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[Illustration:
STAR PEOPLE AND THE JANE ELLEN
]
STAR PEOPLE
BY
KATHARINE FAY DEWEY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
FRANCES B. COMSTOCK
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
=The Riverside Press Cambridge=
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY KATHARINE FAY DEWEY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published October 1910_
TO THREE LITTLE KATHARINES
_Oh, Katharines three,
Come sail with me
Where the ship of my Fancy flies!
We’ll wander free
Over land and sea,
Then sail away to the skies._
_If I were a star,
So far—so far—
From this Earth where the children dwell,
My twinkliest beam
For that ship should gleam;
And my truest secret I’d tell
To the eyes that look
Through fancy.—No book
Nor telescope serves so well._
CONTENTS
I. THE PRINCESS AND THE OTHERS 1
_Introduces some people in Garden and Sky.
Meet them now if you like, or come back by and by._
II. THE SAILOR’S STAR 11
_Tells how the Jane Ellen sailed far o’er the sea;
Found a rock, built a ladder, and pleased Little B._
III. THE COMET AND THE POLE STAR 42
_On the sands of the seashore you learn what befell
A bad little Comet.—Oh, it punished him well!_
IV. OLD SOL’S MENAGERIE 65
_The cages are safe, though you can’t see the bars;
The Zodiac Circus,—Performers all Stars!_
V. MAJOR 80
_Here comes a great Wagon. Ahoy! Who goes there?
Did some one say, “Dipper”? Why!—’tis you, Mr. Bear!_
VI. THE BEE BABY 98
_Were I seeking a spot that was safe for a babe, or
To build me a cot, and would not lose my labor,
I would not choose Xyntli, myself, for a neighbor!_
VII. LADY MOON’S LANTERN 127
_Rise, rise, Lady Moon! Soar high,—sail over!—
Where is Bee Baby now? Shall I discover?_
VIII. ANDROMEDA’S BIRTHDAY 133
_Meteors are ripe! A touch makes them fly.
I suspect there’ll be doings to-night in the Sky._
IX. A SURPRISE PARTY 149
_It was all Little Bear: (though they all said they all
knew it!)
But for him they’d have paid no attention at all to it._
X. TRAVELERS’ TALES 171
_Tip-top o’ the hill!—There’s the fit starting-place
For a highflier journey through direful Space!_
XI. TORQUILLON’S LAIR 192
_His spirit was selfish, his ways impolite.
Hey! Ships and Star People! Ye made a brave fight!_
EPILOGUE 230
ILLUSTRATIONS
Star People and the Jane Ellen _Frontispiece_
They watched with her 4
Tom Green’s Chanty 26
Everybody watched him go up and up 30
“Oh, dear Taffy, let _me_ take care of the Sailor’s
Star” 38
Draco 46
A more rascally comet you wouldn’t care to see 50
Orion 56
Orion’s Dogs and Little Bear 64
“Shall we not walk together, sir?” 70
Cassiopeia 76
“Why, I thought you were a wagon,” he said, “but where
are your hortheth?” 86
Andromeda 98
They thought only of their flight 116
His wondering eyes looked from Lady Moon’s shoulder 124
The small round shadow passed on across the bright
lantern of the moon 130
Three Orions couldn’t have stopped them 146
Little Bear stopped by the bush 154
He found Merope sitting alone 180
The sisters were dancing—the very prettiest and most
twirly of the “Sailor’s Knots” 190
Down the channel he came flying 210
Standing lightly on the yards, high, high in the air,
the twin brothers Castor and Pollux 216
STAR PEOPLE
I
THE PRINCESS AND THE OTHERS
So they came to the place where the Princess was. And when they looked
down there were treetops—
But that is not a proper beginning when nobody knows who they were or
anything about it.
There were four of them,—the Princess and three Others.
What the Princess’s name was isn’t to be told, and she was not a real
princess. But that made no difference to the Others. She was the most
wonderful person they knew, and everything a princess should be, and
they loved her loyally.
The Others were called Prudence, Pat, and the Kitten; but the true name
of each one of them was the true name of the Princess,—that isn’t to be
told and doesn’t matter.
Prudence was the oldest, and very wise. (That was why she was Prudence,
but more often the Princess said, “Miss Phyllis-y.”) She had brown eyes,
clear and steady, and short hair. There was a perky little lock on one
side of the middle of her forehead that reminded the Princess of a
question mark. She was small and looked years younger than she was, and
that made her funny when she was so sagacious.
Pat was the tallest and the most impatient. (So they called her
“Patience”—because she wasn’t!—and shortened it to Pat.) She talked with
her eyebrows; and sometimes they would fairly frighten you if you didn’t
know she couldn’t do it! Her hair was braided and tied tight, but
usually a good deal of it escaped and ruffled before it reached the
braids. She was over nine and Miss Phyllisy was not far from twelve, and
they considered the Kitten extremely young,—which the Kitten didn’t
deny. She was young, and she had other kitten-tricks,—like coming and
sitting on a person’s knee without being invited when she wanted to, and
other times being very independent and going her own ways; and she made
soft little songs for herself,—that didn’t begin or end any more than a
real kitten’s,—and purring sounds instead of talking when she was
pleased. But she could talk faster than countless kittens when there was
any occasion for it.
That is who they were. And any one can fancy how they were frisking
about in the garden and out,—and the nearer it grew to bedtime, the
farther they kept from the house; and how they trailed up the crooked
path on the side of the hill,—the Kitten following along, making a song
for herself,—and finally came to the farthest, high, wild lookout place,
with a railing at the edge overlooking the dark treetops. And there they
found the Princess watching pale little stars coming out in the light
sky.
