Through Mr. Paine I learn that Jim Gillis is dead. He died aged seventy-seven,Ⓐtextual note inⒶtextual note California, about two weeks ago, after a long illness. Mr. Paine went with Mr. Goodman to see himⒺexplanatory note, but Jim was too ill to see any one. Steve Gillis’s end is also near at hand, and he lies cheerfully and tranquilly waiting. He is up in the sylvan Jackass Gulch countryⒺexplanatory note, among the other Gillises whom I knew so well something more than forty years ago—George and Billy, brothers of Steve and Jim. Steve and George and Billy have large crops of grandchildrenⒺexplanatory note, but Jim remained a bachelor to the end.

I think Jim Gillis was a much more remarkable person than his family and his intimates ever suspected. He had a bright and smart imagination, and it was of the kind that turns out impromptu work and does it well; does itⒶtextual note with easy facility, andⒶtextual note without previous preparation; justⒶtextual note builds a story as it goes along, careless of whither it is proceeding, enjoying each fresh fancy as it flashes from the brain and caring not at all whether the story shall ever end brilliantly and satisfactorily or shan’tⒶtextual note end at all. Jim was born a humorist, and a very competent one. When I remember how felicitous were his untrained efforts, I feel a conviction that he would have been a star performer if he had been discovered, and had been subjected to a few years of training with a pen. A genius [begin page 58] is not very likely to ever discover himself; neither is he very likely to be discovered by his intimates; in fact I think I may put it in stronger words and say it is impossible that a genius—at least a literary genius—can ever be discovered by his intimates; they are so close to him that he is out of focus to them and they can’t get at his proportions; they cannot perceive that there is any considerable difference between his bulk and their own. TheyⒶtextual note can’t get a perspective on him, and it is only by a perspective that the difference between him and the rest of their limited circleⒶtextual note can be perceived. St. Peter’s cannot be impressive for size to a person who has always seen it close at hand and has never been outside of Rome; it is onlyⒶtextual note the stranger, approachingⒶtextual note from far away in the Campania,Ⓐtextual note who sees Rome as an indistinct and characterless blur, with the mighty cathedral standing up out of it all lonely and unfellowed in its majesty. Thousands of geniuses live and die undiscovered—either by themselves or by others. But for the Civil War, Lincoln and Grant and Sherman and SheridanⒶtextual note would not have been discovered, nor haveⒶtextual note risen into notice. I have touched upon this matter in a small book which I wrote a generation ago, and which I have not published as yet—“Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven.” When Stormfield arrived in heaven he was eager to get a sight of those unrivaled and incomparable military geniuses, Caesar, AlexanderⒶtextual note and Napoleon, but was told by an old resident of heaven that they didn’t amount to much there as military geniuses; that they ranked as obscure corporals only, by comparison with a certain colossal military genius, a shoemaker by tradeⒺexplanatory note,Ⓐtextual note who had lived and died unknownⒶtextual note in a New England village, and hadⒶtextual note never seen a battle in all his earthly life. He had not been discovered while he was in the earth, but HeavenⒶtextual note knew him as soon as he arrived there, and lavished upon him the honors which he would have received in the earth if the earth had known that he was the most prodigious military genius the planet had ever produced.

