“The hunt began.The harpoon was hurled into the walrus's breast,and a streaming blood stream spurted across the ice like a fountain.This reminded me of my own sport.I blew my sailing ships,those towering icebergs,against the boats until their timbers cracked.Ho!how the crew whistled and shouted.But I outwhistled them all.Overboard on the ice they had to throw their dead walruses,their tackle,and even their sea chests.I shrouded them in snow,and let them drift south with their broken boats and their booty alongside,for a taste of the open sea.They won't ever come back to Bear Island.”“That was a wicked thing to do,”said the mother of the winds.
“I'll let others tell of my good deeds,”he said.“But here comes my brother from the west.I like him best of all.He has a seafaring air about him,and carries a refreshing touch of coolness wherever he goes.”
“Is that little Zephyr?”the Prince asked.
“Of course it's Zephyr,”the old woman replied,“but he's not little.He was a nice boy once,but that was years ago.”
He looked like a savage,except that he wore a broad-rimmed hat to shield his face.In his hand he carried a mahogany bludgeon,cut in the mahogany forests of America.Nothing less would do!
“Where have you come from?”his mother asked.
“I come from the forest wilderness,”he said,“where the thorny vines make a fence between every tree,where the water snake lurks in the wet grass,and where people seem unnecessary.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I gazed into the deepest of rivers,and saw how it rushed through the rapids and threw up a cloud of spray large enough to hold the rainbow.I saw a wild buffalo wading in the river,but it swept him away.He swam with a flock of wild ducks,that flew up when the river went over a waterfall.But the buffalo had to plunge down it.That amused me so much that I blew up a storm,which broke age-old trees into splinters.”
“Haven't you done anything else?”the old woman asked him.