 The DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry, presents the Cavalcade of America. Tonight's play is based on one of America's greatest classics, Life on the Mississippi. Tonight's star, Raymond Massey, who as Mark Twain talks of the days long before he became a well-known writer, of the days when he was young Sam Clemens. When I was a boy, there was but one permanent ambition among my comrades in our village on the Mississippi. That was to be a steamboat man, and the grandest position of all was pilot. But it was not long before I discovered that to become a licensed pilot was about as simple as to become a bank president. I learned that before I could ever presume to steer a steamboat, I would have first to serve a term as an apprentice, a cub they call it, to an experienced pilot. Also, I learned that Mr. Horace Bixby of the Paul Jones was one of the finest pilots on the river. I took myself up to the pilot house, opened the door, and walked in. That was a long time ago. I was only 19, but I remember it as though it was yesterday. Sir? Sir? What is it? Sir, would you like a young man for a cub to learn piloting? I would not, nor do I like passengers in my pilot house. But sir, I'd be a good- And mind you, shut the door tight on your way out. Uh, yes, sir. Now this was scarcely an auspicious beginning, but I was stubborn, and I began to lay siege to Mr. Bixby. If I couldn't go in the pilot house, at least I could look in through the window. And at last, after three days of my relentless staring, he motioned me in. Mr. Bixby, please, boy, will you take the evil eye off me? I don't want to take a cub. They're more trouble than they're worth. Well, I-I wouldn't want much wages, sir. For wages? You wouldn't want much wages? Are you out of your head? Why, you've got to pay to be a cub. You mean, you didn't know that? No, sir, I didn't. Why, a pilot wouldn't consider taking a cub for less than $500 cash in advance. $500? You'd better go home, son. Go home first and get yourself a job and earn some money. Sir, maybe your father will give it to you. No, my father's dead, sir. He died 10 years ago. Oh, I'm sorry. Uh, what's your name, son? Sam Clemens, sir, from Hannibal. Is your mother alive? Yes, but she couldn't give me the money. I've been sending her. Oh, no, son, I didn't mean that. But, sir, I could pay you $100 now and the rest from earnings after I'm a pilot. That is, if you'd- All right, son. But, sir, I could- I said, all right. I learned your piloting from New Orleans to St. Louis. On the terms you propose. But I- I don't understand. I'm not so sure I do either. And just a minute. Anyway, you're gonna be my cub. So I became a pilot's cub, and I ended up in the enterprise of learning my trade with the easy confidence of my time of life. It seemed to me that all a pilot had to do was to keep his boat in the river, and it didn't appear to me to be too much of a trick, the river being so wide. So I suppose, as we headed upriver from New Orleans, Mr. Bixby at the wheel and I beside him. Now, man, he called my attention to the passing landscape, and for a while I found it an agreeable enough way to pass the time. And this now is six mile point. That's all? Now, this was pleasant enough information, but after I'd seen nine mile point and twelve mile point and so on, I began to wish we might talk about history or even taxidermy. But no. You see, the slack water ends here. I'll breast this clump of China tree. So we crossed to the other side. So we crossed. Seems simple now. But later that night on our second watch, I was to have something of a disillusionment. Now, what's the first point about New Orleans? The first point? Golly, I don't know. You don't know? And you're a smart one. What's the name of the next point? I don't know, sir. Well, this beats anything. Look here. What do you start out from above twelve mile point to cross over? I don't know, sir. You don't? What do you know? Well, I... Well, nothing, I guess, for certain. That great Caesar's ghost, I believe you. You're the stupidest underhead I ever saw or heard of. So help me, Moses. The idea. The idea of you being a pilot. You. Why, you don't know enough to pilot a cow down the lane. No, but his wrath was up. He shuffled one side of his wheel to the other as if the floor was hot. He would boil a while to himself and then overflow and score me again. Look here. What do you suppose I told you the name of those points for? Well, to... To be entertaining, I thought. Such an eruption followed as I never had heard. No ever wished to hear again. But after about twenty minutes, he was finally empty. And presently, he said to me in the gentlest way, My boy, you must get a little memorandum book and every time I tell you a thing, put it down right away. Yes, sir. There's only one way to be a pilot and that's to get this entire river by heart. Why, you have to know it just like your ABCs. Now, this was a dismal revelation. But I got a notebook, and by the time we reached St. Louis, it barely bristled with the names of towns and points, byers, islands, bends. But it was all in the notebook and not in my head. Boy, you remember Walnut Bend? Oh, yes, sir. What's the shape of it? The shape. Why, it... Why, it just bends. It doesn't have any particular shape. No