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 Bill" 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.