The Kitten didn’t come close until she was ready, and then she
immediately cuddled up, sleepy; but the Others went straight to the
Princess. She put her arm around them and they leaned against her, but
they didn’t talk, they watched with her. And more stars came out where
they looked steadily, and others came where they didn’t look, more than
they could count, all silent, to look back at them. And the Princess was
smiling to herself.—
But that didn’t suit Pat very long, it made her uneasy. First she
puckered her eyebrows, but nobody saw her; then she sighed, but nobody
noticed; then she spoke,—“What _are_ you looking at?”
The Princess still looked, but she squeezed with her arm. “Some people I
know. Friends of a friend of mine.”
Pat didn’t understand, so she grew wary (that was one of her ways). She
twitched her shoulder, but she wouldn’t be the next to speak—unless it
were too long!
“What people, Dearie?” asked Prudence, when they had waited a minute and
the Princess didn’t speak again.
“Most illustrious, highly exalted. A king and a queen, a royal dragon,
and an indispensable little bear—wonderfolk,” ended the Princess, as if
that explained it.
“You’re looking at the stars,” said Pat-who-would-n’t-be-imposed-upon.
“Star People, Pat. Can you guess now?”
“I think I can, Dearie. But you tell,” said Prudence.
The Princess took her arm away so she could point with it, and she put
her head down beside a dreadfully scowling little girl’s, so they could
look along and off the end of the same finger. It pointed where five
stars made a zigzag in the sky. She pointed to one after another.
[Illustration:
THEY WATCHED WITH HER
]
“Look like a ‘W,’ don’t they, Pat?—But there’s another star—very
pale—and another off here. Now, see—tipped up—so—Isn’t that a pretty
good chair? How would you like to sit there and overlook things?”
“Cassiopeia wouldn’t let her,” said Prudence. “That’s Cassiopeia’s
Chair, Pat. She doesn’t allow any one to sit in it.”
“I don’t want to.” Pat spoke in a loud whisper.
“That is where you’re mistaken, Miss Phyllisy,” said the Princess. “She
wouldn’t mind a bit. But she is sitting there herself, this minute.”
“Really, Princess? I didn’t know that!”
“Did you ever see her out of it?” (Miss Phyllisy giggled.) “There is one
of the stars on her most loftical head. Do you see it?”
“Who said it was that?” asked Pat. Her manner was a trifle threatening,
but she was ready to be friends.
“Said what?”
“Cas—what you called it. Why did you call it that?”
“Cassiopeia’s Chair? That is what it was named long and long ago.”
“Long as Ancients?” (The Princess knew all about the Ancients,—several
kinds of them. She knew everything.)
“Long as that,” she answered. “They’re the very ones who named the Star
People for us, saw the figures in the stars, and gave them the names of
their own gods and heroes, animals,—all sorts of queer things. Useful
lives they led, those Star People, ever after.”
“How were they useful?” asked Phyllisy.
“To the sailors, Beloveds, most of all, or any one who wants to find his
way where there’s nothing on Earth to guide him. In the middle of the
most vastest ocean or the most widest plain, all they have to do is to
look up and see where the Star People are; then they’ll know where they
are themselves, and where to go to be somewhere else. Of course the Star
People can’t help any one who doesn’t know them,” she added.
“We don’t. We could be lost any time,” said Pat.
“You might have been once, but not after this. There’s a whole Royal
Family right before your eyes now: Queen Cassiopeia on her throne and
King Cepheus beside her and their pretty daughter, Andromeda.—That is
one of Cepheus’ stars—and there’s another.” The Princess drew lines with
her finger from the stars of the big “W” to the ones they wanted to
find. And the Others picked them out, passing from star to star like
crossing a brook, jumping from stone to stone. There were different
colors, too, to help them. The Princess saw them plainly,—red stars and
blue and yellow, and never before had the Others seen anything but all
alike and plain shining. At first they believed it only because the
Princess said so; then they began to see it themselves, but it was still
too light to see very well. And they found a few stars of Andromeda.
“There is a beautiful young hero who belongs with them,” said the
Princess. “He’s down below the treetops now; he will come up later. He
is Perseus,—the Rescuer. He helped the Cassiopeia family out of terrible
trouble when they were all Earth People.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Phyllisy. “Perseus-and-the-Gorgon?”
“No less. A friend of yours, Miss Phyllisy?”
Miss Phyllisy nodded, and Pat twisted her eyebrow.
“Well,—she’s eleven and nine months, and I’m only nine and seven
months,” she said, just as if she were arguing something.
“I only happened to, Pat,” said Phyllisy.
“She’ll tell you some time; then you’ll know him too,” said the
Princess. “I want to show you somebody splendid. Tip your heads up. Do
you see four stars that make a long diamond,—three brighter and one not
so bright at the point? That’s Draco’s head,—the great Dragon. See his
spiky wings lifted. His tail comes down this way. Look,—a curl,—so.” She
swung her finger around. “Isn’t he fine? Keep your eye right on him and
I’ll tell you who he is. He isn’t one of your common, everyday dragons
you meet so often.—Is your eye on him, Pat?”
Pat tipped her head up, then she tipped it down and nodded. The Princess
squeezed the young Other One, who was sleepy, in the hollow of her arm,
and began in a story-telling voice: “There was once a young man named
Jason, who had a great many adventures. One of them was when he set out
to bring home the fleece of a ram. (A ram is a grown-up lamb, Kitten.”
The Kitten made a funny little bleating noise, like a mother-cat; but
she was only partly awake.) “And this was a golden fleece. And it hung
on a tree all-by-alone, where any one might have stolen it,—ONLY, it was
guarded by a great dragon that lay curly at the foot of the tree, and
never closed his eyes, watching it. And that was the very identical
Dragon you’re looking at this minute.”
“Tell us what happened then, Dearie,—when he didn’t close his eyes,”
urged Phyllisy, after they had looked again at the Dragon.
