He was at the right age to enjoy such adventures, and to feel a pride in them.  In the same letter he tells how he found on the “Pennsylvania” a small clerkship for his brother Henry, who was now nearly twenty, a handsome, gentle boy of whom Sam was lavishly fond and proud.  The young pilot was eager to have Henry with him—­to see him started in life.  How little he dreamed what sorrow would come of his well-meant efforts in the lad’s behalf!  Yet he always believed, later, that he had a warning, for one night at the end of May, in St. Louis, he had a vivid dream, which time would presently fulfil.

An incident now occurred on the “Pennsylvania” that closed Samuel Clemens’s career on that boat.  It was the down trip, and the boat was in Eagle Bend when Henry Clemens appeared on the hurricane deck with an announcement from the captain of a landing a little lower down.  Brown, who would never own that he was rather deaf, probably misunderstood the order.  They were passing the landing when the captain appeared on the deck.

“Didn’t Henry tell you to land here?” he called to Brown.

“No, sir.”

Captain Klinefelter turned to Sam.  “Didn’t you hear him?”

“Yes, sir!”

Brown said:  “Shut your mouth!  You never heard anything of the kind!”

Henry appeared, not suspecting any trouble.

Brown said, fiercely, “Here, why didn’t you tell me we had got to land at that plantation?”

“I did tell you, Mr. Brown,” Henry said, politely.

“It’s a lie!”

Sam Clemens could stand Brown’s abuse of himself, but not of Henry.  He said:  “You lie yourself.  He did tell you!”

For a cub pilot to defy his chief was unheard of.  Brown was dazed, then he shouted: 

“I’ll attend to your case in half a minute!” And to Henry, “Get out of here!”

Henry had started when Brown seized him by the collar and struck him in the face.  An instant later Sam was upon Brown with a heavy stool and stretched him on the floor.  Then all the repressed fury of months broke loose; and, leaping upon Brown and holding him down with his knees, Samuel Clemens pounded the tyrant with his fists till his strength gave out.  He let Brown go then, and the latter, with pilot instinct, sprang to the wheel, for the boat was drifting.  Seeing she was safe, he seized a spy-glass as a weapon and ordered his chastiser out of the pilot-house.  But Sam lingered.  He had become very calm, and he openly corrected Brown’s English.

“Don’t give me none of your airs!” yelled Brown.  “I ain’t goin’ to stand nothin’ more from you!”

“You should say, `Don’t give me any of your airs,’” Sam said, sweetly, “and the last half of your sentence almost defies correction.”

A group of passengers and white-aproned servants, assembled on the deck forward, applauded the victor.  Sam went down to find Captain Klinefelter.  He expected to be put in irons, for it was thought to be mutiny to strike a pilot.