L. Frank Baum - Oz 25

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by Pirates In Oz


  Chapter 9

  Shell City

  “NOW, mates,” cautioned Samuel Salt earnestly, as the jollyboat grounded on the shining beach, “rough, bluff and relentless is what we’re going to be. Rough, bluff and relentless, remember!”

  Peter and Ato nodded grimly and the Read Bird, riding Jauntily on the King’s shoulder, tightened his hold on his book and cackled nervously. Instead of sand, the beach was formed of sharp, tiny shells, and along the shore and surrounding each cottage tall palm trees with glittering shell bark waved their green fronds in the warm breeze. Perched on a roof Peter saw a company of turtles, and just as he nudged Samuel they spread wide white wings and flew away.

  “Mother of pearl!” gasped the pirate, squinting up at the sun. “They’re doves, turtledoves, mates. How would you like a turtle shell on your back, old bird?” Samuel winked broadly at Roger.

  “How would you like a cocoanut shell on your head?” inquired the Read Bird saucily. “Get on, Master Salt, get on! Remember we came here on business and I crave food!”

  “Right!” agreed the pirate, grinning at Roger. “Quite right!” And without stopping to admire the curious shell dwellings, and without encountering a single person they hurried toward the castle.

  “I guess all the natives sleep in the daytime,” ventured Peter, remembering what he had read of tropical islands. But as they reached the castle itself, out backed the King and Queen of Shell City, and such a company as Peter had never seen in his whole mortal life. I can best describe these curious islanders by telling you they were Shellbacks. At first glance Peter thought they were enormous turtles but when they faced about, and this they did almost immediately, he discovered that they were tall, finely formed men and women, richly arid elegantly dressed but firmly encased in hard brown shells.

  “Hish! Hash! Hosh!” observed the King, languidly tipping his shell crown.

  “Squish! Squash! Squosh!” added the Queen, extending her right hand graciously.

  “Boiled plain, or mashed with butter?” inquired Roger, who had been reading up in the cook book and was hungry enough to eat even squash.

  “They’re talking shell,” muttered Samuel Salt out of one side of his mouth. “A hard language, or I miss my guess! But they seem polite and friendly, so we’d better not do any fighting, mates. That is, not

  yet.”

  “Certainly not,” agreed Ato, fumbling at the but-ton of his shirt collar and wishing he had stopped to shave. “Perhaps they’ll invite us to lunch, Sammy.” The King and Queen continued to address the visitors in their strange language, and Peter, listening with lively interest, decided it sounded not unlike the swish and murmur of the sea. Just as he was wondering how he would make these singular rulers understand that he and his companions were very hungry, and just as Roger, muttering with impatience, began to circle over Samuel’s head with his book, a happy thought struck Peter.

  “Does your Majesty speak Ozish?” asked the boy, suddenly remembering that Ozish was the same as English and spoken in all the fairy countries he had visited so far.

  “Why, surely,” replied the King, with a little sigh of relief, for he, too, was growing discouraged with the conversation. “Are you from the Land of Oz, Soft-back? I’ve heard of Oz many times, though I’ve never been there myself. Humph! Gerumph! So you come from the Land of Oz?” With round eyes he stared at his visitors.

  “Well, not exactly,” explained Peter, anxious not to get into a long discussion. “You see, we came on a ship.”

  “A ship!” cried the King, clasping his hands delightedly. “Why, then you’re shipsies. Shipsies, my dear! Shipsies!” The Queen smiled and showed all her small pearly teeth, while the King fairly bubbled over with interest and curiosity - all of which made Peter and the pirates exceedingly uneasy. How were they to fall upon and capture people so disarmingly pleasant and so persistently polite? But Roger was not bothering his head about such fine points of etiquette. Roger was hungry.

  “Is there anything to eat on this island?” croaked the Read Bird hoarsely. “Is there any food in your castle, King?”

  “Konk!” corrected his Majesty grandly. “I am Konk of the Shellbacks and this is the Quink.”

  “Ha, ha!” Roger laughed discreetly behind his claw. “Well, Konk, we’ve come to conquer you, old fellow, but first we must eat.” Ato and the pirate frowned warningly at the Read Bird, but the Konk seemed not in the least offended by his speech.

