Courage, Determination, and Grit

"Soldiers, you are Frenchmen," said Napoleon, coolly walking among his disaffected generals when they threatened his life in the Egyptian campaign; "you are too many to assassinate, and too few to intimidate me." "How brave he is!" exclaimed the ringleader, as he withdrew, completely cowed.

"Soldiers, you are Frenchmen," Napoleon said, walking calmly among his angry generals after they threatened his life during the Egyptian campaign. "There are too many of you to assassinate me, and too few to intimidate me." "How brave he is!" exclaimed the ringleader as he withdrew, completely intimidated.

"General Taylor never surrenders," said old "Rough and Ready" at Buena Vista, when Santa Anna with 20,000 men offered him a chance to save his 4,000 soldiers by capitulation. The battle was long and desperate, but at length the Mexicans were glad to avoid further defeat by flight. When Lincoln was asked how Grant impressed him as a general, he replied, "The greatest thing about him is cool persistency of purpose. He has the grip of a bulldog; when he once gets his teeth in, nothing can shake him off." It was "On to Richmond," and "I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer," that settled the fate of the Rebellion.

“General Taylor never surrenders,” said old “Rough and Ready” at Buena Vista. Santa Anna had 20,000 men and had offered Taylor a chance to save his 4,000 soldiers by surrendering. The battle was long and desperate. But in the end, the Mexicans were glad to flee rather than face further defeat. When Lincoln was asked what he thought of Grant as a general, he replied: “The greatest thing about him is his calm persistence. He has the grip of a bulldog. Once he gets his teeth in, nothing can shake him off.” It was “On to Richmond” and “I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer” that decided the fate of the Rebellion.

"My sword is too short," said a Spartan youth to his father. "Add a step to it, then," was the only reply.

"My sword is too short," a Spartan youth said to his father. "Then take a step forward," was his father's only reply.

It is said that the snapping-turtle will not release his grip, even after his head is cut off. He is resolved, if he dies, to die hard. It is just such grit that enables men to succeed, for what is called luck is generally the prerogative of valiant souls. It is the final effort that brings victory. It is the last pull of the oar, with clenched teeth and knit muscles, that shows what Oxford boatmen call "the beefiness of the fellow."

It is said that a snapping turtle will not let go, even after its head is cut off. If it dies, it is determined to die hard. That kind of grit enables men to succeed, because what people call luck generally belongs to brave souls. The final effort brings victory. The last pull of the oar, with teeth clenched and muscles tense, shows what Oxford boatmen call "the beefiness of the fellow."

After Grant's defeat at the first battle of Shiloh, nearly every newspaper of both parties in the North, almost every member of Congress, and public sentiment everywhere demanded his removal. Friends of the President pleaded with him to give the command to some one else, for his own sake as well as for the good of the country. Lincoln listened for hours one night, speaking only at rare intervals to tell a pithy story, until the clock struck one. Then, after a long silence, he said: "I can't spare this man. He fights." It was Lincoln's marvelous insight and sagacity that saved Grant from the storm of popular passion, and gave us the greatest hero of the Civil War.

After Grant's defeat at the first battle of Shiloh, nearly every Northern newspaper of both parties demanded his removal. Almost every member of Congress and public opinion everywhere demanded it too. Friends of the President urged him to give the command to someone else. They said he should do it for his own sake as well as for the good of the country. One night, Lincoln listened for hours, speaking only occasionally to tell a brief, pointed story. When the clock struck one, he was silent for a long time. Then he said: "I can't spare this man. He fights." Lincoln's remarkable insight and wisdom saved Grant from the storm of public anger and gave us the greatest hero of the Civil War.

It is this keeping right on that wins in the battle of life.

It is keeping going that wins the battle of life.

Grant never looked backward. Once, after several days of hard fighting without definite result, he called a council of war. One general described the route by which he would retreat, another thought it better to retire by a different road, and general after general told how he would withdraw, or fall back, or seek a more favorable position in the rear. At length all eyes were turned upon Grant, who had been a silent listener for hours. He rose, took a bundle of papers from an inside pocket, handed one to each general, and said: "Gentlemen, at dawn you will execute those orders." Every paper gave definite directions for an advance, and with the morning sun the army moved forward to victory.

Grant never looked back. Once, after several days of hard fighting with no clear result, he called a meeting of his generals. One general described the route he would take to retreat. Another thought it better to retreat by a different road. General after general explained how he would withdraw, fall back, or seek a better position in the rear. Finally, all eyes turned to Grant, who had listened silently for hours. He stood, took a bundle of papers from an inside pocket, and handed one to each general. Then he said, "Gentlemen, at dawn you will carry out those orders." Each paper gave clear instructions to advance. With the morning sun, the army moved forward to victory.

