L. Frank Baum - Oz 25

by Pirates In Oz

  “Say, I didn’t know there were any polar regions around here,” called Peter. “Is there a North or South Pole in these waters, Roger’?”

  “Certainly,” coughed the Read Bird, dancing up and down on the cross piece to keep warm. “We must be near it, too, judging from this wind. Kachew! Br-rrr. It’s enough to freeze off a body’s feathers. Wake up your fat friend and send him below for the skipper. There’s another island t’luward.”

  “Where?” shouted Peter, for the wind had risen to a perfect gale.

  “Yonder!” squalled Roger, waving a skinny claw toward the east. “Yonder!”

  “Yonder Island.” Slowly Peter repeated the phrase to himself, for he rather liked the sound of it. “Maybe that is the name,” he reflected thoughtfully. “Hey, wake up, Pigasus!” He gave the pig a sharp prod with his foot. “Here’s an island and it looks good.”

  “To eat?” yawned the pig, opening one eye and rolling over on his back. After several more prods he opened the other eye and trotted sleepily off to summon the captain. Ato came with him, and first one and then the other surveyed the glittering expanse of land through Samuel’s binoculars.

  “We’ve plenty to eat and plenty to read, so why bother with the pesky place?” puffed Ato, blowing on his fingers and wrapping his arms up in his apron. “Let’s put about, Sammy, and let this island freeze along without us.”

  “But there may be a lot of interesting specimens there,” muttered Samuel, shaking his head till his gold earrings twinkled in the sunshine. “Luff my boy, luff! Here, give me the wheel.” Right willingly Peter let Samuel take his place, and hopping on Pigasus clapped his hands briskly together.

  “Ho, luff and luff, boys! Luff and luff!

  The wind is high and the sea is rough; Do you find this weather cold enough ?”

  Peter found himself singing out to the captain as Pigasus trotted up and down the deck to keep from freezing.

  “There’s a North Pole cat” called Roger in a hoarse voice, and Peter, jumping off the pig, rushed to the rail to see what on earth, or rather on the sea, Roger was talking about. Calmly riding the crest of the iceberg, which Samuel had just missed very skillfully,. was a huge polar bear and he looked condescendingly down at the boy as the iceberg swept past.

  “Pshaw, that’s not a North Pole cat,” exclaimed Peter, in a disappointed voice. “It’s a bear.”

  “Well, that’s what we call ‘em,” insisted Roger, coming down with a whir and flutter. “Ugh! Let the pig take my place for awhile. I’m frozen to the last feather.”

  “Come below and I’ll make you some good hot coffee,” wheezed Ato. “I’ll make us all some.

  If

  we ‘re to land on a frozen island we’d better be prepared. Come along, Pete. There’s a lot of heavy coats and caps in the fo’cas’l.”

  “Bring me a muffler and a couple of overcoats,” grunted Pigasus gloomily, and wiggling his ears he flew up into the rigging, making such a comical lookout that even Samuel Salt had to laugh. By the time Peter and Ato came back, the pirate had maneuvered the Crescent Moon alongside the sparkling island.

  Pigasus, very cold and blue about the snout, flew down from the mast, and he and Samuel

  thankfully drank the steaming mugs of coffee Ato had brought up to them. Then, donning the heavy coats and mufflers Peter had found, the whole party made ready to land. The King had wound a woolen scarf round and round the Read Bird’s neck, and with a pair of woolen mittens on his claws Roger looked funnier than a funny valentine. After vainly trying to fit his wings and legs into one of the overcoats, Pigasus wrapped himself in a blanket, and trailing it after him like a bride’s train waddled sadly after his shipmates. Lowering the jollyboat in that choppy, icy sea was no easy task but at last it was managed. With all hands aboard, Samuel Salt pulled strongly for the share. The island was completely covered with snow and Samuel brought the jollyboat so close that

  it was possible to step right out on the island itself.

  Ato, the first to land, took one step and disappeared. Peter, who had jumped gaily after the King, also disappeared, and Samuel Salt and Pigasus had no sooner set foot on the island than they, too, sank immediately and absolutely out of sight.

  “Help! Help! Where are you?” wailed Roger, circling wildly over the four jagged holes. Touching the ground fearfully with one mitten, the Read Bird gave a frightened squawk.

