d 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.

Scarcely more than twenty minutes could have passed since the vessel
sank, but she had been struck late in the afternoon and the sun now
slanted perilously near the horizon. Tim and the little nurse looked at
it thoughtfully, but neither spoke. Only a slight pressure of their arms
suggested that each believed it would never rise for them--or, rising,
would look upon a sea of floating dead. Jeb had not noticed the sun. His
face was lowered close to the planking of their frail refuge. The ocean
had again become a thing of peace and beauty--and silence. Those who
were on upturned boats had realized the impotency of screaming, and
merely clung with dogged tenacity; those who had been too much lacerated
to reach these places of imperfect shelter, had yielded to the cradling
waves and were now asleep. Thus the minutes dragged. Then the sergeant
gave a cry of consternation.

"Well, w'ot d'ye know about thot! May I be shot for a spy, if 'tain't
the submarine!"

Little more than a hundred yards away a