S. Clemens On Walnut
When Mark Twain Called Cincinnati Home
In October of 1856, 20 year old Samuel Langhorne Clemens stepped off the Indianapolis to Cincinnati train at the 5th St Depot. Being that he had experience in the printing business, he knew Cincinnati was the perfect place to call home until he could earn enough money to make a trip he longed to make: A trek to South America.
Cincinnati, with an 1856 population of 150,000, was the capital of the printing industry. He immediately made his way a few blocks east to T. Wrightson and Company at 167 Walnut St., the busiest printing shop in Cincinnati.
He was hired.
After securing a job, Mr. Clemens was informed that a room with a vacancy was located a few blocks south at 76 Walnut St. This is the address we find him at in the 1857 directory (which of course was printed by Wrightson & Co.). 76 Walnut St. was not in the boarding house district and most likely just a room for rent.
It is interesting to note however, that in letters to his brothers in Keokuk, IA, as well as his autobiography published in 1924, he writes:
“Our boarding-house crew was made up of commonplace people of various ages and both sexes. They were full of bustle, frivolity, chatter, and the joy of life…but they were oppressively uninteresting, for all that…”
Since the address listed in directory was not a boarding house, it can be assumed that after a few weeks, he moved into a more comfortable setting. There were ads for vacancies at a boarding house at 145 Third St. between Race & Elm where his co-worker at Wrightson, Mr. John J. McFarland lived.
It seems likely he would have made the move here. Why? Well, in his autobiography he writes:
“Macfarlane, a Scotchman. He was forty years old— just double my age—but we were opposite in most ways and comrades from the start. I always spent my evenings by the wood fire in his room, listening in comfort to his tireless talk and dulled complainings of the winter storms…”
During this time, Clemens was also writing. Between October 18, 1856 and March 14, 1857 he contributed at least three travel letters to the Keokuk (Iowa) Post for which he received $5.00 each. Clemens signed his contributions with the pen name “Thomas Jefferson Snodgrass”.
The Snodgrass letters are an important look into his life in Cincinnati, but it should also be noted that just like his pen name, some things were probably made up for dramatic effect. But the Snodgrass letter dated Nov. 14, 1856 ( a few weeks short of his 21st birthday - Nov. 30) is a great read, giving insight into his train travels on his trip to the Queen City. I present it here in its entirety:
KEOKUK DAILY POST, November 29, 1856
FOR THE POST
SNODGRASS' RIDE ON THE RAILROAD
Cincinnati, Nov. 14
MISTER EDITORS--
Well, now, dang me skin if I don't feel rather curus, "so far from home and all them that's dear to me," as the bordin-school gals say the first time they write to their friends--still, I ain't takin on about it to speak of--all the difference I kin see is, I feel a little more religious, maybe, when I get a little sick, than I used to.
You know arter going down there to St. Louis, and seein so many wonderful things, I wanted to see more--so I took a notion to go a travelin, so as to see the world, and then write a book about it--a kind o daily journal like--and have all in gold on the back of it, "Snodgrass' Dierrea", or somethin of that kind, like other authors that visits forren parts. I couldn't keep still so at last I went and got a map, so as to find out the shortest way to Cincinnati, and after examining of it keerfully, I come to the conclusion that about the best way was to go back to Keokuk, and from Keokuk to Quincy, and from Quincy to Chicago, and from Chicago to Indianapolis, and then down to the end of my ultimate destination. And the result of it all is that I am here, safe and sound, and I would recommend everybody to take the same road, and derned if they won't see sights.