  “Why, it’s snow!” blubbered Roger brokenheartedly. “‘S’no island at all! They’re drowned, frozen and sunk forever. Oh! Oh! Oh!” Now, as Roger-indeed, as all of them, by this time-had discovered, the island was but a blanket of snow floating treacherously on top of the icy ocean. The crew of the Crescent Moon, plunging instantly through the top crust had very nearly sunk to the bottom. Peter was the first to come up. Gasping and choking he floundered about, and Roger, though not nearly strong enough to pull him out, jerked him by the hair and shoulders and shed tears of relief and thankfulness on his head. Finally Peter reached the edge and managed to swim to the boat and drag himself aboard. Samuel Salt, looking more like a sea lion than a pirate emerged next and puffing and blowing through his frozen whiskers looked frantically around for the King. Pigasus, once he rose to the surface, spread his wet wings, and squeaking with chill and displeasure flew straight back to the ship. Ato, the heaviest of all, was the last to appear. With icicles forming on his nose and beard he clawed his way through the waves desperately and swallowed nearly a barrel of the Nonestic Ocean before the pirate, Peter and Roger managed to haul him to safety.

  “Well, Sammy,” choked the King, sinking in a wet and exhausted heap on the bottom of the boat, “I hope you’re satisfied. Choo, choo, kachoo! We’ve doubtless picked up some fine specimens of bronchitis, pneumonia and rheumatism!” Breaking the icicle from his nose, Ato regarded the pirate as severely as his chattering teeth would permit, and Samuel, making indistinct noises that may have been sympathy or may have been salt water mixed with coughing, seized the oars and pulled vigorously for the Crescent Moon. Roger’s wings had frozen to his sides and a more miserable bird it would have been hard to discover. Without a word and more dead than alive, the explorers crawled up the ladder and made a beeline for the galley. Pigasus, sensible creature that he was, had set the coffee pot on the fire. Already thawed out and comfortable, he helped the pirates out of their wet and frozen garments. After changing into dry ones they gathered gratefully around the stove, consuming vast quantities of scalding coffee and biscuits left over from dinner. After the twentieth biscuit and fifth mug of coffee, Samuel Salt went up on deck and with great satisfaction the company below felt the great ship swing round and head for the south and warmer waters.

  “Snow Island,” scolded Roger, taking a huge bite out of his biscuit, “is snow place for pirates.”

  “Snow place for me; snow place for you;

  It shivered my liver and tonsils, too!”

  added Peter, who for the moment sat on Pigasus.

  “Ha, ha! That pig’s a caution,” roared Ato, who was warm by this time and quite cheerful again. “If I were not so fat I’d ride him myself.”

  “He makes you talk nothing but nonsense,” sniffed the Read Bird, fluttering his wings to see if they were completely thawed. Peter chuckled as he jumped off the pig’s back.

  “But such nice nonsense,” he smiled, giving Pigasus such an affectionate pat that his ears waved and his little pink tail curled with pleasure and gratification.

  CHAPTER 15

  Mount Up

  THERE was a stiff breeze blowing and the Crescent Moon, skimming the waves like a great white sea bird, sped swiftly toward the south, coming at evening to a strange and mysterious island. It rose like a mountain out of the sea and was so steep and craggy that Ato groaned at the mere thought of going ashore.

  “Let’s not notice it” shuddered the ship’s cook, averting his eyes from the forbidding mass of rock and sandstone. “Let’s anchor here for the night and sail by in the morning. We should be headed f
or Ev, anyway, if we ever intend to catch up with my ship, and I don’t believe we’ll ever find yours, Samuel.” “I’m afraid you’re right,” agreed the pirate gloomily. “That lubber, Binx, has probably run the Sea Lion aground by this time.”

  “Well, what will you do if you never find them?” inquired Peter, who liked to get things settled.

  “Oh, I’ll just cruise around and do a little exploring,” said Samuel. “Couldn’t wish for pleasanter sailing than we’ve had this voyage. How about you fellows cruising with me?” he proposed hopefully. “I’ll stay if we don’t find the Octopus,” promised Ato promptly. I like the life and I’m growing fonder of cooking than kinging.”