“He _did_!” the Princess closed the words off—snap!—so they were tight
shut,—and the Others giggled. “Jason gave him some magic drops that put
him to sleep, and carried off the fleece.”
“What did they do to the Dragon when they found the fleece was gone?”
“I wasn’t exactly there, Phyllisy; but you may judge by this, they made
him a Star Person to reward him because he was a good reliable dragon
until he met a Bewitchment that he couldn’t help.—And he’s very happy
there in the Sky, half surrounding the indispensable Little Bear who
carries the Sailor’s Star on the tip of his tail. He’s still guarding
something very precious, you see.”
“You haven’t told us about the indispensable little bear,” said
Phyllisy.
“Tell about little bear,” the Kitten murmured.
“Tell us,” said Pat, coaxing the Princess’s hand up and down.
The Princess didn’t answer at once. She was looking up into the twinkly
blue—very far away—as if she were forgetting the Others. At last she
spoke: “Little Bear is a very special friend and friend’s friend. I’d
rather tell you about him another time,—when he isn’t listening.”
“Can he hear?” Pat whispered it.
“Surely,—and carry messages.”
“Will he do it?”
“He did,—brought me one and took one.”
“Oh-h,—what did he say?”
The Princess laid her fingers on her lips.
“Is it secrets?” asked Phyllisy.
“Long secrets.” Her voice smiled in the dusk. “But I’ll tell you the
Word of it,—‘Faithful.’”
The Sky was dark and deep and crowded with stars. They sat very still
and mysterious while a wind came out of Beyond. They could hear it
turning back the leaves in the treetops,—saying, “H—ss-sh—” as it passed
through, and all the stars winked.—
“Wake up, Kitten!” said the Princess.
But she didn’t have to wake up entirely, for the Princess held her hand
coming back, down the rocky steps and along the paths, and her feet
walked themselves.
II
THE SAILOR’S STAR
Quite suddenly the Princess was there, at the head of the path where
four steps came down the terrace,—all silken and wonderful and growing
up into a rose at the top, that wasn’t a rose but a hat!
The Others dropped everything and ran, and she waited until they got
there and hung on her arms. And they walked around her to look at it in
the back.
“What kind of a party was it?” asked Pat.
“They were married and lived happy ever after, and there were
bridesmaids all in a row,” said the Princess. “So there wasn’t any more
to _that_;—and if anybody wanted me to tell them about how the Pole Star
happened, I should say this was the most suitable time.”
“It is for us, very convenient,” said Miss Phyllisy. “We’ll come this
minute.”
They waited while the Princess gathered up her skirt where it
trailed,—soft outside, but fluffy under,—and threw it over her arm, to
start fair: One, two, three, and away!
The Kitten won, because she truly ran very fast and she looked straight
ahead, but Pat wanted to see behind at the same time, to know if the
others were gaining.
By the Shadow Pool, they two watched the Princess with Prudence beside
her—very companionable—walking the last bit of it—across the little
bridge below, then turning up the dark path on the edge of the ravine,
with trees arching over from the hillside. Looking out the other way
through a gap in the trees, they could see—like a picture in a frame—the
steps coming down the terrace and the path curving down by the petunias,
all in the sun, then dropping away out of sight into the trees that it
came out of to cross the bridge.
In here it was cool and deep shade, in tall woods on the steep hillsides
that opened out like a “V.” There were rocks with maidenhair and moss in
the banks behind; and in the point of the “V”—higher than any one could
reach—a thin waterfall came over the edge of the rock, and fell a little
way, and slid the rest into the still pool with goldfish in it, and
others that were the same color as shadows in water and scarcely showed
unless they darted across. The water went on over another edge that was
made for it, and ran away at the bottom of the ravine,—hunting for the
sea; but the fishes lived there for always. There were seats around the
pool in convenient places where a tree or a rock made part of it and
twisted wood the rest. But there was one broad seat with a high twisted
back against the rocks behind, and a long flat rock before it for a
footstool, that was stately for the Princess.
She pulled out long pins,—curious ones, carved at the top,—and the hat
that wasn’t a rose, but grew up as if it were part of her, came off and
left her altogether finished without it, with coils on top.
And because the Princess was willing, Miss Phyllisy put it on her own
head. The Shadow Pool was a mirror, so she could see if it looked as if
it were growing there, and Pat looked with her. But Pat looked also at
the back of Miss Phyllisy’s head. “It ought to be more hair—done up,”
she said. Phyllisy twisted her head to see in the pool, and she put up
her hand and felt down her hair behind; it ended in a point in the
middle of her neck,—the locks crossing in from the sides,—like a very
small duck’s tail, about an inch. The Kitten slipped her finger under
and turned up the lock, and it curved around the finger.
So Phyllisy took the hat off and they put it carefully where it wouldn’t
fall, and “would be all right, Dearie,”—and they settled down in their
most usual places: Phyllisy, where she could look into the pool from
across and see the Princess upside down; Pat, in the narrow seat in the
crotch between two trees,—but she would move to another pretty soon,
because she always did,—and the Kitten, sitting on her foot in the seat
next largest to the Princess’s.
“It is about the last, youngest Star Person of all; and how there came
to be the Pole Star,” said the Princess.
“We’ve told the Kitten what she didn’t hear, all she could
understand;—so you won’t have to plan about that,” said Prudence.
“I could understand before,” said the Kitten. “I heard, too,—myself.”
“Oh, Dearie,”—Prudence had “Dearies” to spare for others beside the
Princess,—“you were asleep, and you couldn’t be expected to understand
it all; you’re such a little girl—under seven.”
“I’m going to tell it most particularly to you, Kitten. Now, see if you
don’t,” said the Princess.
