“And it will crush the O Moo,” said Florence with a gasp.
“Yes, unless,” Marian was studying the situation carefully, “unless we can escape it.”
For a moment she said no more. Then suddenly:
“Yes, I believe we could. There are pike-poles in the cabin. Florence, bring them, will you?”
Florence came back presently with two stout poles some twelve feet long. These were armed with stout iron hooks and points at one end.
“You see,” explained Marian rapidly, “we are much nearer the fore edge of the floe than to either side or to the back, and up there some forty feet there is a narrow channel reaching almost through to the edge. All that is necessary is that we crowd the ice to right and left a bit until we reach that channel, then draw the O Moo through it. If we reach the sandy shore before the floe does, the worst that can happen is that the O Moo will be driven aground but not crushed at all, and the best that can happen is that we will find some sort of little harbor where the yacht will be safe until the wind shifts and the ice goes back out to sea.”
“But can we move that ice?” Florence’s face showed her incredulity.
“It’s easier than it looks. Come on,” ordered Marian briskly. Throwing the rope ladder over the side, she sprang down it to leap out upon a broad ice pan.
Florence shuddered as she followed. This was all new to her.
Marian had said that it was easy, but they did not find it so. True, they did move the O Moo forward. Inch by inch, foot by foot, fathom by fathom she glided forward. But this was accomplished only at the cost of blistered hands, aching muscles and breaking backs.