home, and supporting the pro-slavery party when they came
to America. A few years before his death he made a tour of
Europe, and in coming back reached Belfast and got among
the Orangemen of the North. These men intensified his
prejudices, and when he reached Dublin he had made up his
mind to write a series of Nasby letters ridiculing Parnell and
the Irish movement for home rule. Mr. Redpath happened
to meet him there, but found it impossible to convince him
that the Irish were wholly in the right in their struggle for
home rule. Finally, finding that he could not make Nasby
understand the tyranny of the Irish landlords, he offered to
make a bet to convert him. And a curious bet it was. Redpath
said:
“Take a map of Ireland and pitch a sixpence on any part
of the West, and whether I have been there or not, if you
and Bob (his son) will go there with me, I will convince you
by what I shall show you that I am right and the Irish are
right, and I will pay your expenses if you don’t come back a
worse Irishman than I am, but you will pay mine if you are
converted.”
The offer was accepted, and Nasby fixed on the Killarney
Lake region. In going there from Cork the party stopped
over at the Galter Mountains, and Nasby was so shocked at
the horrible poverty he saw there, and at the stories he heard
from the people, that in coming back he offered to send the
best Winchester rifle in America to the jaunting-car driver if
he would promise to shoot a landlord.
“Which landlord, your honor?” asked the driver.
“Oh, any one, I don’t care,” replied Nasby, “so long as he
is an Irish landlord.”
On returning to America Locke astonished his old friends
by becoming a more radical champion of Irish rights than even
his friend Redpath, whom the Irish-Americans had already
christened “the adopted Irishman.”
President Lincoln telegraphed to Toledo: “For the genius
to write like Nasby I would gladly give up my office.” Of
all publications during the Civil War none had such a charm
for him. It was a delight to see him surrender himself completely
to their fascination.
Of his letters Charles Sumner says, in the preface to
Nasby’s book, “it is impossible to measure their value.”
[Illustration: MARK TWAIN]
Samuel L. Clemens (Mark Twain) I consider one of
the greatest geniuses of our time, and as great a philosopher
as humorist. I think I know him better than he is known
to most men--wide as his circle of acquaintances is, big as
is his reputation. He is as great a man as he is a genius, too.
Tenderness and sensitiveness are his two strongest traits. He
has one of the best hearts that ever beat. One must know
him well fully to discern all of his best traits. He keeps
them entrenched, so to speak. I rather imagine that he fights
shy of having it generally suspected that he is kind and tender-hearted,
but many of his friends do know it. He possesses
some of the frontier traits--a fierce spirit of retaliation and
the absolute confidence that life-long “partners,” in the
Western sense, develop. Injure him, and he is merciless,
especially if you betray his confidence. Once a lecture manager
in New York, whom he trusted to arrange the details of
a lecture in Steinway Hall, swindled him to the amount of
$1,500, and afterward confessed it, offering restitution to
that amount, but not until the swindle had been discovered.
They were on board ship at the time, and “Mark” threatened
to throw the fellow overboard, meaning it, too, but he fled
ashore. In “The Gilded Age” “Mark” immolated him.
(Mr. Griller, Lecture Agent, page 438, London Edition). The
fellow died soon afterward, and James Redpath, who was a
witness to the scene on the steamboat, and who knew the man
well, insisted that “Mark’s” arrow killed him; but he would
have fired it all the same had he known what the result would
be.
General Grant and “Mark Twain” were the greatest of
friends. C. L. Webster & Co. (Mark Twain) published “General
Grant’s Memoirs,” yet how like and unlike are the careers
of the soldier and the citizen!
Grant: poor, a tanner, small farmer, selling cordwood for
a living, with less prospect for rising than any ex-West Pointer
in the army; then the greatest military reputation of the age;
twice President of the United States; the foremost civilian of
the world; the most honored guest of peoples and rulers who
ever made the circuit of the earth.
“Mark Twain”: a printer’s apprentice in a small Missouri
River town; then a “tramping jour” printer; a Mississippi
roustabout guarding freight piles on the levee all night for
pocket money; river pilot; a rebel guerilla; a reporter in a
Nevada mining town; then suddenly the most famous author
of the age; a man of society, with the most aristocratic clubs
of America, and all around the civilized globe, flung open to
him; adopted with all the honors into one of the most exclusive
societies on this continent, the favored companion of
the most cultivated spirits of the age, welcomed abroad in all
the courts almost as a crowned head. “Peace hath its victories,”
etc.