Massena's army of 18,000 men in Genoa had been reduced by fighting and famine to 8,000. They had killed and captured more than 15,000 Austrians, but their provisions were completely exhausted; starvation stared them in the face; the enemy outnumbered them four to one, and they seemed at the mercy of their opponents. General Ott demanded a discretionary surrender, but Massena replied: "My soldiers must be allowed to march out with colors flying, and arms and baggage; not as prisoners of war, but free to fight when and where we please. If you do not grant this, I will sally forth from Genoa sword in hand. With eight thousand famished men I will attack your camp, and I will fight till I cut my way through it." Ott knew the temper of the great soldier, and agreed to accept the terms if he would surrender himself, or if he would depart by sea so as not to be quickly joined by reinforcements. Massena's only reply was: "Take my terms, or I will cut my way through your army." Ott at last agreed, when Massena said: "I give you notice that ere fifteen days are passed I shall be once more in Genoa," and he kept his word.

Massena's army in Genoa had been reduced from 18,000 to 8,000 men by fighting and famine. They had killed or captured more than 15,000 Austrians, but their supplies were completely exhausted. They faced starvation, and the enemy outnumbered them four to one. They seemed to be at their opponents' mercy. General Ott demanded an unconditional surrender, but Massena replied: "My soldiers must be allowed to march out with colors flying, carrying their weapons and baggage. They must not be prisoners of war, but free to fight when and where we please. If you do not agree, I will march out of Genoa with my sword in hand. With eight thousand starving men, I will attack your camp. I will fight until I cut my way through it." Ott knew the great soldier's temperament. He agreed to accept the terms if Massena would surrender himself or leave by sea, so reinforcements could not quickly join him. Massena's only reply was: "Accept my terms, or I will cut my way through your army." Ott finally agreed. Massena then said: "I warn you that I will be back in Genoa within fifteen days," and he kept his word.

Napoleon said of this man, who was orphaned in infancy and cast upon the world to make his own way in life: "When defeated, Massena was always ready to fight a battle over again, as though he had been the conqueror."

Massena was orphaned as a baby and left to make his own way in the world. Napoleon said of him: "When defeated, Massena was always ready to fight the battle again, as if he had won."

"The battle is completely lost," said Desaix, looking at his watch, when consulted by Napoleon at Marengo; "but it is only two o'clock, and we shall have time to gain another." He then made his famous cavalry charge, and won the field, although a few minutes before the French soldiers all along the line were momentarily expecting an order to retreat.

"The battle is completely lost," said Desaix, looking at his watch when Napoleon asked his advice at Marengo. "But it is only two o'clock, and we have time to win another." Desaix then made his famous cavalry charge and won the battle. Yet only a few minutes earlier, French soldiers all along the line had been expecting an order to retreat at any moment.

"Well," said Barnum to a friend in 1841, "I am going to buy the American Museum." "Buy it!" exclaimed the astonished friend, who knew that the showman had not a dollar; "what do you intend buying it with?" "Brass," was the prompt reply, "for silver and gold have I none."

"Well," Barnum said to a friend in 1841, "I'm going to buy the American Museum." "Buy it!" his astonished friend exclaimed. He knew the showman didn't have a dollar. "What do you plan to buy it with?" "Brass," Barnum replied at once, "because I have no silver or gold."

Everyone interested in public entertainments in New York knew Barnum, and knew the condition of his pocket; but Francis Olmstead, who owned the Museum building, consulted numerous references all telling of "a good showman, who would do as he agreed," and accepted a proposition to give security for the purchaser. Mr. Olmstead was to appoint a money-taker at the door, and credit Barnum towards the purchase with all above expenses and an allowance of fifty dollars per month to support his wife and three children. Mrs. Barnum assented to the arrangement, and offered to cut down the household expenses to a little more than a dollar a day. Six months later Mr. Olmstead entered the ticket-office at noon, and found Barnum eating for dinner a few slices of bread and some corned beef. "Is this the way you eat your dinner?" he asked.

Everyone involved in public entertainment in New York knew Barnum and knew how little money he had. But Francis Olmstead, who owned the Museum building, checked numerous references. They all described Barnum as "a good showman, who would do as he agreed." Olmstead accepted a proposal to provide security for Barnum as the buyer. Olmstead would appoint someone to collect money at the door. He would credit Barnum toward the purchase with everything left after expenses and an allowance of fifty dollars a month. The allowance was to support Barnum's wife and three children. Mrs. Barnum agreed to the arrangement and offered to cut household expenses to a little more than a dollar a day. Six months later, Mr. Olmstead entered the ticket office at noon. He found Barnum eating a few slices of bread and some corned beef for dinner. "Is this the way you eat your dinner?" he asked.

