"Twelve steps."
"Step off your ground," added the captain.
"I cannot do it; you do it for me."
"I will do it with you."
The prisoner's hands were tied behind his back, and the captain, taking his arm, walked him off twelve steps, as coolly as if they were only pacing the quarter-deck. The captain then took a blanket, spread it on the ground and told Boseley to kneel on it, and he did so, facing his executioners. The ship's chaplain came and offered a prayer, after which the sergeant asked Boseley if he wished to have his eyes bandaged.
"No; I am not afraid to face my executioners," he answered. It was an intensely solemn occasion, and among all those hardy, rough-mannered sailors, there was not one, unless it was Captain Snipes, who was not deeply affected. The captain's face was flushed, and his breath was strong with brandy, and he seemed but little moved.
"Go ahead, and have this done with," he said to the officer in charge of the affair.
"Are you quite ready now?" asked the sergeant.
"Yes," was the answer in a faltering tone.
"Make ready!" and the twelve glittering muskets were leveled at this sacrifice to the wrath of Captain Snipes.