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Title: West African Folk-Tales
Author: Barker, William Henry, Sinclair, Cecilia
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "West African Folk-Tales" ***
WEST AFRICAN
FOLK-TALES
COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY
W. H. BARKER B.Sc.
FORMERLY PRINCIPAL OF THE GOVERNMENT INSTITUTION ACCRA
AND
CECILIA SINCLAIR
WITH FRONTISPIECE & TWENTY-THREE DRAWINGS BY
CECILIA SINCLAIR
LONDON
GEORGE G. HARRAP & COMPANY
2 & 3 PORTSMOUTH STREET KINGSWAY W.C.
MCMXVII
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 11
I. ANANSI, OR SPIDER, TALES
I. HOW WE GOT THE NAME ‘SPIDER TALES’ 29
II. HOW WISDOM BECAME THE PROPERTY OF THE HUMAN RACE 33
III. ANANSI AND NOTHING 35
IV. THUNDER AND ANANSI 39
V. WHY THE LIZARD CONTINUALLY MOVES HIS HEAD UP AND
DOWN 45
VI. TIT FOR TAT 51
VII. WHY WHITE ANTS ALWAYS HARM MAN’S PROPERTY 55
VIII. THE SQUIRREL AND THE SPIDER 59
IX. WHY WE SEE ANTS CARRYING BUNDLES AS BIG AS
THEMSELVES 63
X. WHY SPIDERS ARE ALWAYS FOUND IN THE CORNERS OF
CEILINGS 69
XI. ANANSI THE BLIND FISHERMAN 73
XII. ADZANUMEE AND HER MOTHER 77
XIII. THE GRINDING-STONE THAT GROUND FLOUR BY ITSELF 81
XIV. “MORNING SUNRISE” 85
XV. WHY THE SEA-TURTLE WHEN CAUGHT BEATS ITS BREAST
WITH ITS FORE-LEGS 87
XVI. HOW BEASTS AND SERPENTS FIRST CAME INTO THE WORLD 89
XVII. HONOURABLE MINŪ 95
XVIII. WHY THE MOON AND THE STARS RECEIVE THEIR LIGHT
FROM THE SUN 97
II. MISCELLANEOUS TALES
XIX. OHIA AND THE THIEVING DEER 105
XX. HOW THE TORTOISE GOT ITS SHELL 115
XXI. THE HUNTER AND THE TORTOISE 119
XXII. THE TAIL OF THE PRINCESS ELEPHANT 123
XXIII. KWOFI AND THE GODS 129
XXIV. THE LION AND THE WOLF 131
XXV. MAKU MAWU AND MAKU FIA 133
XXVI. THE ROBBER AND THE OLD MAN 139
XXVII. THE LEOPARD AND THE RAM 141
XXVIII. WHY THE LEOPARD CAN ONLY CATCH PREY ON ITS LEFT
SIDE 145
XXIX. QUARCOO BAH-BONI 147
XXX. KING CHAMELEON AND THE ANIMALS 155
XXXI. TO LOSE AN ELEPHANT FOR THE SAKE OF A WREN IS A
VERY FOOLISH THING TO DO 159
XXXII. THE UNGRATEFUL MAN 163
XXXIII. WHY TIGERS NEVER ATTACK MEN UNLESS THEY ARE
PROVOKED 167
XXXIV. THE OMANHENE WHO LIKED RIDDLES 171
XXXV. HOW MUSHROOMS FIRST GREW 177
XXXVI. FARMER MYBROW AND THE FAIRIES 181
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Native Children ready for a Story Frontispiece
The Bees flying into the Jar 30
Again and again Anansi tried to climb the Tree 34
A great Wave dashed Anansi back on the Beach 40
The Princess picked up the Fruit 46
“May I give you a little of this meat?” 52
Wolf and Leopard discover the Flesh of the Antelope 56
Mr Ant takes the Box from Anansi 66
Egya Anansi built himself a very comfortable Hut 70
The Bird calls to Adzanumee 78
The wonderful Grinding-stone 82
Anansi saw, rushing toward him, Beasts and Serpents of
all Kinds 92
Kweku Tsin played on the wonderful Fiddle 100
Ohia cut down the Trees and prepared them 106
The Hunter and the Tortoise 120
The Princess changed into an Elephant 126
Each received a large Helping except Kwofi 130
Maku Mawu catches a Fish 136
Young Leopard sprang toward the Stem and tore it 142
They scattered in all Directions 152
The Hunter and the Serpent 164
He threw half the Cake to the Vulture 172
How the Ants paid the Debt 178
Mybrow’s Wife plucked one of the Yams 182
INTRODUCTION
In presenting to the public these stories based on the folk-lore of the
Gold Coast peoples, it seems necessary to say something in general
terms of the economic and social development of the colony in so far as
that development is affecting the ‘lore’ of the folk.
Not until the civilization and industrialism of Europe began to
penetrate into the districts of the Guinea Coast was any great attempt
made to study the folk-lore of these peoples. It is obvious, therefore,
that the student must find considerable admixture from outside sources
which the absence of a native system of writing and consequent
literature makes exceedingly difficult to detect. The difficulties
increase with time, for we are getting farther and farther from the
genuine folk-lore. Each year, from towns like Accra, Seccondee, and
Cape Coast the tentacles of European civilization are slowly extending
in all directions. Railways and roads are creeping out, old-fashioned
crudity is giving way to simpler and more expeditious methods; new
industries, as rubber and cocoa, are being established. [1] All this
must be borne in mind in studying the folk-lore as told by the native
to-day. What is happening is, unfortunately, not an awakening, but a
transformation. The negro is discarding his native cloth for a European
suit of clothes.
“On all sides it is reported that the demand for European provisions,
luxuries, and apparel is large and greatly increasing. The large
imports of tinned provisions, flour, etc., is in part due to the
scarcity of native food-stuffs in certain districts, but there is no
doubt that the standard of living is changing and rising.
“There is a general desire not only in the colony, but in Ashanti, for
better roads, better houses, cleaner villages, and the desire has been
prompted by the example of the great sanitary improvements in the
larger towns....
“It can be observed that the people take a growing pride in the
institutions and traditions of their country, that the chiefs are
realizing the duties and influence of their position, and that public
opinion, among the educated classes, at any rate, is beginning to
recognize that some advance on the ideals and standards of the past
must now be demanded.” [2]
This, from the utilitarian and Imperial standpoints, is as it should
be, but it tends to be fatal to the mythology, the customs, and the
traditions of such peoples as the negroes of West Africa. For this
change is not taking place only in the direction of mere materialism.
Christianity, entering the country through the ports, and
Mohammedanism, being carried by Haussas along the trade routes from the
interior, are playing their part in these psychological and
sociological changes. The negro of yesterday differs from the negro of
to-day as he in turn will differ from the negro of to-morrow. In view
of all this metamorphosis it is much to be regretted that the
geographical and linguistical difficulties have made the task of the
folk-lorist not only difficult but wellnigh impossible. Much, of
course, might be done if those whose duties carry them into the various
districts would take in hand the task. The collation of their results
might enable one to eradicate outside and recent influences and in a
measure get at “the back of the black man’s mind.”
The material in this book was collected in the following manner: The
new educational policy of the Government provided for a Training
Institution for Teachers at Accra. The first students to be admitted
were men who had already had some considerable experience in the
schools of their districts. They were, therefore, sufficiently familiar
with the English language to express themselves clearly and fluently.
At the same time they were men who could remember the time when the new
civilizing forces at present at work were not nearly so pronounced. By
obtaining from these students a variety of versions of the same story
it became possible to some extent to eradicate the superfluous and the
spurious.
The selection of tales has been carefully made, and in the retelling
and illustrating of the story the object has been to give the reader an
introduction to the thought and customs of the West African negro.
In order to produce the correct ‘atmosphere’ for the story, picture an
evening scene in a native village. The sun is nearing the western
horizon, seeming to fall like a huge ball behind the distant hills, the
air is cool, and a solemn stillness prevails. Even the noisy youths and
girls are quiet, and the time for tom-toms, crickets, bull-frogs, and
the miscellaneous instruments of man and Nature for the production of
the most weird and inharmonious of sounds is not yet. In the
compound—the courtyard round which are the family dwellings—the women
with their picin (children) on their backs are busy with mortar and
pestle making foo-foo (native food from maize). Squatting near the mud
walls, naked to the waist, their cloth forming but a covering for the
loins, are a number of men smoking short clay pipes and expectorating
in a most insanitary manner—a perfect picture of idleness. Naked
youngsters stand open-mouthed listening to the conversation of their
elders, or amuse themselves at hide-and-seek, marbles, or some other
native game.
The short twilight of the tropics brings all occupations except talking
to an end, and of talking there seems to be no end. Here and there some
one or other lies down, covers himself entirely with his cloth, and is
lost to the world.
A lantern is brought out, and unconsciously and imperceptibly it
becomes the centre of dark forms, relieved now and again by rows of
beautiful white teeth as the owners indulge in a hearty laugh. At times
conversation lags; some one drones a monotonous tune, others smoke in
quiet contemplation, while others again follow the example of the dark
human mounds scattered about the compound.
Suddenly, “Comrades, listen to a story.” At once the men, women, and
children press round the speaker, an eager crowd, ready to hear or to
tell the tales of their folk.
“All right, let it come.”
Thus commences another evening wherein the native recounts to his
neighbour for the hundredth time the stories handed down by tradition
from the dim ‘before-time.’ The native is a born raconteur, and his
stories are not the outcome of his imagination, but folk-lore modified
and ornamented perhaps to suit the particular audience or particular
circumstance. Some of these modifications which have assumed a more or
less permanent form are commented on below.
Throughout the Gold Coast Colony and Southern Ashanti the stories as
given by the various tribes are essentially the same. It may be that
further and more detailed investigation in the domain of folk-lore will
help to solve a very important ethnic problem, namely, whether the
coast tribes are or are not of the same stock as those of the
hinterland. It is generally accepted at present that “these people of
the West Coast were for the most part the broken fragments of races
that have been driven to the sea by the stronger races of the
interior.” [3] If this were so, then one would expect to find
differences in the folk-lore of the stronger and weaker races similar
to those between the folk-lore of the Celts and Anglo-Saxons. Actually,
this does not appear to be so, though at present the data is not
sufficient to enable one to form a definite opinion.
The following is from a recent work on the Gold Coast, and presents a
slightly different view from that in the quotation above: “The general
sum of these traditions [regarding the origin of the tribes] is that
the Fantis, Ashantis, Wassaws, and in fact all the Twi-[Tshi] speaking,
or Akan, peoples, were originally one tribe. They were a pastoral race
and inhabited the open country beyond the forest belt and farther north
than Salaga. A northern and lighter-skinned people, which is commonly
supposed to have been the Fulanis, commenced to encroach on their
territory, and, being stronger than they, seized their cattle and young
women and made many of the others slaves.... The subdivision of the
united Akan race into its main branches, the Fantis and Ashantis, is
variously accounted for.... One story very plausibly explains that the
constant raids of their northern enemy, who burned all the farms,
reduced the Akans to great straits for food. Some of them subsisted on
a wild plant named fan and others on a plant named shan, and thus
gained the names Fan-dti and Shan-dti (dti, to eat).” [4] A possible
alternative explanation is that the same stock occupies the coast and
the hinterland, and that differentiation has come about as the result
of malaria affecting that portion of the race inhabiting the region of
the lagoon marshes along the coastal plain. It has now been fairly well
established that malaria can and does have a deleterious effect on
races, and that even in the case of Greece and Rome the malarial factor
must be taken into account in discussing the causes which brought about
their fall. [5] It may be that the marshes round Salonica and the
swamps of the Campagna have their counterpart in the long line of
lagoon swamps that lie between the surf-wall and the forest wall of
‘the Coast.’ Medical science alone, perhaps, will be able to solve the
problem, but folk-lore can and does render valuable assistance toward a
solution. A conquered people do not give up their ‘lore’ with the land,
but carry their customs and traditions with them to their new homes.
There is one story which has a special interest in this connexion
because, after being carried by the negroes from Africa to the Southern
States in the slave days, it became the basis of a story which has
served to amuse the children and adults of the whole of the
English-speaking peoples, namely, The Wonderful Adventures of Old Brer
Rabbit. It is interesting to compare the tar-baby narrative with the
manner in which Anansi was caught in Story X.
From the scanty material we have at present, it would seem that the
folk-lores of the coastal and hinterland peoples are substantially the
same, the differences being traceable in many cases to the influence of
the new environment. Thus, in the story where Anansi seeks to hide the
wisdom of the world (Story II), which he has collected in a pot, among
the coast peoples he finds a difficulty in climbing up the palm-tree,
but among the forest tribes his difficulty is to get over the trunk of
a tree which has fallen across the bush-path. Here the difference is
due to environment and not to race.
It is necessary to point out that similarity of story cannot by itself
be taken as indicative of similarity of race. Indeed, so common is it
to find the same story told by people of varying types and in every
stage of progress that it has opened up a problem of great importance.
Have such stories originated from a common source? and, if so, where
may the common origin be found? Or are folk-stories like the material
productions of the races, i.e. do they follow a more or less common
line of development? [6] What connexion can there be, for example,
between the negro of the Gold Coast and the Serb? Yet they have a story
remarkably similar. In the story of Ohia (Story XIX) the power of
understanding the language of animals was given him on condition that
he should not disclose the secret to any human being under pain of
death. This knowledge often gave him occasion for laughter, and at such
times his wife, ignorant of the cause, became angered and suspicious.
She demanded to know the reason for such outbursts, and at last her
importunity resulted in the telling of the secret, and consequent death
of the man. In the Serbian story [7] the dénouement is somewhat
different, comedy taking the place of tragedy. The man when just about
to yield his life to satisfy the curiosity of his wife listens to the
cock, who declares that he can manage to keep his hundred wives in
order by giving them a good peck when they need it. The man accordingly
leaves his coffin and brings his wife to reason and her knees by a
well-administered chastisement. How came these two peoples to have a
story with so many features in common? Is it possible that the Turk and
the Moor may have provided links?
It may not be out of place here to mention the effect of the contact of
the slave-trading Europeans on the folk-lore of the Coast negroes. The
grim white castles every few miles along the whole of the Guinea Coast
stand as stern reminders of the time when the helpless coastal tribes
were raided and men, women, and children sold into slavery. But one who
has conversed with the native of to-day cannot doubt that the greatest
effect of those terrible days is discernible in the native mentality
itself. It has, as one might expect, influenced more or less the
folk-story. Here, for example, is one type of influence:
“When the Portuguese first landed, the natives betook themselves to the
forest. When the white man had put off again the natives crept
cautiously back to the beach. To their great surprise they found there
a basin full of rum. One of them, by name Mbura, tasted some, and
finding that it was sweet, drank as much as he could and became
intoxicated. Others did the same, and when many of them were helpless
the boatmen returned and carried them off. On account of the rum being
tasted by Mbura, we call rum in Fantee Mbura-nsa—i.e. Mbura’s wine.”
