"I'll be good, but I won't stop here alone." So perforce he took her with him on the raft, and paddled quietly across to the other ship. But before they reached it she lifted a warning finger for him to stop paddling and listen. And on their anxious ears there broke the strangest medley of sounds conceivable, and chilled them in the hearing. Wild bursts of laughter, cut short by yells of rage or sudden screams, as of one in mortal fear,--hoarse shouts, torrents of oaths, dull flailing blows which sounded like fists on wood, and, through it all, the never-ceasing yells and screams. "He has gone mad," panted The Girl, very white in the face, and looked at him with wide anxious eyes. "Delirium tremens,"--with an understanding nod. "He could stand more than most, but a man cannot live on rum alone," and he paddled slowly towards the ship, his face knitted with doubts as to what he should do. He was in two minds. If he left the man to himself he would inevitably die in the end, for he had unlimited liquor on board and would turn to it at once, like a hog to its mire, as soon as this bout ran its course. On the other hand, every fragment of professional instinct in him impelled him to the rescue. Never in his life had he withheld aid from one in extremity. And yet it seemed monstrously absurd--to drag a man back from death solely for the purpose of letting him do his best to kill you, the first chance that offered. And he had more than himself to think for. Suppose he saved this wretched man, and was worsted by him later on, what of The Girl? She would have reason enough to blame his pusillanimity, and he himself would curse it with his last breath. But was it fair fighting--to see your enemy in a hole and make no effort to save him? Old-time Chivalry would never even have argued the matter. It would have helped the enemy out, handed him his weapons, and courteously awaited the renewal of the combat. Ah--times were changed.... And this man was compound of treachery and malice. Thoughts such as these whirled through his brain before he had covered the short space to the other ship. "Wait here!" he said to The Girl, and climbed through the well-known hole in the side,--and she followed him close in spite of his frowning objection. She had not come thus far to be out of the critical moment. He ran down to the cabin, and went straight to the mate's door. The dreadful sounds,--the shouts and yells and cries of fear, the furious oaths, the wild thumping blows--filled the cabin with horrors. Even in that anxious moment The Girl was cognisant of a dreary, dirty, repulsive look about it which had not been there before. It was more like the den of a wild beast than a living-room. Some of the silken hangings were torn down, the one or two that were left hung by single pegs. It looked as though a maniac had chased his mad fancies round the room and sought them behind the draperies.