Now, as I'm going to say somethin about this voyage, I guess I'll commence at Keokuk, bein as that's the general startin pint of the inhabitants of North America. I went down one night to the railroad office there, purty close onto the Laclede House, and bought about a quire of yaller paper, cut up into tickets--one for each railroad in the United States, I thought, but I found out arterwards, that the Alexandria and Boston airline was left out---and then got a baggage feller to take my trunk down to the boat, where he spilled it out on the levee, bustin it open and shakin out the contents, consisting of "guides" to Chicago, and "guides" to Cincinnati, and travelers guides, and all kinds of sich books, not excepting a "guide to heaven," which last aint much use to a fellar in Chicago, I kin tell you. Finally, that thar fast packet quit ringing her bell, and started down the river--but she hadn't gone mor'n a mile, till she run clean up on top of a sand bar whar she stuck till plum one o'clock, spite of the Captain's swearin,--and they had to set the whole crew to cussin at last, afore they got her off. That sand bar was a aggravating thing, anyhow, as we was runnin a race with an old fellar with a carpet bag, who calculated it was good exercise to walk to Quincy, and he got about half a day's start of us. However, when we did get off, you ought to a seen that old steamboat slinging sand with them wheels of hern. She'd got her Irish up now, and din't keer a scratch for bars and nothin else--and away she went walkin down the river on four inches of water, and jumpin over three acre patches of dry land, jest as though she had legs. The old man and her had a mighty tight race of it, and she only saved herself by takin a nigh cut across the bottom, comin in fifteen minutes ahead. We had to get off the boat here, and go in the omnibuses to the cars. My fare down to Quincy was a dollar and a quarter, and porterage about four dollars and a half, which is mighty moderate, and people oughtn't to complain, for though the packet company makes money, they can't afford to hire porters at ten dollars a month, and no reasonable human being could expect to have his overcoat keerfully preserved into the baggage room, while he's eating dinner, without payin a quarter for it--it's worth nine cents a minit.
When we got to the depo, I went around to get a look at the iron hoss. Thunderation. It wasn't no more like a hoss than a meetin house. If I was going to describe the animule, I'd say it looked like--derned if I know what it looked like, unless it was a regular old he devil, snortin fire and brimstone out of his nostrils, and puffin out black smoke all round, and pantin, and heavin, and swellin, and a chawin up red hot coals like they was good. A feller stood in a little house like, feedin him all the time, but the more he got the more he wanted, and the more he blowed and snorted. After a spell the feller catched him by the tail, and great Jericho, he set up a yell that split the ground more'n a mile and a half and the next minit I felt my legs a waggin, and found myself at t'other end of the string of vehickles. I wasn't skeered, but I had three chills and a stroke of palsy in less than five minutes, and my face had a curus brownish-yaller-green-bluish color in it, which was perfectly unaccountable.
"Well," says I, "comment is superfluous." And I took my seat in the nearest wagin, or car, as they call it--a consarned great long steamboat-lookin thing with a string of little pews down each side, big enough to hold about a man and a half. Jest as I sat down--the hoss hollered twice, and started off like a streak, pitchin me head first at the stomach of a big Irish woman, and she give a tremenjus grunt and then ketched me by the head and crammed me under the seat, and when I got out and staggered to another seat, the cars was a jumpin and tearin along at nigh unto forty thousand miles an hour and everybody was a bobbin up and down like a mill saw, and every wretch of 'em had his mouth stretched wide open and looked like they was a laffin, but I couldn't hear nothin, the cars kept sich a racket.
Bimeby they stopped all at once, and then sich a laff busted out of them passengers as I never hearn before. Laffin at me too, that's what made me mad, and I was mad as thunder, too. I ris up, and shakin my fist at 'em, says I, "Ladies and gentlemen, look a here, I'm a peaceable stranger--" and away went the train, went like the small pox was in town, jerkin me down in the seat with a whack like I'd been thrown from the moon, and their cussed mouths flopped open and the fellers went to bobbin up and down again. I put on an air of magnanimous contempt like, and took no more notice of 'em and very naturally went to bobbin up and down myself.
