Carew said nothing for some time. "Whatever is done must be done soon," he muttered.
"That is so, captain. This vessel must be ours while we are still in the trades and within a few days' run of a South American port. It will be difficult enough for four of us to work her, even in these calm waters. We must not postpone action till we get into the region of rougher weather."
"Oh, that this dreadful thing were not necessary!" Carew groaned.
"Ah, sir, don't allow those fatal scruples of yours to torment you. If I had some of your courage, and you some of my philosophy, what a fine couple we should be! But as it is at present, I am the more useful man of the two, despite my physical cowardice. Believe me, Mr. Carew, the ancient was right who said that to know oneself is the secret of happiness. If a man has a conscience at all, it ought to be a stable one that does not vary. You have got a set of moral principles of a sort, but you have not the slightest idea of what they are. One day you will commit an action with a light heart; on the morrow your remorse will madden you. Such inconsistency means misery. Know thyself. If you will have a code of ethics, know it and stick to it, and be happy. But now that you have gone so far, I recommend you to abjure conscience and moral principles, and substitute for them my beautifully simple code of ethics, which is summed up in three words—fear of consequences."
"I wish, indeed, that I could do so, Baptiste."
"If you wish it, this satisfactory result will come in time. All changes in the moral sense are arrived at by wishing. Experto crede, as they taught me in the lycée at Nimes."
Neither spoke for some time; then Baptiste said—
"You were born under a lucky star, captain. I think that Providence has found a way of sparing your sensitive conscience. She will do most of the killing for you."
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Carew.