PART I

FAIRY TALES

FROM SOUTH AFRICA

COLLECTED FROM ORIGINAL NATIVE SOURCES

AND ARRANGED BY

Mrs. E. J. BOURHILL

AND

Mrs. J. B. DRAKE

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

W. HERBERT HOLLOWAY

MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED

ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON

1908

TO ALL CHILDREN WHO STILL LOVE FAIRY TALES

All the stories in this book are real Fairy Tales, just as much as

“Jack the Giant-Killer” or “The Sleeping Beauty.” By this I mean that

they are traditional, handed down by word of mouth. Nobody knows how

old they are, or who told them first. But little Kafir children sit

round the fire at night and hear them from their old grandmother, and

sometimes—but very very seldom—white people are allowed to hear them

too. You see, the Kafirs are afraid white people would laugh at them,

and so they will only begin if they are quite sure you are really

interested. Even then they never like to tell the tales by daylight,

for they say that if they do so a wicked spirit will cause a horn to

grow out of the middle of their forehead, and they will become as ugly

as an Imbula. [1] Sometimes they can be persuaded, but then they always

take a piece of grass and place it in their hair to ward off evil lest

they be bewitched. But the best time to hear the tales is in the

evening when all the work is done. Then a huge fire is made, and when

all the children have played till they are tired, and sung and danced

till they can remember no more songs to sing, they gather in a circle

and lie upon the ground where they can best see the story-teller. And

if the Kafir people were quite sure you would be interested and

wouldn’t laugh, they would give you the best seat of all and let you

hear the finest tales. All the Kafir children know the tales as we know

ours, but not all can tell them well. When many people are there the

best story-teller will be asked to come forward. Most often it is a

woman with children and grandchildren of her own, whom everybody knows

well. She sits in the firelight, and begins quite quietly. But soon she

gets excited, and before long she acts the whole story before you. She

does it so well that if I were to tell you just the name of the story

you could follow it without knowing a word of the language. One

favourite tale is that which we have called “The Beauty and the Beast,”

and there are ever so many different versions of this story. Other

well-known ones are “Nya-nya Bulembu,” “The Fairy Frog,” and “The Fairy

Bird.”

The little black children all open their eyes with horror when the

monster appears, and you cannot think how glad they are to remember

there are no ogres nowadays who have long red hair and kill and eat

little girls. I don’t think such people ever really existed anywhere,

not even in Kafir-land. They are just like our fairies and ogres;

nobody knows who first thought of them.

But there used to be many bad Kings, like Semai-mai, who made their

subjects unhappy, and much fighting took place in former days. For all

these stories come from the olden times, when there were no white

settlers in the country, and when the Kafirs lived alone and followed

their own customs. They did not have one great King over all, but were

broken up into tribes, and each tribe had its Chief, who was sometimes

called its King. That is why there are so many Kings and Princes and

Princesses in the tales. They were much commoner then than in our days.

These tribes often fought against one another. The great aim of every

Chief was to have plenty of men to do his bidding, and plenty of cattle

in his kraal; and if his neighbour were better off, he often tried to

steal from him. You will notice that the Princes in these tales did not

think of conquering new lands to occupy, as we should, but they all

wanted men to fight for them. It seems as if, in South Africa, there

was always plenty of land, but never enough men and women to occupy it.

There was no money then, but a man’s riches were counted by the number

of his cattle and his wives.

In peaceful times the Kafir men do very little except look after the

cattle. This the women have nothing to do with; they must not so much

as touch the bowls in which milk has been placed. In the old times

fighting was very frequent, so that a Kafir Chief was not so lazy as

many people seem to think. Still, to fight, to look after cattle, and

now and then to set the foundations of a hut, were the only occupations

he had. His women-folk tilled the land, fetched water and wood, and saw

to the cooking. They also thatched the huts, and made the most

beautiful fences of woven reeds. You see, they were often left alone

for weeks and months while the men were away hunting or fighting, so

they had to be able to help themselves.

A Kafir Chief usually had many wives; this was considered due to his

position, but the wife he married first remained the chief lady in his

kraal and ruled the others. They each had their own hut and managed

their own affairs, but of course there were often many quarrels. Poorer

men had one or two wives only. You see, it was expensive to have many;

for every woman had to be paid for with a certain number of cattle.

This payment was called the “lobola,” and no marriage was legal without

it. This does not sound a very good custom, but it worked well in

practice. Savage people are often very unkind to baby girls because

they cannot fight, but among the Kafirs they were always well treated.

The daughters were valuable to their father because of the dowry they

would bring him, and the husbands thought all the more of their wives

because they had cost them something.

Most of these stories were told by Swazis, others by Zulus, and two by

the tribes which live on the Portuguese border in the low, wooded

country. “The Shining Princess” came from the Mapoch Kafirs, who

formerly lived in the north. None of the people who tell them lived on

what is called the high veld. A Kafir loves country with plenty of wood

and water, and he likes to build his hut in some green valley on a

well-drained slope facing the morning sun. Such country is found in

Natal and the eastern parts of Cape Colony, and again in Swaziland and

the Eastern Transvaal. In summer there are marvellous wild flowers and

abundant green grass, and in every mountain valley there are clear

streams bordered with luxuriant ferns and overshadowed with beautiful

evergreen trees. All the rain falls in summer amidst continuous

thunderstorms, and it is often very hot. In winter no rain falls for

four or five months; the sky is clear and shining and the nights are

cold, but by day the sun makes everything pleasantly warm.

The Kafir people still live and flourish in this country. They no

longer make war on one another, for the white people oblige them to

dwell in peace. So now their customs are slowly changing. The women are

gradually ceasing to hoe the lands in the old fashion, and the men are

beginning to plough with oxen; it seems as if in time they will become

tillers of the soil like men in other lands. These stories may soon be

forgotten; so we have written them down for your amusement before it is

too late and no one tells them any more.

Barberton, Transvaal,

April 1908.

CONTENTS

PAGE

I. Setuli; or, the King of the Birds 1

II. The Story of the King’s Son and the Magic Song 18

III. The Story of the Little Birds who lived in a Cave 28

IV. The Story of the Shining Princess 32

V. The Rabbit Prince 43

VI. The Unnatural Mother 58

VII. The Three Little Eggs 66

VIII. The Serpent’s Bride—Part I. 78

IX. The Serpent’s Bride—Part II. 99

X. The Fairy Bird 115

XI. The Cock’s Kraal 132

XII. Baboon-Skins 139

XIII. The Reward of Industry 151

XIV. The Story of Semai-mai—Part I. 160

XV. The Story of Semai-mai—Part II. 171

XVI. The Fairy Frog 187

XVII. Nya-nya Bulembu; or, the Moss-green Princess 198

XVIII. The Enchanted Buck 212

XIX. The Beauty and the Beast 224

XX. The White Dove 237

ILLUSTRATIONS

“The old woman continued to gaze at Setuli, and said

three times in a loud voice, ‘Speak!’” Frontispiece

“He turned to the mountain-side and shouted,

‘Men, appear!’” To face page 17

“They climbed and climbed till they were above the clouds” 49

“She came in sight of an enormous hut” 72

“She ... threw them down a rocky precipice” 121

“Such was their strength and ferocity that but two or three

escaped alive out of the whole regiment” 137

“It was a very old woman, leaning on an immense assegai” 183

“Suddenly a flock of rock-pigeons ... seized the beautiful

Princess and carried her away” 204

I

SETULI;

OR, THE KING OF THE BIRDS

A SWAZI TALE

Many, many years ago there lived a poor man, named Setuli, who was deaf

and dumb. He had never been able to speak, or understand anything but

signs from his birth, and was despised by all his brothers and sisters.

Although he was the son of a powerful Chief, no one so much as looked

at him, and he could never hope to win a bride or have a home of his

own. He had but one friend, an elder brother, who gave him food and

shelter, and was always kind to him. This brother was already old, and

was known as a great magician; he knew the properties of every herb,

and the wonderful powers possessed by birds and beasts. When he went to

search for magic roots he always took Setuli with him, for he found his

eyes were quicker than those of any man in the country-side, and his

fingers more deft.

One day in Spring, when the first rains had fallen and green shoots

were showing among the dry grass, the two brothers went out to gather

roots as usual. They travelled far into the mountains till they reached

a narrow valley full of trees just bursting into leaf. A clear stream

ran down one side among great boulders, ferns were just uncurling their

early fronds, and in sheltered nooks big scarlet daisies shone like

tiny suns. The old magician and Setuli set to work at once, for here

many rare plants flourished. They had been at work an hour or more when

a swarm of beautiful black birds with long waving tails came towards

them, flying in a zigzag course. They settled on the low bushes,

swinging up and down on the branches, and balancing their long tails.

The two brothers both looked up, and in a grave voice the old magician

said to the birds, “Sakobulas, [2] we go to sleep and we get up as we

used to do.” This was the magic greeting they expected. I cannot tell

you what it meant, but when the sakobulas heard it, they flew away

quite satisfied. The two brothers went on digging, and moved farther up

the stream. Then a great swarm of dear little rooibekkies [3] suddenly

appeared, tiny little brown birds with pink breasts and bright red

bills. They fluttered all round, chattering gaily.

The old magician again looked up. “Mantsiane,” [4] said he, “we go to

sleep and we get up as we used to do”; and the rooibekkies flew away

quite satisfied. Then the two brothers went on digging again, and

worked for a long time. All at once there rushed upon them an immense

flight of the most beautiful birds, shining from head to foot with

glorious yellow plumage. Round their necks showed a ring of velvety

black, and there were black feathers in their wings.

“Follow us up! Follow us up!” they cried to the two brothers. “These

are orioles,” said the old magician; “without doubt some great

adventure is before us.” He signed to his brother to leave the roots

and follow the birds.

They travelled over the mountains for three days and three nights,

following the golden birds. On the morning of the fourth day the birds

led them down a steep mountain-side to a deep green valley through

which ran a wide stream. The birds followed the stream till they came

to a deep clear pool under the shadow of great trees. It was very cool

and very still. Tall reeds and big white lilies grew all round the

water’s edge, and over the pool itself were hundreds of water-lilies,

white and purple.

The golden birds turned to the magician and said, “Bring your brother

here and tell him on no account to be afraid, no matter what may happen

to him. He must wait by the edge of the pool amongst the reeds and

lilies.”

The elder brother fetched Setuli and made him understand what was

wanted of him. Then he went away and left his brother alone, wondering

what this new adventure would bring.

Now, though Setuli had always been despised and set aside by all his

relations, he was in reality both wise and brave. He sat down at the

water’s edge and remained perfectly still. Suddenly the waters moved,

and up rose a huge alligator. It came straight towards him, lashing its

great tail and opening its huge jaws. Its teeth glistened in the sun,

and as it walked up the bank it snapped at Setuli and blinked its

wicked little eyes. But Setuli sat perfectly still and pretended not to

notice. The alligator thrust its long nose almost in his face, snapped

its jaws once more, and then, seeing he showed no sign of fear, turned

tail and slipped into the pool again.

Setuli remained sitting, waiting to see what would happen next. For a

little while the pool was still; then the whole of the waters moved and

out came a huge ogre, far more hideous and terrible than the alligator.

He was covered with eyes and glared with every one of them at the deaf

man. Then he roared fiercely and sprang towards him; but still Setuli

did not move so much as an eyelid. The ogre shouted again, and then

disappeared, like the alligator before him.

After that there was no sound or motion for many hours. Setuli sat

watching by the pool. Just as he began to think nothing more would

happen, the water moved quietly and out came a Fairy in the shape of an

old woman. She stood in the waters up to her waist and gazed at Setuli.

