SONG AND STORY.
IT has been a busy day for every one. In the short twilight the people
gather about under the trees for music and story-telling. Mpuke runs to
his house for his xylophone, and begins to play a sweet, sad air. One by
one his neighbours join in an accompaniment with their rich voices. The
African is a natural lover of music; he uses it to express all his
feelings.
It is a weird sight,--this group of black people rocking their bodies to
and fro to keep time with the music. As they enter more deeply into the
spirit of the evening song the expressions of their faces change; they
seem to forget themselves, and become a part of the music itself.
And now the frogs add their voices to the chorus. The crickets and
cicadas pipe their shrill notes, while at short intervals a hoarse
sound, between a groan and a whining bark, is wafted upwards from the
river. It comes from a lonely crocodile who, no doubt, would like to
join the company. It is much better for their comfort that he remains
where he is.
Mpuke's xylophone is made of strips of soft wood, differing in length,
fastened over a set of calabashes. In each calabash a hole has been
carefully bored and covered over with spider's web. Perhaps you mistook
the calabash for a gourd, which looks much like it. It is a curious
growth which forms on the trunks of certain trees near Mpuke's home.
Our little friend makes sweet liquid music on his crude instrument. He
calls it a marimba. The village metal-worker made it for the boy in
return for many presents of fish.
"That is a good lad," said the man, "he is thoughtful and generous. I
will make him happy."
After the people have finished their songs, there is music on other
instruments besides Mpuke's. Look at that big fellow blowing into an
ivory horn. He needs to have a strong pair of lungs if he is going to
continue very long. What a dirge-like noise he makes! But when the
tom-tom begins to sound, everybody is roused and joins in a wild dance.
The people wind in and out among the trees, round and round again,
laughing, shouting, and singing, until they sink out of breath on the
grass.
Mpuke is so tired he can hardly keep his eyes open. He drags himself
into the hut where his sister lies on her mat, already sound asleep.
Listen! what is that scuttling noise among the dried leaves in the
corner? Mpuke's bright black eyes are helped by the moonlight streaming
through the doorway. He discovers that it is a green lizard, which he
knows to be quite harmless. But it is always wise to be watchful.
One night, not many moons ago, as the black boy counts time, he found a
centipede close to his bare feet when he woke up suddenly in the night.
He is quite sure that a good spirit roused him to save his life.
At another time a lizard of the most deadly kind must have shared the
boy's mat with him through the night. At any rate, he found the lizard
at his side when his eyes opened to the morning light.
But Mpuke is too sleepy to think about unpleasant things, and in another
moment he is dreaming of the roasted elephant that will make to-morrow's
feast.
A week passes by. We will visit Mpuke once more as he is eating his
early breakfast.
A messenger from the next village comes rushing in to the people. He has
run ten miles this morning through the forest paths, and has brought
word to Mpuke's father from his own chief. The two men are
blood-brothers, and have promised to stand by each other in all troubles
and dangers. "Blood-brothers," you say, "what does that mean?" When the
chiefs were only boys they went through a sacred ceremony together. An
arm of each was cut till the blood ran, then the two arms were pressed
together, and the blood was allowed to mingle.
They must never quarrel again. No cruel words or deeds should ever pass
between them, because they are now bound together by the strongest of
all ties.
But what is the message that causes such a state of excitement? It tells
that enemies are approaching. It means war, and preparation for awful
deeds. Mpuke's father is asked to come to the help of his blood-brother.
Will he join him to meet the advancing foes?
There is only one answer possible; not a moment must be lost. The order
is given to sound the war-drums; the people burst into an exciting
battle-song; blasts from ivory trumpets can be heard throughout the
village; the men cover their faces with charcoal and hastily seek the
medicine-man. He must provide them with charms to protect them from
danger. Poor fellow, he is the busiest one of all the people, making
little packages of beads, shells, and stones for each soldier to wear as
a talisman.
The women are at work getting the spears and arrows together; they must
also sharpen the knives for their husbands and sons.
These ignorant savages make a hideous sight to our eyes when the fury
of war seizes them. It is such a pitiful thing that they are ready to
take the lives of their brother blacks for the slightest reason, and
that they delight so greatly in war.
Now the men hurry down to the river's side. They jump into their canoes,
and are out of sight as soon as they pass a bend in the banks of the
stream. Mpuke watches them with glistening eyes; he longs to follow
them, but he has been told to remain at home to protect his mother and
sisters in case of danger.
He knows already what war means; it was only last year that his own
village was attacked. Young as he was, he stood all day behind the
spiked wall, sharpened spear in hand, doing his part to defend his home.
He was wounded in the leg on that terrible day, and for a long time
afterward lay sick with fever. His sister was so good to him during
that trying time; hour after hour she sat at his side on the veranda,
and kept the flies and mosquitoes from his wound with a broom she made
of an elephant's tail.
Mpuke thinks of this as he goes home through the forest path. Suddenly
he stops quite still; his eyes roll in terror. A huge serpent lies
coiled but a few feet away; he does not notice Mpuke, for his beadlike
eyes are fastened on a monkey standing on the ground in front of him.
The snake is charming it. He will force it to its own death, and yet he
does not stir; it is the monkey that moves. It comes nearer and nearer
to the monster; it makes a frightened cry as it advances.
Mpuke knows he cannot save its life, as he has no weapon with which to
attack the serpent. He would like to run, but does not stir until the
monkey, having come close to its charmer, is suddenly strangled in the
folds of its powerful body. The boy does not wait to see the snake
devour his prey, but hurries homeward, without once daring to turn
round.
The fires have all been put out. The women and children are talking in
whispers. They wish to make as little noise as possible while the men
are away, lest they be attacked by wild beasts or some passing band of
savages.
Night comes; there is no sound of returning warriors. Mpuke sits in the
doorway of his home, listening; his mother and sister are beside him. It
draws near midnight, and yet there is no sleep for the anxious watchers.
Hark! faintly at first, then more and more plainly, the fighting song of
the returning warriors is borne to them on the evening wind. And now
they can hear the sound of paddles and shouts of boisterous laughter.
The men must have been victorious or they would not come home so gaily.
There are but a few more minutes of waiting before the black heroes
enter the village. We call them heroes, for that is the way their
families think of them.
The men are tired, excited, and stained with blood. They are bringing
home two of their comrades wounded, and the dead body of another. They
have six prisoners taken from the enemy. These poor wretches are bound
with ropes; they know their fate too well. They are now slaves, and must
hereafter do the hardest work for their new masters.
The customs of their own settlement are different from those of Mpuke's
village. They will suffer from homesickness, and will have many new
things to which they must get used.
It seems strange to us that in travelling a short distance in the heart
of Africa the people are found to differ from each other so much in
language, habits, and even dress. For, scanty as it is, the style of
decoration of one tribe varies greatly from that of another.
For instance, in Mpuke's home we know it is the fashion to have
wedge-shaped teeth, while not far away the people think that a really
beautiful person must have the teeth pointed. In one village the women
wear wooden skewers pierced through their noses; in another, their
principal ornaments consist of metal rings in the ears, and metal
armlets, anklets, and bracelets.
Among some tribes, the men's hair is braided in queer little tails,
while others have it knotted at the back of the head and at the chin in
tight bunches.