第19章 密西西比河上的生活(2)

　　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 steam-boatman

　　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 tablecloth

　　over the side，where all my old comrades could see me ；later I

　　thought I would rather be the deckhand 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 Sundayschool

　　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 labboard side of a horse in an easy，natural way that

　　would make one wish he was dead. And he was always talking

　　about“St. Looey”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

　　postmaster’s sons became mud clerks ；the wholesale liquor

　　dealer’s son became a barkeeper 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 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

　　daydreams of a future when I should be a great and honored