XVII—THE ISLAND OF DEMONS

The Monkey and the WarriorThe Monkey and the Warrior

At length they entered a wilderness, and a wonderful bird sprang up from the ground as if to assail them. The bird’s head plumage was of the deepest crimson and his body was clothed with a feather robe in five colors.

The dog dashed at the bird to seize and devour him, but Peach-boy sprang forward and prevented this. Then he said: “Bird, do you wish to interrupt my journey? If so, the dog shall bite off your head. But if you submit to me you can be one of my company and help fight the enemies of Japan.”

The bird instantly bowed in front of Peach-boy, saying, “I am a humble bird called the pheasant. It would be an honor to accompany you on such an expedition.”

“Does this low fellow go with us?” the dog growled disdainfully.

“That is no business of yours,” Peach-boy said; “and I give you three animalswarning that if any quarreling starts among you I will send you all back that very moment. In war a good position is better than good luck, but union is better than either good luck or good position. There can be no squabbling among ourselves if we are to win.”

The three animals listened respectfully and promised implicit obedience. Then the pheasant ate a half dumpling that Peach-boy gave him, and the four went on together.

At last Peach-boy and his companions came to the sea. They looked off across the water in the direction which he told them the island lay whose demon inhabitants he and they were to destroy, and saw nothing but waves. The dog, the monkey, and the pheasant are all creatures that live on dry land, and though the steepest cliff and deepest valley could not frighten them, yet when they saw that endless stretch of rolling waves, they stood speechless and fearful.

Peach-boy observed this and said in a loud voice: “My vassals, why do you tremble? Does the ocean frighten you? It would have been better to have come alone than to have picked up such companions.But now I will dismiss you. Return!”

They were much pained at hearing these reproaches, and they clung to him beseeching him not to send them away. Apparently they were plucking up courage, and he consented to retain them.

He had them help prepare a boat, and they set sail with the first favorable wind. The shore behind them was soon lost to sight, and for a while the animals were very unhappy. But they gradually became accustomed to the motion and presently stood on deck eagerly looking ahead to see the island as soon as it came into view. When they wearied of that they began to show their accomplishments. The dog sat up and begged, the monkey played tricks, and the pheasant sang a song.

Their performances greatly amused Peach-boy, and before he knew it the island was close at hand. On it he could see numerous flagsfluttering above what seemed to be an impregnable fortress. This fortress had a heavy gate of iron, and inside were many closely-crowded houses, all of which had iron roofs.

Peach-boy turned to the pheasant and said: “You have wings. Fly to the fortress and find out what those island demons are doing.”

The pheasant promptly obeyed his orders and found the demons, some of them red, some black, some blue, assembled on the iron roofs of their houses. “Listen, you island demons!” the pheasant cried. “A mighty warrior is coming with an army to destroy you. If you wish to save your lives, yield at once.”

“You vain pheasant!” the demons laughed, “it is you who will be destroyed—not us.”

So saying, they shook their horns at him,girded up their garments of tiger-skin, and seized their weapons. But that did not scare the pheasant. He swooped down and with one peck took off the head of a red demon.

Then began a fierce battle, and soon the gate burst open, and Peach-boy with the dog and monkey rushed in raging like lions. The demons, who thought that they only had to do with one bird, were much alarmed, yet they fought bravely, and even their children joined in the fray. The sound of their yells as it mingled with the sound of the waves beating on the shore was truly terrible.

In the end they got the worst of it. Some fell from the roofs of their houses, the walls of the fortress, and the wild cliffs, and some were killed by the irresistible onslaughts of Peach-boy, and of the dog, the monkey, and the pheasant.

When, at last, only the head demon remained alive, he threw away his weapons,and knelt in submission before Peach-boy with the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Great warrior,” he said, “spare my life! From today I shall reform. Spare me!”

Peach-boy laughed scornfully. “You villain!” he cried, “for many years you have persecuted and killed innocent people; and now that your own life is in danger you beg for mercy and promise to reform. You deserve no mercy, and shall receive none.”

So the head demon shared the fate of the rest of his tribe, and Peach-boy and his comrades loaded their boat with the hoarded island treasures. There were coral and tortoise and pearls, not to speak of magic hats and coats that made their wearers invisible.

All these things they carried away, and great was the joy of the old man and old woman when they saw Peach-boy return victorious. After that he and they lived happily to the end of their days.

My grandfather, Andrew Coffey, was known to every one in the region about his home as a quiet decent man. He was fond of rambling and riding, and was familiar with every hill and dale, bog and pasture, field and covert in that part of the country.

Then fancy his surprise, while riding only a few miles from home, one evening, to find himself in a vicinity that he did not recognize at all. His good horse was constantly stumbling against some tree or into some bog-hole that by rights ought not to be there. To make matters worse, a cold March wind was blowing, and rain began to pelt down.

Soon he was gladdened by the sight of a light among the trees in the distance, and when he drew near he found a cabin, though for the life of him he couldn’t think how it came there. However, after tying his horse, in he walked. A fire was blazing on the hearth, and near it was a comfortable chair. But not a soul was there in the room.

He sat down and got a little warm and cheered after his drenching, but all the while he was wondering and wondering. He was still puzzling over his experiences when he heard a voice.

“Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!” it said.

Good heavens! who was calling him, and not a soul in sight? Look around as he might, he could find no one indoors or out. To add to his other worries, his horse was gone. Again he heard the voice.

“Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!tellme a story,” it said, and it spoke louder than before.

What a thing to ask for! It was bad enough not to be left in peace seated by the fire drying oneself, without being bothered for a story. A third time the voice spoke, and louder than ever.

“Andrew Coffey!Andrew Coffey!tell me a story or it will be the worse for you,” it said.

My poor grandfather was so dumb-founded that he could only stand and stare. For a fourth time the voice spoke.

“ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY!” it shouted, “I told you it would be the worse for you.”

Then a man bounced out from a cupboard that Andrew Coffey had not noticed before. He was in a towering rage, and he carried as fine a blackthorn club as was ever used to crack a man’s head. When my grandfather clapped eyeson him he knew him for Patrick Rooney who had gone overboard one day in a sudden storm while fishing on the sea long years ago.

Andrew Coffey did not stop to visit, but took to his heels and got out of the house as quickly as he could. He ran and he ran taking little thought of where he went till at last he ran against a tree. Then he sat down to rest.

But he had been there only a few moments when he heard voices. One said, “the vagabond is heavy.”

Another said, “Steady now, lads.”

A third said, “I’ve lugged him as far as I care to.”

A fourth said, “We’ll stop when we get to the big tree yonder.”

That happened to be the tree under which Andrew Coffey was sitting. “Better see than be seen,” he thought. Then he swunghimself up by a branch and was soon snugly hidden away in the tree.

The rain and wind had ceased and there was light enough for Andrew Coffey to see four men carrying a long box. They brought it under the tree, set it down, and opened it. Then, what should they take out but Patrick Rooney? Never a word did he say, and he was as pale as new-fallen snow.

The men gathered brushwood and soon had a fire burning. Then they stuck two stakes into the ground on each side of the fire, laid a pole across on the tops of them, and on to the pole they slung Patrick Rooney.

“He’s all fixed now,” one said, “but who’s to take care of the fire while we’re away?”

With that Patrick opened his lips. “Andrew Coffey,” he said.

Then the four men, each speaking the name once, called out, “Andrew Coffey!Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!”

“Gentlemen, I’d be glad to oblige you,” Andrew Coffey said, “but I know nothing about this sort of roasting.”

“You’d better come down, Andrew Coffey,” Patrick said.

It was the second time he spoke, and Andrew Coffey decided he would come down. The four men went off, and he was left alone with Patrick. He sat down by the fire and kept it even, and all the while Patrick looked at him.

Poor Andrew Coffey couldn’t understand the situation at all, and he stared at Patrick and at the fire, and thought of the cabin in the wood till he felt quite dazed.

“Ah, you’re burning me!” Patrick said, very short and sharp.

“I beg your pardon,” my grandfather said, and hastened to fix the fire.

He couldn’t get the notion out of his head that something was wrong. Hadn’t everybody, near and far, said that Patrick had fallen overboard?

“Andrew Coffey!Andrew Coffey!you’re burning me!” Patrick exclaimed.

My grandfather was sorry enough, and he vowed he wouldn’t do so again.

“You’d better not,” Patrick grumbled, and he gave him a cock of his eye, and a grin of his teeth that sent a shiver down Andrew Coffey’s back. It certainly was odd that Andrew Coffey should be there in a thick wood that he had never set eyes on before, roasting Patrick Rooney. You can’t wonder that my grandfather thought and thought and forgot the fire.

“Andrew Coffey!Andrew Coffey!I’ll punish you for the way you’re neglecting me!” Patrick Rooney cried.

He was unslinging himself from the polenow, and his eyes glared and his teeth glistened. My grandfather got up in haste and ran off into the gloomy wood. He stumbled over stones, the brambles tore his clothes, the branches beat his face.

Presently he saw a light and was glad. A minute later he was kneeling by a hearth-side, dazed and bedraggled. The flames leaped and crackled, and he was beginning to get warm and feel a little easy in his mind when he heard a voice shouting, “Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!”

It’s hard for a man to jump after going through all my grandfather had, but jump he did. When he looked around, where should he find himself but in the very cabin in which he had first met Patrick.

“Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! tell me a story,” the voice said.

“Is it a story you want?” my grandfather said, as bold as could be, for he was tired ofbeing frightened. “Well then, here’s one.”

And he told the tale of what had befallen him from first to last that night. The tale was long and he was weary. He must have fallen asleep, for when he awoke he lay on a hillside under the open heavens, and his horse grazed at his side.

Mr. Turkey Buzzard doesn’t have any sense. You watch him and you will see that what I have said is true.

When the rain pours down he sits on the fence and hunches up his shoulders and draws in his neck and tries to hide his head. There he sits looking so pitiful that you are real sorry for him.

“Never mind,” he says to himself, “when this rain is over I’m going to build a house right off. I’m not going to let the rain pelt me this way again.”

But after the clouds were gone, and a fresh breeze blew, and the sun shone, what did Mr. Turkey Buzzard do? He sat on top of a dead pine tree where the sun could warmhim, and he stretched out his wings, and he turned round and round so the wind could dry his feathers. Then he laughed to himself and said: “The rain is over. It isn’t going to rain any more, there’s no use of my building a house now.”

Mr. Turkey Buzzard is certainly a very careless man. When it is raining he can’t build a house, and when it isn’t raining he doesn’t need one.

If you have enjoyed these stories you will want to read the other books in the series.

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