I jest took a peep out of the winder, and drat my buttons, if I wasn't astonished at the way that rail road was a gittin over the ground. I tell you, Mr. Editors, it made a rail fence look like a fine tooth comb, and the air actually turned blue in the vicinity. Thinks I if that devil at the other end of the train's going home tonight, it won't take him long to get there. Bimeby the second clerk came a staggerin in hollerin "Tickets. Tickets." When he came to me I told him I wasn't going to stop--I was going to Chicago. "Well, give me your ticket." "Not by a derned sight," says I. "You can't come any o them tricks on me, old feller. You can't get my ticket and then stick me ashore at the first wood yard your old cook stove stops at." First he got mad, and then he got tickled, but when he found he wasn't making much, he like to a skeered me to death, threatening to throw me overboard--so I yielded in a condescending manner, and traded my yaller ticket for a red one, which wasn't Sunday school fashion, where you get ten red tickets for one of tother color. Arter that, he made a regular practice of comin in every two minutes hollerin "Tickets." It's my opinion he's a darn nuisance, and ought to be turned out of the company. If a feller was to travel on that road for a week, that clerk and the peanut boy would pester him to death between 'em.
It didn't take me long to git used to the cars, and then I begun to put on airs like an old traveler stickin my feet over the back of the next pew, puttin my ticket in my hat band, pretending to go to sleep, and so on, and never lettin on to keer a cent where we was going to. So, when a feller asked me if I thought we would the connection, not wantin to appear green, I told him "No, dern the connection," but I couldn't imagin what that "connection" meant, no how. Another feller asked me what was the next town, and I told him Chicago. (I didn't know the name of any other place on the road, and I had to tell him somethin, to keep up appearances), and the blasted fool got off there. Served him right--he'd no business going so far away from home without havin his mother along. At last, after skimmin over a pooty big "arm" of Lake Michigan, they call it--where I couldn't see nothin solid for the cars to rest on--we got to that place Chicago, which they say is Old Nick's local agency for the world. The cars run into a tremendous house, about as big as Warsaw, and as soon as they stopped, mor'n three hundred fellers come a cracking their whips around and hollering: "Baggage for the Massasoit House" and "Carriages for United States Hotel" and "Passengers for the Little Miami Railroad," "Here's carriage for G'lena 'n Sh'cago Railroad," "Gentlemen going east take Suth'n Mish'gan Indianan Railroad," and so on, every feller hollering as loud as the very Dickens would let him. Directly a feller commenced yellin "This way, gentlemen. This way with your checks. This way." Then another feller commenced grabbin up trunks and looking at a brass thing hangin to 'em, and hollerin out the number he found on it--then as soon as some feller in the crowd would hand in a number like it, he'd slam the trunk down with all his might in the depo-and he was a pooty strong feller too.
"Two hundred and forty-two, Nor'n cross," "Here--242" (Slam goes the trunk.) "Nine hundred and sixty-eight, G'lena and Chicago." "968." "Four hundred an thirty seven, Ill'noy central." "All right 437." "Say, let that baggage alone." "Where's my hat?" "Oh, thunder, who's seen my wife?" "Gentlemen goin south take seats in the train at the far side of depo--going east, take seats in cars on middle track." "Put down that trunk--b'longs to Mishigan Central." "You'r a liar." "You'r another," and away they go at it, pitchin into each other like dogs, till the depo police pitches into them and takes 'em off to the watch house. Now its amusin to notice how keerful them fellers is with baggage (that's a kind of sarcastified remark--understand). I see 'em knock a hole in the floor--3 inch oke plank--with a trunk not much bigger'n a carpet sack--and that's a unpolished fact. I shivered there considerable of a spell, waitin for my baggage, and finally got the bottom half of my trunk, what had the check on it, and bimeby my vallis made its appearance, with shirts and cravats hangin out at one end, and socks and collars at t'other--lookin considerable like a Irishman that's jest got out of a New Orleans 'lection riot--and dern my cats if I'd a knowd it was a vallis at all, only for a piece of my name what got left on the end of it, (by mistake, I spose) for it didn't look no more like that article than a steem bote. After I got the balance of my trunk, I shoved out for the Massasawit House, and put up for a spell.