[8]
Even more remarkable is the origin of the god Nyankupon, who figures
largely in both mythology and folk-lore. Many stories introduce
Nyankupon, and yet he is no native god at all.
“After an intercourse of some years with Europeans, the Tshi-speaking
inhabitants of the towns and villages in the vicinity of the various
forts added to their system of polytheism a new deity whom they termed
Nana-Nyankupon—sometimes called simply Nyankupon. This was the god of
the Christians, borrowed from them and adopted under a new designation.
The great superiority manifested by the whites in their weapons, ships,
manufactures—in short, in everything—convinced the natives with whom
they had intercourse that they must necessarily be protected by a deity
of greater power than any of those to which they themselves offered
sacrifice, since their own deities had not, except very remotely,
helped them to attain any such prosperity. They therefore gladly
enrolled themselves amongst the followers of the god of the whites, and
being informed that he dwelt in the heavens above, they denominated him
Nana-Nyankupon, which may be freely translated ‘Lord of the Sky.’” [9]
The Gold Coast folk-stories are readily divisible into two groups,
Anansi and non-Anansi tales. Anánsi is the spider, and with him is
generally associated his son, Kweku Tsin (Tsĩ). Why so many spider
stories? No satisfactory explanation can as yet be given. It cannot be
due entirely to the superabundance of spiders in native dwellings and
surroundings, for other tribes along the Coast seem to concentrate on
other creatures, as the elephant and the tortoise. Nor does there seem
to be sufficient evidence to trace the origin to totemism. No doubt
many of the Anansi stories as told to-day are due to observation of the
ways and peculiar characteristics of the spider, and are an attempt to
explain the why and the wherefore. And generally it is decided that he
is a wise, cunning, deceitful creature who scampers off to hide in the
ceiling because he has done something to be ashamed of and has,
unfortunately, been found out. Here are two comments from folk-stories
on Anansi:
“The wisdom of the spider is greater than that of all the world
together.”
“Woe to one who would put his trust in Anansi—a sly, selfish, and
greedy person.”
The non-Anansi stories are generally of the ‘Just-so’ type—why the ears
of the deer are long, why the waist of the wasp is slim, etc. There is
nothing in the wide realm of botany, astronomy, or geography of a
peculiar or striking character but an explanation is forthcoming in the
lore of the folk. There is, of course, the usual sprinkling of magic
tales, which bear a striking resemblance to many European märchen, or
fairy-tales.
In conclusion, an apology must be offered to the scientific
folk-lorist. The stories have been retold in order to appeal to a wider
public, but it is hoped that ere long the complete original material
may be available for the student of folk-lore.
W. H. B.
I. ANANSI, OR SPIDER, TALES
I. HOW WE GOT THE NAME ‘SPIDER TALES’
In the olden days all the stories which men told were stories of
Nyankupon, the chief of the gods. Spider, who was very conceited,
wanted the stories to be told about him.
Accordingly, one day he went to Nyankupon and asked that, in future,
all tales told by men might be Anansi stories, instead of Nyankupon
stories. Nyankupon agreed, on one condition. He told Spider (or Anansi)
that he must bring him three things: the first was a jar full of live
bees, the second was a boa-constrictor, and the third a tiger. Spider
gave his promise.
He took an earthen vessel and set out for a place where he knew were
numbers of bees. When he came in sight of the bees he began saying to
himself, “They will not be able to fill this jar”—“Yes, they will be
able”—“No, they will not be able,” until the bees came up to him and
said, “What are you talking about, Mr Anansi?” He thereupon explained
to them that Nyankupon and he had had a great dispute. Nyankupon had
said the bees could not fly into the jar—Anansi had said they could.
The bees immediately declared that of course they could fly into the
jar—which they at once did. As soon as they were safely inside, Anansi
sealed up the jar and sent it off to Nyankupon.
Next day he took a long stick and set out in search of a
boa-constrictor. When he arrived at the place where one lived he began
speaking to himself again. “He will just be as long as this stick”—“No,
he will not be so long as this”—“Yes, he will be as long as this.”
These words he repeated several times, till the boa came out and asked
him what was the matter. “Oh, we have been having a dispute in
Nyankupon’s town about you. Nyankupon’s people say you are not as long
as this stick. I say you are. Please let me measure you by it.” The boa
innocently laid himself out straight, and Spider lost no time in tying
him on to the stick from end to end. He then sent him to Nyankupon.
The third day he took a needle and thread and sewed up his eye. He then
set out for a den where he knew a tiger lived. As he approached the
place he began to shout and sing so loudly that the tiger came out to
see what was the matter. “Can you not see?” said Spider. “My eye is
sewn up and now I can see such wonderful things that I must sing about
them.” “Sew up my eyes,” said the tiger, “then I too can see these
surprising sights.” Spider immediately did so. Having thus made the
tiger helpless, he led him straight to Nyankupon’s house. Nyankupon was
amazed at Spider’s cleverness in fulfilling the three conditions. He
immediately gave him permission for the future to call all the old
tales Anansi tales.
II. HOW WISDOM BECAME THE PROPERTY OF THE HUMAN RACE
There once lived, in Fanti-land, a man named Father Anansi. He
possessed all the wisdom in the world. People came to him daily for
advice and help.
One day the men of the country were unfortunate enough to offend Father
Anansi, who immediately resolved to punish them. After much thought he
decided that the severest penalty he could inflict would be to hide all
his wisdom from them. He set to work at once to gather again all that
he had already given. When he had succeeded, as he thought, in
collecting it, he placed all in one great pot. This he carefully
sealed, and determined to put it in a spot where no human being could
reach it.
Now, Father Anansi had a son, whose name was Kweku Tsin. This boy began
to suspect his father of some secret design, so he made up his mind to
watch carefully. Next day he saw his father quietly slip out of the
house, with his precious pot hung round his neck. Kweku Tsin followed.
Father Anansi went through the forest till he had left the village far
behind. Then, selecting the highest and most inaccessible-looking tree,
he began to climb. The heavy pot, hanging in front of him, made his
ascent almost impossible. Again and again he tried to reach the top of
the tree, where he intended to hang the pot. There, he thought, Wisdom
would indeed be beyond the reach of every one but himself. He was
unable, however, to carry out his desire. At each trial the pot swung
in his way.
For some time Kweku Tsin watched his father’s vain attempts. At last,
unable to contain himself any longer, he cried out: “Father, why do you
not hang the pot on your back? Then you could easily climb the tree.”
Father Anansi turned and said: “I thought I had all the world’s wisdom
in this pot. But I find you possess more than I do. All my wisdom was
insufficient to show me what to do, yet you have been able to tell me.”
In his anger he threw the pot down. It struck on a great rock and
broke. The wisdom contained in it escaped and spread throughout the
world.
III. ANANSI AND NOTHING
Near Anansi’s miserable little hut there was a fine palace where lived
a very rich man called Nothing. Nothing and Anansi proposed, one day,
to go to the neighbouring town to get some wives. Accordingly, they set
off together.
Nothing, being a rich man, wore a very fine velvet cloth, while Anansi
had a ragged cotton one. While they were on their way Anansi persuaded
Nothing to change clothes for a little while, promising to give back
the fine velvet before they reached the town. He delayed doing this,
however, first on one pretext, then on another—till they arrived at
their destination.
Anansi, being dressed in such a fine garment, found no difficulty in
getting as many wives as he wished. Poor Nothing, with his ragged and
miserable cloth, was treated with great contempt. At first he could not
get even one wife. At last, however, a woman took pity on him and gave
him her daughter. The poor girl was laughed at very heartily by
Anansi’s wives for choosing such a beggar as Nothing appeared to be.
She wisely took no notice of their scorn.
The party set off for home. When they reached the cross-roads leading
to their respective houses the women were astonished. The road leading
to Anansi’s house was only half cleared. The one which led to Nothing’s
palace was, of course, wide and well made. Not only so, but his
servants had strewn it with beautiful skins and carpets, in preparation
for his return. Servants were there, awaiting him, with fine clothes
for himself and his wife. No one was waiting for Anansi.
Nothing’s wife was queen over the whole district and had everything her
heart could desire. Anansi’s wives could not even get proper food; they
had to live on unripe bananas with peppers. The wife of Nothing heard
of her friends’ miserable state and invited them to a great feast in
her palace. They came, and were so pleased with all they saw that they
agreed to stay there. Accordingly, they refused to come back to
Anansi’s hut.
He was very angry, and tried in many ways to kill Nothing, but without
success. Finally, however, he persuaded some rat friends to dig a deep
tunnel in front of Nothing’s door. When the hole was finished Anansi
lined it with knives and broken bottles. He then smeared the steps of
the palace with okro to make them very slippery, and withdrew to a
little distance.
When he thought Nothing’s household was safely in bed and asleep, he
called to Nothing to come out to the courtyard and see something.
Nothing’s wife, however, dissuaded him from going. Anansi tried again
and again, and each time she bade her husband not to listen. At last
Nothing determined to go and see this thing. As he placed his foot on
the first step, of course he slipped, and down he fell into the hole.
The noise alarmed the household. Lights were fetched and Nothing was
found in the ditch, so much wounded by the knives that he soon died.
His wife was terribly grieved at his untimely death. She boiled many
yams, mashed them, and took a great dishful of them round the district.
To every child she met she gave some, so that the child might help her
to cry for her husband. This is why, if you find a child crying and ask
the cause, you will often be told he is “crying for nothing.”
IV. THUNDER AND ANANSI
There had been a long and severe famine in the land where Anansi lived.
He had been quite unable to obtain food for his poor wife and family.
One day, gazing desperately out to sea, he saw, rising from the midst
of the water, a tiny island with a tall palm-tree upon it. He
determined to reach this tree—if any means proved possible—and climb
it, in the hope of finding a few nuts to reward him. How to get there
was the difficulty.
This, however, solved itself when he reached the beach, for there lay
the means to his hand, in the shape of an old broken boat. It certainly
did not look very strong, but Anansi decided to try it.
His first six attempts were unsuccessful—a great wave dashed him back
on the beach each time he tried to put off. He was persevering,
however, and at the seventh trial was successful in getting away. He
steered the battered old boat as best he could, and at length reached
the palm-tree of his desire. Having tied the boat to the trunk of the
tree—which grew almost straight out of the water—he climbed toward the
nuts. Plucking all he could reach, he dropped them, one by one, down to
the boat. To his dismay, every one missed the boat and fell, instead,
into the water until only the last one remained. This he aimed even
more carefully than the others, but it also fell into the water and
disappeared from his hungry eyes. He had not tasted even one and now
all were gone.
He could not bear the thought of going home empty-handed, so, in his
despair, he threw himself into the water, too. To his complete
astonishment, instead of being drowned, he found himself standing on
the sea-bottom in front of a pretty little cottage. From the latter
came an old man, who asked Anansi what he wanted so badly that he had
come to Thunder’s cottage to seek it. Anansi told his tale of woe, and
Thunder showed himself most sympathetic.
He went into the cottage and fetched a fine cooking-pot, which he
presented to Anansi—telling him that he need never be hungry again. The
pot would always supply enough food for himself and his family. Anansi
was most grateful, and left Thunder with many thanks.
Being anxious to test the pot at once, Anansi only waited till he was
again seated in the old boat to say, “Pot, pot, what you used to do for
your master do now for me.” Immediately good food of all sorts
appeared. Anansi ate a hearty meal, which he very much enjoyed.
On reaching land again, his first thought was to run home and give all
his family a good meal from his wonderful pot. A selfish, greedy fear
prevented him. “What if I should use up all the magic of the pot on
them, and have nothing more left for myself! Better keep the pot a
secret—then I can enjoy a meal when I want one.” So, his mind full of
this thought, he hid the pot.
He reached home, pretending to be utterly worn out with fatigue and
hunger. There was not a grain of food to be had anywhere. His wife and
poor children were weak with want of it, but selfish Anansi took no
notice of that. He congratulated himself at the thought of his magic
pot, now safely hidden in his room. There he retired from time to time
when he felt hungry, and enjoyed a good meal. His family got thinner
and thinner, but he grew plumper and plumper. They began to suspect
some secret, and determined to find it out. His eldest son, Kweku Tsin,
had the power of changing himself into any shape he chose; so he took
the form of a tiny fly, and accompanied his father everywhere. At last,
Anansi, feeling hungry, entered his room and closed the door. Next he
took the pot, and had a fine meal. Having replaced the pot in its
hiding-place, he went out, on the pretence of looking for food.
As soon as he was safely out of sight, Kweku Tsin fetched out the pot
and called all his hungry family to come at once. They had as good a
meal as their father had had. When they had finished, Mrs. Anansi—to
punish her husband—said she would take the pot down to the village and
give everybody a meal. This she did—but alas! in working to prepare so
much food at one time, the pot grew too hot and melted away. What was
to be done now? Anansi would be so angry! His wife forbade every one to
mention the pot.
Anansi returned, ready for his supper, and, as usual, went into his
room, carefully shutting the door. He went to the hiding-place—it was
empty! He looked around in consternation. No pot was to be seen
anywhere. Some one must have discovered it. His family must be the
culprits; he would find a means to punish them.
Saying nothing to any one about the matter, he waited till morning. As
soon as it was light he started off towards the shore, where the old
boat lay. Getting into the boat, it started of its own accord and
glided swiftly over the water—straight for the palm-tree. Arrived
there, Anansi attached the boat as before and climbed the tree. This
time, unlike the last, the nuts almost fell into his hands. When he
aimed them at the boat they fell easily into it—not one, as before,
dropping into the water. He deliberately took them and threw them
overboard, immediately jumping after them. As before, he found himself
in front of Thunder’s cottage, with Thunder waiting to hear his tale.
This he told, the old man showing the same sympathy as he had
previously done.
This time, however, he presented Anansi with a fine stick and bade him
good-bye. Anansi could scarcely wait till he got into the boat—so
anxious was he to try the magic properties of his new gift. “Stick,
stick,” he said, “what you used to do for your master do for me also.”
The stick began to beat him so severely that, in a few minutes, he was
obliged to jump into the water and swim ashore, leaving boat and stick
to drift away where they pleased. Then he returned sorrowfully
homeward, bemoaning his many bruises and wishing he had acted more
wisely from the beginning.
V. WHY THE LIZARD CONTINUALLY MOVES HIS HEAD UP AND DOWN
In a town not very far from Anansi’s home lived a great king. This king
had three beautiful daughters, whose names were kept a secret from
everybody except their own family. One day their father made a
proclamation that his three daughters would be given as wives to any
man who could find out their names. Anansi made up his mind to do so.
