She then held out her arms toward me, faintly calling me by name; but
I--shame on me!--remained sitting on the afterthwart. The negro thrust
his knife into her neck, below the ear; and, as soon as he had divided
the artery, he glued his thick lips to the gash and sucked her blood.

"'When the deed was done, others rose up and would have shared; but the
negro kept his white eyes directed toward them--one arm thrust out, with
his knife pointed at them, as he slaked his thirst, while, with his
other round her waist, he supported her dying frame. The attitude was
that of fondness, while the deed was--murder. He appeared as if he were
caressing her, while her life's blood poured into his throat. At last we
all drew our knives; and the negro knew that he must resign his prey or
his life. He dropped the woman, and she fell, with her face forward, at
my feet. She was quite dead. And then--our hunger was relieved.

"'Three days passed away, and again we were mad for want of water--when
we saw a vessel. We shouted, and shook hands, and threw out the oars,
and pulled as if we had never suffered. It was still calm, and, as we
approached the vessel, we threw what remained of the poor woman into the
sea; and the sharks finished what we had left. We agreed to say nothing
about her, for we were ashamed of ourselves.

"'Now I did _not_ murder, but I did _not_ prevent it; and I have ever
since been haunted by this poor woman. I see her and the negro
constantly before me, and then I think of what passed, and I turn sick.
I feel that I ought to have saved her--she is always holding out her
arms to me, and I hear her faintly call "Charles"--then I read my
Bible--and she disappears, and I feel as if I were forgiven. Tell me,
what do you think, messmate?'