There is indeed another parallel between Grant and Twain.
Grant found himself impoverished two years before his death,
when was left for him the most heroic part of his lifework,
to write his memoirs (while he knew he was dying), for which,
through his publishers, C. L. Webster & Co. (Twain), his family
received nearly half a million dollars. That firm failed in
1894, leaving liabilities to the amount of $80,000 over and
above all it owned for “Mark” to pay, and which he has
earned with his voice and pen in a tour around the world, paying
every creditor in full, in one year’s less time than he calculated
when he started at Cleveland on the 15th day of July,
1895. Yes, there is a parallel between the two great heroes
in courage and integrity; they are more like than unlike.
“Mark Twain” became a lecturer in California in 1869,
after he had returned to San Francisco from the Sandwich
Islands. He had written from there a series of picturesque
and humorous letters for the Sacramento _Union_, a California
journal, and was asked to lecture about the islands. He
tells of his first experience with great glee. He had written
the lecture and committed it to memory, and was satisfied
with it. Still, he dreaded a failure on the first night, as he
had had no experience in addressing audiences. Accordingly,
he made an arrangement with a woman friend, whose family
was to occupy one of the boxes, to start the applause if he
should give the sign by looking in her direction and stroking
his moustache. He thought that if he failed to “strike”
the audience he would be encouraged by a round of applause, if
any one would start it after he had made a good point.
Instead of failure, his lecture was a boundless success.
The audience rapturously applauded every point, and “Mark”
forgot all about his instructions to the lady. Finally, as he
was thinking of some new point that occurred to him as he
was talking, without a thought of the lady at all, he unconsciously
put his hand up to his moustache, and happened to
turn in the direction of the box. He had said nothing just
then to cause even his appreciative audience to applaud; but
the lady took his action for the signal, and nearly broke her
fan in striking it against the edge of the box. The whole
house joined her applause.
This unexpected and malapropos applause almost knocked
“Mark” off his pins; but he soon recovered himself, and became
at once one of the favorites of the platform. He lectured
a year or two in the West, and then, by Petroleum V.
Nasby’s advice, in 1872-73, James Redpath invited him to
come East, and he made his first appearance in Boston, in the
Redpath Lyceum Music Hall. His success was instantaneous,
and he has ever since remained the universal platform favorite
to this date, not only in America, in Australia, in India, in
the Cape Colonies, and throughout Great Britain; but in Austria
and in Germany, where large crowds pay higher prices to
see and to hear “Mark Twain” than any other private citizen
that has ever lived.
In his tour around the world “Mark Twain” earned with
his voice and pen money enough to pay all his creditors (Webster
& Co., publishers) in full, with interest, and this he did
almost a year sooner than he had originally calculated. Such
a triumphal tour has never before been made by any American
since that memorable tour around the world by General
Grant. Samuel L. Clemens has been greeted in France,
Switzerland, Germany, and England almost like a crowned
head.
He wrote me from Paris, May 1, 1895: “I’ve a notion to
read a few times in America before I sail for Australia. I’m
going to think it over and make up my mind.” On May 18th
he arrived in this country, and I made arrangements for him
to lecture in twenty-one cities on his way to the Pacific, beginning
in Cleveland, July 15th, and ending in Vancouver,
British Columbia, August 15th. From that place he was to
sail for Australia, via Honolulu, where it was planned that he
should speak while the ship was waiting; but owing to yellow
fever no landing was made there, and over $1,600 was returned
to the disappointed people of Honolulu.
June 11th he wrote me from Elmira that if we have a circular
for this brief campaign, the chief feature, when speaking
of him should be, that he (M. T.) _is on his way to Australia
and thence around the globe on a reading and talking
tour to last twelve months_; that travelling _around the world_ is
nothing, as everybody does it. But what he was travelling
_for_ was unusual; everybody didn’t do _that_.
“I like the approximate itinerary first rate. It is _lake_ all
the way from Cleveland to Duluth. I wouldn’t switch aside
to Milwaukee for $200,000.” His original idea was to lecture
in nine cities, besides two or three others on the Pacific
Coast. I was to have one-fourth of the profits except in San
Francisco, where he was to have four-fifths. But we did not
go to San Francisco.
There were five of us in the party: Mr. and Mrs. Clemens,
Clara (one of their daughters), Mrs. Pond and myself. During
the journey I kept a detailed journal, from which I shall
quote:
* * * * *
“Cleveland, July 15, 1895.