He first bought a large jar of honey, and set off for the bathing-place
of the king’s daughters. Arrived there, he climbed to the top of a tree
on which grew some very fine fruit. He picked some of this fruit and
poured honey over it. When he saw the princesses approaching he dropped
the fruit on the ground and waited. The girls thought the fruit dropped
of its own accord, and one of them ran forward to pick it up. When she
tasted it, she called out to her sisters by name to exclaim on its
sweetness. Anansi dropped another, which the second princess picked
up—she, in her turn, calling out the names of the other two. In this
fashion Anansi found out all the names.
As soon as the princesses had gone Anansi came down from the tree and
hurried into the town. He went to all the great men and summoned them
to a meeting at the King’s palace on the morrow.
He then visited his friend the Lizard, to get him to act as herald at
the Court next day. He told Lizard the three names, and the latter was
to sound them through his trumpet when the time came.
Early next morning the King and his Court were assembled as usual. All
the great men of the town appeared, as Anansi had requested. Anansi
stated his business, reminding the King of his promise to give his
three daughters to the man who had found out their names. The King
demanded to hear the latter, whereupon Lizard sounded them on his
trumpet.
The King and courtiers were much surprised. His Majesty, however, could
not break the promise he had made of giving his daughters to the man
who named them. He accordingly gave them to Mr Lizard. Anansi was very
angry, and explained that he had told the names to Lizard, so that he
ought to get at least two of the girls, while Lizard could have the
third. The King refused. Anansi then begged hard for even one, but that
was also refused. He went home in a very bad temper, declaring that he
would be revenged on Lizard for stealing his wives away.
He thought over the matter very carefully, but could not find a way of
punishing Lizard. At last, however, he had an idea.
He went to the King and explained that he was setting off next morning
on a long journey. He wished to start very early, and so begged the
King’s help. The King had a fine cock, which always crowed at daybreak
to waken the King if he wished to get up early. Anansi begged that the
King would command the cock to crow next morning, that Anansi might be
sure of getting off in time. This the King readily promised.
As soon as night fell Anansi went by a back way to the cock’s
sleeping-place, seized the bird quickly, and killed it. He then carried
it to Lizard’s house, where all were in bed. There he quietly cooked
the cock, placed the feathers under Lizard’s bed, and put some of the
flesh on a dish close to Lizard’s hand. The wicked Anansi then took
some boiling water and poured it into poor Lizard’s mouth, thus making
him dumb.
When morning came, Anansi went to the King and reproached him for not
letting the cock crow. The King was much surprised to hear that it had
not obeyed his commands.
He sent one of his servants to find and bring the cock to him, but, of
course, the servant returned empty-handed. The King then ordered them
to find the thief. No trace of him could be found anywhere. Anansi then
cunningly said to the King: “I know Lizard is a rogue, because he stole
my three wives from me. Perhaps he is the thief.” Accordingly, the men
went to search Lizard’s house.
There, of course, they found the remnants of the cock, cooked ready to
eat, and his feathers under the bed. They questioned Lizard, but the
poor animal was unable to reply. He could only move his head up and
down helplessly. They thought he was refusing to speak, so dragged him
before the King. To the King’s questions he could only return the same
answer, and his Majesty got very angry. He did not know that Anansi had
made the poor animal dumb. Lizard tried very hard to speak, but in
vain.
He was accordingly judged guilty of theft, and as a punishment his
wives were taken away from him and given to Anansi.
Since then lizards have always had a way of moving their heads
helplessly backward and forward, as if saying, “How can any one be so
foolish as to trust Anansi?”
VI. TIT FOR TAT
There had been a great famine in the land for many months. Meat had
become so scarce that only the rich chiefs had money enough to buy it.
The poor people were starving. Anansi and his family were in a
miserable state.
One day, Anansi’s eldest son—Kweku Tsin—to his great joy, discovered a
place in the forest where there were still many animals. Knowing his
father’s wicked ways, Kweku told him nothing of the matter. Anansi,
however, speedily discovered that Kweku was returning loaded, day after
day, to the village. There he was able to sell the meat at a good price
to the hungry villagers. Anansi immediately wanted to know the
secret—but his son wisely refused to tell him. The old man determined
to find out by a trick.
Slipping into his son’s room one night, when he was fast asleep, he cut
a tiny hole in the corner of the bag which Kweku always carried into
the forest. Anansi then put a quantity of ashes into the bag and
replaced it where he had found it.
Next morning, as Kweku set out for the forest, he threw the bag, as
usual, over his shoulder. Unknown to him, at each step, the ashes were
sprinkled on the ground. Consequently, when Anansi set out an hour
later he was easily able to follow his son by means of the trail of
ashes. He, too, arrived at the animals’ home in the forest, and found
Kweku there before him. He immediately drove his son away, saying that,
by the law of the land, the place belonged to him. Kweku saw how he had
been tricked, and determined to have the meat back.
He accordingly went home—made a tiny image and hung little bells round
its neck. He then tied a long thread to its head and returned toward
the hunting-place.
When about half-way there, he hung the image to a branch of a tree in
the path, and hid himself in the bushes near by—holding the other end
of the thread in his hand.
The greedy father, in the meantime, had killed as many animals as he
could find, being determined to become rich as speedily as possible. He
then skinned them and prepared the flesh—to carry it to the
neighbouring villages to sell. Taking the first load, he set off for
his own village. Half-way there, he came to the place where the image
hung in the way. Thinking this was one of the gods, he stopped. As he
approached, the image began to shake its head vigorously at him. He
felt that this meant that the gods were angry. To please them, he said
to the image, “May I give you a little of this meat?” Again the image
shook its head. “May I give you half of this meat?” he then inquired.
The head shook once more. “Do you want the whole of this meat?” he
shouted fiercely. This time the head nodded, as if the image were well
pleased. “I will not give you all my meat,” Anansi cried. At this the
image shook in every limb as if in a terrible temper. Anansi was so
frightened that he threw the whole load on the ground and ran away. As
he ran, he called back, “To-morrow I shall go to Ekubon—you will not be
able to take my meat from me there, you thief.”
But Kweku had heard where his father intended to go next day—and set
the image in his path as before. Again Anansi was obliged to leave his
whole load—and again he called out the name of the place where he would
go the following day.
The same thing occurred, day after day, till all the animals in the
wood were killed. By this time, Kweku Tsin had become very rich—but his
father Anansi was still very poor. He was obliged to go to Kweku’s
house every day for food.
When the famine was over, Kweku gave a great feast and invited the
entire village. While all were gathered together, Kweku told the story
of his father’s cunning and how it had been overcome. This caused great
merriment among the villagers. Anansi was so ashamed that he readily
promised Kweku to refrain from his evil tricks for the future. This
promise, however, he did not long keep.
VII. WHY WHITE ANTS ALWAYS HARM MAN’S PROPERTY
There came once such a terrible famine in the land that a grain of corn
was worth far more than its weight in gold. A hungry spider was
wandering through the forest looking for food. To his great joy he
found a dead antelope.
Knowing that he would not be allowed to reach home in safety with it,
he wrapped it up very carefully in a long mat and bound it securely.
Placing it on his head, he started for home. As he went, he wept
bitterly, telling every one that this was his dead grandfather’s body.
Every one he met sympathized heartily with him.
On his way he met the wolf and the leopard. These two wise animals
suspected that this was one of Spider’s tricks. They knew that he was
not to be trusted. Walking on a little way, they discussed what they
could do to find out what was in the bundle.
They agreed to take a short cut across the country to a tree which they
knew Cousin Spider must pass. When they reached this tree they hid
themselves very carefully behind it and waited for him.
As he passed the place they shook the tree and uttered frightful
noises. This so frightened Mr Spider that he dropped his load and ran
away.
The two gentlemen opened the bundle and, to their great joy, discovered
the flesh of the antelope in it. They carried it off to their own home
and began to prepare supper.
When Mr Spider recovered from his fear he began to wonder who could
have been at the tree to make the noises. He decided that his enemies
must be Wolf and Leopard. He made up his mind he would get his meat
back from them.
He took a small lizard and filed his teeth to fine, sharp points. He
then sent him to spy upon the wolf and leopard—by begging fire from
them. He was to get the fire and quench it as soon as he left their
cottage. He could then return and ask a second time. If they asked him
questions, he must smile and show his teeth.
The lizard did as he was told, and everything turned out just as Spider
had expected. Wolf and Leopard eagerly asked the lizard where he had
had his teeth filed so beautifully. He replied that “Filing Spider” had
done it for him.
Wolf and Leopard discussed the matter and decided to have their teeth
filed in the same way. They could then easily break the bones of their
food.
Accordingly, they went to the house of the disguised spider and asked
him to make their teeth like Lizard’s. Spider agreed, but said that, to
do it properly, he would first have to hang them on a tree. They made
no objection to this.
When he had them safely hung, Spider and his family came and mocked
them. Spider then went to their cottage and brought away the body of
the antelope. The whole village was invited to the feast, which was
held in front of the two poor animals on the tree. During this festival
every one made fun of the wolf and leopard.
Next morning White Ant and his children passed the place on their way
to some friends. Mr Leopard begged them to set him and his friend free.
White Ant and his family set to work, destroyed the tree and set them
at liberty. Leopard and Wolf promised the ants that on their return
they would spread a feast for them.
Unfortunately, Spider heard the invitation and made up his mind to
benefit by it. On the third day (which was the very time set by the
wolf and leopard) Spider dressed up his children like the ants. They
set out, singing the ants’ chorus, in order to deceive Leopard.
Wolf and Leopard welcomed them heartily and spread a splendid feast for
them, which the spiders thoroughly enjoyed.
Soon after their departure the real ants arrived. The two hosts,
thinking these must be Spider and his family, poured boiling water over
them and killed them all except the father.
White Ant, on reaching home again, in great anger, vowed that he would
never again help any one. He would take every opportunity to harm
property. From that day to this white ants have been a perfect pest to
man.
VIII. THE SQUIRREL AND THE SPIDER
A hard-working squirrel had, after much labour, succeeded in
cultivating a very fine farm. Being a skilful climber of trees, he had
not troubled to make a roadway into his farm. He used to reach it by
the trees.
One day, when his harvests were very nearly ripe, it happened that
Spider went out hunting in that neighbourhood. During his travels, he
arrived at Squirrel’s farm. Greatly pleased at the appearance of the
fields, he sought for the roadway to it. Finding none, he returned home
and told his family all about the matter. The very next day they all
set out for this fine place, and set to work immediately to make a
road. When this was completed Spider—who was very cunning—threw pieces
of earthenware pot along the pathway. This he did to make believe that
his children had dropped them while working to prepare the farm.
Then he and his family began to cut down and carry away such of the
corn as was ripe. Squirrel noticed that his fields were being robbed,
but could not at first find the thief. He determined to watch. Sure
enough Spider soon reappeared to steal more of the harvest. Squirrel
demanded to know what right he had on these fields. Spider immediately
asked him the same question. “They are my fields,” said Squirrel. “Oh,
no! They are mine,” retorted Spider. “I dug them and sowed them and
planted them,” said poor Squirrel. “Then where is your roadway to
them?” said crafty Spider. “I need no roadway. I come by the trees,”
was Squirrel’s reply. Needless to say, Spider laughed such an answer to
scorn, and continued to use the farm as his own.
Squirrel appealed to the law, but the court decided that no one had
ever had a farm without a road leading to it, therefore the fields must
be Spider’s.
In great glee Spider and his family prepared to cut down all the
harvest that remained. When it was cut they tied it in great bundles
and set off to the nearest market-place to sell it. When they were
about half-way there, a terrible storm came on. They were obliged to
put down their burdens by the roadside and run for shelter. When the
storm had passed they returned to pick up their loads.
As they approached the spot they found a great, black crow there, with
his broad wings outspread to keep the bundles dry. Spider went to him
and very politely thanked him for so kindly taking care of their
property. “Your property!” replied Father Crow. “Who ever heard of any
one leaving bundles of corn by the roadside? Nonsense! These loads are
mine.” So saying, he picked them up and went off with them, leaving
Spider and his children to return home sorrowful and empty-handed.
Their thieving ways had brought them little profit.
IX. WHY WE SEE ANTS CARRYING BUNDLES AS BIG AS THEMSELVES
Kweku Anansi and Kweku Tsin—his son—were both very clever farmers.
Generally they succeeded in getting fine harvests from each of their
farms. One year, however, they were very unfortunate. They had sown
their seeds as usual, but no rain had fallen for more than a month
after and it looked as if the seeds would be unable to sprout.
Kweku Tsin was walking sadly through his fields one day looking at the
bare, dry ground, and wondering what he and his family would do for
food, if they were unable to get any harvest. To his surprise he saw a
tiny dwarf seated by the roadside. The little hunchback asked the
reason of his sadness, and Kweku Tsin told him. The dwarf promised to
help him by bringing rain on the farm. He bade Kweku fetch two small
sticks and tap him lightly on the hump, while he sang:
“O water, go up, O water, go up,
And let rain fall, and let rain fall.”
To Kweku’s great joy rain immediately began to fall, and continued till
the ground was thoroughly well soaked. In the days following the seeds
germinated, and the crops began to promise well.
Anansi soon heard how well Kweku’s crops were growing—whilst his own
were still bare and hard. He went straightway to his son and demanded
to know the reason. Kweku Tsin, being an honest fellow, at once told
him what had happened.
Anansi quickly made up his mind to get his farm watered in the same
way, and accordingly set out toward it. As he went, he cut two big,
strong sticks, thinking, “My son made the dwarf work with little
sticks. I will make him do twice as much with my big ones.” He
carefully hid the big sticks, however, when he saw the dwarf coming
toward him. As before, the hunchback asked what the trouble was, and
Anansi told him. “Take two small sticks, and beat me lightly on the
hump,” said the dwarf. “I will get rain for you.”
But Anansi took his big sticks and beat so hard that the dwarf fell
down dead. The greedy fellow was now thoroughly frightened, for he knew
that the dwarf was jester to the King of the country, and a very great
favourite of his. He wondered how he could fix the blame on some one
else. He picked up the dwarf’s dead body and carried it to a kola-tree.
There he laid it on one of the top branches and sat down under the tree
to watch.
By and by Kweku Tsin came along to see if his father had succeeded in
getting rain for his crops. “Did you not see the dwarf, father?” he
asked, as he saw the old man sitting alone. “Oh, yes!” replied Anansi;
“but he has climbed this tree to pick kola. I am now waiting for him.”
