as it had been when he was born 75 years earlier. Wryly and presciently, Twain had said, “I came in with Halley's Comet in 1835. It is coming again next year (1910), and I expect to go out with it. It will be the greatest disappointment of my life if I don't go out with Halley's Comet. The Almighty has said, no doubt: "Now here are these two unaccountable freaks; they came in together, they must go out together.”  Twain died of a heart attack one day after the Comet appeared its brightest in 1910.

A complex, idiosyncratic person, he never liked to be introduced by someone else when lecturing, preferring instead to introduce himself as he did when beginning the following lecture, “Our Fellow Savages of the Sandwich Islands” in 1866:

“Ladies and gentlemen: The next lecture in this course will be delivered this evening, by Samuel L. Clemens, a gentleman whose high character and unimpeachable integrity are only equalled by his comeliness of person and grace of manner. And I am the man! I was obliged to excuse the chairman from introducing me, because he never compliments anybody and I knew I could do it just as well.”

Twain was  a complicated mixture of southern boy and western ruffian striving to fit into elite Yankee culture. He wrote in his speech, Plymouth Rock and the Pilgrims,1881 :

“I am a border-ruffian from the State of Missouri. I am a Connecticut Yankee by adoption. In me, you have Missouri morals, Connecticut culture; this, gentlemen, is the combination which makes the perfect man.”

Growing up in Hannibal, Missouri had a lasting influence on Twain, and working as a steamboat captain for several years before the Civil War was one of his greatest pleasures. While riding the steamboat he would observe the many passengers, learning much about their character and affect. His time working as a miner and a journalist in Nevada and California during the 1860s introduced him to the rough and tumble ways of the west, which is where, Feb. 3, 1863, he first used the pen name, Mark Twain, when writing one of his humorous essays for the Virginia City Territorial Enterprise in Nevada.

Mark Twain was a riverboat term that means two fathoms, the point at which it is safe for the boat to navigate the waters. It seems that when Samuel Clemens adopted this pen name he also adopted another persona - a persona that represented the outspoken commoner, poking fun at the aristocrats in power, while Samuel Clemens, himself, strove to be one of them.

Twain got his first big break as a writer in 1865 with an article about life in a mining camp, called Jim Smiley and His Jumping Frog , also called The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County . It was very favorably received and printed in newspapers and magazines all over the country. From there he received other jobs, sent to Hawaii, and then to Europe and the Holy Land as a travel writer. Out of these travels he wrote the book, The Innocents Abroad , in 1869, which became a bestseller. His books and essays were generally so well-regarded that he started lecturing and promoting them, becoming popular both as a writer and a speaker.

When he married Olivia Langdon in 1870, he married into a wealthy family from Elmira, New York and moved east to Buffalo, NY and then to Hartford, CT where he collaborated with the Hartford Courant Publisher to co-write The Gilded Age, a satirical novel about greed and corruption among the wealthy after the Civil War. Ironically, this was also the society to which he aspired and gained entry. But Twain had his share of losses, too - loss of fortune investing in failed inventions (and failing to invest in successful ones such as Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone ), and the deaths of people he loved, such as his younger brother in a riverboat accident, for which he felt responsible, and several of his children and his beloved wife.

Although Twain survived, thrived, and made a living out of humor, his humor was borne out of sorrow, a complicated view of life, an understanding of life’s contradictions, cruelties, and absurdities.  As he once said, “ There is no laughter in heaven .” 

Mark Twain’s style of humor was wry, pointed, memorable, and delivered in a slow drawl. Twain’s humor carried on the tradition of humor of the Southwest, consisting of tall tales, myths, and frontier sketches, informed by his experiences growing up in Hannibal, MO, as a steamboat pilot on the Mississippi River, and as a gold miner and journalist in Nevada and California.

In 1863 Mark Twain attended in Nevada the lecture of Artemus Ward (pseudonym of Charles Farrar Browne,1834-1867), one of America’s best-known humorists of the 19th century. They became friends, and Twain learned much from him about how to make people laugh. Twain believed that how a story was told was what made it funny  - repetition, pauses, and an air of naivety.

In his essay How to Tell a Story Twain says, “There are several kinds of stories, but only one difficult kind—the humorous. I will talk mainly about that one.” He describes what makes a story funny, and what distinguishes the American story from that of the English or French; namely that the American story is humorous, the English is comic, and the French is witty.

He explains how they differ:

“The humorous story depends for its effect upon the manner of the telling; the comic story and the witty story upon the matter. The humorous story may be spun out to great length, and may wander around as much as it pleases, and arrive nowhere in particular; but the comic and witty stories must be brief and end with a point. The humorous story bubbles gently along, the others burst. The humorous story is strictly a work of art, — high and delicate art, — and only an artist can tell it; but no art is necessary in telling the comic and the witty story; anybody can do it. The art of telling a humorous story —- understand, I mean by word of mouth, not print — was created in America, and has remained at home.”

Other important characteristics of a good humorous story, according to Twain, include the following:

• A humorous story is told gravely, as though there is nothing funny about it.
• The story is told wanderingly and the point is “slurred.”
• A “studied remark” is made as if without even knowing it, “as if one were thinking aloud.”
• The pause: “The pause is an exceedingly important feature in any kind of story, and a frequently recurring feature, too. It is a dainty thing, and delicate, and also uncertain and treacherous; for it must be exactly the right length--no more and no less—or it fails of its purpose and makes trouble. If the pause is too short the impressive point is passed, and the audience have had time to divine that a surprise is intended—and then you can't surprise them, of course.”

Twain believed in telling a story in an understated way, almost as if he was letting his audience in on a secret. He cites a story, The Wounded Soldier , as an example and to explain the difference in the different manners of storytelling, explaining that:

 “The American would conceal the fact that he even dimly suspects that there is anything funny about it…. the American tells it in a ‘rambling and disjointed’ fashion and pretends that he does not know that it is funny at all,” whereas “The European ‘tells you beforehand that it is one of the funniest things he has ever heard, then tells it with eager delight, and is the first person to laugh when he gets through.” ….”All of which,” Mark Twain sadly comments, “is very depressing, and makes one want to renounce joking and lead a better life.”

Twain’s folksy, irreverent, understated style of humor, use of vernacular language, and seemingly forgetful rambling prose and strategic pauses drew his audience in, making them seem smarter than he. His intelligent satirical wit, impeccable timing, and ability to subtly poke fun at both himself and the elite made him accessible to a wide audience, and made him one of the most successful comedians of his time and one that has had a lasting influence on future comics and humorists.

Humor was absolutely essential to Mark Twain, helping him navigate life just as he learned to navigate the Mississippi when a young man, reading the depths and nuances of the human condition like he learned to see the subtleties and complexities of the river beneath its surface. He learned to create humor out of confusion and absurdity, bringing laughter into the lives of others as well. He once said, “Against the assault of laughter nothing can stand.”

MARK TWAIN PRIZE

Twain was much admired during his lifetime and recognized as an American icon. A  prize created in his honor, The Mark Twain Prize for American Humor, the nation’s top comedy honor, has been given annually since 1998 to “people who have had an impact on American society in ways similar to the distinguished 19th century novelist and essayist best known as Mark Twain.” Previous recipients of the prize have included some of the most notable humorists of our time. The 2017 prizewinner is David Letterman, who according to Dave Itzkoff, New York Times writer , “Like Mark Twain …distinguished himself as a cockeyed, deadpan observer of American behavior and, later in life, for his prodigious and distinctive facial hair. Now the two satirists share a further connection.”

