Amos Huntingdon

  CHAPTER THREE.

  A TALK AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE.

  The morning after the accident, Miss Huntingdon, who was now keeping herbrother's house, and had been returning with him the night before aftera visit to a friend, appeared as usual at the breakfast-table, rather toMr Huntingdon's surprise.

  "My dear Kate," he said, "I hardly expected to see you at breakfast,after your fright, and shaking, and bruising. Most ladies would havespent the morning in bed; but I am delighted to see you, and take it forgranted that you are not seriously the worse for the mishap."

  "Thank you, dear Walter," was her reply; "I cannot say that I feel verybrilliant this morning, but I thought it would be kinder in me to showmyself, and so relieve you from all anxiety, as I have been mercifullypreserved from anything worse than a severe shaking, the effects ofwhich will wear off in a day or two, I have no doubt."

  "Well, Kate, I must say it's just like yourself, never thinking of yourown feelings when you can save other people's. Why, you are almost asbrave as our hero Walter, who risked his own neck to get us out of ourtrouble last night.--Ah! here he comes, and Amos after him. Well,that's perhaps as it should be--honour to whom honour is due."

  A cloud rested on Miss Huntingdon's face as she heard these last words,and it was deepened as she observed a smile of evident exultation on thecountenance of her younger nephew, as he glanced at the flushed face ofhis elder brother. But now all seated themselves at the table, and theprevious evening's disaster was the all-absorbing topic of conversation.

  "Well," said the squire, "things might have been worse, no doubt, thoughit may be some time before the horses will get over their fright, andthe carriage must go to the coachmaker's at once.--By-the-by, Harry,"speaking to the butler, who was waiting at table, "just tell James, whenyou have cleared away breakfast, to see to that fence at once. It mustbe made a good substantial job of, or we shall have broken bones, andbroken necks too, perhaps, one of these days."

  "I hope, Walter," said his sister, "the horses were not seriouslyinjured."

  "No, I think not," was his reply; "nothing very much to speak of.Charlie has cut one of his hind legs rather badly,--that must have beenwhen he flung out and broke away; but Beauty hasn't got a scratch, I'mpleased to say, and seems all right."

  "And yourself, Walter?"

  "Oh, I'm all safe and sound, except a few bruises and a bit of asprained wrist.--And now, my boy, Walter, I must thank you once more foryour courage and spirit. But for you, your aunt and myself might havebeen lying at the bottom of the chalk-pit, instead of sitting here atthe breakfast-table."

  Walter laughed his thanks for the praise, declaring that he exceedinglyenjoyed getting his father and aunt on to dry land, only he was sorryfor the carriage and horses. But here the butler--who was an old andprivileged servant in the family, and therefore considered himself atliberty to offer occasionally a remark when anything was discussed attable in which he was personally interested--interrupted.

  "If you please, sir, I think Master Amos hasn't had his share of thepraise. 'Twas him as wouldn't let us cut the traces, and then stood byBeauty and kept her still. I don't know where you'd have been, sir, norMiss Huntingdon neither, if it hadn't been for Master Amos's presence ofmind."

  "Ah, well, perhaps so," said his master, not best pleased with theremark; while Amos turned red, and motioned to the butler to keepsilent. "Presence of mind is a very useful thing in its way, no doubt;but give me good manly courage,--there's nothing like that, to mymind.--What do _you_ say, Kate?"

  "Well, Walter," replied his sister slowly and gravely, "I am afraid Ican hardly quite agree with you there. Not that I wish to take away anyof the credit which is undoubtedly due to Walter. I am sure we are alldeeply indebted to him; and yet I cannot but feel that we are equallyindebted to Amos's presence of mind."

  "Oh, give him his due, by all means," said the squire, a little nettledat his sister's remark; "but, after all, good old English courage forme. But, of course, as a woman, you naturally don't value courage as wemen do."

  "Do you think not, Walter? Perhaps some of us do not admire couragequite in the same way, or the same sort of courage most; but I thinkthere can be no one of right feeling, either man or woman, who does notadmire real courage."

  "I don't know what you mean, Kate, about `the same sort of courage.'Courage is courage, I suppose, pretty much the same in everybody who hasit."

