The Young Conqueror
The retiring bell had rung in Mr. Avery’s large boarding school for boys, and, one by one, like the closing of so many little twinkling eyes, the lights were extinguished, and the old gray house seemed fast asleep. But in one of the rooms, flooded with the light of the full April moon, lay four wakeful boys, engaged in some eager discussion.
“I say, Hal,” cried Bill Massey, exultingly, “I believe I can beat any boy in school in running and jumping. And just feel of these muscles; do you think one of you could stand up a minute, if this arm said ‘Go down’?”
“I think Hal could,” responded Bob Wilson.
“Yes, I think he’d have a tough time with me,” cried Hal Gray’s cheery voice.
“Well, perhaps so; and we’ll try it tomorrow. But it’s a great thing to be strong, and when I’m a man I shall enter the army. I shall soon be promoted on account of my bravery, boys; and then how I’ll lead my company on to battle! We’ll be like Napoleon’s Old Guard. Nothing shall stand before us.”
“But,” interrupted Hal, with a shiver, “don’t you think any thing of shooting people down, killing them all in a minute? I’m sure there could be no glory in battle for me, when I heard the dying men groaning on every side, and thought of the poor mothers and sisters watching and waiting for friends they would never see again.”
“My dear chicken,” replied Bill, “of course I could not walk right up to a man and shoot him coolly through the heart. But you see it will be all excitement—horses and men all mixed in together—officers shouting and urging one on, while the guns and cannons make roar and noise enough for fifty Fourth of July’s. Then you know our country’s enemies will be before us, and you wouldn’t want them to beat us. No, indeed! So I, for one, should rush in, dealing blows right and left; and, by and by, the battle would be over, and some proud, rich city would be conquered. Then, in a most magnificent carriage, I should ride through the streets, while the crowd hurrahed, and the band played ‘See the conquering hero comes!’ What do you think of that, boys?”
“All very well,” laughed Hal Gray, “if, in the first place, you only get promoted, and if, secondly, you are not killed yourself upon the field of battle. Two rather important ifs.”
“Oh, captains are never killed,” responded Bill.
“Well, I’m going to fight in a safer field,” said Bob Wilson, “and perhaps I shall have full as much glory, after all. I’m determined to be wise. There shall not be one difficult study that I will not conquer. I’ll fight all the knotty problems. I’ll make all the sciences my slaves. I’ll lead the languages captive; and then, when Bill is flourishing his sword and gun in the midst of danger, I shall sit quietly in my room, and, with a few strokes of my pen, conquer a nation. Yes, indeed! I intend to be strong, and to conquer, but I shall be what Mr. Avery calls an ‘intellectual giant.’ I intend that my name shall be one of the first in the temple of fame.”
“You’ve got the best of it, Bob,” cried Hal’s clear voice. “I like your way of fighting, and I think you’ll stand the best chance of glory, too. I mean to try as hard as you for the prize that Mr. Avery has offered.”
“Boys,” said a childish voice, and the pale face of lame Jemmy Packard was raised from his cot. “I should like to tell you of something else you ought to fight against, and, if you conquer, you will have far greater glory than any you have spoken of yet.”
“What is it?” said the boys, good-naturedly.
“ ‘He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city,’ (Proverbs 16:32)” repeated Jemmy, emphatically.
“Oh, you miserable little Puritan! Shut your eyes and go to sleep,” cried Bill Massey.
“No,” said Hal, “fair play. Jem has as good a right to speak as any of us, and he shall tell us all about it. Now, Jemmy,” continued he, laughing, “that would be the hardest kind of a fight for me; do tell us what reward we would have, after our uncomfortable struggle?”
“There are so many rewards,” cried lame Jemmy, “that I hardly know where to begin.”
“Oh, yes,” said Bob Wilson, impatiently, “you’ve been sick so long, you’re always thinking about these things. All you mean now is, that people, if they are good, will go to heaven. But if I should get there some day, there are so many great angels there already, that nobody would take any notice of me. Now I want to occupy a high place, and make my name known.”
“I don’t think you have quite the right kind of ambition, Bob,” said Jemmy, meekly; “but if you struggle all your life for earthly fame, it will be nothing compared to the glory given to the conquerors in this nobler battle.”
“Tell us about it,” said Hal.
“These are the words of the promise,” replied Jemmy: “ ‘To him that overcometh,’—you know what kind of enemies, boys—‘will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne’ (Revelation 3:21); and ‘I will confess his name before my Father and before his angels.’ (Revelation 3:5)
“Oh, Bob, isn’t that a greater throne than any you can reach on earth, and isn’t that a glorious company to be all listening when the Savior speaks your name?”
