“Your grandfather, having obeyed orders, is probably safe aboard ship. I wouldn’t worry about him,” advised Samuel Salt slowly. “As to latitude and longitude, you are at present on Ato’s Island and there’s a lot of geozify between here and the Land of Oz: the Nonestic Ocean, Ev, and the Deadly Desert. I’ve never been to Oz myself, not caring much for inland places, but I’ve heard enough about it.
We could set you down on the coast of Ev, though, and then you might find some way to reach Oz by yourself.”
“Oh, could you, would you?” breathed Peter, glancing eagerly from the pirate to the King. “Gee, that would be great! Have you a ship? Are you sailing soon?”
“We’re going to do a bit of pirating,” explained Roger importantly. “Then we’re going to find his crew,” the Read Bird waved his claw at Samuel Salt, “his crew and our men, and bring ‘em back in irons. In quick jerky sentences, Roger told how Ato and the pirate had been robbed and deserted, how Samuel, sailing from Elbow Island, to find himself a new crew, had come to the Octagon Isle and finding the King in the same plight as himself, had decided to help him.
“You see, Peter,” finished the Read Bird mournfully, “both these fellows were deserted because they were kind and easygoing, which should be a terrible example to you, my boy. Never be kind and easygoing!”
“He’s only just come, so he won’t be going easy or any other way, at least not until we find something to eat,” observed the pirate cheerfully. “Food, mates! What we require most and foremost is
food!”
Peter had been so interested in Roger’s story that he had almost forgotten how wet and famished he was. Now suddenly reminded of the fact he glanced hungrily around the kitchen, his quick eyes coming to rest on the pitcher of milk, the flour, the butter, and the bowl of eggs.
“Why, there’s food,” cried Peter, licking the salt water from his lips. “We’ll make us some
pancakes.”
“P-pancakes?” exclaimed the pirate, his whiskers quivering with eagerness. “What are p-pancakes?”
“You mean to stand there and tell me you’ve never eaten pancakes?” cried Peter incredulously. “Why, pancakes are flapjacks, and any scout can make flapjacks.”
“You mustn’t expect much assistance from these two,” put in the Read Bird slyly. “They’ve never done a stroke of work in their lives, I fancy.”
“There, there, Roger,” muttered the King, as Peter began mixing the milk and flour and beating up the eggs. “It will be a bit awkward without the cook and bodyguards, and how I shall dress without some help I cannot imagine !”
“Oh, you’ll get used to it,” sniffed Peter in a-matter-of-fact voice. ‘It’s more fun doing things for yourself anyway.”
“I believe you’re right!” boomed the pirate, sweeping all the clutter of dishes from one end of the table with his scimitar. “And how do we eat these pot cakes, boy, with fist, fork or fingers?”
“Forks,” grinned Peter, tasting the batter critically. “They’re hot, you know.” Darting over to the stove, Peter gave the fire a poke and soon the kitchen was full of the nose tickling fragrance of griddle cakes. Samuel Salt, with surprising quickness, set the table; Roger after a long search in the pantry found a can of maple syrup, and presently they all sat down to as satisfying and merry a meal as had ever been eaten in that castle.
“You’re going to be a great help to us, Peter,” sighed Samuel, spearing another pancake with his scimitar. “Stick with me, little lubber, and I’ll make an able-bodied seaman and an honest pirate of you yet How would you like to ship as cabin boy and mate of the Crescent Moon?”
“Fine!” beamed Peter. “Just fine!” He smiled up at the burly pirate.
“And what will you make of him?” inquired Roger, pointing a claw at Ato.
“Cook and coxswain!” answered the pirate promptly. “And you, my bully bird, shall be lookout and take your turn with the watches.”
“All that?” marvelled the Read Bird, preening his feathers self-consciously. Ato looked rather thoughtful as Samuel continued to enlarge upon their duties at sea, but Roger, settling on his shoulder, assured him that there was a cook book in the pantry, and that he himself would read off the recipes and help with the vegetables, and thus encouraged, Ato became not only resigned but positively excited over his new position aboard the Crescent Moon. Much refreshed and heartened they all jumped up and began to make immediate plans for leaving the island.