"I have not eaten a warm dinner since I bought the Museum, except on the Sabbath; and I intend never to eat another until I get out of debt." "Ah! you are safe, and will pay for the Museum before the year is out," said Mr. Olmstead, slapping the young man approvingly on the shoulder. He was right, for in less than a year Barnum had paid every cent out of the profits of the establishment.

"I have not eaten a warm dinner since I bought the Museum, except on Sundays. I do not intend to eat another until I get out of debt." "Ah! You are on the right track and will pay for the Museum before the year is out," said Mr. Olmstead, slapping the young man approvingly on the shoulder. He was right. In less than a year, Barnum had paid every cent using the Museum’s profits.

"Hard pounding, gentlemen," said Wellington at Waterloo to his officers, "but we will see who can pound the longest."

"This is hard fighting, gentlemen," Wellington told his officers at Waterloo, "but we'll see who can keep fighting the longest."

"It is very kind of them to 'sand' our letters for us," said young Junot coolly, as an Austrian shell scattered earth over the dispatch he was writing at the dictation of his commander-in-chief. The remark attracted Napoleon's attention and led to the promotion of the scrivener.

"It is very kind of them to 'sand' our letters for us," young Junot said calmly. An Austrian shell had scattered dirt over the dispatch he was writing as his commander-in-chief dictated it. The remark caught Napoleon's attention and led to Junot's promotion.

"There is room enough up higher," said Webster to a young man hesitating to study law because the profession was so crowded. This is true in every department of activity. The young man who succeeds must hold his ground and push hard. Whoever attempts to pass through the door to success will find it labeled, "Push."

"There is plenty of room at the top," Webster told a young man who hesitated to study law because the profession was crowded. This is true in every field. A young man who succeeds must stand his ground and keep pushing. Anyone who tries to enter the door to success will find it labeled, "Push."

There is another big word in the English language: the perfection of grit is the power of saying "No," with emphasis that can not be mistaken. Learn to meet hard times with a harder will, and more determined pluck. The nature which is all pine and straw is of no use in times of trial, we must have some oak and iron in us. The goddess of fame or of fortune has been won by many a poor boy who had no friends, no backing, or anything but pure grit and invincible purpose.

There is another big word in the English language: grit. At its best, grit is the power to say "No" unmistakably and firmly. Learn to meet hard times with an even stronger will and greater courage. A person made entirely of pine and straw is no use in times of trial. We need some oak and iron in us. Many a poor boy has won the goddess of fame or fortune with no friends or support, only pure grit and an unstoppable sense of purpose.

A good character, good habits, and iron industry are impregnable to the assaults of the ill luck that fools are dreaming of. There is no luck, for all practical purposes, to him who is not striving, and whose senses are not all eagerly attent. What are called accidental discoveries are almost invariably made by those who are looking for something. A man incurs about as much risk of being struck by lightning as by accidental luck. There is, perhaps, an element of luck in the amount of success which crowns the efforts of different men; but even here it will usually be found that the sagacity with which the efforts are directed and the energy with which they are prosecuted measure pretty accurately the luck contained in the results achieved. Apparent exceptions will be found to relate almost wholly to single undertakings, while in the long run the rule will hold good. Two pearl-divers, equally expert, dive together and work with equal energy. One brings up a pearl, while the other returns empty-handed. But let both persevere and at the end of five, ten, or twenty years it will be found that they succeeded almost in exact proportion to their skill and industry.

Good character, good habits, and iron determination to work can withstand the bad luck that fools dream about. For all practical purposes, there is no luck for someone who is not striving and keeping all their senses alert. So-called accidental discoveries are almost always made by people who are looking for something. A person is about as likely to be struck by lightning as to stumble upon good luck. Perhaps luck plays a part in how much success rewards different people's efforts. But even here, success usually depends on how wisely they direct their efforts and how energetically they pursue them. Apparent exceptions almost always involve individual undertakings. In the long run, the rule holds true. Two equally skilled pearl divers dive together and work with equal energy. One brings up a pearl, while the other returns empty-handed. But if both keep at it, their success after five, ten, or twenty years will be almost exactly proportional to their skill and hard work.

"Varied experience of men has led me, the longer I live," says Huxley, "to set less value on mere cleverness; to attach more and more importance to industry and physical endurance. Indeed, I am much disposed to think that endurance is the most valuable quality of all; for industry, as the desire to work hard, does not come to much if a feeble frame is unable to respond to the desire. No life is wasted unless it ends in sloth, dishonesty, or cowardice. No success is worthy of the name unless it is won by honest industry and brave breasting of the waves of fortune."

"The longer I live, the more my varied experience with people leads me to value mere cleverness less," says Huxley. "I place more and more importance on hard work and physical endurance. Indeed, I am inclined to think endurance is the most valuable quality of all. The desire to work hard does not amount to much if a weak body cannot respond to it. No life is wasted unless it ends in laziness, dishonesty, or cowardice. No success deserves the name unless it is won through honest work and a brave struggle against the waves of fortune."

