“There are very few men,” said the Chairman, “and perhaps fewer boys, who do not suffer from fear of some sort at one time or another. If they let the fear get the best of them without making any effort to overcome it, they become cowards, and their weakness goes on increasing and tends to weaken them in everything they undertake to do. A thoroughgoing coward is the most untrustworthy kind of man possible; and, at the same time, the most to be pitied, for he has no refuge from his fear, and must continue to suffer till he has faced and overcome it. It does not matter what we are afraid of, so long as we give in to fear; and, if one terror is removed from the outside, another is likely to take its place at any time. I want you boys to understand this: that nothing in the world is more frightful than to be under the control of selfish fear; and, when we have the habit of controlling our fear, nothing in the world is unendurable, and nothing in the world need be terrifying.
“Some people are born with certain special kinds of fear, like the fear of water or of fire, and such things are no more their fault than the color of their eyes or hair; but it is very decidedly their fault if they do not work and learn to overcome them. It is the greatest mistake to imagine that they cannot be controlled and entirely conquered. I have had a good talk with Brown this evening, and he understands that the panic he was in while swimming was in itself a contemptible thing, but he does not propose to let it control him. Panic, or uncontrolled fear, is very selfish; and, in this case, Brown sees that he might have drowned Smith as well as himself if his hold hadn’t been broken. He understands that his own life would not be worth saving if this weakness should continue to master him, and of course he will make it his particular business to get the best of it.
“Lots of boys have been through hard fights with themselves about such matters, and there is not one of us here to-night who has not some weak spot over which he must keep a careful watch for the sake of his honor,—his obligation to duty and to God.”
“Please, sir,” said a small voice from the back row, “the first time I went over the masthead, I was so scared I thought I never should get down again; but the next time it went better, and the next time after that I didn’t mind it at all.”
The Chairman recognized in the speaker one of the younger scouts; and, before he could make any reply, Brown piped up from the other side of the deck:
“That’s the same as me, sir, only Dick Gray, he helped me over the worst of it. Now I had just as lief go over as eat my dinner.”
“That’s well,” replied the Chairman. “What you’ve got to do from now on is to learn to like the water—and the deep water—as much as you like going over the masthead.”
The weather was somewhat uncertain when they turned into their bunks that night, and, at about half-past one the next morning, Mr. Miller climbed up on deck very quietly, to find out what the prospects were for sailing around the Cape. The wind seemed to have veered to the northwest and blew cool in his face as he looked up to the sky. There appeared to be no clouds in any direction, and the stars were shining brightly wherever the sky could be seen. He did not see the anchor watch at first, although the rough log was in its place near the binnacle light on the cabin house. He walked forward, thinking that the watch might be for the moment in the jib netting; but, as he turned around to come aft again, he noticed the small figure of a boy in a watch cap coming down the fore rigging. He recognized Dick Gray as the latter stepped on to the deck and saluted.
“What were you doing up aloft, Dick?” asked Mr. Miller.
“Looking at the stars, sir. You can’t see them so well from the deck, on account of the spars and rigging.”