One can only wonder what remarks Mark Twain would make today about our government, ourselves, and the absurdities of our world. But undoubtedly they would be insightful and humorous to help us “stand against the assault” and perhaps even give us pause.

RESOURCES AND FURTHER READING

• Burns, Ken , Ken Burns Mark Twain Part I, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V-x_k7zrPUw
• Burns, Ken , Ken Burns Mark Twain Part II https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1arrRQJkA28
• Mark Twain , http://www.cmgww.com/historic/twain/index.php/about/biography/
• Mark Twain , history.com , http://www.history.com/topics/mark-twain
• Railton, Stephen and University of Virginia Library, Mark Twain In His Times , http://twain.lib.virginia.edu/about/mtabout.html
• Mark Twain’s Interactive Scrapbook, PBS, http://www.pbs.org/marktwain/index.html
• Mark Twain’s America , IMAX,, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0WioOn8Tkw (Video)
• Middlekauff, Robert, Mark Twain’s Humor - With Examples , https://amphilsoc.org/sites/default/files/proceedings/150305.pdf
• Moss, Walter, Mark Twain’s Progressive and Prophetic Political Humor, http://hollywoodprogressive.com/mark-twain/
• The Mark Twain House and Museum , https://www.marktwainhouse.org/man/biography_main.php

For Teachers :

• Learn More About Mark Twain , PBS, http://www.pbs.org/marktwain/learnmore/index.html
• Lesson 1: Mark Twain and American Humor, National Endowment for the Humanities, https://edsitement.neh.gov/lesson-plan/mark-twain-and-american-humor#sect-introduction
• Lesson Plan | Mark Twain and the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor , WGBH, PBS, https://mass.pbslearningmedia.org/resource/773460a8-d817-4fbd-9c1e-15656712348e/lesson-plan-mark-twain-and-the-mark-twain-prize-for-american-humor/#.WT2Y_DMfn-Y
• What Were Mark Twain's Inventions?
• The Story of Samuel Clemens as "Mark Twain"
• Who's the Real Huckleberry Finn?
• The Meaning of the Pseudonym Mark Twain
• Enslavement in Mark Twain's 'The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn'
• 'The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn' Quotes
• Mark Twain's Views on Enslavement
• Mark Twain's "A Letter From Santa Claus"
• 'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer' Summary and Takeaways
• A Reading List of the Best 19th Century Novels
• Biography of Samuel Johnson, 18th Century Writer and Lexicographer
• Biography of Willa Cather, American Author
• Biography of Washington Irving, Father of the American Short Story
• The Life and Work of H.G. Wells
• Biography of Nathaniel Hawthorne
• List of Works by James Fenimore Cooper

What Does Twain Mean? Unraveling the Enigma Behind Mark Twain's Name

Mark twain is a name that is synonymous with american literature. born as samuel langhorne clemens on november 30, 1835, in florida, missouri, twain went on to become one of the most influential writers in the history of the united states. however, his choice of pen name, “mark twain,” has intrigued readers and literary enthusiasts for years. so, what does twain mean let’s delve into the enigma behind mark twain’s name..

Who was Mark Twain?

Before we explore the meaning behind his pen name, let’s briefly discuss the man behind it. Mark Twain was an American writer, humorist, and lecturer, best known for his novels, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn . His works captured the essence of American life and provided insightful social commentary during that period. Twain’s writing style was witty, satirical, and deeply rooted in his experiences growing up along the Mississippi River.

Why did Samuel Clemens choose the pen name Mark Twain?

The choice of “Mark Twain” as a pen name was not a random decision but stemmed from Samuel Clemens’ career as a riverboat pilot on the Mississippi River. “Mark twain” was a common term used by riverboat crew members to indicate that the water depth was two fathoms or 12 feet, which was considered a safe depth for navigation.

Clemens, during his time working on the river, heard the term repeatedly and found it fascinating. He eventually adopted “Mark Twain” as his pen name, honoring his past profession and the river that played a significant role in shaping his life and writing.

What is the significance of the pen name Mark Twain?

Beyond paying homage to his riverboat pilot days, the pen name Mark Twain carried additional significance. It was a symbol of the journey, progress, and new beginnings. Just as “mark twain” meant safe passage for river travelers, it also represented a new chapter in Samuel Clemens’ life as he transitioned from a steamboat pilot to a renowned writer.

Was Mark Twain a common term in the 19th century?

No, “Mark Twain” was not a widely recognized term in the general public during the 19th century. It was mainly used by riverboat crew members who were familiar with the intricacies of navigating the Mississippi River. However, after Samuel Clemens adopted the name as his pen name, it gained popularity and became synonymous with his literary legacy.

Mark Twain’s choice of pen name, “Mark Twain,” reveals a deeper connection to his past as a riverboat pilot and reflects the journey and progress he made in his life. The name offers a glimpse into his life experiences and adds to the allure surrounding his literary contributions. From the banks of the Mississippi River to the pages of American literature, Mark Twain’s name will forever be etched in literary history.

How helpful was this article?

History News Network puts current events into historical perspective. Subscribe to our newsletter for new perspectives on the ways history continues to resonate in the present. Explore our archive of thousands of original op-eds and curated stories from around the web. Join us to learn more about the past, now.

Sign up for the HNN Newsletter

Mark Twain Claimed He Got His Pen Name From a Riverboat Captain

Clemens had become widely known in Virginia City — if not necessarily widely liked — by the time the pseudonym Mark Twain first appeared in the Enterpriseon February 3, 1863. A decade later, Clemens claimed he’d appropriated his by-then-famous nom de plume from a staid Mississippi riverboat captain. However, according to more convincing Virginia City legend, Clemens acquired the nickname before it appeared in print, derived from his habit of striding into the Old Corner Saloon and calling out to the barkeep to “Mark Twain!” a phrase Mississippi river boatmen sang out with their craft in two fathoms of water, but that in Virginia City meant bring two blasts of whisky to Sam Clemens and make two chalk marks against his account on the back wall of the saloon.

Although later in life, Clemens claimed not to have had “a large experience in the matter of alcoholic drinks,” men who knew him in Virginia City remembered substantial quantities of chalk ground down to a nub on his behalf. Regardless, one of the Comstockers Clemens had become acquainted with was the quiet, industrious, up-and-coming, and largely abstemious Irishman who superintended the Milton mine — John Mackay.

Old Times on the Mississippi (Part I)

The first installment in a seven-part series about the author’s youthful training as a riverboat pilot

When I was a boy, there was but one permanent ambition among my comrades in our village on the west bank of the Mississippi River. That was, to be a steamboatman. We had transient ambitions of other sorts, but they were only transient. When a circus came and went, it left us all burning to become clowns; the first negro minstrel show that came to our section left us all suffering to try that kind of life; now and then we had a hope that if we lived and were good, God would permit us to be pirates. These ambitions faded out, each in its turn; but the ambition to be a steamboatman always remained.

