However this may be, for some reason or other, the bows of the _Ebba_ are barred to me.
Toward ten o'clock a breeze springs up--a northwest wind and very favorable--and Captain Spade gives an order to the boatswain.

The latter immediately pipes all hands on deck, and the mainsail, the foresail, staysail and jibs are hoisted.

The work could not have been executed with greater regularity and discipline on board a man-of-war.
The _Ebba_ now has a slight list to port, and her speed is notably increased.

But the motor continues to push her along, as is evident from the fact that the sails are not always as full as they ought to be if the schooner were bowling along solely under their action.
However, they continue to render yeoman's service, for the breeze has set in steadily.
The sky is clear, for the clouds in the west disappear as soon as they attain the horizon, and the sunlight dances on the water.
My preoccupation now is to find out as near as possible where we are bound for.

I am a good-enough sailor to be able to estimate the approximate speed of a ship.