I know it's fashionable to describe hotels, and tell how much they cost, but I reckon it aint necessary for me to do so--specially as don't know nothin about that hotel, only--they charge enuff. Chicago's a great place, but I ain't going to say nothin about it, only jest this, that when you feel like tellin a feller to go to the devil--tell him to go to Chicago--it'll anser every purpose, and is perhaps, a leetle more expensive.
Next day I started for Cincinnati--and as this letter is growed pooty long, I'll only say at there's more blacksmith shops in Indiana than anywhere else in the world, and I calculate we stopped at every dern one there was the whole state. The cars would run about three hundred yards, and holler and stop--and so on till we got to Indianapolis, and took the midnight thunder-an-ligtnin train, and arter that we come a tearin down here at the
rate of four hundred and thirty-seven miles a minute, leavin the rail track red hot behind us--in some places it melted.
Your's, what's left of me.
SNODGRASSS.
There would not be another piece for the Keokuk Post until March of 1857, which is most likely due to the fact that Clemens was working ten hour days, sometimes more and Cincinnati was a bustling town with always something going on with a first class arts scene.
Clemens would have been involved in a great number of projects, including the printing of books for U.P. James, the oldest bookseller in the city, who had offices in the same building as Wrightson. And one of the books U.P. James was famous for was the JAMES RIVER GUIDE which undoubtedly would have been of interest to the future riverboat pilot.
There would have been many places for Clemens to visit on his walk home from work (the horsecar didn’t run on Walnut until 1859). There was March’s Coffee House at 185 Walnut. There was a billiard parlor at the Gibson House at 5th and Walnut. Across from Wrightson’s, was the Young Men’s Mercantile Library.
The last Snodgrass letter during his Cincinnati time was dated March 14, 1857. Here, he references the fuel shortage, and cold, and is full of the satire he would become known for:
KEOKUK DAILY POST, April 10, 1857
CORRESPONDENCE
WRITTEN FOR THE KEOKUK POST
SNODGRASS, IN A ADVENTURE
Cincinnati, March 14, 1857
MISTER EDITORS:--
It mought be that some people think your umble sarvent has "shuffled off this mortal quile" and bid an eternal adoo to this subloonary atmosphere--nary time. He aint dead, but sleepeth. That expreshun are figerative, and go to signerfy that he's pooty much quit scribblin.
It's been cold here, Mr. Editors. And when I asserts that fact, people can take it for granted I mean its been mighty nasty particler cold--a considerable sight colder'n coffee at the seckond table. Fust it snowed, and
snowed, and snowed, tell you actilly couldn't see the mud in the streets. Next it kivered up and blotted out the sines, and continued on tell all the brick houses looked like the frame ones, and visy versy--and at last, when it did stop, you couldn't a told Cincinnati from the Rocky Mountains in January. The Ohio river was friz to the bottom--which warn't no great shakes in the freezing line, considering that krick aint never got more'n forty barls of water in it, no how--and the steamboats were friz to the airth, and the Dutch was friz to the sour-kraut kegs, and the preachers was friz to ther parsonages, and somehow I think the Devil hisself got ketched and had to win terin the durned uncomfortable town.
Well, in course, coal went up and fires went down. People couldn't neither beg, nor steal, nor borry the preshus truck--and buyin was clean out of the question, seein that they asked seventeen cents an ounce for it, and not keerin much about sellin it anyhow. Things got to sich a pass that the poor porshuns of the sitizens wanted the Mayor to discontinuer the use of the steam fire injuns, cause when a house would conflaggerate, them eternal noosances would drowned it out afore they could git warm. Gold dust warnt worth no more'n coal dust, and in course the blasted Jews got to adulterating the fuel. They mixed it up half and half--a tun of coal dust to a tun of ground pepper, and sold it for the genuine article. But they ketched them at it at last, and they do say that some of the indignant inhabitants took a hoss whip and castigated one of 'em till he warn't fit to assoshiate with Jeemes Gordon Bennett hisself.