shape. Every foot of a river's got a shape. And you got to know it by heart. How else are you going to steer on a pitch-black night? A pitch-black night? Have you ever come home late and gone down the hall without a light? Yes, sir, but I... How did you follow your hall there? You couldn't see it, but you knew the shape of it. You mean... You mean I've got to know all the millions of variations of shape in the banks of this interminable river just as well as I know the shape of our front hall at home? Much better. Well, then, Mr. Bixby, if it's all the same to you, I'm going to retire from this business. I haven't got brains to be a pilot, and if I had, I wouldn't have strength enough to carry him around, except on crutches. I'll drop that. When I say I'll learn a man in the river, I mean it. And you can depend on it. I'll learn him or I'll kill him. Well, there was no use arguing with a person like this. Slowly, I began to learn the bends and the snags and the bars and the river's shape day and night. And I even remembered the depth sound and the Ledzman called out to us from the bow when we were in shallow water. And with all this knowledge, I suppose, I got full of false confidence and false courage, at least, Mr. Bixby thought so. I remember it was on a matchless summer's day when I was at the wheel, folding down the bend above Island 66, brim full of self-conceit and carrying Manosa's hyzer G-Rap when Mr. Bixby said, Well, I'm going below. I suppose you know the next crossing. This was almost and a front. It was about the simplest crossing in the whole river and bottomless besides. Know it, I can run it with my eyes shut. How deep is it? I couldn't get bottom there with the church, Steve. You, uh, think so, do you? The very tone of his question shook my confidence. He left without another word and I began to imagine all kinds of things. Presently, the captain stepped out on a hurricane deck. Next, the chief mate appeared in a clerk. Pretty soon, there were 20 people down there under my nose, muttering to each other and glancing up at me, worried. Finally, the captain said, Sam, where's Mr. Bixby? Gone below, sir. Gone below? On this crossing? I did it for him. All at once I imagined I saw shallow water ahead and every remnant of my confidence in that crossing vanished. I grabbed the bell rope, the signal for the lead and then I dropped it, ashamed, and then seized it again and pulled it so feebly I could hardly hear the stroke myself, but the captain did. Can't you hear down there? Stop it! They've fallen or grown! This was all the confirmation my fears needed. I began to climb the wheel like a squirrel, then came the ledsman's supple, cruel cry. And a quarter twain! A quarter twain in a bottomless crossing. And a quarter twain! We were going to ground. Quickly, I grabbed the bell rope and stopped the engine. We were drifting to disaster and I did not know what in the world to do. I could have hung my head on my eyes. They stuck out so far. Nine and a half! Nine and a half. And we were drawing nine feet in the last desperate effort to save the ship, I flew to the speaking tube and shouted down to the engineers. Oh, Ben, if you love me backer, quick, Ben, oh, back to you mortals! Then I heard the pilot's house door close and I turned and there stood Mr. Dixie smiling a bland sweet smile. And then from the audience below came a humiliating thunder gust of laugh. I saw it all now. They played a trick on me and everybody was in on it. Sam, didn't you know there was no bottom in that crossing? Yes, sir, I did. And you shouldn't have let me, or the captain, or the ledsman, or anyone shake your confidence in that knowledge. Understand? Yes, sir. It was a good enough lesson, but pretty hardly learned. And for months I had to hear a phrase which I came to conceive a particular dislike for. It was, oh, Ben, if you love me backer. But despite his impatience and his constant badgering and his low down, dirty tricks, or perhaps even because of them, for there was no meanness in the man, it came to have a deep respect for Mr. Bixby. Perhaps it was not having a father of my own. And it was a black day for me when he left the work on the Missouri for a spell, and we said goodbye on the St. Louis landing. That river, Lord, that one more... Sam, I've arranged for you to go with Mr. Brown. Not too easy a man, but a fine pilot. You'll get along. Yes, sir. Well, behave yourselves now, and, uh... Well, goodbye, son. Sir, please tell me the truth. Will I ever make a pilot a good pilot? If I come to think of it, boy, I... Yes, I believe you will. And he walked away. Thinking back now, I think those were the grandest words these years I've ever heard. I was happy then, thinking the worst was behind me. It never occurred to me that it was still ahead. You are listening to the Dupont Cavalcade of America, starring Raymond Massey, and now Bill Hamilton speaking for the Dupont Company. Selecting a career is always a big decision for a high school graduate. There are many things he wants to know and should know about any career he is considering. For high school students who ask, shall I study chemistry? The American Chemical Society has published a helpful booklet. It tells what chemists do, what it takes to be a success. If you would like a free