Prince Forge John of Fire Island
Before Grampa and his little company had recovered from the shock of
winding down instead of up, the strange stairway gathered itself
together, and, with a sudden jerk, shook them all off.
“Break ranks!” roared the old soldier, kicking out wildly with his game
leg.
“I don’t want to break my ranks,” said Bill crossly. Tatters and Urtha
were too startled to say anything and for a few seconds they simply fell
in surprised silence. The hollow down which they were tumbling was wide
and dimly lighted with a soft, spooky glow. The air was thick and heavy
and they were falling much slower than Grampa and Tatters had fallen
down the hollow tree. First fell Urtha, her flowery skirts fluttering
gracefully around her; then fell Tatters, clinging to Bill with one arm
and his red umbrella with the other; then the old soldier, his gun,
drum, sword and knapsack rattling like a box full of marbles.
“I feel exactly like a butterfly. Are we flying, dear Mr Soldier?”
laughed the flower maiden presently.
“No, my poor child,” puffed Grampa, staring down at her anxiously.
“We’re falling!”
“Falling asleep?” asked Urtha contentedly.
“Depends on how we land,” groaned the old soldier, and suddenly
remembering his last landing he snatched the wizard’s medicine bottle
from his pocket.
“Is there anything on the label about falling?” panted Tatters, who was
close enough to notice the old soldier’s action. Grampa held the bottle
close to his eyes, and though reading while falling is one of the
hardest things I know of to do, after a deal of squinting the old
soldier read out the following: “For falling hairs, one drop in full
glass of water!”
“But we’re not hares,” wheezed Bill indignantly.
“And if our hair stopped falling and we fell on, we’d be scalped!”
puffed Grampa hoarsely. “Besides there isn’t any water, so there’s
nothing to do but fall!”
“Stormy weather! Stormy weather!” predicted Bill gloomily. “Look out
below, look out, look out, look out!” As the weather cock came to his
last look out, the air grew suddenly lighter, the speed of the four
fallers increased and next thing, with a great splash and splutter, they
had plunged into a deep underground lake. Blowing like a porpoise,
Grampa rose to the surface.
“One drop in water,” choked the old soldier and, treading water
furiously, he began to look around for his little army. In the dim green
light he could see Urtha floating like a tiny island of flowers on the
top of the water—her fine spray of hair spread out ’round her lovely
little face. A short distance away Tatters was making frantic efforts to
keep afloat but, with the iron weather cock and the enormous umbrella,
it was a difficult business and every few minutes the poor Prince of
Ragbad would disappear under the waves. Grampa himself, handicapped as
he was by a game leg and so many weapons, found swimming a dreadful
exertion and by the time he reached Tatters he was completely exhausted.
He still grasped the wizard’s bottle in one hand.
“Wet—very wet!” The head of Bill appeared above the water and then went
under, as Tatters took another dive toward the bottom.
“Grampa, I’m drowning!” gulped the poor Prince, reappearing for a
second on the surface. It never occurred to the Prince to drop Bill or
his father’s umbrella. Grampa himself had shipped so much water he had
no breath to speak, but he flung his hand out desperately toward the
Prince and, as luck would have it, it was the hand holding the wizard’s
medicine.
“D—don’t drown!” begged Grampa, his eye fixed desperately on the green
label. “Wait, there’s a cure for it.” Treading water again, he clutched
Tatters by the hair and pressed the bottle to his lips. “One swallow and
you’ll swim like a fish,” promised Grampa.
“My head’s swimming already,” muttered Tatters weakly. It was all the
Prince could do to get the stuff down, for he had swallowed quarts of
the lake already. Grampa was so interested in watching the effects of
the dose that he forgot to move his feet and went down himself. But just
as the water closed over his head he put the wizard’s bottle to his own
lips, took a hasty mouthful and jammed in the cork. Immediately he
bobbed to the surface and, with a great sigh of relief, saw Tatters
floating on top of the waves, Bill perched precariously upon his chest.
Grampa felt as buoyant as a cork and, using his gun as an oar, steered
toward Tatters and Urtha and soon all three were bobbing along side by
side.
“This medicine’s the only good thing that wizard ever invented,” said
Grampa, sticking the bottle through his belt. “Feeling better, old boy?”
Tatters shook his head feebly. He could not help thinking how far out of
their way they had fallen, and how very far they were from the Emerald
City and even from Ragbad itself. He blinked hastily at the thought of
Mrs Sew-and-Sew and the cozy red castle on the hill, and he hoped Pudge
had remembered to feed his pigeons. Tatters himself never expected to
see them again. Only Urtha seemed really to be enjoying the adventure.
Her little flower face was wreathed in smiles and her lovely flower
frock fairly sparkled with freshness.
“Isn’t this fun!” she kept repeating merrily. “Isn’t this fun?” Grampa
nodded, but not very enthusiastically.
