Cold weather had set in much earlier than usual, and before school had closed for the Christmas holidays, the lake was frozen for a width of two miles along its southern shore. Skates were hastily resurrected from dusty attic nooks and exciting games of hockey were of daily occurrence. As the strip of ice increased in width, a few ice-boats made their appearance, skimming along shore like great white gulls.
“When are you going to get out the old Frost King, Ned?” asked Tommy Beals, as he leaned on his hockey stick to watch the speeding boats.
“We’ll have her out the minute the ice gets strong enough,” declared Ned, “but you know she weighs a lot more than any of those boats you’re looking at.”
“Have you got an ice-boat, Ned?” asked Dick, eagerly.
“I’ll say he has,” boasted Tommy, “about the fastest one on the lake, too. We keep it stored in my barn. Come on, Ned,” he continued coaxingly, “it’s getting colder every minute and by tomorrow the ice will be six inches thick, easy. Let’s get the boat out so’s to be ready.”
“All right, Fatty,” replied Ned, “get some of the crowd to help and we’ll start now.”
As most of my readers know, an ice-yacht is built of two timbers or heavy planks arranged in the form of a big letter T. A steel-shod shoe, not unlike a big wooden skate or sled-runner, is bolted firmly to each end of the cross-plank; while a similar shoe, equipped with an iron post and tiller, supports the stern and acts as a rudder. The Frost King was a powerful boat, carrying a huge main-sail and also a big jib which was rigged on a long bowsprit that projected far forward.
All the remainder of the day and until noon of the next, the boys were hard at work hauling the boat from her storage in the Beals barn and getting her ready for the ice. Charlie Rogers, Jim Tapley and Wat Sanford had responded to Tommy’s call for assistance, and Dave Wilbur got around in time to help in hoisting the heavy mast and setting up the wire rigging that held it in place.
“Gee, fellows!” chattered Dick Somers, as he threshed his arms to restore the circulation in fingers benumbed by his rather clumsy attempts at handling the frozen rigging. “I guess a Hottentot knows more about an ice-boat than I do! I can’t make head nor tail of this tangle of rope!”
In spite of inexperience, however, Dick did his level best, disentangling the stiffened ropes and pulling and hauling on hoist or clew-line with unfailing good nature. Over all, Ned Blake kept a watchful eye, setting up and testing each bolt and stay, mindful of his responsibility for the safety of both boat and crew. At last all was ready and with a steady breeze filling her sails, the Frost King shot out from the shelter of the docks and went careening along shore at a speed that few of her competitors could equal.