After a spell, the City Council concluded to try ther hand at relievin the sufferin community. Thy laid in a stock of coal, and advertised to sell cheap and to poor devils only. But it was curus to see how the speckalation worked. Here's a instance. A indigent Irish woman--a widow with nineteen children and several at the breast, accordin to custom, went to the Mayor to get some of that public coal. The Mayor he gin her an order on the Marshal; the Marshal gin her an order on the Recorder; Recorder sent her to the Constable; Constable sent her to the Postmaster; Postmaster sent her to the County Clerk, and so on, tell she run herself half to death, and friz the balance, while she had sixteen places to go yet, afore she could git the coal. But that is only just half of the little circumstance. You see that widder had been trotting after Recorders and Postmasters and sich for considerable more'n a good while--and the Curoner's jury that sot on her scraped up the orders she'd got and sold 'em to the paper mill at three cents a pound, clearin about four dollars and a half by the speculation. Now only think what a mercantile education mought a done for the unfortunit daughter of Eve. (I say "daughter of Eve," meanin it as kinder figerative or poetastical like, for I forgit, now, whether the Irish come from our Eve, or not.)
I reckon I orter tell you about the little adventer I had tother night, but drat if it don't work me worse'n castor oil just to think of it. I was a santerin up Walnut street, feelin pooty nice, and hummin to myself that good old Metherdis hymn I learnt at class meetin in Keokuk, commencin:
"Boston isn't in Bengal,
And flannel drawers aint made of tripe;
Lobsters don't wear specs at all,
And cows don't smoke the German pipe,"
when a young lady with a big basket birsted in on my revery. "I say, mister," says she, "is your name--" "Snodgress," says I, wonderin how on airth she knowed me. "The very man I wanted to see," says she. "The dev-- dickens," says I. "Yes, and I've always hearn you was sich a good, kind feller, that I allers wanted to have a talk with you." "By jings, madam, I am glad to hear you talk so. I'm just as much at your service as if I was your own grandmother." "Yes, you'r just the man, and now I've got something to tell you. But bless my life (lookin skeered), I've left my portmoney in the grocery around the corner. If you would please to hold my basket tell I go and git it, Mr. Snobrags, I'll never forget you." "With the all-firedest pleasure in the world, madam--but Snodgrass," says I, correctin her as I took the big basket. And away she went around the corner, leavin me as
happy as a dog with two tails. Thinks I, I'll galant that gal home, and then (she's already struck with my personal. appearance) she'll ask me to come again--spect she's rich as a Jew. No doubt the old man'll take a likin to me (changing the heavy basket to tother arm) and he'll ask me to call around. In course I'll come, and come often, too, and when about a dozen of that gal's sweethearts find me a shinin up so numerous they'll get mad and after a spell they'll challenge me (changin the basket again). I'll jest take 'em across the river to Kaintuck and shoot 'em down like pole cats. That'll fetch the old man. He'll think I'm the devil hisself. He'll come and tel me how many banks and railroads he owns, and ask me to marry his darter. And I'll do it--but hold on--by the eternal smash, where's that gal took herself off to? Seems to me she's having a arful chase arter that portmoney of her's. So I shove out arter her, which was dern sensible, considerin she'd been gone a hour and a half.
Pooty soon there commenced the eternalist, confoundest, damnationist kickin in that basket, follered by the eternalist, confoundest squallin that you ever heard on. I run to the gas lamp and jerked off the kiver, and there was the ugliest, nastiest, oneriest he-baby I ever seed in all my life. "Sold, by Jeminy. Dern the baby. Oh Lordy, Lordy, Lordy," says I, blubberin like a three-year-old. "Dang yer skin, don't make sich a racket."
