“Of course it is our sacred duty to fight at certain times,” went on the Chairman. “For instance, our ‘Duty to Our Country’ requires it in time of war, just as ‘Our Duty to God’ requires us, in addition, to fight against temptation every day of our lives. But, in both these cases, we are fighting for something as well as against something, and we are friendly with the something we are fighting for,—whether it is our country and the folks at home, or whether it is the strong and clean man within ourselves. When you are fighting with a big, friendly feeling in your heart, you can’t feel mean and hateful, even to a mean and hateful enemy. You will hate the meanness, but that will only make you sorry for the poor devil who is under the control of his own weakness; you will keep a clear mind and a steady hand, and you will be able to give good, strong blows,—straight from the shoulder. If you get the worst of it, you’ll do your best to come up smiling; and, if you punish the other fellow, you will shake hands with him right away.”
“It’s the spirit you fight with, isn’t it, sir?” suggested Mr. Miller.
“Yes,” answered the Chairman, “when a man has conquered his own bad temper or anger, he becomes able to fight in a generous spirit; and that is probably what your friend meant, Brown, when he said that being friendly helped you to be brave. You see it helps you to keep your mind quiet, and so to keep your judgment true and your balance even.”
“My balance! Yes—that’s right,” thought Billy to himself, with eagerness, thinking of what Ellsworth had been saying just a little while before.
They reached their old anchorage at Hull at about ten o’clock that evening, and the night watch went on duty every hour from then on. Most of the boys below were so fast asleep that they did not hear the rattle of the chain; but there was one who lay awake for some time after, and that was Billy Brown.
The most important of the anchor watches is from four to five in the morning, because all the lights have to be put out at sunrise, in addition to making out the log and the other duties. It so happened that Dick Gray came on at four o’clock, and Tom Sheffield at five. After putting out the lights and looking around for a while in the early morning light, Dick sat down behind the binnacle to write up the log. Just as he had finished his task, he heard a slight splashing sound in the water; and, by the time he had got amidships, he noticed a boy’s head swimming away from the ship’s side.
He was so surprised, that—for the moment—he did not know what to do; and, as he was trying to make up his mind, he saw the boy turn over and float upon his back, with his face toward the ship. He at once recognized Brown and remembered the talk they had had the evening before.
“Gee! the little beggar is testing himself!” thought Dick. “He seems to be getting along all right. He’s doing just what I told him to, and will soon make himself feel at home in the water.”
Billy didn’t stay on his back long, but went on toward a catboat that was moored about fifty yards away from the ship. As Dick stood watching, the boy’s head disappeared behind her bow and then reappeared again around her stern; and, to Dick’s great satisfaction, he saw that Billy was heading back toward the ship. But he seemed to like his little manœuvre of rolling on to his back, for he repeated it several times on the home stretch.
“He doesn’t seem to have thought how he is going to get back over the side,” continued Dick, soliloquizing; “I guess I’d better put the side-ladder down for him.”