On her right hand there perched a beautiful black sakobula, on her left

hand a little rooibekkie, and on her head was a most wonderful oriole,

bright as the rising moon. The old woman continued to gaze at Setuli,

and said three times in a loud voice, “Speak!”

When she uttered the third word Setuli felt a new power had come to

him. He could speak like other people, and he could understand all the

Fairy said.

“Go to your brother,” said she, “and show him you are cured. I have

known both of you long and have determined to help you. Whatever you

want in the future you shall receive; you have only to ask for it.” The

Fairy vanished, and the three birds flew away.

Setuli soon found his brother, and the old man’s astonishment was great

when he heard the deaf man speak. Setuli in his turn was much surprised

to find the three swarms of birds again, just as he had left them on

his journey out. They flew in three separate companies, and at the head

of each company was one more beautiful than the others, evidently the

leader. Setuli soon saw these were the very birds who had accompanied

the Fairy; no doubt she had sent them for his use. He thought deeply

for a time and then made new plans. The result you shall soon hear.

The two brothers journeyed on till they saw a great storm rising. The

sky was blue-black, and a noise could be heard like continuous thunder.

“That is hail,” cried the magician; “we shall be caught here in the

open. Nothing can save us from death.”

“Do not fear,” said Setuli; “wait and you shall see.” He gave a command

and instantly one thousand huts appeared. His brother gazed in

astonishment and delight. Then he said, “What do we want with so many

huts? There is no one to shelter but you and me.”

“I shall want huts for my soldiers and people,” said Setuli. Then he

turned to the companies of birds and changed them all with one word

into warriors. The sakobulas became his first regiment. They were great

tall men clad in leopard skins, holding in their hands assegais [5] and

huge shields of ox-hide. But one thing remained of their former state.

Each man wore on his head a huge cap of the long tail-feathers of the

sakobula. They stood in line, saluted their Chief, and marched to their

huts. Then came the golden orioles. These were Setuli’s bodyguard, and

were even finer than the sakobulas. Their skins were of the silver

jackal; round their knees and arms were bracelets of white ox-tails,

and on their heads were long black ostrich-plumes. Before them stood

the golden oriole, bright as the rising moon, now the general in

command next to Setuli himself. Last of all came the rooibekkies. These

became the little umfaans, the lads who carry all the baggage of the

army and wait on the grown men. Setuli sent them all to their huts just

as the first hailstones struck the ground.

For an hour no one stirred. The sound of the storm was like continuous

roaring thunder; the hailstones were as large as great plums, jagged

and sharp as crystals. Every tree was stripped of its leaves and all

birds and beasts who could not find shelter were killed or maimed. When

the storm ceased the hail lay in icy heaps in every hollow, and the air

was frosty and cold as in mid-winter on the high mountains. A raw mist

rose from the valleys, but Setuli felt no cold. His heart was great

within him, for now he had proved his powers. He called out his troops

once more and reviewed them with joy and pride. “We shall go forth and

conquer a great kingdom,” he said to his brother. “I shall yet be a

rich man.”

The regiments shouted “Bayeta,” the salute which is given only to the

Chief, and swore to follow wherever Setuli led. Generals were appointed

for each division of the army, the three leaders being the birds who

sat on the Fairy’s hands. There was no trouble about provisions or

shelter, for Setuli had only to ask for food and there was abundance

for all.

He now determined to search for a kingdom to conquer. He left the

country of mountains and wooded valleys, and went up to the great

tableland to search for new people to overcome. He travelled with his

army for a year, but never saw so much as one little hut. The land was

empty; on every side was waving grass extending as far as eye could

reach, but no path appeared nor any tree. Great herds of buck sometimes

came towards them and then followed fine hunting; but no man or woman

could they find though they travelled for many months. At last they

turned back towards the low country, and at the end of a year they came

to a range of mountains overlooking an immense plain. Below they saw

great cities surrounded by fields full of mealies. [6] Thousands of

cattle roamed on the hills; they had but to descend and seize all they

wanted.

Setuli bade his men camp in a great valley which could not be seen from

the plain. Then he sent spies to find out how strong the cities were

and how big was the King’s army. But first his brother the magician

gave them a wonderful potion which made them invisible, so that no one

should suspect them. In the evening they returned in great fear. “The

people,” cried they, “are all deaf and dumb; they have but one arm, and

walk on one leg only. Not only that, but as soon as we approached them

we found we were becoming deaf and dumb also, so we ran back as quickly

as possible.”

This troubled Setuli very much. “Don’t go near these people,” said he.

“Let us get right away from the towns and go hunting in the mountains.”

Now Setuli was very wise, and had besides the advice of his brother,

the great magician. He had determined to take possession of all the

inhabitants of this country and drive away all their cattle, but he

felt sure some powerful monster ruled over them who would first have to

be discovered and destroyed. The only thing to do was to devise some

means of attracting him to the camp and killing him unawares. A big

hunt was arranged, and an immense number of birds were taken of all

shapes and colours. Setuli drew a feather out of the tail of every bird

and made a huge many-coloured ball, which he wore as a head-dress and

as a protection for himself, for magic power was in the feathers. Then

he allowed preparations to be made for the great feast which followed

the hunt, but gave special directions to his men.

“Do not eat all the birds,” he said. “Place half of those you have

killed in front of the huts. Put first a whole bird, then the head of a

bird you have eaten, in long rows all round the camp, and then put a

treble row about my own hut.”

The men carried out these commands carefully, and soon the whole camp

was surrounded with dead birds of every hue and shape. When all the

feasting was over and the camp quite still, Setuli crept out of his hut

and hid behind the screen which sheltered the entrance. It was full

moon, and the country shone like silver. Sharp inky black shadows

showed near the river where the bushes grew, and round each hut was a

dark narrow ring in which no object was visible. Setuli crouched behind

his screen of reeds; the camp was absolutely still and deserted.

Towards midnight he heard heavy footsteps approaching. Every now and

then they stopped, then they began again. Setuli stooped lower; without

doubt the monster who owned all the cities in the plain was

approaching. The footsteps were not even; they resembled some one

hopping very heavily. Presently a huge black figure came in sight,

holding a long assegai. He had but one leg and one arm, and stopped

greedily at every hut to eat the birds which lay there. As he came

nearer, Setuli saw that he was of unimaginable ugliness. His eyes were

divided; one was in the middle of his forehead and the other at the

back of his head, so that whichever way he stood he saw you, and you

could not escape him. At the entrance of Setuli’s hut he stopped, gave

a snarl of delight at the sight of so many birds, and sat down to enjoy

them.

He had but one arm, so he laid his assegai down just before the

door-screen. Setuli asked for no better chance; he rose quickly, seized

the assegai and stabbed the monster in the neck. He rolled over with a

groan and lay quite still, apparently dead.

With a joyous heart Setuli roused all his men, and at break of day led

them into the great plain. To their surprise they found the people

walking on two legs and talking as well as themselves. The death of the

ogre relieved the people from the bonds of a wicked enchantment, and

they were only too glad to go with Setuli and his men, they and all

their cattle. By evening all was in order for the march, and at

earliest dawn the company started for the mountains.

They had gone a whole day’s journey, and had reached a point high above

the great plain, when Setuli discovered that he had lost his ball of

feathers. He did not wish to turn his followers back, but neither could

he bear to travel farther without his head-dress, for it had magic

power, and it might be long before he could get such another. So he

bade his army go on under the leadership of his brother, and went down

the mountain-paths as fast as possible till he came to the valley in

which they had camped. There he saw a sight which made his heart stand

still. The ogre whom he had left for dead was sitting up alive and

well, and round him danced and romped hundreds of little ogres, all

with one leg and one arm like their father. They tossed the magic ball

of feathers from one to another and shouted with glee.

Setuli saw he must risk all and trust to his swift feet to get away. He

ran in suddenly, seized the ball of feathers, and turned quickly away

up the mountain-path. As he touched the ball, all the little ogres

vanished like smoke. Only the big one remained, and for a moment he was

dazed and did not understand what had happened. Then he got up and

stamped after Setuli with astonishing speed. It was all Setuli could do

to keep the distance between them, but he was strong and knew the

paths. They leapt from rock to rock, in and out among the trees, till

they came to the grassy slopes which led to the great pass. They

climbed all day till the sun began to set. Then at the very top of the

mountain range Setuli found his army camped along the side of a deep

ravine. Below was a valley many hundreds of feet deep, lined with huge

rocks and great trees. Beyond, many weary hours away, rose another

mountain with green slopes marked with the course of many streams.

“Bayeta!” cried the army when they saw their Chief. “My men,” cried

Setuli, “we have not a moment to lose. Our enemy is behind us and we

shall soon be in his hands. Let every man, woman, and child fix his

eyes on the mountain-side opposite and then leap with all his might.”

Setuli could hear his enemy behind him as his people leapt together

into the air. He ran forward, touched the cattle with his ball of

feathers, and they too jumped with all their might. All landed safely

on the other side, and placed the great ravine between them and the

terrible ogre. Setuli jumped last, just as the monster, breathless and

exhausted, reached the edge of the precipice.

Twilight set in, and when the sun rose next morning Setuli and all his

people found themselves in perfect safety, and set forth once more on

their journey. They travelled all day, and at sunset came to the most

beautiful valley they had ever beheld. It lay far below them, wide,

green, and fertile. Down its centre flowed a clear stream shaded by

great tree-ferns, and bordered with thick green bushes covered with

scarlet flowers. The valley extended as far as eye could see towards

the setting sun; all the hills on either side were closely wooded and

well watered. Setuli turned to his brother and said, “This is the

finest country I have ever seen. We will settle here with all our men.”

At the end of the valley was a very large kraal wherein dwelt the Chief

of the country. Setuli determined to win him over to his side and make

him his man.

So he took his bodyguard and marched down the mountain-paths to the

gate of the kraal. Just as they approached the Chief’s hut he struck

every one of his men on the leg with his magic assegai. They at once

began to walk every man on one leg.

“Never have I seen such magic power,” said the Chief. “You shall be our

King and protect us against all our enemies.”

“I will show you yet more marvels,” said Setuli. He struck his men once

more and they all walked like ordinary human beings. While the Chief

still stared in open-mouthed wonder, he turned to the mountain-side and

shouted, “Men, appear!”

Instantly from top to bottom of the great hill stood line upon line of

magnificent warriors, clad in leopard skins and holding white shields.

They lifted their right hands and shouted “Bayeta!” so that the cry

echoed like thunder from side to side of the valley.

Then Setuli shouted once more, “Men, disappear!” and at once the

hillside was empty and silent.

“You see,” said Setuli, “I have men at my command whenever we need

them.”

“You shall certainly be our King,” cried all the people. So Setuli and

his brother and all the men and women who belonged to them stayed in

the valley, and lived in great peace and happiness all their lives

long.

II

THE STORY OF THE KING’S SON AND THE MAGIC SONG

A SWAZI TALE

Once upon a time there lived among the mountains a great King; and he

had many cattle, which he loved. Among them was a fairy ox, with horns

which curled right across his forehead, and with a voice like thunder;

this ox led the herd, and at his call all the cattle followed him. In

the day-time they fed in the tall grass in the valley, and at night

they were brought home to the big kraal, round which were the huts of

the King and all his men, so that they might be safe from any harm. And

the fence of the kraal was strong and high, and the men watched so that

no evil befell the cattle.