She leaned a little forward on the stately seat, her elbow on her knee,
and the silken folds fallen down on the broad stone. She looked for a
long moment, her eyes shining straight out. And then she began:—
“Once upon a time, so long ago that nobody can remember when, a
beautiful ship was sailing along under a spanking breeze with all sails
set. The name of the ship was the Jane Ellen, and she was named for the
Captain’s wife. At her prow was the figure of a mermaid, with long
waving hair; and the head of the mermaid was like the head of the
Captain’s wife. But that was when she was young. Now she sat at home and
knit; but to the Captain she looked just like the lovely mermaid, and he
kept the Jane Ellen spick and span from truck to keel,—the finest ship
afloat, as she was the best of wives.”
(No one could tell stories as the Princess told them. The things she
told she knew so well, it was as if she were seeing them, and words were
waiting for her and came orderly, just as she needed them to make it
plain.)
“Now, as the ship was sailing along on this fine starlight night, and
everything favorable, the Captain in his cabin felt a great jolt, then a
s-scrape, and the ship leaned away over, and everything that could slid
down to one side. The next minute it tilted the other way, and most of
them slid back again, and then the ship went on as before.
“The Captain jumped up and put his head out of the cabin window and
looked fore and aft along the deck. He saw a man coming toward him, and
called, very sharply, ‘Mr. Morganwg!’[1]
Footnote 1:
He called it “Morgan-_ough_,” but he was particular about the
spelling.
“It was the Mate of the Jane Ellen. He was young and big, and he had
gray eyes and black hair and heavy black eyebrows that almost met over
his eyes, and he could look very stern, but his eyes laughed; and he
could sing, and if he had had time, he could have played on a harp,
because he was a Welshman, and his name was Taffy. But he didn’t have
time, because if you are mate of a ship like the Jane Ellen, you have a
great deal to do, and have to be everywhere at once, to see that things
are done as the Captain wants them.
“‘What was that?’ asked the Captain.
“‘We struck on Porpoise Rock, sir,’ said Taffy.
“‘Who’s steering?’
“‘Nelson.’
“‘Well?—he knew the rock was there, didn’t he? It’s marked on his chart
plain enough. There’s no excuse, a bright starlight night like this.’
“‘Yes, he knew it,’ said the Mate, ‘but he says he didn’t make enough
allowance for the stars moving. He says if there were _one_ star, only,
that he could depend on to be in the same place every night, it would be
all right.’
“‘Well, there isn’t,’ said the Captain.
“‘I know it,’ answered the Mate. ‘But you know yourself, it’s confusing
to steer by them.’ Taffy spoke quite respectfully, but he often made
suggestions to the Captain when no one was listening, and the Captain
loved him like his own son.”
“Do they move?” asked Pat.
“Yes,” said Phyllisy. “Don’t you know?—rise and set.”
Pat looked at the Princess to see if that was what she meant, and she
nodded, and went on:—
“‘H’m!’ said the Captain. ‘You go and drop anchor right now. I won’t
have any more paint scraped off from this ship. Then you come here and
we’ll talk it over. Something’s got to be done.’
“‘Very well, sir,’ said Taffy, touching his cap. And a few minutes later
a great quivering and trembling went through the ship as the anchor
chains slid out; and then they lay quiet, rocking gently on the waves,
and everybody went to bed except the Lookout and the Captain and the
Mate.
“No one knows just what was said in the Captain’s cabin, or whether he
or Taffy made the suggestion, but this is what happened:—
“The next morning, just before sunrise, the Mate stepped out of his
cabin and walked for’ard. He leaned over the fo’c’s’le hatch, which
stood open, and called, ‘Bos’n!’
“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ answered the Bos’n from below. The next minute he stood
beside Taffy on the deck.
“‘Assemble ships!’ ordered the Mate.
“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said the Bos’n again. He had a whistle hanging from a
string around his neck that he used for a signal to the sailors, but he
didn’t use that now. Instead he took from a pocket inside his shirt
another whistle. It was no larger than the first, but when he put it to
his lips and blew,—the sound was so high and clear it seemed as if it
must go all around the world! And before very long,—just as if it had
gone, and was broken up on the way, and was coming back in little
pieces,—from every direction came a faint, thin little answering
whistle.
“And then the Captain and the Mate and the second Mate and the four
Quartermasters and the Bos’n and the sailors and the cook and the cabin
boy—who were all on deck by this time—saw appearing, one by one, on the
horizon, little specks, that as they came nearer, showed themselves to
be ships of all descriptions,—schooners and brigs and barkentines and
barks and frigates and luggers and full-rigged ships. And every time one
of the little specks appeared the Lookout would call from the masthead,
‘Sail ho!’ and the Captain would say, ‘Where away?’ and the Lookout
would answer, ‘Two points on the weather-bow,’ or wherever it happened
to be.
“All the morning long, all these different kinds of ships tacked and
jibed and went about and missed stays and luffed and beat to wind’ard,
and in all these ways drew nearer and nearer, until, just as the
Quartermaster made it seven bells, the last one of them hove to, and the
Jane Ellen lay surrounded by fifty-two ships of every kind you ever
saw,—but none so fine as she!
“Then from the peak of the Jane Ellen fluttered a string of little
flags,—red and yellow and white and green,—and the little flags said to
the captains of the other ships, ‘Will you please come aboard the Jane
Ellen?’ Then from every ship a boat put out, and was rowed to the side
of the Jane Ellen, where a rope-ladder was let down to the water’s edge.
Her Captain stood on the deck by the rail, with the Mate standing by,
and shook hands with every captain as he came over the side, and said,
‘I’m glad to see you, sir!’
“When they all had come aboard and were assembled on the hurricane deck
the Captain made them a speech, while the Mate went and told the cook to
‘look alive with lunch, to have it ready when the “Old Man” gets through
with the powwow!’