“Would he speak my name, my very name—Bob Wilson?”
“Why, yes,” said Jemmy, with strong faith. “At least, everyone in heaven would know who you were, and that you were the Savior’s friend.”
“Are there any more promises?” asked Hal.
“Oh, a great many; you must read about them all. He will give you to ‘eat of the tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God.’ (Revelation 2:7) He will give you the ‘morning star,’ (Revelation 2:28) and you ‘shall not be hurt of the second death.’ (Revelation 2:11) I cannot remember them all, but it’s a very great reward.”
“I believe Jemmy is the wisest of us all; don’t you think so, boys?” asked Hal.
But there was no reply, and the low, regular breathing from that side of the room proved that they had both fallen asleep.
“Yes, Jemmy,” continued Hal; “I know you are right. It is just as mother has always taught me; and sometimes I do try to rule my spirit. But I get angry so easily, and when all the blood rushes to my head, and my heart thumps so fast, I have to do just the first thing I think of, and that is sure to be wrong. It isn’t because I’m ashamed or afraid to do right.”
“No, I knew you were not afraid the first night you came, when you kneeled down before us all and said your prayers.”
“But, Jemmy, when the boys provoke me, I can’t bear to take it so meekly, and, as the good people say, ‘turn the other cheek,’ but I want to defend myself—show them it won’t do to plague such a boy as I am. As Bill says, I want to conquer them. I always thought if ever I were an angel, I should want to be one of those who ‘excel in strength.’ (Psalm 103:20) ”
“Dear Hal,” said Jemmy, “I’m afraid you have a great many victories to gain before you could be the poorest kind of an angel. It is very easy for such a strong boy as you to have all sorts of triumphs like Bill Massey’s, but can’t you see how much nobler and grander it is to conquer one’s self?”
“Yes, I do see it, and I will try. It will be hard, but I’ll have no mercy on myself. Down envy! Down pride! Down passion! What beautiful promises to ‘him that overcometh!’ Pray for me, Jemmy, that I may be one of the right kind of conquerors, for they are better, far ‘better than the mighty!’ ”
It was a warm morning in the latter part of May, and Hal Gray, on his way to chapel—arm in arm with lame Jemmy—met Bill Massey.
“Good morning, Puritans,” said he, with a kind of wicked smile. “You’ll be apt to see some fun at prayers this morning.”
“What do you mean?” asked both together.
“Oh! You two boys are always talking about being so good, and ‘overcoming,’ and all that; perhaps you’ll see old Prex overcome this morning, or come over, just as you please to take it.”
Harry immediately suspected some trick, and begged Bill not to do any thing to hurt the feelings of kind Mr. Avery. But he could draw nothing further from his mischievous schoolmate, and so went reluctantly on.
As he entered the chapel, he looked hurriedly around. Every thing was in its place, and he felt somewhat reassured. Presently Mr. Avery appeared, and walked, with dignified step, to his chair. Hal watched him, with painful interest; nor were his fears in vain; for, as the worthy man seated himself, the chair suddenly gave way, and he was prostrated on the floor. A few silly boys laughed, but the hot blood rushed to Hal’s cheeks and brow, especially when he saw that Mr. Avery had so sprained his foot as to be unable to rise without the assistance of an under teacher. The chair was immediately examined, and it was discovered that one of the back legs had been sawed off.
Mr. Avery turned very sternly to the assembled boys, and demanded who had dared perpetrate such a miserable joke.
The most profound silence followed the question, but as Mr. Avery’s keen eye swept round the room, it rested on the embarrassed face of Hal Gray.
“What do you know about it, sir?” he asked suddenly.
The crimson grew deeper upon Hal’s cheeks; but he drew himself up a little proudly, as he firmly replied, “I did not do it, sir.”
“Do you know who did?” persisted Mr. Avery.
Harry hesitated, and at last said, faintly, “I would rather not answer, sir.”
“But I command you. Come, I am waiting for the name,” said Mr. Avery, with growing impatience.
Harry hesitated, and a low murmur of disapprobation ran through the ranks of boys, most of whom had imbibed that false idea of honor which makes it very contemptible to inform against a schoolfellow, no matter how deeply he is to blame. Harry had a vague idea that such a cowardly act ought to be punished, but it was so hard to speak; besides, what proof had he, after all, that Bill Massey was the rogue?
“Please excuse me, sir,” pleaded Hal; “I cannot tell that.”