Now the King loved the cattle so much that he made one of his own sons

herdsman. Every morning this boy took the cattle to graze in the

pasture, and at sunset he drove them back to the kraal. All day, in the

hot sunshine, he watched the herd to see that none strayed and were

lost, and to take care that no enemy came in to steal. And because the

grass in summer grew tall, high above his head, and thick, so that he

could not see, he would climb on to one of the great rocks that lay

scattered about the valley. For the rocks were large, large as a hut,

and in the shadow beneath them it was cool and the little rock-ferns

grew; but on the top, where the sunlight fell, the little lizards lay

and caught flies.

Often the boy grew tired as he watched the herds, and longed to lie in

the warm sun and sleep; but he dared not, for he feared his father’s

anger if he should lose him an ox.

But it happened one day that as he watched the cattle a Fairy appeared

to him in the shape of a very old woman. She came and talked to him,

and he told her how he had always watched lest the cattle strayed, and

how he feared lest his father’s foes should come and kill him and take

the cattle.

Then the Fairy pointed to a stone, smooth and large and round, like a

hut that showed up above the grass of the valley. The boy looked, for

he had never seen the stone before. “Come,” she said, “this is your

stone. See, it is so smooth that no one can keep his footing on it or

climb it. But you shall be able. As you grow the stone will grow, and

from it you can watch all the valley, and no enemy will be able to hurt

you, for they could not climb it. But beware that you do not fall

asleep on it, for then all your cattle will be stolen.”

She also taught him a magic song, “Come, cattle, come, all you cattle

come to me,” the melody of which was so enchanting that all cattle who

heard it followed the singer. Then the Fairy vanished away.

So the boy became a splendid herdsman, and none of his cattle were

lost, for every evening he sang to them and they followed him to the

kraal, and none strayed. Nor could any be stolen, for on the rock he

watched in safety. But at last one hot day he fell asleep on the rock,

and the enemy who were watching saw him sleeping, and crept down from

the hills and drove off all the cattle. When he woke up not one head of

cattle could he find. He sang “Come, cattle, come,” but it was in vain;

they did not hear him. He wandered about the valley looking and singing

till the sun began to set, and then in shame and fear went to the kraal

alone. He went to his father and told him all, but the old King was

very angry and drove him from the kraal, saying, “Never come back

unless you bring my cattle with you.”

So the poor boy wandered back sadly to the valley, and climbed upon the

big stone and lay there in the moonlight crying, for he had lost his

cattle and he had lost his home. And as he lay some one touched him,

and he looked up and saw the old woman, the Fairy, who had given him

the stone and taught him the charm. “I know what has happened,” she

said; “you have slept, and what I foretold has come to pass—the cattle

are gone.” “And I am driven from the kraal till I find them,” he said,

and cried again. “Do not despair,” she said, “but go to the Chief who

has your cattle and ask to be his man.”

So the boy rose, and all night long under the moon he travelled between

the grey mountains, up and down by little winding paths between the

grass and rocks, through the streams and bushes, till in the morning,

when the sun rose, he came to his enemy’s kraal, and within it he heard

his father’s cattle.

So he entered the kraal and went to the Chief and offered to be his

man, and the Chief made him herdsman of his own cattle. Every morning

he took them out to pasture and every evening he sang to them the magic

song and brought them home, and none strayed and were lost. Thus he

served the Chief many years, till he was a man full grown. And always

he thought of his father’s kraal, and looked how he might take the

cattle and return. At last the chance came. The great festival of the

first-fruits was at hand. The women made the beer, placed the

calabashes in a row outside the kraal, and on the day appointed the men

and women went out to gather the first ripe maize and Kafir corn from

the lands, and the children went to get wood for the cooking of the

feast, and no one was left in the kraal but an old woman and the King’s

son, who was in charge of the cattle.

When all were gone he took some sango, the herb that intoxicates men

and makes them sleep, and powdered it very fine. Then he went to the

row of calabashes in which the beer stood waiting for the evening’s

feast, and put some into each calabash, and went away and waited till

all came back.

When the Chief and his people returned there was great rejoicing. A hut

of green boughs was made for the Chief, in which he sat, and the

first-fruits were all brought to him, and a branch from each offering

was tied to his arms or neck. Then his wise men brought him a drink

made of herbs and water from the sea, and gave it to all present as a

sign that the feast was to begin. Every one ate of the new corn and the

fresh nuts, and drank of the new beer. Only the King’s son drank none,

and at last all fell asleep; and when the evening came and the moon

rose not a man or woman was left awake.

Then the King’s son stood up and climbed on the wall of the cattle

kraal, and sang the magic song, “Come, cattle, come to me,” and opened

the gate of the kraal. At once the cattle rose up and walked straight

past the huts and the sleeping men and out into the country, following

the King’s son; and as they went the fairy ox with the crumpled horn

bellowed loudly, and at his call all the cattle came from the east and

the west and the south, [7] and followed the King’s son.

And he went towards his father’s kraal.

When his enemies woke in the morning they could not find one head of

cattle in their kraal, nor yet in all the surrounding country. The old

Chief felt sure when he heard this that the King’s son had taken them

away, and he bade all his men arm themselves and follow the culprit. So

his men gathered with their shields of ox-hide and their assegais, and,

finding the path of the oxen, followed it. It did not take them long to

overtake the King’s son, for the cattle moved slowly; and by the

evening of the second day they were in sight of the cattle, and

rejoiced over the thought of their capture.

The King’s son, who saw his enemies moving on the mountains behind him,

was in great fear and knew not what to do, for the cattle could not

travel fast. He led them down the mountain along the banks of a little

stream where the trees grew—tall thick thorns with yellow flowers like

small pincushions, and wild figs with tiny fruit—and tall reeds covered

the banks, and from the trees the monkey ropes hung down to the rocks

and water. And everywhere grew the fern, and the clear water ran and

raced between the stones, slipping from pool to pool and playing with

the leaves and rushes; and the bright flies hung over it in the little

ladders of sunlight slanting through the trees. And there the King’s

son hid his cattle amongst the bush, and sat in the grass under a big

fig-tree to think what he should do.

But he could think of no way to save the cattle. And the evening drew

on, and the shadow rose over the creek [8] and crept up the

mountain-side; and the frogs began to croak and the crickets to sing,

and everywhere was the humming of the gnats. And he sat under the

fig-tree and looked across the valley to the mountain where his enemies

were; and he knew that in the morning they would come and kill him and

take his cattle.

A bat flitted round him in the darkness, so near that he looked up, and

there before him he saw the Fairy. “Do not despair,” she said; “your

task is nearly done. Obey me and all shall be well. Go now and kill a

white ox, skin it, and cut the hide into ten thousand little white

shields, and I will find you soldiers.” So he slew the ox and skinned

it and made of the hide ten thousand little white shields.

Then the Fairy cried to the frogs who lived near the stream, sitting

under all the stones from the top of the hill to the bottom, and whose

voices could be heard all across the valley. “Frogs!” she cried, “will

you take these shields and do as the King’s son bids you?” And from all

over the valley they cried, “We will!” So the King’s son gave them the

shields, and all night long he drilled them in the moonlight. When he

called “Woo-ooh,” they rose up, shouting, with their shields extended;

and when he cried “Boo-ooh,” they fell down and lay hidden.

Before the dawn he placed them in a long line on the mountain-side

where the enemy would see them.

As the first company of the enemy appeared the frogs rose together,

raised their shields, and croaked “Woo-ooh,” with a sound like thunder;

so great, indeed, was the sound that the enemy fell back to their Chief

in terror. “There is an impi [9] of many thousand men across the

creek,” they said; “no one can stand against them.”

The Chief then sent a larger company, but they returned with the same

tale.

Then he went himself with all his army; but when he saw the thousands

of white shields and heard the war-cry, fear seized his heart. “It is

better to return without our cattle than lose our lives,” he said, and

ordered all to go back home again.

So the King’s son was safe. He thanked the frogs, gathered his cattle

together and reached his father’s kraal. The King received him with

great honour, gave him a Princess for his wife, and made him Chief of

all his sons; but every night the King’s son sang his magic song as

before, and kept the cattle in safety.

III

THE STORY OF THE LITTLE BIRDS WHO LIVED IN A CAVE

A ZULU NURSERY TALE

Once upon a time there was a big cave in a hillside, in which lived

hundreds of little birds. There were fathers and mothers and lots of

little ones. Each had his little kraal with a hut no bigger than your

hand, and a fence all round beautifully woven of tiny reeds. One day

all the mothers went out to get food, and said to their little ones,

“Be very good and quiet, and make the huts clean and tidy while we hoe

the lands.”

Then they went out to see to their tiny fields in which they grew their

food—little mealies and tiny sugar-cane, pumpkins no larger than a nut,

and nuts no bigger than grass seeds. The little birds were very good;

they swept the huts out beautifully and tidied them up. Then they

cleaned little shells ready to cook the food, and got water in tiny

leaves. When all was done they sat down and waited for their parents to

arrive.

Suddenly a blackbird came to the door of the cave. He had a long sharp

beak and very long claws. He put his head in and cried, “Fir-r-r-r!

Fir-r-r-r!” first to one side and then to the other in a high clear

voice. All the little birds put their heads out of the tiny huts at

once to see who the intruder might be.

The big bird then said, “All you little birds must turn out at once.

This cave belongs to me.”

At that the little birds were very angry. The boldest of them flew

straight at the blackbird to turn him out, but he was pecked right in

the neck. A little stream of blood appeared, as black as charcoal, and

the little bird fell dead.

Then the big bird attacked many others. He broke the leg of one, he

picked out the eyes of another, he broke the wing of a third. When he

had frightened and scattered them all he flew away.

That evening the mother birds came home, but could not make out why the

cave was so silent. “What is wrong?” they said. “There is no

twittering, no rustling of wings. Something must have happened.”

Great was their grief when they found one little bird dead and so many

others crippled and hurt. “Whoever has done all this?” they cried. Then

the little birds told their tale.

“It was a wicked bird with black feathers and a long beak. There he is

again at the door.”

The mothers turned round and flew in a body at the marauder. But he

just cried “Fir-r-r-r! Fir-r-r-r!” and flew straight up in the air far

out of their reach.

The next day the blackbird came and destroyed all their little lands.

Not a blade of mealies or sugar-cane remained. The mothers were in

despair, and that evening they said they must leave the cave and find a

safer home elsewhere.

Suddenly a tiny bird entered the cave, no bigger than your finger-nail.

He cried “Tweet, Tweet,” ever so sweetly, and flew straight to a little

bird who was only a hen. “You,” said he, “shall kill the blackbird.”

Every one cried out that the little bird was not nearly strong enough.

“You shall kill him,” said the tiny bird. “Fly straight at his head and

pick out his eyes. Then you can easily kill him.”

The little hen took heart of grace and promised to be brave.

Next morning the big bird, sure that this time the cave would soon be

his, put his head in at the door and called in his high wicked voice,

“Fir-r-r-r! Fir-r-r-r!”

Out flew the little hen straight at his head and picked out his eyes

before he knew what had happened. Then the fathers and mothers all

threw themselves on him and in a few minutes he was dead.

After that all the families lived in much peace and happiness, and were

never troubled any more.

IV

THE STORY OF THE SHINING PRINCESS

A ’MSUTO STORY

In a green valley far away among the mountains there was once a most

beautiful kraal. The hut was bright green, finely thatched with grass,

the floor within of red earth, firm and beautifully polished. All the

cooking-pots were of red clay, and stood in good order round the walls,

and with them were shining green calabashes full of milk and cream.

Fine green mats lay on the floor, save in one corner where there was a

little mat woven of mountain-grass the colour of gold. Round the hut

was a high green fence, also of exquisite neatness; indeed all was in

perfect order, and no kraal was kept like it in all the country round.