“This is the Captain’s speech: ‘I suppose you wonder why I called you
together? Perhaps you noticed a big mar on the Jane Ellen’s bows, where
the good new paint is scraped off?’ All the other captains nodded. ‘That
happened last night,’ said our Captain. ‘We ran on Porpoise Rock; and my
quartermaster, Nelson, said he ran a-foul of it because he didn’t make
enough allowance for the stars moving. I’ve got as good quartermasters
as any ship afloat, but I know—you all know—that kind of thing happens
to all of us.’ The captains nodded again. ‘The trouble isn’t with the
man at the wheel, it’s just here,’—and the Captain struck the palm of
one hand with the forefinger of the other several times, and they all
looked at it to see what it was,—‘He hasn’t the right kind of stars to
steer by!’ The captains all looked up at the sky, and blinked, because
it was just noon and the sun was very bright, and then looked at one
another, and one of them said, ‘What kind of stars could we have? We’ve
got all there are.’
“‘Oh, these _stars_ are all right, but they move about so! Night after
night they go ’round and around! A man is almost too old to take his
trick at the wheel before he learns to make allowance for it. Now, we’ve
been fair and honest, and we’ve steered by these stars—and sworn by
them—as long as there have been ships and sailors, and the Star People
ought to do something to help us out. So I propose to send some one to
put it to them fairly, and see if they can’t keep one star always in the
same place. Then we could start from that, and know where we were.’
“‘How are you going to get up there?’ asked the same captain who had
spoken before.
“‘We’ll show you after lunch,’ said the Captain of the Jane Ellen. ‘That
is, if you all agree?’
“The other captain asked, ‘Do you all agree?’ and they all nodded.
“Then the other captain said, ‘Three cheers for the Skipper!’ and
fifty-_one_ captains shouted, ‘Hurrah!’ three times. So that was
settled, and they went down to the cabin for lunch.”
“What did they have?” asked the Kitten.
“Plum duff,—full of raisins,” said the Princess.
“Did they like it?” asked Pat.
“You’d have thought so if you’d seen them. Every one took a second
helping until Taffy was almost discouraged. He was in a hurry to be
through. But at last they were finished and back on the deck to hear
what the Captain had to propose.
“‘Now,’ said the Captain, ‘we shall have to borrow your masts and some
anchors.’ They nodded, and the Captain called; ‘Mr. Morganwg! You may
set to work.’
“‘At once, sir,’ said Taffy, and called, ‘Bos’n!’
“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said the Bos’n, running up.
“‘Call the men,’ ordered the Mate.
“The Bos’n blew his ordinary whistle, and at the same time the captains
began to go over the side of the Jane Ellen to return to their own
ships. They all looked very smiling and good-natured but one man,—the
one who hadn’t cheered.
“When it came his turn to say good-by, he just humped up his shoulder
and growled, and then he turned around and said, very loud, ‘The rest of
you can do as you like, but I’m blowed if you take _my_ mainmast for any
such foolishness!’ Then he went down the side of the ship and was rowed
away.
“The captains who heard him looked perfectly disgusted, and Taffy said
to his captain, ‘Shall I attend to him, sir?’
“‘Yes!’ said the Captain, and they all nodded.
So, before they did anything else, Taffy and the Bos’n and his men went
to the rude Skipper’s ship (it was a brigantine, the Wandering Willie),
and they set all the sails, and tied the ropes in hard knots instead of
just belaying them, as every one knows is seamanlike. Then they weighed
the anchor, and got off as quickly as they could,—and off went the
Wandering Willie! And it had gone only a little way when the wind
changed, and the Skipper shouted in the roughest voice, ‘Ease ’er off!’
And when the sailors tried, they couldn’t untie the knots, and the ship
keeled over, farther and farther, until, all at once, she turned bottom
up, and every one had to swim back to the other ships! The crew were
glad of it, because they were better off; and the rude captain, who
couldn’t swim very well, had to be thankful to be pulled aboard and
allowed to ship before the mast on the Jane Ellen. And he learned in
time to be a very good sailor.”
“That was just right for him,” said Pat.
“That’s what I think,” said the Princess. “But while all this was
happening, the work was going on on all the ships. The first thing they
did, they brought twenty-four large anchors, and anchored the Jane
Ellen, twelve on a side and her own two at the bows, so she couldn’t
even wabble. Then they drew up all the other ships in a long line, one
after another, with a space between, and unstepped the mainmast of every
ship. When every ship had her mainmast lying on the deck, beginning with
the Jane Ellen, they spliced them all together, the top of one to the
bottom of the next one. It took them all that afternoon and part of the
next morning to do it.
“Meanwhile, other sailors had brought twenty mizzen-masts to the Jane
Ellen, and, one after another, they were carried up her mizzen-mast and
spliced to the top of the one below. When they were all in place some
hoisting-tackle was made fast to the top, pulley-ropes were run through
it and carried out over the other ships and fastened to the spliced
mainmasts, about a third of their length away.
“By this time it was four bells in the afternoon, and everybody was
pretty tired, so the Captain said they might rest for an hour, all
except the cook, and he had to serve out grog. So all the seamen had
their grog, and lay around on the deck and looked up at the tall
mizzen-mast and the hoisting-tackle, and thought what a good captain
they had, and that the Jane Ellen was the finest ship afloat.
“Six bells had hardly finished striking when the Mate jumped down from
the rail where he had been sitting, and called, ‘Bos’n!’
“The Bos’n sprang up and said, ‘Ay, ay, sir!’
“‘Pipe the men aft,’ ordered the Mate.
“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said the Bos’n again, and blew his whistle.
