Chapter VI: Epilogue: 230 (6)

“Then the two flames were gone from the topsail yards, and the ships dropped anchor to wait for morning.

“But don’t you think the Star People were interested when Castor and Pollux came back to their House in the Zodiac?

“They were all waiting for them, and they listened, quiet as mice, while Pollux told them (with Castor correcting him when he didn’t tell it straight) how they had saved the ships and escaped from Torquillon; and what a smash and tumble he had had at the end.

“‘And that’s the end of _him_’, said Cassiopeia.

“‘Bless you, no, it isn’t!’ said Castor. ‘He doesn’t mind a spill like that. Of course it shakes him up, but he’ll come up like a jack-in-the-box.’

“‘Uglier than ever,’ remarked Orion.

“‘Then he ought to be ashamed of himself,’ said Cassiopeia.

“‘I don’t thuppoth he had any bringing up,’ said Draco. ‘He doethn’t theem to have any mannerth.’

“‘Not a manner,’ said Pollux. ‘And he’s too old to learn.’

“‘But he can’t be allowed to be rude and selfish where polite ships want to sail,’ said Castor. ‘Taffy will wait, and we are going back to-morrow night to teach him that.’

“‘How?’ asked Perseus.

“‘We want to talk with you about that,’ answered Castor.

“So they talked and they talked, and I’m not going to tell you what they said; but this is what happened after they had finished talking.

“Orion went striding away on his long legs, with his sword jingling at his side and the two dogs capering before him, until he said, ‘Come to heel, Sirius! Heel, Procyon!’ So they came to heel and the three walked fast along the Milky Way, through the star daisies, and at last they came to the edge of a great dark hole. It might have been a small lake, but there was no water in it, or, if there was, it was so deep down that it could not be seen. It seemed bottomless. No star-flowers grew around the bleak margin; and you wouldn’t wonder if you had been with Orion and felt the cold that came from the black emptiness which he looked into.

“He didn’t spend any time looking, but he knelt by the edge, with Sirius and Procyon watching every motion from either side, where they stood almost tumbling in. And they saw that Orion held in his hand two small, curious-shaped flasks. He took from his pocket a ball of moonbeam cord, and made a slip-noose in the end of it and put it around the neck of one of the flasks. Then he lowered it into the depths beneath him, and he and the dogs watched it go down—down—until it was swallowed up in the dark: but still he lowered the fine shining cord that was like a thin shaft of light. After a time he began to draw it up again. And when he had the flask in his hand, it was full of liquid, clear as crystal.

“He put in the stopper—quick—and lowered the other. When that was filled he wound up the cord, and he and the dogs came striding and capering back to the Gemini’s House. They were looking for him, and Orion handed them the flasks.”

“They couldn’t go themselves unless Sol told them, could they?” asked Pat.

“Of course not, the Zodiac People,” said Phyllisy. “I’m perfectly wild to know what’s in those flasks, but I don’t want you to tell, Dearie.”

“She will,” said Pat.

“Of course, at the right time. Please go on, Dearie.”

Then the Princess went on:—

“Very early the next morning Captain Gryller came aboard the Jane Ellen; and you never would have guessed, to see him, that it was his plan that had been such a failure, and that they had come so near losing the ships and their own lives because he had insisted on going in so late. When he stepped on deck he looked about him, and was surprised to see that they were not making ready to sail.

“‘I’ve just come to say good-by,’ he said to the Captain. ‘We had a narrow escape last night, didn’t we?’

“‘Yes, we did,’ said the Captain.

“‘Well—we’ll have to go around the islands after all. I’ve wasted too much time already, and I must be off.’

“‘Not yet,’ said the Captain. ‘We’ve only half done our work—not even that—and I’m not going to leave until that channel is clear.’

“‘But what’s the use?’ said the Skipper. ‘We’ll just risk our ships for nothing. You saw how we failed last night!’