“At the Stillman with ‘Mark Twain,’ his wife, and their daughter Clara.
‘Mark’ looks badly fatigued.
“We have very comfortable quarters here. ‘Mark’ went immediately to bed
on our arrival. He is nervous and weak. Reporters from all the morning
and evening papers called and interviewed him. It seemed like old times
again, and ‘Mark’ enjoyed it.
“The young men called at 3 p.m. and paid me the fee for the lecture,
which took place in Music Hall. There were 4,200 people present, at
prices ranging from 25 cents to $1. It was nine o’clock before the crowd
could get in and ‘Mark’ begin. As he hobbled upon the stage, there was a
grand ovation of cheers and applause, which continued for some time.
Then he began to speak, and before he could finish a sentence the
applause broke out again. So it went on for over an hour on a mid-July
night, with the mercury trying to climb out of the top of the
thermometer. ‘Mark Twain’ kept that vast throng in convulsions.
* * * * *
“Cleveland, Tuesday, July 16th.
“Ninety degrees in the shade at 7:30 a.m. Good notices of ‘Mark Twain’s’
lecture appear in all the papers. ‘Mark’ spent all day in bed until five
o’clock, while I spent the day in writing to all correspondents ahead.
If Sault Ste. Marie, the next engagement, turns out as well in
proportion as this place, our tour is a success. ‘Mark’ and family were
invited out to dinner with some old friends and companions of the Quaker
City tour. He returned very nervous and much distressed. We discover a
remarkable woman in Mrs. Clemens. There’s a good time in store for us
all.
* * * * *
“Wednesday, July 17th, S.S. _Northland_.
“Our party left Cleveland for Mackinac at seven o’clock. ‘Mark’ is
feeling very poorly. He is carrying on a big fight against his bodily
disability. All that has been said of this fine ocean ship on the Great
Lakes is not exaggerated. Across Lake Erie to Detroit River, Lake St.
Clair, and the St. Clair River is a most charming trip. ‘Mark’ and Mrs.
Clemens are very cheerful to-day. The passengers have discovered who
they are, and consequently our party is the centre of attraction.
Wherever ‘Mark’ sits or stands on the deck of the steamer, in the
smoking room, dining room, or cabin, he is the magnet, and people strain
their necks to see him and to catch every word he utters.
“On this lake trip occurred an incident of which I have already written.
It was the second day out on Lake Huron, and ‘Mark’ was on deck in the
morning for the first time. Many people made excuses for speaking to
him. One man had stopped off in Cleveland on purpose to hear him.
Another, from Washington Territory, who had lived forty years in the
West, owned a copy of ‘Roughing It,’ which he and his wife knew by
heart. One very gentle, elderly lady wished to thank him for the nice
things he has written and said of cats. But the one that interested
‘Mark’ the most was a young man who asked him if he had ever seen or
used a shaving stone, handing him one. It was a small, peculiar,
fine-grained sand-stone, the shape of a miniature grindstone, and about
the size of an ordinary watch. He explained that all you had to do was
to rub your face with it and the rough beard would disappear, leaving a
clean, shaven face.
“‘Mark’ took it, rubbed it on his unshaven cheek, and expressed great
wonder at the result. He put it in his vest pocket very unceremoniously,
remarking at the same time: ‘The Madam (he generally speaks of Mrs.
Clemens as ‘The Madam’) will have no cause to complain of my never being
ready in time for church because it takes so long to shave. I will put
this into my vest pocket on Sunday. Then, when I get to church, I’ll
pull the thing out and enjoy a quiet shave in my pew during the long
prayer.’
* * * * *
“Friday, July 19th, Grand Hotel, Mackinac.
“We came by steamer _F. S. Faxton_, of the Arnold Line. It was an ideal
excursion among the islands. Although it was cold, none of our party
would leave the deck until the dinner bell rang. ‘Mark’ said: ‘That
sounds like an old-fashioned summons to dinner. It means a good,
old-fashioned, unpretentious dinner, too. I’m going to try it.’ We all
sat down to a table the whole length of the cabin. We naturally fell in
with the rush, and all got seats. It was a good dinner, too; the best
ever I heard of for 25 cents.
