“I am always putting my foot in it,” said Willis, “when the yarn is about the land; let us talk of the sea for a bit.  Who built the first ship?”

“Well,” replied Fritz, “I should say that the first ship was the ark.”

“Whence we may infer,” added Jack, “that Noah was the first admiral.”

“We learn from the Scriptures,” continued Fritz, “that the first navigators were the children of Noah, and it appears from profane history that the earliest attempts at navigation were manifested near where the ark rested; consequently, we may fairly presume that the art of ship-building arose from the traditions of the deluge and the ark.”

“In that case, the art in question dates very far back.”

“Yes, since it dates from 2348 years before the birth of Christ; but the human race degenerated, the traditions were forgotten, and navigation was confined to planks, rafts, bark canoes, or the trunk of a tree hollowed out by fire.”

“That is the sort of craft used by the inhabitants of Polynesia at the present day,” remarked Willis.

“It appears, however, by the Book of Job, that pirates existed in those days, and that they went to sea in ships and captured merchantmen, which proves, to a certain extent, that there were merchantmen to conquer.  We know also that David and Solomon equipped large fleets, and even fought battles on sea.”

“Whether an ancient or modern, a Jew or a Gentile,” said Willis, “he must have been a brave fellow who launched the first ship, and risked himself and his goods at sea in it.”

“True,” continued Fritz; “but when once the equilibrium of a floating body was known, there would be no longer any risk; as soon as it came to be understood that any solid body would float if it were lighter than its bulk of water, the matter was simple enough.”

“Very good,” interrupted Jack; “but the words ‘when’ and ‘as soon as’ imply a great deal; when, or as soon as, we know anything, the mystery of course disappears.  But before! there is the difficulty.  Particles of water do not cohere—­how is it, then, that a ship of war, that often weighs two millions of pounds, does not sink through them, and go to the bottom?  Individuals, like myself for example, who are not members of a learned society, may be pardoned for not knowing how water bears the weight of a seventy-four.”

“The seventy-four would, most undoubtedly, sink if it were heavier than the weight of water it displaced; but this is not the case; wood is generally lighter than water.”

“The wood, yes; but the cannon, the cargo, and the crew?”

“You forget the cabooses, the cockpits, and the cabins, that do not weigh anything.  Allowing for everything, the weight of a ship, cargo and all, is much lighter than its bulk of water, and consequently it cannot sink.”

“But how is it, then, that the immense bulk of a seventy-four moves so easily in the water?  One would think that its prodigious weight would make it stick fast, and continue immoveable.”