“‘That’s because we didn’t do it right,’ said the Captain. ‘Who helped us last night?’

“‘The Star People.’

“‘Exactly. And they’ll help us again. And the Jane Ellen is going to stay here to do it!’

“‘Then the Reindeer will stay, too,’ said the Skipper.

“That day the sailors and every one had a good rest, for it was very hot and the fight with Torquillon had been hard work, and they wanted to be fresh to begin again. So all they did was to make the Jane Ellen and the Reindeer ship-shape, and wait for night and the Star Twins.

“When twilight came, the captain of the Reindeer saw the little flag fluttering from the peak of the Jane Ellen that said it was time to sail; and the two ships moved forward side by side, like soft gray birds in the gathering darkness.

“When they reached the Lion and passed into the shadow of the clouds that hung low and black over Torquillon’s Lair, it looked as if they were about to enter an enormous cavern, and night fell all at once, but not quite dark. For far as eye could see, the water was covered with a pale greenish glow—like phantom light. The crests of the little waves crinkled and crisped up in faint flames, and the smoke of the Sea-fire rose where the forefoot of the ship cut through the black water and turned it back in ripples and streams of light.

“All sailors know the phosphorescence, and Taffy had seen it often, but never so much nor so beautiful. And over this lake of pale, floating light the two ships sailed side by side, and the Mate of the Jane Ellen was in command.

“As they passed fairly between the Lion and the Frowning Man, the Wind from the Lion’s side cried: ‘Mmmmmmm-whooooo-uuuuu-eeeeEEE—!’ and rushed out upon them. Then all the other winds awoke and soon were screaming about them; and with their voices Taffy heard the sound of music—and there on the topsail yard, poised light as two dragonflies, stood the lovely Star Brothers with the streaming white flame-feathers in their helmets.

“They pointed straight ahead with their star-tipped spears and sang their brave song:—

“Onward, and onward, fly fast o’er the foaming wave,
Onward, still onward, with never a fear;
Meet the foe boldly, heed not though the wild winds rave;
Over the Sea-fire points on the bright spear.

“Onward, still onward! Torquillon in all his might
Whirling comes, swirling, hot rage in his heart!
Vainly they fight, who ’gainst Right and the Stars fight,—
Cold shall he be ere his rage will depart.

“Onward, then, onward—press forward to meet him;
Torquillon comes raging!—and coldly we’ll greet him!

“The straining ropes of the rigging hummed and sang with them as if the ships were mighty harps; and they held their way steadily down the channel in spite of the frantic winds, to meet Torquillon; and what they were to do with him, they hadn’t an idea, but they were sure Castor and Pollux would show them when the time came.

“That was a tremendous spill Torquillon had, just as he thought he had the two ships that had defied him, where he could crush them the next minute. So he was furiously angry when he gathered himself together at the foot of the rock; but at least he had taught them he was not to be trifled with! He took himself off, far down the channel; and there he sulked and made himself perfectly miserable because he couldn’t decide whether he would rather have the ships come back, so that he could crush them, or have them so frightened they never would try it again, nor let any one else.

“He had fallen into a sulky sleep when the watching winds cried, ‘WhiiiissssssshhhhhhooooouuuueeeEEE—!’ and he wakened and raised his head as the winds from beyond him rushed by to meet the two ships.

“He gave a scream of mingled rage and joy that called the winds to him, and, springing up, caught the floating banner that hung, always ready, over his head, and came whirling down the channel, black and furious and terrible to see! And the two ships came on steadily, never swerving.

“The Sea-fire ran up and down, in and out of the folds of his trailing robes in streaks of pale light, and curled on the edges of the waves that foamed about his feet. So they came nearer and nearer—and then they were so close he towered above them, higher than the tops of the masts—and the next instant it would have been too late—when Castor darted like a dragonfly to the fore-royal yard of the Reindeer, and pointed to the left with his spear, and at the same moment Pollux mounted to the fore-royal yard of the Jane Ellen, and pointed to the right with his spear, and the two ships turned to the right and the left, and Torquillon went straight on to pass between them before he could stop or turn himself.

