"If it had been anyone
but Forster I should have said that he funked and was taking the
opportunity to get out of it, but everyone knows that he has any
amount of pluck; look how he charged those Sepoys single handed."
"There are two sorts of pluck, Wilson," the Doctor said dryly. "There
is the pluck that will carry a man through a desperate action and
lead him to do deeds that are the talk of an army. Forster possesses
that kind of pluck in an unusual degree. He is almost an ideal
cavalryman--dashing, reckless; riding with a smile on his lips
into the thickest of the fray, absolutely careless of life when
his blood is up.
"There is another sort of courage, that which supports men under
long continued strain, and enables them, patiently and steadfastly,
to face death when they see it approaching step by step. I doubt
whether Forster possesses that passive sort of courage. He would
ride up to a cannon's mouth, but would grow impatient in a. square
of infantry condemned to remain inactive under a heavy artillery
fire.
"No one has changed more since this siege began than he has.
Except when engaged under a heavy fire he has been either silent,
or impatient and short tempered, shirking conversation even with
women when his turn of duty was over. Mind, I don't say for a moment
that I suspect him of being afraid of death; when the end came he
would fight as bravely as ever, and no one could fight more bravely.
But he cannot stand the waiting; he is always pulling his mustache
moodily and muttering to himself; he is good to do but not to
suffer; he would make a shockingly bad patient in a long illness.
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