With the exception of his brief return to the river in 1882.  Mark Twain had been twenty-seven years away from pilots and piloting.  Nevertheless, he always kept a tender place in his heart for the old times and for old river comrades.  Major “Jack” Downing had been a Mississippi pilot of early days, but had long since retired from the river to a comfortable life ashore, in an Ohio town.  Clemens had not heard from him for years when a letter came which invited the following answer.

To Major “Jack” Downing, in Middleport Ohio: 

Elmira, N. Y.[no month] 1888.  Dear major,—­And has it come to this that the dead rise up and speak?  For I supposed that you were dead, it has been so long since I heard your name.

And how young you’ve grown!  I was a mere boy when I knew you on the river, where you had been piloting for 35 years, and now you are only a year and a half older than I am!  I mean to go to Hot Springs myself and get 30 or 40 years knocked off my age.  It’s manifestly the place that Ponce de Leon was striking for, but the poor fellow lost the trail.

Possibly I may see you, for I shall be in St. Louis a day or two in November.  I propose to go down the river and “note the changes” once more before I make the long crossing, and perhaps you can come there.  Will you?  I want to see all the boys that are left alive.

And so Grant Marsh, too, is flourishing yet?  A mighty good fellow, and smart too.  When we were taking that wood flat down to the Chambers, which was aground, I soon saw that I was a perfect lubber at piloting such a thing.  I saw that I could never hit the Chambers with it, so I resigned in Marsh’s favor, and he accomplished the task to my admiration.  We should all have gone to the mischief if I had remained in authority.  I always had good judgement, more judgement than talent, in fact.

No; the nom de plume did not originate in that way.  Capt.  Sellers used the signature, “Mark Twain,” himself, when he used to write up the antiquities in the way of river reminiscences for the New Orleans Picayune.  He hated me for burlesquing them in an article in the True Delta; so four years later when he died, I robbed the corpse—­that is I confiscated the nom de plume.  I have published this vital fact 3,000 times now.  But no matter, it is good practice; it is about the only fact that I can tell the same way every time.  Very glad, indeed, to hear from you Major, and shall be gladder still to see you in November.

                              Truly yours,
                                        S. L. Clemens.

     He did not make the journey down the river planned for that year. 
     He had always hoped to make another steamboat trip with Bixby, but
     one thing and another interfered and he did not go again.