P. S. I have written this by a light so dim that you nor Ma could not
read by it.
He was lodging in a mechanics' cheap boarding-house in Duane Street,
and we may imagine the bareness of his room, the feeble poverty of
his lamp.
“Tell Ma my promises are faithfully kept.” It was the day when he
had left Hannibal. His mother, Jane Clemens, a resolute, wiry woman
of forty-nine, had put together his few belongings. Then, holding
up a little Testament:
“I want you to take hold of the end of this, Sam,” she said, “and
make me a promise. I want you to repeat after me these words:
'I do solemnly swear that I will not throw a card, or drink a drop
of liquor while I am gone.'”
It was this oath, repeated after her, that he was keeping
faithfully. The Will Bowen mentioned is a former playmate, one of
Tom Sawyer's outlaw band. He had gone on the river to learn
piloting with an elder brother, the “Captain.” What the bad news
was is no longer remembered, but it could not have been very
serious, for the Bowen boys remained on the river for many years.
“Ella” was Samuel Clemens's cousin and one-time sweetheart, Ella
Creel. “Jim” was Jim Wolfe, an apprentice in Orion's office, and
the hero of an adventure which long after Mark Twain wrote under the
title of, “Jim Wolfe and the Cats.”
There is scarcely a hint of the future Mark Twain in this early
letter. It is the letter of a boy of seventeen who is beginning to
take himself rather seriously--who, finding himself for the first
time far from home and equal to his own responsibilities, is willing
to carry the responsibility of others. Henry, his brother, three
years younger, had been left in the printing-office with Orion, who,
after a long, profitless fight, is planning to remove from Hannibal.
The young traveler is concerned as to the family outlook, and will
furnish advice if invited. He feels the approach of prosperity, and
will take his mother on a long-coveted trip to her old home in the
spring. His evenings? Where should he spend them, with a free
library of four thousand volumes close by? It is distinctly a
youthful letter, a bit pretentious, and wanting in the spontaneity
and humor of a later time. It invites comment, now, chiefly because
it is the first surviving document in the long human story.
He was working in the printing-office of John A. Gray and Green, on
Cliff Street, and remained there through the summer. He must have
written more than once during this period, but the next existing
letter--also to Sister Pamela--was written in October. It is
perhaps a shade more natural in tone than the earlier example, and
there is a hint of Mark Twain in the first paragraph.
To Mrs. Moffett, in St. Louis:
NEW YORK..., Oct. Saturday '53.
MY DEAR SISTER,--I have not written to any of the family for some
time, from the fact, firstly, that I didn't know where they were, and
secondly, because I have been fooling myself with the idea that I was
going to leave New York every day for the last two weeks. I have taken
a liking to the abominable place, and every time I get ready to leave, I
put it off a day or so, from some unaccountable cause. It is as hard
on my conscience to leave New York, as it was easy to leave Hannibal. I
think I shall get off Tuesday, though.
Edwin Forrest has been playing, for the last sixteen days, at the
Broadway Theatre, but I never went to see him till last night. The play
was the “Gladiator.” I did not like parts of it much, but other portions
were really splendid. In the latter part of the last act, where the
“Gladiator” (Forrest) dies at his brother's feet, (in all the fierce
pleasure of gratified revenge,) the man's whole soul seems absorbed
in the part he is playing; and it is really startling to see him. I am
sorry I did not see him play “Damon and Pythias” the former character
being his greatest. He appears in Philadelphia on Monday night.
I have not received a letter from home lately, but got a “'Journal'” the
other day, in which I see the office has been sold. I suppose Ma, Orion
and Henry are in St. Louis now. If Orion has no other project in his
head, he ought to take the contract for getting out some weekly
paper, if he cannot get a foremanship. Now, for such a paper as the
“Presbyterian” (containing about 60,000,--[Sixty thousand ems, type
measurement.]) he could get $20 or $25 per week, and he and Henry could
easily do the work; nothing to do but set the type and make up the
forms....
If my letters do not come often, you need not bother yourself about me;
for if you have a brother nearly eighteen years of age, who is not able
to take care of himself a few miles from home, such a brother is not
worth one's thoughts: and if I don't manage to take care of No. 1, be
assured you will never know it. I am not afraid, however; I shall ask
favors from no one, and endeavor to be (and shall be) as “independent as
a wood-sawyer's clerk.”
I never saw such a place for military companies as New York. Go on the
street when you will, you are sure to meet a company in full uniform,
with all the usual appendages of drums, fifes, &c. I saw a large company
of soldiers of 1812 the other day, with a '76 veteran scattered here and
there in the ranks. And as I passed through one of the parks lately,
I came upon a company of boys on parade. Their uniforms were neat, and
their muskets about half the common size. Some of them were not more
than seven or eight years of age; but had evidently been well-drilled.
Passage to Albany (160 miles) on the finest steamers that ply' the
Hudson, is now 25 cents--cheap enough, but is generally cheaper than
that in the summer.
I want you to write as soon as I tell you where to direct your letter.
I would let you know now, if I knew myself. I may perhaps be here a week
longer; but I cannot tell. When you write tell me the whereabouts of the
family. My love to Mr. Moffett and Ella. Tell Ella I intend to write to
her soon, whether she wants me to nor not.
Truly your Brother,