decision. It was necessary that I pretend to fall in with Boston's plans
if I were to execute my decision.

"When it gets dark, I am going aft--alone," I told him. "You and Blackie
keep the crowd quiet, and forward of the house, until I return."

"What you goin' to do?" he asked.

"Make sure that Newman will be safe when we make the attack," I
explained. "We must make sure of that--he's our navigator."

"That's so," he agreed. "But how'll you do it?"

"I'll kill Captain Swope," I said.

CHAPTER XIX

I was in earnest. I meant to do the murder. Aye, murder is what the
law of man would call it, and murder is the right term. I planned the
deed, not in cold blood perhaps, but certainly with coolness and
foresight. I intended to creep aft in the night and shoot down the
captain.

But you must understand my motive before you judge. More than that,
you must bear in mind my environment, my character and its background,
and the dilemma which faced me. I intended to become an assassin--but
not for hate, or greed, or, indeed, any personal satisfaction or gain.

I was, remember, a nineteen-year-old barbarian, The impressionable,
formative years of my youth had been spent in deepwater foc'sles, among
men who obeyed but one law--fear. The watch, the gang, was my social
unit; loyalty to a shipmate was the one virtue I thoroughly understood
and respected. And it was loyalty to Newman that determined me to kill.

Newman was my friend--aye, more than that, he was in my youthful eyes a
demi-god, a man to revere and worship above all others. He was
prisoner, helpless. The crew were bent on mutiny; I could not stop
them. The mutiny was planned and expected by the captain; and its
outbreak would be the needed excuse for the slaying of Newman, and,
Newman said, of the lady.

How could I save Newman? That was my problem. How indeed? The evil
choice was inevitably mine; and I considered it the lesser evil. If I
killed Swope, Newman would be safe. Perhaps the mutiny would collapse,
would never come off. This last was something Boston and Blackie,
blinded by their greed, quite overlooked. But I knew it was hate and
fear of Swope, rather than greed, that impelled the squareheads to
revolt. If Swope were killed, they might not go on with it, and what
the sailors decided, the stiffs must agree to. And in any case, Newman
would be safe.

I did not approach my task in a spirit of revulsion and horror.
Inde