Once a day a cheap, gaudy packet arrived upward from St. Louis, and another downward from Keokuk. Before these events had transpired, the day was glorious with expectancy; after they had transpired, the day was a dead and empty thing. Not only the boys, but the whole village, felt this. After all these years I can picture that old time to myself now, just as it was then: the white town drowsing in the sunshine of a summer’s morning; the streets empty, or pretty nearly so; one or two clerks sitting in front of the Water Street stores, with their splint-bottomed chairs tilted back against the wall, chins on breasts, hats slouched over their faces, asleep—with shingle-shavings enough around to show what broke them down; a sow and a litter of pigs loafing along the sidewalk, doing a good business in water-melon rinds and seeds; two or three lonely little freight piles scattered about the “levee;” a pile of “skids” on the slope of the stone-paved wharf, and the fragrant town drunkard asleep in the shadow of them; two or three wood fiats at the head of the wharf, but nobody to listen to the peaceful lapping of the wavelets against them; the great Mississippi, the majestic, the magnificent Mississippi, rolling its mile-wide tide along, shining in the sun; the dense forest away on the other side; the “point” above the town, and the “point” below, bounding the river-glimpse and turning it into a sort of sea, and withal a very still and brilliant and lonely one. Presently a film of dark smoke appears above one of those remote “points;” instantly a negro drayman, famous for his quick eye and prodigious voice, lifts up the cry, “S-t-e-a-m-boat a-comin’!” and the scene changes! The town drunkard stirs, the clerks wake up, a furious clatter of drays follows, every house and store pours out a human contribution, and all in a twinkling the dead town is alive and moving. Drays, carts, men, boys, all go hurrying from many quarters to a common centre, the wharf. Assembled there, the people fasten their eyes upon the coming boat as upon a wonder they are seeing for the first time. And the boat is rather a handsome sight, too. She is long and sharp and trim and pretty; she has two tall, fancy-topped chimneys, with a gilded device of some kind swung between them; a fanciful pilot-house, all glass and “gingerbread” perched on top of the “texas” deck behind them; the paddle-boxes are gorgeous with a picture or with gilded rays above the boat’s name; the boiler deck, the hurricane deck, and the texas deck are fenced and ornamented with clean white railings; there is a flag gallantly flying from the jack-staff; the furnace doors are open and the fires glaring bravely; the upper decks are black with passengers; the captain stands by the big bell, calm, imposing, the envy of all; great volumes of the blackest smoke are rolling and tumbling out of the chimneys—a husbanded grandeur created with a bit of pitch pine just before arriving at a town; the crew are grouped on the forecastle; the broad stage is run far out over the port bow, and an envied deck-hand stands picturesquely on the end of it with a coil of rope in his hand; the pent steam is screaming through the gauge-cocks; the captain lifts his band, a bell rings, the wheels stop; then they turn back, churning the water to foam, and the steamer is at rest. Then such a scramble as there is to get aboard, and to get ashore, and to take in freight and to discharge freight, all at one and the same time; and such a yelling and cursing as the mates facilitate it all with! Ten minutes later the steamer is under way again, with no flag on the jack-staff and no black smoke issuing from the chimneys. After ten more minutes the town is dead again, and the town drunkard asleep by the skids once more.

My father was a justice of the peace, and I supposed he possessed the power of life and death over all men and could hang anybody that offended him. This was distinction enough for me as a general thing; but the desire to be a steamboatman kept intruding, nevertheless. I first wanted to be a cabin-boy, so that I could come out with a white apron on and shake a table-cloth over the side, where all my old comrades could see me; later I thought I would rather be the deck-hand who stood on the end of the stage-plank with the coil of rope in his hand, because he was particularly conspicuous. But these were only daydreams—they were too heavenly to be contemplated as real possibilities. By and by one of our boys went away. He was not heard of for a long time. At last he turned up as apprentice engineer or “striker” on a steamboat. This thing shook the bottom out of all my Sunday-school teachings. That boy had been notoriously worldly, and I just the reverse; yet he was exalted to this eminence, and I left in obscurity and misery. There was nothing generous about this fellow in his greatness. He would always manage to have a rusty bolt to scrub while his boat tarried at our town, and he would sit on the inside guard and scrub it, where we could all see him and envy him and loathe him. And whenever his boat was laid up he would come home and swell around the town in his blackest and greasiest clothes, so that nobody could help remembering that he was a steamboatman; and he used all sorts of steamboat technicalities in his talk, as if he were so used to them that he forgot common people could not understand them. He would speak of the “lab-board” side of a horse in an easy, natural way that would make one wish he was dead. And he was always talking about “St. Looy” like an old citizen; he would refer casually to occasions when he “was coming down Fourth Street,” or when he was passing by the Planter’s House, or when there was a fire and he took a turn on the brakes of “the old Big Missouri;” and then he would go on and lie about how many towns the size of ours were burned down there that day. Two or three of the boys had long been persons of consideration among us because they had been to St. Louis once and had a vague general knowledge of its wonders, but the day of their glory was over now. They lapsed into a humble silence, and learned to disappear when the ruthless “cub”-engineer approached. This fellow had money, too, and hair oil. Also an ignorant silver watch and a showy brass watch chain. He wore a leather belt and used no suspenders. If ever a youth was cordially admired and hated by his comrades, this one was. No girl could withstand his charms. He “cut out” every boy in the village. When his boat blew up at last, it diffused a tranquil contentment among us such as we had not known for months. But when he came home the next week, alive, renowned, and appeared in church all battered up and bandaged, a shining hero, stared at and wondered over by everybody, it seemed to us that the partiality of Providence for an undeserving reptile had reached a point where it was open to criticism.

This creature’s career could produce but one result, and it speedily followed. Boy after boy managed to get on the river. The minister’s son became an engineer. The doctor’s and the post-master’s sons became “mud clerks”; the wholesale liquor dealer’s son became a bar-keeper on a boat; four sons of the chief merchant, and two sons of the county judge, became pilots. Pilot was the grandest position of all. The pilot, even in those days of trivial wages, had a princely salary—from a hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty dollars a month, and no board to pay. Two months of his wages would pay a preacher’s salary for a year. Now some of us were left disconsolate. We could not get on the river—at least our parents would not let us.

So by and by I ran, away. I said I never would come home again till I was a pilot and could come in glory. But somehow I could not manage it. I went meekly aboard a few of the boats that lay packed together like sardines at the long St. Louis wharf, and very humbly inquired for the pilots, but got only a cold shoulder and short words from mates and clerks. I had to make the best of this sort of treatment for the time being, but I had comforting day-dreams of a future when I should be a great and honored pilot, with plenty of money, and could kill some of these mates and clerks and pay for them.

Months afterward the hope within me struggled to a reluctant death, and I found myself without an ambition. But I was ashamed to go home. I was in Cincinnati, and I set to work to map out a new career. I had been reading about the recent exploration of the river Amazon by an expedition sent out by our government. It was said that the expedition, owing to difficulties, had not thoroughly explored a part of the country lying about the head-waters, some four thousand miles from the mouth of the river. It was only about fifteen hundred miles from Cincinnati to New Orleans, where I could doubtless get a ship. I had thirty dollars left; I would go and complete the exploration of the Amazon. This was all the thought I gave to the subject. I never was great in matters of detail. I packed my valise, and took passage on an ancient tub called the Paul Jones, for New Orleans. For the sum of sixteen dollars I had the scarred and tarnished splendors of “her” main saloon principally to myself, for she was not a creature to attract the eye of wiser travelers.

When we presently got under way and went poking down the broad Ohio, I became a new being, and the subject of my own admiration I was a traveler! A word never had tasted so good in my mouth before. I had an exultant sense of being bound for mysterious lands and distant climes which I never have felt in so uplifting a degree since. I was in such a glorified condition that all ignoble feelings departed out of me, and I was able to look down and pity the untraveled with a compassion that had hardly a trace of contempt in it. Still, when we stopped at villages and wood-yards, I could not help lolling carelessly upon the railings of the boiler deck to enjoy the envy of the country boys on the bank. If they did not seem to discover me, I presently sneezed to attract their attention, or moved to a position where they could not help seeing me. And as soon as I knew they saw me I gaped and stretched, and gave other signs of being mightily bored with traveling.

