Read CHAPTER TEN - PLUCK of Amos Huntingdon , free online book, by T.P. Wilson, on ReadCentral.com.

“Aunt,” said Walter, as he sat at her feet, where he had placed himself after resigning his laurels, “I am afraid you are a little hard to please or, at any rate, that I haven’t much chance of getting you to see any moral courage in my unworthy self.”

“Why not, dear boy?” she asked; “why should not you exhibit moral courage as well as any one else?”

“Oh, I don’t know exactly; but it’s so hard to know precisely what moral courage is after all, there are so many things that it is not. Now, what do you say to `pluck,’ auntie; is `pluck’ the same as moral courage?”

“That depends upon what you mean by `pluck,’ Walter.”

“Oh! you must admire pluck. Every true-born Englishman and Englishwoman admires pluck.”

“That may be, my clear nephew. I believe I do admire pluck, as far as I understand what it is. But you must give me your idea of it, that I may be able to answer your question about its being the same as moral courage.”

“Well, dear aunt, it is a thoroughly English, or perhaps I ought to say British, thing, you know. It isn’t mere brute courage. It will keep a man who has it going steadily on with what he has undertaken. There is a great deal of self-denial, and perseverance, and steady effort about it. Persons of high refinement, and of very little physical strength, often show great pluck. It is by no means mere dash. There are plucky women too plucky ladies also as well as plucky men. Indeed I think that, as a rule, there is more true pluck among the weak than the strong, among the refined than the coarse-grained. Thus you will find high-bred officers show more pluck and sustained endurance in sieges and fatigue parties than most of the common soldiers; and so it is with travellers through difficult unexplored countries. Those who have had the least of rough training at home, but have given their mind more thoroughly to the work, will hold out and hold on pluckily when the big fellows with limbs and muscles like giants give in and knock up. It’s pluck that carries them through. Now, isn’t that pretty much the same as moral courage?”

“Hardly, I think, my dear boy.”

“Well, where’s the difference?”

“I think the difference lies in this, that, if I understand rightly what you mean, and what I suppose is commonly meant by pluck, it may be found, and often is found, where there is no moral element in it at all.”

“I don’t quite see it, auntie.”

“Do you not? then I must go to examples to show what I mean. I heard you tell a story the other day at breakfast of what you called a very `plucky’ thing on the part of your friend Saunders.”

“What! the fight he had with some bargees? Oh yes, I remember.”

“Now, Walter, what were the circumstances of that fight?”

“Ah, I remember; and I think I see what you are driving at, Aunt Kate. Saunders, who is only a slightly-built fellow, and almost as thin as a whipping post, got into a row with some of those canal men; he wanted them to turn out of his way, or to let him pass and go through a lock before them, and they wouldn’t.”

“And did he ask them civilly?”

“Nay, Aunt Kate, not he. No, I’m sorry to say he swore at them; for he’s a very hasty fellow with his tongue is Saunders.”

“And were the bargemen unreasonably hindering him?”

“I can’t say that. They were just going into the lock when he rowed up, and he wanted them to get out of his way and let him go into the lock first. I don’t think myself that he was right.”

“And what happened then?”

“Oh, he abused them, and they wanted to throw him into the canal; at least they threatened to do so. And then he challenged the biggest of them to a stand-up fight, and a ring was made and they fought; and certainly it was a strange thing to see Saunders, with his bare arms looking no thicker than a hop-pole, tackling that great fellow, whose right arm was nearly as thick as Saunders’s body. Nevertheless, Saunders didn’t shrink; he stood up to the bargee, and, being a capital boxer, he managed to win the day, and to leave the man he was fighting with nearly blind with two swollen black eyes. And every one said what `pluck’ little Saunders showed.”

“Had the bargeman a wife and children?” asked Miss Huntingdon quietly, after a few moments’ silence.

“What a strange question, auntie!” cried her nephew laughing. “Oh, I’m sure I don’t know. I daresay he had.”

“But I suppose, Walter, he was a plain working-man, who got bread for himself and his family by his work on the canal.”

“Oh, of course, auntie; but what has that to do with it?”

“A very great deal, dear boy. There may have been plenty of pluck shown by your friend Saunders on that occasion, but certainly no moral courage. Indeed I should call his conduct decidedly immoral and cowardly.”

“Cowardly, aunt!”

“Yes, cowardly, and mean. What right had he to use, or rather abuse, his superior skill as a pugilist for the purpose of carrying out an act of wrong-doing, and so to give pain and inflict loss on a plain working-man who had done him no harm, and had not had the same advantages of education as himself?”

