“Don’t give up the Ship.”
During the last war with England, a bloody battle was fought between the British vessel of war Shannon and the American vessel Chesapeake. This took place in the waters off Boston harbor.
In a short time, the Chesapeake was terribly cut to pieces, and many of the men were killed and wounded. The commander, Captain Lawrence, was himself mortally wounded, but, while he was dying, he exclaimed, “Don’t give up the ship!” These striking words have passed into a proverb, and nothing is more common than to hear people say, when they wish to inspire those who are in difficulty with a new stock of courage and energy, “don’t give up the ship!” Now such little sentences, take the whole world together, produce an immense deal of effect,—for very often a person about to despair has taken new courage from saying to himself,—or having it said to him,—“don’t give up the ship!” I am going to tell you a story which may show an instance of this.
Richard Dribble,—familiarly called Dick Dribble,—was a poor boy, about eleven years old, who was put out to a farmer, to go to school, and do chores at odd hours. I need not describe his appearance particularly, for his portrait is at the head of this article; but I must tell you that Dick was rather disposed to be lazy and idle. He was a good-natured fellow, but he hated exertion, and was even too indolent to keep himself tidy. He therefore had always a kind of neglected, shabby and shiftless look.
Well, it was winter, and one day Dick was sent of an errand. The distance he had to go was two or three miles, and his way led through some deep woods. Dick had a great coat, but he was too lazy to put it on, and, though the weather was bitter cold, he set off without it. He had not gone far before he began to shiver like a pot of jelly, but still he kept on. After a while it began to snow, and pretty soon Dick’s neck and bosom were almost filled with it, though some of it melted and went trickling down his back and breast.
The boy took it very quietly for a time; instead of beating off the snow, he let it rest, until at last he was almost crusted over with it. His fingers now began to ache, his nose tingled, his toes grumbled, his teeth chattered, and his whole frame shivered like an aspen leaf. At last the poor fellow began to snivel, and, stopping plump in the path, he exclaimed “It’s too bad! it’s too bad!” Saying this, he gathered himself all into a kind of heap, and stood stock still.
How long he would have remained here, if he had been left to himself, I can’t say; it is probable that he would have remained inactive till he had become benumbed and unable to move, and that he had then lain down and been frozen to death. Indeed, he was already chilled through, and his limbs were getting stiff, and almost incapable of motion, when a gay young fellow came driving by in a sleigh. As he passed, he saw Dick, and exclaimed, “Don’t give up the ship!” He was driving very swiftly, and was out of sight in an instant.
Dick had sense enough left to appreciate the force of the counsel thus hastily given; it forced him to see, that, if he did not make an effort, he would die; at the same time, it put into his bosom a feeling that he could overcome the cold and extricate himself from his trouble. “At any rate,” said he to himself, “I will try!” No sooner had he adopted this view of the case, than he began to march forward. He rubbed and beat his fingers; he knocked off the snow from around his neck; in short, he laid out his whole strength, and before he had gone half a mile, he was in a fine glow, and though his fingers and toes tingled a little from the hot-ache, he was very comfortable.
So Master Dick trudged on; he performed his errand, and returned in safety. Nor was the adventure wholly without its use to him. He often thought of the advice of the gay sleigh-driver, and the effect it had upon him. “Don’t give up the ship,” said he, amid the piercing and trying circumstances of after life; and often that brief but pointed counsel enabled him to triumph over difficulties which, perchance, had otherwise overbalanced him.
And now, gentle reader, if you find it hard to get your lesson, hard to perform your task, hard to do your duty, think of Dick Dribble in the snow-storm, and say to yourself, “Don’t give up the ship,” and go ahead!
Cure for the Tooth-ache.—Fill your mouth with cream, and bump your head against a post till it turns to butter.
Either way will do.—“Wilt thou have me, Sarah?” said a modest young man to a girl whom he loved. “No, John,” was the reply of Sarah—“but you may have me, if you will!”
“The rolling stone gathers no moss.” Unstable people seldom prosper.
