It was a raft of some sort, and something extra-ordinarily like a sitting Martian on it! Nearer and nearer it came, bobbing to the rise and fall of each wavelet with the last icy sunlight touching it up with reds and golds, nearer and nearer in the deadly hush of that forsaken region, and then at last so near it showed quite plainly on the purple water, a raft with some one sitting under a canopy.
With a thrill of delight I waved my cap aloft and shouted-- "Ship-ahoy! Hullo, messmate, where are we bound to ?" But never an answer came from that swiftly-passing stranger, so again I hailed-- "Put up your helm, Mr.Skipper; I have lost my bearings, and the chronometer has run down," but without a pause or sound that strange craft went slipping by.
That silence was more than I could stand.

It was against all sea courtesies, and the last chance of learning where I was passing away.
So, angrily the paddle was snatched from the canoe bottom, and roaring out again-- "Stop, I say, you d---- lubber, stop, or by all the gods I will make you!" I plunged the paddle into the water and shot my little craft slantingly across the stream to intercept the newcomer.

A single stroke sent me into mid-stream, a second brought me within touch of that strange craft.

It was a flat raft, undoubtedly, though so disguised by flowers and silk trailers that its shape was difficult to make out.

In the centre was a chair of ceremony bedecked with greenery and great pale buds, hardly yet withered--oh, where had I seen such a chair and such a raft before?
And the riddle did not long remain unanswered.