“O aunt! you are severe indeed.”

“Not too severe, Walter. Saunders, you acknowledge, spoke and acted hastily and improperly at first, and he must have known that he had done so. Now the true moral courage would have been shown in his confessing that he was wrong, and expressing sorrow for it.”

“What! to a bargee!”

“Yes, to a bargee, Walter. The world might have called him mean or cowardly for such a confession, but he would have shown true moral courage and nobility for all that. To do what will give pain to others rather than incur the reproach of cowardice is really acting under the tyranny of a mean and slavish fear of man, though it may be a plucky thing in the eyes of the World.”

“Ah, well, auntie, that is certainly a new view of things to me; and I suppose, then, you would apply the same test to duelling, affairs of honour, as they used to be called?”

“Most certainly so, Walter. The duellist is one of the worst of moral cowards.”

“Ah! but,” cried the other, “to fight a duel used to be considered a very plucky thing, and it really was so, auntie.”

“I don’t doubt it, Walter; but it was a very immoral thing also. Happily, public opinion has quite changed on the subject of duelling in our own country, and no doubt this has been owing indirectly to the spread of a truer religious tone amongst us. But what could be more monstrous than the prevailing feeling about duelling a few years ago, as I can well remember it in my young days. Why, duelling was at that time the highroad to a reputation for courage, and the man who refused to fight was frowned upon in good society, and in some places scouted from it. And I say it with the deepest shame my own sex greatly helped to keep up this feeling; for the man who had fought the most duels was, with the ladies of his own neighbourhood, for the most part, an object of special admiration and favour.

“And yet, what nobility or moral courage was there in the man who gave or accepted the challenge? Just think of what the consequences might be, and what the ground of the quarrel often was. A hasty word, or even a mere thoughtless breach of etiquette, would bring a challenge; and the person called out must not decline to meet his challenger, and give him `satisfaction,’ as it was called, in the shape of a pistol bullet, under pain of being cut by all his friends and acquaintances as a coward. So a man who was a husband and father would steal away from his home early in the morning, and go out to some lonely spot and meet the man whom he had offended, and be murdered in cold blood, and carried back a bleeding corpse to his miserable widow and fatherless children, just because he could not bear to be called a coward by the world. And to call this `satisfaction!’ The devil never palmed upon his poor deluded slaves a more transparent lie.

“Just think of two men, for instance, who had been friends for years, and in some unguarded moment had used intemperate language towards each other. Their companions tell them that this is a matter for giving and receiving satisfaction. So, in perfectly cold blood, with the most ceremonious politeness, the time and place of meeting are fixed by the seconds, who make all arrangements for their principals; and at the time appointed these two men stand face to face, with no malice, it may be, in either heart, feeling rather that there were faults on both sides, and at any rate no more wrong done or intended than a little mutual forbearance and concession might easily set right. And yet there they stand; at a given signal aim each at the other’s heart; and, if that aim is true, each is murdered by his brother, and hurried in a moment red-handed into the awful presence of his Maker and Judge. And this used to be called `satisfaction,’ and the man who refused to give it was branded as a coward. And such was the tyranny of this fashion which Satan had imposed upon thinking and immortal men, that rarely indeed was a man found who had the true moral courage to refuse to fight a duel when challenged to do so.”

“Ah then, auntie,” said her nephew, “you would give the laurels for moral courage to the man who declined to fight.”

“Certainly I would. Yes, I should have called him a truly noble and morally courageous man who, in those sad duelling days, should have declined a challenge on the ground that he feared God rather than man that he was willing to brave any earthly scorn and loss rather than be a cold-blooded murderer and do violence to his own conscience, and break the laws of his Creator and Redeemer. Such courage as this would be worth, in my eyes, a thousandfold more than all the `pluck’ in the world.”

“Indeed, dear Aunt Kate,” said Walter seriously, “I believe you are right; but can you give me any example of such moral courage?”