“Cannot? And why?” cried Mr. Avery, a little angrily. But poor Hal could only repeat, “Please excuse me, sir.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Avery, thoroughly vexed at what he called Hal’s obstinacy, while the growing pain in his foot tended to increase an irritability in which he seldom indulged. “Very well, sir; if you have nothing further to say, we may reasonably conclude that you are the guilty one yourself, and will proceed to award your punishment.”
“I did not do it, Mr. Avery,” interposed Hal; but that gentleman, with a hastiness he afterwards regretted, proceeded to say, “Harry Gray is suspended from his classes for one week, and ordered to remain in his room during the hours of recreation for the same length of time.”
Lame Jemmy interposed tearfully, “Will this prevent him from taking the prize at the end of this term, sir?”
“Of course,” said Mr. Avery, briefly, and proceeded with the same morning exercises.
This last was too great a blow for Hal. He had striven so hard for that prize, and meant so to delight his mother, and now to lose it all in a minute! It was too much, and leaning back in the shadow of the chapel pillar, he with difficulty restrained his tears. And then, too, how hard to have Mr. Avery think so ill of him. Surely Bill would not have the heart to leave him in such disgrace—he would confess. But no, not a word more was said upon the subject; and presently the boys dispersed to their different class rooms, giving Hal many a look and word of sympathy as they passed, for he was a great favorite in the school.
At the hour for morning exercise, Hal could not resist hurrying down for one minute’s talk with Bill Massey. “Bill, Bill,” he cried, as the boy tried to evade him, “surely, you do not mean to make me lose the prize. You will tell Mr. Avery, won’t you? I know he won’t scold very hard, now it’s all over; and you know you can’t get the prize, any way. Won’t you tell him, Bill?”
“I don’t think I shall do any thing of the kind.”
“You won’t tell him?” cried Hal, with indignant surprise.
“No,” said Bill, doggedly.
The bright color leaped into Hal’s cheeks, and his eyes flashed with anger.
“Well, then, you’re a mean-spirited fellow, and a coward!” cried Hal, his fiery temper entirely getting the mastery of him.
“No boy shall call me that,” said Bill, coolly rolling up his sleeves.
“Come on,” cried Harry, excitedly. “I’m ready to fight, if that’s what you mean.”
“Hal, dear Hal,” pleaded lame Jemmy, and his clinging touch was upon the boy’s arm.
Hal’s eyes softened a little, as he said, “Go away, please, Jem; I might hurt you.”
But Jemmy clung the tighter. “Dearest Hal, you are not the right kind of a conqueror now. Oh! think, Hal, ‘to him that overcometh,’ the tree of life, the morning star, the paradise of God. Now is the time to fight hard, ‘down passion, down revenge.’ Be a conqueror, Hal, but be sure and strike in the right place.”
Hal’s anger rapidly cooled as Jem spoke, and at last he threw his arms around his little friend, exclaiming, “Jemmy, I believe you are my good angel.” Then turning to Bill, he said, with an effort, “I am sorry I called you names, but I cannot fight with you.”
Bill broke into a loud, sneering laugh.
“That’s a good way to get out of it, you miserable sneak. Why don’t you say you don’t dare fight, instead of playing good, and trying to imagine you’re a martyr just ready to be taken out of a wicked world?”
Hal was about making an indignant reply, but checked himself just in time, and rushing to his room, threw himself upon his knees, repenting bitterly of this outburst of passion, and humbly asking help for the future. Harry bore the remainder of his week of disgrace with quiet gentleness and patience, and Mr. Avery more than once regretted the severity of his sentence.
A few more weeks passed, and found Hal still fighting the good fight, with his proud, young spirit under firm control.
In the long twilight of a lovely June evening, Hal was walking with Jemmy by the river, watching Bill Massey, as he taught a troop of young boys to swim.
“There is one thing troubling me, Jemmy,” said Hal, at length. “I do not think I feel quite right towards Bill Massey yet. I don’t like to have him near me, and I would rather oblige any boy in school than him.”
“Well, it is hard, but I suppose it is another feeling to overcome. We must pray for strength to fight it down.”
“I do, Jem,” said Hal, with sweet seriousness, “and I wish you’d pray for me.”
“You’re not such a bad boy, after all,” cried Jem, lovingly, looking into Hal’s clear, honest eyes. “I believe if there were some great service to be done for Bill this minute, you’d be the first to offer.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” returned Hal, laughing.
Just then there was a great commotion among the swimmers, and some little boys on shore cried out, “Bill Massey is going down! He has the cramp; he will drown!”