  “To konker us,” he mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, that will be nice. To tell the truth the old Shellback had never been conquered in his life and had no idea what Roger was talking about. After a few more remarks upon the subject he graciously motioned for them to enter the castle. Floors, walls, furniture, everything was constructed of shell - shell, lovely and lustrous and iridescent as pearl. As the Shellbacks were not constructed for sifting down there were no chairs, and in the gleaming dining hall the table was shoulder high, so that

  Peter had to stand on a small chest to reach the board at all. And as long as he lived Peter remembered that curious company and that strange, dreadful repast.

  Luncheon was served on great shining shells, and as the first course was set down before them the voyagers exchanged puzzled and uneasy glances. It consisted of six perfectly empty clam shells, which the Shellbacks contentedly munched as if they had been crackers. The Konk seemed slightly annoyed when none of his guests ate the clam shells but nodded encouragingly as the second course was brought in. But this proved to be even worse, for it was sea water soup with live fish and snails, served in small glass aquariums. Peter shuddered and even the pirate winced as the Shellbacks calmly swallowed down live fish and snails and ladled up spoonful after spoonful of the bitter salt water. As they pushed back their aquariums, Roger put his head under his wing, and the Konk’s annoyance deepened. By the time the third course arrived the Shellbacks were scowling and muttering disagreeably. Looking down hopefully and hungrily, Peter saw a nicely cracked lobster shell, two broken eggshells and a heap of pea shells. The Konk, after liberally sprinkling his lunch with sand from a sand shaker, looked sternly at his guests. The pirate, politest of them all, was making a pretense of eating a lobster claw. Ato and Peter after one look pushed back their plates, and Roger, emitting a feeble groan, put his head under his wing again. On a side table Peter caught a glimpse of dessert, half cocoanut shells filled with peach skins, banana skins and walnut shells.

  “Well,” demanded the Konk, angrily meeting Peter’s dismayed glance, “what’s wrong,

  Soft-back?”

  “Nothing,” answered Peter sulkily, growing a little angry himself at the Konk’s insolent stare. “Nothing’s wrong, but we can’t eat shells. They’re not our kind of food.”

  “Can’t?” shouted the ruler of Shell City, growing red as a lobster. “Who dares to say can’t to the Konk? How do you expect to grow shells unless you eat them?”

  “We don’t expect to grow shells,” put in Ato calmly. “We-”

  “Don’t expect to grow shells!” howled the Konk, now quite beside himself with anger. “Then why did you take shelter on our island? You can’t stay here without shells! Snipper Snapper! Seize these shipsies, throw them in the watery dungeons and keep them there until their shells grow. They shell learn to eat shells! Clam shells, cocoanut shells, oyster shells, lobster shells, eggshells and-”

  “Bombshells!” exploded the pirate, swallowing the lobster claw and jumping furiously to his feet, for Roger, seeing something must be done, had dropped a book hard on his head. “Bombshells!” roared Samuel again. Thoroughly aroused he banged his fists so hard on the table that the shell plates bounced and skipped.

  “Shiver your liver!” prompted Peter, giving Samuel a little shove as Snipper Snapper dashed toward them.

  “Aye! And shiver their shells, too!” rumbled the pirate. “Come on, mates, rough, bluff and relentless now. We’ll get back to our boat and give them a taste of our kind of shells. Ball, shot and bomb-she
lls. Hah!” Samuel’s ferocious snort and glare so upset the Konk and Quink that they tumbled over backward. Then Peter saw with relief and astonishment that in this position they were perfectly harmless and helpless, rocking backward and forward on their shells and quite unable to rise.

  “Quick, fellows! Push them all over,” whispered Peter, as Snipper Snapper made a snatch at

  his sleeve. And this, Ato, Peter and Samuel did so quickly and so cleverly that in two minutes there was not an islander on his feet in the whole great dining hall.

  “Ha, ha, ha! They have all turned turtle!” squealed Roger gleefully. “A Konk and a Quink on the half shell mates! Come on, Ato, let’s raid the kitchen. where there are clam shells and eggshells there must be clams and eggs. where there are oyster shells there must be oysters. Yo, ho! what a barrel of

  fun!”