I kept my hat off all the time, and stayed where the wind and the sun could strike me, because I wanted to get the bronzed and weather-beaten look of an old traveler. Before the second day was half gone, I experienced a joy which filled me with the purest gratitude; for I saw that the skin had begun to blister and peel off my face and neck. I wished that the boys and girls at home could see me now.

We reached Louisville in time—at least the neighborhood of it. We stuck hard and fast on the rocks in the middle of the river and lay there four days. I was now beginning to feel a strong sense of being a part of the boat’s family, a sort of infant son to the captain and younger brother to the officers. There is no estimating the pride I took in this grandeur, or the affection that began to swell and grow in me for those people. I could not know how the lordly steamboatman scorns that sort of presumption in a mere landsman. I particularly longed to acquire the least trifle of notice from the big stormy mate, and I was on the alert for an opportunity to do him a service to that end. It came at last. The riotous powwow of setting a spar was going on down on the forecastle, and I went down there and stood around in the way—or mostly skipping out of it—till the mate suddenly roared a general order for somebody to bring him a capstan bar. I sprang to his side and said: “Tell me where it is—I’ll fetch it!”

If a rag-picker had offered to do a diplomatic service for the Emperor of Russia, the monarch could not have been more astounded than the mate was. He even stopped swearing. He stood and stared down at me. it took him ten seconds to scrape his disjointed remains together again. Then he said impressively: “Well, if this don’t beat hell!” and turned to his work with the air of a man who had been confronted with a problem too abstruse for solution.

I crept away, and courted solitude for the rest of the day. I did not go to dinner; I stayed away from supper until everybody else had finished. I did not feel so much like a member of the boat’s family now as before. However, my spirits returned, in installments, as we pursued our way down the river. I was sorry I hated the mate so, because it was not in (young) human nature not to admire him. He was huge and muscular, his face was bearded and whiskered all over; he had a red woman and a blue woman tattooed on his right arm, one on each side of a blue anchor with a red rope to it; and in the matter of profanity he was perfect. When he was getting out cargo at a landing, I was always where I could see and hear. He felt all the sublimity of his great position, and made the world feel it, too. When he gave even the simplest order, he discharged it like a blast of lightning, and sent a long, reverberating peal of profanity thundering after it. I could not help contrasting the way in which the average landsman would give an order, with the mate’s way of doing it. If the landsman should wish the gang-plank moved a foot farther forward, he would probably say: “James, or William, one of you push that plank forward, please;” but put the mate in his place, and he would roar out: “Here, now, start that gang-plank for’ard! Lively, now! What ’re you about! Snatch it! snatch it! There! there! Aft again! aft again! Don’t you hear me? Dash it to dash! are you going to sleep over it! ’Vast heaving. ’Vast heaving, I tell you! Going to heave it clear astern? WHERE ’re you going with that barrel! for’ard with it ’fore I make you swallow it, you dash-dash-dash- dashed split between a tired mud-turtle and a crippled hearse-horse!”

I wished I could talk like that.

When the soreness of my adventure with the mate had somewhat worn off, I began timidly to make up to the humblest official connected with the boat—the night watchman. He snubbed my advances at first, but I presently ventured to offer him a new chalk pipe, and that softened him. So he allowed me to sit with him by the big bell on the hurricane deck, and in time he melted into conversation. He could not well have helped it, I hung with such homage on his words and so plainly showed that I felt honored by his notice. He told me the names of dim capes and shadowy islands as we glided by them in the solemnity of the night, under the winking stars, and by and by got to talking about himself. He seemed over-sentimental for a man whose salary was six dollars a week—or rather he might have seemed so to an older person than I. But I drank in his words hungrily, and with a faith that might have moved mountains if it had been applied judiciously. What was it to me that he was soiled arid seedy and fragrant with gin? What was it to me that his grammar was bad, his construction worse, and his profanity so void of art that it was an element of weakness rather than strength in his conversation? He was a wronged man, a man who had seen trouble, and that was enough for me. As he mellowed into his plaintive history his tears dripped upon the lantern in his lap, and I cried, too, from sympathy. He said he was the son of an English nobleman—either an earl or an alderman, he could not remember which, but believed he was both; his father, the nobleman, loved him, but his mother hated him from the cradle; and so while he was still a little boy he was sent to “one of them old, ancient colleges”—he couldn’t remember which; and by and by his father died and his mother seized the property and “shook” him, as he phrased it. After his mother shook him, members of the nobility with whom he was acquainted used their influence to get him the position of “lob-lolly-boy in a ship;” and from that point my watchman threw off all trammels of date and locality and branched out into a narrative that bristled all along with incredible adventures; a narrative that was so reeking with bloodshed and so crammed with hair-breadth escapes and the most engaging and unconscious personal villainies, that I sat speechless, enjoying, shuddering, wondering, worshiping.

It was a sore blight to find out afterwards that he was a low, vulgar, ignorant, sentimental, half-witted humbug, an untraveled native of the wilds of Illinois, who had absorbed wildcat literature and appropriated its marvels, until in time he had woven odds and ends of the mess into this yarn, and then gone on telling it to fledgelings like me, until he had come to believe it himself.

About the Author

More Stories

A True Story, Word for Word as I Heard It

"Thirty Thousand Killed a Million"

Mark Twain: A Good Riverboat Pilot and a Great Writer…

His real name was Samuel Langhorne Clemens, but he’s best known by his pen name: Mark Twain.  

Sam Clemons grew up in Hannibal, Missouri, which is a town located along the Mississippi River. So, it’s no surprise that as a young boy, Sam dreamed of becoming the captain a riverboat. He accomplished his dream by earning his pilot’s license, and he drove boats for a few years. But eventually he became a writer. Writing became the career that made him famous.  He  wrote funny stories and serious books. And, many of his stories were about life on the Mississippi.

Young Sam Clemons achieved one big dream (to become a riverboat pilot) and then achieved a different dream that was even bigger. So, don’t stop dreaming…and don’t be afraid to change dreams in mid-stream if you discover something better!

Quotes by Mark Twain

“Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not the absence of fear.”  

“Kindness is the language the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”

“The secret of getting ahead is getting started.”

“Give every day the chance to be the most beautiful day of your life.”

“Continuous improvement is better than delayed perfection.”

“Courage is the foundation of integrity.”

About the Mississippi River

It’s a Fact:  Mark Twain (1835-1910) earned his riverboat pilot’s license in 1859 and spent two years on the job before the Civil War halted steamboat traffic on the river.

It’s a Fact: The name Mississippi comes from the Ojibway Indian tribe. Mississippi means “big river” in their language.

It’s a Fact:  10 states border the Mississippi River. They are:  Minnesota , Wisconsin , Iowa , Illinois , Missouri , Kentucky , Tennessee , Arkansas , Mississippi , and Louisiana .

It’s a Fact:  A single drop of water takes about 90 days to flow from Lake Itasca, where the Mississippi River begins, to the Gulf of Mexico, where the river ends.

It’s a Fact : The Mississippi River empties into the Gulf of Mexico, which a large body of water that borders several southern states and Mexico.

Fun Fact : Mark Twain grew up along the Mississippi River. His lived in a town called Hannibal, Missouri. Today, his boyhood home is a museum. Next time you’re in Hannibal, be sure to drop by!

