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392 pages

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Books such as The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn have firmly established Mark Twain's reputation as one of the best-loved American humorists, but the author's non-fiction works are packed with as much laughter and keen insight as his popular novels. In the series of essays presented in the volume Roughing It, Twain recounts his years as a soldier, sailor, and speculator in the Wild West.

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Travel writing

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 décembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775450344
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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ROUGHING IT
* * *
MARK TWAIN

*

Roughing It First published in 1872 ISBN 978-1-775450-34-4 © 2010 The Floating Press
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Prefatory Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII Chapter XIX Chapter XX Chapter XXI Chapter XXII Chapter XXIII Chapter XXIV Chapter XXV Chapter XXVI Chapter XXVII Chapter XXVIII Chapter XXIX Chapter XXX Chapter XXXI Chapter XXXII Chapter XXXIII Chapter XXXIV Chapter XXXV Chapter XXXVI Chapter XXXVII Chapter XXXVIII Chapter XXXIX Chapter XL Chapter XLI Chapter XLII Chapter XLIII Chapter XLIV Chapter XLV Chapter XLVI Chapter XLVII Chapter XLVIII Chapter XLIX Chapter L Chapter LI Chapter LII Chapter LIII Chapter LIV Chapter LV Chapter LVI Chapter LVII Chapter LVIII Chapter LIX Chapter LX Chapter LXI Chapter LXII Chapter LXIII Chapter LXIV Chapter LXV Chapter LXVI Chapter LXVII Chapter LXVIII Chapter LXIX Chapter LXX Chapter LXXI Chapter LXXII Chapter LXXIII Chapter LXXIV Chapter LXXV Chapter LXXVI Chapter LXXVII Chapter LXXVIII Chapter LXXIX Appendix A - Brief Sketch of Mormon History Appendix B - The Mountain Meadows Massacre Appendix C - Concerning a Frightful Assassination that was Never Consummated
Prefatory
*
This book is merely a personal narrative, and not a pretentious historyor a philosophical dissertation. It is a record of several years ofvariegated vagabondizing, and its object is rather to help the restingreader while away an idle hour than afflict him with metaphysics, or goadhim with science. Still, there is information in the volume; informationconcerning an interesting episode in the history of the Far West, aboutwhich no books have been written by persons who were on the ground inperson, and saw the happenings of the time with their own eyes. I alludeto the rise, growth and culmination of the silver-mining fever in Nevada-a curious episode, in some respects; the only one, of its peculiar kind,that has occurred in the land; and the only one, indeed, that is likelyto occur in it.
Yes, take it all around, there is quite a good deal of information in thebook. I regret this very much; but really it could not be helped:information appears to stew out of me naturally, like the precious ottarof roses out of the otter. Sometimes it has seemed to me that I wouldgive worlds if I could retain my facts; but it cannot be. The more I calkup the sources, and the tighter I get, the more I leak wisdom. Therefore,I can only claim indulgence at the hands of the reader, notjustification.
THE AUTHOR.
Chapter I
*
My brother had just been appointed Secretary of Nevada Territory—anoffice of such majesty that it concentrated in itself the duties anddignities of Treasurer, Comptroller, Secretary of State, and ActingGovernor in the Governor's absence. A salary of eighteen hundred dollarsa year and the title of "Mr. Secretary," gave to the great position anair of wild and imposing grandeur. I was young and ignorant, and Ienvied my brother. I coveted his distinction and his financial splendor,but particularly and especially the long, strange journey he was going tomake, and the curious new world he was going to explore. He was going totravel! I never had been away from home, and that word "travel" had aseductive charm for me. Pretty soon he would be hundreds and hundreds ofmiles away on the great plains and deserts, and among the mountains ofthe Far West, and would see buffaloes and Indians, and prairie dogs, andantelopes, and have all kinds of adventures, and may be get hanged orscalped, and have ever such a fine time, and write home and tell us allabout it, and be a hero. And he would see the gold mines and the silvermines, and maybe go about of an afternoon when his work was done, andpick up two or three pailfuls of shining slugs, and nuggets of gold andsilver on the hillside. And by and by he would become very rich, andreturn home by sea, and be able to talk as calmly about San Francisco andthe ocean, and "the isthmus" as if it was nothing of any consequence tohave seen those marvels face to face. What I suffered in contemplatinghis happiness, pen cannot describe. And so, when he offered me, in coldblood, the sublime position of private secretary under him, it appearedto me that the heavens and the earth passed away, and the firmament wasrolled together as a scroll! I had nothing more to desire. Mycontentment was complete.