For it was the home of a great Chief’s wife. Her husband had been dead

many years, and had left her all alone in the world with one little

girl named Maholia, who was only three years old. The Queen had been a

most beautiful woman in her day, and as the little girl grew up she was

just as lovely as her mother. The greatest care was taken of her, and

she was soon as good and obedient as she was charming. Her mother never

married again; indeed it would not have been fitting, as she had been a

King’s wife. She lived only for her child, and they loved one another

dearly. Maholia was the envy of every little girl in the country.

Everything she had was the colour of the golden moon, her necklaces,

her bracelets, and the gold circle she wore round her neck. As she grew

up she became more and more noted for her beauty and charm; she was so

lovely that she dazzled the eyes of all beholders, and was known as the

Shining Princess. Time went on, and when she grew to womanhood many

lovers came forward to ask her in marriage. There was not a Chief’s son

for many days’ journey who did not long to make her his wife. But

neither the Princess herself nor her mother cared for any of them, nor

would they hear of marriage.

Then one day came an embassy from a very powerful King. He was

searching everywhere for a beautiful girl to be his son’s wife, but

though his wise men had travelled far and wide and many girls had been

brought to his kraal, not one had been found to his mind. He decided to

seek yet farther afield, and sent his chief Induna [10] with attendants

in great state to see all the Princesses in far countries who were

famous for their beauty. After many months of travel the Induna began

to hear talk of the Shining Princess. He decided to visit her, though

he feared to be disappointed once more. But at the sight of the green

kraal his hopes rose. At the door the Princess met him. She was shining

from head to foot in the bright sun. Round her neck were thick bars of

red-gold copper; copper and brass rings adorned her shapely arms from

wrist to elbow, and appeared again on her slender ankles, reaching

almost to her knees. Round her waist was a girdle of golden beads,

twisted into a thick rope behind, and in front hanging in a long,

glistening fringe over her short apron of skin. This was again

embroidered in squares with gold and copper beads. Over her pretty

shoulders hung her cloak, also embroidered in circles of gold and

bordered with a wide band of shining beads. Even her snuff-calabash was

gold-coloured, of jackal-skin. Every movement was full of grace, and

her laughing lips and bright eyes showed the kindness of her heart.

When the Induna saw this beautiful woman clad in gold and shining like

the rising moon, he said, “This is the Princess I have been seeking!

This is indeed the wife for our great King’s son!”

He begged to see Maholia’s mother, and formally demanded the hand of

her daughter. Many days passed in discussion. The Queen was loth to

part with her child, but the Induna talked so wisely of his master’s

power and riches, and the bravery and wisdom of the bridegroom, that

she at last consented. The embassy then returned home to the King, and

told him with great joy of the beauty and goodness of the Shining

Princess. The King bade his Chief rest while he gathered together the

marriage-gift of cattle for the Queen-mother. These consisted of one

hundred beautiful animals, at the head of which marched a fairy ox. He

was magnificent, the King’s great pride, but he was considered only due

payment for so fair a Princess. He was black as charcoal, save for two

long white horns, and between his shoulders burned a steady light,

which illumined his path by night and gave him magic power.

When all was ready the wedding-party set out to fetch the bride and

deliver the tribute due to her mother. The Queen was delighted with the

cattle, and especially with the fairy ox.

“Here,” said she to her daughter, “take this ox with you. He is my

present to you; your journey will be long and you will often be glad

to ride him.”

Then she turned to the King’s men and said, “Do not leave my daughter

alone. I am afraid of what may happen to her. If you leave her, I shall

know at once, for the corner in which she has always sat at home will

crumble away.”

The wedding-party promised faithfully to guard Maholia with every care.

The Princess and her mother parted with bitter tears, and she and her

attendant maids set forth with the King’s men.

For two days all went well. But on the third day the men came upon

hundreds of buck of every kind, large and small, and behind these

appeared great herds of elephant and giraffe. The country was full of

game. The King’s men could not resist the temptation, and started off

to hunt; such abundance they had never seen in their lives before. In

the end even the girls joined their party, and all were soon in hot

pursuit. The Shining Princess was left all alone seated on an ant-heap,

the fairy ox by her side. That very moment, as her mother sat in the

hut thinking anxiously of her absent child, the corner on which the

golden mat had lain cracked from end to end and crumbled away.

In the meantime the wedding-party went on gaily hunting; the farther

they went the more fresh buck appeared. They forgot all about the bride

and continued the chase for days. The poor bride sat alone till she was

discovered by a party of cannibals, who seized her and carried her

away. They endeavoured also to secure the fairy ox, but he gave one

great leap into the air out of the midst of the enemy, and flew like

the wind to the Princess’s mother.

The poor Queen met him at the kraal gate, for well she knew some evil

had befallen her daughter. The great ox stood still while she knelt

before him and heard his tale.

“But where is she now?” cried the Queen; “where have they taken her?”

“That is all I know,” said the ox. “The cannibals took her, and so I

came with all speed to you. But do not despair; all will yet be well.”

Meanwhile the King and his son waited and waited for the expected

bride. Weeks and months passed by, and they began to fear some great

calamity. Then, one by one, their men straggled in. They told their

story in great shame; they had left the Princess and forgotten her.

They could not find her again, though they had travelled far and wide.

The King had them all put to death. Then he called his Chiefs together

and asked their advice. They all decided that the bridegroom himself

must go with a body of picked men and search for the bride in her

mother’s home.

The Queen received them with much joy, but her grief was great when she

heard they knew nothing of her daughter. She told them of the return of

the fairy ox and all his tale.

“Be of good cheer,” said the Prince. “I will take the fairy ox myself

and will never return till I can bring your daughter with me.”

Then the Prince took the ox and set forth on his journey. He travelled

for weeks and months, but no trace of the Princess could he find. One

day he came to a marula-tree covered with shining yellow fruit.

“This would be good to make cider,” said the Prince. “I will eat some.”

He had scarcely eaten a few berries when a deep voice came out of the

tree.

“What do you want?” it asked.

“I seek for the Shining Princess,” said the Prince. “Am I on the right

way?”

“Go on,” said the marula, “till you come to the big fig-tree.”

The Prince journeyed yet farther among country overgrown with bush,

till by the side of a stream he came to an immense tree covered with

little red figs. They even grew on the roots, and its leaves were so

thick that no sun could pierce them. He sat down in its deep shade and

said, “I seek the Shining Princess. Am I on the right way?”

“Go on,” said the fig-tree, “till you come to a big river. Beyond it

lies a great forest, and in that forest you will find the Princess.”

The Prince started forth full of joy, and followed the course of the

stream. The next day he found himself in full view of a deep river; it

was in flood, and so wide that he could not hope to cross it.

“Climb on my back,” said the fairy ox; “I will carry you over.”

The Prince did as he was told, and the ox plunged into the water, swam

across, and then flew like the wind over a huge plain. In the far

distance they saw the forest. Every hour it grew larger, till at last

they reached its outskirts, when the Prince found the trees were taller

and thicker than any he had ever seen. He could find no path at all,

and the trees met over his head so that only a dim light filtered

through. High ferns grew on every side, and here and there he crossed

tiny streams fringed with maidenhair. He wandered on for hours without

so much as seeing the sun, always hoping to find some open glade. At

last, far away, he saw a shining pool of water. So he went forward,

guided by the distant shimmer through the trees. As he drew nearer he

saw that the pool was surrounded by reeds. One tall reed stood

quivering in the middle. The gleam of the water grew yet brighter and

more golden, till, as he burst through the last thicket, he found it

was no pool at all, but the Shining Princess herself seated in a circle

of tall grass.

The Prince hailed her with delight, for never had he hoped to find such

beauty. As for Maholia, she knew at once that this was her lover; no

one else could have shown such skill and bravery. Besides, the fairy ox

was there once more, the light between his shoulders burning bright

with joy.

There they sat for hours among the fern, telling one another of all

their wanderings. Maholia, it seemed, had been taken by the cannibals

to the edge of the great forest, for they were travelling towards the

country of their King, which lay in that direction. One dark night she

escaped them and had lived ever since in the midst of the great bush.

When she had told her tale, the Prince had to relate his adventures,

and then he told the Princess how beautiful she was, and how well worth

every danger. And that she wanted to hear over and over again.

Indeed, they might never have left the forest had not the Princess

suddenly remembered her mother and her long anxiety.

“But how am I to take you home?” said the Prince. “I cannot hide you,

and every one will envy me such a beautiful woman, and try to steal you

from me.”

“I can help you,” said the ox, nuzzling the bride affectionately. “I

will change the Princess into an ugly old man. No one will know her

then, and we will travel like the wind.”

Straightway the Princess became a little old man. She and the Prince

mounted on the back of the fairy ox, and they all flew together over

forest, river, and mountain for seven days, till they reached the very

door of her mother’s home.

Then at last all was safely over. The Shining Princess became a bride,

and she and her husband went to their own kingdom. They reigned in

great peace and happiness, and the fairy ox was their devoted follower

and adviser all the days of his life.

V

THE RABBIT PRINCE

A SHANGANI TALE

Many, many years ago there lived a Rabbit and a Duyker who were great

friends. The Rabbit was cunning and wise beyond all animals; the Duyker

was just an innocent little antelope, who was fond of men, and so never

went far from a kraal.

One day the Rabbit said to the Duyker, “Why shouldn’t we have lands and

grow our own mealies and calabashes, just like the men who live in

yonder kraal? I know where there is good ground.”

The Duyker agreed at once, and the two friends had soon chosen their

patch of land. They then hoed it well and set their mealies, their

calabashes, and their ground-nuts, just as they had seen them done by

the wives of the neighbouring Chief. The Duyker had the biggest patch,

and his mealies were wonderfully tall and fine. When autumn drew near

the Rabbit took a bag every day and went to get corn and nuts. But he

never got them from his own field, for that still remained untouched.

One day the Duyker went to see how his crops were getting on, and found

a great part of them gone. He instantly suspected the Rabbit, and

accused him of stealing.

The Rabbit denied the accusation at once with great indignation, and

said, “I have not touched your lands. The King of Kings has done it,

and you will never catch the thief.”

“Then where do you get your mealies? They do not come from your own

lands.”

“What do you suppose we live near a kraal for?” said the Rabbit

cheerfully. “I eat the Chief’s mealies.”

The Duyker was much puzzled, especially when he found only a day later

that his crops had been attacked again. “I shall soon have nothing

left,” said he to the Rabbit. “Do think of something I can do.”

“Let us make a trap,” said the Rabbit. “Perhaps we may catch the thief

after all.”

He took some hairs out of a horse’s tail and tied the whole length in a

succession of slip-knots. Then he laid it on the ground, fixed it with

tiny sticks, and sprinkled earth all over, so that no one could see the

line. Then a few mealies were scattered about lightly, so that birds

might be tempted to scratch and entangle their feet in the knots, which

would tighten at once when they struggled to free themselves.

Next morning the Rabbit and the Duyker went together to the

mealie-patch to examine the trap. To their great joy they found a most

beautiful bird held tight by the fine black threads. It had very long

wings, and was beating them ineffectually in great distress. The Rabbit

seized the knots with his teeth, while the Duyker held the bird; but it

was too quick for them. As soon as it felt the knots were loose it

slipped away from the Duyker with one stroke of its powerful wings, and

soared high up into the clouds.

“Never mind,” said the Rabbit; “we will set the trap again to-night.”