  "I was thinking of moral courage," replied the other quietly; "and thatoften goes with presence of mind."

  "Moral courage! moral courage! I don't understand you," said herbrother impatiently. "What do you mean by moral courage?"

  "Well, dear brother, I don't want to vex you; I was only replying toyour question. I admire natural courage, however it is shown, but Iadmire moral courage most."

  "Well, but you have not told me what you mean by moral courage."

  "I will try and explain myself then. Moral courage, as I understand it,is shown when a person has the bravery and strength of character to actfrom principle, when doing so may subject him, and he knows it, tomisunderstanding, misrepresentation, opposition, ridicule, orpersecution."

  The squire was silent for a moment, and fidgeted on his chair. Amoscoloured and cast down his eyes; while his brother looked up at his auntwith an expression on his face of mingled annoyance and defiance. ThenMr Huntingdon asked, "Well, but what's to hinder a person having bothwhat I should call old-fashioned courage and your moral courage at thesame time?"

  "Nothing to hinder it, necessarily," replied Miss Huntingdon. "Verycommonly, however, they do not go together; or perhaps I ought rather tosay, that while persons who have moral courage often have naturalcourage too, a great many persons who have natural courage have no moralcourage."

  "You mean, aunt, I suppose," said her nephew Walter, rathersarcastically, "that the one's all `dash' and the other all `duty.'"

  "Something of the kind, Walter," replied his aunt. "The one acts upon asudden impulse, or on the spur of the moment, or from natural spirit;the other acts steadily, and from deliberate conviction."

  "Can you give us an example, aunt?" asked the boy, but now with more ofrespect and less of irritation in his manner.

  "Yes, I can," she replied; "and I will do so if you like, and my exampleshall be that of one who combined both natural and moral courage. Mymoral hero is Christopher Columbus."

  "A regular brick of a man, I allow; but, dear aunt, pray go on."

  "Well, then, I have always had a special admiration for Columbus becauseof his noble and unwavering moral courage. Just think of what he had tocontend with. It was enough to daunt the stoutest heart and wear outthe most enduring patience. Convinced that somewhere across the oceanto the west there must be a new and undiscovered world, and that itwould be the most glorious of enterprises to find that new world andplant the standard of the Cross among its people, he never wavered inhis one all-absorbing purpose of voyaging to those unknown shores andwinning them for Christ. And yet, from the very first, he met withevery possible discouragement, and had obstacle upon obstacle piled upin his path. He was laughed to scorn as a half-mad enthusiast;denounced as a blasphemer and gainsayer of Scripture truth; cried downas an ignoramus, unworthy of the slightest attention from men ofscience; tantalised by half promises; wearied by vexatious delays: andyet never did his courage fail nor his purpose waver. At last, afteryears of hope deferred and anxieties which made him grey while still inthe prime of life, he was permitted to set sail on what was generallybelieved to be a desperate crusade, with no probable issue but death.And just picture him to yourself, Walter, as he set out on that voyageamidst the sullen murmurs and tears of the people. His ships were three`caravels,' as they were called,--that is, something the same as ourcoasting colliers, or barges,--and there was no deck in two of them.Besides, they were crazy, leaky, and scarcely seaworthy; and the crewsnumbered only one hundred and twenty men, most of them pressed, and allhating the service. Nevertheless, he ventured w
ith these into an oceanwithout any known shore; and on he went with one fixed, unalterablepurpose, and that was to sail westward, westward, westward till he cameto land. Days and weeks went by, but no land was seen. Provisions ranshort, and every day's course made return home more hopeless. But stillhis mind never changed; still he plunged on across that trackless wasteof waters. The men mutinied--and one can hardly blame them; but hesubdued them by his force of character,--they saw in his eye that whichtold them that their leader was no common man, but one who would dierather than abandon his marvellous enterprise. And you remember theend? The very day after the mutiny, a branch of thorn with berries onit floats by them. They are all excitement. Then a small boardappears; then a rudely-carved stick; then at night Columbus sees alight, and next day lands on the shores of his new world, after a voyageof more than two months over seas hitherto unexplored by man, and invessels which nothing but a special providence could have kept fromfoundering in the mighty waters. The man who could carry out such apurpose in the teeth of such overwhelming opposition, discouragement,and difficulty, may well claim our admiration for courage of the highestand noblest order."

