But what is this--and how on earth could I have failed to notice it
before? How is this schooner moving? Her sails are furled--there is
not an inch of canvas set--the wind has fallen, and the few puffs that
occasionally come from the east are unfavorable, in view of the fact
that we are going in that very direction. And yet the schooner speeds
through the sea, her bows down, throwing off clouds of foam, and
leaving a long, milky, undulating trail in her wake.
Is she a steam-yacht? No--there is not a smokestack about her. Is she
propelled by electricity--by a battery of accumulators, or by piles of
great power that work her screw and send her along at this rate?
I can come to no other conclusion. In any case she must be fitted with
a screw, and by leaning over the stern I shall be able to see it, and
can find out what sets it working afterwards.
The man at the wheel watches me ironically as I approach, but makes no
effort to prevent me from looking over.
I gaze long and earnestly, but there is no foaming and seething of
the water such as is invariably caused by the revolutions of the
screw--naught but the long white furrow that a sailing vessel leaves
behind is discernible in the schooner's wake.
Then, what kind of a machine is it that imparts such a marvellous
speed to the vessel? As I have already said, the wind is against her,
and there is a heavy swell on.
I must--I will know. No one pays the slightest attention, and I again
go forward.
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