copy, write to Dupont Cavalcade, Wilmington, Delaware. Ask for the booklet. Shall I study chemistry? In answer to this question, Dupont hopes an increasing number of students will answer yes. Dupont depends upon today's chemistry students to help in bringing you tomorrow's better living through chemistry. We return to our Cavalcade story, Life on the Mississippi, starring Raymond Massey as Mark Twain. Determined to become a Mississippi River pilot, young Sam Clemens has been serving as a cub to Mr. Bixby. But with Bixby away on the Missouri, Sam has been put with another pilot. Now Mark Twain continues his story. So shortly, I went aboard the steamer Pennsylvania to find a big new ship. In the pilot house, I met the gentleman I was to serve under. He was quite a condon after Mr. Bixby. His name was Mr. Brown, and he was the middle-aged, long, slim, bony, smooth-shaven, horse-faced, ignorant, stingy, malicious, snarling, fort-hunting, moat-magnifying tyrant. The Horace Bixby's cub, eh? What's your name? Sam Clemens, sir. Sam Clemens, eh? Sam Clemens. Where you from, Sam Clemens? Hannibal. It turns out better he had stayed there. Where are you going to stand there all day? Well, I've had no orders, sir. You've had no orders? Well, what a fine bird we are. Well, here. Take that ice-pitcher down and fill her up. Make way about it. Yes, sir. So I did at a dead run, what are you doing down there all this time? Here, fill up the stove. Down, down. Down that shovel. Turn this numbskull aerosol. It went. Watch after watch for months. No matter what I did, it was certain to be wrong, and Mr. Brown would spit out his venom on me. My only consolation aboard the Pennsylvania was having my younger brother, Henry, along. I'd got him on his third clerk. Henry was a handsome, bright, gentle, well-liked boy. I was proud to be his brother. And at night when I was off duty, we'd sit out on deck under the stars and listen to the songs of the river. I've been meaning to ask you, are you giving up your idea of being a writer? You know, I like those little squids and sketches you used to write. Truly, I did. Quiet. Thanks, Henry, but no. I'm going to be a pilot. But maybe you got a talent, Sam. Maybe it's wrong to waste it. Yeah. You going to sit there all night? Sam, you going to watch your thunder hit? Come on, now. Someday, Henry, something's going to happen between Mr. Brown and me. Yes, sir, something's going to happen. Something did happen about three trips later. I was alongside Mr. Brown in the pilot house, and Henry came out on a hurricane deck just below us. He didn't want you to stop a person landing. Now, Mr. Brown gave no intimation that he'd heard, but that was his way. He was a little deaf and maybe he hadn't, or maybe he had. Anyway, I kept still, and presently, we were sailing past this landing, and the captain hurried out on deck. Let her come around, sir. Let her come around. Didn't Henry tell you to land here? No, sir, he did not. He didn't. Sam, did you hear him? Yes, sir, I did. Shut your mouth. Never heard anything of the kind. I closed my mouth as per instructions, and an hour later, Henry came into the pilot house, unaware of what had happened. Hear you? Why didn't you tell me we'd got to land? I did tell you, Mr. Brown. Then shall I? You lie yourself. He did tell you. For a long moment, Mr. Brown was speechless. Then his face got red as fire, and every muscle in it was working. Well, Tinder, you wouldn't have a minute. Henry, get out of my pilot house. Get out! Henry obeyed and started out when Brown, with a sudden access to fury, picked up a five-pound lump of coal and started after him. Before I could think, I was between them, my fists flying. You get away from me, boy. Hands up. You've been asking for it, Mr. Brown, for my gully. You're gonna... Sam, Sam, you got him. You knocked him down. Let me up. Sam, Sam, the captain's coming. Let him up. Oh, my gosh. What's going on here? Captain, I want this boy put ashore. We touched an orange. Or I'll never turn a wheel again on this boat. Can you hear? Sam, follow me. I followed him without a word. He led the way to his pilot. We went in. He shut the door and sat down. I stood before him. Sam, this is a very serious matter. Yes, sir. Are you aware that this boat was plowing down river with no one at the wheel? Yes, sir. Did you strike him first? Yes. Did you knock him down? He fell, sir. Did you do anything further? I pounded him, sir. Mm-hmm. Did you pound him much? That is severely. One might call it that, sir. Maybe. I'm juicid glad of it. Now mind you, don't ever do it again on this boat. But lay for him ashore. Give him a good sound thrashing, do you hear? Yes, sir. Now, you think you're ready to stand watch by yourself? If you are, Brown can leave the ship. Well, sir, I... No, I don't think I am ready. Not yet. I'm sorry. You'll have to leave us then. For New Orleans. But I'll arrange passage to St. Louis and I'll see that you get another pilot to work under. Thank you, sir. I'll clear out with you. Not a word of this to anybody. You've been guilty of a great crime, your welcome. But remember now, lay for him ashore. After the Pennsylvania's New Orleans, Henry was staying aboard. So while the cotton heavers loaded the cargo, we sat on a freight pile at the waterfront and