  No one spoke for a moment, and then Mr Huntingdon said, "Well, Kate,Columbus was a brave man, no doubt, and deserves the best you can say ofhim; and I think I see what you mean, from his case, about the greatnessand superiority of moral courage."

  "I am glad, Walter, that I have satisfied you on that point," was herreply. "You see there was no sudden excitement to call out or sustainhis courage. It was the bravery of principle, not of mere impulse. Itwas so grand because it stood the strain, a daily-increasing strain, oftroubles, trials, and hindrances, which kept multiplying in front of himevery day and hour as he pressed forward; and it never for a moment gaveway under that strain."

  "It was grand indeed, aunt," said Walter. "I am afraid my courage wouldhave oozed out of every part of me before I had been a week on board oneof those caravels. So all honour to Christopher Columbus and moralcourage."

  That same morning, when Miss Huntingdon was at work in her own privatesitting-room, there came a knock at the door, followed by the head ofWalter peeping round it.

  "May I come in, auntie? I've a favour to ask of you."

  "Come in, dear boy."

  "Well, Aunt Kate, I've been thinking over what you said at breakfastabout moral courage, and I begin to see that I am uncommonly short ofit, and that Amos has got my share of it as well as his own."

  "But that need not be, Walter," said his aunt; "at least it need notcontinue to be so."

  "I don't know, auntie; perhaps not. But, at any rate, what father callsold-fashioned courage is more in my line; and yet I don't want to bequite without moral courage as well,--so will you promise me just twothings?"

  "What are they, Walter?"

  "Why, the first is to give me a bit of a hint whenever you see me--whatI suppose I ought to call acting like a moral coward."

  "Well, dear boy, I can do that. But how am I to give the hint if othersare by? for you would not like me to speak out before your father or theservants."

  "I'll tell you, auntie, what you shall do--that is to say, of course, ifyou don't mind. Whenever you see me showing moral cowardice, or want ofmoral courage, and I suppose that comes much to the same thing, and youwould like to give me a hint without speaking, would you put one of yourhands quietly on the table, and then the other across it--just so--andleave them crossed till I notice them?"

  "Yes, Walter, I can do that, and I _will_ do it; though I daresay youwill sometimes think me hard and severe."

  "Never mind that, auntie; it will do me good."

  "Well, dear boy, and what is the other thing I am to promise?"

  "Why, this,--I want you, the first opportunity after the hint, when youand I are alone together, to tell me some story--it must be a true one,mind--of some good man or woman, or boy or girl, who has shown moralcourage just where I didn't show it. `Example is better than precept,'they say, and I am sure it is a great help to me; for I shan't forgetChristopher Columbus and his steady moral courage in a hurry."

  "I am very glad to hear what you say, Walter," replied his aunt; "and itwill give me great pleasure to do what you wish. My dear, dear nephew,I do earnestly desire to see you grow up into a truly noble man, and Iwant to be, as far as God permits me, in the place of a mother to you."

  As Miss Huntingdon uttered these words with deep emotion, Walter flunghis arms passionately round her, and, sinking on his knees, buried hisface in her lap, while tears and sobs, such as he was little accustomedto give vent to, burst from him.

  "O auntie!" he said vehemently, when he had a little recovered himself,"I know I am not what I ought to be, with all my dash and courage, whichpleases father so much. I'm quite sure that there's a deal of humbug inme after all. It's very nice to please him, and to hear him praise meand call me brave; but I should like to please you too. It would beworth more, in one way, to have _your_ praise, though father is verykind."

  "Well, my dear boy, I hope you will be able to please me too, and,better still, to please God." She spoke gently and almost sadly as shesaid these words, kissing at the same time Walter's fair brow.

  "I'm afraid, auntie," was the boy's reply, "I don't think much aboutthat. But Amos does, I know; and though I laugh at him sometimes, yet Irespect him for all that, and I believe he will turn out the true heroafter all."