young could be captain of a
ship; he was also astonished that a person who gave orders in a gentle
voice could have them executed. Later, he learned that the men whose
orders are always obeyed do not talk loudly nor in guttural. This first
boyish captain taught Girard a splendid lesson--to moderate both manner
and voice and be effective.

Of that first voyage, about all we know is that the boy slept on a pile
of gunny-sacks; that the captain let him read from the "Philosophical
Dictionary"; that he polished the bright work until it served as a
mirror; that the captain smiled his approval, and that the boy, short
and swart, with bullet head, followed him with one eye and worshiped him
as deity.

Men do not succeed by chance. Chance may toss you into a position of
power, but if you do not possess capacity, you can never hold the place.

Young Girard gravitated from the position of cabin-boy to clerk.

From this to mate came by easy stages, and so much as a matter of course
that it isn't worth while to mention how.

By the law of France no man under twenty-five could be captain of a
ship, but when Girard was twenty-two we find a shipowner falsifying the
record and putting the boy down as twenty-five, on the obliging oath of
the boy's father, who we hope was duly paid for his pains.

At twenty-four, Captain Stephen Girard sailed his sloop, "L'Amiable
Louise," around Sandy Hook and up New York Bay. Ship-captains then were
merchants, with power to sell, trade and buy.

The venture was a success, and young Girard took the liberty of picking
up a cargo and sailing for New Orleans--his knowledge of French being a
valuable asset for that particular destination.

Matters were prosperous, and Girard was twenty-six, just the age of that
heroic captain under whose care he first set sail, and the age of the
Corsican when he conquered Italy.

Girard had ceased to wonder about boys braving waves and going upon the
stormy sea in ships.

It was in July, Seventeen Hundred Seventy-six,--call it July
Fourth--that Captain Stephen Girard was skirting the coast of the
Atlantic, feeling his way through a fog toward New York. He was not sure
of his course and was sailing by dead-reckoning.

Suddenly the fog lifted. The sun stood out, a great golden ball in the
sky. The young captain swung his glass along the horizon and with his
one good eye saw a sail--it was bearing down upon him.

It was coming closer.

In an hour it was a mil