“I will go up and fetch him,” said the young man—and immediately began
to climb. As soon as his head touched the body the latter, of course,
fell to the ground. “Oh! what have you done, you wicked fellow?” cried
his father. “You have killed the King’s jester!” “That is all right,”
quietly replied the son (who saw that this was one of Anansi’s tricks).
“The King is very angry with him, and has promised a bag of money to
any one who would kill him. I will now go and get the reward.” “No! No!
No!” shouted Anansi. “The reward is mine. I killed him with two big
sticks. I will take him to the King.” “Very well!” was the son’s reply.
“As you killed him, you may take him.”
Off set Anansi, quite pleased with the prospect of getting a reward. He
reached the King’s court, only to find the King very angry at the death
of his favourite. The body of the jester was shut up in a great box and
Anansi was condemned—as a punishment—to carry it on his head for ever.
The King enchanted the box so that it could never be set down on the
ground. The only way in which Anansi could ever get rid of it was by
getting some other man to put it on his head. This, of course, no one
was willing to do.
At last, one day, when Anansi was almost worn out with his heavy
burden, he met the Ant. “Will you hold this box for me while I go to
market and buy some things I need badly?” said Anansi to Mr Ant. “I
know your tricks, Anansi,” replied Ant. “You want to be rid of it.”
“Oh, no, indeed, Mr Ant,” protested Anansi. “Indeed I will come back
for it, I promise.”
Mr Ant, who was an honest fellow, and always kept his own promises,
believed him. He took the box on his head, and Anansi hurried off.
Needless to say, the sly fellow had not the least intention of keeping
his word. Mr Ant waited in vain for his return—and was obliged to
wander all the rest of his life with the box on his head. That is the
reason we so often see ants carrying great bundles as they hurry along.
X. WHY SPIDERS ARE ALWAYS FOUND IN THE CORNERS OF CEILINGS
Egya Anansi was a very skilful farmer. He, with his wife and son, set
to work one year f to prepare a farm, much larger than any they had
previously worked. They planted in it yams, maize, and beans—and were
rewarded by a very rich crop. Their harvest was quite ten times greater
than any they had ever had before. Egya Anansi was very well pleased
when he saw his wealth of corn and beans.
He was, however, an exceedingly selfish and greedy man, who never liked
to share anything—even with his own wife and son. When he saw that the
crops were quite ripe, he thought of a plan whereby he alone would
profit by them. He called his wife and son to him and spoke thus: “We
have all three worked exceedingly hard to prepare these fields. They
have well repaid us. We will now gather in the harvest and pack it away
in our barns. When that is done, we shall be in need of a rest. I
propose that you and our son should go back to our home in the village
and remain there at your ease for two or three weeks. I have to go to
the coast on very urgent business. When I return we will all come to
the farm and enjoy our well-earned feast.”
Anansi’s wife and son thought this a very good, sensible plan, and at
once agreed to it. They went straight back to their village, leaving
the cunning husband to start on his journey. Needless to say he had not
the slightest intention of so doing.
Instead, he built himself a very comfortable hut near the farm—supplied
it with all manner of cooking utensils, gathered in a large store of
the corn and vegetables from the barn, and prepared for a solitary
feast. This went on for a fortnight. By that time Anansi’s son began to
think it was time for him to go and weed the farm, lest the weeds
should grow too high. He accordingly went there and worked several
hours on it. While passing the barn, he happened to look in. Great was
his surprise to see that more than half of their magnificent harvest
had gone. He was greatly disturbed, thinking robbers had been at work,
and wondered how he could prevent further mischief.
Returning to the village, he told the people there what had happened,
and they helped to make a rubber-man. When evening came they carried
the sticky figure to the farm, and placed it in the midst of the
fields, to frighten away the thieves. Some of the young men remained
with Anansi’s son to watch in one of the barns.
When all was dark, Egya Anansi (quite unaware of what had happened)
came, as usual, out of his hiding-place to fetch more food. On his way
to the barn he saw in front of him the figure of a man, and at first
felt very frightened. Finding that the man did not move, however, he
gained confidence and went up to him. “What do you want here?” said he.
There was no answer. He repeated his question with the same result.
Anansi then became very angry and dealt the figure a blow on the cheek
with his right hand. Of course, his hand stuck fast to the rubber. “How
dare you hold my hand?” he exclaimed. “Let me go at once or I shall hit
you again.” He then hit the figure with his left hand, which also
stuck. He tried to disengage himself by pushing against it with his
knees and body, until, finally, knees, body, hands, and head were all
firmly attached to the rubber-man. There Egya Anansi had to stay till
daybreak, when his son came out with the other villagers to catch the
robber. They were astonished to find that the evil-doer was Anansi
himself. He, on the other hand, was so ashamed to be caught in the act
of greediness that he changed into a spider and took refuge in a dark
corner of the ceiling lest any one should see him. Since then spiders
have always been found in dark, dusty corners, where people are not
likely to notice them.
XI. ANANSI THE BLIND FISHERMAN
Anansi, in his old age, became a fisherman. Very soon after that his
sight began to fail. Finally, he grew quite blind. However, still being
very strong, he continued his fishing—with the help of two men. The
latter were exceedingly kind to him, and aided him in every possible
way. They led him, each morning, to the beach and into the canoe. They
told him where to spread his net and when to pull it in. When they
returned to land they told him just where and when to step out, so that
he did not even get wet.
Day after day this went on, but Anansi—instead of being in the least
grateful to them—behaved very badly. When they told him where to spread
his net, he would reply sharply, “I know. I was just about to put it
there.” When they were directing him to get out of the boat, he would
say, “Oh, I know perfectly well we are at the beach. I was just getting
ready to step out.”
This went on for a long time, Anansi getting ruder and ruder to his
helpers every day, until they could bear his treatment no longer. They
determined when opportunity offered to punish him for his ingratitude.
The next day, as usual, he came with them to the beach. When they had
got the canoe ready, they bade him step in. “Do you think I am a fool?”
said he. “I know the canoe is there.” They made no answer, but got in
and patiently pulled toward the fishing-place. When they told him where
to spread his net, he replied with so much abuse that they determined,
there and then, to punish him.
By this time the canoe was full of fish, so they turned to row home.
When they had gone a little way they stopped and said to him, “Here we
are at the beach.” He promptly told them that they were very foolish—to
tell him a thing he knew so well. He added many rude and insulting
remarks, which made them thoroughly angry. He then jumped proudly out,
expecting to land on the beach. To his great astonishment he found
himself sinking in deep water. The two men rowed quickly away, leaving
him to struggle.
Like all the men of that country he was a good swimmer, but, of course,
being blind, he was unable to see where the land lay. So he swam until
he was completely tired out—and was drowned.
XII. ADZANUMEE AND HER MOTHER
There once lived a woman who had one great desire. She longed to have a
daughter—but alas! she was childless. She could never feel happy,
because of this unfulfilled wish. Even in the midst of a feast the
thought would be in her mind—“Ah! if only I had a daughter to share
this with me.”
One day she was gathering yams in the field, and it chanced that she
pulled out one which was very straight and well shaped. “Ah!” she
thought to herself, “if only this fine yam were a daughter, how happy I
should be.” To her astonishment the yam answered, “If I were to become
your daughter, would you promise never to reproach me with having been
a yam?” She eagerly gave her promise, and at once the yam changed into
a beautiful, well-made girl. The woman was overjoyed and was very kind
to the girl. She named her Adzanumee. The latter was exceedingly useful
to her mother. She would make the bread, gather the yams, and sell them
at the market-place.
She had been detained, one day, longer than usual. Her mother became
impatient at her non-appearance and angrily said, “Where can Adzanumee
be? She does not deserve that beautiful name. She is only a yam.”
A bird singing near by heard the mother’s words and immediately flew
off to the tree under which Adzanumee sat. There he began to sing:
“Adzanumee! Adzanumee!
Your mother is unkind—she says you are only a yam,
You do not deserve your name!
Adzanumee! Adzanumee!”
The girl heard him and returned home weeping. When the woman saw her
she said, “My daughter, my daughter! What is the matter?” Adzanumee
replied:
“Oh, my mother! my mother!
You have reproached me with being a yam.
You said I did not deserve my name.
Oh, my mother! my mother!”
With these words she made her way toward the yam-field. Her mother,
filled with fear, followed her, wailing:
“Nay, Adzanumee! Adzanumee!
Do not believe it—do not believe it.
You are my daughter, my dear daughter
Adzanumee!”
But she was too late. Her daughter, still singing her sad little song,
quickly changed back into a yam. When the woman arrived at the field
there lay the yam on the ground, and nothing she could do or say would
give her back the daughter she had desired so earnestly and treated so
inconsiderately.
XIII. THE GRINDING-STONE THAT GROUND FLOUR BY ITSELF
There had been another great famine throughout the land. The villagers
looked thin and pale for lack of food. Only one family appeared healthy
and well. This was the household of Anansi’s cousin.
Anansi was unable to understand this, and felt sure his cousin was
getting food in some way. The greedy fellow determined to find out the
secret.
What had happened was this: Spider’s cousin, while hunting one morning,
had discovered a wonderful stone. The stone lay on the grass in the
forest and ground flour of its own accord. Near by ran a stream of
honey. Kofi was delighted. He sat down and had a good meal. Not being a
greedy man, he took away with him only enough for his family’s needs.
Each morning he returned to the stone and got sufficient food for that
day. In this manner he and his family kept well and plump, while the
surrounding villagers were starved and miserable-looking.
Anansi gave him no peace till he promised to show him the stone. This
he was most unwilling to do—knowing his cousin’s wicked ways. He felt
sure that when Anansi saw the stone he would not be content to take
only what he needed. However, Anansi troubled him so much with
questions that at last he promised. He told Anansi that they would
start next morning, as soon as the women set about their work. Anansi
was too impatient to wait. In the middle of the night he bade his
children get up and make a noise with the pots as if they were the
women at work. Spider at once ran and wakened his cousin, saying,
“Quick! It is time to start.” His cousin, however, saw he had been
tricked, and went back to bed again, saying he would not start till the
women were sweeping. No sooner was he asleep again than Spider made his
children take brooms and begin to sweep very noisily. He roused Kofi
once more, saying, “It is time we had started.” Once more his cousin
refused to set off—saying it was only another trick of Spider’s. He
again returned to bed and to sleep. This time Spider slipped into his
cousin’s room and cut a hole in the bottom of his bag, which he then
filled with ashes. After that he went off and left Kofi in peace.
When morning came the cousin awoke. Seeing no sign of Spider he very
gladly set off alone to the forest, thinking he had got rid of the
tiresome fellow. He was no sooner seated by the stone, however, than
Anansi appeared, having followed him by the trail of ashes.
“Aha!” cried he. “Here is plenty of food for all. No more need to
starve.” “Hush,” said his cousin. “You must not shout here. The place
is too wonderful. Sit down quietly and eat.”
They had a good meal and Kofi prepared to return home with enough for
his family. “No, no!” cried Anansi. “I am going to take the stone.” In
vain did his friend try to overcome his greed. Anansi insisted on
putting the stone on his head, and setting out for the village.
“Spider, spider, put me down,” said the stone.
“The pig came and drank and went away,
The antelope came and fed and went away:
Spider, spider, put me down.”
Spider, however, refused to listen. He carried the stone from village
to village selling flour, until his bag was full of money. He then set
out for home.
Having reached his hut and feeling very tired he prepared to put the
stone down. But the stone refused to be moved from his head. It stuck
fast there, and no efforts could displace it. The weight of it very
soon grew too much for Anansi, and ground him down into small pieces,
which were completely covered over by the stone. That is why we often
find tiny spiders gathered together under large stones.
XIV. “MORNING SUNRISE”
A man in one of the villages had a very beautiful daughter. She was so
lovely that people called her “Morning Sunrise.” Every young man who
saw her wanted to marry her. Three, in particular, were very anxious to
have her for their wife. Her father found it difficult to decide among
them. He determined to find out by a trick which of the three was most
worthy of her.
He bade her lie down on her bed as if she were dead. He then sent the
report of her death to each of the three lovers, asking them to come
and help him with her funeral.
The messenger came first to “Wise Man.” When he heard the message, he
exclaimed, “What can this man mean? The girl is not my wife. I
certainly will not pay any money for her funeral.”
The messenger came next to the second man. His name was “Wit.” The
latter at once said, “Oh dear, no! I shall not pay any money for her
funeral expenses. Her father did not even let me know she was ill.” So
he refused to go.
“Thinker,” the third young man—when he received the message—at once got
ready to start. “Certainly I must go and mourn for Morning Sunrise,”
said he. “Had she lived, surely she would have been my wife.” So he
took money with him and set out for her home.
When he reached it her father called out, “Morning Sunrise, Morning
Sunrise. Come here. This is your true husband.”
That very day the betrothal took place, and soon after the wedding
followed. “Thinker” and his beautiful wife lived very happily together.
XV. WHY THE SEA-TURTLE WHEN CAUGHT BEATS ITS BREAST WITH ITS FORE-LEGS
Many centuries ago, the people of this earth were much troubled by
floods. The sea used at times to overflow its usual boundaries and
sweep across the low, sandy stretches of land which bordered it. Time
and again this happened, many lives being lost at each flood. Mankind
was very troubled to find an escape from this oft-repeated disaster. He
could think of no way of avoiding it.
Fortunately for him the wise turtle came to his help. “Take my advice,”
said she, “and plant rows of palms along the sea-coast. They will bind
the sand together and keep it from being washed so easily away.” He did
so, with great success. The roots of the palms kept the sand firmly in
its place. When the time came again for the sea to overflow, it washed
just to the line of trees and came no farther. Thus many lives were
saved annually by the kind forethought of the turtle.
In return—one would think—mankind would protect and cherish this poor
animal. But no! Each time a turtle comes to the seashore to lay her
eggs among the sand, she is caught and killed for the sake of her
flesh. It is the thought of the ingratitude of mankind to her, which
makes her beat her breast with her fore-legs when she is caught. She
seems to be saying, “Ah! this is all the return I get for my kindness
to you.”
XVI. HOW BEASTS AND SERPENTS FIRST CAME INTO THE WORLD
The famine had lasted nearly three years. Kweku Tsin, being very
hungry, looked daily in the forest in the hope of finding food. One day
he was fortunate enough to discover three palm-kernels lying on the
ground. He picked up two stones with which to crack them. The first
nut, however, slipped when he hit it, and fell into a hole behind him.
The same thing happened to the second and to the third. Very much
annoyed at his loss, Kweku determined to go down the hole to see if he
could find his lost nuts.
To his surprise, however, he discovered that this hole was really the
entrance to a town, of which he had never before even heard. When he
reached it he found absolute silence everywhere. He called out, “Is
there nobody in this town?” and presently heard a voice in answer. He
went in its direction and found an old woman sitting in one of the
houses. She demanded the reason of his appearance—which he readily
gave.
