The day before the terrible disaster at St. Pierre, the Italian bark, "Orsalina," was taking her cargo aboard, but her skipper, Captain Marino Leboffe, became so alarmed by the threatening appearance of the volcano that he decided to stop loading and sail away at once. The shippers for whom he was acting protested, and threatened to have him arrested if he should attempt to leave the harbor with only half his cargo aboard. But the captain was immovable. To their angry remonstrances and repeated assurance that Mt. Pelée was not dangerous, his firm reply was, "I don't know anything about Mt. Pelée, but if Vesuvius should look like your volcano does this morning I would get out of Naples and I am going to get out of here. I would rather sail with half a cargo than run such a risk as a man would run here."
Twenty-four hours later, the shippers and the two custom-house officers who had tried to arrest Captain Leboffe were dead at St. Pierre, while the "Orsalina," with her captain and crew, was safe on the high seas, heading toward France. A strong will and an unalterable decision had won, where weakness and yielding vacillation would have led to destruction.
The great demand of today is for the strong, vigorous, positive man, the man who not only makes up his mind, but does so with firmness, and, when he has considered all the circumstances and conditions of the matter, he is called upon to decide, does so once and for all, and then throws it off his mind and passes to something else. Such a man has usually superior executive ability. He cannot only make a programme, but he can also carry it out. He cannot only decide upon a course, but he can also execute it to a finish.
Every watch has an unseen spring back of the dial which compels the wheels to revolve and makes the hands mark the time with precision; so, beneath the works of every great enterprise, at the head of every great establishment, although not often seen by the public, is a strong character of this kind, a man with an iron grip, who makes things go and forces the wheels of the machine around, regulating their motion with precision. There is no going back of him; his decision is absolute, definite, final. Others can consider, advise, or suggest, but he is the man who makes the programme and sees that it is carried out. He is the dominating power. Everything else must point to him, and all others must get their cues or orders from him. If he steps out or ceases to act, the institution is like a watch with a broken mainspring. The wheels are all there, and everything else is in place, but the power is gone and nothing moves. The iron hand, the decisive power back of it all, has failed to lend its impulse. The splendid business which A. T. Stewart had built up went to pieces when the great executive and organizing force that had guided it was removed. The famous old "New York Ledger," which Robert Bonner, by his audacious and original business methods, had raised from an insignificant little financial sheet known as the “Merchant's Ledger” to be the leading story paper of this country, began to decline immediately after the master-mind which had made it ceased to be its inspiration.
There is only one of these great leaders to thousands of followers. It is easy to trail, to lean, or to hang onto the one who leads, but it takes courage, grit, and stamina to be original, prompt, and decisive, to stand squarely on one's own feet, and to trust entirely to one's own judgment.
If you are a vacillator, if you have acquired a habit of hesitating, or of weighing and considering and reconsidering, never quite knowing what you want, you will never be a leader. This is not the stuff of which leaders are made; for, whatever else a leader may lack, he knows his own mind. He knows what he wants, and makes straight for it. He may make mistakes; he may fall down now and then, but he gets up promptly and always pushes on.
The man who decides quickly can afford to make mistakes; for no matter how many he makes he will get on faster than he who is timid, vacillating and so afraid of taking a wrong course that he dares not start out to do anything. Those who wait for certainties, or stand on the brink of the stream waiting for somebody to push them in, never reach the other shore.
One of the most pitiable objects in the world is the man who is forever hanging trembling in the balance, who never knows which way to turn who is the prey of conflicting opinions and the victim of the greatest pressure, who follows the counsel of the last man who advises him, who moves along the line of least resistance, and who does not feel within himself the power to decide things. The very reputation of being cursed with a yielding disposition, of being easily moved from your conviction, or of being unstable in your opinions is fatal to all confidence, — to credit.
A great many people seem to have a mortal dread of deciding things. They don't dare to take the responsibility, because they don't know what it may lead to. They are afraid that if they should decide upon one thing today, something better may come up tomorrow and cause them to regret their first decision. These habitual waverers so completely lose their self-confidence that they do not dare to trust themselves to decide anything of importance. Many of them ruin naturally fine minds by nursing the fatal habit of indecision.