Fun Fact :  When Sam Clemens published a story in 1861, he signed it using the pen name “Mark Twain” which was a riverboat term that meant that the water was at least 12 feet deep. Water that was 12 feet deep was safe for a riverboat to pass through without hitting bottom.

Fun Fact : At its widest point, the Mississippi River is about 7 miles wide.

Fun Fact : At its deepest point, the Mississippi River is about 200 feet deep.

Just for fun,

Does the mississippi river empty into the atlantic ocean, the pacific ocean, or the gulf of mexico, about how long does it take water to flow from the beginning of the mississippi river to the gulf of mexico is it approximately 10 days, 30 days, or 90 days, did the word "mississippi" come from an american indian name or was it the name of a famous european explorer, did mark twain grow up in hannibal, missouri or in hannibal, mississippi.

If you have time, you can write a story of your own.

Here are a couple of story ideas you can choose from..

Story Idea #1: You could write a story about the amazing life of Mark Twain.

Story Idea #2: You could write a story about being a riverboat captain (like Mark Twain). What would you see? Do you think it would be scary to drive your boat?

You help you write a great story, we have some timely tips and helpful hints.

Check out “10 Tips for Writing Better Essays.”

Here's a riddle for you:

Why does the mississippi river see better than the ohio river.

For fun-to-read books about a girl detective who homeschools on a train... check out  The Mystery Ryders , a series from the creators of the Homeschool Express.

Thanks for stopping by... have a great homeschool day!

• Pontoon Boats
• Personal Watercraft
• nauticalknowhow
• Nautical Knots
• Tools and Calculators

What do Mark Twain and your depth sounder have in common?

What Does Mark Twain And Your Depth Sounder Have In Common?

A recent trip to Disney World in Florida and a subsequent ride on a paddle wheeler reminded me of something I had long forgotten. Thought some of you might be interested in how depth was measured in the “Ol days.” Actually, lead lines are in use today, although sparingly. I still carry one onboard, although it is a modern type that can map the sea floor and find fish too .

What Is The Mark Twain Meaning In Boating?

Twain loved the paddlewheel steamboat and he loved the river. As a matter of fact, it was during his years on the river that he chose his pen name. “Mark Twain” was a frequent call of the leadsman. It meant that the water was 2 fathoms (12 feet) deep and indicated safe water.

The line itself, in the “Ol days”, was probably made of manila, hemp or sisal, and had markings woven into the strands which represented various depths. Today’s lead lines generally have polyester strands and bright colored plastic tags with actual numbers are woven into the strands

The leadsman is the person who “heaves the lead” and “sings the mark”. In the days of Mark Twain, the mark meanings were actually sung as the paddle boat cautiously made its way along the river in potentially shallow water.

Meaning of the Marks on the Leadline:

In Summary: What Does Mark Twain Mean?

The Mark Twain definition in boating means the 12 feet mark above the lead, otherwise known as the safe water mark.  The Mark Twain boat call would indicate that the water is two fathoms deep, and safe to travel!

About Chris

Outdoors, I’m in my element, especially in the water. I know the importance of being geared up for anything. I do the deep digital dive, researching gear, boats and knowhow and love keeping my readership at the helm of their passions.

Categories : nauticalknowhow

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment.

More in nauticalknowhow

How to Tie a Boat to a Dock

How to Clean a Boat Cover

Everything You Need to Know About Your Boat’s Bilge Pump

4 Ways to Tie Your Boat Shoes

The People’s Poncho Review and Ratings 

Oru Lake Kayak Review

What Is A Gunwale?

131 of the Best Hawaiian Boat Names

167 Patriotic Boat Names

About boatsafe.

Established in 1998, BoatSafe is your independent guide into the world of boating, fishing, and watersports. We provide expert insights and detailed guides to help you find products tailored to your needs and budget.

Contact Boatsafe

• Address: 4021 West Walnut Street. Rogers, AR 72756
• Phone:  (479)339-4795
• Email: [email protected]

Site Navigation

• How We Test
• Corrections Policy
• Privacy Policy
• Terms & Conditions
• Editorial Policy
• Affiliate Disclosure

Our Reviews

All content is © Copyright 2024. All rights reserved.

(1835-1910)

Who Was Mark Twain?

Mark Twain, whose real name was Samuel Clemens, was the celebrated author of several novels, including two major classics of American literature: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Adventures of Huckleberry Finn . He was also a riverboat pilot, journalist, lecturer, entrepreneur and inventor.

Twain was born Samuel Langhorne Clemens in the tiny village of Florida, Missouri, on November 30, 1835, the sixth child of John and Jane Clemens. When he was 4 years old, his family moved to nearby Hannibal, a bustling river town of 1,000 people.

John Clemens worked as a storekeeper, lawyer, judge and land speculator, dreaming of wealth but never achieving it, sometimes finding it hard to feed his family. He was an unsmiling fellow; according to one legend, young Sam never saw his father laugh.

His mother, by contrast, was a fun-loving, tenderhearted homemaker who whiled away many a winter's night for her family by telling stories. She became head of the household in 1847 when John died unexpectedly.

The Clemens family "now became almost destitute," wrote biographer Everett Emerson, and was forced into years of economic struggle — a fact that would shape the career of Twain.

Twain in Hannibal

Twain stayed in Hannibal until age 17. The town, situated on the Mississippi River, was in many ways a splendid place to grow up.

Steamboats arrived there three times a day, tooting their whistles; circuses, minstrel shows and revivalists paid visits; a decent library was available; and tradesmen such as blacksmiths and tanners practiced their entertaining crafts for all to see.

However, violence was commonplace, and young Twain witnessed much death: When he was nine years old, he saw a local man murder a cattle rancher, and at 10 he watched an enslaved person die after a white overseer struck him with a piece of iron.

Hannibal inspired several of Twain's fictional locales, including "St. Petersburg" in Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. These imaginary river towns are complex places: sunlit and exuberant on the one hand, but also vipers' nests of cruelty, poverty, drunkenness, loneliness and soul-crushing boredom — all parts of Twain's boyhood experience.

Sam kept up his schooling until he was about 12 years old, when — with his father dead and the family needing a source of income — he found employment as an apprentice printer at the Hannibal Courier , which paid him with a meager ration of food. In 1851, at 15, he got a job as a printer and occasional writer and editor at the Hannibal Western Union , a little newspaper owned by his brother, Orion.

Steamboat Pilot

Then, in 1857, 21-year-old Twain fulfilled a dream: He began learning the art of piloting a steamboat on the Mississippi. A licensed steamboat pilot by 1859, he soon found regular employment plying the shoals and channels of the great river.

Twain loved his career — it was exciting, well-paying and high-status, roughly akin to flying a jetliner today. However, his service was cut short in 1861 by the outbreak of the Civil War , which halted most civilian traffic on the river.

As the Civil War began, the people of Missouri angrily split between support for the Union and the Confederate States . Twain opted for the latter, joining the Confederate Army in June 1861 but serving for only a couple of weeks until his volunteer unit disbanded.

Where, he wondered then, would he find his future? What venue would bring him both excitement and cash? His answer: the great American West.

Heading Out West

In July 1861, Twain climbed on board a stagecoach and headed for Nevada and California, where he would live for the next five years.

At first, he prospected for silver and gold, convinced that he would become the savior of his struggling family and the sharpest-dressed man in Virginia City and San Francisco. But nothing panned out, and by the middle of 1862, he was flat broke and in need of a regular job.

