West African Folk-Tales
by W. H. Barker and Cecilia Sinclair (page 11 of 17)
By the time Klo succeeded in reaching his master’s palace the gates were shut and locked. Mauri, finding it so late, had concluded that every one was inside.
There were many people packed into the great hall, and all were singing and dancing. The noise of the concert was so great that no one heard Klo’s knocking at the gate, and there he had to stay with his great load of wine and palm-trees.
The rain continued for nearly two months and was so terrible that the people all remained in the palace till it had finished. By that time Klo had died, under the weight of his load—which he had been unable to get off his back. There he lay, before the gate, with the pile of palm-trees on top of him.
When the rain ceased and the gates were opened the people were amazed to see this great mound in front of the gate, where before there had been nothing. They fetched spades and began to shovel it away.
When they came to the bottom of the pile there lay Klo. His earthenware pot and the dust had caked together and formed quite a hard cover on his back.
He was taken into the palace—and by the use of many wonderful medicines he was restored to life. But since that date he has never been able to stand upright. He has been a creeping creature, with a great shell on his back.
XXI. THE HUNTER AND THE TORTOISE
A village hunter had one day gone farther afield than usual. Coming to a part of the forest with which he was unacquainted, he was astonished to hear a voice singing. He listened; this was the song:
“It is man who forces himself on things, Not things which force themselves on him.”
The singing was accompanied by sweet music—which entirely charmed the hunter’s heart.
When the little song was finished, the hunter peeped through the branches to see who the singer could be. Imagine his amazement when he found it was none other than a tortoise, with a tiny harp slung in front of her. Never had he seen such a marvellous thing.
Time after time he returned to the same place in order to listen to this wonderful creature. At last he persuaded her to let him carry her back to his hut, that he might enjoy her singing daily in comfort. This she permitted, only on the understanding that she sang to him alone.
The hunter did not rest long content with this arrangement, however. Soon he began to wish that he could show off this wonderful tortoise to all the world, and thereby thought he would gain great honour. He told the secret, first to one, then to another, until finally it reached the ears of the chief himself. The hunter was commanded to come and tell his tale before the Assembly. When, however, he described the tortoise who sang and played on the harp, the people shouted in scorn. They refused to believe him.
At last he said, “If I do not speak truth, I give you leave to kill me. To-morrow I will bring the tortoise to this place and you may all hear her. If she cannot do as I say, I am willing to die.” “Good,” replied the people, “and if the tortoise can do as you say, we give you leave to punish us in any way you choose.”
The matter being then settled, the hunter returned home, well pleased with the prospect. As soon as the morrow dawned, he carried tortoise and harp down to the Assembly Place—where a table had been placed ready for her. Every one gathered round to listen. But no song came. The people were very patient, and quite willing to give both tortoise and hunter a chance. Hours went by, and, to the hunter’s dismay and shame, the tortoise remained mute. He tried every means in his power to coax her to sing, but in vain. The people at first whispered, then spoke outright, in scorn of the boaster and his claims.
Night came on and brought with it the hunter’s doom. As the last ray of the setting sun faded, he was beheaded. The instant this had happened the tortoise spoke. The people looked at one another in troubled wonder: “Our brother spoke truth, then, and we have killed him.” The tortoise, however, went on to explain. “He brought his punishment on himself. I led a happy life in the forest, singing my little song. He was not content to come and listen to me. He had to tell my secret (which did not at all concern him) to all the world. Had he not tried to make a show of me this would never have happened.
“It is man who forces himself on things, Not things which force themselves on him.”
XXII. THE TAIL OF THE PRINCESS ELEPHANT
There once lived a woman who had three sons. These sons were very much attached to their mother and always tried to please her. She at last grew very old and feeble. The three sons began to think what they could do to give her great pleasure. The eldest promised that when she was dead he would cut a fine sepulchre in stone for her. The second said he would make a beautiful coffin. The youngest said, “I will go and get the tail of the princess elephant and put it in the coffin with her.” This promise was by far the hardest one to keep.
Soon after this their mother died. The youngest son immediately set out on his search, not knowing in the least where he would be likely to find the tail. He travelled for three weeks, and at the end of that time he came to a little village. There he met an old woman, who seemed very much surprised to see him. She said no human creature had ever been there before. The boy told the tale of his search for the princess elephant. The old woman replied that this village was the home of all the elephants, and the princess slept there every night. But she warned him that if the animals saw him they would kill him. The young man begged her to hide him—which she did, in a great pile of wood.
She also told him that when the elephants were all asleep he must get up and go to the eastern corner. There he would find the princess. He must walk boldly over, cut off the tail and return in the same manner. If he were to walk stealthily, the elephants would waken and seize him.
The animals returned as it was growing dark. They said at once that they smelt a human being. The old woman assured them that they were mistaken. Their supper was ready, so they ate it and went to bed.
In the middle of the night the young man got up and walked boldly across to where the princess slept. He cut off the tail and returned as he had come. He then started for home, carrying the tail very carefully.
When daylight came the elephants awoke. One said he had dreamed that the princess’s tail was stolen. The others beat him for thinking such a thing. A second said he also had had the dream, and he also was beaten. The wisest of the elephants then suggested that they might do well to go and see if the dream were true. This they did. They found the princess fast asleep and quite ignorant of the loss of her tail. They wakened her and all started off in chase of the young man.
They travelled so quickly that in a few hours they came in sight of him. He was afraid when he saw them coming and cried out to his favourite idol (which he always carried in his hair), “O my juju Depor! What shall I do?” The juju advised him to throw the branch of a tree over his shoulder. This he did and it immediately grew up into a huge tree, which blocked the path of the elephants. They stopped and began to eat up the tree—which took them some little time.
Then they continued their way again. Again the young man cried, “O my juju Depor! What shall I do?” “Throw that corn-cob behind you,” answered the juju. The lad did so, and the corn-cob immediately grew into a large field of maize.
The elephants ate their way through the maize, but when they arrived at the other side they found that the boy had reached home. So they had to give up the chase and return to their village. The princess, however, refused to do so, saying, “I will return when I have punished this impudent fellow.”
She thereupon changed herself into a very beautiful maiden, and taking a calabash cymbal in her hand approached the village. All the people came out to admire this lovely girl.
She had it proclaimed through the village that whoever succeeded in shooting an arrow at the cymbal should have her for a bride. The young men all tried and failed. An old man standing by said, “If only Kwesi—the cutter of the princess elephant’s tail—were here, he could hit the cymbal.” “Then Kwesi is the man I will marry,” replied the maiden, “whether he hit the cymbal or not.”
Kwesi was quickly fetched from the field where he was ploughing, and told of his good luck. He, however, was not at all delighted to hear of it, as he suspected the maiden of some trick.
However, he came and shot an arrow which struck the centre of the cymbal. The damsel and he were accordingly married. She was all the time preparing to punish him.
The night following their marriage she turned into an elephant, while Kwesi was asleep. She then prepared to kill him, but Kwesi awoke in time. He called, “O my juju Depor! Save me!” The juju turned him into a grass mat lying on the bed and the princess could not find him. She was most annoyed and next morning asked him where he had been all night. “While you were an elephant I was the mat you lay on,” replied Kwesi. The damsel took all the mats from the bed and burned them.