“The seamen all jumped up nimbly and came trooping aft to the foot of
the mizzen-mast. There some of them brought a winch, and some more
arranged the pulley-ropes and passed them around the winch, and carried
them fore and aft, and arranged more tackle around the heel of the
mainmast, and did a great many things to them that I don’t know anything
about, but the Mate did, for he directed it all, without stopping even
to think. And the Captain came and looked on, and he looked as proud as
if he had done it himself!
“At last everything seemed to be done, and Taffy asked, ‘Are you all
ready, Bos’n?’
“‘Just waiting for Tom Green to sing the chanty, sir,’ said he. And in a
minute, Tom Green came.
“He wasn’t a very large sailor, but he had one blue and one brown eye,
and red and blue anchors and ships and stars and a weeping-willow
tattooed on his arms; and he wore his sleeves rolled up high to show
them. And he stood up on a water cask in the stern, and the sailors all
stood ready, in long lines, with the ropes in their hands.
“Then the Mate said, ‘Are you ready, Bos’n?’ and the Bos’n said, ‘Ay,
ay, sir!’
“‘Then, hoist away!’ ordered the Mate.
“The Bos’n blew his whistle, and Tom Green began to sing the chanty, and
this is how it began:—
(_Tom_) “We have left our happy home,
On the ocean for to roam.”
(_Sailors_) “Yeo, ho! Away we go!
Round the world and back again.—
Yeo—heave-_ho_!”
(_Tom_) “And our wives and sweethearts dear,
May not see for more’n a year.”
(_Sailors_) “Fair winds! White sails flowing free,
Blue water ’neath our keel,—
That’s the life for _me_!”
[Illustration:
TOM GREEN’S CHANTY
TOM.
We have left our hap-py home,
On the o-cean for to roam.
REFRAIN.
SAILORS.
Yeo-ho! A-way we go!
Round the world and back a-gain,
Yeo, heave ho!
TOM.
And our wives and sweet-hearts dear
May not see for more’n a year.
SAILORS.
Fair winds, white sails flow-ing free,
Blue wa-ter ’neath our keel,
That’s the life for me!
]
The Princess laughed with her eyes at the Others, while she held the
last long note until it seemed to die away in the woods, and they
laughed back, but they didn’t speak, and she went on, quite seriously:—
“I give you only one verse of it, but there were ninety-three, and it
told all about their life on the ocean wave and what they wanted to do,
and Tom Green made most of it up as he went along,—so perhaps he worked
as hard as any of them!
“Now, every time when they sung the refrain, the sailors all pulled
together on the ropes, and little by little—inch by inch, almost—the
great long mainmast rose in the air. And on all the other ships the
sailors stood watching, because they had nothing else to do, and they
all joined in the chanty, and the sound of it mounted up through the
clouds. There never was a chanty like it since the world began!
“It had been bright, sunshiny weather when the work began, but all the
afternoon the clouds had gathered until the sky was completely overcast,
like a solid roof of gray, and when the mast rose up, about one quarter
of it pierced the clouds. At last it stood, straight and tall, the heel
firmly fixed on the step above the deck of the Jane Ellen, and the top
hidden from sight in the cloud roof, and a shout went up that must have
reached the heavens! Then everybody drew a long breath, and went to
rest, and waited for it to be quite dark.”
The Princess paused. “Perhaps you, yourselves, would like to stop and
hear the rest another time?” she suggested. But they were sure they
wouldn’t. So, after only a moment, while Pat changed to another place,
she went on:—
“When it was time, and every one was on deck (the other captains had
come aboard again), the Captain of the Jane Ellen looked up at the great
tall mast, going up and up until it went out of sight in the clouds, and
he said to the other captains, ‘Whom shall I send up to talk to the Star
People?’ And the other captains said, very decidedly, ‘You’ll have to
send an able seaman.’
“So the Bos’n picked out the very best able seaman there was, and he
stepped out before the captains. He swayed his body when he walked, and
hitched up his trousers, and he could dance a hornpipe better than any
man aboard, and wrap his leg four times around a rope when he climbed.
He was just the man to climb to the top of that great tall mast.
“The Captain looked at the Able Seaman, and said, ‘You go aloft there;
and when you get to the top, you tell the Star People you want to talk
to their captain. Do you understand?’
“The Able Seaman pulled his forelock and said, ‘Ay, ay, sir,’ and the
Captain went on: ‘You tell him, we want _one star_ that we can depend
on, to steer by. We’ve steered by them ever since there were ships, and
they move about all the time, and we can’t stand it any longer! We’ve
done the fair thing by them, and now they can do the fair thing by us,
or by Jiminy! we’ll throw the whole lot of ’em over, and they’ll be out
of a job!—Do you understand?’
“The Able Seaman pulled his forelock and said, ‘Ay, ay, sir.’
“‘Then, up you go!’ and the Able Seaman turned away and came to the foot
of the great tall mast.
“There were two ropes that ran from the top to the bottom. He wound his
leg four times around one of them, and took hold of the other and began
to climb. And everybody watched him go up and up, and grow smaller and
smaller until he wasn’t nearly so large as a fly. And then he went clear
out of sight in the clouds. And they couldn’t have seen him at all, any
of the way, if they hadn’t thrown a strong light on him as he went up.
“Then—though there was nothing to see, and their necks ached—nobody
could take his eyes from the spot where he disappeared. And before very
long they saw a little speck, smaller than a fly, appear again and come
down the great tall mast,—so tall it took thirty-eight minutes to come
down from the place where it entered the cloud. The captains hardly
could wait for him to get down.
“‘What did you find?’ asked the Captain.
“‘A lot of Star People—I dunno who they was,’ answered the Able Seaman.
“‘Well,—what did they say?’
“‘They wanted to know what that singin’ was, this afternoon.’
“‘But what did they say about the _star_?’
“‘I didn’t ask ’em.’
“‘Didn’t ask them!’
“‘No. I come back to ask what to say about the singin’. You didn’t tell
me that.’