Twain knew his way around a newspaper office, so that September, he went to work as a reporter for the Virginia City Territorial Enterprise . He churned out news stories, editorials and sketches, and along the way adopted the pen name Mark Twain — steamboat slang for 12 feet of water.

Twain became one of the best-known storytellers in the West. He honed a distinctive narrative style — friendly, funny, irreverent, often satirical and always eager to deflate the pretentious.

He got a big break in 1865, when one of his tales about life in a mining camp, "Jim Smiley and His Jumping Frog," was printed in newspapers and magazines around the country (the story later appeared under various titles).

'Innocents Abroad'

His next step up the ladder of success came in 1867, when he took a five-month sea cruise in the Mediterranean, writing humorously about the sights for American newspapers with an eye toward getting a book out of the trip.

In 1869, The Innocents Abroad was published, and it became a nationwide bestseller.

At 34, this handsome, red-haired, affable, canny, egocentric and ambitious journalist and traveler had become one of the most popular and famous writers in America.

Marriage to Olivia Langdon

However, Twain worried about being a Westerner. In those years, the country's cultural life was dictated by an Eastern establishment centered in New York City and Boston — a straight-laced, Victorian , moneyed group that cowed Twain.

"An indisputable and almost overwhelming sense of inferiority bounced around his psyche," wrote scholar Hamlin Hill, noting that these feelings were competing with his aggressiveness and vanity. Twain's fervent wish was to get rich, support his mother, rise socially and receive what he called "the respectful regard of a high Eastern civilization."

In February 1870, he improved his social status by marrying 24-year-old Olivia (Livy) Langdon, the daughter of a rich New York coal merchant. Writing to a friend shortly after his wedding, Twain could not believe his good luck: "I have ... the only sweetheart I have ever loved ... she is the best girl, and the sweetest, and gentlest, and the daintiest, and she is the most perfect gem of womankind."

Livy, like many people during that time, took pride in her pious, high-minded, genteel approach to life. Twain hoped that she would "reform" him, a mere humorist, from his rustic ways. The couple settled in Buffalo and later had four children.

DOWNLOAD BIOGRAPHY'S MARK TWAIN FACT CARD

Mark Twain's Books

Thankfully, Twain's glorious "low-minded" Western voice broke through on occasion.

'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer'

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer was published in 1876, and soon thereafter he began writing a sequel, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

Writing this work, commented biographer Everett Emerson, freed Twain temporarily from the "inhibitions of the culture he had chosen to embrace."

'Adventures of Huckleberry Finn'

"All modern American literature comes from one book by Twain called Huckleberry Finn ," Ernest Hemingway wrote in 1935, giving short shrift to Herman Melville and others but making an interesting point.

Hemingway's comment refers specifically to the colloquial language of Twain's masterpiece, as for perhaps the first time in America, the vivid, raw, not-so-respectable voice of the common folk was used to create great literature.

Huck Finn required years to conceptualize and write, and Twain often put it aside. In the meantime, he pursued respectability with the 1881 publication of The Prince and the Pauper , a charming novel endorsed with enthusiasm by his genteel family and friends.

'Life on the Mississippi'

In 1883 he put out Life on the Mississippi , an interesting but safe travel book. When Huck Finn finally was published in 1884, Livy gave it a chilly reception.

After that, business and writing were of equal value to Twain as he set about his cardinal task of earning a lot of money. In 1885, he triumphed as a book publisher by issuing the bestselling memoirs of former President Ulysses S. Grant , who had just died.

He lavished many hours on this and other business ventures, and was certain that his efforts would be rewarded with enormous wealth, but he never achieved the success he expected. His publishing house eventually went bankrupt.

'A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court'

Twain's financial failings, reminiscent in some ways of his father's, had serious consequences for his state of mind. They contributed powerfully to a growing pessimism in him, a deep-down feeling that human existence is a cosmic joke perpetrated by a chuckling God.

Another cause of his angst, perhaps, was his unconscious anger at himself for not giving undivided attention to his deepest creative instincts, which centered on his Missouri boyhood.

In 1889, Twain published A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court , a science-fiction/historical novel about ancient England. His next major work, in 1894, was The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson , a somber novel that some observers described as "bitter."

He also wrote short stories, essays and several other books, including a study of Joan of Arc . Some of these later works have enduring merit, and his unfinished work The Chronicle of Young Satan has fervent admirers today.

Twain's last 15 years were filled with public honors, including degrees from Oxford and Yale . Probably the most famous American of the late 19th century, he was much photographed and applauded wherever he went.

Indeed, he was one of the most prominent celebrities in the world, traveling widely overseas, including a successful 'round-the-world lecture tour in 1895-96, undertaken to pay off his debts.

Family Struggles

But while those years were gilded with awards, they also brought him much anguish. Early in their marriage, he and Livy had lost their toddler son, Langdon, to diphtheria; in 1896, his favorite daughter, Susy, died at the age of 24 of spinal meningitis. The loss broke his heart, and adding to his grief, he was out of the country when it happened.

His youngest daughter, Jean, was diagnosed with severe epilepsy. In 1909, when she was 29 years old, Jean died of a heart attack. For many years, Twain's relationship with middle daughter Clara was distant and full of quarrels.

In June 1904, while Twain traveled, Livy died after a long illness. "The full nature of his feelings toward her is puzzling," wrote scholar R. Kent Rasmussen. "If he treasured Livy's comradeship as much as he often said, why did he spend so much time away from her?"

But absent or not, throughout 34 years of marriage, Twain had indeed loved his wife. "Wheresoever she was, there was Eden," he wrote in tribute to her.

Twain became somewhat bitter in his later years, even while projecting an amiable persona to his public. In private he demonstrated a stunning insensitivity to friends and loved ones.

"Much of the last decade of his life, he lived in hell," wrote Hamlin Hill. He wrote a fair amount but was unable to finish most of his projects. His memory faltered.

Twain suffered volcanic rages and nasty bouts of paranoia, and he experienced many periods of depressed indolence, which he tried to assuage by smoking cigars, reading in bed and playing endless hours of billiards and cards.

Twain died on April 21, 1910, at the age of 74. He was buried in Elmira, New York.

The Mark Twain House in Hartford, Connecticut, is now a popular attraction and is designated a National Historic Landmark.

Twain is remembered as a great chronicler of American life in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Writing grand tales about Sawyer, Finn and the mighty Mississippi River, Twain explored the American soul with wit, buoyancy and a sharp eye for truth.

QUICK FACTS

• Name: Mark Twain
• Birth Year: 1835
• Birth date: November 30, 1835
• Birth State: Missouri
• Birth City: Florida
• Birth Country: United States
• Gender: Male
• Best Known For: Mark Twain, the writer, adventurer and wily social critic born Samuel Clemens, wrote the novels 'Adventures of Tom Sawyer' and 'Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.’
• Writing and Publishing
• Astrological Sign: Sagittarius
• Death Year: 1910
• Death date: April 21, 1910
• Death State: Connecticut
• Death City: Redding
• Death Country: United States

We strive for accuracy and fairness.If you see something that doesn't look right, contact us !