I know a man who never closes anything of any importance if he can possibly avoid it. Everything is left open for further evidence. He will not seal his letters until the very last minute lest he may want to change something. Time and again I have seen him tear open the seal of an envelope, after it was stamped and ready to mail, in order to make some change. He has even been known to telegraph to people to return his letters without opening them. Although this man is a great worker, a man of fine character, and splendid friend, he has such a reputation of being whimsical and uncertain in his judgment, always ready to reconsider anything that he has in hand, or to go over what he has already done, that he has never won the confidence of businessmen with hard sense. Everybody who knows him feels sorry for his weakness, but does not want to trust him with anything of importance.
Another victim of vacillation whom I know is a lady whose character in other respects is admirable. Whenever she wishes to buy anything, she makes a tour of all the stores in her city where the articles she wants are sold. She drifts from counter to counter, from department to department, from store to store, pulling over the goods on the counters, holding them up, and looking at them from different standpoints, but never knowing exactly what she wants. She would like to look at something “a little different" in shade, or at "a little different" style of goods. She cannot quite tell what will be most becoming to her. She will try on all the hats in the shopping district, look at all the dresses, and tire out all the clerks by her questions, but will probably go home without buying anything. If she does purchase, she is in doubt as to whether or not she has done just the right thing, wonders if she would better take it back and change it, and asks the opinion of everybody she knows. She wants something that is warm, and yet not too heavy or too warm. She wants something that will be comfortable on both a hot day and a cold one; something that will be appropriate for the mountains or the seashore, for the church or the opera, — some combination impossible to procure. She seldom buys anything without changing it two or three times, yet is never satisfied.
Such wavering and inconstancy of mind are fatal to all character building. No one who is thus cursed will ever have any close-knit fibre of character or stamina timber. Such things ruin one's confidence in himself and his own judgment, and are destructive to all mental effectiveness.
Your judgment must dwell in the depths of your nature, like the calm waters in the depths of the sea, out of the reach of the waves of emotion, passion, or moods, or the advice or criticism of others, and beyond the reach of superficial disturbance. This is the kind of judgment that is always sought in any matter of weight or importance, — one which is beyond the reach of the influence of anything but the right. One of the tragedies of life is to see magnificent ability held down by some little weakness, when, perhaps, most of the faculties are strong and vigorous. Thousands of people, today, are struggling along in mediocrity with ability enough to have taken them to the heights where excellence dwells, but for one lack in their nature, — ability to decide quickly and finally. The tragedies of untrusted judgments have given the world more failures than actual incompetence.
An engineer who starts to build a bridge and then keeps finding better places to put his piers, and wondering whether he has selected the best location or not, will never get the bridge across the river. He must decide, then go ahead and build the bridge, no matter what obstacles he may strike. So it is with the builder of character, he must decide finally what he will do, and then make for his goal, refusing to look back or be moved from his course.
Tens of thousands of young people with good health, good education, and good ability are standing on the end of a bridge at life's crossing. They hope they are on the right way; they think they are doing the right thing, and yet they do not dare to burn the bridge they have just crossed. They want a chance for retreat in case they have made a mistake. They cannot bear, the thought of cutting off all possibility of turning back. They lack the power to decide conclusively what course they will take.
These young people are in danger of wrecking their lives by their hesitation. If they would only make up their minds to burn their bridges behind them, and thus concentrate their powers on one definite point, they would immeasurably strengthen their chances of success. All of their resources would then rush to their assistance, buttress them against obstacles, and make their victory certain. But while there is a doubt in their minds, and they hold the path of retreat open, they will never amount to much.
If indecision runs in the blood you inherit, arouse yourself and strangle this insidious foe to your achievement before it saps your energy and ruins your life chance. Do not wait until tomorrow, but begin today. Compel yourself to develop the opposite quality by the constant practice of firm decision. No matter how simple the thing you are called upon to decide, be it the choice of a hat or the color or style of a garment, do not vacillate. Throw all the light possible on whatever you have in hand for decision; weigh and consider it from every point of view; call your common sense and best judgment to your aid before reaching a conclusion, and then, when you have once made your decision, let it be final. Let there be no going back, no reconsidering, and no opening the matter up for further discussion. Be firm and positive. Declare the polls closed.
Persist in this course until the habit of firm decision becomes fixed and you will be surprised to see what it will do for you, both in increasing your confidence in yourself and that of others in you. You may make mistakes in the beginning, but the strength and reliance you will gain in your own judgment will more than compensate for these. The power to decide firmly strikes at the very marrow of ability. If you cannot do this your life ship will always be adrift; you will never be anchored. You will drift about on the seas at the mercy of storms and tempests, and will never make your port.