“We got to be good friends, of course, and I spent most of my time up there with him.  When we got down below Cairo, and there was a big, full river—­for it was highwater season and there was no danger of the boat hitting anything so long as she kept in the river—­I had her most of the time on his watch.  He would lie down and sleep, and leave me there to dream that the years had not slipped away; that there had been no war, no mining days, no literary adventures; that I was still a pilot, happy and care-free as I had been twenty years before.”

From the book we gather that he could not keep out of the pilot-house.  He was likely to get up at any hour of the night to stand his watch, and truly enough the years had slipped away.  He was the young fellow in his twenties again, speculating on the problems of existence and reading his fortune in the stars.  To heighten the illusion, he had himself called regularly with the four-o’clock watch, in order not to miss the mornings. —­[It will repay the reader to turn to chap. xxx of Life on the Mississippi, and consider Mark Twain’s word-picture of the river sunrise.]

The majesty and solitude of the river impressed him more than ever before, especially its solitude.  It had been so full of life in his time; now it had returned once more to its primal loneliness—­the loneliness of God.

At one place two steamboats were in sight at once an unusual spectacle.  Once, in the mouth of a river, he noticed a small boat, which he made out to be the Mark Twain.  There had been varied changes in twenty-one years; only the old fascination of piloting remained unchanged.  To Bixby afterward he wrote: 

“I’d rather be a pilot than anything else I’ve ever done in my life.  How do you run Plum Point?”

He met Bixby at New Orleans.  Bixby was captain now on a splendid new Anchor Line steamboat, the City of Baton Rouge.  The Anchor Line steamers were the acme of Mississippi River steamboat-building, and they were about the end of it.  They were imposingly magnificent, but they were only as gorgeous clouds that marked the sunset of Mississippi steamboat travel.  Mark Twain made his trip down the river just in time.

In New Orleans he met George W. Cable and Joel Chandler Harris, and they had a fraternizing good time together, mousing about the old French Quarter or mingling with the social life of the modern city.  He made a trip with Bixby in a tug to the Warmouth plantation, and they reviewed old days together, as friends parted for twenty-one years will.  Altogether the New Orleans sojourn was a pleasant one, saddened only by a newspaper notice of the death, in Edinburgh, of the kindly and gentle and beloved Dr. Brown.

Clemens arranged to make the trip up the river on the Baton Rouge.  Bixby had one pretty inefficient pilot, and stood most of the watches himself, so that with “Sam Clemens” in the pilot-house with him, it was wonderfully like those old first days of learning the river, back in the fifties.