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Title: The man elephant
A book of African fairy tales
Author: Hartwell James
Illustrator: John R. Neill
Release date: November 3, 2025 [eBook #77175]
Language: English
Original publication: Philidelphia: Henry Altemus Company, 1906
Credits: Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ for Project Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously made available by the Library of Congress)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN ELEPHANT ***
ALTEMUS’ FAIRY TALES SERIES
The MAN ELEPHANT
A Book of African
Fairy Tales
EDITED with an INTRODUCTION
By Hartwell James
WITH FORTY ILLUSTRATIONS
By JOHN R. NEILL
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
INTRODUCTION
A series of fairy tales from different countries would be incomplete
without a book of stories from Africa, which for many years was called
the “Dark Continent.”
We are very largely indebted to travelers, explorers, and missionaries
for African legends and stories. Those in this book were told to them
by the natives themselves in dark and gloomy forests, and by the great,
brown rivers of that wonderful land. They are not so much about princes
and princesses as are the fairy tales of other countries, but are more
about animals—elephants, and lions, and jackals.
There is plenty of magic in these stories, however. Ramil, the witch
mother, used it on her elephant son; the hunter’s wife in “The Master
Weaver” rubbed a stronger magic “medicine” on her husband’s spear than
he had been using, and so had her way about things; and The Flying Lion
never would have lost the power of using his wings if the beautiful
girl with red flowers in her hair and a gold bracelet on her arm had
not learned how to make an invisible robe for herself. “King Mungo” is
a very funny story, and in “Uncle Lion” we are told how the phrase
“taking the lion’s share” originated. All of these tales are extremely
interesting.
The borders and other decorations in the book will be of great interest
to young people, for they represent musical instruments, headdresses,
war clubs, war drums, spears, belts, idols, and other rude objects used
by African tribes hundreds of years ago.
H. J.
CONTENTS
The Man Elephant 13
The Master Weaver 39
The Flying Lion 53
King Mungo 75
Uncle Lion 91
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
“‘Let me go with you and hunt the elephant’” Frontispiece
“Led her on to talk of the river” 15
“He was twelve feet high as she had said” 19
“‘I want them all cooked’” 23
“‘Save me from the elephant!’” 25
“How she did have to work” 26
“Put her right up on top of a tree” 28
“He sniffed suspiciously around the hut” 29
“Parle remembered a spell” 31
“He saw a spider making a net” 38
“Malla was a great hunter” 42
“The bush-cow rushed furiously upon him” 43
“A kind of coarse cloth made of bark” 45
“All the other women envied her” 46
“‘He taught me all I know’” 47
“Lighted by fire-flies and glow-worms” 52
“The Flying Lion was a terrible beast” 55
“‘There is some secret about his wings’” 59
“Sometimes she had to creep over fallen trees” 61
“‘Human beings are queer creatures’” 63
“The Great Frog was sunning himself” 65
“‘Nothing would give me more pleasure’” 67
“The frog was too quick for him” 68
“The largest was an elephant” 74
“Swing himself from one branch to another” 76
“They lived in peace and harmony” 77
“A piece of cloth with six holes in it” 79
“Pulled out his thimble and thread” 81
“‘Here, dog, bite the cat’” 83
“Had to go on all fours” 85
“‘I am glad to see you, Kanja’” 90
“‘What is your idea of the lion’s share?’” 92
“‘What seems to be the matter?’” 93
“They rushed on and on” 96
“‘His skin will make a nice cloak’” 97
“‘They are no more your fish than mine’” 99
“‘Are you sure you laid perfectly still?’” 102
FAIRY TALES FROM AFRICA
THE MAN ELEPHANT
Parle deserved a better husband than the Man Elephant, but one
of Ramil’s spells, happily remembered, clears up the situation;
and Lomi, by inference, cooks his own fish.
Parle was a very pretty girl who lived with her father and mother and
two brothers in a hut by the side of an African river.
It was not a pleasant river at all, for it was brown in color, and
flowed through a dark and gloomy forest of great trees and closely
woven vines. There were crocodiles, too, in the ugly black river, and
Parle was afraid to bathe in it.
Although one would hardly believe it, Parle grew up very happily in
this little clearing by the river, and never had a real grief until her
two brothers left home to go hunting, and would not take her with them.
“You will see the moon rise and set many times before we come back,”
they said, “but when we come, we will find you a good husband, and we
will dance merrily at your wedding.”
“Let me go with you, and hunt the elephant,” she pleaded. “I don’t want
a husband; I want to go with you.”
“The cooking-pot is better than the spear for girls,” said the older
brother decidedly, “and you must stay at home.”
“But I want to go so much,” still pleaded the girl, “for you may find
the great river Ramil has told us about so often.”
“What river is that?” they asked.
“Why Ramil says the first men who were ever made, lived by the side of
a great river—up there,” she answered, pointing vaguely towards the
north.
