“My gracious! but that was a close shave!” murmured Boxy, as he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
“Dat am de werry closest shabe wot I ever ’sperienced,” returned Pickles. “An’ I don’t want no moah ub dem!”
“We are not yet out of danger,” urged Harry. “An extra-heavy puff of wind may come along at any time and carry us over.”
“That’s so,” returned Jack. “Come on, boys, let’s get off and push the boat over to the west shore, where I guess we will find a solid strip to pass along on.”
His companions were not slow to follow his advice. They lost no time in moving the iceboat back a distance of forty or fifty yards, and, feeling comparatively safe here, they stopped long enough to get out their skates and put them on.
Thus equipped, it was easy to haul the craft around, and, getting behind her, they took turns in pushing her over toward the west shore, where, as Jack had supposed, there was a strip of ice all of fifty yards wide, leading to the solidly frozen river beyond.
“We want to be on the lookout for such places as this,” remarked Harry, as they boarded the Icicle once more, and hoisted the sail, which was now sadly torn in half-a-dozen places. “If it hadn’t been for Pickles we might all be at the bottom of the river this minute.”
And he gave the colored youth a grateful look, which caused Pickles to grin from ear to ear.
After that two of the boys remained at the bow, straining their eyes to see ahead.
But this extra caution was now hardly needed. Owing to the torn condition of the mainsail, the Icicle did not move as rapidly as before, and presently, when the wind died down a trifle more the clumsy craft came to a complete standstill.