CITATION INFORMATION

• Article Title: Mark Twain Biography
• Author: Biography.com Editors
• Website Name: The Biography.com website
• Url: https://www.biography.com/authors-writers/mark-twain
• Access Date:
• Publisher: A&E; Television Networks
• Last Updated: March 31, 2021
• Original Published Date: April 3, 2014
• This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other 364.
• Civilization is a limitless multiplication of unnecessary necessaries.
• New Year's is a harmless annual institution, of no particular use to anybody save as a scapegoat for promiscuous drunks, and friendly calls, and humbug resolutions.
• The radical invents the views. When he has worn them out, the conservative adopts them.
• I'd rather have my ignorance than another man's knowledge, because I've got so much more of it.
• Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it.
• Do not put off 'til tomorrow what can be put off 'til day-after-tomorrow just as well.
• In order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to obtain.
• 'Classic'—a book which people praise and don't read.
• When angry, count four. When very angry, swear.
• Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.
• We can't reach old age by another man's road. My habits protect my life, but would assassinate you.
• Be good and you will be lonesome.

Famous Authors & Writers

How Did Shakespeare Die?

A Huge Shakespeare Mystery, Solved

Shakespeare Wrote 3 Tragedies in Turbulent Times

The Mystery of Shakespeare's Life and Death

Was Shakespeare the Real Author of His Plays?

20 Shakespeare Quotes

William Shakespeare

The Ultimate William Shakespeare Study Guide

Suzanne Collins

Alice Munro

Agatha Christie

• Search Please fill out this field.
• Newsletters
• United States
• Things To Do

Mark Twain Riverboat

The Mark Twain Riverboat goes on a gentle cruise around Tom Sawyer Island. That's the same route that the Sailing Ship Columbia and Davy Crockett Explorer Canoes take, and I'd suggest choosing only one of these three attractions. You don't need to see that same scenery three times.

What You Need to Know About the Mark Twain Riverboat

TripSavvy / Betsy Malloy Photography

We polled 131 of our readers to find out what they think about the riverboat. 74% of them said It's a must-do or ride it if you have time, making it one of the lower-rated things to do at Disneyland.

• Location:  Mark Twain Riverboat is in Frontierland
• Rating:  ★
• Restrictions:   No height restrictions. Children under age seven years must be accompanied by a person age 14 years or older.
• Ride Time:   12 minutes
• Recommended for:   Everyone
• Fun Factor:  Low
• Wait Factor:  Low    
• Fear Factor:  Low
• Herky-Jerky Factor:  Low
• Nausea Factor:  Low
• Seating:   You just get on and ride, and you can move around while it's going
• Accessibility:   This ride is fully accessible, and you can stay in your wheelchair or ECV for the whole thing, but you'll only get onto the lower level. Go to the access gate on the right side of the turnstile or enter through the attraction exit and ask a Cast Member for help.  More about visiting Disneyland in a wheelchair or ECV

How to Have More Fun on the Mark Twain Riverboat

• If you want to  rest your feet , head for the seats in the front as soon as you get on.
• This ride  closes before dark
• Watch the kids.  They may be tempted to climb on the railings and could fall off.
• If you ask a cast member, the  pilot might let you ride inside with him . This is limited to just a couple of people per trip.

Next Disneyland Ride: Davy Crockett Explorer Canoes

More about disneyland rides.

You can  see all the Disneyland rides at a glance on the Disneyland Ride Sheet . If you want to browse through them starting with the best-rated,  start with the Haunted Mansion  and follow the navigation.

While you're thinking about rides, you should also  download Our Recommended Disneyland Apps (they're all free!)  and  Get Some Proven Tips to Minimize Your Disneyland Wait Time .

Fun Facts About Mark Twain Riverboat

Built in 1955, this was the first paddle wheeler built since shortly after 1900. It was built at the Disney Studios, except for the hull which was constructed at a shipyard in San Pedro. But don't let that fool you. It's a working reproduction of the historic vessels that ferried people up and down the mighty Mississippi, with a working steam engine that powers the large paddle, which in turn propels the boat.

The Mark Twain made its first voyage four days before Disneyland opened to the public, for Walt and Lillian Disney's 30th wedding anniversary. 

The Mark Twain was christened by actress   Irene Dunne who starred in the 1936 movie "Showboat" on Disneyland's Opening Day.

The boat is 28 feet tall and 105 feet long, with four decks.

The writer Mark Twain was a riverboat pilot on the Mississippi river when he was younger, and one of Walt Disney's personal heroes, which is why Walt named the boat after him.

A riverboat ride was in the plans from the earliest days, when Walt Disney started the first plans for building an amusement park near Walt Disney Studios in Burbank.

Every Disney theme park throughout the world has their own version of the Mark Twain riverboat. 

Related Articles

More related articles.

• History Classics
• Your Profile
• Find History on Facebook (Opens in a new window)
• Find History on Twitter (Opens in a new window)
• Find History on YouTube (Opens in a new window)
• Find History on Instagram (Opens in a new window)
• Find History on TikTok (Opens in a new window)
• This Day In History
• History Podcasts
• History Vault

This Day In History : April 9

Changing the day will navigate the page to that given day in history. You can navigate days by using left and right arrows

Mark Twain receives steamboat pilot’s license

On April 9, 1859, a 23-year-old Missouri youth named Samuel Langhorne Clemens receives his steamboat pilot’s license .

Clemens had signed on as a pilot’s apprentice in 1857 while on his way to Mississippi. He had been commissioned to write a series of comic travel letters for the Keokuk Daily Post, but after writing five, decided he’d rather be a pilot than a writer. He piloted his own boats for two years, until the Civil War halted steamboat traffic. During his time as a pilot, he picked up the term “ Mark Twain ,” a boatman’s call noting that the river was only two fathoms deep, the minimum depth for safe navigation. When Clemens returned to writing in 1861, working for the Virginia City Territorial Enterprise, he wrote a humorous travel letter signed by “Mark Twain” and continued to use the pseudonym for nearly 50 years.

Clemens was born in Florida, Missouri, and was apprenticed to a printer at age 13. He later worked for his older brother, who established the Hannibal Journal . In 1864, he moved to San Francisco to work as a reporter. There he wrote the story that made him famous, "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County."

In 1866, he traveled to Hawaii as a correspondent for the Sacramento Union. Next, he traveled the world writing accounts for papers in California and New York, which he later published as the popular book The Innocents Abroad (1869). In 1870, Clemens married the daughter of a wealthy New York coal merchant and settled in Hartford, Connecticut, where he continued to write travel accounts and lecture. In 1875, his novel Tom Sawyer was published, followed by Life on the Mississippi (1883) and his masterpiece Huckleberry Finn (1885). Bad investments left Clemens bankrupt after the publication of Huckleberry Finn , but he won back his financial standing with his next three books. In 1903, he and his family moved to Italy, where his wife died. Her death left him sad and bitter, and his work, while still humorous, grew distinctly darker. He died in 1910.

Also on This Day in History April | 9

Ulysses S. Grant arrested for speeding in his horse buggy, newspaper reports

The journey of reconciliation—considered the first freedom ride—sets out from d.c., rita moreno becomes the first hispanic woman to win an oscar.

Baghdad falls to U.S. forces

This Day in History Video: What Happened on April 9

Prince charles and camilla parker bowles wed.

Wake Up to This Day in History

Sign up now to learn about This Day in History straight from your inbox. Get all of today's events in just one email featuring a range of topics.

By submitting your information, you agree to receive emails from HISTORY and A+E Networks. You can opt out at any time. You must be 16 years or older and a resident of the United States.

More details : Privacy Notice | Terms of Use | Contact Us

NASA introduces America’s first astronauts

Robert e. lee surrenders, “chicago eight” plead not guilty to federal conspiracy charges, billy the kid convicted of murder.

Marian Anderson sings on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial

Man attempts to kill wife for money using car bomb, troops surrender in bataan, philippines, in largest‑ever u.s. surrender, germany invades norway and denmark, anti‑nazi theologian dietrich bonhoeffer is hanged.