“She says the men were all black; but some of them swam across to the
other side, and the water washed them white. Since then the white men
are always stretching out their hands and calling to the blacks to come
across to them.”
“Oh, that Ramil is full of silly stories,” said the older brother. “I
don’t believe them.”
“But the white men do come from over there,” persisted Parle, gazing
northward as if she could see the river in the distance. “I should like
to swim across and be washed white, too!”
The younger brother thought this the most foolish speech he had ever
heard. “Well,” he said, “there is no accounting for some people’s
tastes!”
Then the brothers rubbed their spears with some kind of grease which
they believed would kill elephants, and as they did so they sang:
“When mine enemy thou shalt see,
Black and tall like an ebony-tree,
Sing softly, softly, little spear,
As to his heart thou drawest near.”
Early the next morning the two brothers started on the expedition,
leaving their sister behind. In her loneliness, she visited the
witch-doctress, Ramil, oftener than she had ever done before, and led
her on to talk of the river far away beyond the forest, and the white
men on the other side of it.
“The best thing for you to do,” said Ramil, “that is, if you really
want to go there, is to marry my son. Then he can carry you on his back
through the forest.”
“I should be too heavy,” said Parle, shaking her pretty head; “and
besides, I don’t want to marry anyone.”
“You could not be too heavy for my son,” replied the witch. “His legs
are as thick as tree-trunks, and he stands twelve feet high at least.
“As for not wanting a husband,” continued Ramil; “that is what all
girls say, but they don’t mean it.”
“I wouldn’t want to marry a giant,” said Parle.
“Oh, he isn’t a giant. He is—but never mind—wait till you see him,”
replied Ramil mysteriously, for she was determined to marry Parle to
her son, if possible.
So that evening, when the moon was shining softly through the trees,
she stole away to the place where her son was usually to be found at
night, and by and by she came across him at the edge of a swamp, where
he had been rolling about in the muddy water.
He was twelve feet high, and had legs like tree-trunks, as she had
said; for Ramil’s son was nothing more nor less than a big black
elephant, and that very day he had nearly been killed by Parle’s
brothers.
“What do you want of me now, little mother?” he asked, rubbing himself
gently against a tree.
“It is time you had a wife,” she replied. “I have found the prettiest
little wife for you, but she will never consent to marry an elephant.
You will have to let me turn you into a bushman for a little while.”
“How will you do it? and why is it necessary?” asked her son
suspiciously. You see, he knew his mother was a witch.
“If you eat one of these,” replied his mother, showing him some leaves
she had picked on her way through the forest, “you will become a
handsome young bushman, who can woo the girl and marry her.
“Then when you have carried off your bride, you can eat another leaf,
and then you will be changed into an elephant again.”
“Can she cook fish and make cakes?” asked the elephant; “and is she
really a pretty girl, my mother?”
“Indeed she is pretty,” said Ramil, noticing that her son’s eyes
twinkled. “She is as sweet as the wild mango blossoms when they fall to
the ground in the spring.
“And as to her cooking,” she went on; “I have tasted her baked fish and
her broth.” And Ramil rolled her eyes, remembering how good they had
been, and pleased to see a look of satisfaction stealing over her son’s
face.
“I do get so tired of plantain leaves,” said the elephant plaintively.
“No wonder. That’s because your mother wasn’t an elephant. Well, she
will need a big cooking-pot! One baked fish will never satisfy you.”
So Ramil persuaded her son to eat one of the leaves, and as soon as he
had done it his four legs became two, and his clumsy body changed into
that of a tall, well-made young bushman.
Then he took a spear in his hand and went with his mother to the door
of Parle’s hut, who thought he was the handsomest young man she had
ever seen.
“But you said he was twelve feet high, and that his legs were like
tree-trunks,” she cried.
And the cunning old woman answered, “That was because he was under a
spell. He is cured now.” So Parle promised to be his wife, and after
they were married he took her away with him into the forest.
But they did not travel north as he had promised, towards the great
river which washed black people white. Instead, they went south, always
south, towards the plains where the elephant hunters were few, and
where her husband thought he might live in peace with his wife.
By and by they came to a beautiful country covered with green grass and
flowers, for it was early spring, and there he built her a hut. “Now I
will go fishing,” he said, “and you shall cook my supper when I come
back.”
When he came back, he brought with him thirty fish; and when Parle saw
them, she said, “three would have been enough.”
“I want them all cooked,” replied her husband. “Thirty will not be too
many.”
“But see how large they are!” insisted his wife.
“That makes no difference. Do as I tell you!” he answered sternly.
So Parle began to cook them, while her husband went behind the hut and
ate the second leaf his mother had given him.
And as soon as he had done this, his nose grew into a trunk and his
teeth into tusks, while his body changed into that of a huge elephant,
standing four feet above the roof!