“And as they swept by, the Twins raised their arms; and each held in his hand a curious-shaped flask, filled with a liquid, clear as crystal.

“They flung it out, over Torquillon! and as it came from the mouth of the flask, it spread and pushed and billowed, on and on, pulsing and crowding in clouds of vapor; and the air grew cold—cold—so chill it seemed no living thing could stand against it.

“The winds cried: ‘Ughhhhhoooouuuuughhhhhh-h—’ and fled back to their caves. But they carried some of the cold with them, and the monkeys and cockatoos shivered and sneezed in the trees as the frost-needles pricked them. And some of them had bad colds the next morning.

“And as the ships swept by, almost within reach, and the vapor poured over him, Torquillon shrieked with rage and loosed his hands from his banner, to catch them. It floated off; and Taffy, looking back from the Jane Ellen, and every one on the two ships saw their enemy stand, his hands still lifted above his head, and the drapery of his robes hanging stiff about him—shining and glittering in the calm moonlight like diamonds and emeralds and sapphires—no longer a terrible Waterspout, but a glorious Iceberg, frozen to his hot, angry heart!

“And all the air was full of finest diamond frost-needles—drifting—floating—slowly settling about him and over the two ships—until every spar and rope was coated with hoar-frost, and the sails and decks shone like silver; but the Star Twins were gone.

“Then all the clouds drifted away, and the dark blue sky of the tropic night arched over Torquillon’s Lair, with the throbbing stars looking down; and the most beautiful thing they saw was that wonderful Iceberg—all his rage gone—calm and shining in the tranquil sea.”

The Princess’s voice ceased. There was no sound, only a long-drawn breath through the room, as if great music had just come softly to a close.

She began again in a different voice—talking: “But the Captain knew it never would do to leave him there; for he would melt in the hot sun and be as bad as ever; though he was frozen harder than any ice he ever had seen. So they didn’t wait even for morning, but fastened ropes around him and set off to tow him North. They didn’t mind if it took a month—it was such a good thing to do. They carried him far up toward the North Pole, and left him frozen fast in the ice. And he will never get away!

“Now ships pass freely through the wide channel that was Torquillon’s Lair; and since he has gone the clouds have left too, and the Rock Man has forgotten to frown, and if the Lion roars, it is a roar of welcome. The little winds caper and frisk around the ships until the channel seems the pleasantest spot in the ocean, and they are sorry to leave it.”

The Kitten had her foot already off the edge of the couch, but she stopped, because the Princess leaned forward, with her finger up, to say one more word, and mischief began to dance in her eyes. “And,”—said the Princess, “if any one asks Taffy if he ever saw a Waterspout, his eyes shine and his white teeth, and he says, ‘_Sure!_’”

Then she opened her arms and the Kitten ran into them.

“I’ll ask him,” she said. “Will he tell me? Will he come soon?” She asked it so quickly, it was all one question, and her arm around the Princess’s neck pulled her head forward where the glow from the burned-down fire was on her face. It grew suddenly like a rose.

“I shouldn’t be one bit surprised if he did,” she answered.

“But, Dearie-_Dearest_,” said Phyllisy, perched on the arm of the chair and playing with the Princess’s fingers, “I wish you’d just explain this: You said it was so long ago—Taffy and all—nobody can remember when. I thought it was—not exactly ‘Ancient,’ you know, but ‘Once upon a time’?”

“That is perfectly true,” said the Princess, soberly. “But you know—”

“Yes?” prompted Miss Phyllisy.

“You know, Taffy had a young heart? It seems to me, he must have been always.”

That kept everybody silent for a moment, thinking about it. Then Pat’s voice came from among the pillows in the dusky corner of the couch: “Well—I hope to goodness he’ll like us!”

“I don’t see how he could help it,” said the Princess.