  “If Ato stays, I’ll stay, too,” chirped Roger, looking affectionately at his master. “He needs somebody to look after him and read out the recipes.” “If Peter stays, I’ll stay,” grunted Pigasus, resting his chin on Peter’s knee.

  “Boy! I’d like to,” exclaimed Peter, rubbing the pig’s ears thoughtfully. ‘“But my grandfather must be worried about me, and pretty soon I’ll have to be getting back to the team. We’ve some stiff games on this month. I’ll hate to leave this ship, but I guess we had better start for Ev, Skipper. Then I’ll travel on to the Emerald City and ask Ozma to send me back to Philadelphia.”

  “And what about me?” inquired Pigasus in an injured voice.

  “Oh, you can stay in the Emerald City with Ozma,” Peter assured him hastily. “You are so interesting and clever she’ll be glad to have you ‘round.” “He’s round all right,” muttered Roger. “A pig in a palace. Ho! They’ll put ribbons in your ears and make you wear a bib, Pinky, dear.” “Don’t listen to him, he’s only teasing,” whispered Peter, putting his arm around Pigasus. “You’ll like it awfully.”

  “Well, then, it’s all settled!” With a regretful sigh the pirate looked at Peter. “In the morning we sail for Ev.” But in the morning there was not even the vestige of a breeze, and the Crescent Moon, idle and motionless, rested in the shadow of the great sea mountain and all day her crew waited impatiently for her sails to lift or stir. But the wind had died down utterly.

  “We may be here for months” prophesied the pirate, who was taking this opportunity to sort and label his various specimens. “Once, off the Jalacasco Islands, I was becalmed a year and seven

  days.”

  “A year!” cried Peter, in genuine consternation and dismay. “Golly, can’t we do something about it? Why, if I stay away a year my grandfather will think I’m dead and the fellows will make Billy Hastings captain of the team.” Samuel shook his head soberly and Peter, feeling extremely annoyed and uneasy, paced up and down the deck. Next day was as calm as the one before and each hour Peter grew more impatient and restless. A month or even a year seemed a small matter to Samuel Salt and to

  Ato. Dwelling as they did in a magic country they would live on for centuries, but to Peter such a delay seemed a positive calamity. “Mind if I go ashore?” he asked, soon after the noon meal on the second day. “It will help pass the time and maybe something will turn up while I’m gone.”

  “I’ll carry you over,” offered Pigasus obligingly, as Samuel looked doubtfully at Ato.

  “And I’ll go along to see that nothing happens,” volunteered Roger, who wanted to stretch his wings. “And I’ll fly back for help if any is needed.” “Well, in that case I see no harm in it,” murmured the King, from where he was sitting on a pickle keg beating up a cake batter. “But it would be silly for Sammy and me to climb that mountain, and the pig can’t carry us all.”

  “You bet I can’t!” snorted Pigasus, flapping his ears vigorously. “Hop up, Peter, and mind you keep a hot supper for us, Cooky, dear. flying gives me a dreadful appetite.”

  “So long fellow pirates and shipmates, goodbye!

  No mountain’s a mountain to folks who can fly,”

  called Peter, as Pigasus rose like an animated pink sausage into the air.

  “Do I have to listen to that stuff all afternoon?” grunted Roger who had no difficulty in keeping up with the flying pig. Peter grinned, for it was fun o have your thoughts put in verse, especially when you never knew just how they would turn out.

  “Let’s start at the bottom and fly to the top,

  And when we see something we want to see, stop,”

  suggested Peter next.

  “Yes, that is a clever idear, dear,” hummed the pink pig, glancing mischievously back at Peter.

  “Don’t you dare call me dear, or I’ll box your pink ear,”

  retorted Peter sharply, as the Read Bird burst into a series of hilarious screeches. By this time they had come to the foot of the mountain. A large flag fluttered from a pole set among the rocks.

  MOUNT UP

  announced the flag in crimson letters.

  “Mount Up?” read Roger, squinting hard at the red letters. ‘Well, I’m a bowlegged sailor!” “I’m glad we don’t have to mount up Mount Up,” panted the pink pig, his tongue hanging out from he exertion of flying. “I’d rather float up.”

