what was the consequence? The Union was preserved. This is the first
time I believe that that secret has ever been revealed.
No one outside of the family circle, I think, knew it before; but there
the facts are. Watterson saved the Union; yes, he saved the Union. And
yet there he sits, and not a step has been taken or a movement made
toward granting him a pension. That is the way things are done. It is a
case where some blushing ought to be done. You ought to blush, and I
ought to blush, and he–well, he’s a little out of practice now.
ROBERT FULTON FUND
ADDRESS MADE ON THE EVENING OF APRIL 19, 1906
Mr. Clemens had been asked to address the association by Gen.
Frederick D. Grant, president. He was offered a fee of $1,000,
but refused it, saying:
“I shall be glad to do it, but I must stipulate that you keep
the $1,000, and add it to the Memorial Fund as my contribution
to erect a monument in New York to the memory of the man who
applied steam to navigation.”
At this meeting Mr. Clemens made this formal announcement from
the platform:
“This is my last appearance on the paid platform. I shall not
retire from the gratis platform until I am buried, and courtesy
will compel me to keep still and not disturb the others. Now,
since I must, I shall say good-bye. I see many faces in this
audience well known to me. They are all my friends, and I feel
that those I don’t know are my friends, too. I wish to
consider that you represent the nation, and that in saying
good-bye to you I am saying good-bye to the nation. In the
great name of humanity, let me say this final word: I offer an
appeal in behalf of that vast, pathetic multitude of fathers,
mothers, and helpless little children. They were sheltered and
happy two days ago. Now they are wandering, forlorn, hopeless,
and homeless, the victims of a great disaster. So I beg of
you, I beg of you, to open your hearts and open your purses and
remember San Francisco, the smitten city.”
I wish to deliver a historical address. I’ve been studying the history
of—er–a–let me see–a [then he stopped in confusion, and walked over
to Gen. Fred D. Grant, who sat at the head of the platform. He leaned
over an a whisper, and then returned to the front of the stage and
continued]. Oh yes! I’ve been studying Robert Fulton. I’ve been
studying a biographical sketch of Robert Fulton, the inventor of–er–a–
let’s see–ah yes, the inventor of the electric telegraph and the Morse
sewing–machine. Also, I understand he invented the air–diria–pshaw!
I have it at last–the dirigible balloon. Yes, the dirigible–but it is
a difficult word, and I don’t see why anybody should marry a couple of
words like that when they don’t want to be married at all and are likely
to quarrel with each other all the time. I should put that couple of
words under the ban of the United States Supreme Court, under its
decision of a few days ago, and take ’em out and drown ’em.
I used to know Fulton. It used to do me good to see him dashing through
tile town on a wild broncho.
And Fulton was born in—er–a–Well, it doesn’t make much difference
where he was born, does it? I remember a man who came to interview me
once, to get a sketch of my life. I consulted with a friend–a practical
man–before he came, to know how I should treat him.
“Whenever you give the interviewer a fact,” he said, “give him another
fact that will contradict it. Then he’ll go away with a jumble that he
can’t use at all. Be gentle, be sweet, smile like an idiot–just be
natural.” That’s what my friend told me to do, and I did it.
“Where were you born?” asked the interviewer.
“Well-er-a,” I began, “I was born in Alabama, or Alaska, or the Sandwich
Islands; I don’t know where, but right around there somewhere. And you
had better put it down before you forget it.”