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    Chapter 1

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    Chapter 2
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    A man may have no bad habits and have worse.
    --Pudd'nhead Wilson's New Calendar.

    The starting point of this lecturing-trip around the world was Paris,
    where we had been living a year or two.

    We sailed for America, and there made certain preparations. This took
    but little time. Two members of my family elected to go with me. Also a
    carbuncle. The dictionary says a carbuncle is a kind of jewel. Humor is
    out of place in a dictionary.

    We started westward from New York in midsummer, with Major Pond to manage
    the platform-business as far as the Pacific. It was warm work, all the
    way, and the last fortnight of it was suffocatingly smoky, for in Oregon
    and Columbia the forest fires were raging. We had an added week of smoke
    at the seaboard, where we were obliged awhile for our ship. She had been
    getting herself ashore in the smoke, and she had to be docked and
    repaired.

    We sailed at last; and so ended a snail-paced march across the continent,
    which had lasted forty days.

    We moved westward about mid-afternoon over a rippled and summer sea; an
    enticing sea, a clean and cool sea, and apparently a welcome sea to all
    on board; it certainly was to the distressful dustings and smokings and
    swelterings of the past weeks. The voyage would furnish a three-weeks
    holiday, with hardly a break in it. We had the whole Pacific Ocean in
    front of us, with nothing to do but do nothing and be comfortable. The
    city of Victoria was twinkling dim in the deep heart of her smoke-cloud,
    and getting ready to vanish and now we closed the field-glasses and sat
    down on our steamer chairs contented and at peace. But they went to
    wreck and ruin under us and brought us to shame before all the
    passengers. They had been furnished by the largest furniture-dealing
    house in Victoria, and were worth a couple of farthings a dozen, though
    they had cost us the price of honest chairs. In the Pacific and Indian
    Oceans one must still bring his own deck-chair on board or go without,
    just as in the old forgotten Atlantic times--those Dark Ages of sea
    travel.

    Ours was a reasonably comfortable ship, with the customary sea-going fare
    --plenty of good food furnished by the Deity and cooked by the devil.
    The discipline observable on board was perhaps as good as it is anywhere
    in the Pacific and Indian Oceans. The ship was not very well arranged
    for tropical service; but that is nothing, for this is the rule for ships
    which ply in the tropics. She had an over-supply of cockroaches, but
    this is also the rule with ships doing business in the summer seas--at
    least such as have been long in service. Our young captain was a very
    handsome man, tall and perfectly formed, the very figure to show up a
    smart uniform's best effects. He was a man of the best intentions and
    was polite and courteous even to courtliness. There was a soft and
    finish about his manners which made whatever place he happened to be in
    seem for the moment a drawing room. He avoided the smoking room. He had
    no vices. He did not smoke or chew tobacco or take snuff; he did not
    swear, or use slang or rude, or coarse, or indelicate language, or make
    puns, or tell anecdotes, or laugh intemperately, or raise his voice above
    the moderate pitch enjoined by the canons of good form. When he gave an
    order, his manner modified it into a request. After dinner he and his
    officers joined the ladies and gentlemen in the ladies' saloon, and
    shared in the singing and piano playing, and helped turn the music. He
    had a sweet and sympathetic tenor voice, and used it with taste and
    effect the music he played whist there, always with the same partner and
    opponents, until the ladies' bedtime. The electric lights burned there
    as late as the ladies and their friends might desire; but they were not
    allowed to burn in the smoking-room after eleven. There were many laws
    on the ship's statute book of course; but so far as I could see, this and
    one other were the only ones that were rigidly enforced. The captain
    explained that he enforced this one because his own cabin adjoined the
    smoking-room, and the smell of tobacco smoke made him sick. I did not
    see how our smoke could reach him, for the smoking-room and his cabin
    were on the upper deck, targets for all the winds that blew; and besides
    there was no crack of communication between them, no opening of any sort
    in the solid intervening bulkhead. Still, to a delicate stomach even
    imaginary smoke can convey damage.

    The captain, with his gentle nature, his polish, his sweetness, his moral
    and verbal purity, seemed pathetically out of place in his rude and
    autocratic vocation. It seemed another instance of the irony of fate.