“Yes, dear boy, I think I can. I call to mind the case of an excellent Christian man; I rather think he was an officer in the army, and that made his position more trying, because in the days when duelling was the fashion, for an officer to refuse a challenge would have raised up the whole of the service against him. However, whether he was a military man or not, he was at any rate a true soldier of the Cross. By something he had done, or left undone, he had grievously offended a companion, and this friend or acquaintance of his called on him one morning, and, being a hot-tempered man, charged him with the supposed offence or affront, and working himself up into a violent passion, declared that they must fight it out, and that he should send him a formal challenge. The other listened very quietly to this outburst of wrath, and then said calmly and deliberately, `Fight you, must it be? certainly, I must not decline your challenge. Yes, we will fight, and it shall be now; here, on this very spot, and with swords. I have my weapon close at hand.’ Saying which, the good man pulled a small Bible out of his pocket, and holding it up before his companion, whose face had turned deadly pale, said, `Here is my sword, the sword of the Spirit, the only weapon I intend to fight you with.’ Telling a friend about it afterwards, the Christian man remarked, `Never did poor creature look upon a Bible with more satisfaction and relief than my adversary did on mine.’ But at the time when the angry man was speechless with astonishment, the other proceeded to say to him kindly, `Friend, I have a dear wife and children. Now, would it have been right in me to meet you with pistols or other deadly weapons, and to have entailed lasting misery on those so dear to me, and so dependent on me, by either being myself your murderer or allowing you the opportunity of being mine?’ That was true moral heroism, dear Walter, and it had its reward there and then, for the challenger at once grasped the hand of his companion and said, `It would not have been right on your part; you have done just what it was your duty to do in declining my challenge, and I honour you for it. Let us part friends.’”

“Thank you, auntie; I admire your hero immensely. Now, pray give me another example, if you have one ready.”

“I have read a curious story on this subject,” replied Miss Huntingdon, “but I am not sure that it is a true one. I read it in some book years ago, but what the book was I cannot call to mind. However, the story may be true, and it may be useful to repeat it, as it just illustrates my present point about moral courage in reference to duelling. The story is substantially this:

“Some years ago, when a regiment was quartered for a time in one of our county towns, one of the officers of the regiment was challenged by a brother officer, and refused to accept the challenge. This refusal soon flew abroad over all the town and neighbourhood, and the consequence was that every one turned his back on the man who refused to fight. He was avoided by all of his own rank of both sexes as a craven and a coward. Of course, he felt this very keenly. To be shut out from houses where he used to be welcomed; to be looked at with scorn by his brother officers; to have not a word addressed to him by any one of them when they met him on parade or at mess; to be the object of ill-concealed contempt even to the common soldiers; these things were burdens almost intolerable to a man who had any respect for his own character as a soldier. However, for a time he bore it patiently. At last he hit upon an expedient to prove to the world that he was no coward, which was undoubtedly original and convincing, though, certainly, by no means justifiable.

“A large evening party was being given to the officers of the regiment by some distinguished person in the town; a ball probably, for many ladies were present. While all were in the very midst and height of their amusement, suddenly the disgraced officer made his appearance among them in his dress uniform. How could this be? how came he there? Assuredly no one had invited him. As he advanced into the middle of the brilliantly lighted room an empty space was left for him, officers and ladies shrinking from him, as though his near approach brought defilement with it. Looking quietly round, he deliberately produced and held up a hand-grenade, as it was called that is to say, a small bombshell and, before any one of the astonished spectators could stop him, lighted a match at one of the wax-candles, and applied it to the fusee of the shell. A shower of sparks came rushing from the hand-grenade, which would explode in a minute or two or even less. The consternation of the company was frightful, and a furious and general rush was made to the doors. As the guests dashed out of the room, some just caught sight of the officer who had brought in and lighted the shell standing calmly over it with his arms folded. A few moments more, all the company had vanished terror-stricken, and then a frightful explosion was heard. One or two of the officers hurried back with horror on their faces. The man who had been branded as a coward lay outstretched on the ground. He had thrown himself flat on the floor the instant the room was cleared; the fragments of the shell had flown over him, and he was almost entirely uninjured.

“His object in this extraordinary proceeding was to show his brother officers and the world generally that a man might refuse, from conscientious motives, to fight a duel and yet be no coward. I am not praising or approving of his conduct in taking such a dangerous course to prove his point; for he was endangering the lives of many as well as his own life, and nothing could justify that. But, if the story be true, it shows at least that a man may decline to do an act from a high sense of duty, so as to bring upon himself the reproach of cowardice, and yet may be a man of undoubted bravery after all. But I do not at all place this officer on my list of moral heroes. I trust, however, dear Walter, that our conversation on this subject will strengthen in you the conviction that the noblest and truest courage is that high moral courage which enables a man to endure with patience any scorn, or loss, or blame, rather than deliberately do what he knows that his conscience and the Word of God condemn.”