"I do not care. It is no more dangerous for me than for you. No—no—no!"—as he was about to argue the matter,—"I cannot be left behind," and nothing he could say could move her.
They saw no sign of life on the 'Jane and Mary,' not so much as a whiff of smoke from the companion-hatch.
"Perhaps he fled when he saw his horrid scheme had failed," suggested The Girl hopefully.
"Not very likely, I'm afraid, but we can go across and see. Won't you be good now and take my advice——"
"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.