Palmer Cox

A

THE HUMAN OCTOPUS STARTS
UPON A MISSION

Across the minor sea whose blue, sparkling waters kissed the fair shores of Queen Titania’s fairy kingdom, about a hundred leagues as flies the crow, there was another country where lived the notorious enchanter Dragonfel.

A fairy messenger on a winged steed had conveyed information that Dragonfel intended to make trouble. But this was nothing new for Dragonfel.

As a matter of fact, he was always trying to make trouble for everybody. Trouble was his specialty.

Dragonfel was not a nice man, and, if you had known him, you would not have liked him. He cheated when he played croquet, and he was always claiming wickets that he never made. He did not go to Sunday School, either. If he had gone, he would not have put a penny in the plate for the heathen. That was the kind of man he was.

Yet he was the possessor of fabulous riches, and he never would have missed what he might have given away had he been charitably inclined, which he was not in the least.

No one else in the whole world was as wealthy as he. He owned a combination mine in which were diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and other precious gems galore, some of them as big as cobblestones.

Burning Bank Bonds

It may be said with safety that Dragonfel was inclined to have his own way, and carry out his own ideas. He was very rich, and had money to burn. When in the mood of celebrating some great event, such as the Burial of Good Intentions, or the Failure in Eden, instead of climbing on some rock to set off firecrackers, burn Roman candles, or discharge toy cannon, he delighted in burning Bank Bonds, Legal Tenders, or Government Securities of large denominations, until the ashes of them were declared a nuisance by his Board of Health, and with reluctance he would discontinue his celebration.

As is usual in all such great operations there were panics at times, through alarms of fire, explosions, or escaping gas, when everybody tried to get out at once and but few could escape.

One day it would be the danger of being smothered, the next of being roasted, the third of a cave-in where all would be buried alive, and so from hour to hour fear was in the way.

Distress in the mine

There were mine-sprites whom he kept steadily at work, without regard for Union hours, digging the gems out with their fingers.

The poor mine-sprites were greatly over-worked, and not the least regard was paid to life or limb. The hours were long as they struggled at the wheelbarrows or mine-carts, either pushing or pulling, with their unreasonable loads piled high in the air, and with gems that in the market would have brought enough to pay the debt of a Principality slipping off, and rolling in the dust.

The palace of Dragonfel was a sight, and it would have made your eyes blink to see it. It was constructed entirely of diamonds, rubies, and emeralds all stuck together with cement. There were no opals, because Dragonfel thought they were unlucky. If you could have pried off any one of them you would have had enough to keep you in the greatest luxury all your life. The famous Kohinoor was but a grain of sand compared to any of them.

Back of the palace, and casting a frowning shadow over it, was a single towering mountain whose top was an extinct volcano. No one could recall the exact date of its last eruption, for Dragonfel stubbornly insisted upon running his business without an almanac. There were those scientifically inclined who leaned to the theory that the volcano had been the cause of all the gems in Dragonfel’s mine.

Though it must have been a very long time since the volcano had celebrated with home-made fireworks, the enchanter had always anticipated a further display, so he had taken the precaution to buy an old-fashioned fire-engine which was installed conveniently at hand in a building over whose doors was the caption: NEPTUNE HOOK AND LADDER CO. NO 1. In the building were plenty of rubber coats, boots, and red helmets. Everything was ready for an emergency.

There were some who declared that Dragonfel had some business connection with Beelzebub, but, whether this was true or not, he had the bad taste to get himself up after the authentic portraits of that disreputable person. He was very tall indeed, with almost a scarlet countenance, and he wore a long, flowing cloak that was a perfect match for his complexion. He kept his hair rather long, and brushed it stiffly up, to convey the impression that he had a natural horn.

He boasted a host of followers, all big, hulking black-guards of giant-like stature, with repulsive names such as Boundingbore, Mandrake, Wolfinger, Grouthead, Snoutpimple, and the like, and whenever they did something mean he rewarded them. The consequence was that they were trying to do mean things all the time.

They were in charge of the mine, and the way they treated the poor mine-sprites was awful. It was a good thing for them that the officers of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children were unable to get around.

So on a certain day, following his usual custom, Dragonfel was making an inspection of the mine. He had descended through a secret passage, and walked about the dark chambers lit here and there by gloomy flares of light.

Guarded by the enchanter’s cruel followers, the mine-sprites, poor little, emaciated, witch-like creatures in tattered clothes, were digging away with their raw, bruised fingers at the sides of earth and exhuming precious stones. They were not allowed to use picks, for that would have made the work easy.

Diamonds, rubies, pearls, amethysts, emeralds, and other gems, every one of them worth a king’s ransom, lay piled about carelessly in heaps. The opals when they were discovered were thrown away. Sprites kept staggering off with heavy loads in wheelbarrows.

Dragonfel surveyed the work with great satisfaction, and asked Grouthead who was in general charge:

“When were they fed last?”

“Three days ago, kind master!”

Everyone called him “kind master,” though whether this was in sarcasm or not no one knew.

“See that they don’t get anything to eat before the full week is up,” ordered Dragonfel. “And that reminds me of my own dinner. Boundingbore, tell the cook I want turtle soup, spiced venison pastries, apple dumplings, strawberry shortcake, and iced lemonade with plenty of crushed raspberries in it.”

The mouths of the poor little mine-sprites watered, and they smacked their lips, but Grouthead snapped his long snake-whip so that it sounded like a pistol-shot, and they frantically continued digging away in the earth with their fingers.

Boundingbore flew to do Dragonfel’s bidding, and Snoutpimple observed, rather timidly:

“The air down here is very bad, kind master!”

“That’s good,” said Dragonfel, with hearty unction. “It might make me ill if I were obliged to remain, so as I have a proper regard for my health I think I will get right out into the open.”

Attended by Mandrake, Snoutpimple, Wolfinger, and some of the rest, he went on his way, while Grouthead snapped his whip to incite the frightened, gasping, exhausted mine-sprites to further effort.

A little bird with very acute hearing listened intently to his words as it lightly balanced on the twig of a gumdrop tree, and then flew straight across the sea to tell a fairy, who told the other fairies. Dragonfel with his big, clumsy, lumbering cohorts strode on to the palace that was guarded by a Demon Usher—a queer, comical-looking chap who with his wings much resembled a human grasshopper, and who half flew, half walked.

He had thin little wisps of hair sticking out from each side of his nose, like the scanty whiskers of a cat.

The Demon Usher with hops and jumps escorted him to a magnificent throne, and grovelled with smirks before him, while Dragonfel with what he thought to be the quintessence of grace sank upon it, and then arranged himself in what he imagined was a kingly posture.

“Well,” he gruffly said, “has anyone been here since I’ve been gone?”

“No, kind master!” the Demon Usher hastened to assure him. “No one has been here since the band and you remember them.”

“Ah, that band!” repeated Dragonfel, with a shudder. “I can’t get their notes out of my ears yet. But what have we here?”