ed, no. Why should I have felt thus? In my experience I had not
yet gathered the idea that human life was sacred. Certainly, my
experience in the _Golden Bough_ had not taught me that. I confess,
the job I planned was distasteful, extremely so--but, I thought,
necessary.

I planned Yankee Swope's murder in spite of self-sacrifice. Aye, truly
I did! I dare say few acts in my life have had a finer, cleaner, less
selfish motive.

I did not expect to escape after firing the shot. I expected the mates
or the tradesmen would kill me. True, I thought of hiding on the dark
deck, and picking off the captain when he appeared on the poop. That
is what Boston and Blackie expected me to do. But I dismissed this
thought without serious consideration. It was uncertain, and I meant
to make sure of the brute. Besides, it was, I felt, cowardly, and I
would not be a coward. I intended to get into the cabin and shoot
Swope in his own arm-chair, so to speak. Afterwards--well, they could
do what they pleased with me. My friend would be safe.

So I lived through a few very exalted hours before the first night
watch came. Unhappy? Not I. In moments I touched the skies in
exaltation.

For I was the sacrifice. I was the center of the drama. I was Fate.
I was a romantic-minded young ass, and the situation flattered my
generous conceit. I was tossing away my life, you see, with a grand
gesture, to help my friend. I was dying for my friend's sake. My
imagination gave my death nobility. I imagined Newman and the lady
remembering me sadly all their lives long, thinking of me always as
their saviour. I imagined my name on sailors' lips, in ships not yet
launched; they would talk of me, of Jack Shreve, the lad who killed
Yankee Swope so his shipmate might live.

My resolution did not weaken; rather, it grew firmer with the passage
of the hours. Of course, I did not take the crew into my confidence
(there might be, I thought, another Cockney among them), but I laid
down the law to Boston and Blackie, and they promised faithfully to
obey my injunctions. They promised they would keep the men in check
until I had completed my task. They promised also to mislead the spy,
and see that no man laid violent hands upon him.

This last I considered important. The crowd was eager for vengeance
upon Cockney. He had committed the unpardonable sin, he had betrayed
his mates. Blackie wanted to slit his throat, and drop him over th