Peter, having nothing of his own to pack, helped Ato select the royal garbs best suited to a sea voyage. Roger flew back and forth between the castle and the ship with the fat volumes from the King’s library. Samuel Salt, finding an old fishing rod behind the door set out for the beach to catch, as he jocularly put it, some supper and breakfast for the crew. In the excitement of getting off, the cask Peter had brought ashore was almost forgotten. On his final trip through the kitchen, the boy caught sight of it standing on the table, and tucking it hurriedly under one arm ran down to join the others in the jollyboat. They had made several trips between the island and the Crescent Moon, but this was the last.
“Hah!” chuckled the pirate; as Peter hoisted himself into the boat. “I see you’ve brought the mysterious bottle. Let’s open it before we start, just to try our luck.”
“Maybe it’ll explode,” objected Peter, shaking the cask dubiously, “or let something out that we’d rather not see. Besides, it says: ‘Do not open.’”
“That’s so,” pondered the pirate, pulling vigorously at the oars, “but the question is, who says it?” The Read Bird, from his perch on Ato’s shoulder, stared long and curiously at the cask, then opening Maxims for Monarchs perused it for a few moments in Silence.
“Nobody shall say ‘No’ to the King,” mumbled Roger presently. “Let Ato open the bottle.”
“Ah, no!” begged Peter, hugging the cask to his chest. “Let’s wait!” He could not bear the thought of anything that would delay their sailing. The Crescent Moon, lying at anchor with her high forward deck, her gleaming masts and great pirate figurehead, seemed to Peter the grandest boat a boy ever shipped in, and he could scarcely wait to get aboard and under way. The King, for his part, was not at all anxious to open the cask, so nothing more was said of the matter and soon they were all climbing the rope ladder dangling down the side of the Crescent Moon-all except Roger, who flew easily aboard. In an astonishingly short time, Samuel Salt with such help as Peter, Roger and Ato could give him, had hoisted sail and anchor and pointed his ship into the wind. Peter, hanging eagerly over the rail as the Crescent Moon plunged her nose into the first wave and rose grandly to meet the second, took a long trembling breath. Away! They were off and away and the voyage really begun. Who knew what strange places and people they would be seeing-conquering for that matter, for had he not shipped as a pirate? A pirate, by ginger! What would his grandfather say to that? Feeling in his pocket he drew out his scout knife, the only weapon he possessed, and looked at it rather doubtfully. Samuel Salt, whistling light-heartedly at the wheel, seemed to read Peter’s thoughts.
“There’s an extra scimitar and some other gear in the cabin,” he called gaily. “Help yourself, young one, and then come back and I’ll show you how to take a turn here at the wheel.” Without waiting for a second invitation, Peter rushed down to the pirate’s cabin, and when he returned he sported Samuel Salt’s second best scimitar and sword and a dashing red bandana. The slap of the scimitar against his knee gave him great confidence and courage, and feeling ready for anything and bold enough to capture a whole ship single handed, Peter presented himself for inspection.
“Hah!” exclaimed Samuel Salt, eyeing him approvingly. “You’re a better pirate than I am, my boy. But a good pirate never gets anywhere,” he continued, giving the wheel several quick turns as Peter
dropped on a coil of rope beside him. “We must be rough, bluff and relentless. Hah!”
“Do you think we’ll overtake a vessel soon, Captain Salt?” asked Peter, sq
uinting happily out toward the sky line.
“Maybe, yes, maybe, no! Can’t tell! That’s what makes the sea what it is-exciting.” Taking a pipe and some tobacco from his pocket, the pirate lighted it briskly and grinned sociably down at Peter. Peter nodded understandingly, for flying under that great cloud of canvas straight toward the setting sun anything seemed possible, and was possible. Roger had gone below to arrange his books. Ato was investigating his new quarters and presently an excited voice came floating up from the galley.
“Sam, Sam-u-e-l! How do you get the feathers off these fish?” bellowed Ato.
“Sam?” blustered the Pirate, puffing out his cheeks and turning quite red. “Wha’d’ye think of that, lad? Plain Sam to the captain! Plain Sam-u-e-l! Hah! Ah, well!” His expression grew milder.. “After all, he’s a King and if a King can’t call a pirate ‘Sam,’ what good is a crown?”