The old woman was very kind and sympathetic, and promised to help him.
“You must do exactly as I tell you,” said she. “Go into the garden and
listen attentively. You will hear the yams speak. Pass by any yam that
says, ‘Dig me out, dig me out!’ But take the one that says, ‘Do not dig
me out!’ Then bring it to me.”
When he brought it, she directed him to remove the peel from the yam
and throw the latter away. He was then to boil the rind, and, while
boiling, it would become yam. It did actually do so, and they sat down
to eat some of it. Before beginning their meal the old woman requested
Kweku not to look at her while she ate. Being very polite and obedient,
he did exactly as he was told.
In the evening the old woman sent him into the garden to choose one of
the drums which stood there. She warned him: “If you come to a drum
which says ‘Ding-ding’ on being touched—take it. But be very careful
not to take one which sounds ‘Dong-dong.’” He obeyed her direction in
every detail. When he showed her the drum, she looked pleased and told
him, to his great delight, that he had only to beat it if at any time
he were hungry. That would bring him food in plenty. He thanked the old
woman very heartily and went home.
As soon as he reached his own hut, he gathered his household together,
and then beat the drum. Immediately, food of every description appeared
before them, and they all ate as much as they wished.
The following day Kweku Tsin gathered all the people of the village
together in the Assembly Place, and then beat the drum once more. In
this way every family got sufficient food for their wants, and all
thanked Kweku very much for thus providing for them.
Kweku’s father, however, was not at all pleased to see his son thus
able to feed the whole village. Anansi thought he, too, ought to have a
drum. Then the people would be grateful to him instead of to Kweku
Tsin. Accordingly, he asked the young man where the wonderful drum had
come from. His son was most unwilling to tell him, but Anansi gave him
no peace until he had heard the whole story. He then wasted no time,
but set off at once toward the entrance hole. He had taken the
precaution to carry with him an old nut which he pretended to crack.
Then throwing it into the hole, he jumped in after it and hurried along
to the silent village. Arrived at the first house, he shouted, “Is
there no one in this town?” The old woman answered as before, and
Anansi entered her house.
He did not trouble to be polite to her, but addressed her most rudely,
saying, “Hurry up, old woman, and get me something to eat.” The woman
quietly directed him to go into the garden and choose the yam which
should say, “Do not dig me out.” Anansi laughed in her face and said,
“You surely take me for a fool. If the yam does not want me to dig it
out I will certainly not do so. I will take the one which wants to be
gathered.” This he did.
When he brought it to the old woman she told him, as she told his son,
to throw away the inside and boil the rind. Again he refused to obey.
“Who ever heard of such a silly thing as throwing away the yam? I will
do nothing of the sort. I will throw away the peel and boil the
inside.” He did so, and the yam turned into stones. He was then obliged
to do as she first suggested, and boil the rind. The latter while
boiling turned into yam. Anansi turned angrily to the old woman and
said, “You are a witch.” She took no notice of his remark, but went on
setting the table. She placed his dinner on a small table, lower than
her own, saying, “You must not look at me while I eat.” He rudely
replied, “Indeed, I will look at you if I choose. And I will have my
dinner at your table, not at that small one.” Again she said
nothing—but she left her dinner untouched. Anansi ate his own, then
took hers and ate it also.
When he had finished she said, “Now go into the garden and choose a
drum. Do not take one which sounds ‘Dong-dong’; only take one which
says ‘Ding-ding.’” Anansi retorted, “Do you think I will take your
advice, you witch? No, I will choose the drum which says ‘Dong-dong.’
You are just trying to play a trick on me.”
He did as he wished. Having secured the drum he marched off without so
much as a “Thank you” to the old woman.
No sooner had he reached home, than he longed to show off his new power
to the villagers. He called all to the Assembly Place, telling them to
bring dishes and trays, as he was going to provide them with food. The
people in great delight hurried to the spot. Anansi, proudly taking his
position in the midst of them, began to beat his drum. To his horror
and dismay, instead of the multitude of food-stuffs which Kweku had
summoned, Anansi saw, rushing toward him, beasts and serpents of all
kinds. Such creatures had never been seen on the earth before.
The people fled in every direction—all except Anansi, who was too
terrified to move. He speedily received fitting punishment for his
disobedience. Fortunately, Kweku, with his mother and sisters, had been
at the outer edge of the crowd, so easily escaped into shelter. The
animals presently scattered in every direction, and ever since they
have roamed wild in the great forests.
XVII. HONOURABLE MINŪ
It happened one day that a poor Akim-man had to travel from his own
little village to Accra—one of the big towns on the coast. This man
could only speak the language of his own village—which was not
understood by the men of the town. As he approached Accra he met a
great herd of cows. He was surprised at the number of them, and
wondered to whom they could belong. Seeing a man with them he asked
him, “To whom do these cows belong?” The man did not know the language
of the Akim-man, so he replied, “Minū” (I do not understand). The
traveller, however, thought that Minū was the name of the owner of the
cows and exclaimed, “Mr Minū must be very rich.”
He then entered the town. Very soon he saw a fine large building, and
wondered to whom it might belong. The man he asked could not understand
his question so he also answered, “Minū.” “Dear me! What a rich fellow
Mr Minū must be!” cried the Akim-man.
Coming to a still finer building with beautiful gardens round it, he
again asked the owner’s name. Again came the answer, “Minū.” “How
wealthy Mr Minū is,” said our wondering traveller.
Next he came to the beach. There he saw a magnificent steamer being
loaded in the harbour. He was surprised at the great cargo which was
being put on board and inquired of a bystander, “To whom does this fine
vessel belong?” “Minū,” replied the man. “To the Honourable Minū also!
He is the richest man I ever heard of!” cried the Akim-man.
Having finished his business, the Akim-man set out for home. As he
passed down one of the streets of the town he met men carrying a
coffin, and followed by a long procession, all dressed in black. He
asked the name of the dead person, and received the usual reply,
“Minū.” “Poor Mr Minū!” cried the Akim-man. “So he has had to leave all
his wealth and beautiful houses and die just as a poor person would do!
Well, well—in future I will be content with my tiny house and little
money.” And the Akim-man went home quite pleased to his own hut.
XVIII. WHY THE MOON AND THE STARS RECEIVE THEIR LIGHT FROM THE SUN
Once upon a time there was great scarcity of food in the land. Father
Anansi and his son, Kweku Tsin, being very hungry, set out one morning
to hunt in the forest. In a short time Kweku Tsin was fortunate enough
to kill a fine deer—which he carried to his father at their
resting-place. Anansi was very glad to see such a supply of food, and
requested his son to remain there on guard, while he went for a large
basket in which to carry it home. An hour or so passed without his
return, and Kweku Tsin became anxious. Fearing lest his father had lost
his way, he called out loudly, “Father, father!” to guide him to the
spot. To his joy he heard a voice reply, “Yes, my son,” and immediately
he shouted again, thinking it was Anansi. Instead of the latter,
however, a terrible dragon appeared. This monster breathed fire from
his great nostrils, and was altogether a dreadful sight to behold.
Kweku Tsin was terrified at his approach and speedily hid himself in a
cave near by.
The dragon arrived at the resting-place, and was much annoyed to find
only the deer’s body. He vented his anger in blows upon the latter and
went away. Soon after, Father Anansi made his appearance. He was
greatly interested in his son’s tale, and wished to see the dragon for
himself. He soon had his desire, for the monster, smelling human flesh,
hastily returned to the spot and seized them both. They were carried
off by him to his castle, where they found many other unfortunate
creatures also awaiting their fate. All were left in charge of the
dragon’s servant—a fine, white cock—which always crowed to summon his
master, if anything unusual happened in the latter’s absence. The
dragon then went off in search of more prey.
Kweku Tsin now summoned all his fellow-prisoners together, to arrange a
way of escape. All feared to run away—because of the wonderful powers
of the monster. His eyesight was so keen that he could detect a fly
moving miles away. Not only that, but he could move over the ground so
swiftly that none could outdistance him. Kweku Tsin, however, being
exceedingly clever, soon thought of a plan.
Knowing that the white cock would not crow as long as he had grains of
rice to pick up, Kweku scattered on the ground the contents of forty
bags of grain—which were stored in the great hall. While the cock was
thus busily engaged, Kweku Tsin ordered the spinners to spin fine
hempen ropes, to make a strong rope ladder. One end of this he intended
to throw up to heaven, trusting that the gods would catch it and hold
it fast, while he and his fellow-prisoners mounted.
While the ladder was being made, the men killed and ate all the cattle
they needed—reserving all the bones for Kweku Tsin at his express
desire. When all was ready the young man gathered the bones into a
great sack. He also procured the dragon’s fiddle and placed it by his
side.
Everything was now ready. Kweku Tsin threw one end of the ladder up to
the sky. It was caught and held. The dragon’s victims began to mount,
one after the other, Kweku remaining at the bottom.
By this time, however, the monster’s powerful eyesight showed him that
something unusual was happening at his abode. He hastened his return.
On seeing his approach, Kweku Tsin also mounted the ladder—with the bag
of bones on his back, and the fiddle under his arm. The dragon began to
climb after him. Each time the monster came too near the young man
threw him a bone, with which, being very hungry, he was obliged to
descend to the ground to eat.
Kweku Tsin repeated this performance till all the bones were gone, by
which time the people were safely up in the heavens. Then he mounted
himself, as rapidly as possible, stopping every now and then to play a
tune on the wonderful fiddle. Each time he did this, the dragon had to
return to earth, to dance—as he could not resist the magic music. When
Kweku was quite close to the top, the dragon had very nearly reached
him again. The brave youth bent down and cut the ladder away below his
own feet. The dragon was dashed to the ground—but Kweku was pulled up
into safety by the gods.
The latter were so pleased with his wisdom and bravery in giving
freedom to his fellow-men, that they made him the sun—the source of all
light and heat to the world. His father, Anansi, became the moon, and
his friends the stars. Thereafter, it was Kweku Tsin’s privilege to
supply all these with light, each being dull and powerless without him.
II. MISCELLANEOUS TALES
XIX. OHIA AND THE THIEVING DEER
There once lived upon the earth a poor man called Ohia, whose wife was
named Awirehu. This unfortunate couple had suffered one trouble after
another. No matter what they took in hand misfortune seemed to lie in
wait for them. Nothing they did met with success. They became so poor
that at last they could scarcely obtain a cloth with which to cover
themselves.
Finally, Ohia thought of a plan which many of his neighbours had tried
and found successful. He went to a wealthy farmer who lived near, and
offered to hew down several of his palm-trees. He would then collect
their sap to make palm wine. When this should be ready for the market,
his wife would carry it there and sell it. The proceeds would then be
divided equally between the farmer, Ohia, and Awirehu.
This proposal having been laid before the farmer, he proved quite
willing to agree to it. Not only so, but he granted Ohia a supply of
earthen pots in which to collect the sap, as the miserable man was far
too poor to buy any.
In great delight Ohia and his wife set to work. They cut down the trees
and prepared them—setting the pots underneath to catch the sap. Before
cock-crow on market-day, Ohia set off, with a lighted torch, to collect
the wine and prepare it for his wife to take into the town. She was
almost ready to follow.
To his great distress, on arriving at the first tree, instead of
finding his earthen pot filled with the sweet sap, he saw it lying in
pieces on the ground—the wine all gone. He went on to the second and
third trees—but there, and at all the others, too, the same thing had
happened.
His wife, in high spirits and ready for market, joined him at this
moment. She saw at once by his face that some misfortune had again
befallen them. Sorrowfully, they examined the mischief, and agreed that
some wicked person had stolen the wine and then broken the pots to hide
the theft. Awirehu returned home in despair, but Ohia set to work once
more. He fetched a second supply of pots and placed them all ready to
catch the sap.
On his return next morning, he found that the same behaviour had been
repeated. All his wine was again stolen and his pots in fragments. He
had no resource but to go to the farmer and tell him of these fresh
misfortunes. The farmer proved to be very kind and generous and gave
orders that Ohia might have as many pots as he should require.
Once more the poor fellow returned to the palm-trees, and set his pots
ready. This third attempt, however, met with no better result than the
two previous. Ohia went home in despair. His wife was of the opinion
that they should give up trying to overcome their evil fortunes. It was
quite evident that they could never attain success. The husband,
however, determined that, at least, he would find and punish the
culprit, if that were possible.
Accordingly, he bravely set his pots in order for the last time. When
night came, he remained on guard among the trees. Midnight passed and
nothing happened, but toward two o’clock in the morning a dark form
glided past him to the nearest palm-tree. A moment after he heard the
sound of a breaking pot. He stole up to the form. On approaching it he
found that the thief was a bush-deer, carrying on its head a large jar,
into which it was pouring the wine from Ohia’s pots. As it emptied them
it threw them carelessly on the ground, breaking them in pieces.
Ohia ventured a little nearer, intending to seize the culprit. The
latter, however, was too quick for him and escaped, dropping his great
pot on the ground as he ran. The deer was very fleet, but Ohia had
fully determined to catch him—so followed. The chase continued over
many miles until mid-day arrived, at which time they had reached the
bottom of a high hill. The deer immediately began to climb, and
Ohia—though almost tired out—still followed. Finally, the summit of the
hill was reached, and there Ohia found himself in the midst of a great
gathering of quadrupeds. The deer, panting, threw himself on the ground
before King Tiger. [10] His Majesty commanded that Ohia should be
brought before him to be punished for this intrusion into such a
serious meeting.
Ohia begged for a hearing before they condemned him. He wished to
explain fully his presence there. King Tiger, after consulting with
some of the other animals, agreed to listen to his tale. Thereupon Ohia
began the story of his unfortunate life. He told how one trial after
another had failed, and how, finally, he had thought of the palm wine.
He described his feelings on discovering the first theft—after all his
labour. He related his second, third, and fourth attempts, with the
result of each. He then went on to tell of his chase after the thief,
and thus explained his presence at their conference.
The quadrupeds listened very attentively to the recital of Ohia’s
troubles. At the conclusion they unanimously agreed that the deer was
the culprit and the man blameless. The former was accordingly sentenced
to punishment, while the latter received an apology in the name of the
entire conference. King Tiger, it appeared, had each morning given Deer
a large sum of money wherewith to purchase palm wine for the whole
assembly. The deer had stolen the wine and kept the money.
To make up to Ohia for his losses, King Tiger offered him, as a gift,
the power of understanding the conversation of all animals. This, said
he, would speedily make Ohia a rich man. But he attached one condition
to the gift. Ohia must never—on pain of instant death—tell any one
about his wonderful power.
The poor man, much delighted, set off for home. When it was reached, he
lost no time in setting to work at his palm-trees again. From that day
his troubles seemed over. His wine was never interfered with and he and
Awirehu became more and more prosperous and happy.
