nd racing. During that long period swimming
had been forbidden to men in the crew, because it was feared that they
might tire themselves out at it, and use up strength that should be
applied to rowing. But now the restraints of training were off, and
J---- was having a delightful frolic with his friends. He was a strong
swimmer and a graceful diver. Running down the beach he splashed out
until he was knee-deep in the river, and then gathered himself for a
dive. He plunged head first on a sand-bar. His neck was dislocated. He
did not live five minutes.

That young man had been swimming from the same place last year. He
thought he was familiar with the shore. Really he had forgotten just
where it was safe to dive. If he had been cautious enough to ask his
comrades, or even to wade out a little further and learn the depth for
himself, he would not have lost his life.

Do you think it childish to be cautious? Put away the idea. The bravest
men are nearly always the most careful.

"Your Majesty knows not what fear is," said a courtier to King Oscar of
Sweden, who had fought in many hand-to-hand battles with wonderful
success.

"The man who does not know what fear is," replied the King, "is a fool."

And fear is only another name for over-cautiousness.

"No matter how well you think you know a swimming-place, take nothing
for granted. So many changes take place in a year. Sand bars are formed
by the tides. If you dive from a pier, how can you know without actually
investigating what timber may have been swung loose by the water's
action since last year, and be now lurking for you beneath the surface?
And as for swimming in strange water, never do it without learning all
you can about the conditions. Henry Guy and I were chumming for bluefish
in Fire Island Inlet recently. We had fine luck for a while. Suddenly
the bluefish disappeared. After waiting idly a few minutes I began to
yearn for a swim. The air was very warm, and the cool, green water was
rippling a thousand invitations. Just as I was about to dive off the
stern of our cat-boat the skipper touched my arm and shook his head.

"Don't!" he exclaimed.

"Why not?"

"Sharks."

That was all of the conversation. Before I was half dressed the skipper
touched my arm and pointed at a long, dark gray object that loafed along
against the tide six or eight feet below our keel. It was a shark. My
hair bristled. You see it is advisable to know sometimes just where you