“We reached the Grand Hotel at 4:30. I saw one of ‘Mark’s’ lithographs
in the hotel office, with ‘Tickets for Sale Here’ written in blue pencil
on the margin. It seemed dull and dead about the lobby, and also in the
streets. The hotel manager said the Casino, an adjoining hall, was at
our service, free, and the keeper had instructions to seat and to light
it. Dinner time came; we all went down together. It was ‘Mark’s’ first
appearance in a public dining room since we started. He attracted some
attention as he entered and sat down, but nothing especial. After dinner
the news-stand man told me he had not sold a ticket, and no one had
inquired about the lecture. I waited until eight o’clock and then went
to the hall to notify the man that he need not light up as there would
be no audience. The janitor and I chatted until about half-past eight,
and I was about to leave when a man and woman came to the door and asked
for tickets. I was on the point of telling them that there would be no
lecture when I saw a number of people, guests of the hotel, coming. I
suddenly changed my mind and told them: ‘Admission $1; pay the money to
me and walk right in.’ The crowd kept rushing on me, so that I was
obliged to ask everybody who could to please have the exact amount
ready, as I was unable to change large bills without a good deal of
delay. It was after nine o’clock before the rush was over, and I sent a
boy for ‘Mark.’ He expressed his pleasant surprise. I asked him to walk
to the platform and introduce himself, which he did, and I don’t believe
an audience ever had a better time of an hour and a half. ‘Mark’ was
simply immense.
“I counted my money while the ‘show’ was going on and found I had taken
in $398. When about half through, two young men came to the door and
wanted to be admitted for one dollar for the two. I said: ‘No; one
dollar each; I cannot take less.’ They turned to go; then I called them
back and explained that I needed two more dollars to make receipts just
$400, and said:
“‘Now, if you’ll pay a dollar each and complete my pile, you can come in
and enjoy the best end of the performance, and when the ‘show’ is out,
I’ll take you down-stairs and blow you off to twice that amount.’
“They paid the two dollars, and after the crowd had left, I introduced
them to ‘Mark,’ and we all went down to the billiard room, had a good
time until twelve o’clock, and ‘Mark’ and I made two delightful
acquaintances. This has been one of our best days. ‘Mark’ is gaining.
* * * * *
“Saturday, July 20th, Mackinac to Petoskey.
“‘Mark’ is feeling better. He and I left the ladies at the Grand, in
Mackinac, and went to Petoskey on the two o’clock boat and train. The
smoke, from forest fires on both sides of the track, is so thick as to
be almost stifling. There is a good hotel here.
“There was a full house, and for the first time in a number of months I
had a lecture room so crowded at one dollar a ticket that many could not
get standing room and were obliged to go away. The theatre has a seating
capacity of five hundred, but over seven hundred and fifty got in.
‘Mark’s’ programme was just right--one hour and twenty minutes long. He
stopped at an hour and ten minutes, and cries of ‘Go on! Go on!’ were so
earnest that he told one more story. George Kennan was one of the
audience. He is going to give a course of lectures at Lake View
Assembly, an auxiliary Chautauqua adjoining Petoskey, where about five
thousand people assemble every summer. Mr. Hall, the manager, thought
that ‘Mark Twain’ would not draw sufficient to warrant engaging him at
$250, so I took the risk outside, and won.
* * * * *
“Sunday, July 21st.
“‘Mark’ and I left Petoskey for Mackinac at 5:30 this morning, where we
joined the ladies and waited five hours on the dock for S.S. _Northwest_
to take us to Duluth. It was severe on the poor man, but he was heroic
and silent all the way. He has not tasted food since the dinner on the
_Faxton_ Friday.
“Monday, July 22d.
“On Lake Superior; S.S. _Northwest_. I was on deck early and found the
smoke all gone. In its place was bright sunshine, but it has been so
cold all day that few of the other passengers are on deck. Captain Brown
and Purser Pierce are doing all they can to hurry us on, for we are
eight hours late.
“We landed in Duluth at just 9 p.m. Mr. Briggs, our correspondent, met
us at the wharf with a carriage. As our boat neared land Briggs shouted:
“‘Hello, Major Pond!’
“‘Hello, Briggs!’
“‘Is Mark Twain all right?’
“‘Yes; he is ready to go to the hall; he will be the first passenger off
the ship.’
“‘Good. We have a big audience waiting for him,’ said Mr. Briggs.
“‘We’ll have them convulsed in ten minutes,’ said I.
“‘Mark’ was the first passenger to land. Mr. Briggs hurried him to the
church, which was packed with twelve hundred and fifty warm friends (100
degrees in the shade) to meet and greet him. It was a big audience. He
got through at 10:50 and we were all on board the train for Minneapolis
at 11:20.
