Their course was set for the Island of Shells, where King Cyril's
brother was ruling in his stead.
The wind was good, and they expected to reach port sometime the next
day. Morning dawned bright and sunny, and after some hours of fast
sailing Daimur was surprised to have a message brought to him that the
Captain had sighted something from the bridge that he wished King
Daimur to see.
Daimur went up at once, accompanied by King Cyril, to whom he had been
talking.
On reaching the Captain's side they saw at once what the trouble was.
In front of them, about six miles distant, lay the Island of Shells,
and between them and it the only entrance to the harbor, a narrow
winding passage between very dangerous reefs, which in places stood
high out of the water.
It was, however, not the reefs that drew their attention.
Directly in front of them, and completely surrounding the passage
through the reefs, lay a dark streak upon the water. It seemed to be
at least half a mile in width and stretched away on either side as far
as one could see.
Although the water all around it was quite rough and choppy this streak
lay perfectly calm, glistening in the sun with peculiar purple and gold
colors.
The Captain had ordered some of the sails reefed, but even so the ship
was going at a good rate of speed and in a few seconds they had run
into it.
It was as though they had struck a bank of soft mud, and so indeed they
thought it at first, though they could not understand how it could have
got there, as the sea was known to be very deep outside the reefs.
The sails, well filled, tried to carry the ship forward, but only
succeeded in getting them a little further into the dark mass.
"What can it be?" cried King Cyril, as everybody rushed to the ship's
sides to see what had stopped their progress.
"It looks and smells like tar," said the Captain, "and now how in the
world are we to get out of it? I've never seen anything like it in my
life, and I've been sailing for forty-seven years."
By this time Daimur had adjusted his magic cap and spectacles and was
surveying the dark sticky streak. He gave way to an exclamation of
dismay.
"What is it?" gasped King Cyril, thoroughly alarmed at seeing Daimur so
affected.
"This stuff is tar," said Daimur, "mixed with various gums and a
terrible acid that is eating into the hull of our ship and will destroy
it within two hours if we cannot succeed in getting it out.
"This is the work of your sister-in-law," he continued, addressing King
Cyril, "assisted by the witch of Despair. They do not intend to let us
in if they can help it. Now let us think what we must do."
Not a word was spoken as Daimur stood consulting his magic cap and
gazing out over the sea.
In a few moments he turned to the Captain.
"Have you any coal-oil?" he asked.
"A little, your majesty, about nine barrels, I think," answered the
Captain, as he sent a sailor to see how many there were. The man came
back to say that there were ten.
"Good," said Daimur. "Now have all the barrels brought up to the deck,
for we must pour the oil over the bow; it is the only thing that will
cut this vile mixture."
The barrels were brought up as quickly as possible, and Daimur himself
stood in the bow and directed the sailors. Four men held a barrel of
oil on each side of the bow, and at the instant they commenced to pour
it down the Captain ordered the remaining sails let out to the wind.
As the oil struck the tar mixture it first spread over the surface, and
then foamed up like soda water, and as the foam subsided the water
could be seen underneath.
With every sail filled the ship slowly made its way through the sticky
foaming mass, and when at the end of half an hour they were clear of
it, and the ship began to cut ahead through the water again, a big
cheer of relief went up.
All was not over, however, as they were now within the narrow passage,
and the Captain was very nervous. He had never been through it before
without a pilot, and although he had the wheel himself he was not sure
that he knew the course.
King Cyril now stepped forward and offered to take the wheel, as he had
often steered his own yacht through the channel, and knew it perfectly,
so in case some other trap had been laid for them Daimur gave him his
magic cap and glasses to wear until they should be safely in the harbor.
In and out among the black reefs they wound, and shortly after two
o'clock in the afternoon cast anchor in the harbor, and were soon
ashore.
As the usurping Prince and his witch of a wife had felt very safe
behind their ring of magic tar they had set no guards about, and
consequently Daimur and his friends, with his marines as guards, were
marching up the city street towards the palace before you could say
"Jack Robinson," with nobody to stop them.
There were a good many people out in the streets, as it was market day,
and in a few moments a crowd had gathered to see the procession. Of
course they at once recognized their rightful King and Queen, and with
shouts of "Long live our noble King Cyril, he has been restored to us,"
"Long live Queen Emily," "Long live Princess Maya," they joined in the
procession which was winding along to the palace.
For you must know that the wicked Princess could not possibly throw
rose-colored powder into the eyes of all King Cyril's subjects, and did
not care at all about them as long as she could reach everyone in
authority; so that all the common people of his kingdom still loved
their rightful king as much as ever, and hated his brother Arnolde and
his wife, who they knew quite well cared nothing for them excepting
when they wanted more taxes.