I spent three months in the log cabinⒶtextual note home of Jim Gillis and his “pard,”Ⓐtextual note Dick StokerⒺexplanatory note, in Jackass Gulch, that serene and reposeful and dreamy and delicious sylvan paradise of which I have already spokenⒺexplanatory note. Every now and then Jim would have an inspiration, and he would stand up before the great log fire, with his back to it and his hands crossed behind him, and deliver himself of an elaborate impromptu lie—a fairy-tale, an extravagant romance—Ⓐtextual notewith Dick Stoker as the hero of it,Ⓐtextual note as a general thing. Jim always soberlyⒶtextual note pretended that what he was relating was strictly history—veracious history, not romance. Dick Stoker, gray-headed and good-natured, would sit smoking his pipe and listen with a gentleⒶtextual note serenity to these monstrous fabrications and never utter a protest. In one of my books—“Huckleberry Finn,” I think—I have used one of Jim’s impromptu tales, which heⒶtextual note called “The Tragedy of the Burning Shame.” I had to modify it considerably to make it proper for print, and this was a great damage. As Jim told it—inventing it as he went along—I think it was one of the most outrageously funny things I have ever listened to. How mild it is in the book, and how pale; how extravagant and how gorgeous in its unprintable formⒺexplanatory note! I used another of Jim’s impromptus in a book of mine called “The Tramp Abroad,” a tale of how the poor innocent and ignorant woodpeckers tried to fill up a house with acornsⒺexplanatory note. It is a charming story, a delightful story, and full of happy fancies. Jim stood before the fire and reeled it off with the easiest facility, inventing its details as he went along, and claiming, as usual, [begin page 59] that it was all straight fact, unassailable fact, history pure and undefiled. I used another of Jim’s inventions in one of my books—the story of Jim Baker’s cat, the remarkable Tom Quartz. Jim Baker was Dick StokerⒺexplanatory note, of course; Tom Quartz had never existed; there was no such cat—at least outside of Jim Gillis’s imagination.

Once or twice Jim’s energetic imagination got him into trouble. A squaw came along one day and tried to sell us some wild fruit that looked like large green gages. Dick Stoker had lived in that cabin eighteen years, and knew that that product was worthless and inedible; but heedlessly, and without purpose, he remarked that he had never heard of it before. That was enough for Jim. He launched out with fervent praises of that devilish fruit, and the more he talked about it the warmer and stronger his admiration of it grew. He said that he had eaten it a thousand times; that all one needed to do was to boil it with a little sugar and there was nothing on the American continent that could compare with it for deliciousness. He was only talking to hear himself talk;Ⓐtextual note and so he was brought up standing, and for just one moment, or maybe two moments, smittenⒶtextual note dumb, when Dick interrupted him with the remark thatⒶtextual note if the fruit was so delicious why didn’t he invest in it on the spot? Jim was caught, but he wouldn’t let on; he had gotten himself into a scrape, but he was not the man to back down or confess; he pretended that he was only too happy to have this chance to enjoy once more this precious gift of God. Oh, he was a loyal man to his statements! I think he would have eaten that fruit if he had known it would kill him. HeⒶtextual note bought the lot, and said airily and complacentlyⒶtextual note that he was glad enough to have that benefaction, and that if Dick and I didn’t want to enjoy it with him we could let it alone—he didn’t care.

Then there followed a couple of the most delightful hours I have ever spent. Jim took an empty kerosene can of about a three-gallon capacity and put it on the fire and filled it half full of water, and dumped into it a dozen of those devilish fruits,Ⓐtextual note and as soon as the water came to a good boil he added a handful of brown sugar; as the boiling went on he tested the odious messⒶtextual note from time to time; the unholy vegetablesⒶtextual note grew softer and softer, pulpier and pulpier, and now he began to make tests with a tablespoon. He would dip out a spoonful and taste it, smack his lips with fictitious satisfaction, remark that perhaps it needed a little more sugar—so he would dump in a handful and let the boiling go on a while longer; handful after handful of sugar went in, and still the tasting went on for two hours, Stoker and I laughing at him, ridiculing him, deriding him, blackguarding him all the while, and he retaining his serenity unruffled. At last he said the manufacture had reached the right stage, the stage of perfection. He dipped his spoon, tasted, smacked his lips, and broke into enthusiasms of grateful joy;Ⓐtextual note then he gave us a taste apiece. From all that we could discover,Ⓐtextual note those tons of sugar had not affected that fruit’s malignant sharpness in the least degree. Acid? It was all acid, vindictive acid, uncompromising acid, with not a trace of the modifying sweetness which the sugar ought to have communicated to it and would have communicated to it if that fruit had been invented anywhere outside of perdition. We stopped with that one taste, but that great-hearted Jim, that dauntless martyr, went on sipping and sipping, and sipping, and praising and praising, and praising, and praising, until his teeth and tongue were raw, and Stoker and I nearly [begin page 60] dead with gratitude and delight. During the next two days neither food nor drink passed Jim’s teeth; so sore were they thatⒶtextual note they could not endure the touch of anything; even his breath passing over them made him wince; nevertheless he went steadily on voicing his adulations of that brutalⒶtextual note mess and praising God. It was an astonishing exhibition of grit, but Jim was like all the other Gillises, he was made of grit.