  “Conquered without a man lost or hurt!” boasted the pirate, grinning down at the kicking, squirming Shellbacks. “And now for a few rare Specimens!” Striding off, the pirate left Peter standing undecided in the midst of the overturned islanders. Then, reasoning, as Roger had done, that where there were oyster shells there might also be pearls, Peter rushed out into the royal kitchen. Trays of freshly shelled peas and nuts, bowls of fresh oysters, clams and lobster meat, and plates of fruit without skins stood about, ready to be thrown away. The cook and his helper had been quickly pushed over by Ato, and the King and Roger were busily at work packing baskets and jars with oysters, clams, pared peaches, lobster meat and a quantity of unshelled vegetables they had discovered in the pantry. With little grunts and nods of satisfaction the former ruler of the Octagon Isle fell upon the eatables, stowing them into pails and hampers as if they had been the rarest of gems. Swallowing a few raw oysters and finishing

  off with a banana, Peter ran into the back courtyard and there, sure enough, were his pearls–– heaps,

  mounds, and shimmering masses of them - carelessly thrown out like paper or trash by the heedless inhabitants of the island. There were pearls enough to ransom a kingdom, a dozen kingdoms for that matter.

  “Great gollywockers!” gasped the boy, and snatching two pillow cases from a line stretched across the court, he began feverishly filling them with pearls. In two hot, tiresome trips he carried them down to the jollyboat. Each time he met one of the islanders he pushed him over and soon the air was full of their screams and outcries.

  “Shell barks!” Roger mischievously called them, as he flew past Peter on his way to the Crescent Moon with two pails and a picnic basket.

  “Where’s Samuel?” called Peter, who was growing rather tired of the racket the Shellbacks were making. Roger shook his head and shrugged his feathers, but just then a long hail from the beach sent the boy scurrying down to see what the pirate had found. There stood Samuel with two plump shelldrakes he had brought down with his gun, and a great heap of shells, small crabs, mollusks and sea weed.

  “Say, what do you want with that stuff?” teased Peter, as Samuel tenderly gathered up his treasures. “Why, I’ve got two great bags full of pearls and Ato’s found enough grub to last us for days!”

  “I’ve always been interested in conchology,” answered the pirate, dreamily fingering his shells, “and the flora and fauna on this island are extremely exotic.”

  “Ex-whatic?” coughed Peter, wrinking up his forehead. “Golly, Skipper, you ought to be an explorer or something like that.” The pirate nodded seriously and shouldering his wild ducks sent a long “Halloo” across the island.

  “We’ll have to shove off if we want to catch this wind,” he observed, holding up his hand critically. “Here’s Roger but I wonder what’s become of our cook? Let’s go up to the castle and hurry him along.” Walking carefully around the fallen islanders, they made their way quickly back to the shell castle and after a long hunt found Ato in the library simply surrounded by the Konk’s shell bound books.

  “I thought Roger could read these to us in the long winter evenings,” muttered Ato, looking up happily at them.

  “But it’s summer!” objected Peter with a laugh. “Oh, well, come along. I’ll help you carry them.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Samuel Salt counting out some gold pieces and jewels on the library table.

  “To pay for the books and supplies, I suppose,” chuckled Peter to himself. “Gosh! He is a funny pirate! I hope he doesn’t pay for the pearls for they were just plain thrown away.” Catching Peter’s eye, Samuel blushed guiltily and seizing a pile of books dashed out of the castle and ran all the way down to the jollyboat. In less than an hour they were all aboard the Crescent Moon, outward bound. Shell City was just a sparkling dot behind them.

  “Well,” mused the pirate, squinting thoughtfully up at the sun, “taken all in all ‘twas a pretty good haul, but maybe we should have turned those chaps over before we left.”

  “There were plenty of Shellbacks in the cottages to do that,” answered Peter, bringing the ship cleverly into the wind, for it was his turn at the wheel. “Gosh, Skipper, we forgot to capture any able-bodied seamen.”

  “Ah, well,” sighed the pirate, leaning back against a davit, “it’s cozier as it is, Pete. No crew to quarrel and bicker over treasure. No arguments. And what good would those half shells have been on deck? One roll and toss and they’d be flat on their backs hollering for help. Of course it does keep us all hustling, but I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a voyage like this one.”

  “Me, too!” agreed Peter. “And I don’t care how long it lasts, either. Mmm-mm! Roast duck! What time is it Samuel?”

  “Three bells!” boomed the pirate with a furious sniff. Hah! Ato may be a poor King but he’s certainly a rare cook.” Stimulated and inspired by the appetizing whiffs from the galley, where Ato and Roger were preparing supper, Samuel broke into an old sea chantey, beating out the measures with his pipe and singing so lustily that the very sails trembled and lifted with each line.

