That was a day and locality of violent impulse and sudden action.  Happenings such as these were not infrequent in a town like Hannibal.  And there were events connected with slavery.  Sam once saw a slave struck down and killed with a piece of slag, for a trifling offense.  He saw an Abolitionist attacked by a mob that would have lynched him had not a Methodist minister defended him on a plea that he must be crazy.  He did not remember in later years that he had ever seen a slave auction, but he added: 

“I am suspicious that it was because the thing was a commonplace spectacle and not an uncommon or impressive one.  I do vividly remember seeing a dozen black men and women, chained together, lying in a group on the pavement, waiting shipment to a Southern slave- market.  They had the saddest faces I ever saw.”

Readers of Mark Twain’s books—­especially the stories of Huck and Tom, will hardly be surprised to hear of these early happenings that formed so large a portion of the author’s early education.  Sam, however, did not regard them as education—­not at the time.  They got into his dreams.  He set them down as warnings, or punishments, intended to give him a taste for a better life.  He felt that it was his conscience that made such things torture him.  That was his mother’s idea, and he had a high respect for her opinion in such matters.  Among other things, he had seen her one day defy a vicious and fierce Corsican—­a common terror in the town—­who had chased his grown daughter with a heavy rope in his hand, declaring he would wear it out on her.  Cautious citizens got out of the way, but Jane Clemens opened her door to the fugitive; then, instead of rushing in and closing it, spread her arms across it, barring the way.  The man raved, and threatened her with the rope, but she did not flinch or show any sign of fear.  She stood there and shamed and defied him until he slunk off, crestfallen and conquered.  Any one as brave as his mother must have a perfect conscience, Sam thought, and would know how to take care of it.  In the darkness he would say his prayers, especially when a thunderstorm was coming, and vow to begin a better life.  He detested Sunday-school as much as he did day-school, and once his brother Orion, who was moral and religious, had threatened to drag him there by the collar, but, as the thunder got louder, Sam decided that he loved Sunday-school and would go the next Sunday without being invited.

Sam’s days were not all disturbed by fierce events.  They were mostly filled with pleasanter things.  There were picnics sometimes, and ferryboat excursions, and any day one could roam the woods, or fish, alone or in company.  The hills and woods around Hannibal were never disappointing.  There was the cave with its marvels.  There was Bear Creek, where he had learned to swim.  He had seen two playmates drown; twice, himself, he had been dragged ashore, more dead than alive; once by a slave girl, another time by a slave man—­Neal Champ, of the Pavey Hotel.  But he had persevered, and with success.  He could swim better than any playmate of his age.