COURAGE.  191 



glimmering in the moonbeams. The fierce wind-gusts 

 brought a vast sheet of it from the terraces, vvliich^ 

 after bounding over the schooner and rattling through 

 the rigging, flew out over the icy plain, wound coldly 

 around the icebergs which studded its surface, and, 

 dancing and skipping past me like cloud-born phan- 

 toms of the night, flew out into the distant black- 

 ness, mingling unearthly voices with the roar of 

 booming waves. 



And as I think of this wild, wild scene, my thoughts 

 are in the midst of it with my servant Peter. The 

 stiffened ropes which pound against the masts, the 

 wind shrieking through the shrouds, the crashing of 

 the snows against the schooner's sides, are sounds of 

 terror echoing through the night j and when I think 

 that this unhappy boy is a prej^ to the piercing gale, 

 I find myself inquiring continually. What could pos- 

 sibly have been the motive which led him thus to 

 expose himself to its fury ? 



After all, what is that which we call courage ? This 

 poor savage, who would not hesitate to attack single- 

 handed the fierce polar bear, who has now voluntarily 

 faced a danger than which none could be more dread- 

 ful, fleeing out into the darkness, over the mountains 

 and glaciers, and through snow-drifts and storms, pur- 

 sued by fear, lacks the resolution to face an. imaginary 

 harm from his fellow-men. It seems, indeed, to be a 

 peculiarity of uninstructed minds to dread man's an- 

 ger and man's treachery more than all other evils, — 

 whether of wild beast or storm or pestilence. 



