he minds of all, as to their ability to reach the shore by
swimming. It was a broad bay that had been seen before sundown; and once
launched upon its bosom, it was a question whether any of them would
have strength to cross it. Once launched upon its bosom, there would be
no getting back to the shoal water through which they were wading; the
tidal current would prevent return.

This consideration was backed by another,--a lingering belief or hope
that the tide might already have reached its highest, and would soon be
on the "turn." This hope, though faint, exerted an influence on the
waders,--as yet sufficient to restrain them from becoming swimmers. But
even after this could no longer have prevailed,--even when the waves
began to surge over, threatening at each fresh "sea" to scatter the
shivering castaways and swallow them one by one,--there was another
thought that kept them together.

It was a thought neither of self nor self-preservation; but a generous
instinct, that even in that perilous crisis was stirring within their
hearts.

Instinct! No. It was a thought,--an impulse if you will; but something
higher than an instinct.

Shall I declare it? Undoubtedly, I shall. Noble emotions should not be
concealed; and the one which at that moment throbbed within the bosoms
of the castaways, was truly noble.

There were but three of them who felt it. The fourth could not: _he
could not swim!_

Surely the reader needs no further explanation?

CHAPTER VII.

A COMPULSORY PARTING.

One of the four castaways could not swim. Which one? You will expect to
hear that it was one of the three midshipmen; and will be conjecturing
whether it was Harry Blount, Terence O'Connor, or Colin Macpherson.

My English boy-readers would scarce believe me, were I to say that it
was Harry who was wanting in this useful accomplishment. Equally
incredulous would be my Irish and Scotch _constituency_, were I to deny
the possession of it to the representatives of their respective
countries,--Terence and Colin.

Far be it from me to offend the natural _amour propre_ of my young
readers; and in the present case I have no fact to record that would
imply any national superiority or disadvantage. The castaway who could
not swim was that peculiar hybrid, or _tribrid_, already described; who,
for any characteristic he carried about him, might have been born either
upon the banks of the Clyde, the Thames, or the Shannon!

It was "Old Bi