A small boat could live easily in such a sea， and in such asea the Mary Rogers could easily come to. But she couldnot come to and make westing at the same time.
For the first time in all his years， George Dorety wasseeing a real drama of life and death—a sordid little dramain which the scales balanced an unknown sailor namedMops against a few miles of longitude. At first he hadwatched the man astern， but now he watched big DanCullen， hairy and black， vested with power of life anddeath， smoking a cigar.
Captain Dan Cullen smoked another long， silent minute.
Then he removed the cigar from his mouth. He glancedaloft at the spars of the Mary Rogers， and overside at thesea.
“Sheet home the royals！” he cried.
Fifteen minutes later they sat at table， in the cabin，with food served before them. On one side of GeorgeDorety sat Dan Cullen， the tiger， on the other side， JoshuaHiggins， the hyena. Nobody spoke. On deck the men weresheeting home the skysails. George Dorety could heartheir cries， while a persistent vision haunted him of a mancalled Mops， alive and well， clinging to a life-buoy milesastern in that lonely ocean. He glanced at Captain Cullen，and experienced a feeling of nausea， for the man waseating his food with relish， almost bolting it.
“Captain Cullen，” Dorety said， “you are in commandof this ship， and it is not proper for me to comment nowupon what you do. But I wish to say one thing. There is ahereafter， and yours will be a hot one.”
Captain Cullen did not even scowl. In his voice wasregret as he said—
“It was blowing a living gale. It was impossible to savethe man.”
“He fell from the royal-yard，” Dorety cried hotly. “You weresetting the royals at the time. Fifteen minutes afterward youwere setting the skysails.”
“It was a living gale， wasn’t it， Mr. Higgin？” CaptainCullen said， turning to the mate.
“If you’d brought her to， it’d have taken the sticks outof her，” was the mate’s answer. “You did the proper thing，Captain Cullen. The man hadn’t a ghost of a show.”
George Dorety made no answer， and to the meal’s endno one spoke. After that， Dorety had his meals served inhis state-room. Captain Cullen scowled at him no longer，though no speech was exchanged between them， while theMary Rogers sped north toward warmer latitudes. At theend of the week， Dan Cullen cornered Dorety on deck.
“What are you going to do when we get to ’Frisco？” hedemanded bluntly.
“I am going to swear out a warrant for your arrest，”
Dorety answered quietly. “I am going to charge you withmurder， and I am going to see you hanged for it.”
“You’re almighty sure of yourself，” Captain Cullensneered， turning on his heel.
A second week passed， and one morning found GeorgeDorety standing in the coach-house companionway atthe for’ard end of the long poop， taking his first gazearound the deck. The Mary Rogers was reaching fulland-by， in a stiff breeze. Every sail was set and drawing，including the staysails. Captain Cullen strolled for’ardalong the poop. He strolled carelessly， glancing at thepassenger out of the corner of his eye. Dorety was lookingthe other way， standing with head and shoulders outsidethe companionway， and only the back of his head wasto be seen. Captain Cullen， with swift eye， embracedthe mainstaysail-block and the head and estimated thedistance. He glanced about him. Nobody was looking.
Aft， Joshua Higgins， pacing up and down， had just turnedhis back and was going the other way. Captain Cullenbent over suddenly and cast the staysail-sheet off from itspin. The heavy block hurtled through the air， smashingDorety’s head like an egg-shell and hurtling on and backand forth as the staysail whipped and slatted in the wind.
Joshua Higgins turned around to see what had carriedaway， and met the full blast of the vilest portion of CaptainCullen’s profanity.
“I made the sheet fast myself，” whimpered the mate inthe first lull， “with an extra turn to make sure. I rememberit distinctly.”
“Made fast？” the Captain snarled back， for the benefit ofthe watch as it struggled to capture the flying sail beforeit tore to ribbons. “You couldn’t make your grandmotherfast， you useless hell’s scullion. If you made that sheet fastwith an extra turn， why in hell didn’t it stay fast？ That’swhat I want to know. Why in hell didn’t it stay fast？”
The mate whined inarticulately.
“Oh， shut up！” was the final word of Captain Cullen.
Half an hour later he was as surprised as any when thebody of George Dorety was found inside the companionwayon the floor. In the afternoon， alone in his room， hedoctored up the log.
“Ordinary seaman， Karl Brun，” he wrote， “lost overboardfrom foreroyal-yard in a gale of wind. Was running at thetime， and for the safety of the ship did not dare come up tothe wind. Nor could a boat have lived in the sea that wasrunning.”
On another page， he wrote：
“Had often warned Mr. Dorety about the danger he ranbecause of his carelessness on deck. I told him， once， thatsome day he would get his head knocked off by a block. Acarelessly fastened mainstaysail sheet was the cause of theaccident， which was deeply to be regretted because Mr.
Dorety was a favourite with all of us.”
Captain Dan Cullen read over his literary effort withadmiration， blotted the page， and closed the log. Helighted a cigar and stared before him. He felt the MaryRogers lift， and heel， and surge along， and knew that shewas making nine knots. A smile of satisfaction slowlydawned on his black and hairy face. Well， anyway， he hadmade his westing and fooled God.
