The King of the Polar Bears

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The King of the Polar Bears lived among the icebergs in the far north country.

He was old and monstrous big.

He was wise and friendly to all who knew him.

His body was thickly covered with long white hair that glistened like silver under the

rays of the midnight sun.

His claws were strong and sharp that he might walk safely over the smooth ice or grasp

and tear the fishes and seals upon which he fed.

The seals were afraid when he drew near and tried to avoid him, but the goals, both white

and gray, loved him because he left the remnants of his feasts for them to devour.

Often his subjects the polar bears came to him for advice when ill or in trouble, but they

wisely kept away from his hunting grounds, lest they might interfere with his sport and

arouse his anger.

The wolves, who sometimes came as far north as the icebergs, whispered among themselves

that the King of the Polar Bears was either a magician or under the protection of a powerful

ferry.

For no earthly thing seemed able to harm him.

He never failed to secure plenty of food and he grew bigger and stronger day by day and

year by year.

Yet the time came when this monarch of the North met man and his wisdom failed him.

He came out of his cave among the icebergs one day and saw a boat moving through the

strip of water which had been uncovered by the shifting of the summer ice.

In the boat were men.

The great bear had never seen such creatures before and therefore advanced toward the boat,

sniffing the strange scent with a roused curiosity and wondering whether he might take

them for friends or foes, food or gharian.

When the King came near the waters and geman stood up in the boat and with a queer instrument

made a loud bang.

The polar bear felt a shock.

His brain became numb.

His thoughts deserted him.

His great limbs shook and gave way beneath him and his body fell heavily upon the hard

ice.

That was all he remembered for a time.

When he awoke he was smarting with pain on every inch of his huge bulk, for the men had

cut away his hide with its glorious white hair and carried it with them to a distant ship.

Above him circled thousands of his friends the goals, wondering if their benefactor were

really dead and it was proper to eat him.

But when they saw him raise his head and grow and tremble, they knew he still lived.

And one of them said to his comrades,

The wolves were right.

The King is a great magician, for even men cannot kill him, but he suffers for lack of

covering.

Let us repay his kindness to us by each giving him as many feathers as we can spare.

This idea pleased the goals.

Then after another they plucked with their beaks the softest feathers from under their wings

and flying down dropped them gently upon the body of the King of the Polar Bears.

Then they called to him in a course.

Courage, friend, our feathers are as soft and beautiful as your own shaggy hair.

They will guard you from the cold winds and warm you while you sleep.

Have courage then and live.

The King of the Polar Bears had courage to bear his pain and lived and was strong again.

The feathers grew as they had grown upon the bodies of the birds and covered him as his

own hair had done.

Mostly they were pure white in color, but some from the grey goals gave his majesty a slight

mottled appearance.

The rest of that summer and all through the six months of night the King left his icy

cavern only to fish or catch seals for food.

He felt no shame at his feathery covering, but it was still strange to him and he avoided

meeting any of his brother-bears.

During this period of retirement he thought much of the men who had harmed him and remembered

the way they had made the great bang.

And he decided it was best to keep away from such fierce creatures, thus he added to

his store of wisdom.

When the moon fell away from the sky and the sun came to make the icebergs glitter

with the gorgeous tintings of the rainbow, two of the polar bears arrived at the King's

cavern to ask his advice about the hunting season.

But when they saw his great body covered with feathers instead of hair they began to laugh

and one said,

Our mighty King has become a bird, whoever heard of a feathered polar bear.

Then the King gave way to wrath.

He advanced upon them with deep groubles and stately tread and with one blow of his monstrous

paw stretched the mucker lifeless at his feet.

The other ran away to his fellows and carried the news of the King's strange appearance.

The result was a meeting of all the polar bears upon a broad field of ice, where they

talked gravely of the remarkable change that had come upon their monarch.

He is in reality no longer a bear, said one, nor can he justly be called a bird, but he

is half-bird and half-bear and so unfitted to remain our King.

None who shall take his place, asked another.

He who can fight the bird bear and overcome him answered an aged member of the group.

Only the strongest is fit to rule our race.

There was silence for a time, but at length a great bear moved to the front and said,

I will fight him, I woof the strongest of our race, and I will be the King of the

polar bears.

The other is not a descent, and is matched messenger to the King to say he must fight

the great woof and master him or resign his sovereign team.

For bear with feathers, added the messenger, is no bear at all, and the King we obey must

resemble the rest of us.

I wear the feathers because it pleases me, growled the King.

Am I not a great magician?

But I will fight nevertheless, and if woof masters me he shall be King in my stead.

Then he visited his friends the goals, who were even then feasting upon the dead bear

and told them of the coming battle.

I shall conquer, he said proudly, yet my people are in the right, for only a hairy one like

themselves can hope to command their obedience.

The queen goal said, I met an eagle yesterday which had made its escape from a big city

of men, and the eagle told me he had seen a monstrous polar bear skin thrown over the

back of a carriage that rolled along the street.

That skin must have been yours, O King, and if you wish I will send an hundred of my

goals to the city to bring it back to you.

Let them go, said the King roughly, and the hundred goals were soon flying rapidly southward.

For three days they flew straight as an arrow until they came to scattered houses, to

villages, and to cities.

Then their search began.

The goals were brave and cutting and wise.

Upon the fourth day they reached the great metropolis and hovered over the streets until

the carriage rolled along with a great white bear robe thrown over the backseat.

Then the birds swooped down, the whole hundred of them, and seizing the skin and their beaks

flew quickly away.

They were late.

The King's great battle was upon the seventh day, and they must fly swiftly to reach the

polar regions by that time.

Then while the bird bear was preparing for his fight, he sharpened his claws in the

small crevasses of the ice.

He caught a seal and tested his big yellow teeth by crunching its bones between them.

And the queen goal set her band to plume the King bear's feathers until they lay smoothly

upon his body.

But every day they cast anxious glances into the southern sky, watching for the hundred

goals to bring back the King's own skin.

The seventh day came, and all the polar bears in that region gathered around the King's

cavern.

Among them was woof, strong and confident of his success.

The bird bear's feathers will fly fast enough when I get my claws upon him, he boasted,

and the others laughed and encouraged him.

The King was disappointed at not having recovered his skin, but he resolved to fight bravely

without it.

He advanced from the opening of his cavern with a proud and kingly bearing, and when he

faced his enemy he gave so terrible a growl that woof's heart stopped beating for a moment,

and he began to realize that a fight with a wise and mighty King of his race was no laughing

matter.

After exchanging one or two heavy blows with his foe, woof's courage returned, and he

determined to dishearten his adversary by bluster.

"'Come, nearer, bird bear,' he cried, "'come, nearer that I may pluck your plumage.'"

The defiance filled the King with rage.

He ruffled his feathers as a bird does toly appear to be twice his actual size, and then

he strode forward and struck woof's so powerful blow that his skull crackled like an egg shell,

and he fell prone upon the ground.

While the assembled bears stood looking with fear and wonder at their fallen champion,

the sky became darkened, and hundred goals flew down from above and dripped upon the

King's body, a skin covered with pure white hair that glittered in a sun-like silver.

And behold, the bears saw before them the well-known form of their wise and respected master,

and with one accord they bowed their shaggy heads in homage to the mighty King of the polar

bears.

This story teaches us that true dignity and courage depend not upon outward appearance,

but come rather from within, also that brag and bluster are poor weapons to carry into

battle.

And of the King of the polar bears, by L. Frank Baum.