“‘_Thunder!_’ said the Captain. ‘Did you come clear down here to ask me
that? You get back, as quick as ever you can, and tell them what I said.
Of course you’re to answer a civil question!’
“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said the Able Seaman without winking; and he climbed up
the mast again. And all the captains watched him as before, only their
necks ached a little harder.
[Illustration:
EVERYBODY WATCHED HIM GO UP AND UP
]
“He was gone a trifle longer, and then back he came. It only took
thirty-six minutes this time, because he was more used to it (beside the
time it took to go up, of course, and the time he was above the clouds).
“‘Well?’ said the Captain.
“‘I tol’ ’em it was the chanty. And I asked to speak to the captain, an’
a big man said they hadn’t no captain,—they’re a Republic.’
“‘Then what?’ asked the Captain, as the Able Seaman paused.
“‘Then, I didn’t know who to ask for,—so I—’
“‘Thunder-_ation_!’ cried the Captain. ‘Did you come clear down here
again, to ask me _that_? You go back—quick—and don’t you come down again
till you finish your errand!’ And the Able Seaman said, ‘Ay, ay,
sir,’—and all the other captains looked at each other and said,
‘_Thunderation!_’ or some other word that meant the same thing.
“Then the Able Seaman climbed up the mast again, and nearly all of them
watched him. But some of the captains who had short necks couldn’t watch
another minute, until one of them lay down on his back on the deck; then
a good many of them did the same thing, and were more comfortable.
“And this time he was gone a long time—so long, the Captain was just
going to send up the second-best able seaman to see what was the matter,
when they saw him coming down. It took a little longer, because the leg
of his trousers caught in the third twist of the rope, and he had to
unwrap his leg and twist it around again. It took forty-one minutes this
time, and it seemed _forever_ to the captains! Three or four of them
waited at the foot of the mast, and caught at him as he slid down.
“‘What did they say?’—‘Will they do it?’—they asked eagerly.
“The Able Seaman breathed hard. ‘You wait a minute—till I get—my
breath.’
“They waited. Finally the Captain said: ‘Now?’ and the Able Seaman
pulled his forelock and said: ‘I tol’ ’em, sir,—just as you said,—an’
they all talked an’ talked—’
“‘_Who_ talked?’ asked the Captain.
“‘I dunno their names. I ain’t no navigator.—There was the big man, an’
a woman sittin’ in a chair, an’ another man, and a feller with a head in
his hand—all snakes!—an’ a big dragon kep’ pokin’ his blame head in all
the time,—an’ some more people; an’ they all talked to onc’t.’
“‘What did they say? Will they give us the star?’
“‘I can’t make out,’ said the Able Seaman. ‘I guess they was willin’,
but they didn’t seem to know what to do, and they was quarrelin’ about
who’d do it.’
“The Captain looked around. ‘Mr. Morganwg!’ he said. (The Mate was there
almost before he spoke.) ‘It’s no use. You’ll have to go.’
“‘Certainly, sir,’ said Taffy, and his eyes shone when he said it, and
he turned and walked to the foot of the mast.
“He weighed two hundred and eleven pounds, but he walked so lightly his
feet seemed hardly to touch the deck; and when he sprang into the ropes
and began to go up the mast, he made the Able Seaman look like an
apprentice! And the captains all stood and watched him, and they were so
pleased and so sure it would be all right, their necks almost forgot to
ache.”
“He wanted to go,” said Phyllisy, when the Princess paused.
“He’d better have gone before, and saved all that time,” observed Pat.
But the Princess said nothing for a moment. Then she went on with the
story: “Up and up climbed Taffy, higher and higher, until it seemed to
him a thick cloud came down and wrapped him about so he could see only a
few feet ahead of him. But he knew it didn’t come down at all. It was he
who had climbed up into the clouds. So he kept steadily on, and very
soon it began to grow thin; and as he came out of it he saw a sight that
almost took his breath away, and made him lose his hold of the rope. But
he wouldn’t even look, but kept climbing on until he reached the top of
the fifty-second mast, and with one leg wrapped easily around one rope,
and his elbow resting on the gilt ball on the top of the mast, and his
chin in his hand, he was as comfortable as a boy in an apple tree. Now
he had time to look about him,—and he could take it, for the Star People
were so busy talking among themselves they hadn’t seen him come.
“Two persons seemed to be the centre of the group. One was a tall,
splendid man with a sword on his belt and a shaggy lion’s hide hanging
carelessly over his arm. Set in his belt and on his head and in the
clasp around his knee were great blazing stars, and two dogs were at his
heels.”
“Orion,” said Phyllisy, “I used to know him ages ago.”
The Princess nodded: “Yes. Taffy knew him at once.—The person to whom he
was talking was a beautiful lady (not so very young), who sat in a
massive, star-jeweled chair, and was alternately crying and scolding,
while a man, evidently her husband, leaned over the chair and tried to
quiet her. Near by stood a young man, looking very sulky; and from his
hand swung a curious object. It was a woman’s head, with snakes instead
of hair.”
“_Snakes?_” said Pat, her voice sliding up and down on it.
“_Snakes_,” said the Princess, firmly.
“For pitysakes!”
“They had once been quite stiff and wriggly snakes, and had stood up on
end, each one of them, and squirmed, but now they were limp and raggy.
And Taffy didn’t wonder when he saw how Perseus was absent-mindedly
swinging it by one or another of the snakes, and letting it wind up and
unwind again around his finger.
“Like Orion and his dogs, these people and others who crowded near were
studded and decked with shining stars; and it was by their stars, that
he knew so well, that Taffy recognized these Star People in their
unaccustomed places.
“‘Yes, I _could_!’ the lady in the chair was saying. ‘And he isn’t the
one to say, anyway!’