Parle looked up from her cooking and gave a scream. “Oh, Lomi! Lomi!”
she called out. “Save me from the elephant!”
“I am Lomi, your husband,” he replied, talking to her across the roof
of the hut. “Don’t be frightened.”
“But I am frightened!” cried the poor girl, crouching on the ground and
holding her face in her hands, while her husband told her the story of
the trick he had played on her.
“Now all you have to do is to please me,” he went on, “or it will be
the worse for you.
“I am tired of elephant food, and want broth, baked meat, plenty of
fish, and all the good things bushmen eat. I will go and hunt for them,
and it will be your business to see that they are properly cooked.”
So poor Parle had to cook from morning until night to satisfy her
husband’s appetite. He brought home springbok and gemsbok—small deer
which roamed about the plains—and she made broths and stews of them, as
her mother had taught her.
How she did have to work! Instead of running out in the morning to
gather flowers, she had to go fishing, or to collect eggs to put into
the soups. She grew so ill and thin that none would have known her for
the same pretty girl who had left home with the young bushman.
But every day, when she came out of her hut, she shaded her eyes from
the sun, and looked across the plain to see if there were any travelers
coming from the north. “Some day my brothers may find me,” she thought.
So the days went on until one morning her husband’s breakfast did not
please him, and he was so angry that he snatched her up in his trunk
and put her right up on top of a tree which grew near the hut. “You
shall stay there until I come back,” he said.
It was not much of a punishment, and his wife did not mind it at all,
for it was rather pleasant than otherwise. There was no cooking to be
done up there, and she could see much farther over the plain from the
top of the tree.
So Parle looked and looked, always to the north, all the morning, but
in vain. At last, about noon, two black dots appeared on the line where
the plain met the sky, and Parle forgot how hungry she was as she
watched the dots grow larger and larger.
“I wonder if they are lions,” she thought. “No, they are men!” she
cried aloud. In an hour she could see that they were bushmen, coming
swiftly across the plains; and in a little while she recognized her
brothers, who had traveled all this way to find her and hear if she was
happy.
It did not take long for the oldest brother to climb the tree and bring
her down. And then how glad they were to see each other! Parle cooked
them some food and while they were eating it she told them how unhappy
she was, and made them promise to take her away.
Then they planned how to get away. “We must wait until night, or Lomi
will catch us,” she told them. “I will hide you until it is safe to
start.”
There was a raised wooden platform behind the hut, and underneath it
Parle kept firewood, rugs to sleep on, and all kinds of things for
which there was not room in the hut. So she stowed away her brothers in
there; and when Lomi came home, although he sniffed suspiciously around
the hut, he did not catch a glimpse of them.
Then at midnight when Lomi was fast asleep, his wife roused her
brothers, and they prepared to leave. “We are going to kill the
elephant,” whispered the older brother.
“Indeed, you must not,” replied Parle decidedly.
“If you won’t let us kill the elephant, you must let us take his
cattle, at least,” said the younger brother.
So they set out, driving the cattle before them; but Parle left behind
one cow, one sheep, and one goat, telling them to make as much noise as
they could during the night.
Lomi waked several times after they had gone, but when he heard the
noises the cow, the goat, and the sheep made, he concluded that all his
cattle were safe, and went to sleep again each time.
Early in the morning he found out his mistake, but by this time Parle
and her brothers were far away across the plain. Soon he was in pursuit
of them, and how fast he did tear over the ground!
Driving the cattle before them, Parle and her brothers flew on and on;
but the terrible elephant got over the ground much more quickly than
they could, and at last was only a half a mile away.
And as if to make it worse, right ahead of them were great rocks, too
steep to climb, and so high they seemed to touch the sky. Then they
gave themselves up for lost.
But just then Parle remembered a spell which Ramil, the witch, had
taught her, and cried out:
“By the lilies which grow
On the still lagoon,
All silver-white
Under the moon,
Stone of my fathers,
Divide! Divide!
Let us pass through
To the other side.”
As the words ceased, the rocks opened, and Parle with her brothers and
the cattle went safely through.
And how angry Lomi was when he saw the rocks close behind them!
On the other side there was a beautiful lagoon shining in the silvery
moonlight, with white lilies floating on the water, and it looked so
beautiful that Parle ran, with a cry of joy, to bathe her face and
hands in it.
“I wonder if Ramil’s spell brought it here? Or was it here all the
time?” she cried in bewilderment.
So Parle and her brothers rested there for a time, and then went on
again to try and find the river of which Ramil had told them so often.
It would be nice to know whether they found it or not, and were washed
white in its waters, but you will have to decide that for yourselves.
There is one thing quite sure, however, and that is, Lomi never saw
Parle again, which served him quite right.
FAIRY TALES FROM AFRICA
THE MASTER WEAVER
It is unwise to change the medicine on one’s husband’s spear,
as Sassa found out to her sorrow. Still, she acquired a much
handsomer frock as a resultant occurrence.