The next day they found the beautiful bird again caught in the long

line of knots. She was not alone, but had with her a great swarm of

birds as beautiful as herself. They circled round and round, watching

the Rabbit and the Duyker as they took the culprit and began to untie

the knots. This time they were more careful, and their prey had no

chance of escape. They carried her to their hut before removing the

slip-knots, and examined her very carefully. She was very handsome, but

the most remarkable thing about her was a very long feather which was

in one wing only. The wise Rabbit instantly guessed that this was the

source of her strength. He pulled it out, but to his astonishment the

bird at once disappeared, and a beautiful Princess stood before him. He

instantly hid the feather, and asked the Princess to remain in the hut.

He would treat her well and bring her food every day.

So the Princess stayed in the hut, for now that she had lost her

feather she could no longer go back to her home in the clouds. The

birds flew to the door of the hut every day and asked her when she was

coming home again.

“Have patience,” said the Princess. “I will return in good time.”

“Where is your long feather?” asked the birds. “Have you lost it?”

“It is quite safe,” said the Princess; “the Rabbit has put it away.”

The Princess lived thus for many days. The more she saw of the Rabbit

the more she admired his wisdom and cunning. “What a pity,” thought

she, “that he is only a Rabbit! No Chief can compare with him in the

whole of my father’s dominions.” And as she was a Fairy and had magic

power, she determined he should be a Rabbit no longer.

One day when the Princess and the Rabbit were alone he said to her, “Do

you know who took your feather?”

“Yes,” said the Princess, “you took it.”

“You are quite right,” said the Rabbit; “do you know where I put it?”

“No,” said the Princess, “but I am quite sure it is safe with you.

Please keep it, but just let me see it for one moment.”

The Rabbit could not resist her, she was so beautiful; so he fetched

the feather. The Princess took it in her hand but did not attempt to

fly away. She just laughed and threw it at the Rabbit.

Instantly he became a handsome Prince, to the Princess’s great joy. The

Rabbit Prince himself saw that this made a great change in his

prospects. He could now woo the Princess as an equal, but he had no

lands to give her. Suddenly he remembered the beautiful plot of ground

which belonged to the Duyker. “I am a man now,” said the Rabbit. “I

will kill the Duyker and give his lands to the Princess.” He lay in

wait, slew the little antelope, and brought it home to the hut. They

had buck that night for supper, and as they sat eating he said to the

Princess, “Come, will you marry me?”

The Princess said, “Yes, I will indeed. But let us keep it secret.

These birds who come from my home must never hear of it, for my parents

would never allow me to marry a man from the earth.”

In the meantime the birds got tired of waiting for the Princess, and

said to one another, “It is all the fault of the Rabbit Prince. We must

kill him or the Princess will never see home again.” They sought

counsel with the Mouse and the Woodpecker, who were reckoned the wisest

magicians in the country, and lived near at hand. They told of a safe

poison to put in the Prince’s food. But the Princess knew her people

well, and warned the Prince in good time. He ate nothing, and escaped

in safety. The Mouse and the Woodpecker in the meantime became so fond

of him they soon refused to do him any harm, and made their home close

to his hut, so that they might see him every day.

But there came a time when the Princess longed to go home again. She

said to the Prince, “Would you like to see my father and mother?”

“Very much,” said the Prince. “Where are they?”

“They live in the sky,” said the Princess. “Go and fetch me the feather

once more.”

The Rabbit Prince brought the feather again, and gave it to the

Princess. She set the feather on the ground. It instantly began to grow

and became taller and taller, till at last it reached the very clouds.

Then they began to climb up. The Prince and Princess went first, and

the Mouse and the Woodpecker followed, for they said they must be with

the Prince, to protect him in case of harm. They climbed and climbed

till they were above the clouds. There they came to the mouth of an

enormous cave, but it was shut by a great big stone. The Princess was

in despair. “How ever can we roll this aside?” she cried.

“There is nothing I cannot nibble through,” said the Mouse. “Let me try

for a few minutes.”

He nibbled hard at the corner of the stone, but had to come back, for

he had made no impression whatever.

Then the Woodpecker stepped forward. “Let me try,” said she. “I make my

little nest in wood; the crevice my beak cannot enter has yet to be

made.” She tapped carefully all round the edge of the great stone, and

suddenly cried: “This is the way to do it.” She had found a tiny swivel

on one side of the stone, no longer than your finger. This she pulled,

and the stone rolled back and the cave stood open.

The Prince was just about to lead his bride in when a huge monster

appeared. On his head were two horns, and on each horn was the head of

a human being. He had eyes all over his body from head to foot, and

every eye glared at the Prince with a green light. But the Princess

just drew out the long feather once more and dug it right into his

face; and he vanished away like smoke.

“Now,” said she, “we can go forward safely.” They walked through the

cave and at the other end found an opening, which looked out on just

such another world as ours. There were wide green valleys and flowing

streams, and in front was a big kraal with beautifully woven huts. This

was the Princess’s home, and she ran towards it joyfully. Her father

and mother appeared in human form to greet her, and all her friends,

whom the Prince had only seen as birds, crowded round her as men and

women, each more full of rejoicing than the other.

“But where did you get this man you have brought with you?” asked her

father when the first greetings were over.

“I have stolen him from below,” said the Princess, laughing merrily.

Her father frowned; he had never had anything to do with the

inhabitants of earth, and was very angry at the idea of any intercourse

with them. When the Princess explained that the Rabbit Prince was her

chosen husband, her parents and all her friends were much annoyed, and

said that they could never hear of any such marriage. The Princess

still pleaded hard for her lover; she told her parents of his wisdom

and power, and said that no girl ever had so clever or so noble a

husband; but the old Chief simply replied that no daughter of the

clouds had ever married a man from the earth. The Prince must be sent

back home.

But as the Princess still clung to the Prince and refused to dismiss

him, her people decided that he must be killed. A big feast of welcome

was arranged, and many days were spent in preparation. The Mouse was

never far from the cooking-pots, and ran in and out all day, picking up

savoury morsels. No one saw him, but nothing escaped his little black

eyes. On the morning of the feast-day he saw all the food set out in

dishes ready for the guests. The Prince’s portion was placed in two

little black pots and decorated with green leaves. When no one was

looking, a strangely-dressed old woman came up, a witch for certain,

and powdered it with some curious stuff, but touched no other pot.

Just as the feast was about to open the Mouse crept up to the Prince,

ran up his back and whispered in his ear: “Eat none of the food

prepared for you; drink the beer—that is the only safe thing.”

The Prince obeyed, and thus escaped the first danger. But the people of

the clouds, much disappointed, assembled all their greatest magicians

and made fresh plans. “We will arrange a hailstorm,” said these wise

men. “Let the Prince go out on the great plains to-morrow. We will see

he does not come back alive.”

Next morning the King of the Sky sent the Rabbit Prince on a journey to

another kraal across a wide plain. When he had travelled some three

hours and was many miles from any shelter, great clouds appeared on the

horizon. They were of the deepest blue-black, and every minute they

spread farther, till the sun was blotted out. And then far away came a

distant continuous rumble of thunder. It never ceased for a moment; the

sound was ever sharper and more threatening, and grew closer and

closer. “That is not thunder,” said the Prince; “it is hail, and there

is no shelter for miles. I shall never see the Princess again.”

“Do not fear,” said a voice at his ear, and he turned and saw the

Woodpecker. “Lie down on the ground. I will protect your head, for I

also am a magician.”

So the Prince lay down, and the little Woodpecker spread out her wings

and hovered over his head. One great hailstone came as if shot from a

gun, then another and another, and then they came in hundreds and

thousands, large as fowls’ eggs, jagged and icy-cold, with a sound like

the roar of many torrents over endless precipices. Such a storm had

never been known in cloudland.

When the Prince returned unhurt and cheerful his enemies were

dumbfounded and more enraged than ever. But they still persevered. They

held a big indaba [11] under a shady tree, attended by their chief men

and all their magicians. A royal hunt was arranged to last for many

days. During their absence from the kraal the Prince was to be killed

by an assegai, as it were by an accident, for none wanted the Princess

to think her husband had been murdered. This time they thought they

could not fail, for they would be sure to have numberless opportunities

in the heat of the chase. But the Woodpecker sat unseen in the boughs

of the tree and heard everything. She was a wise bird and a great

magician, and the instant she understood she flew to the empty hut of

the first wizard of cloudland and there made a charm. She took the fat

of the mamba, the most deadly of all snakes, the fat of the python, who

is the biggest of snakes, and the skin round the lungs of the tiger.

These she mixed together and placed in three little bags of

python-skin, such as could easily be hidden. Then she flew straight to

the Rabbit Prince with the bags in her mouth.

“Take these,” said she, “and wear them always. New dangers threaten

you.”

The Prince obeyed and went gaily to the hunt. He was away for many

days, and every day some Chief attempted his life, but all the assegais

fell back powerless. The charms had rendered him invulnerable.

He returned home safe and sound, but that evening he told the Princess

it was useless to struggle any longer. Her people would never rest till

they had killed him.

The Princess listened in sorrow. Then she said, “You are quite right. I

had hoped they would see in time how clever and brave you are, but it

is no use. We must steal away quickly to earth to-night, and seek our

fortune below. Call the Mouse and the Woodpecker while I make the

ladder ready.”

The Princess drew out the magic feather and held it point downwards

towards the earth. It at once began to grow, and in a few minutes the

point rested close to the Rabbit Prince’s hut. Then the four friends

climbed down and left the land of clouds for ever.

Next morning they held a council. “Something must be done to find men

to serve under us,” said the Prince. “I want a kingdom and cattle for

the Princess; she cannot live in a hut alone.”

“Those three little bags will do all you want,” said the Woodpecker.

“You have only to wish and everything will be given you.”

“Then,” said the Prince, “let me have beautiful huts, strong willing

maids to wait on the Princess, and a wise woman to advise her.”

Straightway there appeared the most perfect huts you can imagine,

filled with everything they could want. Thirty strong cheerful girls

stood before them, and a dear old Queen, who knew everything a wise

woman should, and had the kindest heart in the world.

Then the Rabbit Prince felt his wife would be safe and well cared for,

so he left her under the special protection of the Woodpecker, and he

and the Mouse went forth to seek soldiers and cattle.

Nor did they seek in vain. They soon heard of a mighty King who

possessed warriors and cattle in thousands. By the power of the little

bags the Prince overcame him and took all his warriors and cattle back

to the Princess.

Then he established a great kingdom, and to reward his two friends he

made the Mouse a Prince and the Woodpecker a Princess. He gave the

Mouse soldiers and sent him forth to conquer. I am afraid I have

forgotten the adventures of the Mouse. All I know is that he became a

great Chief, and that to this day both he and his wife are devoted to

the Rabbit Prince.

VI

THE UNNATURAL MOTHER

A SWAZI TALE

Many, many years ago there lived a bride and bridegroom. Now among the

Kafir people a newly-wedded pair always spend their first year with the

bridegroom’s mother, for there are many important ceremonies to be

completed before the bride can be given a home of her own.

So the bride and bridegroom lived in a little hut close to the hut of

the old mother. Every day they all went out to hoe their land, on which

they grew maize, sugar-cane, pumpkins, and calabashes. The calabashes

are good to eat when they are green, and when they are ripe the skin

becomes quite hard, and they make beautiful drinking-vessels. The

mother worked at her patch, and the young people at a separate one of

their own. And every day before they started the young wife made

beautiful food for her husband, and left it in the hut ready for his

return from work, when he would be hungry. There was green

mealie-porridge flavoured with the juice of sugar-cane, young calabash

and spinach, all set out neatly in brown clay pots, and cool native

beer in a big calabash. All was made ready for the evening, when they

would return and her husband would be hungry. But the old mother saw

the beautiful food and longed to have it. So when the young people were

hard at work on their patch she took off her kilt of black ox-skins and

hung it on the handle of her pick. Then she said to the pick, “Pick, go

on working till I return.” This the pick obediently did, and thus

whenever the son looked towards his mother’s patch some one appeared to

be working there.