    He was going home under a cloud. The passengers knew about his trouble,
    and were sorry for him. Approaching Vancouver through a narrow and
    difficult passage densely befogged with smoke from the forest fires, he
    had had the ill-luck to lose his bearings and get his ship on the rocks.
    A matter like this would rank merely as an error with you and me; it
    ranks as a crime with the directors of steamship companies. The captain
    had been tried by the Admiralty Court at Vancouver, and its verdict had
    acquitted him of blame. But that was insufficient comfort. A sterner
    court would examine the case in Sydney--the Court of Directors, the lords
    of a company in whose ships the captain had served as mate a number of
    years. This was his first voyage as captain.

    The officers of our ship were hearty and companionable young men, and
    they entered into the general amusements and helped the passengers pass
    the time. Voyages in the Pacific and Indian Oceans are but pleasure
    excursions for all hands. Our purser was a young Scotchman who was
    equipped with a grit that was remarkable. He was an invalid, and looked
    it, as far as his body was concerned, but illness could not subdue his
    spirit. He was full of life, and had a gay and capable tongue. To all
    appearances he was a sick man without being aware of it, for he did not
    talk about his ailments, and his bearing and conduct were those of a
    person in robust health; yet he was the prey, at intervals, of ghastly
    sieges of pain in his heart. These lasted many hours, and while the
    attack continued he could neither sit nor lie. In one instance he stood
    on his feet twenty-four hours fighting for his life with these sharp
    agonies, and yet was as full of life and cheer and activity
    the next day as if nothing had happened.

    The brightest passenger in the ship, and the most interesting and
    felicitous talker, was a young Canadian who was not able to let the
    whisky bottle alone. He was of a rich and powerful family, and could have
    had a distinguished career and abundance of effective help toward it if
    he could have conquered his appetite for drink; but he could not do it,
    so his great equipment of talent was of no use to him. He had often taken
    the pledge to drink no more, and was a good sample of what that sort of
    unwisdom can do for a man--for a man with anything short of an iron will.
    The system is wrong in two ways: it does not strike at the root of the
    trouble, for one thing, and to make a pledge of any kind is to declare
    war against nature; for a pledge is a chain that is always clanking and
    reminding the wearer of it that he is not a free man.

    I have said that the system does not strike at the root of the trouble,
    and I venture to repeat that. The root is not the drinking, but the
    desire to drink. These are very different things. The one merely
    requires will--and a great deal of it, both as to bulk and staying
    capacity--the other merely requires watchfulness--and for no long time.
    The desire of course precedes the act, and should have one's first
    attention; it can do but little good to refuse the act over and over
    again, always leaving the desire unmolested, unconquered; the desire will
    continue to assert itself, and will be almost sure to win in the long
    run. When the desire intrudes, it should be at once banished out of the
    mind. One should be on the watch for it all the time--otherwise it will
    get in. It must be taken in time and not allowed to get a lodgment. A
    desire constantly repulsed for a fortnight should die, then. That should
    cure the drinking habit. The system of refusing the mere act of
    drinking, and leaving the desire in full force, is unintelligent war
    tactics, it seems to me. I used to take pledges--and soon violate them.
    My will was not strong, and I could not help it. And then, to be tied in
    any way naturally irks an otherwise free person and makes him chafe in
    his bonds and want to get his liberty. But when I finally ceased from
    taking definite pledges, and merely resolved that I would kill an
    injurious desire, but leave myself free to resume the desire and the
    habit whenever I should choose to do so, I had no more trouble. In five
    days I drove out the desire to smoke and was not obliged to keep watch
    after that; and I never experienced any strong desire to smoke again. At
    the end of a year and a quarter of idleness I began to write a book, and
    presently found that the pen was strangely reluctant to go. I tried a
    smoke to see if that would help me out of the difficulty. It did. I
    smoked eight or ten cigars and as many pipes a day for five months;
    finished the book, and did not smoke again until a year had gone by and
    another book had to be begun.

    I can quit any of my nineteen injurious habits at any time, and without
    discomfort or inconvenience. I think that the Dr. Tanners and those
    others who go forty days without eating do it by resolutely keeping out
    the desire to eat, in the beginning, and that after a few hours the
    desire is discouraged and comes no more.

    Once I tried my scheme in a large medical way. I had been confined to my
    bed several days with lumbago. My case refused to improve. Finally the
    doctor said,--

    "My remedies have no fair chance. Consider what they have to fight,
    besides the lumbago. You smoke extravagantly, don't you?"

    "Yes."

    "You take coffee immoderately?"

    "Yes."