One morning, while he was bathing in a pool quite close to his house,
he heard a hen and her chickens talking together in his garden. He
listened, and distinctly heard a chicken tell Mother Hen about three
jars of gold buried in Ohia’s garden. The hen bade the chicken be
careful, lest her master should see her scraping near the gold, and so
discover it.
Ohia pretended to take no notice of what they were saying, and went
away. Presently, when Mother Hen and her brood had gone, he came back
and commenced digging in that part of the garden. To his great joy, he
soon found three large jars of gold. They contained enough money to
keep him in comfort all his life. He was careful, however, not to
mention his treasure to any one but his wife. He hid it safely inside
his house.
Soon he and Awirehu had become one of the richest couples in the
neighbourhood, and owned quite a large amount of property. Ohia thought
he could afford now to keep a second wife, so he married again.
Unfortunately, the new wife did not at all resemble Awirehu. The latter
had always been a good, kind, honest woman. The new wife was of a very
jealous and selfish disposition. In addition to this she was lame, and
continually imagined that people were making fun of her defect. She
took the idea into her head that Ohia and Awirehu—when together—were in
the habit of laughing at her. Nothing was further from their thoughts,
but she refused to believe so. Whenever she saw them together she would
stand and listen outside the door to hear what they were saying. Of
course, she never succeeded in hearing anything about herself.
At last, one evening, Ohia and Awirehu had gone to bed. The latter was
fast asleep when Ohia heard a conversation which amused him very much.
A couple of mice in one corner of the room were arranging to go to the
larder to get some food, as soon as their master—who was watching
them—was asleep. Ohia, thinking this was a good joke, laughed outright.
His lame wife heard him, and rushed into the room. She thereupon
accused him of making fun of her again to Awirehu. The astonished
husband, of course, denied this, but to no purpose. The jealous woman
insisted that, if he were laughing at an innocent joke, he would at
once tell it to her. This Ohia could not do, without breaking his
promise to King Tiger. His refusal fully confirmed the lame woman’s
suspicions and she did not rest till she had laid the whole matter
before the chief. He, being an intimate friend of Ohia, tried to
persuade him to reveal the joke and set the matter at rest. Ohia
naturally was most unwilling to do anything of the sort. The persistent
woman gave the chief no peace till he summoned her husband to answer
her charge before the assembly.
Finding no way of escape from the difficulty, Ohia prepared for death.
He first called all his friends and relatives to a great feast, and
bade them farewell. Then he put his affairs in order—bequeathed all his
gold to the faithful Awirehu, and his property to his son and servants.
When he had finished, he went to the Assembly Place where the people of
the neighbourhood were gathered together.
He first took leave of the chief, and then commenced his tale. He
related the story of his many misfortunes—of his adventure with the
deer, and of his promise to King Tiger. Finally, he explained the cause
of his laughter which had annoyed his wife. In so speaking he fell
dead, as the Tiger had warned him.
He was buried amid great mourning, for every one had liked and
respected him. The jealous woman who had caused her husband’s death was
seized and burnt as a witch. Her ashes were then scattered to the four
winds of heaven, and it is owing to this unfortunate fact that jealousy
and selfishness are so widespread through the world, where before they
scarcely existed.
XX. HOW THE TORTOISE GOT ITS SHELL
A few hundred years ago, the chief Mauri (God) determined to have a
splendid yam festival. He therefore sent his messengers to invite all
his chiefs and people to the gathering, which was to take place on Fida
(Friday).
On the morning of that day he sent some of his servants to the
neighbouring towns and villages to buy goats, sheep, and cows for the
great feast. Mr Klo (the tortoise), who was a tall and handsome fellow,
was sent to buy palm wine. He was directed to the palm-fields of
Koklovi (the chicken).
At that time Klo was a very powerful traveller and speedily reached his
destination, although it was many miles distant from Mauri’s palace.
When he arrived Koklovi was taking his breakfast. When they had
exchanged polite salutations Koklovi asked the reason of Klo’s visit.
He replied, “I was sent by His Majesty Mauri, the ruler of the world,
to buy him palm wine.” “Whether he’s ruler of the world or not,”
answered Koklovi, “no one can buy my wine with money. If you want it
you must fight for it. If you win you can have it all and the
palm-trees too.”
This answer delighted Klo as he was a very strong fighter. Koklovi was
the same, so that the fighting continued for several hours before Klo
was able to overcome Koklovi. He was at last successful, however, and
securely bound Koklovi before he left him.
Then, taking his great pot, he filled it with wine. Finding that there
was more wine than the pot would hold, Klo foolishly drank all the
rest. He then piled the palm-trees on his back and set out for the
palace with the pot of wine. The amount which he had drunk, however,
made him feel so sleepy and tired that he could not walk fast with his
load. Added to this, a terrible rain began to fall, which made the
ground very slippery and still more difficult to travel over.
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.
Next night the princess again became an elephant and prepared to kill
her husband. This time the juju changed him into a needle and his wife
could not find him. She again asked him in the morning where he had
been. Hearing that the juju had helped him again she determined to get
hold of the idol and destroy it.
Next day Kwesi was going again to his farm to plough a field. He told
his wife to bring him some food to the resting-place. This time she had
fairly made up her mind that he should not escape. When he had had his
food she said, “Now lay your head in my lap and sleep.” Kwesi quite
forgot that his juju was hidden in his hair and did as she bid. As soon
as he was asleep she took the juju out of his hair and threw it into a
great fire which she had prepared. Kwesi awoke to find her an elephant
once more. In great fear he cried out, “O my juju Depor! What am I to
do?” All the answer he got, however, came from the flames. “I am
burning, I am burning, I am burning.” Kwesi called again for help and
the juju replied, “Lift up your arms as if you were flying.” He did so
and turned into a hawk.
That is the reason why hawks are so often seen flying in the smoke of
fires. They are looking for their lost juju.
XXIII. KWOFI AND THE GODS
Kwofi was the eldest son of a farmer who had two wives. Kwofi’s mother
had no other children.
When the boy was three years old his mother died. Kwofi was given to
his stepmother to mind. After this she had many children. Kwofi, of
course, was the eldest of all.
When he was about ten years old his father also died. Kwofi had now no
relative but his stepmother, for whom he had to work.
As he grew older, she saw how much more clever and handsome he was than
her own children, and grew very jealous of him. He was such a good
hunter that day after day he came home laden with meat or with fish.
Every day she treated him in the same way. She cooked the meat, then
portioned it out. She gave to each a large helping, but when it came to
Kwofi’s turn she would say, “Oh, my son Kwofi, there is none left for
you! You must go to the field and get some ripe paw-paw.” Kwofi never
complained. Never once did he taste any of the meat he had hunted. At
every meal the others were served, but there was never enough for him.
One evening, when the usual thing had happened, Kwofi was preparing to
go to the field to fetch some paw-paw for his supper. All at once one
of the gods appeared in the village, carrying a great bag over his
shoulder. He summoned all the villagers together with these words: “Oh,
my villagers, I come with a bag of death for you!”
Thereupon he began to distribute the contents of his bag among them.
When he came to Kwofi he said: “Oh, my son Kwofi, there was never
sufficient meat for you, neither is there any death.”
As he said these words every one in the village died except Kwofi. He
was left to reign there in peace, which he did very happily.
XXIV. THE LION AND THE WOLF
A certain old lady had a very fine flock of sheep. She had fed and
cared for them so well that they became famous for their fatness. In
time a wicked wolf heard of them and determined to eat them.
Night after night he stole up to the old dame’s cottage and killed a
sheep. The poor woman tried her best to save her animals from harm—but
failed.
At last there was only one sheep left of all the flock. Their owner was
very sad. She feared that it, too, would be taken away from her, in
spite of all she could do. While she was grieving over the thought of
this a lion came to her village.
Seeing her sad face, he asked the reason of it. She soon told him all
about it. He thereupon offered to do his best to punish the wicked
wolf. He himself went to the place where the sheep was generally
kept—while the latter was removed to another place.
In the meantime the wolf was on his way to the cottage. As he came he
met a fox. The fox was somewhat afraid of him and prepared to run away.
The wolf, however, told him where he was going, and invited him to go
too. The fox agreed and the two set off together. They arrived at the
cottage and went straight to the place where the sheep generally slept.
The wolf at once rushed upon the animal, while Fox waited a little
behind. Just as Fox was deciding to enter and help Wolf there came a
bright flash of lightning. By the light of it the fox could see that
the wolf was attacking—not a sheep—but a lion. He hastily ran away,
shouting as he went: “Look at his face! Look at his face!”
During the flash Wolf did look at the pretended sheep. To his dismay he
found he had made a great mistake. At once he began to make humble
apologies—but all in vain. Lion refused to listen to any of his
explanations, and speedily put him to death.
XXV. MAKU MAWU AND MAKU FIA
OR
‘I will die God’s death’ and ‘I will die the King’s death’
Once upon a time there were two men who were such great friends that
they were almost always together. If one was seen the other was sure to
be near. They had given one another special names, which were to be
used only by themselves. One name, Maku Mawu, meant, ‘I will die God’s
death,’ and the other, Maku Fia, ‘I will die the King’s death.’
By and by, however, the other villagers heard these names and gradually
every one got into the habit of calling the two friends by the
nicknames in preference to the real ones. Finally, the King of the
country heard of them and wished to see the men who had chosen such
strange titles. He sent for them to Court, and they came together. He
was much pleased with the one who had chosen the name of ‘Maku Fia,’
but he was annoyed at the other man’s choice and sought a chance of
punishing him.
When he had talked to them a little while, he invited both to a great
feast which he was to give in three days’ time. As they went away he
gave a fine large yam to Maku Mawu and only a small round stone to his
own favourite. The latter felt somewhat aggrieved at getting only a
stone, while his friend got such a fine yam. Very soon he said, “Oh,
dear! I do not think it is any use carrying this stone home. How I wish
it were a yam! Then I could cook it for dinner.” Maku Mawu—being very
generous—immediately replied, “Then change with me, for I am quite
tired of carrying my great yam.” They exchanged, and each went off to
his own home. Maku Fia cut up his yam and cooked it. Maku Mawu broke
his stone in half and found inside some beautiful ornaments which the
King had hidden there. He thought that he would play a trick on the
King, so told nobody what had been in the stone.
On the third day they dressed to go to the King’s feast. Maku Mawu put
on all the beautiful ornaments out of the stone. Maku Fia dressed
himself just as usual.
When they reached the palace the King was amazed to see the wrong man
wearing his ornaments, and determined to punish him more effectually
next time. He asked Maku Fia what he had done with the stone, and the
man told him he had exchanged it for his friend’s yam.
At first the King could not think of any way to punish Maku Mawu, as,
of course, the latter had not done anything wrong. He soon had an idea,
however. He pretended to be very pleased with the poor man and
presented him with a beautiful ring from his own finger. He then made
him promise to come back in seven days and show the ring to the King
again, to let the latter see that it was not lost. If by any chance he
could not produce the ring—he would lose his head. This the King did,
meaning to get hold of the ring in some way and so get the young man
killed.
Maku Mawu saw what the King’s design was, so determined to hide the
ring. He made a small hole in the wall of his room, put the ring in it,
and carefully plastered over the place again. No one could see that the
wall had been touched.
After two days the King sent for the wife of Maku Mawu and asked her to
find the ring. He promised her a large sum of money for it—not telling
her, of course, what would happen to her husband if the ring were lost.
The woman went home and searched diligently but found nothing. Next day
she tried again—with no better success. Then she asked her husband what
he had done with it. He innocently told her it was in the wall. Next
day, when he was absent, she searched so carefully that at last she
found it.
Delighted, she ran off to the King’s palace and gave the ring to him.
She got the promised money and returned home, never dreaming that she
had really sold her husband’s life.
On the sixth day the King sent a message to Maku Mawu, telling him to
prepare for the next day. The poor man bethought himself of the ring
and went to look if it were still safe. To his despair the hole was
empty. He asked his wife and his neighbours. All denied having seen it.
He made up his mind that he must die.
In the meantime the King had laid the ring in one of the dishes in his
palace and promptly forgot about it. When the seventh morning had
arrived he sent messengers far and wide, to summon the people to come
and see a man punished for disobeying the King’s orders. Then he
commanded his servants to set the palace in order, and to take the
dishes out of his room and wash them.
The careless servants—never looking to see if the dishes were empty or
not—took them all to a pool near by. Among them was the dish containing
the ring. Of course, when the dish was being washed, out fell the ring
into the water—without being noticed by the servants.
The palace being all in readiness, the King went to fetch the ring. It
was nowhere to be found and he was obliged to go to the Assembly
without it.
When every one was ready the poor man, Maku Mawu, was called to come
forward and show the ring. He walked boldly up to the king and knelt
down before him, saying, “The ring is lost and I am prepared to die.
Only grant me a few hours to put my house in order.” At first the king
was unwilling to grant even that small favour, but finally he said,
“Very well, you may have four hours. Then you must return here and be
beheaded before the people.” The innocent man returned to his home and
put everything in order. Then, feeling hungry, he thought, “I may as
well have some food before I die. I will go and catch a fish in the
pool.”
He accordingly took his fish-net and bait, and started off to the very
pool where the King’s dishes had been washed. Very soon he caught a
fine large fish. Cutting it open, to clean it, his delight may be
imagined at finding the lost ring inside it.
At once he ran off to the palace crying: “I have found the ring! I have
found the ring!” When the people heard him, they all shouted in joy:
“He named himself rightly ‘Maku Mawu,’ for see—the death God has chosen
for him, that only will he die.” So the King had no excuse to harm him,
and he went free.
XXVI. THE ROBBER AND THE OLD MAN
In a big town lived a very rich gentleman. The fame of his wealth soon
spread. A clever thief heard of it and determined to have some for
himself.
He managed to hide himself in a dark corner of the gentleman’s
room—while the latter was counting his bags of money. As soon as the
old gentleman left the room to fetch something, the thief caught up two
of the bags and escaped.
The owner was astonished, on his return a few minutes later, to find
two bags short. He could find no trace of the thief.
Next morning, however, he chanced to meet the robber just outside the
house. The dishonest man looked so confused that the rich man at once
suspected he was the thief. He could not, however, prove it, so took
the case before the judge.
The thief was much alarmed when he heard this. He sought a man in the
village and asked his advice. The wise man undertook to help him—if he
would promise to pay him half the money when he got off. This the
robber at once said he would do.
The old man then advised him to go home and dress in rags. He must
ruffle his hair and beard and behave as if he were mad. If any one
asked a question he must answer “Moo.”
The thief did so. To every question asked by the judge he said, “Moo,
moo.” The judge at last grew angry and dismissed the court. The thief
went home in great glee.