When all seemed in good order the old mother ran away back to her son’s

hut, entered in and put on his beautiful kilt of jackal and cat-skins,

and all his bead ornaments, which the bride had made for him. She took,

too, his long staff carved at the head, such as no woman uses, and hung

with tails of many animals. In this way she deceived all who passed,

and sat down to her meal, singing a gleeful little song to herself:—

“I am the bridegroom,

I wear the bridegroom’s clothes,

All his beautiful food is for me.”

Then she sat down and ate up everything. When she had finished she went

back to her mealie-patch and hoed busily till it was time to go home.

The bride was dreadfully disappointed when she found all the beautiful

food gone which she had made for her husband, for she was anxious to

show him how clever a cook she was, and so to win the praises of all

his family.

So the next day she tried again, and did yet better. But in the evening

the food had disappeared once more. This happened several days in

succession. So at last the bride and bridegroom consulted together, for

no one knew who the thief was.

“I have a plan,” said the bridegroom. “To-morrow morning you will make

the food as usual, and we will start out together very early and say we

are going to be out all day. Then in an hour or two I will come back

secretly and watch by the hut. In that way I shall be sure to catch the

thief.”

So the next morning the bridegroom returned secretly and sat near his

hut to see what would happen. He could hardly believe his eyes when he

saw his own mother come running back from the field. When he saw her

enter the hut, put on his dress, and begin to eat his food, his horror

was such that he could hardly speak. He rose immediately, went into the

hut, and accused her of being the thief.

“Alas, it is true,” moaned the old mother. “The food was good, and I

was tempted. What can I do to be forgiven?”

“For this crime,” said the son, “you deserve to die, for you have

sinned against nature. But I will not kill you. Only you must go far

away from here and travel into strange countries, and you must never

come back till you have found the water in which there are no frogs, no

fishes, and no animals of any kind. When you have found it, fill this

calabash with it and bring it back to me.”

So the mother took the calabash and set forth on her journey. She

walked for many days over dry and barren country. At last she came to a

beautiful clear pool. She went down to the edge of the water and struck

it with her staff, crying out, “I have been bidden by my son to find

water in which there are no frogs, no fish, and no animals of any

kind.”

Instantly she heard a loud croaking all round the pool, and hundreds of

frogs came out to look at her. So then she knew that this was not the

promised water. She took up her staff and calabash and journeyed on

once more.

And after many more days she came to another pool. This was beautifully

clear, and shone bright blue, like the sky itself. But directly she

came to the edge and struck it with her staff, hundreds of little

silver fishes put their heads out and told her this was not the pool

she was seeking.

Then she was very sad, and thought she would never see home any more.

But she took up her calabash and started again. And after many days of

travel in a dry sandy country she came to a big forest. Here the trees

were very tall, with big glossy green leaves, and underneath were thick

bushes all covered with thorns. But the forest was full of little

paths, which crossed and recrossed one another, and up and down them

passed all kinds of animals. On one side of the forest lay a mountain,

and towards this she journeyed. After a long tramp through the bush she

reached its foot. There at last she saw the most beautiful water. It

fell in a cascade right down the mountain-side, and it glittered like

the moon. Below it formed a pool clear as crystal, and when the old

mother struck it with her staff there was no sound or ripple.

Then she knew she had reached her journey’s end. So she sat down to

rest under a big tree close to the pool, and took snuff. Then she began

to observe the animals who went and came busily by many paths.

Presently they approached and sniffed at her, and at last they said,

“Do you know where you are? This forest and this water belong to a

great King. He allows no one even to set foot in it, and if he finds

you here you will die.”

Then the old mother tried to rise and get away quickly. But she found

she could not do it. While she had been sitting down the limbs of the

tree had grown round her and held her fast. She knew then nothing could

save her, and burst into tears.

In the meantime the animals consulted together as to what could be done

for the old woman. The Lion, their King, was absent in the depths of

the forest, so the Elephant spoke first.

“We must choose wisely,” said he, “for she may help us all. Let the

Giraffe protect her; his neck is so long that he can see through the

trees easily.”

But the Giraffe refused, and suggested that the Tiger was better. He

was so strong and his claws so sharp that no one under his care would

be touched.

“That is quite true at night,” said the Tiger, “but in the day I sit

with my eyes half-closed and see nothing. No! let the Rabbit be sent;

his eyes are large and bright, and no one in all the forest is half so

clever as he.”

The Rabbit consented, and went up to the old mother, saying, “Dear old

mother, why are you crying?”

“I am crying,” she answered, “because I shall never see my home again.

I stole my child’s food, and can never be forgiven till I have found

water in which are no frogs, no fish, and no animals of any kind. Here

I have found the water, but the tree has grown round me and I cannot

move.”

“I will help you,” said the Rabbit. He set to work at once with his

pretty little teeth, and soon he had nibbled through the branches which

grew round her, and she stood upright again. Then he filled her

calabash from the pool and said, “Get out of the forest as fast as ever

you can, before the King sees you, and go straight home. Do not stop to

thank me; your escape will bring us great good fortune.”

The old mother took the water and hastened away. After many days she

reached home, and gave the water to her son. At that very moment the

forest behind her disappeared, and all the animals in it. Instead

appeared a big, big town full of people. All the little paths became

winding streets, and the trees became beautiful round huts, woven with

great skill. The animals became men and women, who lived happily

together in peace and plenty. Many years before a wicked enchanter had

bewitched them, and they had been freed by the old mother who had

carried the water to her son.

As for her, she was forgiven, and awarded every honour in her own home.

VII

THE THREE LITTLE EGGS

A SWAZI TALE

It was very early morning in mid-winter. The sun was just rising over

the great plains in a silver haze which melted into pale gold as the

wide stretches of veld came into view, burnt dry with the summer heats.

The rains had long ago been over. The sun shone every day and all day,

with a pleasant temperate heat in a clear heaven. The whole country

appeared golden, save where the water-courses ran, and a few great

evergreen trees stood up in vivid contrast to the bleached summer

grasses.

By the side of a great fig-tree there was one poor little hut

surrounded by a plaited fence. Close to it was a little patch of

cultivated ground, where a few dried mealie-stalks were still standing.

The air was very cold and raw, and chilled you through and through, but

the sun had barely touched the top of the great tree when a woman came

out hurriedly from the hut and passed through the kraal gate. You could

see she was a married woman by her full kilt of black ox-skins and her

curious peaked headdress. Besides, she carried on her back the dearest

little baby girl, wrapt in a goat-skin and half asleep, and by her side

ran a merry little boy. The mother herself was still young and pretty,

but her face was worn and thin, and if you had looked close you would

have seen that her arms were covered with scars and burns, as if she

had been badly used.

She stood for a few minutes and looked first towards the wide plains.

Then she turned to the other side, where great hills rose up, ruddy and

golden in the early sun. She seemed to hesitate; then she turned to the

mountains, and was soon on a tiny pathway, which led by many windings

to a wooded gorge hundreds of feet above the plains. She did not sing

as she went, and often cast frightened looks behind her. But no one

followed, and after a time, as the hut disappeared from view and the

sun made all things warm and pleasant, she grew less anxious and went

on her way more quietly.

For she was running away from her husband. She had been married now

four years, and every year he had been more unkind. He not only worked

her very hard, and gave her scarcely anything to eat, but also often

beat her, and had even branded her with hot irons till she screamed

with pain. She was good and obedient, and tried hard to please him, but

he only became more and more cruel to her and her children. Two days

before he had gone off to a big dance in a far-away kraal. The poor

woman so dreaded his return that she decided to run away and beg her

living as best she could. She knew there were great Chiefs on the other

side of the mountains, and big cities; she was a good worker, doubtless

they would give her food.

She walked on and on, and the baby girl woke up and began to laugh and

play. They were now following the course of a stream, but only a tiny

trickle of water remained, and the ferns were withered, and the thick

bushes dry and leafless. All at once the mother saw a fluffy white nest

hanging on a long bough.

“How pretty!” said she. “That will be the very thing to amuse baby.”

She went to the bough and detached the soft white nest, while her

little son looked on with much interest. To her great surprise, for it

was yet many months to spring-time, she found it contained three little

eggs.

“Hold it fast,” said she to her little one, “and do not smash the

little eggs on any account.”

Then she journeyed on once more. The sun was sinking fast, and the air

grew colder and colder, for on the hill-tops there is sharp frost every

night. No hut was in sight, though they were now on more level ground,

and the poor mother had no covering but her one goat-skin, and no food.

“Where shall I rest to-night?” said she to herself. “There is nothing

to be seen but the open country.”

Then she heard a tiny voice at her ear, “Take the road to the right; it

will lead you to a safe place.”

She turned and looked, and found it was one of the little eggs in the

fluffy white nest. In very truth she saw there was a tiny pathway to

the right, which she had not noticed before. She took it at once, and

just as the sun disappeared and the white frost began to show, she

found a beautiful hut under the side of a great rock. No one seemed to

live there, but it was warm and cosy, and all ready for her use.

Beautiful karosses [12] of ox-skin and goat-skin hung on the walls;

food was there all ready prepared in little red pots, crushed mealies

and monkey-nuts; and in the calabashes was abundance of delicious thick

milk. [13] The little boy and baby girl cried with delight, and you can

imagine how pleased the poor mother was. The little nest was first

carefully laid aside. Then both mother and children ate a good meal,

for they were very hungry. The little boy fell asleep at once, covered

with the warm skins, but his sister cried and would not lie down

quietly. So her mother tied her on her back once more and sang the

Kafir cradle-song, which is as pretty a thing as you will hear. She

swung gently to and fro, moving her arms as well in time to the low

chant:—

“Tula, mtwana

Binda, mtwana

U nina u fulela

U nina u fulela

Tula, mtwana.”

“Be quiet, my baby;

Be still, my child;

Your mother has gone to get green mealies,

Your sisters are all gone gathering wood,

So be quiet, baby, be still.

Your father has gone a-walking,

He has gone to drink good beer,

Your mother is working with a will,

So be quiet, baby, be still.”

Soon the tiny black head leaned forward, the little round arms relaxed,

and baby girl was fast asleep. The tired mother laid her down, and in a

few moments was dreaming by her children’s side.

The next morning they set forth again, much refreshed; they continued

on the same path, and baby girl carried the little eggs as before.

Towards mid-day they came to a place where two ways met. The mother

stood looking at the two paths for a long while, uncertain which to

take. Then a tiny voice spoke in her ear. It was the second little egg

this time. “Take the road to the left,” said he.

So she turned and followed the left-hand path till she came in sight of

an enormous hut, three times as big as any she had ever seen before.

She went straight up to it and looked in at the door, full of

curiosity. It was like no hut she had ever seen. The calabashes and

pots were all blood-red in colour, and very thin; as the breeze came in

at the door they swayed like bubbles and nearly fell, for they were as

light as air. One big pot was blown right across the room, and as the

poor mother’s eyes followed it she all but screamed aloud. For, on the

other side, lay a huge monster, fast asleep. He was immensely tall and

very stout, his body was covered with tufts of brick-red hair, on his

head were two horns, and his long tail lay curled across his knees. He

was an Inzimu, [14] without any doubt, and if he awoke he would kill

the mother and both her babies and eat them up.