Until he married Sassa, Malla was a great hunter—the greatest in his
tribe, for he never failed to bring home game when he went hunting in
the bush.
Malla used to put medicine on his spear—at least that is what he called
it—but it was only a kind of grease, and then he would hold up his
spear in front of him and say:
“Kill, kill, spear of mine,
Earth-pig and porcupine,
Bush-cow and bush-deer,
Kill, kill, little spear.”
It was very odd, but after he married Sassa, his spear was always
getting fast in the trees, or gliding past the bush-cows without
touching them. The fact was, Sassa did not want him to go hunting, and
as she knew a better charm than his, she rubbed a different medicine
onto the spear after he had finished with it. And this is what she
would say:
“Bush-deer and bush-cow,
Say, who shall hurt you now?
By my spell you shall be
Safe and free, safe and free.”
Malla did not know this, of course, and one day he went out after a
big, savage bush-cow. He threw his spear as skilfully as usual, but it
passed through the animal’s horns and struck a tree. Then the bush-cow
rushed furiously upon him, and gored him, injuring him so much that he
could hardly creep home.
As he lay in his hut, in great pain, his friends found out that it was
Sassa’s fault that he got hurt, and they punished her for it. They need
not have done so, for Sassa was punished sufficiently by seeing her
husband in pain, and she nursed him very tenderly.
One day she said to him, “I witched your spear to make you give up
hunting, because it is so dangerous.”
“I shall never give it up while I can drag myself into the bush,” said
her husband. “Once a hunter, always a hunter, Sassa.”
Long before he had recovered from his wounds, and while he was too weak
to walk, he would creep on his hands and knees into the bush, and lie
there all day. His wife tried to persuade him to stay in the hut, but
he said if he couldn’t hunt the animals, he could at least watch them.
One day as Malla was lying on his back, looking up at the trees, he saw
a spider making a net, so he said to him, “You also, my lord spider,
are a great hunter.”
“If you had made a trap like this, and caught the bush-cow in it, you
would not have been hurt,” replied the spider.
“It would have been much better,” Malla agreed. “I think I will make a
net of bush-rope.”
Now bush-rope is the stem of a creeping plant which grows in African
forests, and is very strong and tough; so Malla took the thickest he
could find, and made a net, and put it between two bushes.
Then in the morning when he went to look at it, he found bush-deer,
earth-pigs, and porcupines struggling in it. “I told you it would be a
good thing,” said the spider.
Then Malla made another net, and it was made better than the first, and
then he made a third one which was better still, and made of finer
rope.
One day Sassa said to him, “If you could weave a very fine net, I would
wear it;” for like all the other women who lived in the forest, she had
nothing to wear but a kind of coarse cloth made of bark, which shrank
when it was wet.
Malla said he was willing to try, but he could not make the cloth of
the right shape, and so he went to the spider again.
“I make my net on sticks,” said the spider; “and you must do the same
thing. But why should you, who are a mighty hunter, waste your time
making dresses for your wife?”
Then Malla hunted around until he found some very fine rope, and fixed
his sticks near the spider’s web, so he could see just how he made it.
Then he wove a piece of cloth which was the right shape, and pleased
Sassa very much.
One day she showed him a place where some long, silky grass grew, and
then said to him, “If you can make the cloth of this grass, instead of
the bush-rope, it would be finer still.”
So Malla showed some of it to the spider. “I have made nets of thick
bush-rope and thin bush-rope. Can I make one out of this?” he asked.
Then the spider growled out, “Women are never satisfied,” but he was a
good-natured spider on the whole, and showed Malla how to weave a fine,
beautiful cloth of grass, of which Sassa was very proud.
All the other women envied her as she wrapped herself in it and walked
past the other huts. “How lucky she is,” they said. “Her husband is not
only a mighty hunter, but he can make finer cloth than anyone else.”
Malla continued to make bush-rope nets to catch game, and was so
successful that he and his friends feasted all the year round.
Both he and Sassa lived to a great age, and saw their grandchildren and
great-grandchildren. Even when he was old and grey-headed, he was
called “The Great Hunter;” but when they called him, in addition, “The
Master Weaver,” he would point to the bush where the spider wove his
silvery web:
“He taught me all I know,” he said. “He is the Master Weaver!”
FAIRY TALES FROM AFRICA
THE FLYING LION
The wonder is that the Great Frog did not meet a princess with
gold bracelets on her arms and red flowers in her hair, sooner
than he did. However, it is an excellent story.
One of the most clever girls who ever lived was a king’s daughter named
Pearl Blossom. She was so clever that every one came to her for advice.
She knew what medicine to give people when they were sick, the kind of
herbs and plants which were good to eat, and the crops which would grow
best in different kinds of soil.
She could tell when it was going to rain, and when the rain would
clear; and she understood what animals said to each other. There was
just one thing she did not know, and that was how to get rid of the
Flying Lion.