“It was my busy night. The train for Minneapolis was to start at twelve
o’clock. The agents in New York who had fitted me out with
transportation and promised that everything should be in readiness on
our arrival in Duluth, had forgotten us, and no arrangements for sleeper
or transfer of baggage had been made. I had all this to attend to,
besides looking after the business part of the lecture, which was on
sharing terms with a church society. Everything was mixed up, as the
door-tender and finance committee were bound to hear the lecture. I
could get no statement, but took all the money in sight, and was on
board the train as it was starting for Minneapolis.
“Tuesday, July 23d, Minneapolis.
“We are stopping at the West Hotel; a delightful place. Six skilled
reporters have spent about two hours with ‘Mark.’ He was lying in bed,
and very tired I know, but he was extremely courteous to them, and they
all enjoyed the interview. The Metropolitan Opera House was filled to
the top gallery with a big crowd of well-dressed, intelligent people. It
was about as big a night as ‘Mark’ ever had to my knowledge. He
introduced a new entertainment, blending pathos with humor with unusual
continuity. This was at Mrs. Clemens’s suggestion. She had given me an
idea on the start that too much humor tired an audience with laughing.
‘Mark’ took the hint and worked in three or four pathetic stories that
made the entertainment perfect. The ‘show’ is a triumph, and ‘Mark’ will
never again need a running mate to make him satisfactory to everybody.
“The next day the Minneapolis papers were full of good things about the
lecture. The _Times_ devoted three columns and a half of fine print to a
verbatim report of it. The following evening in St. Paul ‘Mark’ gave the
same programme, which was commented on in glowing terms by St. Paul
papers.
* * * * *
“Friday, July 26th, Winnipeg--The Manitoba.
“We have had a most charming ride through North Dakota and southeastern
Manitoba. It seems as if everything along the route must have been put
in order for our reception. The flat, wild prairies (uninhabited in
1883) are now all under cultivation. There are fine farmhouses, barns,
windmills, and vast fields of wheat--‘oceans of wheat,’ as ‘Mark’
said--as far as eye can reach in all directions, waving like as the
ocean waves, and so flat! Mr. Beecher remarked to his wife when riding
through herein 1883: ‘Mother, you couldn’t flatter this country.’
“We had a splendid audience. ‘Mark’ and I were entertained at the famous
Manitoba Club after the lecture--a club of the leading men of Winnipeg.
We did not stay out very late, as ‘Mark’ feared Mrs. Clemens would not
retire until he came, and he was quite anxious for her to rest, as the
long night journey in the cars had been very fatiguing. On our arrival
at the hotel we heard singing and a sound of revelry in the parlors. A
party of young gentlemen of the lecture committee had escorted our
ladies home. They were fine singers, and, with Miss Clara Clemens at the
piano, a concert was in progress, that we all enjoyed another hour.
“Saturday, the 27th, we all put down as the pleasantest day thus far.
Several young English gentlemen who have staked fortunes in this
northwest in wheat ranches and other enterprises, brought out their
tandems and traps and drove the ladies about the country. They saw the
largest herd of wild buffalo that now exists, in a large enclosure. They
were driven to various interesting suburban sights, of which there are
more than one would believe could exist in this far northwest new city.
Bouquets and banks of flowers--of such beautiful colors!--were sent in;
many ladies called, and all in all it has been an ovation. ‘Mark,’ as is
his custom, did not get up until time to go to the lecture hall, but he
was happy. Several journalists called, who he told me were the best
informed and most scholarly lot of editors he had found anywhere; and I
think he was correct. There was another large crowd at the lecture, and
another and final reception at the famous Manitoba Club. We were home at
twelve, and all so happy! We’re on the road to happiness surely.
* * * * *
“Monday, July 29th.
“We have been in Crookston, Minn., all day, where we were the first and
especially favored guests of this fine new hotel. ‘Mark Twain’s’ name
was the first on the register. We are enjoying it. ‘Mark’ is as gay as a
lark, but he remained in bed until time to go to the Opera House. This
city is wonderfully improved since I was here in 1883 with Mr. Beecher,
in 1885 with Clara Louise Kellogg, and in 1887 with Charles Dickens, Jr.
The opening of this hotel is a great event. People are filling up the
town from all directions to see and hear ‘Mark,’ and taking advantage of
the occasion to see the first new hotel (The Crookston) in their city
with hot and cold water, electric lights and all modern improvements.
* * * * *
“Tuesday, July 30th, en route.