The visitors looked about them curiously as they advanced. None of
them had ever visited the Island of Shells before and they greatly
admired the beautiful houses which were built entirely of pink, white
or blue shells, with pale pink or amber-colored shells for windows, and
the shell fences to match which enclosed the grounds.
The streets were paved with huge clam shells, and the sidewalks were of
periwinkle shells cemented together.
It was a beautiful city, they all agreed.
Soon as they turned a corner the high shell turrets of the Palace and
Parliament buildings came in sight, glittering pink and silver in the
sunshine.
Now Arnolde was just then holding Parliament, and hearing the shouting
he rose to his feet and looked out of the window. When he saw the
procession headed by his brother Cyril he started violently and his
eyes almost popped out of his head.
Turning to the nobles assembled about he cried, "To arms. An enemy
advances upon us."
In a moment every man's sword was drawn, and following Arnolde they all
dashed out of the building into the street to oppose the progress of
King Cyril.
On they rushed towards Daimur's army, but were soon stopped and
overpowered by the marines, who were in command of Prince Redmond.
Daimur, who in this perilous land was again wearing his cap and
spectacles, approached the prisoners and examined the eyes of several
of them.
Through his glasses he could see that the rose-colored powder had
spread out and made a thin covering over each eye, and his magic cap
told him that nothing could remove it but the tears of the victims
themselves.
He told this to King Cyril.
"Can't you think of anything that would induce them to weep?" asked
Daimur.
"Indeed I cannot," answered King Cyril, as he looked at their scowling,
unfriendly faces.
Just then Prince Tasmir came forward.
"Why not make each man peel a peck of good strong onions?" he said with
a smile.
At this they all laughed, but the idea seemed a good one, and quickly
explaining what they wanted to his crowds of subjects King Cyril soon
had people running from all directions with onions in pails, pans, bags
and baskets, until the street looked like an onion market.
The prisoners in the meanwhile eyed the proceedings impatiently,
talking among themselves, and were utterly disgusted and horrified when
a knife and a great heap of onions were placed on the ground beside
each of them.
Prince Redmond, at a sign from Daimur, stepped forward and ordered them
to peel the onions. This of course they flatly refused to do, and it
was only after threatening them with instant death that they sat down
on the ground and unwillingly commenced.
Such a sniffing then began! Such tears poured forth! Not one of them
was allowed to stop until he had finished his share, and by that time
the tears were running in streams down their faces.
It was a very odd sight, and the people crowded around laughing quietly
to themselves, and wondering what it was for.
"Rise," commanded Prince Redmond, "and wipe your eyes."
They all obeyed.
"Now," said Daimur stepping forward. "Three cheers for your rightful
ruler, King Cyril, who has, with the Queen and your Princess, been
restored to you."
For a moment there was a dead silence while Prince Arnolde and his
followers gazed at King Cyril with eyes that were clear for the first
time in four years. Then, raising their swords, they cheered lustily,
while Prince Arnolde rushed forward and fell on his brother's neck,
begging forgiveness, and declaring that he must have been crazy to act
so wickedly.
Together the whole procession wended its way to the palace gates, which
King Cyril once more entered as the rightful ruler of his kingdom.
The false Queen was sitting on the lawn under the trees doing crochet
work in a new shell pattern that she had just invented and talking with
some of the Court ladies, and she did not notice the procession
approaching until the tramp of many feet made her turn her head.
She arose and came forward in some alarm, but at the sight of King
Cyril, Queen Emily and Princess Maya, with her husband walking beside
them talking in the most unfriendly manner, she flew into a terrible
rage.
She danced up and down and round and round, faster and faster, growing
smaller every second, until at last she was nothing but her real self,
an ugly shriveled witch running round and round on a broomstick. With
a loud shrill scream she mounted into the air and was away out of sight
in an instant, leaving everybody staring open mouthed at the sky.
"She has gone to the Island of Despair to join the old witch and her
daughter," said Daimur who had a creepy feeling down his back.
The people all shuddered and looked at one another in awe, and poor
Prince Arnolde was trembling in every limb.
They were all very glad when King Cyril ordered refreshments served at
once in the great dining hall.
Daimur remained for a week in the Island of Shells to see that all went
well. He was afraid of the witches returning, as of course now they
had so many of the Evil Magician's secrets that they might cause a
great deal of trouble.
Prince Tasmir was very glad to be a few days more in the company of
Princess Maya, with whom he had fallen desperately in love, and took
this opportunity of asking King Cyril's consent to their marriage as
soon as he had regained his kingdom, which King Cyril readily gave.
The witches did not return, and as the King, assisted by his now
devoted brother, was rapidly getting everything into good order, Daimur
announced his intention of leaving, and he, the Duchess of Rose Petals,
and the two Princes departed from the Island of Shells after a great
ceremony, at which Daimur was presented with a gold sword in token of
the gratitude of King Cyril's subjects for the restoration of their
King.