Sign up to Colossus

• Register/Login
• Invest Like The Best Apple Podcasts Spotify Overcast
• Business Breakdowns Apple Podcasts Spotify Overcast
• Founders Apple Podcasts Spotify Overcast
• Glue Guys Apple Podcasts Spotify Overcast
• Art of Investing Apple Podcasts Spotify Overcast
• 50X Apple Podcasts Spotify Overcast
• Making Markets Apple Podcasts Spotify Overcast
• Founder’s Field Guide Apple Podcasts Spotify Overcast
• Making Media Apple Podcasts Spotify Overcast
• Return on India Apple Podcasts Spotify Overcast

Episode 312: #312 Mark Twain

Episode 312

#312 Mark Twain

Hosted by David Senra

• Business Building

David Senra is the host of Founders, where he studies history's greatest entrepreneurs. This is what he learned from reading Lighting Out for the Territory: How Samuel Clemens Headed West and Became Mark Twain by Roy Morris Jr.

What I learned from reading Lighting Out for the Territory: How Samuel Clemens Headed West and Became Mark Twain by Roy Morris Jr.

Join Founders AMA

Members of Founders AMA can:

-Email me your questions directly (you get a private email address in the confirmation email) 

-Promote your company to other members by including a link to your website with you question 

-Unlock 29 Ask Me Anything (AMA) episodes immediately

-Listen to new Ask Me Anything (AMA) episodes every week 

Tiny : Tiny is the easiest way to sell your business. Tiny is looking to partner with venture backed startups and helping you pivot to profitability. Get in touch with Andrew and his partners at Tiny by emailing [email protected]

One of the best podcasts I've heard this year: Listen to Invest Like The Best #336 Jeremy Giffon Special Situations in Private Markets 

Join my free email newsletter to  get my top 10 highlights from every book

(7:20) A great way to think about power law people: Their absence leaves of void that no one else can fill.

(8:00) His death would not have lengthened the life of the Confederacy or the Union, by a single day. It would, however, have reduced the literary inheritance of the United States by an incalculable amount.

(11:20) Opportunity is a strange beast. It frequently appears after a loss.

(13:00) In another life Mark Twain would be a cocaine dealer.

(17:30) I knew more about retreating than the man that invented retreating.

(21:15) The ad itself became legendary: “Wanted: Young, skinny, wiry fellows not over eighteen. Must be expert riders, willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred.” Hundreds of adventure-seeking young men quickly responded.

(24:30) Blood and Thunder: The Epic Story of Kit Carson and the Conquest of the American West by Hampton Sides

(27:45) The purest veins were usually the deepest.

(28:00) The trouble with this business is that everybody expects to find oil on the surface. If it was up near the top, it wouldn't be any trick to it. You've got to drill deep for oil. — The Big Rich (Founders #149)

(32:30) Get the facts first, then you can distort them as much as you like.

(33:30) People are attracted to confidence and repelled from nuance.

(37:00) The whole point of the performance was not so much what was being said, as how it was being said.

(47:30) Ambassador Burlingame gave the author a well-meaning piece of advice. “You have great ability; I believe you have genius,” Burlingame said. “What you need now is refinement of association. Seek companionship among men of superior intellect and character. Refine yourself and your work. Never affiliate with inferiors; always climb.”

It was an admonishment Twain would take to heart and follow, virtually to the letter, for the next forty-four years.

(53:00) When you have something that you know is true, even over the long term, you can afford to put a lot of energy into it. — Jeff Bezos

(57:30) Mark Twain produced a remarkable stream of novels, short stories, essays, and travel pieces that today stands as one of the great bodies of work in English literature.

“ I have listened to every episode released and look forward to every episode that comes out. The only criticism I would have is that after each podcast I usually want to buy the book because I am interested, so my poor wallet suffers .” — Gareth

Be like Gareth. Buy a book: All the books featured on Founders Podcast

Introduction

In the very last paragraph of Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, “Huck reckons that it’s time to light out for the territory ahead of the rest.” It's a decision Huck's creator already had made a 1/4 of a century earlier. He wasn't even Mark Twain then. But as Huck might have said, “That ain’t no matter.”

With the civil war spreading across his native Missouri, 25-year-old Samuel Clemens, suddenly out of work as a Mississippi riverboat pilot, gladly accepted his brothers offer to join him in the Nevada territory, far from the battlefields of the war. A stagecoach journey across the Great Plains and over the Rocky Mountains was just the beginning of a nearly 6-year long odyssey that took Samuel Clemens from Missouri to Hawaii with stopovers in Virginia City, Nevada, and San Francisco.

Recommended

#361 estée lauder.

David Senra is the host of Founders, where he studies history's greatest entrepreneurs. This is what he learned from reading Estée: A Success Story by Estée Lauder.

Invest Like The Best

Navigating Robinhood’s Evolution

Vlad Tenev is the CEO and co-founder of Robinhood. We cover his product strategy to adapt the best parts of incumbents' design for a new generation of customers, why Robinhood succeeded where robo-advice firms failed, and the role of crypto in the future of financial services.

#360 Robert Kierlin: Founder of Fastenal

David Senra is the host of Founders, where he studies history's greatest entrepreneurs. This is what he learned from reading The Power of Fastenal People by Robert Kierlin.

#359 The Russian Rockefellers

David Senra is the host of Founders, where he studies history's greatest entrepreneurs. This is what he learned from reading The Russian Rockefellers: The Saga of the Nobel Family and the Russian Oil Industry by Robert Tolf.

Art of Investing

School’s Out For Summer

Rick Buhrman and Paul Buser are the co-Founders and co-CEOs of Sator Grove Holdings. In this special episode, they are joined by their favorite podcasters and entrepreneurs to look back at the first year of the podcast, reflect on what summer means to them, and more.

#358 I had dinner with John Mackey, Founder of Whole Foods

David Senra is the host of Founders, where he studies history's greatest entrepreneurs. This is what he learned from having dinner with John Mackey and reading his autobiography The Whole Story: Adventures in Love, Life, and Capitalism.

#356 How The Sun Rose On Silicon Valley: Bob Noyce (Founder of Intel)

David Senra is the host of Founders, where he studies history's greatest entrepreneurs. This is what he learned from reading The Tinkerings of Robert Noyce: How the Sun Rose on Silicon Valley by Tom Wolfe.

#355 Rare Bernard Arnault Interview

David Senra is the host of Founders, where he studies history's greatest entrepreneurs. This is what he learned from reading The House of Arnault by Brad Stone and Angelina Rascouet.

#354 Sam Walton: The Inside Story of America’s Richest Man

David Senra is the host of Founders, where he studies history's greatest entrepreneurs. This is what he learned from reading Sam Walton: The Inside Story of America's Richest Man by Vance Trimble.

#353 How To Be Rich by J. Paul Getty

David Senra is the host of Founders, where he studies history's greatest entrepreneurs. This is what he learned from reading How To Be Rich by J. Paul Getty.

#351 The Founder of Rolex: Hans Wilsdorf

David Senra is the host of Founders, where he studies history's greatest entrepreneurs. This is what he learned from reading about Hans Wilsdorf and the founding of Rolex.

The Power of Print Media

Adam Sandow is the chairman and CEO of Sandow Companies and the founder of Material Bank. We cover his obsession with solving customer pain points, how to build a media brand and distribution network from scratch, and the value of curating and publishing high-quality content.