Now the Flying Lion was a very terrible beast. He devoured everything
he came across; and had built himself a house, or palace, of the bones
of the creatures he had eaten.
Pearl Blossom would have been perfectly happy if it had not been for
the Flying Lion, for the very thought of him made her sad.
“He is like a cloud hanging over our village,” she said to her father,
one day. “When the women go to the river to wash, or the children go
outdoors to play, no one knows how many will come back.”
“It is a terrible thing to think about, of course,” replied her father.
“Some one should get rid of him, but a woman cannot do it. Don’t think
about the Flying Lion.”
You see, the old King had no great opinion of his daughter’s abilities,
and he thought her rather spoiled by the fuss his people made over her.
But this was not so. Pearl Blossom was too sensible to be conceited.
She was kind and good, and wanted to help others as much as possible.
One morning, Pearl Blossom went into the forest to gather roots, and
pretty soon came to a place where a tall woman was sitting at the foot
of a cotton-tree.
The woman was fair of face, with hair like red gold, and she wore a
long, trailing white garment. “Who are you?” asked Pearl Blossom. “I
never saw you before.”
“You haven’t seen me before, although I have always been here,” the
woman replied. “I whispered in your ear all you know about the things
in the forest. How did you think you learned so much about animals and
plants?”
“Why, I just thought about them as I sat under the trees,” said Pearl
Blossom, after a little pause.
“It was I who taught you,” said the woman. “My name is Gulu, and I live
inside the cotton-tree. Would you like to see my home?”
“Indeed I would,” said Pearl Blossom.
So Gulu led her through the door into the tree, and there was the
loveliest little house she had ever seen. The carpet was green moss,
the walls were covered with beautiful flowers, and it was lighted by
fire-flies and glow-worms.
Pearl Blossom was delighted with what she saw, and said so. Then she
and Gulu sat down and began to talk. “We are old friends; for although
you have never seen me, I have told you nearly all my secrets. Is there
anything else you want to know?”
“I want to know how to get rid of the Flying Lion,” replied Pearl
Blossom. “Can you tell me how to do it?”
Gulu was silent for quite a little while. Then at length she said: “It
will be rather difficult; yes, the most difficult thing you could have
asked me. But if you will stay with me for three months, it can be
done.”
“Why must I stay three whole months?” asked Pearl Blossom.
“Because, in the first place it will take you a month to weave an
invisible robe for yourself; and unless you have one, you can’t meddle
with the Flying Lion.”
“I suppose if he should see me, that would be the end of it.”
“Indeed it would, and of you, too,” said Gulu. “Then after the robe is
made, you will have to learn the language of the crows and the frogs.
That will take two months, because they are more difficult to
understand than the rest of the animals.”
“But I must go home first and tell my parents where I am.”
“Indeed you must not,” replied Gulu. “No one must know where you are,
or the Flying Lion will hear of it and know what you are doing.”
“I must get rid of the Flying Lion,” said Pearl Blossom; “so it will be
best for me to stay.”
But the King and Queen were distracted with grief when night came and
the Princess had not come back from the forest, so they sent the
bushmen in every direction in search of her. They sought for many days,
but could not find her, and every one thought the Flying Lion had eaten
her.
All this time Pearl Blossom sat in the cotton-tree house weaving
herself a robe which would make her invisible wherever she went. And
when it was finished she learned the language of the crows and the
frogs.
Then, when the three months were at an end, Gulu told her she would
better go and listen to the crows in the forest and find out what to do
about the Flying Lion.
So Pearl Blossom put on her invisible robe and crept up close to the
crows to hear what they had to say.
“I don’t know just what it is,” said one of them, “but there is some
secret about his wings. The white crows know it, but they dare not
tell.”
“He leaves two white crows to guard the bones every day when he goes
hunting,” said a young crow. “There are piles and piles of them, and he
won’t have one of them broken. I have seen them,” he added proudly.
“What is all this about bones?” asked a very old crow. He could not fly
as far as the younger ones, and was inclined not to pay much attention
to their wonderful tales.
“Why, the bones of the creatures the Flying Lion has eaten,” replied
the young crow. “He has built a house with them over there where the
sun goes down,” nodding towards the west. “I know it, for I have seen
it,” he added, puffing out his breast with a great deal of importance.
“I must see that house myself,” thought Pearl Blossom; “and I must hear
what the white crows say to each other. Perhaps they will let out the
secret.”
So Pearl Blossom went away through the forest, and walked for a long
time before she reached the house where the white crows were.
The way through the forest was very difficult, too. Sometimes the
bush-rope caught her feet and threw her down; sometimes she had to
creep over great fallen trees; and again she had to creep under bushes.
It was very fortunate that she could talk to the animals, for the
bush-crows and the monkeys and the snails showed her the way, and were
all very kind to her.
