One of the four castaways could not swim. Which one? You will expect
to hear that it was one of the three midshipmen; and will be
conjecturing whether it was Harry Blount, Terence O'Connor, or Colin
Macpherson.
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 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!"
This command of the old sailor for his young comrades to forsake him was
backed by a far more irresistible influence, one against which even
their noble instincts could no longer contend.
At that moment a wave, of greater elevation than any that had preceded
it, came rolling along; and the three midshipmen, lifted upon its swell,
were borne nearly half a cable's length from the spot where they had
been standing.
In vain did they endeavour to recover their feet. They had been carried
into deep water, where the tallest of them could not touch bottom.
For some seconds they struggled on the top of the swell, their faces
turned towards the spot from which they had been swept. They were close
together. All three seemed desirous of making back to that dark,
solitary speck, protruding above the surface, and which they knew to be
the head of Old Bill. Still did they hesitate to forsake him.
Once more his voice sounded in their ears.
"Och, boys!" cried he, "don't thry to come back. It's no use whatever.
Lave me to my fate, an' save yersels! The tide's 'ard against ye.
Turn, an' follow it, as I tell ye. It'll carry ye safe to the shore;
an' if I'm washed afther ye, bury me on the bache. Farewell, brave
boys, farewell!"
To the individuals thus apostrophised it was a sorrowful adieu; and,
could they have done anything to save the sailor, there was not one of
the three who would not have risked his life over and over again. But
all were impressed with the hopelessness of rendering any succour; and
under the still further discouragement caused by another huge wave, that
came swelling up under their chins, they turned simultaneously in the
water; and, taking the tidal current for their guide, swam with all
their strength towards the shore.