“‘What’s the matter?’ asked Taffy; and they all jumped, and then all
began talking at once, so he couldn’t understand a word they said.
“‘Hus-sh!’ he said, holding up his hand. And they gradually stopped
talking, all but Orion. (And Cassiopeia kept on saying things to her
husband—but that didn’t count.)
“‘Who are you?’ asked Orion.
“‘I’m the Mate of the Jane Ellen,’ said Taffy. ‘And I want to know
what’s the trouble. It doesn’t seem much to ask for—just one star.’
“‘No,’ answered Orion, ’it doesn’t. And we’re all willing. But who is
going to hold that star?—and how are we going to know it’s always in the
same spot?’
“‘I should think you might agree about that easily enough,’ said Taffy.
“‘Well, we can’t,’ said Orion. ‘I can’t do it; I have other things to
attend to.’
“‘And you won’t let any one else!’ broke in Cassiopeia. ‘You know how I
just sit in my chair, and I’d love to hold it.’
“‘She can’t,’ said Orion. ‘Pretty thing for a woman to do!’
“‘I’m not a woman,’ observed Perseus.
“‘Don’t you say another word!’ said Cassiopeia. (‘And stop twirling that
Gorgon!—You make me nervous.) You know perfectly well, you have to keep
away the monster from my darling child.’
“Perseus said no more, but he looked sulkier than ever.
“‘No, he can’t,’ said Orion. ‘And beside that, you’re used to seeing us
move about. Now if one of us gives up his own place, it will mix you all
up.’
“‘That’s true,’ said Taffy. And just as he spoke, something rubbed
against his hand,—something that sent a little prickly shock through him
at first, and at the same time, the very softest thing he ever had felt
or imagined.
“He looked down and saw a little bear—but such a little bear! His long
fur was, in color, a beautiful blue-gray, and the tip of each hair
seemed to have been dipped in moonlight or powdered with star-dust, for
it shone and glinted in the starlight as he moved; and his eyes twinkled
like two little stars themselves; and curiously enough for a little
bear, he had a great long tail. And unlike any of the Star People, he
hadn’t a star on him anywhere.
“‘Hello, little one!’ said Taffy. ‘What are you doing here?’ And he bent
down to stroke Little Bear. Little Bear leaned against his leg; and as
his hand sank in the soft, soft fur, and again the electric tingles ran
up his arm, it was as if they took the message to his brain: ‘Oh, dear
Taffy, let _me_ take care of the Sailor’s Star!’
“It came so clearly to him, Taffy spoke again: ‘Would you really like
it?’—and the answer came, like a long, ‘Oh-h!’ of rapture.
“‘See here,’ said Taffy to the Star People. ‘Why don’t you let this
little chap have it? That would settle it.’
“‘Little Bear?’ said everybody. Then everybody looked at everybody else,
and said, ‘Why not?’—because they all loved Little Bear; and they were
glad to find a way to settle the dispute and stop talking.
“Taffy told them what to do; and Cassiopeia was the first one to take a
lovely star from the back of her dress, where it never had been seen by
the sailors and wouldn’t be missed; and they all agreed that, if she
couldn’t hold the Sailor’s Star herself, she should be the one to give
it. And they fastened that star on the very tip of Little Bear’s tail.
Then Orion and Perseus and the Big Dragon, who came and looked on, and
the rest of them gave more stars to fasten on Little Bear, and he stood
pressed against Taffy’s knee while they did it; and his fur sparkled and
shone and his two bright eyes twinkled, bright as any of the stars,
while little electric thrills of pleasure and gratitude ran to Taffy’s
heart as his hand stroked the beautiful fur that was softer than
anything in the whole World!
“‘There!’ said Orion, as he fastened the last star and pushed one of the
dogs back with his foot, while Little Bear growled, a soft small growl.
‘He’s fine as a birthday cake! Now I want to know how you are going to
be sure that star is always in the right place?’
“‘Easy enough!’ said Taffy. ‘You know where the North Pole is, don’t
you?’
[Illustration:
“OH, DEAR TAFFY, LET _ME_ TAKE CARE OF THE SAILOR’S STAR”
]
“‘Of course we do,’ said Orion, and the other Star People echoed: ‘Of
course!’
“‘Then, all Little Bear has to do is to keep the star directly over that
Pole. And he’ll do it,’ said Taffy, laying his hand on Little Bear’s
head—and the message thrilled through it: ‘Oh, I will, dear Taffy! The
Sailor’s Star shall never wander!’
“When the Mate stepped on to the deck of the Jane Ellen it was almost
morning, and all the captains who weren’t asleep had such stiff necks
they hardly could turn their heads to look at him. And when he touched
his cap and said to the Captain of the Jane Ellen: ‘It’s all arranged,
sir,’ they were so worn out they were glad to go back to their own ships
and go to bed without asking a single question. It wouldn’t have been
any use if they had, for the Captain took Taffy straight into his own
cabin and shut the door; and that was the last any one saw of them that
night.
“The next morning every one was as busy as a bee; and they worked so
fast that before evening every mast had been put back, and the
twenty-four anchors returned to their own ships, and they were all ready
to sail.
“During the afternoon the clouds had broken up, and the sun went down in
a clear sky. As darkness fell, the crew of each ship assembled on the
deck, with every eye fixed on the Northern sky.
“Taffy stood beside the Captain of the Jane Ellen while the rose-red
faded into yellow, and palest green, and violet, and a few large stars
came out, one by one. Then,—faint at first, then, brighter and
brighter,—the stars that told Taffy Little Bear was at his post! And a
great shout went up from all the ships, that must have reached the sky!
It seemed to Taffy that the stars glowed brighter, and he could almost
feel the touch of soft fur, softer than anything in the world, and a
little thrill went to his heart, that said: ‘You see, Taffy dear, I’m
here!’