About once a year he would come down to San Francisco, discard his rough mining costume, buy a fifteen-dollar suit of ready-made slops, and stride up and down Montgomery streetⒶtextual note with his hat tipped over one ear and looking as satisfied as a king. The sarcastic stares which the drifting stream of elegantⒶtextual note fashion cast upon him did not trouble him; he seemed quite unaware. On one of these occasions Joe Goodman and I and one or two other intimates took Jim up into the Bank Exchange billiard roomⒶtextual note. It was the resort of the rich and fashionable young swells of San Francisco. The time was ten at night, and the twenty tables were all in service, all occupied. We strolled up and down the place to let Jim have a full opportunity to contemplate and enjoy this notable feature of the city.Ⓐtextual note Every now and then a fashionable young buck dropped a sarcastic remark about Jim and his clothes. We heard these remarks, but hoped that Jim’s large satisfaction with himself would prevent his discovering that he was the object of them; but that hope failed; Jim presently began to take notice; then he began to try to catch one of these men in the act of making his remark. He presently succeeded. A large and handsomely dressed young gentlemanⒶtextual note was the utterer. Jim stepped toward him and came to a standstill,Ⓐtextual note with his chin liftedⒶtextual note and hisⒶtextual note haughty pride exhibiting itself in his attitude and bearing, andⒶtextual note said, impressively—

“That was for me. You must apologize, or fight.”

Half a dozen of the neighboring players heard him say it, and they faced about and rested the butts of their cues on the floor and waited with amused interest for results. Jim’s victim laughed ironically, and said—

“Oh, is that so? What would happen if I declined?”

“You will get a flogging that will mend your manners.”

“Oh indeed! I wonder if that’s so.”

Jim’s manner remained grave and unruffled. He said—

“I challenge you. You must fight me.”

“Oh really! Will you be so good as to name the time?”

“ Now Ⓐtextual note.”

“How prompt we are!Ⓐtextual note Place?”

“ Here Ⓐtextual note.”

“This is charming! Weapons?”

“Double-barreled shotguns loaded with slugs; distance,Ⓐtextual note thirty feet.”

It was high time to interfere. Goodman took the young fool aside and said—

“You don’t know your man, and you are doing a most dangerous thing. You seem to think he is joking, but he is not joking, he is not that kind; he’s in earnest; if you decline the duel he will kill you where you stand; you must accept his terms, and you must do it right away, for you have no time to waste; take the duel or apologize. You will apologize [begin page 61] of course, for two reasons: you insulted him when he was not offending you; that is one reason, the other is that you naturally neither want to kill an unoffending man nor be killed yourself. You will apologize, and you will have to let him word the apology; it will be more strong and more uncompromising than any apology that you, even with the most liberal intentions,Ⓐtextual note would be likely to frame.”

The man apologized, repeating the words as they fell from Jim’s lips—the crowd massed around the pair and listening—and the character of the apology was in strict accordance with Goodman’s prediction concerning it.

I mourn for Jim. He was a good and steadfast friend, a manly one, a generous one; an honest and honorable man and endowed with a lovable nature. He instituted no quarrels himself, but whenever a quarrel was put upon him he was on deck and ready.