It took some time for them to get used to her way of appearing and
disappearing, and of course, it puzzled them, for she had to slip off
her invisible robe while she spoke to them.
“Human beings are queer creatures at the best of times,” said the snake
to the monkey. “Being a Princess makes her a little queerer, I
suppose.”
The white crows were flying round and round the Flying Lion’s house
when Pearl Blossom got there. The house was very large, all built of
bones, and there was a pile of bones in front of it three times as high
as the Princess. After a while the white crows settled on a tree near
her, and began to talk.
“I wish I knew one thing,” said the first one. “Why doesn’t he want any
of the bones broken? Can you tell me that?”
“The only person who knows is the Great Frog,” answered the other.
Pearl Blossom was disappointed. “They don’t know the secret after all,”
she said to herself.
“What Great Frog?” asked one of the crows. “Do you mean the Great Frog
who lives in the pond behind the house?”
The other crow nodded his head.
“But he won’t tell it until he is asked by a Princess with gold
bracelets on her arm and red flowers in her hair. I have heard that
ever since I was born.”
The moment Pearl Blossom heard this, she hurried away to the pond
behind the house, for she had gold bracelets on her arm and red flowers
in her hair.
The Great Frog was sunning himself on the bank when the Princess came
up. He was green in color, with a white chest, and he was three feet
high and one foot broad.
Pearl Blossom, who never knew what it was to be afraid, slipped off her
invisible robe and went up to him.
“Well,” he said when he learned what Pearl Blossom wanted, “if the
Flying Lion is doing as much damage as that, it is time to stop him.”
“But can you do it?” asked Pearl Blossom anxiously.
“Anyone can do it who knows the secret of the bones,” replied the Great
Frog. “If the bones are broken, he won’t be able to fly any more.”
“Then will you go and break them?” asked the Princess.
“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” replied the frog politely, and
off he went by leaps and bounds to the Flying Lion’s house, and pulled
it down and broke all the bones in pieces.
Then he called out to the white crows: “Tell your master, if he wants
me, to come to the pond and look for me!”
Pretty soon the lion came crashing through the bushes in a great rage.
“I can’t fly!” he cried out. “What have you done that I can’t fly?” he
asked the white crows.
“We haven’t done anything,” they replied. “The Great Frog has been here
and broken the bones. He says if you want him you may go to the pond.”
Then the lion stopped roaring and crept softly towards the water to
catch the frog, who was sitting on the bank. But the Great Frog slipped
into the water just as he was within a yard of him, and dived to the
other side and sat there.
Then the lion crept round to the other side, but again the frog was too
quick for him, and he could not catch him. He tried time and time again
to catch him, but at last had to give it up and go away.
Since then lions have never had any wings, but are obliged to walk on
their feet like other animals.
As for Pearl Blossom, the Great Frog had fallen so much in love with
her that he wanted to marry her. She thanked him, but now that the lion
had lost his wings she must go back to her father and mother.
And how delighted her parents were to see her; and when the people of
the village heard that the Flying Lion would trouble them no more,
there was great feasting and rejoicing in every house.
FAIRY TALES FROM AFRICA
KING MUNGO
Probably the mischief making propensities of the Jackal have
never been better set forth than in this relation of certain
happenings in the realm of King Mungo.
A wise old baboon was King Mungo—not quite so wise, perhaps, as he
imagined, which is often the case with many of us; but quite sensible
enough to be a good ruler over his part of the forest.
He could swing himself from one branch to another, by his long arms,
nearly as quickly as lightning, and could run so fast and far that no
one could catch him.
At this time, King Mungo walked on two legs, and he was respected for
this more than anything else. But you will soon see that this is the
sad story of how he, and all the baboons after him, lost the power of
walking erect, and had to go on all fours, like the rest of the
animals.
Of all King Mungo’s subjects, the largest was an elephant, and the
smallest one an ant. Besides these, his kingdom contained a dog, a cat,
a mouse, a pool of water, a stick, and a fire lit among the brambles.
Of course, you have seen water put out fire, with a great fizz and
splutter; but the strange thing about King Mungo’s fire was that
however much water was thrown on the fire, the fire burned all the
better for it. King Mungo said, “That’s because they are friends.”
And so it went on. The cat would never bite the mouse; and the cat and
the dog played nicely together. The stick went quietly about its
business without beating the dog; and the ant never even dreamed of
giving the elephant a nip.
They all lived in peace and harmony together until one day a wretched
little tailor, named Klit, came to the King to complain of the holes
some one had made in his cloth.
You know how often it is, just when we are enjoying ourselves most,
somebody comes and interferes, and spoils things. It was just like that
in King Mungo’s kingdom. They were all as happy as they could be, when
Klit, the tailor, brought the King a piece of cloth with six holes in
it.
“I must have satisfaction, Your Majesty,” he said. “I thought the mouse
had done this, but she blames the cat, and the cat says she saw my
cloth in the dog’s mouth.
