ll" who was deficient in natatory prowess: Old Bill the
sailor.

It may be wondered that one who has spent nearly the whole of his life
on the sea should be wanting in an accomplishment, apparently and
really, so essential to such a calling. Cases of the kind, however, are
by no means uncommon; and in a ship's crew there will often be found a
large number of men,--sometimes the very best sailors,--who cannot swim
a stroke.

Those who have neglected to cultivate this useful art, when boys, rarely
acquire it after they grow up to be men; or, if they do, it is only in
an indifferent manner. On the sea, though it may appear a paradox, there
are far fewer opportunities for practising the art of swimming than upon
its shores. Aboard a ship, on her course, the chances of "bathing" are
but few and far between; and, while in port, the sailor has usually
something else to do than spend his idle hours in disporting himself
upon the waves. The sailor, when ashore, seeks for some sport more
attractive.

As Old Bill had been at sea ever since he was able to stand upon the
deck of a ship, he had neglected this useful art; and though in every
other respect an accomplished sailor--rated A.B., No. 1--he could not
swim six lengths of his own body.

It was a noble instinct which prompted his three youthful companions to
remain by him in that critical moment, when, by flinging themselves upon
the waves, they might have gained the shore without difficulty.

Although the bay might be nearly two miles in width there could not be
more than half that distance beyond their depth,--judging by the shoal
appearance which the coast had exhibited as they were approaching it
before sundown.

All three felt certain of being able to save themselves; but what would
become of their companion, the sailor?

"We cannot leave you, Bill!" cried Harry: "we will not!"

"No, that we can't: we won't!" said Terence.

"We can't, and won't," asseverated Colin, with like emphasis.

These generous declarations were in answer to an equally generous
proposal: in which the sailor had urged them to make for the shore, and
leave him to his fate.

"Ye must, my lads!" he cried out, repeating his proposition. "Don't mind
about me; look to yersels! Och! shure I'm only a weather-washed,
worn-out old salt, 'ardly worth savin'. Go now--off wi' ye at onest! The
water'll be over ye, if ye stand 'eer tin minutes longer."

The three youths scrutinized each other's faces,