by Grampa In Oz
“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 face, 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 Ur-tha-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.
/> CHAPTER 11: Into the Volcano
BY THE time Grampa had recovered enough to sit up the boat was scraping on the black rocks at the foot of the dark tower.
“Cinders! Soot!” called the rowers loudly. In answer to their hail a door opened cautiously and the keepers of the dark tower peered out.
“What’s wanted?” asked the first hoarsely, while the second swung his dark lantern toward the party in the boat.
“Take these men to Blazes and tell him to send ‘em up!” directed the flame men together and, almost pushing Grampa and his little company from the boat, they jumped in and started to row back to their island. The dark tower was wet and clammy and made of moss that soaked up the rays of light from Fire Island as a sponge soaks up water. The keepers of the tower themselves looked burnt out and cindery and far from agreeable.
“You go!” said Soot, after a contemptuous glance at the newcomers. “I’ve got to keep the light out.”
“All right!” agreed Cinders. “Come on you, whatever you are!” There was no way to get back to Fire Island, so Grampa motioned for the others to come and in silence they followed Cinders over the black, slippery rocks. Bill perched on Grampa’s shoulder and Tatters held fast to Urtha, who for the first time seemed a little frightened.
“Being alive is so strange,” sighed the little flower girl, stepping along tremulously.
“It’s not always like this,” whispered the Prince comfortingly. He was terribly frightened himself, but resolved to be as brave as he could before this lovely little lady of flowers. The dark tower seemed to be on the mainland of this queer underground country and, after a short march over the rocks, they came to a steep gray mountain. There was a door in the center and Cinders hammered on this with a poker he carried under one arm.
The door opened immediately and a hot red glare smote the travellers in the face.
“John says to send these creatures up, grumbled Cinders, backing out of the light. “I hope that medicine’s still working!” groaned Grampa. “Do you still feel cool?” “Pretty cool,”faltered the Prince of Ragbad. “But-” “Come in,” roared the huge fireman, who had opened the door, “do you want to give me chill?” Snatching Tatters by one hand and Urtha by the other, he jerked them through the door and Grampa, seeing that Cinders was about to slam it shut, sprang in quickly after them. Blazes was about twice as tall as the men on Fire Island and his flaming face was cruel and ugly.
“So you’re to be sent up?” he sneered, staring curiously at the bewildered little company. “Well, you’re not worth an eruption, but orders are orders, so up you go!” Grampa could find no words to answer, for his eyes were glued in horror upon the boiling lake of lava, churning about a few feet below. Thick green smoke curled up toward them in clouds and just as he was about to order a hasty retreat to the door the keeper of the volcano seized a forty-foot poker and plunged it into the lake.
Next instant it had risen to the top, caught the four fire-proof travellers in its sulphurous waves and hurled itself frothing and bubbling to the top of the earth. Being erupted from a volcano is such a noisy, smothering, altogether terrifying experience that Grampa and his little army could not have told what was happening had they tried. And had it not been for Gorba’s medicine they would have blown clear out of the story, but, thanks to the medicine, the boiling lava did not injure them and having hurled them from the middle of the earth and some fifty feet higher than the earth, the liquid immediately surrounding them began to harden and form a flying island.
Of course Grampa and Tatters were too dizzy to know this and the first indication they had that the eruption was over, was a dreadful bounce and a perfect shower of water.
The water brought them to their senses and-fearfully opening their eyes-they looked around. Horrors! The volcano was in the Kingdom of Ev, on the other side of the Deadly Desert, and had flung them clear into the Nonestic Ocean itself! This great body of water lies far to the Northwest and mighty few Ozites have ever reached its shores.
“Well,” coughed Grampa, rubbing his game leg vigorously, “I thought we were goners, but I see we are survivors. Are you all right? Are you all here?” Urtha shook her lovely fern hair out of her eyes and, strange as it may seem, the little flower girl had come through the eruption without crushing a single posy.
“Fair and cooler!” wheezed Bill, hopping up on a little ridge of the hardened lava. “But how did we get here?” asked Tatters, rubbing his eyes.
