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.

As I approach the forecastle I find myself face to face with a man who
is leaning nonchalantly on the raised hatchway and who is watching me.
He seems to be waiting for me to speak to him.