They were
not quite through, however. Abreast of Jefferson Barracks they suddenly
heard the boom of a cannon and saw a great whorl of smoke drifting in
their direction. They did not realize that it was a signal--a thunderous
halt--and kept straight on. Less than a minute later there was another
boom, and a shell exploded directly in front of the pilot-house, breaking
a lot of glass and destroying a good deal of the upper decoration. Zeb
Leavenworth fell back into a corner with a yell.
"Good Lord Almighty! Sam;" he said, "what do they mean by that?"
Clemens stepped to the wheel and brought the boat around. "I guess they
want us to wait a minute, Zeb," he said.
They were examined and passed. It was the last steamboat to make the
trip from New Orleans to St. Louis. Mark Twain's pilot-days were over.
He would have grieved had he known this fact.
"I loved the profession far better than any I have followed since," he
long afterward declared, "and I took a measureless pride in it."
The dreamy, easy, romantic existence suited him exactly. A sovereign and
an autocrat, the pilot's word was law; he wore his responsibilities as a
crown. As long as he lived Samuel Clemens would return to those old days
with fondness and affection, and with regret that they were no more.
XXX
THE SOLDIER
Clemens spent a few days in St. Louis (in retirement, for there was a
pressing war demand for Mississippi pilots), then went up to Hannibal to
visit old friends.
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