“Do you think we’ll ever get back on top again?” asked Tatters gloomily.
“Of course,” spluttered Grampa. “We’ve fallen down about as far as we
can fall and from now on things will take an upward turn, you see.
Hello, this water’s kinda hot! Great swordfish, what’s that noise?”
“The fortune! The fortune!” shrieked Bill, jumping up and down upon
Tatters’ thin chest and ducking the Prince at every jump. “The
fortune!”
With a great effort, Grampa sat up in the water, which was already
beginning to steam, and then fell backward with a terrific splash.
“Halt!” commanded Grampa, trying to push against the current with his
sword. “Stop! Halt!” A great roaring was in their ears and the green
light had changed to a red hot glow. Now Tatters sat up. Then he, too,
began to kick wildly about in an effort to stop himself. And no wonder!
They were being carried straight toward a roaring red island of fire!
“The fortune! The fortune!” screeched Bill, more excited than ever.
“Fortune!” groaned Grampa, reaching out to catch Urtha, who was
floating rapidly past. “Misfortune! Halt! Stop! Everybody back!”
“Better stop backing and look on that bottle,” gulped the Prince of
Ragbad. “Better see if there’s any cure for—for this!” He waved
desperately ahead. And Grampa, with a little choke of fright, pulled out
the wizard’s medicine. “Burns, scalds and heat strokes,” faltered
Grampa. “Well, we’d better take the cure for all three. A teaspoonful
was prescribed in each case and with trembling hands the old soldier
measured out the doses. Bill could not swallow, so the old soldier
dashed the medicine over his head.”
“I think you’re a fairy,” puffed Grampa, throwing a dose in the face of
the surprised little flower girl, “but if anything should happen I’d
never forgive myself.” Tatters came next and by this time the water was
so hot that Grampa himself began to groan with discomfort. So he hastily
swallowed his three spoonfuls, corked the bottle and prepared for the
worst. But immediately everything grew better. The waves of heat from
the island seemed only pleasant breezes now and the steaming water did
not even feel hot. Before they had time to wonder at all this, they were
washed up on the burning sands of Fire Island itself.
“Is it the fortune?” asked Bill, hopping out of Tatters’ arms. “You said
land—or gold, and this is a golden land.”
Grampa was too dazed to answer. Finding himself completely fire proof
was strange enough, but actually walking on an island of fire seemed
unbelievable.
“Wonder what Pudge would say to this,” mused Grampa, as Tatters rushed
over to his side. Urtha was already dancing about on the glowing sands
as happily as she had danced in the wizard’s garden.
“Here come the firemen!” cried Prince Tatters, and rather anxiously the
old soldier turned to meet the islanders. The people of Fire Island were
as interesting and unusual as their island, being entirely of red and
blue flames, and so light upon their feet they fairly flashed about over
the glowing rocks.
“Shall I fall on their heads?” inquired Bill. “Is it a fight?”
“No,” answered Grampa, squinting a bit from the glare, “I believe
they’re friendly.” And the old soldier was right, for as the Fire
Islanders came nearer they waved their arms gaily and seemed delighted
with the unusual appearance of their visitors. A little ahead of the
others strode a tall man, who was made entirely of glowing, red hot
iron. Except for this fact, he might have been any village blacksmith
and his face was so round and jolly that Tatters immediately took heart.
“Prince Forge John the First!” called two small flame pages, as the
Fire Monarch reached the party on the beach. Prince Forge John bowed,
Grampa saluted, Bill crowed and Urtha—breaking off a flowery spray from
her skirts—held it out prettily to the ruler of Fire Island.
“What a charming little fairy!” cried Prince Forge John in his hot
crackling voice. “And you,” he turned pleased eyes upon Grampa and
Tatters, “how brave you look, and _it_,” with a wave at the weather
cock, “how beautiful it is—all of splendid iron!”
“Thanks,” crowed Bill. “I’m useful, too. If you will tell me where to
find the head, the Princess and the fortune, I’ll tell you which way the
wind blows. Head? Fortune? Princess?” finished Bill, as if he were
repeating a lesson.
Prince Forge John looked so confused at this speech that Grampa stepped
forward and hastily explained all that had happened since King Fumbo had
lost his head, ending up with the wizard’s garden, the discovery of
Urtha and their fortunate use of Gorba’s medicine.
“H-m!” mused Prince Forge John, rubbing his iron chin. “So you’re
seeking the head of this lad’s father and the lad himself seeks a
fortune and a Princess? Well, I have not seen the King’s head, but the
Prince may stay here with us, marry one of our Fire Maidens and make a
fortune in the fire works. There’s many a fortune been snatched from the
fire. How would you like that, my boy?”
“Yes, do stay and marry me,” cried one of the little flame maidens,
running impulsively up to the Prince.
“You are so odd and you look so interesting!” Tatters looked terribly
embarrassed, for he was fearful that the maiden would scorch his nose.