    "And some tea?"

    "Yes."

    "You eat all kinds of things that are dissatisfied with each other's
    company?"

    "Yes."

    "You drink two hot Scotches every night?"

    "Yes."

    "Very well, there you see what I have to contend against. We can't make
    progress the way the matter stands. You must make a reduction in these
    things; you must cut down your consumption of them considerably for some
    days."

    "I can't, doctor."

    "Why can't you."

    "I lack the will-power. I can cut them off entirely, but I can't merely
    moderate them."

    He said that that would answer, and said he would come around in
    twenty-four hours and begin work again. He was taken ill himself and
    could not come; but I did not need him. I cut off all those things for
    two days and nights; in fact, I cut off all kinds of food, too, and all
    drinks except water, and at the end of the forty-eight hours the lumbago
    was discouraged and left me. I was a well man; so I gave thanks and took
    to those delicacies again.

    It seemed a valuable medical course, and I recommended it to a lady. She
    had run down and down and down, and had at last reached a point where
    medicines no longer had any helpful effect upon her. I said I knew I
    could put her upon her feet in a week. It brightened her up, it filled
    her with hope, and she said she would do everything I told her to do. So
    I said she must stop swearing and drinking, and smoking and eating for
    four days, and then she would be all right again. And it would have
    happened just so, I know it; but she said she could not stop swearing,
    and smoking, and drinking, because she had never done those things. So
    there it was. She had neglected her habits, and hadn't any. Now that
    they would have come good, there were none in stock. She had nothing to
    fall back on. She was a sinking vessel, with no freight in her to throw
    over lighten ship withal. Why, even one or two little bad habits could
    have saved her, but she was just a moral pauper. When she could have
    acquired them she was dissuaded by her parents, who were ignorant people
    though reared in the best society, and it was too late to begin now. It
    seemed such a pity; but there was no help for it. These things ought to
    be attended to while a person is young; otherwise, when age and disease
    come, there is nothing effectual to fight them with.

    When I was a youth I used to take all kinds of pledges, and do my best to
    keep them, but I never could, because I didn't strike at the root of the
    habit--the desire; I generally broke down within the month. Once I tried
    limiting a habit. That worked tolerably well for a while. I pledged
    myself to smoke but one cigar a day. I kept the cigar waiting until
    bedtime, then I had a luxurious time with it. But desire persecuted me
    every day and all day long; so, within the week I found myself hunting
    for larger cigars than I had been used to smoke; then larger ones still,
    and still larger ones. Within the fortnight I was getting cigars made
    for me--on a yet larger pattern. They still grew and grew in size.
    Within the month my cigar had grown to such proportions that I could have
    used it as a crutch. It now seemed to me that a one-cigar limit was no
    real protection to a person, so I knocked my pledge on the head and
    resumed my liberty.

    To go back to that young Canadian. He was a "remittance man," the first
    one I had ever seen or heard of. Passengers explained the term to me.
    They said that dissipated ne'er-do-wells belonging to important families
    in England and Canada were not cast off by their people while there was
    any hope of reforming them, but when that last hope perished at last, the
    ne'er-do-well was sent abroad to get him out of the way. He was shipped
    off with just enough money in his pocket--no, in the purser's pocket--for
    the needs of the voyage--and when he reached his destined port he would
    find a remittance awaiting him there. Not a large one, but just enough
    to keep him a month. A similar remittance would come monthly thereafter.
    It was the remittance-man's custom to pay his month's board and lodging
    straightway--a duty which his landlord did not allow him to forget--then
    spree away the rest of his money in a single night, then brood and mope
    and grieve in idleness till the next remittance came. It is a pathetic
    life.

    We had other remittance-men on board, it was said. At least they said
    they were R. M.'s. There were two. But they did not resemble the
    Canadian; they lacked his tidiness, and his brains, and his gentlemanly
    ways, and his resolute spirit, and his humanities and generosities. One
    of them was a lad of nineteen or twenty, and he was a good deal of a
    ruin, as to clothes, and morals, and general aspect. He said he was a
    scion of a ducal house in England, and had been shipped to Canada for the
    house's relief, that he had fallen into trouble there, and was now being
    shipped to Australia. He said he had no title. Beyond this remark he
    was economical of the truth. The first thing he did in Australia was to
    get into the lockup, and the next thing he did was to proclaim himself an
    earl in the police court in the morning and fail to prove it.
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