“Whatever shall I do?” cried the mother, as she ran from the door. “My

little ones will both be killed.”

Then the third little egg spoke up. “Do you see that big stone? Carry

it with you, and climb on top of the hut.”

The mother looked around, for many rocks were near. She soon saw a

round white stone, just of a size to drop through the thatched roof of

the hut and kill any one it fell on. But it was far beyond her power to

lift it.

“However can I pick it up?” said the poor woman. “It is so heavy.”

“Do as I bid you,” said the egg.

So she stooped down and tried to lift the stone. To her great surprise

she found it quite light, and took it to the back of the hut. Then she

lifted her babies on to the roof, and climbed up herself afterwards,

with the stone in her hand.

“Now let the stone drop on top of the monster,” said the egg.

The mother was just peering through the thatch to find the exact spot

under which the monster lay, when the door opened and in came a second

ogre, dragging after him several dead bodies.

“Now we shall certainly be seen,” said the mother; “all is over.” But

she kept quiet, and did not move. The second Inzimu began to chop up

one of his victims for the evening meal. Once he stopped, sniffed the

air, and said, “There is something good hidden in this hut, but I can’t

make out where it is.”

He looked all round carefully, but never thought of the roof, and

presently put his supper on to boil, and sat down to watch it. Soon

both Inzimus were fast asleep. The mother then looked at her stone, and

said, “Here are two Inzimus. I cannot kill both. What am I to do next?”

“Come down as quietly as you can,” said all the little eggs at once,

“and run with the babies as fast as possible.”

She slipped quietly down, for the hut was round, and the little boy

helped her with the baby. In a few minutes they were away, trembling in

every limb, but the Inzimus did not wake up, and soon the big hut was

out of sight.

The poor mother breathed again, and hoped that now at last she would

find a kraal and human beings to talk to. The path wound in and out

among bushes. They grew ever thicker and more thorny, great trees began

to appear, and it was soon impossible to walk save in the one

direction. The path gave a sudden turn, and there, under a huge

evergreen tree, was a horrible ogress. She lay right across the path,

fast asleep, for the afternoon sun was warm. No doubt she was on her

way home to the big hut. She was even uglier than the Inzimus, for she

had a hideous snout like a wolf’s, and one little horn just between her

eyes. She snored most terribly, so that the branches of the tree shook.

Then the mother thought her last hour had really come, for she could

not return, and the bush was too thick on either side for her to

escape. But the little eggs did not desert her. Two little voices

sounded together.

“Look on your right: there lies a big axe.”

She looked, and sure enough a great axe lay winking in the sun. It was

so large that it must have belonged to the ogress, but the mother

seized it quickly.

“Now,” said the little eggs again, “take that in your hand, go softly

to the tree and lift your babies into the low branches. When they are

safe, climb up yourself and creep along the great arm which is over the

monster’s head.”

The mother crept softly to the tree and lifted her little son up into

the branches. The trunk was smooth and round like that of a beech at

home, and the branches were many and not far from the ground. So the

little boy was able to hold his baby sister when they were safe among

the leaves; the mother mounted herself and crept forward right over the

monster’s head, the axe in her hand. She nearly fell off with fright,

but the little eggs spoke again.

“Aim the axe at the monster’s head.”

She threw it with all her force and hit the ogress just above her horn;

but she was only stunned, not killed.

“Slip down from the tree,” said the third little egg, “and chop off the

monster’s head quickly before she revives.”

The mother was down in a moment, ran forward with desperate courage,

and in a few minutes she had severed the monster’s head from its body.

When it was done she stood back to recover herself, but could scarcely

believe her eyes as she looked. For out of the monster came men, women,

and children, cattle and goats, one after another, till they filled the

path and had to pass along to open ground. Many hundreds appeared, for

the ogress had eaten every kind of animal and whole families of men in

her wicked life. When all had come there were enough to people a great

kraal. Each one on his arrival turned to thank the poor mother and her

children, and when all were there the leaders came forward to ask her

to be their Queen.

“But I should never have done it without the three little eggs,” said

she, and turned to show them the little white nest. She barely touched

it with her hands when it vanished away, and instead appeared three

handsome Princes. The eldest took her hand and said, “You have freed us

from a wicked enchantress by your courage. Your cruel husband is dead;

he was killed in a quarrel the day you fled from home. Be my wife, and

we will rule over these people for ever.”

So the poor mother and her children found a happy home and much honour.

And all the people shouted for joy because they had now both a King and

a Queen.

VIII

THE SERPENT’S BRIDE

A SHANGANI STORY

PART I

In the great wooded plains which lie between the mountains and the sea

there was once a most wonderful river. It was broad and deep, filling

its banks from side to side; great fig-trees and white-flowering thorns

marked its course; and both winter and summer you could tell it afar

off by the masses of evergreen foliage which followed its many

windings. The land through which it flowed was fertile, and vast herds

of goat and sheep fed on the neighbouring hills, for the grass was

sweet and good.

A powerful tribe had settled in these regions and had built themselves

a big city on the side of a hill which sloped up from the river-banks.

There was abundance of wood and good water, and the city was well

drained and faced the morning sun. Below the great kraal the

mealie-fields extended almost to the river-side. The people had plenty

of cattle, and their King was the richest and most powerful in the

whole country. He was also a great hunter, for in the wide plains big

game abounded, and his lion and tiger skins were wonderful to behold.

Indeed, he had but one trouble. He and his people depended on the river

for their daily supply of water, and every now and then it would

suddenly cease to flow. The whole body of the river would dry up,

sometimes in winter, but quite as often in the height of summer, when

rain fell daily and the great white clouds rose from the horizon every

noon. No one knew why this strange thing should happen; sometimes no

water would appear for many days together, and all the women had to

walk long hours through the forest to get fresh water from a distant

stream.

Only one Princess could always fill her calabash, no matter how dry the

river-bed. She was the most beautiful of all the King’s daughters, tall

and graceful, with a skin like satin and eyes that danced like sun upon

the water. But she never went with her sisters to the river, and no one

knew the source of her supply; they supposed she had found some hidden

pool which never quite dried up, and did not wish to share her secret.

Now the river had flowed steadily for many months; spring had come and

then summer; the cornfields were in full ear, and the great tasselled

mealies stood higher than a man’s head. Every day all the Princesses

went down to the river to fetch water and bathe in the great Red Pool.

Only Timba still went alone, but her sisters had long ceased to notice

her love of solitude.

Then one day a strange thing happened. The morning was cool and fresh

after a heavy thunderstorm, the tall grass was drenched with rain, and

all the maidens from the neighbouring kraals came down to the river

singing and laughing. There were tall, well-grown women, and slender

girls, and even little maids of five and six, each with a calabash on

her head. They walked in single file, for the paths were narrow, and

they shouted gaily to one another across the mealie-fields. Only Timba

was silent and walked last of the line behind her sisters.

At the river-side they all stopped, and cries of dismay broke from

every mouth. The bed of the stream was all but empty, and rocks that

were only visible at the end of winter stood high and dry. A tiny

trickle of water still ran in the great Red Pool, but its banks of

crimson earth were bare, and the waving reeds and bulrushes on the

margin showed their mud-stained roots. In a few hours the little water

still remaining would have disappeared in the heat of the summer sun.

With heavy hearts the girls ascended the course of the stream to see if

clear water still remained, but none could be found. Even the little

water-courses lined with fern, which fed the great river, were dry.

“It is no use,” cried they. “We must take what water we can to-day, and

to-morrow we must seek fresh streams.”

They returned home, their calabashes half full of muddy water, and told

the bad news to the King. Only Timba’s water was clear as crystal, and

her jar was so full that she had placed branches of the white-flowering

thorn round the brim to prevent its spilling over as she walked.

The King was much disturbed to find that the river had failed once

more. He set all his greatest magicians to work, and promised

unheard-of rewards to those who would bring water into the river-bed;

but no incantations were of any avail. Rain-doctors came from far away

and cast their magic spells; but though great storms arose and passed

over the land, the river-bed remained empty, and even the deepest

water-holes dried up. But Timba could still get water from the river,

and every day she went down alone as often as she wished and returned

with her brimming calabash crowned with green leaves, her eyes brighter

than ever and full of mysterious joy.

Then her sisters asked at last: “Where do you get your water from?”

And Timba made answer: “I get it from the great King of the Waters. He

commands the whole river and all the streams which run into it, even

the tiniest creeks. He is angry now, and that is why the river is

empty.”

Her sisters were still puzzled, for none of them had heard of any such

King.

In the meantime winter approached with its unclouded skies. The crops

were gathered in; the nights grew cold, and the air all day was fresh

and crisp. No rain would fall now for many months, and the King and all

his wise men knew that the river must remain empty till the spring.

They were in great trouble, for they did not know how they would keep

their cattle alive during the winter, and they even feared for

themselves.

Judge then of their amazement when they found one morning that the

river was full to overflowing as if in the height of the summer floods.

No rain had fallen in the whole of the country; the people could only

rejoice and wonder. That same day the beautiful Princess came running

up from the river laughing and singing, and called her sisters

together.

“What is it? Tell us the news,” said they, for they saw that something

exciting had happened.

“I am going to be married,” said Timba joyfully.

“But to whom? No suitor has been here for many months.”

“To the great King of the Waters,” said she with pride.

“Who is he?” cried her sisters, “and where does he live? It must be far

from here, for no one else has ever spoken of him.”

But Timba would not tell them. To all their questions she only nodded

her head mysteriously, and said, “I know.”

That evening as the sun went down she slipped out of the kraal and went

to the river-bank. The mealies were long since gathered, and the little

path was beaten down hard and firm as the floor of a hut, for no rain

had fallen this long while. She passed the Red Pool, now full from end

to end, and followed the course of the river for half an hour or more

till she came to a great white thorn-tree surrounded by a tangle of

creepers and flowering shrubs. There she stopped and pushed through the

overhanging branches till she reached the water’s edge. She stood

there, knee-deep among green lily leaves, and looked out on a wide

expanse of water. It was still and dark and very deep, and the current

was barely visible on its smooth surface. The banks enclosing it were

of black earth, and at the water’s edge grew great clumps of arum

lilies forming a thick belt of green. In summer the Black Pool was a

place of wonderful beauty; now there were no lilies, and scarcely a

blossom lingered on the bushes. A tiny crescent moon was sinking in the

west, and the reflection of its silver horns quivered in mid-stream.

As Timba waited and watched a tiny ripple broke towards the bank and

the head of a great serpent arose. He was velvety black, save for two

red circles round his glittering eyes, and his neck rose many feet out

of the water. He swam straight to the Princess, who did not scream and

run away but rose to greet him eagerly.

The serpent coiled himself beside her on the bank, and his eyes shone

with joy.

“Do not let us wait any longer,” said he. “Make all preparations for

our marriage. As mid-winter approaches I will cause the river to rise

twice in full flood. Then you will know I am waiting for you, so lose

no time.”

They sat and talked till the little moon sank down and all the stars

came out. Then the serpent rose up and swam away down stream, his head

held high and his huge length extending far behind it.

This was the King of the Waters, who ruled the whole length of the

great river, and it was he who had courted the Princess night and

morning as she came to fetch water. Timba watched him out of sight;

then she went home.