“And he’s never been a cook before,” Peter reminded him, as Ato came lumbering cautiously across the deck, a slippery fish held high in each hand.
“What do you do to these?” panted Ato, facing the pirate in frank bewilderment
“Maybe you pare them,” sighed Samuel Salt in a dreamy voice, “or singe them, like fowl. Oh, just boil them in their jackets,” he finished, with a careless wave of his hand.
“Ho! Ho!” roared Peter, bending nearly double. “It’s plain to be seen you’ve never cleaned a fish in your lives. Ho! Ho! It’s lucky I’m with you on this voyage. Come along, King, I’ll fix ‘em for you!” And remembering he was cabin boy as well as mate, Peter went below to help Ato prepare the pirates’ supper.
CHAPTER 8
“Land, Ho!”
ALL night and all morning the Crescent Moon under full sail had
flown before the wind. And, short handed as they were, her crew under the capable direction of Samuel Salt managed famously. The pirate had set up a sturdy perch before the wheel so that Roger, too, could take his turn at steering, but the Read Bird much preferred his post as lookout high in the forward mast. Peter, though his fingers were blistered and torn from his struggle with the sail ropes, was happier than he had ever been in his life; and the same might be said of the King, for Ato had shed all his royal regalia and was dressed in an old shirt belonging to Binx the Bad, and a pair of short white trousers he had found in the fo’castle. His crown hung on a nail beside the stove and his bald head was rakishly covered with one of Samuel’s silk handkerchiefs. Already a rough beard had begun to show on his Majesty’s chin, giving to his mild octagon countenance quite a wild and dangerous appearance.
“Man! He looks more like a pirate than the captain!” chuckled Peter, as the ship’s cook waved cheerily to him from the galley. Though Peter had been aboard many boats in his short life he had never been on one like the Crescent Moon. The pirate’s ship was a three masted square-rigged sailing vessel, speedy and beautiful. She carried four guns, two on each side of the round house and stowed beneath decks was enough ammunition to sink a fleet. On his times off duty - and there were precious few of these - Peter, mounted on one of the port guns, anxiously scanned the Nonestic Ocean for signs of a ship. He secretly longed for the first encounter, and each time he looked up at the pirate’s black pennant fluttering defiantly from the masthead, his heart would pound with excitement. Ato’s colors floated just below and the Octopus with its eight serpent-like arms, the royal insignia of the Octagon Isle, on its sea green background, looked almost as threatening as the skull and bones. All four adventurers were comfortably quartered in the captain’s cabin, their belongings tidily stowed away. Peter, having nothing but the flask, had shoved the strange bottle beneath his berth, and there was so much to see and do that he promptly forgot it. Carelessly and dangerously it slid backward and forward with the motion of the ship.
“Will you be terribly, fearfully angry when you overtake your men?” asked Peter, who was standing close to the pirate, ready to take his turn at the wheel.
“Terribly,” answered Samuel Salt, showing all his teeth in a dazzling smile. But he said it so calmly and looked so cheerful that Peter was unconvinced.
“What do you say when you’re mad?” asked the boy thoughtfully. At this point the Read Bird, who had been listening to the conversation with great interest, decided to find out, and dropped the book he was reading on the pirate’s head with great force and suddenness.
“Bless my buckles!” Letting go of the wheel with one hand and rubbing his head with the other, Samuel looked upward. “Bless my boots, what’s wrong with you?”
“Ho, ho, ho!” roared Roger, fluttering down to the deck. “Nothing is wrong with me but something’s terribly wrong with you, Master Salt. Boots and buckles! Ha, ha! Is that the worst you can do? What a dangerous fellow you are, Samuel.”
“I expect you’re right,” sighed the pirate, still ruefully rubbing his head. “I can never grow sufficiently angry nor work myself up into a rage. I’ll have to practice, bless my boots, to practice, that’s what! Try me again, Roger, that’s a good bird.” At this, Peter, who had been sadly disappointed at the pirate’s outburst, brightened and waited expectantly as Roger climbed into the rigging. Now perhaps the Read Bird flung his book with unnecessary violence this time, or perhaps it hit Samuel on the same place. But however that may be, the result was immediate and terrifying. With a yell that lifted Peter’s hair and Roger’s feathers, the pirate flung up his hands.
