brother's absence, furnish the first link, his apprenticeship to Bixby
the second link in the chain of circumstance. For two years and a half
he sailed the river as a master pilot; his trustworthiness secured for
him the command of some of the best boats on the river, and he was so
skilful that he never met disaster on any of his trips. He narrowly
escaped it in 1861, for when Louisiana seceded, his boat was drafted
into the Confederate service. As he reached St. Louis, having taken
passage for home, a shell came whizzing by and carried off part of the
pilot-house. It was the end of an era: the Civil War had begun. The
occupation of the pilot was gone; but the river had given up to him all
of its secrets. He was to show them to a world, in 'Life on the
Mississippi' and 'Huckleberry Finn'.

The story of the derivation of the famous _nom de guerre_ has often been
narrated-and as often erroneously. As the steamboat approaches a
sandbank, snag, or other obstruction, the man at the bow heaves the lead
and sings out, "By the mark, three," "Mark twain," etc.-meaning three
fathoms deep, two fathoms, and so on. The thought of adopting Mark
Twain as a _nom de guerre_ was not original with Clemens; but the world
owes him a debt of gratitude for making forever famous a name that, but
for him, would have been forever lost. "There was a man, Captain Isaiah
Sellers, who furnished river news for the New Orleans Picayune, still
one of the best papers in the South," Mr. Clemens once confessed to
Professor Wm. L. Phelps. "He used to sign his articles Mark Twain. He
died in 1863. I liked the name, and stole it. I think I have done him
no wrong, for I seem to have made this name somewhat generally known."

The inglorious escapade of his military career, at which he himself has
poked unspeakable fun, and for which not even his most enthusiastic
biographers have any excuse, was soon ended. Had his heart really been