ed wildly
back to the water's edge, and called, shouted, and even waded back into
the merciless surf. But no answer: no sign. Who shall describe the
anguish of the next half-hour? I was conscious of lights and voices; I
had dim visions of people hurrying; I felt something poured down my
throat, and some one was trying to lift me from where I sat. But no! I
would not leave that spot till I knew what had become of Charlie, and in
my almost madness I shrieked the boy's name till it sounded even above
the roaring waves.

Presently the lights moved all to one spot, and the people near me moved
too. Weak as I was, I sprang to my feet and followed.

Good heavens! what did I see? Two sailors, half naked, stooped over
something that lay on the sand between them, What, who was it? I cried;
and the crowd made way for me as I fought my way to the place.

Two figures lay there; the smaller locked in the arms of his protector!
But dead or living? Oh, if I could but hear some voice say they were
not dead! Another person was kneeling over them beside me. Even in
that moment of confusion and terror I could recognise his voice as that
of the Parkhurst doctor.

"Look after this one here," he said; "he has a broken arm. Carry up the
little fellow to the cottage."

Then I knew Charlie was dead!

It was weeks before I was sufficiently recovered in body or mind to hear
more than I knew. Then the doctor told me:--

"Hall is getting better. He broke his arm in two places, trying to
shield the boy from the rocks. He will not speak about it himself, and
no one dares mention Archer's name to him. There was neither bruise nor
scratch on the little fellow's body, which shows how heroically the
other must have tried to save him."

I soon recovered, but Hall was ill for many weeks--ill as much from
distress of mind as from the injuries he had received. He and I are
firm friends to this day; and whenever we meet, we speak often of little
Charlie Archer. Hall is a sea captain now, and commands his own vessel
in distant seas; but though he has been through many a peril and many a
storm since, I can confidently say he never showed himself a better
sailor than he did the night we sailed back from the Shargle.

CHAPTER SIX.

"FIVERS" VERSUS "SIXERS" AT PARKHURST.

"I tell you what it is, you fellows, I shall learn to swim!" The
speaker was Bobby Jobson, a hero of some thirteen summers, who, in
company with four of us, hi