A Brave Boy

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Title:     A Brave Boy
Author: Lydia H. Sigourney [More Titles by Sigourney]

There are ways in which boys may show true courage, without being forward and bold in contention. It often requires more to avoid it. To show forbearance when they are provoked, or to tell the whole truth when they have committed faults, are proofs of more lofty and high principle than to imitate the fighting animals, and repel force by force, or the fox-like ones, and practise cunning. To live at peace, may need more firmness than to quarrel; because one is to control our passions, and the other to indulge them.

The bravest boy is he who rules himself, and does his duty without boasting. I have known some beautiful instances of this class of virtues, and will mention one that is now in my mind.

A widow, who was the mother of several children, resided in a pleasant part of New England. She faithfully nurtured and instructed them, and one of her precepts was, that when they had any difficult duty to perform, they should ask strength from above. Her youngest was a boy of eight years old, active and intelligent. He was not only obedient to her, but attentive to his studies, and beloved by his instructors.

One fine summer afternoon, when there was no school, he was walking on the banks of a river that beautified the scenery of his native place. He admired the silver stream as it sparkled in the sunbeams, and the rich verdure that clothed its banks. Suddenly, a large boy plunged in, as if for the purpose of bathing, though he did not divest himself of any part of his clothing. Soon, he struggled in distress, as if ready to sink.

Ralph Edward, the son of the widow, had been taught to swim. Throwing off his boots and his little coat, he hastened to the relief of the drowning stranger. He found him nearly senseless, and though much larger than himself, and nearly twice his age, succeeded by great exertions in bringing him to the shore. There, he supported him against a bank, until he had thrown from his mouth a quantity of water, and was able to thank his benefactor. He confessed that he was ignorant of the art of swimming, but had a great desire to learn, and had no idea that the river was so deep and swift. When he was able to proceed on his way, Ralph Edward returned home. His head was giddy, and his breast throbbed with the efforts he had made He went to his little chamber, and throwing himself upon the bed, wept bitterly. His mother heard him moaning, and inquired the cause of his grief. He told her he could not forget the convulsed features of a half-drowned boy, and the pain he seemed to feel when he gasped for breath upon the bank. Then, in compliance with her request, he related all the circumstances.

"My son, do you know that you have been in great danger? Have you never heard that the grasp of drowning persons is fatal?"

"Oh, yes. But mother, what could I do? Should I stand still, and see him die? Had I waited for other help, he must have sunk to rise no more."

"Was he your friend?"

"I do not even know his name. I think he is a servant in some family not far off. I have seen him driving a cow to pasture, but never spoke to him until to-day."

"How were you able to swim, and support a boy so much larger than yourself?"

"Mother, I cannot say. I only know that I remember what you told us to do when we had any difficult duty to perform, and I begged for strength of our Father who is in Heaven."

The mother comforted her child, and soothed his agitated nerves, and gave him her blessing. After that he slept sweetly and awoke refreshed. Trembling at the risk he had run, she still was thankful for the spirit that had moved him to do good to a stranger, and the piety that had made him mindful of the great Giver of strength and Hearer of prayer.

She reflected with gratitude also, upon his humility. He did not say boastfully, "I have rescued a boy from the river, when he was ready to sink. He was larger than I, but I did it all alone. He is almost twice as old too, and does not even know how to keep himself up in the water, while I can swim as well and boldly as a man."

No. He came home without alluding to the occurrence, as if it were a matter of course, to help those who were in need. He complained not of fatigue, though every nerve was strained and tremulous. He went silently to his own secluded room, and shed tears of pity at the remembrance of the struggles of the sufferer. The true greatness that prompted this forgetfulness of self, was as remarkable as the courage that snatched a fellow-creature from danger.

[The end]
Lydia H. Sigourney's essay: Brave Boy

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