the same ship, in the service of the same Government,
though each was of a different nationality from the other two. They
were the respective representatives of Jack, Paddy, and Sandy, or, to
speak more poetically of the Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle, and had the
three kingdoms from which they came had been searched throughout their
whole extent, there could scarcely have been discovered purer
representative types of each, than the three reefers on that spar
drifting towards the sandspit between Bojador and Blanco.

Their names were Harry Blount, Terence O'Connor, and Colin Macpherson.

The fourth individual, who shared with them their frail embarkation,
differed from all three in almost every respect, but more especially in
years. The ages of all three united would not have numbered his; and
their wrinkles, if collected together, would scarce have made so many as
could have been counted in the crowsfeet indelibly imprinted in the
corners of his eyes.

It would have required a very learned ethnologist to have told to which
of his three companions he was compatriot; though there could be no
doubt about his being either English, Irish, or Scotch.

Strange to say, his tongue did not aid in the identification of his
nationality. It was not often heard; but even when it was, its
utterance would have defied the most linguistic ear; and neither from
that, nor other circumstance known to them, could any one of his three
companions lay claim to him as a countryman. When he spoke--a rare
occurrence already hinted--it was with a liberal misplacement of "h's"
that should have proclaimed him an Englishman of purest Cockney type.
At the same time his language was freely interspersed with Irish "ochs"
and "shures"; while the "wees" and "bonnys", oft recurring in his
speech, should have proved him a sworn Scotchman. From his countenance
you might have drawn your own inference and believed him any of the
three; but not from his tongue. Neither in its accent, nor the words
that fell from him, could you have told which of the three kingdoms had
the honour of giving him birth.

Whichever it was, it had supplied to the Service a true British tar: for
although you might mistake the man in other respects, his appearance
forbade all equivocation upon this point.

His costume was that of a common sailor, and, as a matter of course, his
name was "Bill". But as he had only been one among many "Bills" rated
on the man-o'-war's books (n