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Life on the Mississippi
Chapter 23. Traveling Incognito
Mark Twain
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       My idea was, to tarry a while in every town between St. Louis and New Orleans. To do this, it would be necessary to go from place to place by the short packet lines. It was an easy plan to make, and would have been an easy one to follow, twenty years ago--but not now. There are wide intervals between boats, these days.
       I wanted to begin with the interesting old French settlements of St. Genevieve and Kaskaskia, sixty miles below St. Louis. There was only one boat advertised for that section-- a Grand Tower packet. Still, one boat was enough; so we went down to look at her. She was a venerable rack-heap, and a fraud to boot; for she was playing herself for personal property, whereas the good honest dirt was so thickly caked all over her that she was righteously taxable as real estate. There are places in New England where her hurricane deck would be worth a hundred and fifty dollars an acre. The soil on her forecastle was quite good--the new crop of wheat was already springing from the cracks in protected places. The companionway was of a dry sandy character, and would have been well suited for grapes, with a southern exposure and a little subsoiling. The soil of the boiler deck was thin and rocky, but good enough for grazing purposes. A colored boy was on watch here--nobody else visible. We gathered from him that this calm craft would go, as advertised, 'if she got her trip;' if she didn't get it, she would wait for it.
       'Has she got any of her trip?'
       'Bless you, no, boss. She ain't unloadened, yit. She only come in dis mawnin'.'
       He was uncertain as to when she might get her trip, but thought it might be to-morrow or maybe next day. This would not answer at all; so we had to give up the novelty of sailing down the river on a farm. We had one more arrow in our quiver: a Vicksburg packet, the 'Gold Dust,' was to leave at 5 P.M. We took passage in her for Memphis, and gave up the idea of stopping off here and there, as being impracticable. She was neat, clean, and comfortable. We camped on the boiler deck, and bought some cheap literature to kill time with. The vender was a venerable Irishman with a benevolent face and a tongue that worked easily in the socket, and from him we learned that he had lived in St. Louis thirty-four years and had never been across the river during that period. Then he wandered into a very flowing lecture, filled with classic names and allusions, which was quite wonderful for fluency until the fact became rather apparent that this was not the first time, nor perhaps the fiftieth, that the speech had been delivered. He was a good deal of a character, and much better company than the sappy literature he was selling. A random remark, connecting Irishmen and beer, brought this nugget of information out of him--
       They don't drink it, sir. They can't drink it, sir. Give an Irishman lager for a month, and he's a dead man. An Irishman is lined with copper, and the beer corrodes it. But whiskey polishes the copper and is the saving of him, sir.'
       At eight o'clock, promptly, we backed out and crossed the river. As we crept toward the shore, in the thick darkness, a blinding glory of white electric light burst suddenly from our forecastle, and lit up the water and the warehouses as with a noon-day glare. Another big change, this--no more flickering, smoky, pitch-dripping, ineffectual torch-baskets, now: their day is past. Next, instead of calling out a score of hands to man the stage, a couple of men and a hatful of steam lowered it from the derrick where it was suspended, launched it, deposited it in just the right spot, and the whole thing was over and done with before a mate in the olden time could have got his profanity-mill adjusted to begin the preparatory services. Why this new and simple method of handling the stages was not thought of when the first steamboat was built, is a mystery which helps one to realize what a dull-witted slug the average human being is.
       We finally got away at two in the morning, and when I turned out at six, we were rounding to at a rocky point where there was an old stone warehouse--at any rate, the ruins of it; two or three decayed dwelling-houses were near by, in the shelter of the leafy hills; but there were no evidences of human or other animal life to be seen. I wondered if I had forgotten the river; for I had no recollection whatever of this place; the shape of the river, too, was unfamiliar; there was nothing in sight, anywhere, that I could remember ever having seen before. I was surprised, disappointed, and annoyed.
       We put ashore a well-dressed lady and gentleman, and two well-dressed, lady-like young girls, together with sundry Russia-leather bags. A strange place for such folk! No carriage was waiting. The party moved off as if they had not expected any, and struck down a winding country road afoot.
       But the mystery was explained when we got under way again; for these people were evidently bound for a large town which lay shut in behind a tow-head (i.e., new island) a couple of miles below this landing. I couldn't remember that town; I couldn't place it, couldn't call its name. So I lost part of my temper. I suspected that it might be St. Genevieve--and so it proved to be. Observe what this eccentric river had been about: it had built up this huge useless tow-head directly in front of this town, cut off its river communications, fenced it away completely, and made a 'country' town of it. It is a fine old place, too, and deserved a better fate. It was settled by the French, and is a relic of a time when one could travel from the mouths of the Mississippi to Quebec and be on French territory and under French rule all the way.
       Presently I ascended to the hurricane deck and cast a longing glance toward the pilot-house.
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本书目录

The 'Body of the Nation'
Chapter 1. The River and Its History
Chapter 2. The River and Its Explorers
Chapter 3. Frescoes from the Past
Chapter 4. The Boys' Ambition
Chapter 5. I Want to be a Cub-pilot
Chapter 6. A Cub-pilot's Experience
Chapter 7. A Daring Deed
Chapter 8. Perplexing Lessons
Chapter 9. Continued Perplexities
Chapter 10. Completing My Education
Chapter 11. The River Rises
Chapter 12. Sounding
Chapter 13. A Pilot's Needs
Chapter 14. Rank and Dignity of Piloting
Chapter 15. The Pilots' Monopoly
Chapter 16. Racing Days
Chapter 17. Cut-offs and Stephen
Chapter 18. I Take a Few Extra Lessons
Chapter 19. Brown and I Exchange Compliments
Chapter 20. A Catastrophe
Chapter 21. A Section in My Biography
Chapter 22. I Return to My Muttons
Chapter 23. Traveling Incognito
Chapter 24. My Incognito is Exploded
Chapter 25. From Cairo to Hickman
Chapter 26. Under Fire
Chapter 27. Some Imported Articles
Chapter 28. Uncle Mumford Unloads
Chapter 29. A Few Specimen Bricks
Chapter 30. Sketches by the Way
Chapter 31. A Thumb-print and What Came of It
Chapter 32. The Disposal of a Bonanza
Chapter 33. Refreshments and Ethics
Chapter 34. Tough Yarns
Chapter 35. Vicksburg During the Trouble
Chapter 36. The Professor's Yarn
Chapter 37. The End of the 'Gold Dust'
Chapter 38. The House Beautiful
Chapter 39. Manufactures and Miscreants
Chapter 40. Castles and Culture
Chapter 41. The Metropolis of the South
Chapter 42. Hygiene and Sentiment
Chapter 43. The Art of Inhumation
Chapter 44. City Sights
Chapter 45. Southern Sports
Chapter 46. Enchantments and Enchanters
Chapter 47. Uncle Remus and Mr. Cable
Chapter 48. Sugar and Postage
Chapter 49. Episodes in Pilot Life
Chapter 50. The 'Original Jacobs'
Chapter 51. Reminiscences
Chapter 52. A Burning Brand
Chapter 53. My Boyhood's Home
Chapter 54. Past and Present
Chapter 55. A Vendetta and Other Things
Chapter 56. A Question of Law
Chapter 57. An Archangel
Chapter 58. On the Upper River
Chapter 59. Legends and Scenery
Chapter 60. Speculations and Conclusions
Appendix A
Appendix B
Appendix C
Appendix D