said goodbye. I'm truly sorry, Sam, that you lost your post. But maybe it's for the best. Maybe you'll go back to your Brighton now. Now, drop that, will you? But you've got a talent, Sam, like even Mr. Bigsby says so. Bigsby? Bigsby never says. Sam, there was a fellow on the boat just down from the Missouri. And, well, Sam, didn't you say to Bigsby once something like, I haven't got brains to be a pilot and if I had, I wouldn't have strength enough to carry him around except on crutches. Didn't you, Sam? Well, I... Bigsby remembered that. This fellow heard it from Bigsby. Seems like Bigsby's always kind of bragging about you and the way you have the foot and things. And all you do, Sam, you ought to do something. Now, drop that, I said, Henry. I'm gonna be a pilot. And that's that. Well, you say, Sam. As you say. Henry boarded the Pennsylvania and she started north the next morning. The day after, I boarded another ship for St. Louis. A couple of days out, we touched at Greenville, Mississippi. Somebody on shore was shouting. You hear the news? That was all I knew except that the survivors had been taken to Memphis. And there, two days later, I arrived and found my brother Henry in the hospital. His hurts passed health. And soon, while I sat beside him, he died. Henry Clement, age 19. He who never had harmed a living soul. In due course, I got my license. I was a pilot now, full-fledged. I was a satisfactory pilot, I think, but by and by the Civil War came along and overnight my occupation was gone. Soon I became a silver miner in Nevada and then followed an entire procession of occupation. Now, I am a scribbler of books and it is 20 years since our last look from the windows of a pilot house. But often now, I steal away in my mind and return to my beloved river. It is ninth, with only a sprinkling of stars to light our way. I stand at the wheel, guide in the vessel, mindful of the passengers who lie asleep below like trusted children. Sometimes in my memory, my brother stands at my side. Oh, Henry, how I've missed you all these years. Under me, the engine mumble softly. Behind me, the paddle, the endless slit dipping into the muddy water. And then faintly comes the lonely whistle of a steamboat barb stream. It is thus, in these busy hectic days that I return in memory to the life I love, to the life that nevermore will be, to life on the Mississippi. Welcome to Massey and the Cavalcade players for tonight's true story. And I'll Bill Hamilton, speaking for the DuPont Company. Americans love to travel. Each year, millions of us take to the road to see more of this wonderful country of ours. We keep thousands of service stations, restaurants and restaurants and business as we go from place to place. And we like to travel in comfort. That's why when a new item of comfort is invented, we usually find a way to make it portable. It's happened to heaters and radios, for instance, and now it's happening to air conditioning. At automobile shows this year, five leading car manufacturers are offering air conditioning as optional equipment on their latest model. You'll see quite a few of them this summer, rolling along on the hottest day with the windows tightly closed. The cars won't look different except for the closed windows. But if you get close enough, chances are the people inside will look a lot more comfortable. They'll enjoy temperatures of their own choosing, regardless of how hot it is outside. And they won't have that blown-to-pieces look that comes from open windows. In these new automobile air conditioning systems, new air is brought constantly inside, filtered and cooled. The cooling agent is the DuPont Freon fluorinated hydrocarbon refrigerant, one of the same safe refrigerants used in modern home refrigerators and freezers. Freon refrigerants are also used for air conditioning of all types, such as homes, office buildings, ships, buses and theaters. Now, the automotive industry has taken steps to make hot weather driving more comfortable. For many years, DuPont has worked closely with the automotive industry, making special finishes, petroleum chemicals, anti-free solutions, plastics, fibers, rubber chemicals and other important products. The use of Freon refrigerants in automobile air conditioning is one more step in the continuing job of bringing you DuPont's Better Things For Better Living through chemistry. Tonight's DuPont cavalcade was written by Warner Law and was adapted from the story Life on the Mississippi by the late Samuel L. Clemens, Mark Twain, published by Harper & Brothers. Original music was composed by Arden Cornwell, conducted by Donald Boris. The program was directed by John Zoller. With our star, Aiman Massie, you heard Jeffrey Bryant as young Sam Clemens and Charles Dingle as Bixby. This aside, Harris, reminding you to be with us next week when the DuPont cavalcade will present Star and Shield, a delightful story of a New Jersey policeman and a little five-year-old girl who won his heart. Our star, Broderick Crawford, and featuring a five-year-old actress, Eileen Merry, be sure to listen. The DuPont cavalcade of America came used from the Velasco Theater in New York City and is sponsored by the DuPont Company for living through chemistry. Tonight, just for laughs, listen to Red Skelton on NBC.