Gill’s Iceboat Sail. 
“You remember that all-fired cold winter we 
had the year the barrel factory burned? Well, 
one day I went down to -Poughkeepsie to get 
some pipe fittings and was a-coming back on 
the 4 o’clock train. When I started to walk 
across the river there was Dishy with the Rock¬ 
ford’s big ice boat Blizzard, and he just natur¬ 
ally asked me to ride. 
“‘I’ll beat the train up, Gill; just hop on the 
runner-plank and hang on to them shrouds. 
\ ou’ll be home quicker’n lightning before you 
thought.’ 
“Dishy had some company of the Rockfords 
in the cockpit with him, so I slung my pipe 
fittings aboard and hopped on. The wind was 
piling down out of the northwest as strong as 
a train of cars and about five degrees below 
Mr. Zero. Maybe, now, I wasn’t good and 
sorry I started on that ride! We had to tack 
back and forth, and for the six miles up the 
river I guess we went fifty crossways, one run¬ 
ner up in the air and that wind whistling around 
my bare ears, kid gloves and calf skin shoes. 
As the boy says, I wasn’t prepared for it. and 
I wasn’t used to it. Them shrouds, as Dishy 
called ’em, were made of wire rope and were 
naturally small and cold, and when we came 
about I had to hang on with both hands, for 
it swung me till my heels were straight out in 
the air. Dishy always was a reckless feller 
witli an iceboat, and that northwest wind 
seemed to tantalize him terribly. Clouds of 
ground-up ice spun out from under the run¬ 
ners and whirled away when we went over 
rough ice. I thought my jaw would be slam¬ 
med right through the top of my head. My 
teeth were chattering anyway from the cold, to 
say nothing of going sixty miles an hour over 
ice hummocks and being scairt half to death. 
Before we’d gone a mile I was for jumping oft, 
but one look at that ice just flying under me 
so fast I couldn’t see anything only a blurr 
made me grip them shrouds till my thin kid 
gloves stuck fast to ’em. I’d a give a dollar 
for my old fleece-lined mitts just then. I had 
on a light overcoat, too, and that wind blew 
around my bare wrists and up my sleeves till 
I felt like the ventilator on an icehouse. When 
we came through the elbow the feelin’ was all 
gone from my hands and feet, and I’d a swore 
the tears that trickled down my face just froze 
fast. Anyway, my face felt kind of hard and 
thick like a slab of ice. 
“I have a dim idea that we were racing an¬ 
other boat, and I know once that I got a 
blurred sight of the mountain and knew we 
were most home, but mostly I just hung on, 
the water in my eyes keeping me from seeing 
and the wind almost taking my breath away, 
and as for hearing, the grind of ice and snap 
and crack of sails and ropes drowned every¬ 
thing else. 
“When we got home I was afraid to let go 
and try to walk, and when I did trv I seemed 
to be floating around in the air without any¬ 
thing between me and the ground. I couldn’t 
speak till the next day, and now I never think 
of that sail except on a boiling August after¬ 
noon.” Julian Burroughs. 
An Iceboat. 
As the weather is now cool, icy and the 
winds are blowing many miles an hour, and 
all seems fitting to Jack Frost with his freez¬ 
ing breath, let me relate my little tale of 
winter sport with an ice yacht, or boat (be¬ 
cause she was home made - ). These are per¬ 
sonal experiences and can be vouched for by 
others besides myself. 
Some years ago tv? wife and I started house¬ 
keeping on the shore front of a large bay not 
far from our big city of New \ork. My place 
was very convenient, having a sea wall and 
frontage on, the bay only about one hundred 
feet from the house, so that it was very easy 
to run in to shelter when the cold winds and 
temperature proved too much for sport. 
I had always wished to live as one might 
say on the water, being a salt water crank and 
a sailer of small yachts and had determined 
that should such be my good fortune I cer¬ 
tainly would have an iceboat. Therefore, im¬ 
mediately after settling in my home in the fall 
of the year, I began the task of building my 
longed-for ice yacht. I could not afford the 
expense of purchasing one ready made, or hav¬ 
ing expensive fittings, so I set out to build it 
cheaply and experimentally. My first design 
was a crude affair, as materials were scarce, but 
barring the many breakdowns and poor rig¬ 
ging, she was a success, and only whetted my 
appetite for a larger and better creation. 
My later production was a combination of 
ideas taken from the articles and drawings ap¬ 
pearing from time to time in Forest and 
Stream, excepting that I did not wish a rac¬ 
ing craft, but one that would have accommoda¬ 
tion for several people. I carried the cockpit 
forward from the rudder post all the way to 
the crossbar. This made a heavy boat and no 
doubt the extra weight affected her speed, yet 
it allowed some comfort, and with all the extra 
weight some hair-raising speed was attained at 
times. 
Many were the accidents and many the nar¬ 
row escapes from trouble which occurred with 
this plaything of the winter breezes. 
An ice yacht, owing to the great speed, will 
jump over cracks in, the ice that are sometimes 
many feet across. It will also skim over some 
very thin ice without breaking through, though 
these traits cannot be depended upon, as I have 
had reason to know more than once. 