Next day, the wise man came to him for his half of the stolen money.
But he could get no answer but “Moo” from the thief, and at last, in
despair, he had to go home without a penny. The ungrateful robber kept
everything for himself. The wise man regretted very much that he had
saved the thief from his just punishment—but it was now too late.
XXVII. THE LEOPARD AND THE RAM
A ram once decided to make a clearing in the woods and build himself a
house. A leopard who lived near also made up his mind to do the very
same thing.
Unknown to each other they both chose the same site. Ram came one day
and worked at the clearing. Leopard arrived after Ram had gone and was
much surprised to find some of his work already done. However, he
continued what Ram had begun. Each was daily surprised at the progress
made in his absence, but concluded that the fairies had been helping
him. He gave them thanks and continued with his task.
Thus the matter went on—the two working alternately at the building and
never seeing one another. At last the house was finished to the
satisfaction of both.
The two prepared to take up their abode in the new home. To their great
astonishment they met. Each told his tale, and after some friendly
discussion, they decided to live together.
Both Leopard and Ram had sons. These two young animals played together
while their parents hunted. The leopard was very much surprised to find
that every evening his friend Ram brought home just as much meat or
venison from the hunt as he himself did. He did not dare, however, to
ask the other how he obtained it.
One day, before setting out to hunt, Leopard requested his son to find
out, if possible, from young Ram, how his father managed to kill the
animals. Accordingly while they were at play, little Leopard inquired
how Father Ram, having neither claws nor sharp teeth, succeeded in
catching and killing the beasts. Ram refused to tell unless young
Leopard would promise to show his father’s way also. The latter agreed.
Accordingly they took two large pieces of plantain stem and set out
into the woods.
Young Leopard then took one piece and placed it in position. Then,
going first to the right, then to the left—bowing and standing on his
hind legs and peeping at the stem just as his father did—he took aim,
sprang toward the stem and tore it.
Young Ram then took the other piece and placed it in position. Wasting
no time he went backward a little way, took aim, then ran swiftly
forward—pushing his head against the stem and tearing it to pieces.
When they had finished they swept the place clean and went home.
In the evening the leopard obtained all the information about the hunt
from his son. The latter warned him that he must always be careful when
he saw the ram go backward. He kept this in mind, and from that day
watched the ram very closely.
Some time afterward it rained, making the floor of the house very
slippery. The leopard called the ram, as usual, to dine with him. As he
was coming, the ram slipped backward on the wet floor. The leopard,
seeing this, thought the other was about to kill him. Calling to his
son to follow, he sprang with all his might over the wall of the house
and fled to the woods. The ram called him back, but he did not listen.
From that time leopards have made their abode in the woods while rams
have remained at home.
XXVIII. WHY THE LEOPARD CAN ONLY CATCH PREY ON ITS LEFT SIDE
At one time leopards did not know how to catch animals for food.
Knowing that the cat as very skilful in this way, Leopard one day went
to Cat and asked very politely if she would teach him the art. Cat
readily consented.
The first thing Leopard had to learn was to hide himself among the
bushes by the roadside, so that he would not be seen by any animal
passing by. Next, he must learn how to move noiselessly through the
woods. He must never allow the animal he chased to know that he was
following it. The third great principle was how to use his left paws
and side in springing upon his prey.
Having taught him these three things, Cat requested him to go and
practise them well. When he had learnt them thoroughly he could return
to her and she would give him more lessons in hunting.
Leopard obeyed. At first he was very successful and obtained all the
food he wanted. One day, however, he was unable to catch anything at
all.
Being very hungry, he bethought himself what he could have for dinner.
Suddenly he remembered that the cat had quite a large family. He went
straight to her home and found her absent.
Never thinking of her kindness to him—Leopard only remembered that he
was hungry—he ate all her kittens. Puss, on discovering this dreadful
fact, was so angry that she refused to have anything more to do with
the great creature.
Consequently the leopard has never been able to learn how to catch
animals that pass him on the right side.
XXIX. QUARCOO BAH-BONI
(The Bad Boy)
Once upon a time in a certain village lived a man and his wife who were
childless. One day, however, when the husband was away hunting, the
woman had a baby son. She was greatly troubled at her husband’s
absence, because she was unable to let him know of the child’s arrival.
In that country it is the custom for the father to give the baby its
name when it is a week old. As the time approached for the naming, the
woman wondered to herself what name she could give the child if her
husband did not return in time. To her amazement, the child himself
answered, “My name is Quarcoo Bah-boni.” As he was only a week old she
was astonished to hear him talk. The next day she got a greater
surprise. She had been grumbling because her husband was not there to
go to the farm for her and fetch food. The baby announced, “I will go
to the farm”—which he did.
When he was a few weeks old, she was one day very busy. She laid him
down on the bed while she went on with her task. In a few minutes
several boys came up to her in great anger. “Your son has been beating
us and ill-treating us in the street,” said they. “My son!” she cried.
“Why, my son is only a tiny baby. He is lying asleep on my bed.” To
convince them she went indoors to show them the baby. Imagine her
surprise when he was nowhere to be seen! She had to apologize to the
boys and beg them to forgive the child. Shortly after, he came in and
put himself to bed.
He continued these mischievous tricks till his mother could no longer
endure them. So she turned him out of the house and forbade him to
return. He departed in great glee.
After walking a few miles, he came to a building where a goat, wolf,
tiger, lion, and elephant lived very happily together. These animals
were all sitting round their fire when he approached. After many polite
speeches, he begged their permission to stay and be their servant, as
he was motherless. The animals, after a little discussion, agreed to
this, thinking that he would be able to help them in many ways. He was
given a seat and some food, which he ate with great relish.
These five animals usually took it in turns to go out to their farm—a
few miles away—every morning, to bring home food for the day. It being
Goat’s turn, he asked Quarcoo to come with him to carry back the load.
The basket was accordingly handed to the little boy and he set off
meekly after the goat. When they reached the farm, Quarcoo set down the
basket and ran off to play. He paid no heed at all to the goat’s calls
for assistance, but went on quietly playing. At last the goat was so
annoyed that he came up to Quarcoo and boxed his ears. To his great
astonishment, the boy gave him such a blow that he fell to the ground.
Quarcoo then proceeded to beat him till he cried for mercy. Nor would
he stop his blows till the goat had promised to finish the work, carry
home the load, and tell no one what had happened. Having promised this,
the goat was allowed to go free. By this time the poor animal’s face
was bruised and swollen.
When the time came to go home the goat had to pack up the load and put
it on his head. Then they set out.
As soon as they came in sight of their cottage, Quarcoo took the basket
from the goat and he himself carried it into the cottage.
The other animals all exclaimed in wonder when they saw the goat’s
face, and asked him how it had happened. “I was unfortunate enough to
get into a swarm of bees when I was working. They stung me,” answered
the poor goat.
Next day it was the wolf’s turn to go to the farm. He also returned,
much bruised and swollen. Goat (guessing what had happened) listened
with a smile to the excuses made by Wolf to the others.
Goat and Wolf afterward talked the matter over and wondered much at the
strength of the little boy.
Each day another animal took his turn at the farm, and each day he
returned in the same condition as his friends had done. At last all the
animals had been, and all now came together to discuss how best they
might get rid of Quarcoo Bah-boni.
They made up their minds that, early the following morning, they would
start off together and leave the boy in possession of the house. They
prepared a big basket of food and set it ready.
Unfortunately for them, Quarcoo had heard their discussion and decided
that he also would go with them. He quietly got himself a large leaf,
rolled it round him (for he was very tiny) and laid himself down in the
basket of food.
At dawn the animals got up very quietly. Goat, being the youngest, was
given the basket to carry. They started, feeling very thankful to get
away from the tiresome boy—never dreaming that they were carrying him
along with them.
When they had gone a fair distance Goat, feeling very hot and tired,
sat down to rest for a little while. As soon as the others had gone out
of sight, he opened the basket, meaning to have some food unknown to
his friends. His greed was rewarded, however, by a terrible blow on the
face. He then heard the words, “Shut the basket at once, and say
nothing to the others.” He obeyed and hurried after the others in fear
of this terrible boy.
As soon as he reached them he called out, “Wolf, Wolf, it is your turn
now to take the basket. I am very tired.” Wolf took the load at once.
They had not gone far when Wolf began to think of all the nice things
in the basket and he also said he was going to rest a little while in
the shade. Having got rid of the others in this way, he hastily opened
the basket. He was greeted by Quarcoo in the same way as Goat had been,
and speedily closed the basket and followed the others. In this way
each animal got his turn of carrying the basket, and each was punished
for his greed.
Finally, Elephant’s turn came. When he rejoined the others and asked
some one to relieve him of his load they cried out, “If you do not want
to carry it any farther, throw it away.” He did so, and they all took
to their heels. They ran for several miles and only stopped when they
came to a huge tree, in whose shade they sat down to rest, being quite
breathless.
Quarcoo, however, had got there before them. He had quietly stepped out
of the basket, taken a short cut across country and arrived at the tree
some time before them. He guessed that they would probably rest
there—so he climbed up into the branches. There he remained, hidden
among the leaves, while the animals sat on the ground below.
There they discussed Quarcoo and all the trouble he had caused them.
They blamed Goat for having been the one to persuade them to take the
boy as a servant. Goat being the youngest of the company had the
domestic work to do and he had welcomed the idea of help. Goat
indignantly denied being the cause of all their troubles, saying: “If I
am really to blame for the admission of Quarcoo—let him appear before
us.” Quarcoo promptly jumped down from the tree and stood in front of
them. They were so alarmed at his appearance they scattered in all
directions. The wolf ran to the woods—the tiger into the heart of the
forest, the elephant to Nigeria, the lion to the desert, and the goat
to the abode of human beings. That is the reason why they live now in
these various places instead of all together as they did previously.
XXX. KING CHAMELEON AND THE ANIMALS
In the olden days all the animals of the world lived together in
friendship. They had no one to rule over them and judge them. In
consequence, many very wicked deeds were constantly being done, as no
one needed to fear any punishment.
At last they all met together to discuss this bad state of affairs,
and, as a result, they decided to choose a king. The great difficulty
was how to choose him.
Lion was the first animal suggested. But all opposed him because, they
said, he was too fierce. Wolf was next named—but the sheep and goats
refused to have him because he was their foe. They knew they would have
bad treatment if he were chosen.
As it was impossible to please every one by choice, they decided in
another way. Two miles away was a great stool, placed under a very
ancient tree which they believed to be the abode of some of their gods.
They would have a great race. The animal which reached and sat down
first on the stool should be chosen king.
The day of the race arrived. All animals, great and small, prepared to
take part in it. The signal being given, they started off. The
hare—being a very fine runner—speedily outdistanced the others. He
reached the stool quite five hundred yards ahead of the next animal.
You may judge of his annoyance when, just as he was going to sit down,
a voice came from the stool saying, “Take care, Mr Hare, take care. I
was here first.” This was the chameleon. He, being able to change his
colour to suit his surroundings, had seized Mr Hare’s tail just as the
race began. Having made his colour match the hare’s, no one had noticed
him. He had held on very tightly, and when the hare turned round to
take his seat Chameleon dropped off and landed on the stool.
The hare saw how he had been tricked and was very angry. The other
animals, however, arrived before he could harm the chameleon. According
to the agreement they had made, they had no choice but to make
Chameleon king.
But none of the animals were satisfied with the choice. So as soon as
the meeting was over, all scattered in every direction and left
Chameleon quite alone.
He was so ashamed that he went and made his home at the top of a very
high tree on a mountain. In the dead of night you may hear him calling
his attendants to come and stay with him. But he is left quite alone.
“A king without subjects is no king.”
XXXI. TO LOSE AN ELEPHANT FOR THE SAKE OF A WREN IS A VERY FOOLISH
THING TO DO
In the olden times there stood in the King’s town a very great tree.
This tree was so huge that it began to overshadow the neighbouring
fields. The King decided to have it cut down. He caused his servants to
proclaim throughout the country that any one who succeeded in cutting
down the tree with a wooden axe should have an elephant in payment.
People thought it would be impossible to cut down such a great tree
with an axe of wood. Spider, however, decided to try by cunning to gain
the elephant. He accordingly presented himself before the King and
expressed his readiness to get rid of the tree.
A servant was sent with him to keep watch and to see that he only used
the wooden axe given him. Spider, however, had taken care to have
another, made of steel, hidden in his bag.
He now began to fell the tree. In a very few minutes, he said to the
servant, “See, yonder is a fine antelope. If you are quick, you will be
able to hit it with a stone. Run!” The lad did as he was bid, and ran a
long way—but could see no sign of the antelope. In his absence, Spider
seized the sharp axe and hastened to cut as much of the tree as he
could, carefully hiding the axe in his bag before the servant’s return.
This trick he repeated several times, till finally the tree was cut
down. Spider went to the King to get the elephant, and took the servant
to prove that he had used only the wooden axe. He got his promised
reward, and started for home in great glee. On the way, however, he
began to think over the matter. “Shall I take this animal home?”
thought he. “That would be foolish, for then I would be obliged to
share it with my family. No! I will hide it in the forest, and eat it
at my leisure. In that way I can have the whole of it for myself. Now
what can I take home for the children’s dinner?”
Thereupon he looked around, and, a little distance away, saw a tiny
wren sitting on a tree. “Exactly what I want,” he said to himself.
“That will be quite sufficient for them. I will tie my elephant to this
tree while I catch the bird.”
This he did, but when he tried to seize the latter, it flew off. He
chased it for some time, without success. “Well! well!” said he. “My
family will just have to go without dinner. I will now go back and get
my elephant.” He returned to the spot where he had left the animal, but
to his dismay the latter had escaped. Spider was obliged to go home
empty-handed, and he, as well as his family, went dinnerless that day.
XXXII. THE UNGRATEFUL MAN
A hunter, who was terribly poor, was one day walking through the forest
in search of food. Coming to a deep hole, he found there a leopard, a
serpent, a rat, and a man. These had all fallen into the trap and were
unable to get out again. Seeing the hunter, they begged him to help
them out of the hole.
At first he did not wish to release any but the man. The leopard, he
said, had often stolen his cattle and eaten them. The serpent very
frequently bit men and caused their death. The rat did no good to any
one. He saw no use in setting them free.
However, these animals pleaded so hard for life that at last he helped
them out of the pit. Each, in turn, promised to reward him for his
kindness—except the man. He, saying he was very poor, was taken home by
the kind-hearted hunter and allowed to stay with him.
A short time after, Serpent came to the hunter and gave him a very
powerful antidote for snake-poison. “Keep it carefully,” said Serpent.
“You will find it very useful one day. When you are using it, be sure
to ask for the blood of a traitor to mix with it.” The hunter, having
thanked Serpent very much, took great care of the powder and always
carried it about with him.
