t you will fear?" said he.

"That is exactly it."

"Then, my friend, what you fear is not danger, but fear."

"I fear that danger will make me fear."

"I imagine, sir, that danger makes anybody fear--at least anybody who
has something more than the mere fearlessness of the brute that cannot
realize danger."

"Do you fear, too, Captain?"

The Captain hesitated, and I was abashed at my boldness. I knew that his
silence was rebuke.

"I will tell you how I feel, Jones, since you permit me to speak of
myself," he said at last; "I feel that life is valuable, and not to be
thrown away lightly. I want to live and not die; neither do I like the
thought of being maimed for life. Death and wounds are very distasteful
to me. I feel that my body is averse to exposing itself to pain; I fear
pain; I fear death, but I do not fear fear. I do not think the fear of
death is unmanly, for it is human. Those who do not fear death do not
love life. Please tell me if you love life."

"I do not know, Captain; I suppose I do."

"Do you fear death?"

"What I fear now is cowardice. I suppose that if I were indifferent to
death I should have no fear of being afraid."

"I am sure that you kept your presence of mind the other day, in the
swamp," said he.

"I don't think I had great fear."

"Yet you were in danger there."

"Very little, I think, Captain."

"No, sir; you were in danger. At any moment a bullet might have ended
your life."

"I did not realize the situation, then."

"Well, I must confess that you had the advantage of me, then," said he.

"What? You, Captain? You felt that you were in danger?"

"Yes, Jones; every moment I knew our danger."

"But you did not fear."

"May I ask if you do not regard fear as the feeling caused by a
knowledge of danger?"

"I know, Captain,--I don't know how I know it,--but I know that a man
may fear and yet do his duty; but there are other men, and I am afraid
that I am one of them, who fear and who fail in duty."

"I congratulate you, sir; I wish all our men would fear to fail in
duty," said he; "we should have an invincible army in such case. An army
consisting, without exception, of such men, could not be broken. It is
those who flee, those who fail in duty, that cause disorganization. The
touch of the elbow is good for the weak, I think, sir; but for the man
who will do his duty such dependence should not be taught. Good men,
instructed to depend on comrades will be demoralize