One fine breezy afternoon my wife and I ex¬ 
pected some friends to accompany us on the 
ship, and before they had arrived I suggested 
taking a spin up the bay. She consented and 
so away we flew in grand style. We were soon 
about a mile from home, and seeing what I 
supposed was a smooth lane of ice between 
some hummocks or cakes of ice piled up on 
one another, I steered for the smooth spot, and 
we flew upon it or in fact into it. Suddenly it 
seemed as though we had taken a dive into 
some heavy surf. Our boat had struck open 
water, and with the speed wtih which we en¬ 
tered, the water flew over us just as if a heavy 
wave had broken over the boat. The shock 
was violent, but in an instant we were out and 
over the crack, for such it proved to be, about 
twelve to fifteen feet in width, and upon solid 
ice once more. Aside from the drenching we 
had received we could scarcely realize what had 
happened. Well, we were wet, very wet, in¬ 
deed, and before we reached home, which jour¬ 
ney occupied but a very few moments, our 
clothes were frozen hard and we were encased 
in ice. 
We soon got into dry coverings, and our 
friends who were waiting by that time jumped 
aboard and had a delightful afternoon without 
further mishap. 
You of the cold-blooded kind, who hug the 
fire and scarcely venture out of doors in these 
wintry days, when the wind howls and the tem¬ 
perature is down, cannot realize the grand 
tingle of the surging blood in the veins which 
keeps the body fairly warm and makes the cob¬ 
webs of the brain fly away like smoke or 
thistledown. The nervous excitement in the 
flying rush keeps one on the qui vive, as some¬ 
times you tear along through rough ice with 
a grinding, roaring noise and next instant you 
are racing over a smooth glassy surface with 
not a sound, and a sensation as near to flying 
as is possible, and it is exhilarating to say the 
least. It is cold, cold sport truly, but the ner¬ 
vous excitement of steering the flying craft 
keeps one warm. It is exciting to watch your 
path ahead, to select the course, and one must 
decide very quickly just what is to be done, for 
the speedy boat has reached the spot seen ahead 
almost in an instant. 
When we get too cold we luff up in the wind 
and the ship stays right there, her sails flutter- 
ings, and we step out upon the ice and dance 
or skate about and soon warm up. Then the 
cry is given “All aboard.” Everyone scrambles 
on in his place, and with a pull on the rudder 
to windward, a sudden shift of the tiller, away 
we go. 
It is a curious feeling one has sailing around 
on the ice and rounding a buoy which marks 
the channel, and many winters we have sailed 
around the lighthouse also. 
Once I was caught some distance offshore in 
a fierce snow squall, and then fully realized the 
truth of the saying of the pilots and captains 
who navigate the briny deep “that a snow¬ 
storm is much worse than a fog,” as a fog 
carries sound well, while a snowstorm deadens 
all noise as well as sight. My iceboat tore 
along in the fierce blow and I was obliged to 
trust very much to Providence as to where I 
was liable to “bring up.” Fortunately the dis¬ 
tance was soon covered and I could sight the 
shore, then my bearings were easily made and 
home was reached shortly. 
The many accidents which occur are often 
modified in their seeming danger. Even if 
thrown from the craft when traveling at high 
speed, the danger of injury is almost entirely 
eliminated, as you generally fall upon and slide 
over the smooth surface of the ice, thus escap¬ 
ing all the horrors of broken limbs or crushed 
skulls, etc. 
One day when the northwesterly gale was 
making things whirl my brother and I took a 
spin, and after sailing up the bay about three 
miles we were tearing along at tremendous 
speed. There was a sudden crack like the re¬ 
port of a pistol shot and the whole windward 
half of the boat rose up and simply folded over 
the other side carrying my brother with it and 
pinning him down between the two halves of 
the boat, so that I had to lift up the broken 
part to set him free. He was not hurt or in¬ 
jured in any way. 
The crossbar, which supports the two front 
runners, had broken in the center, and the 
windward stay going over the mast took the 
half of the boat with it. 
Our ship was a wreck, everything flattened 
out upon the ice. but we succeeded after a 
wearisome and laborious struggle in carrying 
out from the shore, a mile away, a piece of 
timber, spiking it fast across the front of the 
broken crossbar. Then rigging and squaring 
away we were soon at home, very tired, but 
pleased with ourselves, and oh. so hungry. 
Again one very amusing and almost incredi¬ 
ble incident happened, and many is the laugh 
it recalls. It seems that my boat being the 
pioneer, or the only one of its kind on the bay, 
is always a curiosity to all who catch sight of 
it careering over the ice, and whenever we luff 
up or come to a stop to get warm or take a 
look around, there is always someone to in¬ 
spect the ship. 
One fine afternoon, after sailing, we had run 
up in the wind for a rest, a small party of 
skaters surrounded us as usual, and with them 
was a dog that was greatly interested in a piece 
of rope used as reefing gear and which was 
dangling from the end of the main boom just 
touching the ice. The rope had a knot on the 