At the end of an hour or two I was ready for the journey. Not muchpacking up was necessary, because we were going in the overland stagefrom the Missouri frontier to Nevada, and passengers were only allowed asmall quantity of baggage apiece. There was no Pacific railroad in thosefine times of ten or twelve years ago—not a single rail of it.I only proposed to stay in Nevada three months—I had no thought ofstaying longer than that. I meant to see all I could that was new andstrange, and then hurry home to business. I little thought that I wouldnot see the end of that three-month pleasure excursion for six or sevenuncommonly long years!
I dreamed all night about Indians, deserts, and silver bars, and in duetime, next day, we took shipping at the St. Louis wharf on board asteamboat bound up the Missouri River.
We were six days going from St. Louis to "St. Jo."—a trip that was sodull, and sleepy, and eventless that it has left no more impression on mymemory than if its duration had been six minutes instead of that manydays. No record is left in my mind, now, concerning it, but a confusedjumble of savage-looking snags, which we deliberately walked over withone wheel or the other; and of reefs which we butted and butted, and thenretired from and climbed over in some softer place; and of sand-barswhich we roosted on occasionally, and rested, and then got out ourcrutches and sparred over.
In fact, the boat might almost as well have gone to St. Jo. by land, forshe was walking most of the time, anyhow—climbing over reefs andclambering over snags patiently and laboriously all day long. Thecaptain said she was a "bully" boat, and all she wanted was more "shear"and a bigger wheel. I thought she wanted a pair of stilts, but I had thedeep sagacity not to say so.
Chapter II
*
The first thing we did on that glad evening that landed us at St. Josephwas to hunt up the stage-office, and pay a hundred and fifty dollarsapiece for tickets per overland coach to Carson City, Nevada.
The next morning, bright and early, we took a hasty breakfast, andhurried to the starting-place. Then an inconvenience presented itselfwhich we had not properly appreciated before, namely, that one cannotmake a heavy traveling trunk stand for twenty-five pounds of baggage—because it weighs a good deal more. But that was all we could take—twenty-five pounds each. So we had to snatch our trunks open, and make aselection in a good deal of a hurry. We put our lawful twenty-fivepounds apiece all in one valise, and shipped the trunks back to St. Louisagain. It was a sad parting, for now we had no swallow-tail coats andwhite kid gloves to wear at Pawnee receptions in the Rocky Mountains, andno stove-pipe hats nor patent-leather boots, nor anything else necessaryto make life calm and peaceful. We were reduced to a war-footing. Eachof us put on a rough, heavy suit of clothing, woolen army shirt and"stogy" boots included; and into the valise we crowded a few whiteshirts, some under-clothing and such things. My brother, the Secretary,took along about four pounds of United States statutes and six pounds ofUnabridged Dictionary; for we did not know—poor innocents—that suchthings could be bought in San Francisco on one day and received in CarsonCity the next. I was armed to the teeth with a pitiful little Smith &Wesson's seven-shooter, which carried a ball like a homoeopathic pill,and it took the whole seven to make a dose for an adult. But I thoughtit was grand. It appeared to me to be a dangerous weapon. It only hadone fault—you could not hit anything with it. One of our "conductors"practiced awhile on a cow with it, and as long as she stood still andbehaved herself she was safe; but as soon as she went to moving about,and he got to shooting at other things, she came to grief. The Secretaryhad a small-sized Colt's revolver strapped around him for protectionagainst the Indians, and to guard against accidents he carried ituncapped. Mr. George Bemis was dismally formidable. George Bemis wasour fellow-traveler.
We had never seen him before. He wore in his belt an old original"Allen" revolver, such as irreverent people called a "pepper-box." Simplydrawing the trigger back, cocked and fired the pistol. As the triggercame back, the hammer would begin to rise and the barrel to turn over,and presently down would drop the hammer, and away would speed the ball.To aim along the turning barrel and hit the thing aimed at was a featwhich was probably never done with an "Allen" in the world. But George'swas a reliable weapon, nevertheless, because, as one of the stage-driversafterward said, "If she didn't get what she went after, she would fetchsomething else." And so she did. She went after a deuce of spades nailedagainst a tree, once, and fetched a mule standing about thirty yards tothe left of it. Bemis did not want the mule; but the owner came out witha double-barreled shotgun and persuaded him to buy it, anyhow. It