“Ah, that is true!” cried Jem; “and those little fellows can only keep their own heads above water. Oh, why did he go out so far?”
Hal did not stop to think twice, but, pulling off coat and boots, plunged into the water, and with swift strokes approached the drowning boy. Bill was a long distance from shore, and it was almost by superhuman efforts that Hal managed to reach him as he was sinking for the last time.
“There, he has him!” shouted the little boys. “Hurrah!” But Jem’s anxieties were not over. “Poor Hal is so tired,” he thought, “how will he tow in that heavy Bill Massey?”
Slowly, and with painful effort, carefully keeping the head of his companion above the water, the brave swimmer struck out for the shore. At first he came on gallantly, then his strength seemed to flag, and once or twice both disappeared from sight.
“Oh, if I were only not quite so helpless,” groaned Jemmy. “Run, call some of the big boys, quick, or they will both drown!”
What an endless time it seemed before help came. Ah! There was Hal’s curly head again, nearer, nearer. “A few more strokes, dear Hal,” cried Jem. “You are almost in.”
Here the little boys set up a wild shout, as two or three of the older students arrived just in time to draw the exhausted pair from the water. Part of them then applied themselves to the task of reviving Bill Massey, while the rest crowded around Hal, congratulating him, and warmly shaking his hand. Hal smiled faintly, and tried to thank them; but suddenly he turned deathly pale, a stream of blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell fainting in Bob Wilson’s arms.
“What is it?” cried Jemmy, in terror, as they laid him upon the grass.
“Call Mr. Avery, and run for a physician,” cried Bob, giving quick orders to the little boys. Jem, in the mean while, knelt down, and drew the dear head upon his breast. Smoothing back the wet curls, he whispered anxiously, “How do you feel, darling?”
Hal opened his eyes, and with his own bright smile, ever mindful of the feelings of others, replied, “It is nothing; I do not suffer any.”
But with the exertion of these few words, the life stream gushed forth so violently that the boys turned pale, and looked at each other with a terrible fear.
Presently good Mr. Avery came hurrying down. “What is this, my dear, dear boy?” he cried, as he saw his favorite pupil extended, apparently lifeless, before him.
A few hurried words explained the whole matter.
“What can be done for him?” he cried, as the physician made his appearance. “Dr. Brown, you must save this noble boy.”
The doctor knelt beside him a moment, with a very grave face. “He has broken a blood-vessel,” he whispered to Mr. Avery. “I’m afraid he will live but a few minutes.”
“Oh, do not say that,” groaned Mr. Avery. “Make every exertion for his life—leave no remedy untried.”
Just then Hal opened his eyes, dreamily, and seeing the pale, grave face of his teacher bending over him, he said, anxiously, “Do you still think I did it, sir?”
Bill Massey broke through the crowd, and, in a tone full of anguish and remorse, cried out, “Oh, Mr. Avery, if he means the chair, I did it, I did it. Oh, Hal, you must, you must forgive me.”
A look of satisfaction passed over Hal’s pale face, and he turned smilingly to Mr. Avery. “Is it all right now, sir?”
“Oh, my darling child!” sobbed Mr. Avery, and could say no more.
All remedies were in vain, and the young life ebbed fast.
“What is it, dear Hal?” wept Jemmy, putting his ear close to those loved lips, to catch an almost inarticulate murmur.
“The morning star,” whispered Hal, faintly; “the tree of life in the midst of the paradise of God!”
“ ‘To him that overcometh,’ to you, dear Hal; but, ah!” cried lame Jemmy, with a sudden burst of anguish, “will you leave me behind, oh, Hal!”
Harry Gray did not seem to heed those once familiar tones, but, opening his clear eyes once more, he gazed lovingly around the weeping circle, gave one last, bright smile, and the last enemy was destroyed, even Death.
That night, as Bob and Jemmy watched in the room where the young conqueror slept peacefully after the battle of life, the door softly opened, and Bill Massey stole in.
Jemmy half shuddered when he saw him, but the boy was so changed, so pale and broken-hearted, Jemmy could not say a word to reproach him. For a while he mourned and wept bitterly, then, drawing forth a wreath of laurel, he laid it reverently upon Hal’s soft, bright curls.
“He is a greater conqueror than ever I shall be,” he sobbed, as he rushed from the room.
“Yes,” added Bob, “and he has won a greater prize than I have ever striven for.”
“And I believe,” cried Jemmy, almost with exultation, as he kissed the fair brow, “I believe God has made him an angel, excelling in strength.”