The object that had holed the boat, thereby saving Hiccup from Death at the hands of Dogsbreath the Duhbrain, was a large, heavy, six-foot-by-three-foot BOX.
It now floated up to within reaching distance of where Hiccup was treading water. There were a couple of iron handles on the sides, very handy for grabbing on to.
About twenty minutes earlier, some laughing members of the Meathead Tribe had thrown this box into the sea at Meathead Island, which was a couple of miles away. The winds had carried it a considerable distance in that short time.
And the chances of that particular box traveling all that way, and then in the middle of the whole wild and lonely ocean happening to hole the ship just in time to save Hiccup's life, must have been thousands, no, millions to one.
If you were a fanciful person, you might have said that it was almost as if that box was looking for Hiccup.
35 But we are not fanciful people, and that would be ridiculous.
No sooner had Hiccup grabbed hold of one of the iron handles with a sigh of relief than a gigantic wave lifted him and the box way, way up, and then deposited them crashing down only a couple of feet away from where Toothless was trying to keep Fishlegs from going under for the third and what would have been final time.
The dragon had a firm grip on the back of Fishlegs's shirt, his wings were flapping furiously, and his little green face had turned bright red with the effort of trying to stop Fishlegs from sinking.
Fishlegs had got hold of a piece of broken oar that was keeping him up a bit, but he couldn't cling on much longer, and he would have drowned if it had not been for the sudden arrival of Hiccup and the mysterious box.
There was a lull in the sea for a couple of moments, in which Hiccup and Toothless managed to heave the exhausted Fishlegs onto the top of the box.
And there he clung, like an anxious Daddy Long-legs, terrified but alive.
Five indescribably cold minutes later, they were 36 blown by the violence of the wind onto the shores of the Long Beach.
Amazingly, all thirteen of the boys and Gobber himself had survived the shipwreck.
Gobber didn't exactly give them a big, welcoming hug.
"Mmmm, good work I suppose," he said begrudgingly, sniffing a bit.
"You took your time about it, though. Step lively, Fishlegs. We're horribly late for the next lesson."
As soon as Fishlegs had dragged himself off the box and collapsed panting onto the beach, Gobber stopped being irritated.
Because the box wasn't a box at all.
It was a coffin.
A huge, six-and-a-half-foot floating coffin, with the following words carved into the lid:
BEWARE! DO NOT OPEN THIS COFF!
37