Jeb had no more than safely got astride the box--a tippy affair it was--when they were startled by someone blaspheming in a way that made their flesh creep. Even Tim blanched; for in the voice he recognized the timbre of insanity. He had seen this happen in the trenches, when men driven mad by concussion or gas or horrors ran amuck among their fellows. The one who now swam toward them was evidently a stoker--a powerful creature. His face was grimed with coal dirt, his eyes were red, and his blasphemies were interspersed with hilarity at the prospect of cutting their throats. When thirty yards off he stopped swimming, reached beneath the life belt and got out a knife--then, holding it conveniently between his teeth, came on. Jeb would have left the box and made a dash for the open sea had not Tim checked him by a firm command; for, with the little nurse wounded in his arms, the sergeant had but one recourse and he was man enough to take it. "Be smart now, Jeb," he said. "Reach thot broken oar, lad, lest it floats past ye! Now brace yeself, an' whin the poor divil gits clost, belt 'im wan on the head wid all yer might! Kill 'im the first crack!" "Kill him!" Jeb screamed in horror. "Kill him! Man, I can't!" "Ye fool, ye can an' ye will!" Tim's voice bit into him like a file. "D'ye want 'im up here slittin' the throats av us--an' this gir-rul to boot? He's looney, man! 'Tis 'im, or the three av us! Quick--str-rike!" Jeb felt his muscles turn to steel under this commanding voice. The piece of oar rose high above his head and, as the crazed stoker was about to lay hand upon the box, came down with all his strength. The little nurse clung tighter to the sergeant and buried her face in his tunic. "Dear Christ!" she whispered, shivering. The man floated slowly by, rising and falling easily with the waves. His face hung downward in the water, his arms were extended in the attitude of a benediction. After him trailed a narrow streak of red, growing wider though less bright as it mingled with the sea. "I wonder if the poor divil still has thot knife in his teeth," was Tim's observation, spoken from the depth of sorrow. Jeb held the broken oar out before him as a thing unclean, then opened his fingers and let it fall.