  “Ho, storm along, my bullies! where the waves roll high and free; Old Davey Jones can have his bones, But I shall have the sea!”

  “The sea!” crooned Peter cheerfully. He fixed his eye on the distant horizon and wondered what strange lands and adventures might lie beyond, whether they would be able to reach Oz, and how many of the Konk’s pearls he would be able to take back to Philadelphia with him.

  CHAPTER 10

  Meanwhile, in Ev-

  WHILE Peter and Samuel Salt, Ato and Roger were cruising off in the Crescent Moon, strange enough things were happening in Menankypoo. The morning after the buccaneers had made him chief, Ruggedo descended to find the pirates in absolute control of the city. They had already taken the gold and jewels from the treasury, ransacked the castle, and were now removing such furniture and ornaments as appealed to them to their red-sailed boat in the bay. At first the Gnome King was inclined to argue about his share of the treasure, but Clocker advised against it.

  “What difference does it make?” said the slip presented by the cuckoo, as the Wise Man struck ten. “When we reach the Emerald City we will destroy these pirates anyway and then in our own good time return for the ship. The thing to do now is to humor them, humor them and bide your time.” So Ruggedo, cleverly concealing his displeasure, pretended to fall in with their plans and after the pirates, under the direction of Binx and Peggo, had stored all the stuff worth taking aboard the Sea Lion, he called a council in the Yellow Courtyard.

  “The journey to Oz,” began the Gnome King, who had exchanged the crown of Menankypoo for the knotted kerchief of the pirates, “the journey to Oz is long and tedious, and before we undertake the trip, you who are seamen must learn to march and drill and stand up under the hardships of land fighting. So fall in we’ll do a practice stretch up the beach.

  Fall in and I’ll make you the finest fighting seamen Oz has ever known-regular Oz marines,” boasted Ruggedo, swelling out his chest.

  “Ha, ha!” rumbled Binx, winking at Peggo. “Listen to the little fighting cock, will you? But we have other plans, m
y hearty, and I for one am going to spend the day as I please, eating, arguing and sleeping in the garden. How about you, mates?”

  “Aye! Aye! That suits us,” yelled the pirates, and grinning and nudging one another they began to move off.

  “Stop!” shouted the Gnome King, by this time quite beside himself with anger. “How dare you talk to me like that? I am chief and captain of this band and I command you to fall in and march to the

  sea.”

  “You command us?” exclaimed Peggo, grinning down at the sputtering gnome. “Ho, ho, mates! He commands us! Ho! Dim my portlights, that’s too good!” Then, as Ruggedo began to stamp, yell and wave his arms, the pirate gave him a good-natured push. “Oh, go catch flies,” advised Peggo indulgently. “Go catch flies or frogs or knit yourself a sweater. We made you chief so you could show us the way to Oz. When we’re ready to start we’ll let you know. Now run along and don’t bother me.” Giving Ruggedo another shove, Peggo turned on his heel and with derisive shouts and chuckles the buccaneers din-appeared in the direction of the garden.

  “This is all your fault,” raged the Gnome King, shaking his fist at Clocker, who had stood

  quietly beside him during the whole performance. “We should have gone off by ourselves and never told them about Oz. Did you hear how they talked to me? To me the, the former Metal Monarch, the present King of Menankypoo and chief of the band! Billygoats and bottlebirds, if I just had my magic belt I’d turn them to pebbles and pitch them into the sea. I’d turn them to potatoes and boil them for supper. I’d-” There seemed no end to the things Ruggedo would do and with a bored yawn the Wise Man sat down on a bench and put his fingers in his ears. Realizing that there was nobody to listen to him, Ruggedo finally stopped scolding and lapsed into a sullen silence, waiting impatiently for Clocker to speak. Clocker was not in an especially good humor himself, for when he did strike the cuckoo screamed savagely eleven times and struck Ruggedo a sharp blow between the eyes. Then, thrusting the yellow paper on the Gnome King’s long nose, like a clerk sticks a letter on a file, it hurtled back to its little cupboard and slammed the door. Without waiting to see how Ruggedo would take his advice, Clocker started across the sand. Snatching the paper from his nose, and glaring at it with eyes that bulged with anger and indignation, Ruggedo read:

 

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