The next day she and all her companions began to get ready for the

marriage. Some of them wove mats out of the golden-coloured grasses,

fine and soft enough to roll up into a tiny space. There were small

mats to grind corn on, so that no meal should fall on the ground and be

wasted, and there were other little mats to cut up meat on. Then there

were long mats for sleeping on; these were made of bulrushes, and were

to be put away all day and brought out only at night. The girls also

took lengths of thin cloth, bought from far-away traders along the

coast in exchange for ivory and horn, and fringed them with strings of

many-coloured beads. These were cloaks for the bride, and were as

graceful and pretty garments as you could wish to see. Then there were

girdles to be made of coloured beads; and many necklaces and all sorts

of dainty ornaments fashioned with twisted wire. For Timba was a

Princess, and she was going to marry a King.

All this took much time. Timba was at work all day, for in winter the

sun sets early, and for some weeks she never went to the river at all,

nor did she see her strange lover once. But one morning towards the

shortest day a young man came running in from rabbit-hunting in the

hills shouting that the river was in full flood. Timba’s heart leapt,

for this was the first of the promised signs. She worked still harder

and hurried her maidens, for now only a few days could remain before

the appointed time.

At last all was ready, and she went down to walk by the river. The

flood had passed, and only a tiny sluggish stream trickled in the midst

of a wide stony water-course. The Princess walked slowly and looked up

the river to see if there were any signs of the second flood. Suddenly

she heard a whistling call from a clump of bushes.

“Ping! Ping! Ping!”

It was the call of her bridegroom, but he was nowhere to be seen. She

then looked up the river once more and noticed for the first time that

the stream was widening. Every moment it became fuller; great boulders

which a minute ago were high and dry were already half covered, and a

dull roar could be heard far away. The high reaches were already in

flood, and the King of the Waters was waiting for his bride.

Timba ran home and sought out her bridesmaids.

“Come quickly,” said she, “and bring everything we have made, but do

not let any one see us. The great King of the Waters is waiting for me

at the river.”

The bridesmaids ran hither and thither collecting all the pretty things

they had made, while the bride arrayed herself for the marriage. In the

Shangani country no one wears the kilt of black ox-skins. So Timba put

on a kilt of cotton cloth, striped in red and blue, which reached to

her knees, and a beautiful girdle of beads. Then she knotted on her

left shoulder a cloak of dark blue cloth heavily fringed in red and

white. The cloth was very thin and hung in folds about her graceful

form. Then she put the most beautiful bead necklaces about her neck,

and covered her arms with bracelets cunningly woven of shining brass

and copper wire. When all was done it would have been difficult to find

a prettier or more pleasing sight.

Then the girls met again and ran by hidden paths to the river without

speaking a word to any one. There the bridesmaids stopped and called to

one another in astonishment. For the river was in full flood and was

now over half-a-mile wide. Great trunks of trees swept past in wild

disorder, their branches tossing on the yellow waters; now and then a

dead buck floated by, and at every moment huge boulders swept past amid

a deafening roar. The girls hurried on to the Black Pool. There the

great thorn-tree still stood out, but the water had already reached its

lower branches. Overhead the sky was clear and cloudless, and the

parched veld, dotted with grey mimosa and leafless shrub, extended for

endless miles to the transparent horizon.

“Never have I seen such a flood,” said one; “surely the river is

bewitched.”

“There has been no rain these three months,” cried another; “where can

the waters have come from?”

“Go home quickly,” commanded the Princess. “Leave everything here and

say nothing about me at the kraal.”

The bridesmaids were no sooner out of sight than the Serpent King

raised his great flat head out of the water. As the Princess watched

him he grew taller and taller, till at length he stood upon his tail

and towered above her. His head reached to the top of the high trees,

and his body was like a black shining pillar. Then he fixed his bright

eyes upon her and said, “Never be afraid of me, no matter what I do.”

“I will never be afraid of you,” said the Princess.

“Are you quite sure?” said the serpent.

“Quite sure,” answered the Princess.

Then the serpent descended again and coiled himself beside her.

“And now,” said he, “what of the lobola? [15] I must send that to your

father, or our marriage is not complete.”

“There is plenty of room in the great cattle-kraal,” said Timba. “They

will understand when they see the oxen that my marriage-gift is come.”

“Wait here,” said the serpent; “I will return at moonrise.”

That night he sent the cattle, and at daybreak there was great

commotion in the city. The Princess had disappeared and the air was

full of strange bellowings, which came from the cattle-kraal in the

centre of the town. One hundred splendid oxen were discovered there,

finer than any one had ever seen before. No one had seen them enter,

and no herdsman was with them; for many a long day the mystery remained

unsolved.

In the meantime the Princess waited. Darkness fell early, and for a

long while only the stars could be seen in the clear sky. Then the long

line of the eastern plains grew clearer and sharper, and slowly the

wonderful winter moon arose.

At that very moment the King of the Waters raised his head from the

pool and darted towards his bride.

“The lobola is paid,” he cried. “Come, let us go.”

Then Timba rose and the serpent lifted her on his back. She put her

arms round his neck and they started to swim down the river under the

great white moon. They passed the silent kraals and the empty fields,

and then they came to wide silvery plains stretching as far as eye

could see. The river flowed without sound. And all the time the King of

the Waters never spoke nor turned his head.

As the dawn appeared they reached the borders of a forest. For many an

hour they had seen no kraal nor any human being, and here the bush was

so thick that no one could hope to get through it. The great serpent

took his bride to the bank and set her down.

“Now remember,” said he, “never be afraid.”

Then he disappeared without another word. All that day Timba waited

alone. As night approached she expected to see the King once more, but

no sign of him appeared. She shuddered as she heard the cries of the

wild beasts searching for their prey. First, just after sundown, came

the laughing cry of the jackal; then later the mournful howling of

wolves; and as the night went on she heard lions roaring close at hand.

Once she heard a tiger grunting a few paces away, and it was all she

could do not to scream aloud. But nothing hurt her, and at dawn all the

strange sounds ceased. The next day she spent alone, thinking with

terror of the approaching night. You can imagine her relief when, at

moonrise, her bridegroom appeared once more.

He took the Princess again on his back and once more they swam down the

river, the dark forest on either side. They journeyed thus in silence

for many hours. At dawn they were still in the heart of the forest. The

trees were the tallest Timba had ever seen; great festoons of creepers

hung from their boughs, while below was a tangle of ferns and many

strange plants. Then suddenly just as the sun rose they entered a

marvellous place. For the river opened out into a wide, still pool,

surrounded by walls of dazzling white. The banks were of shining white

sand and the cliffs above of glittering mica, and in every nook and

cranny grew the loveliest ferns. There were tree-ferns all along the

water’s edge, with wide shady fronds and trunks like those of an

Eastern palm. There were smaller ferns in endless variety, and at the

very edge of the pool grew the most beautiful maidenhair. A wide belt

of green lily-leaves stretched out from the shore, framing the centre

of the pool, which lay clear and placid as a mirror, reflecting the

dazzling blue of the winter sky. Timba had never seen such a sight

before. She longed to alight and rest among the ferns in the bright

sunshine, but the King swam forward to the centre of the pool. There

one could see far below to the white sanded bottom, for the water was

like crystal.

Here the serpent turned his head. “Follow me,” he said.

He glided under the water, and the Princess followed. When she opened

her eyes she found they were far below in the depths of the water. The

light was dim, and at first she could see nothing but the waving stems

of the water-lilies. Then she found they were standing before a group

of most beautiful huts. The King took her to the largest and bade her

enter. Strange to say, it was quite dry and very comfortable. In it she

found all the pretty things which she had brought with her sisters to

the river-bank, and all was in perfect order. She was very hungry and

wanted to ask for food, but she did not dare say anything. The great

serpent turned away and left her, saying: “I will return in the

evening. Shut the door, but leave a little hole in the side of the hut

for me to creep through. Food will appear whenever you desire it.”

And Timba found a delicious meal prepared in beautiful little pots. She

enjoyed it after her long night’s journey, but it was very dull and

lonely, and there was nothing to do. The day passed, and as night drew

on it became very dark and cold. Timba lit a fire in the hut and shut

the door, but remembered to leave a little opening as she had promised.

Then she lay down to rest, tired and puzzled at her bridegroom’s

strange conduct. She was just about to sleep when she heard a snake’s

scales rustling against the thatch without. For the first time she was

afraid as she heard him come. A moment later his head appeared at the

little hole. His eyes flamed in the light of the dying fire, as he

entered and glided towards her. First he touched her feet, then her

knees, and then passed right over her head, always in absolute silence.

Then he turned round and slipped out once more by the way he had come.

The Princess spent the next day alone, and at night lay down again. But

this time she could not think of sleep, and for hours she lay awake,

tending her fire and watching the dark hole in the wall. At midnight

she heard the rustling against the reeds outside. She began to tremble,

but lay quite still and did not speak. The serpent entered as before,

laid his head on her feet and her knees, and again glided over her and

left the hut without a word.

When he had gone the Princess breathed once more, and composed herself

to sleep; but as the next day advanced towards evening she became more

and more troubled.

“Must I spend the end of my days here?” thought she. “Must I always

live in this cold dark place, away from the sun? I shall soon die and

never see my sisters again, or run with them through the

mealie-fields.”

Then she began to think of her former life, and remembered the many

times she had met her lover among the tall lilies, and all the kindness

he had shown her.

“No,” she said; “I must not despair. He will do me no harm; I must keep

my promise and be brave.”

That night she lay in the hut by her wood fire and watched the hole in

the wall. Hour after hour she listened for the familiar rustling, but

no sound came. She could not sleep; her head ached and she was almost

sick with fear.

She threw her last bundle of sticks on the little fire. It was very

cold; in the world above the dawn must be at hand. The flames leapt up

for the last time, and at that very moment a faint sound could be heard

outside the hut. The King of the Waters was there. He entered, his huge

flat head erect and his eyes flaming. The Princess nearly screamed, but

clenched her hands to keep herself quiet. The serpent touched her feet,

then her knees, and last of all her head.

Timba closed her eyes and lay exhausted. All at once a light breeze

seemed to blow on her face, and she looked up again to see what it

might be. To her amazement she found she was again in the world above.

The door of the hut was open, and before her stretched the enchanted

pool, radiant and dazzling in the early morning sun. She turned to look

for the serpent, but he was gone. In his place stood a magnificent man

in the prime of life. He was very powerful, and so tall that his head

nearly touched the roof. Glossy leopard-skins hung from his broad

shoulders, and round his waist were jackal-skins fringed with tails of

the mountain-cat. On his arms and at his knees were bracelets of white

ox-tails, and in his hand he held a great staff beautifully carved. At

one end a man’s head was represented, and below it were tails of black

and white cat-skin. He was a very great Chief indeed; Timba had never

seen any one so handsome before. Only his eyes seemed familiar; they

were very bright and piercing.

The Princess gazed in wonder. Then the Chief smiled.

“Do not be astonished,” said he. “I am the serpent, the great King of

the Waters. Years ago I was deprived of human form by a wicked

magician. He belonged to a king who hated my father, but was never able

to harm him because he was too powerful. One day this wizard met me

walking alone by this river. By his black arts he turned me into a

serpent. My only kingdom should be in the waters, and I was never to

become a man again till I should find a bride without fear. At last I

met you; now I am a man once more. My father has long been dead and my

name is forgotten, so we must seek men and cattle and make a new

kingdom for ourselves. Take this staff; it will give you the power of a

magician. You have only to hold it firmly in your hand and you will

gain the victory over the most powerful enemy. We will rest here awhile

and then go forth together and make great conquests.”

Thus Timba obtained the reward of her courage, and became renowned and

much beloved. I will tell you in the next story how she and her husband

won their kingdom, and how at last she saw her home once more.

IX

THE SERPENT’S BRIDE