Has luck ever made a fool speak words of wisdom; an ignoramus utter lectures on science; a dolt write an Odyssey, an Aeneid, a Paradise Lost, or a Hamlet; a loafer become a Girard or Astor, a Rothschild, Stewart, Vanderbilt, Field, Gould, or Rockefeller; a coward win at Yorktown, Wagram, Waterloo, or Richmond; a careless stonecutter carve an Apollo, a Minerva, a Venus de Medici, or a Greek Slave? Does luck raise rich crops on the land of the sluggard, weeds and brambles on that of the industrious farmer? Does luck make the drunkard sleek and attractive, and his home cheerful, while the temperate man looks haggard and suffers want and misery? Does luck starve honest labor, and pamper idleness? Does luck put common sense at a discount, folly at a premium? Does it cast intelligence into the gutter, and raise ignorance to the skies? Does it imprison virtue, and laud vice? Did luck give Watt his engine, Franklin his captive lightning, Whitney his cotton-gin, Fulton his steamboat, Morse his telegraph, Blanchard his lathe, Howe his sewing-machine, Goodyear his rubber, Bell his telephone, Edison his phonograph?

Has luck ever made a fool speak wisely or an ignorant person lecture on science? Has it made a dullard write an Odyssey, an Aeneid, a Paradise Lost, or a Hamlet? Has it made a loafer into a Girard or Astor, a Rothschild, Stewart, Vanderbilt, Field, Gould, or Rockefeller? Has it made a coward win at Yorktown, Wagram, Waterloo, or Richmond? Has it made a careless stonecutter carve an Apollo, a Minerva, a Venus de Medici, or a Greek Slave? Does luck grow rich crops on a lazy farmer's land and weeds and brambles on a hardworking farmer's land? Does it make a drunkard healthy and attractive and his home cheerful? Meanwhile, does luck make a sober man look worn out and suffer poverty and misery? Does luck starve honest workers and pamper those who do nothing? Does it make common sense worthless and folly valuable? Does it throw intelligence into the gutter and praise ignorance to the skies? Does it imprison virtue and praise vice? Did luck give Watt his engine or Franklin his captured lightning? Did it give Whitney his cotton gin or Fulton his steamboat? Did it give Morse his telegraph or Blanchard his lathe? Did it give Howe his sewing machine or Goodyear his rubber? Did it give Bell his telephone or Edison his phonograph?

If you are told of the man who, worn out by a painful disorder, tried to commit suicide, but only opened an internal tumor, effecting a cure; of the Persian condemned to lose his tongue, on whom a bungling operation merely removed an impediment of speech; of a painter who produced an effect long desired by throwing his brush at a picture in rage and despair; of a musician who, after repeated failures in trying to imitate a storm at sea, obtained the result desired by angrily running his hands together from the extremities of the keyboard,—bear in mind that even this "luck" came to men as the result of action, not inaction.

You may hear of a man worn out by a painful illness who tried to kill himself. Instead, he opened an internal tumor and cured himself. Or you may hear of a Persian sentenced to have his tongue cut out. A botched operation merely removed a speech impediment. You may hear of a painter who achieved an effect he had long sought. In rage and despair, he threw his brush at a picture. Or you may hear of a musician who repeatedly failed to imitate a storm at sea. He achieved the desired effect by angrily sweeping his hands together from opposite ends of the keyboard. Remember that even this "luck" came to these men through action, not inaction.

"Luck is ever waiting for something to turn up," says Cobden; "labor, with keen eyes and strong will, will turn up something. Luck lies in bed, and wishes the postman would bring him the news of a legacy; labor turns out at six o'clock, and with busy pen or ringing hammer lays the foundation of a competence. Luck whines; labor whistles. Luck relies on chance; labor, on character."

"Luck is always waiting for something to come along," says Cobden. "Work, with sharp eyes and a strong will, makes something happen. Luck lies in bed, wishing the mail carrier would bring news of an inheritance. Work gets up at six and, with a busy pen or a ringing hammer, starts building a comfortable living. Luck whines. Work whistles. Luck relies on chance. Work relies on character."

Stick to the thing and carry it through. Believe you were made for the place you fill, and that no one else can fill it as well. Put forth your whole energies. Be awake, electrify yourself; go forth to the task. Only once learn to carry a thing through in all its completeness and proportion, and you will become a hero. You will think better of yourself; others will think better of you. The world in its very heart admires the stern, determined doer.

Stick with the task and see it through. Believe you were made for the role you fill, and that no one else can fill it as well. Give it all your energy. Be alert, energize yourself, and get to work. Once you learn to see a task through completely, with every part in proper proportion, you will become a hero. You will think better of yourself, and others will think better of you. Deep down, the world admires a serious, determined person who gets things done.