“Shiver my liver!” bawled Samuel shaking his fists at Roger. “Shiver my liver and shatter my shins, I’ll goosewing your topsails for this!” He took a quick step toward the mast. “Come down from there, you long-billed villain, you shall hang from the yard arm and dry in the sun. Hah-aaah!” With another yell Samuel. looked up at the Read Bird, and Roger, thoroughly frightened, spread both wings and started out to sea while Peter ducked behind a coil of rope.
“What’s all this? What’s all this?” panted Ato, running heavily across the deck. “What’s all this noise and stamping?”
“Ho! Ho! Yo! Ho!” roared the pirate. “I’ve convinced them this time that I can get mad. Come
back, mate! Come back! I was only practicing.”
“Come back!” echoed Peter, straightening up a little shamefacedly and pretending he had not been at all alarmed. “Come on back, Roger. He was only fooling.” The Read Bird circled over the ship several times before he could make up his mind and then rather uncertainly he dropped down on the deck.
“Well, mates, was that better?” With his hands on his hips Samuel stared from one to the other and then with an uproarious chuckle grasped the wheel.
“Gosh, yes,” shuddered Peter, shaking his head to get the sound of the pirate’s roars out of his ears. “If you shout like that you’d even scare a giant. Say, I tell you what! Whenever we meet a ship or sight an island, Roger can drop a book on your head.”
“Not me!” quavered the Read Bird, flying up on Ato’s shoulder. “Let some one else set off the fire works.” Anxious to change the subject he reached down and took the volume the King had under his arm and opened it hurriedly.
“First you take two eggs,” read Roger in a rather shaky voice, for the book was a cook book, “take two eggs and-”
“Does it say there whom we shall take them from, mate?” asked Samuel, grinning amiably at the Read Bird..
“Oh, what’s the good of a cook book when there’s nothing to cook?” mourned Ato, flopping down on an overturned fire bucket. “Eight bells, Samuel, and not a bite on the boat. Not even a fish fin?”
“Well, we’ve plenty of water and that’s something,” answered the pirate, “and we’ll pass an island or a ship soon, never fear. Go aloft, Roger, old lubber, and see what’s in the wind.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Touching his forehead respect-fully with his claw, Roger, still uneasy at memory of the pirate’s dreadful threats, fairly flew to obey. Almost at once he let out a piercing squall.
“Land! Land, ho!” shrilled the Read Bird, pointing toward the west. Rushing over to
the rail, Peter, squinting up his eyes, almost immediately made out a large dot on the sky line.
“Oooh!” breathed Peter. “It’s an island! Golly, I hope it’s inhabited! I hope there’s plenty of treasure and gold!”
“I’d rather have a roast duck, or an omelet,” wheezed Ato, with a wistful hitch of his belt. “Are
we going to capture everybody, Sammy, or just enough to man the ship?”
“Well, that,” answered the pirate, expertly bringing the ship about, “that depends!”
“Oh, pshaw! Now you’re being polite again,” exclaimed Peter impatiently. “Let’s be regular pirates, capture everybody and take everything. Golly! There’s a castle!” At this the King, almost as interested as Peter, came to lean beside him op the rail. The island, as they came nearer, exceeded even Peter’s expectations. Its cottages and castle, glittering in the noonday sunshine, seemed at first glance to be constructed entirely ofjewels, but as Samuel eased the Crescent Moon into a long lagoon they discovered that the island was of some strange coral formation and all its houses and buildings were
made of brightly polished shell. Floating from the castle’s transparent turret was a pearly pennant bearing two words.
SHELL CITY
“Shell City!” marvelled Peter, with a little gasp of admiration. “Ginger! I wonder what kind of people live here.”
“A lot of crabs, most likely,” predicted Roger gloomily. “A lot of crabs who’ll pinch and nip the ears off you! I think I will take a book ashore,” he added in a lower voice. “If there’s any fighting to be done, it’s safer for Samuel to be mad.” Peter nodded his approval, and tightening the belt that held his pistols ran to help the pirate lower the jollyboat.
L. Frank Baum - Oz 25 Page 5