“I—I must find my father’s head first,” stuttered the Prince, backing
away uneasily, “and if your Majesty could tell us of a way back to Oz—”
Tatters bowed again and looked appealingly at Grampa.
“Well, you might go up in smoke,” suggested Prince Forge John slowly. “I
think, myself, that this wizard’s medicine will wear off presently and
then you’ll all burn up.”
“Oh,” groaned the old soldier, snatching out his handkerchief, “why do
you think such terrible thoughts?”
“Would it hurt?” breathed Urtha, who hated to see anyone unhappy.
“Is there no fire escape?” choked Tatters, with bulging eyes.
Prince Forge John shook his head. “I’d like to help you,” he murmured
gravely, “but you are so strangely made I don’t see how I can. Better
just stay on here. Burning’s not so bad and I think you’d burn a long
time.” Several of the Fire Islanders nodded as the Prince said this, but
Grampa and Tatters could find no consolation in such a prospect.
“And marching North seemed _so_ easy!” wailed poor Tatters, leaning
heavily on his red umbrella.
“Never mind,” sighed the old soldier, “I’ll think of something else.
Let’s jump back in the water,” he proposed brightly.
“But if the medicine wears off boiling would be just as bad as burning,”
objected Tatters, with a little shudder.
“That’s so,” admitted Grampa. “It seems, my boy, that every cup of soup
has at least one fly!”
“There’s a fly on your nose,” screeched Bill, hopping up and down. And
so there was—a saucy little fire fly. There were fire flies
everywhere—darting here and there among the fire flowers and over the
fields of waving fire weeds.
“Better stay,” repeated Prince Forge John hospitably. “Anyway let us
show you a bit of the island.”
Grampa nodded, for he did not know what else to do, and so he and the
others followed sadly after the Prince and his cortege. There were no
houses on Fire Island, but each flame family had its own open fire
place. Between stretched meadows of clear blue flame and many beautiful
gardens, where, from flowing beds of red hot coals, lovely fire flowers
arose.
The stems were of green flame, the tops of yellow, blue and red. The
Prince picked a bouquet of these strange posies for Urtha and, to
Grampa’s surprise, the fire flowers neither burned the little flower
girl nor went out in her hands.
If it had not been for the dreadful thought of burning up that hung over
them, the old soldier and Tatters might have enjoyed their trip across
the island. But as it was they got little pleasure from it. Even Prince
Forge John’s fire works, where all the hearth fires and kitchen fires
are manufactured and the Fourth of July roman candles and sparklers are
made, aroused in them no enthusiasm. When they reached the other side of
the island, the Prince offered each member of the party a box of fire
crackers for refreshments and this made Grampa smile in spite of his
worry.
“No use setting ourselves off before our time!” chuckled the old
soldier, handing them back with a bow. The Prince looked a little hurt,
but he and the rest of his company ate up their fire crackers with
relish and after Prince Forge John had finished his sixteenth box he had
a sudden idea.
“I’ve thought of a way to save you,” cried Prince Forge John, fairly
crackling with pleasure. “You can just go to Blazes!”
“What?” shouted Grampa, who, being in the army, thought he was insulted.
“Yes,” repeated Forge John calmly. “You must go to Blazes. See that dark
house across the waters there? Well, you’ll find him on the other side
of that.”
Grampa shaded his eyes and, looking across the green, sulphurous waters
surrounding Fire Island, made out a great tower of Darkness. It was
quite easy to see, for every other place was lighted with the ruddy glow
from the island.
“Fetch the boat,” ordered the Prince briskly, and while Grampa and
Tatters were still gazing in stupefaction at the tower, several of the
fire men began shoving an iron boat down the beach. Unceremoniously
Forge John took them by the arms and helped them in. To tell the truth,
he was growing sleepy and anxious to be rid of these singular visitors.
“The flower fairy may stay,” he yawned graciously, but Urtha had no such
intention. Gently disengaging herself from a group of the fire maidens,
she ran after the boat and sprang lightly in beside Tatters.
“What do you mean? Where are we going? Hold on here!” blustered the old
soldier. But Prince Forge John merely waved his firm arms and the two
fire men began to row away as fast as they could.
“Good-bye,” called the Prince, with another yawn. “I’m sorry you
wouldn’t stay and burn with us.”
“We’re going to blazes, to blazes, to blazes!” crowed Bill, who had
flown up into the bow of the boat.
“That’s right,” crackled the flame man nearest to Tatters. “He’ll soon
send you up.”
“But who—who is Blazes?” asked the Prince of Ragbad, stretching out both
his hands imploringly.
“The keeper of the volcano,” answered the second rower, looking at
Tatters intently.
“Lightning, thunder, hot winds and earthquakes!” crowed the weather
cock wildly.
Grampa flopped hopelessly into the bottom of the boat.