But it wouldn't do to stand there with that basket full of baby lungs, raisin the devil and the perlice all over the neighborhood. So I gathered up the traps and broke for home like a quarter-hoss, cussin at every jump and mixin it up with what the woman said, and grittin my teeth like a tobbacker worm. "Often hearn of me--lost her portmoney--kind, good man." O Lordy, Snodgrass, you're a fool. "Never forget me." Wish to jeewhillikins I could forget her. O Lordy, what'll I do with the baby? Snodgrass,you're a blasted, eternal, onmitigated fool." And so I ranted and cussed tell I got home to my own room.
Then the thing quit hollerin and I locked the door. Becomin a leetle composed, I took the tongs and lifted the critter out of the basket, so as to get a good look at it. Well, the varmint kept so quiet that it kinda fooled me, and I thought I might ventur on makin a face at it, throwin my hands up like claws and makin a leetle small jump at it, jest by way of revenge, you know. Now right thar is where Snodgrass missed it. Sich a yell as skeered animals sot up--shucks, a shiveree wasn't nothing longside it. In course I had to grab it, to keep it from wakin the dead before
Resurrection Day, and I walked it, and tossed it, and cussed it, till the sweat run off my carcass to the amount of a barl at least. O Lordy, warn't I in agony of sufferin?
"Sh-h-h," says I, tossin the brat, "there now, there, there, your mother is coming (singing a leetle occasionally); 'ockey by baby, in the tree top, when the wind blows--there now, poor little dear--when the wind blows--oh, darn your everlastin yaller skin, won't you never dry up? " But it wasn't no go. The baby wouldn't quit cryin, so I sot baby, basket and all under the bed and piled old clothes on 'em, tell I was pooty certin the cretur wouldn't freeze, if it didn't smuther, and I turned in.
Well, Mr. Editors, it's no use harryin up my feelings by dwellin on the onpleasant epox of my kareer, therefore I'll jest mention that arter standing guard over that infant all the next day to keep the sarvent girls from gettin a sight of it, I was ketched by a perliceman about midnight down to the river, trying to poke the dang thing through a hole in the ice. They raised the dickins about it the day arter. The crowd in the court room let out their opinyons pooty free, and I tell ye I was riled when I hearn a young lady say that "the poor innocent little cherub ort to be put out of the reach of its onnateral father." "Onnateral, thunder," says I, bustin out all at wunst. "Fine the prisoner ten dollars for contempt of court," yells the judge. "Fine and be--" but they didn't let me finish. They lugged me off and locked me up, and never let me out till I promised--
No, sir I swar I wont' tell what I promised them sharks. But twixt you and me somethin dark's goin to happen. It pears to me that that baby'll larn to swim yit afore its six weeks older--pervided it don't perish in the attempt. I reckon I'll bid you adoo, now, Mister Editors, and go on tryin to find out the meanin of the verse that says: "Of such is the kingdom of Heaven," and several other passyges. "Onnateral father," dern my skin, I wish I war, well, never mind.
Yours, et cetery,
SNODGRASS.
In April of 1857, Samuel Langhorne Clemens decided it was time to move on to his next adventure. On the 15th, he boarded the steamer Paul Jones and headed for New Orleans. His dream of South America was all but over. A new plan formulated: Steamboat captain. In 1875 for The Atlantic, he mentions his departure from Cincinnati and his new love affair with the river, thanks to the Paul Jones being stuck in rocks in Louisville:
What with lying on the rocks four days at Louisville, and some other delays, the poor old Paul Jones fooled away about two weeks in making the voyage from Cincinnati to New Orleans. This gave me a chance to get acquainted with one of the pilots, and he taught me how to steer the boat, and thus made the fascination of river life more potent than ever for me.
While Clemens didn’t publicly speak or write of his Cincinnati experience in later life, there is no doubt that the river city and the hustle and bustle of steamboat life only yards from his residence, not to mention his time as a printer in a busy office, had greatly influenced him as he began his journey towards a new pen name:
Mark Twain.