“But the dog says it was the stick; the stick declares it was the fire;
and the fire says the water did it. The water denies it, and says the
elephant tore the cloth; and the elephant lays the blame on the ant.”
King Mungo put on his most judicial air. “Well” he said.
“As long as they are all quarreling about it,” continued the tailor, “I
suggest, Your Majesty, that you bring them together and try them, so
that we may find out the truth.”
“Dear me! Quarreling? Why, such a thing has never happened before. Pray
take a seat; I will talk it over with my Prime Minister, and see what
can be done. Quarreling! Well!”
So Klit sat down cross-legged on the grass, and pulled out his thimble
and thread.
“Here, here! Don’t darn the holes. What are you thinking about? If you
darn them, they’ll say there never were any,” said the wise baboon.
“Whatever you do, don’t consult your Prime Minister,” retorted the
tailor. “He is sure to give you some foolish advice.”
Now King Mungo was very much annoyed at this. He had great faith in the
jackal, who was his Prime Minister; and besides, like other royal
personages, he did not like to be addressed in a rude and familiar
manner.
However, what the tailor said was true. The jackal was a mischievous
fellow, and people who took his advice were generally sorry for it
afterwards.
But King Mungo told his Prime Minister what had happened, and they
consulted together for a long time. Then the King nodded his head, and
the jackal went off to assemble his subjects.
So they all appeared before the King. There was the little brown mouse,
the cat, the black curly dog, the stick, and next to the stick the fire
was burning, and at the other side of the fire was the pool of water.
Beyond the water stood the elephant, and next to him, on the top of a
blade of grass, was a tiny black ant.
Then King Mungo began. “Klit,” he said, “hold up your cloth.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” and the tailor held up the cloth, and there were
six round holes in it.
“Now tell me which of you has done this,” commanded the King.
“The mouse!” cried Klit.
“The cat!” squeaked the mouse.
“The dog!” said the cat.
“The stick!” growled the dog.
“The fire!” shouted the stick.
“The water!” hissed the fire.
“The elephant!” roared the water.
“The ant!” trumpeted the elephant.
“Your Majesty,” said the jackal, “you see, none of them will confess.”
“Silence!” commanded the King. “The best thing will be for them to
punish each other. Klit, you accuse the mouse?”
“I do, Your Majesty,” answered the tailor.
“Then, cat, bite the mouse!”
And the cat bit the mouse as hard as she could.
“Where are you, mouse? Do you accuse the cat?”
“I certainly do,” squeaked the mouse.
“Here, dog, bite the cat!”
The dog growled and buried his teeth in the cat’s fur.
“Now, cat, you accuse the dog?”
“Your Majesty, I accuse the dog.”
“Stick, beat the dog!”
“It was the fire that did it,” said the stick in a sulky tone.
“Then, fire, burn the stick!
“Water, put out the fire!
“Elephant, drink the water!
“Ant, bite the elephant!” commanded the King.
“Just think of it!” cried the jackal, capering about with delight.
“There will be no peace in this kingdom for many a long day.”
Now you see what a mischievous rascal the jackal was, for it turned out
just as he wanted it to. From that time to this, the cat has always
bitten the mouse; the dog the cat, and the ant the elephant; while fire
has burned wood, and water quenched fire.
“Thanks to your advice, I have made a nice mess of it,” said the King
to his Prime Minister.
But that was not the worst of it. As a punishment for his foolishness,
King Mungo lost the power of walking on two legs, and had to go on all
fours like the rest of the animals.
He lost his name of Mungo, too; and since then he and all of his race
have been called just baboons.
FAIRY TALES FROM AFRICA
UNCLE LION
Providing the circumstance from which the phrase “Taking the
Lion’s Share” has been derived. Inferentially all other
accounts are inaccurate.
Always when the lion went out hunting he took Kanja, the jackal, with
him, for Kanja was a much better hunter than he.
But whenever the jackal had killed the game, he would say, “That is
mine, Uncle Lion!” Then the lion would look at him with such an angry
glare that Kanja would contradict himself at once, and say, “No, it is
yours, of course!” Then Uncle Lion would eat it up, and Kanja would go
hungry.
“You see, I only take the lion’s share,” Uncle Lion would explain.
“Yes, I have noticed it,” replied the jackal.
“What is your idea of the lion’s share?” asked the lion, with one eye
on Kanja.
“Everything, Uncle Lion,” answered poor Kanja.
“Very well. You shall hunt with me again to-morrow,” said the lion
approvingly.
When the next day came, however, Kanja avoided Uncle Lion, and went off
to hunt on his own account.
After a while he met a friend of his, the leopard, flying across the
plains as though a dozen hunters were after him.
“What seems to be the matter?” asked the jackal.
“I am really in a hurry,” replied the leopard. “Don’t stop me. There is
a terrible beast looking out of the door of a hut, a little way back!
