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 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., Number 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 scrutinised each other's faces, as far as the darkness would allow them. Each tried to read in the countenances of the other two some sign that might determine him. The water was already washing around their shoulders; it was with difficulty they could keep their feet. "Let loose, lads!" cried old Bill; "let loose, I say! and swim richt for the shore. Don't think o' me; it bean't certain I shan't weather it yet. I'm the whole av my head taller than the tallest av ye. The tide mayn't full any higher; an' if it don't I'll get safe out after all. Let loose, lads, let loose, I tell ye!"