“You are quite right, Willis, if you judge the navigation of those days by the modern standard; but it is to be borne in mind that the ancients never lost sight of the coast.  They steered from cape to promontory, and from promontory to cape, dropping their anchor every night and remaining well in-shore till morning.  If by accident they were driven out into the open sea, and the stars happened to be hidden by fog or clouds, they were lost beyond recovery, even though within a day’s sail of a harbor; because, whilst supposing they were making for the coast, they might, in all probability, be steering in precisely the opposite direction.”

“It is certainly marvellous,” said Jack, “that a piece of iron stuck upon a board should be a safe and sure guide to the mariner through the trackless ocean, even when the stars are enveloped in obscurity and darkness!”

“It is a symbol of faith,” remarked Willis, “that supplies the doubts and incertitudes of reason.”

“As for the ships, or rather galleys, of the ancients,” continued Fritz, “with the exception of the ambitious fleets of the Greeks and Romans that fought at Salamis and Actium, one of the modern ships of war could sweep them all out of the sea with its rudder.”

“Yes,” said Jack, “at the period of which you speak, the ancients possessed a great advantage over us.  The winds in those days were personages, and were very well known; they were called Aeolus, Boreas, and so forth.  They were to be found in caves or islands, and, if treated with civility, were remarkably condescending.  Queen Dido, through one of these potentates, obtained contrary winds, to prevent Aeneas from leaving her.”

“By the way,” said Willis, “there is, or at least was, in one of the Scottish rivers, a ship without either oars or sails.”

“Yes, very likely; but it did not move.”

“It did though, and, what is more, against both wind and tide.”

“I wish we had your wonderful ship here just now, it is just the thing to suit us under present circumstances,” said Jack.

“So it would, Master Jack, for it sails against currents, up rivers, and the crew care no more about the wind than I do about the color of the clouds when I am lighting my pipe.”

“You don’t happen to mean that the Flying Dutchman has appeared on the Scotch coast, do you, Willis?”

“Not a bit of it, I mean just exactly what I say.  It is a real ship, with a real stern and a real figure-head, but manned by blacksmiths instead of mariners.”

“Well, but how does it move?  Does somebody go behind and push it, or is it dragged in front by sea-horses and water-kelpies?”

“No, it moves by steam.”

“But how?”

“Aye, there lies the mystery.  The affair has often been discussed by us sailors on board ship; some have suggested one way and some another.”

“Neither of which throws much light on the subject,” observed Jack; “at least, in so far as we are concerned.”