  “So would I, so would I; Up Mount up let us fly!”

  urged Peter, who was curious to know whether anyone lived on the wild and desolate heights of the sea mountain. So Pigasus, keeping close to the rocks, began to fly slowly upward. For a time it seemed that Mount Up was uninhabited, but as hey came nearer to the summit a quaint and curious country spread out below them. Its name, spelled out on the mountain side in a series of bubbling fountains, was Cascadia and its people were entirely formed of water. Gaily they poured themselves down over the rocks headfirst and recklessly. Then, when they had gone down as far as they wished, they would jet up in a sparkling fountain to the top and start cascading all over again. As Pigasus flew lower so Peter could see better, a ripple of mirth ran through the crowd and bubbling over with interest and friendliness, the Cascadians waved and shouted at the travellers and sprayed them with a shower of water.

  “That’s a wet way to spend your life,” scoffed Roger, shaking his feathers fretfully. “Falling up and down a mountain. Huh! Not for me!” “Oh, it wouldn’t be so bad if you were made like they are,” observed the pig, flying out of range as a group of Cascadians hurled themselves upward.

  “Why all this water fallin’, This splash and dash and spray? Do you really like to waterfall And cataract that way?”

  inquired Peter, and then burst into a laugh at his own verses.

  “Of course! Of course!” gushed a waterman in a moist whisper. “What could be grander than sliping and sliding down a mountain?”

  “Lots of things! Lots of things!” challenged Roger, flapping his wings scornfully. “But we haven’t time to explain them. Won’t Ato enjoy hearing about these Cascadians?” he chuckled, settling happily on Peter’s shoulder. “And I must remember that last verse you made, too. He’ll love that.”

  “Please don’t forget that I am responsible for the verses,” Pigasus reminded him jealously. “Not a stanza could he make if he were not riding on my back. Hello! Here we are at the top. Shall I fly over,

  or come down?”

  “Come down, Pigasus, down and whoa ! we’ll look around before we go,”

  directed Peter. As the pink pig set all four feet on the ground, Peter tumbled hastily off his back. “It makes you feel kinda funny spouting poetry all the time,” he confessed in a low voice to Roger. “Pretty good view from here, isn’t it?” “I’ve seen worse,” conceded Roger, perching on a boulder. “Our ship looks like a toy boat.”

  “Here’s an eagle’s nest” exclaimed Peter, and sure enough, resting on three crooked stones there an eagle’s nest with one egg in it. Picking up the egg, which was large and unusually heavy, Peter was astonished to see written on one side:

  DO NOT BREAK!

  “Why, this can’t be a real eagle’s egg,” said Peter, carrying the egg over to the Read Bird. “Real eggs don’t have writing on them. And why shouldn’t I break it if I feel like it?” “It might be a bad egg,” chattered Roger nervously,
“a big ba-ad egg. Better not meddle with it. Great Goosefeathers! Now see what you’ve done!” Without really intending to, as he let it slide from hand to hand, Peter dropped the egg on the rocks and with a tremendous bang it exploded, filling the air with smoke, fire and brimstone, for it was, as Roger had hinted, a very bad egg indeed. Not only that, but the ground beneath their feet began to rock and tremble violently.

  “Run! Fly! Where’s that pig?” screamed

  Roger, hurling himself into the air. Pigasus had already flown out of danger’s way and rushing to the edge of the mountain Peter clasped his arms around a tree and closed his eyes. With a jolt that nearly uprooted the tree, the whole center of Mount’ Up shot into the air, and when Peter ventured to look around a monstrous head was sticking out of the hole.

  “Who broke that egg?” roared the owner of the head, the largest, ugliest ogre Peter had ever seen outside of a story book. For a moment he was too petrified to answer. Then, seeing that Pigasus was flying bravely to help him, he took courage and shouted defiantly:

  “I did!”

  “Well, good for you!” roared the ogre in such a loud voice that Peter was flattened against the tree trunk. “You have not only broken the egg, but the enchantment that shut me up in this mountain. Ha! In two shakes and a kick I’ll be out of here and on my way home. But tell me first what I can do to repay you.” Peter’s hair stood on end at the mere thought of the giant kicking his way out of the mountain and he wondered sympathetically what would become of the Cascadians when he did.