It has great horns and is four times as big as you. I must be going.”
“But wait a minute!” said the jackal, and caught hold of the leopard,
and insisted on hearing more about the creature which had frightened
him.
In a minute he began to laugh. “Why, it is only a ram!” he cried. “He
can’t do you any harm. We will go and catch him for dinner. I am almost
starved.”
Kanja found it rather hard work to persuade him, but at last, when the
leopard heard how badly the lion had treated his friend the day before,
he agreed to go with him.
“But you must tie me to you,” said the leopard, with his teeth
chattering. “I shall be sure to run when I see him.”
So Kanja fastened a leather thong around both their bodies, and dragged
him along at a great rate. “Don’t let Uncle Lion catch us,” he
whispered, looking from side to side. “If he took the lion’s share this
time, I should die of hunger.”
When the ram saw them coming, he was more frightened than the leopard
had been, so he ran back to the hut and told his wife.
“I don’t know what we are going to do,” he cried. “Kanja and his friend
the leopard are coming to devour us!”
“Oh, that’s nonsense!” answered his wife. “Here take the child and go
out to meet them.” Then she gave him their little kid, and told him to
pinch it and make it cry.
“But I don’t understand,” said her husband, who was really very stupid.
“Do just as I tell you,” said his wife. “You must shout in a terrible
tone, ‘Just in time! Just in time! My child is crying for food!’ Then
you’ll see what will happen!”
When the leopard saw the ram, with his terrible horns coming towards
them, he would have run away there and then if the jackal had not
pulled him forward. Just then the ram gave his child a pinch, and the
little kid began to cry.
“I am glad to see you, Kanja,” he cried. “You have brought the leopard
just in time. My child is crying for food.”
“This is no place for me!” cried the leopard. “Let us be off.” And so
they both tugged at the leather thong, Kanja determined to go on, and
the leopard to go back.
But the leopard was much the stronger, and in a minute or two he was
dragging the jackal along at a terrible pace. They rushed on and on,
until they were out of sight of the ram, and then Kanja fell down
exhausted. He was too faint with hunger to go any farther, but the
leopard, who could not get over his fright, unfastened the thong and
went on.
After a while, a wagon loaded with fish came past, and as it was going
very slowly, the jackal tried to jump into it from behind.
“Even fish is better than nothing,” he said to himself, but he was too
weak to manage it, and the wagon passed along.
But there was another following it at a little distance, and this time
Kanja stretched himself in front of it as though he were dead.
“What is this?” said the driver, when he saw the jackal stretched out
in the road. “His skin will make a nice cloak for my daughter.”
So the driver picked him up and threw him into the wagon, which was
exactly what Kanja wanted. He had no idea of being made into a cloak
for the driver’s daughter, but he did wish to be near the fish.
When Kanja had satisfied his hunger, he began to throw the fish out
into the road, one by one. The daylight failed and the moon rose, but
he was still busy with this, until the fishes lay like a silver streak
as far along the track as he could see.
At last he jumped out of the wagon. “Four hundred!” he cried. “One for
every day in the year, and thirty-five over. Now I must carry them to a
place where Uncle Lion won’t find them.”
But while he was collecting them, a hyena came up and ate as many as
she wanted without asking his permission.
“Here, you! Leave my fish alone!” cried Kanja angrily.
“They are no more your fish than mine,” replied the hyena. “Your fish,
indeed! Why they have fallen out of the wagon.”
Kanja was too much annoyed to speak, so he went on gathering up the
fish, and thinking of a way to punish her.
“There is another wagon coming,” he said at last. “Lie down in the
road, and you will get as many fish as I did.”
The hyena opened her eyes. “Really?” she asked.
“Really. But you must keep perfectly still. Pretend to be dead.”
The fur of a hyena is not soft and silky like that of a jackal, so when
the driver saw her stretched out in front of the wagon, he kicked her
out of the way.
“Great, ugly thing!” he said. “What is it doing here?” Then he looked
around for a stick to beat her with, and as she moved a little he cried
out, “Oh, she’s not dead at all. Get up, you stupid, and be off!”
After the wagon had gone on, the hyena limped away to tell Kanja what
had happened, “There was no fish,” she said, “and I am beaten to a
jelly.”
“You have probably made some mistake,” said the jackal politely. “Are
you sure you laid perfectly still?” he asked, “and right in the middle
of the track?”
“I lay perfectly still in the middle of the track,” replied the hyena.
“Then it must be that the driver didn’t think you handsome enough to
make a cloak. That’s it, dear friend. Your want of beauty is your
misfortune and not your fault,” said Kanja in a sympathetic tone.
“It certainly is a great misfortune to be plain,” sighed the hyena,
with tears in her eyes.
“But it is a still greater one to be stupid!” added Kanja, as he ran
off with another fish in his mouth.
“I wonder what he meant?” said the hyena to herself.
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