The rope was then cast off, and the Boy Scouts crowded aboard, Tubby and Merritt clinging on behind the seat, while Paul seated himself in the driver’s place. Rob, after being carefully instructed, ran to the stern to work the aeroplane propeller, which was expected to drive the queer craft forward. While he did this, Paul shoved forward a lever which dug a spiked brake down into the ice, holding the craft firm till the engine was working in good shape.
In the intense cold it was necessary to prime the engine—that is, inject gasolene into it from a cup on top of the cylinders for that purpose, before it would start. Finally, after a lot of swinging of the propeller, there came a sharp explosion.
“Chug!”
“Hooray!” shouted Merritt and Tubby, as a whiff of blue smoke was whipped shoreward by the wind.
“Pup-pup! Pur-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r! Pup!”
“She’s off!” yelled Paul.
“All aboard!” shouted Merritt, as Rob darted forward, being careful to avoid the rapidly whirring propeller, which would have beheaded him at one sweep if it had struck him. He swung himself into the seat beside Paul, digging in with his “toenails,” as he expressed it afterward. The next instant Paul released the lever which manipulated the brake.
Like an arrow from a bow, off shot the iceaeromobile, scooting across the ice at such a pace that it fairly took their breaths away.
Like an arrow from a bow, off shot the iceaeromobile, scooting across the ice at such a pace that it fairly took their breaths away.