The leopard also showed his gratitude by killing animals for the hunter
and supplying him with food for many weeks.
Then, one day, the rat came to him and gave him a large bundle.
“These,” said he, “are some native cloths, gold dust, and ivory. They
will make you rich.” The hunter thanked the rat very heartily and took
the bundle into his cottage.
After this the hunter was able to live in great comfort. He built
himself a fine new house and supplied it with everything needful. The
man whom he had taken out of the pit still lived with him.
This man, however, was of a very envious disposition. He was not at all
pleased at his host’s good fortune, and only waited an opportunity to
do him some harm. He very soon had a chance.
A proclamation was sounded throughout the country to say that some
robbers had broken into the King’s palace and stolen his jewels and
many other valuables. The ungrateful man instantly hurried to the King
and asked what the reward would be if he pointed out the thief. The
King promised to give him half of the things which had been stolen. The
wicked fellow thereupon falsely accused his host of the theft, although
he knew quite well that he was innocent.
The honest hunter was immediately thrown into prison. He was then
brought into Court and requested to show how he had become so rich. He
told them, faithfully, the source of his income, but no one believed
him. He was condemned to die the following day at noon.
Next morning, while preparations were being made for his execution,
word was brought to the prison that the King’s eldest son had been
bitten by a serpent and was dying. Any one who could cure him was
begged to come and do so.
The hunter immediately thought of the powder which his serpent friend
had given him, and asked to be allowed to use it. At first they were
unwilling to let him try, but finally he received permission. The King
asked him if there were anything he needed for it and he replied, “A
traitor’s blood to mix it with.” His Majesty immediately pointed out
the wicked fellow who had accused the hunter and said: “There stands
the worst traitor—for he gave up the kind host who had saved his life.”
The man was at once beheaded and the powder was mixed as the serpent
had commanded. As soon as it was applied to the prince’s wound the
young man was cured. In great delight, the King loaded the hunter with
honours and sent him happily home.
XXXIII. WHY TIGERS NEVER ATTACK MEN UNLESS THEY ARE PROVOKED
A man, hunting one day in the forest, met a tiger. At first each was
afraid of the other; but after some talking they became quite friendly.
They agreed to live together for a little time. First the man would
live with the tiger in his forest home for two weeks. Then the tiger
would come and live in the man’s home.
The tiger behaved so well to the man during his visit that the man felt
he had never been so well treated in all his life. Then came the time
for the tiger to return home with the man. As they were going the tiger
was somewhat afraid. He asked the man if he really thought he would be
safe. “What if your friends do not like my face and kill me?” he asked.
“You need fear nothing,” said his host; “no one will touch you while I
am there.” The tiger therefore came to the man’s house and stayed with
him three weeks. He had brought his male cub with him, and the young
tiger became very friendly with the man’s son.
Some months later the man’s father died. When Tiger heard of his
friend’s great loss, he and his cub set out at once to see and condole
with him. They brought a large sum of money to help the man.
As Tiger was going home again two of the man’s friends lay in hiding
for him and shot him. Fortunately he was not killed, but he was very
much grieved lest these men had shot him at his friend’s wish. He
determined to find out if the man had known anything at all about the
shot.
Accordingly he went to the place in the forest where he had first met
his friend. There he lay down as if he were dead, after telling his cub
to watch and see what would happen.
By and by the man came along. When he saw the tiger lying, as he
thought, dead, he was terribly troubled. He began to cry and mourn for
his friend, and sat there all night long with Tiger’s cub, to watch
that no harm should befall the body.
When morning came and Tiger was quite assured that his friend had had
nothing at all to do with the shot, he was very glad. He got up, then,
to the man’s great astonishment, and explained why he had pretended to
be dead.
“Go home,” said Tiger, “and remember me always. In future for your sake
I will never touch a man unless he first meddles with me.”
XXXIV. THE OMANHENE WHO LIKED RIDDLES
The Omanhene is the chief of a village. A certain Omanhene had three
sons, who were very anxious to see the world. They went to their father
and asked permission to travel. This permission he readily gave.
It was the turn of the eldest to go first. He was provided with a
servant and with all he could possibly require for the journey.
After travelling for some time he came to a town where lived an
Omanhene who loved riddles. Being a stranger the traveller was,
according to custom, brought by the people before the chief.
The latter explained to him that they had certain laws in their
village. One law was that every stranger must beat the Omanhene in
answering riddles or he would be beheaded. He must be prepared to begin
the contest the following morning.
Next day he came to the Assembly Place, and found the Omanhene there
with all his attendants. The Omanhene asked many riddles. As the young
man was unable to answer any of them, he was judged to have failed and
was beheaded.
After some time the second son of the Omanhene started on his travels.
By a strange chance he arrived at the same town where his brother had
died. He also was asked many riddles, and failed to answer them.
Accordingly he too was put to death.
By and by the third brother announced his intention of travelling. His
mother did all in her power to persuade him to stay at home. It was
quite in vain.
She was sure that if he also reached the town where his brothers had
died, the same thing would happen to him. Rather than allow this, she
thought she would prefer him to die on the way.
She prepared for him a food called cankey—which she filled with poison.
Having packed it away in his bag, he set off. Very soon he began to
feel hungry. Knowing, however, that his mother had not wished him to
leave home, and therefore might have put some poison in the food, he
thought he would test it before eating it himself. Seeing a vulture
near by, he threw it half the cake.
The bird ate the cankey, and immediately fell dead by the roadside.
Three panthers came along and began to eat the vulture. They also fell
dead.
The young man cut off some of the flesh of the panthers and roasted it.
He then packed it carefully away in his bundle.
A little farther on he was attacked by seven highway robbers. They
wanted to kill him at once. He told them that he had some good roast
meat in his bundle and invited them to eat with him first. They agreed
and divided up the food into eight parts.
While they were eating the young man carefully hid his portion. Soon
all the seven robbers fell ill and died. The young man then went on his
way.
At last he reached the town where his brothers had died. Like them, he
was summoned to the Assembly Place to answer the riddles of the
Omanhene. For two days the contest proved equal. At the end of that
time, the young man said, “I have only one riddle left. If you are able
to answer that, you may put me to death.” He then gave this riddle to
the Omanhene:
Half kills one—
One kills three—
Three kills seven.
The ruler failed to answer it that evening, so it was postponed till
the next day.
During the night the Omanhene disguised himself and went to the house
where the stranger was staying. There he found the young man asleep in
the hall.
Imagining that the man before him was the stranger’s servant, and never
dreaming that it was the stranger himself, he roused the sleeper and
promised him a large reward if he would give him the solution to the
riddle.
The young man replied that he would tell the answer if the Omanhene
would bring him the costume which he always wore at the Assembly.
The ruler was only too pleased to go and fetch it for him. When the
young man had the garments quite safely, he explained the riddle fully
to the crafty Omanhene. He said that as they were leaving home, the
mother of his master made him cankey. In order to find out if the
cankey were good, they gave half to a vulture. The latter died. Three
panthers which tasted the vulture also died. A little of the panthers’
roasted flesh killed seven robbers.
The Omanhene was delighted to have found out the answer. He warned the
supposed servant not to tell his master what had happened.
In the morning all the villagers assembled together again. The Omanhene
proudly gave the answer to the riddle as if he himself had found it
out. But the young man asked him to produce his ceremonial dress, which
he ought to be wearing in Assembly. This, of course, he was unable to
do, as the young man had hidden it carefully away.
The stranger then told what had happened in the night, and how the
ruler had got the answer to the riddle by cheating.
The Assembly declared that the Omanhene had failed to find out the
riddle and must die. Accordingly he was beheaded—and the young man was
appointed Omanhene in his place.
XXXV. HOW MUSHROOMS FIRST GREW
Long, long ago there dwelt in a town two brothers whose bad habits
brought them much trouble. Day by day they got more deeply in debt.
Their creditors gave them no peace, so at last they ran away into the
woods. They became highway robbers.
But they were not happy. Their minds were troubled by their evil deeds.
At last they decided to go home, make a big farm, and pay off their
debts gradually.
They accordingly set to work and soon had quite a fine farm prepared
for corn. As the soil was good, they hoped the harvest would bring them
in much money.
Unfortunately, that very day a bushfowl came along. Being hungry, it
scratched up all the newly planted seeds and ate them.
The two poor brothers, on arriving at the field next day, were dismayed
to find all their work quite wasted. They put down a trap for the
thief. That evening the bushfowl was caught in it. The two brothers,
when they came and found the bird, told it that now all their debts
would be transferred to it because it had robbed them of the means of
paying the debts themselves.
The poor bird—in great trouble at having such a burden thrust upon
it—made a nest under a silk-cotton tree. There it began to lay eggs,
meaning to hatch them and sell the young birds for money to pay off the
debt.
A terrible hurricane came, however, and a branch of the tree came down.
All the eggs were smashed. As a result, the bushfowl transferred the
debts to the tree, as it had broken the eggs.
The silk-cotton tree was in dismay at having such a big sum of money to
pay off. It immediately set to work to make as much silk cotton as it
possibly could, that it might sell it.
An elephant, not knowing all that had happened, came along. Seeing the
silk cotton, he came to the tree and plucked down all its bearings. By
this means the debts were transferred to the poor elephant.
The elephant was very sad when he found what he had done. He wandered
away into the desert, thinking of a way to make money. He could think
of none.
As he stood quietly under a tree, a poor hunter crept up. This man
thought he was very lucky to find such a fine elephant standing so
still. He at once shot him.
Just before the animal died, he told the hunter that now the debts
would have to be paid by him. The hunter was much grieved when he heard
this, as he had no money at all.
He walked home wondering what he could do to make enough money to pay
the debts. In the darkness he did not see the stump of a tree which the
overseers had cut down in the road. He fell and broke his leg. By this
means the debts were transferred to the tree-stump.
Not knowing this, a party of white ants came along next morning and
began to eat into the tree. When they had broken it nearly to the
ground, the tree told them that now the debts were theirs, as they had
killed it.
The ants, being very wise, held a council together to find out how best
they could make money. They decided each to contribute as much as
possible. With the proceeds one of their young men would go to the
nearest market and buy pure linen thread. This they would weave and
sell and the profits would go to help pay the debts.
This was done. From time to time all the linen in stock was brought and
spread out in the sunshine to keep it in good condition. When men see
this linen lying out on the ant-hills, they call it ‘mushroom,’ and
gather it for food.
XXXVI. FARMER MYBROW AND THE FAIRIES
Farmer Mybrow was one day looking about for a suitable piece of land to
convert into a field. He wished to grow corn and yams. He discovered a
fine spot, close to a great forest—which latter was the home of some
fairies. He set to work at once to prepare the field.
Having sharpened his great knife, he began to cut down the bushes. No
sooner had he touched one than he heard a voice say, “Who is there,
cutting down the bushes?” Mybrow was too much astonished to answer. The
question was repeated. This time the farmer realized that it must be
one of the fairies, and so replied, “I am Mybrow, come to prepare a
field.” Fortunately for him the fairies were in great good humour. He
heard one say, “Let us all help Farmer Mybrow to cut down the bushes.”
The rest agreed. To Mybrow’s great delight, the bushes were all rapidly
cut down—with very little trouble on his part. He returned home,
exceedingly well pleased with his day’s work, having resolved to keep
the field a secret even from his wife.
Early in January, when it was time to burn the dry bush, he set off to
his field, one afternoon, with the means of making a fire. Hoping to
have the fairies’ assistance once more, he intentionally struck the
trunk of a tree as he passed. Immediately came the question, “Who is
there, striking the stumps?” He promptly replied, “I am Mybrow, come to
burn down the bush.” Accordingly, the dried bushes were all burned
down, and the field left clear in less time than it takes to tell it.
Next day the same thing happened. Mybrow came to chop up the stumps for
firewood and clear the field for digging. In a very short time his
faggots and firewood were piled ready, while, the field was bare.
So it went on. The field was divided into two parts—one for maize and
one for yams. In all the preparations—digging, sowing, planting—the
fairies gave great assistance. Still, the farmer had managed to keep
the whereabouts of his field a secret from his wife and neighbours.
The soil having been so carefully prepared, the crops promised
exceedingly well. Mybrow visited them from time to time, and
congratulated himself on the splendid harvest he would have.
One day, while maize and yams were still in their green and milky
state, Mybrow’s wife came to him. She wished to know where his field
lay, that she might go and fetch some of the firewood from it. At first
he refused to tell her. Being very persistent, however, she finally
succeeded in obtaining the information—but on one condition. She must
not answer any question that should be asked her. This she readily
promised, and set off for the field.
When she arrived there she was utterly amazed at the wealth of the corn
and yam. She had never seen such magnificent crops. The maize looked
most tempting—being still in the milky state—so she plucked an ear.
While doing so she heard a voice say, “Who is there, breaking the
corn?” “Who dares ask me such a question?” she replied angrily—quite
forgetting her husband’s command. Going to the field of yams she
plucked one of them also. “Who is there, picking the yams?” came the
question again. “It is I, Mybrow’s wife. This is my husband’s field and
I have a right to pick.” Out came the fairies. “Let us all help
Mybrow’s wife to pluck her corn and yams,” said they. Before the
frightened woman could say a word, the fairies had all set to work with
a will, and the corn and yams lay useless on the ground. Being all
green and unripe, the harvest was now utterly spoiled. The farmer’s
wife wept bitterly, but to no purpose. She returned slowly home, not
knowing what to say to her husband about such a terrible catastrophe.
She decided to keep silence about the matter.
Accordingly, next day the poor man set off gleefully to his field to
see how his fine crops were going on. His anger and dismay may be
imagined when he saw his field a complete ruin. All his work and
foresight had been absolutely ruined through his wife’s forgetfulness
of her promise.
NOTES
[1] The cocoa exported in 1891 realized £4; in 1914 £2,193,749.
[2] Colonial Report, G.C., 1913.
[3] The Story of the Negro, Booker T. Washington, vol. i, p. 57
[4] A History of the Gold Coast and Ashanti, W. W. Claridge, vol. i,
pp. 4–5.
[5] See Malaria and Greek History, by W. H. S. Jones.
[6] E.g. ancient and modern primitive men in all parts of the earth
seem to have shown a similar development in flint, bronze, and iron
weapons, and in the arts generally. See Cinderella: Three Hundred and
Forty-five Variants (Folk Lore Society).
[7] “Animals’ Language,” in Hero-Tales and Legends of the Serbians, by
Woislav M. Petrovitch.
[8] From a story told by a native of the Gold Coast.
[9] Tshi-speaking Peoples of the Gold Coast of West Africa, A. B.
Ellis, p. 24.
[10] ‘Tiger’ in West African stories is a leopard.
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