“You’ll have to ask Blazes,” puffed Grampa, “but I must say I prefer water to fire.” Already the spirits of the old soldier were beginning to rise. “We may be far from home, but we’re on top again and still moving.” Grampa took a few marching steps and waved his sword.
“And what are those?” asked Urtha, standing on tip-toe to point at the stars. In the wizard’s garden there had been no sky. Tatters explained as best he could and the little flower girl clasped her hands and gazed up in delight. “They’re sky flowers,” she confided to Bill, but the weather cock was too busy looking for the fortune to answer.
“Seems to me we’re shipwrecked,” observed Tatters gloomily. Their little island was bobbing up and down on top of the waves and there was no land of any kind in sight.
But Grampa, who had been investigating the contents of his knapsack, gave a little chuckle. The bread and butter they had picked in the wizard’s garden-not being entirely fire proof-was nicely toasted and looked so crisp and inviting that it made Grampa’s mouth water.
“What you fussing about?” said the old soldier, winking at the Prince. ” ‘Tisn’t everybody can have their supper cooked in a volcano.” He handed Tatters a great pile of the toast and after the Prince of Ragbad had eaten a dozen slices, he began to feel more cheerful himself.
“All we need is a little sleep,” yawned the old soldier, after they had finished off the toast, for neither Bill nor Urtha needed food. “If Bill will keep watch, you and I had better turn in, for there’s no knowing what may happen tomorrow.
“I’ll keep watch,” promised Bill readily.
“Hush!” warned Grampa suddenly, for Urtha, wearied by her strange adventures, had fallen fast asleep in the middle of counting the stars and lay in a fragrant heap, her lovely violet eyes closed tight and all the big and little posies that made up the wonderful little flower girl herself were asleep too.
“If she hadn’t been a fairy,” whispered Grampa, looking down at her affectionately, “she would have wilted long ago. We must take good care of her, my boy, for I doubt if there’s as lovely a little lady anywhere else in Oz.”
“She’s the only luck we’ve had,” mused Tatters, “and I wish-” The Prince looked up at the stars and did not finish his sentence but, rolling up the skin of the old thread bear, he made a pillow for Urtha’s head and he and Grampa went tiptoeing to the other side of the island and stretched themselves on the ground. The motion of the little island, as it rode lightly over the waves, was very soothing and before long the old soldier and the young prince were sound asleep too, leaving only the weather cock on guard. And Bill, in all the years he had spent on the barn near Chicago, had never felt so important.
Perched on the highest ridge of the island, he kept a sharp look-out in all directions, scanning the tumbling waters of the Nonestic Ocean for signs of a fortune and a Princess and talking softly to himself in the starlight.
Grampa was having a fine dream. He was being presented at court and was just about to shake hands with Princess Ozma herself, when he was wakened by a ton of kitchen tins falling down a mountainside. Or that’s what it sounded like to Grampa.
Leaping to his feet, the old soldier snatched up his gun. Tatters and Urtha were both sitting bolt upright, rubbing their eyes.
“It’s Bill!” yawned the Prince sleepily. With an exclamation of disgust, the old soldier threw down his gun and covered his ears. The weather cock was indulging in his morning crow and helping the sun to rise. Just as Grampa thought he could not stand it another minute, the
frightful clamor ceased.
“The sun has risen,” announced Bill calmly, “and there’s land ahead!”
It was a bit foggy but, crowding to the edge of the island, the little company saw that they were being carried straight toward a land of ice and snow. Tatters and Urtha had never seen snow before, for there is no snow in Oz, but Grampa had read all about such things in Fumbo’s books and, while he was explaining, the little island bumped on the snowy shores of this strange ice-bound land.
“All off!” cried Grampa, seizing Urtha by the hand. Tatters ran back for his umbrella and the skin of the old thread bear; then jumped after Grampa and the flower maiden.
“Colder and colder!” predicted Bill, flying after the Prince and settling on the branches of an ice-covered tree. But Tatters was not thinking of the weather. With round eyes, he was studying a huge sign that stretched between two tall hemlocks.
“The Illustrious Island of Isa Poso,” announced the sign, and in smaller letters,
“Beware of the dragon.”
“Great Gollywockers!” gasped the old soldier, reading over Tatters’ shoulder.
