coming directly towards the prostrate form of Antæus. With every step,
he looked less like a blue mountain, and more like an immensely large
man. He was soon so nigh, that there could be no possible mistake about
the matter. There he was, with the sun flaming on his golden helmet,
and flashing from his polished breastplate; he had a sword by his side,
and a lion's skin over his back, and on his right shoulder he carried a
club, which looked bulkier and heavier than the pine-tree walking stick
of Antæus.
By this time, the whole nation of Pygmies had seen the new wonder, and
a million of them set up a shout, all together; so that it really made
quite an audible squeak.
"Get up, Antæus! Bestir yourself, you lazy old Giant! Here comes
another Giant, as strong as you are, to fight with you."
"Nonsense, nonsense!" growled the sleepy Giant. "I'll have my nap out,
come who may."
Still the stranger drew nearer; and now the Pygmies could plainly
discern that, if his stature were less lofty than the Giant's, yet his
shoulders were even broader. And, in truth, what a pair of shoulders
they must have been! As I told you, a long while ago, they once upheld
the sky. The Pygmies, being ten times as vivacious as their great
numskull of a brother, could not abide the Giant's slow movements, and
were determined to have him on his feet. So they kept shouting to him,
and even went so far as to prick him with their swords.
"Get up, get up, get up!" they cried. "Up with you, lazy bones! The
strange Giant's club is bigger than your own, his shoulders are the
broadest, and we think him the stronger of the two."
Antæus could not endure to have it said that any mortal was half so
mighty as himself. This latter remark of the Pygmies pricked him deeper
than their swords, and, sitting up, in rather a sulky humor, he gave
a gape of several yards wide, rubbed his eye, and finally turned his
stupid head in the direction whither his little friends were eagerly
pointing.
No sooner did he set his eye on the stranger, than, leaping on his
feet, and seizing his walking stick, he strode a mile or two to meet
him; all the while brandishing the sturdy pine tree, so that it
whistled through the air.
"Who are you?" thundered the Giant. "And what do you want in my
dominions?"
There was one strange thing about Antæus, of which I have not yet
told you, lest, hearing of so many wonders all in a lump, you might
not believe much more than half of them. You are to know, then, that
whenever this redoubtable Giant touched the ground, either with his
hand, his foot, or any other part of his body, he grew stronger than
ever he had been before. The Earth, you remember, was his mother, and
was very fond of him, as being almost the biggest of her children;
and so she took this method of keeping him always in full vigor. Some
persons affirm that he grew ten times stronger at every touch; others
say that it was only twice as strong. But only think of it! Whenever
Antæus took a walk, supposing it were but ten miles, and that he
stepped a hundred yards at a stride, you may try to cipher out how much
mightier he was, on sitting down again, than when he first started. And
whenever he flung himself on the earth to take a little repose, even
if he got up the very next instant, he would be as strong as exactly
ten just such Giants as his former self. It was well for the world
that Antæus happened to be of a sluggish disposition, and liked ease
better than exercise; for, if he had frisked about like the Pygmies,
and touched the earth as often as they did, he would long ago have been
strong enough to pull down the sky about people's ears. But these great
lubberly fellows resemble mountains, not only in bulk, but in their
disinclination to move.
Any other mortal man, except the very one whom Antæus had now
encountered, would have been half frightened to death by the Giant's
ferocious aspect and terrible voice. But the stranger did not seem
at all disturbed. He carelessly lifted his club, and balanced it in
his hand measuring Antæus with his eye, from head to foot, not as if
wonder-smitten at his stature, but as if he had seen a great many
Giants before, and this was by no means the biggest of them. In fact,
if the Giant had been no bigger than the Pygmies, (who stood pricking
up their ears, and looking and listening to what was going forward,)
the stranger could not have been less afraid of him.
"Who are you, I say?" roared Antæus again. "What's your name? Why do
you come hither? Speak, you vagabond, or I'll try the thickness of your
skull with my walking stick."
"You are a very discourteous Giant," answered the stranger, quietly,
"and I shall probably have to teach you a little civility, before we
part. As for my name, it is Hercules. I have come hither because this
is my most convenient road to the garden of the Hesperides, whither I
am going to get three of the golden apples for King Eurystheus."
"Caitiff, you shall go no farther!" bellowed Antæus, putting on a
grimmer look than before; for he had heard of the mighty Hercules, and
hated him because he was said to be so strong. "Neither shall you go
back whence you came!"
"How will you prevent me," asked Hercules, "from going whither I
please?"
"By hitting you a rap with this pine tree here," shouted Antæus,
scowling so that he made himself the ugliest monster in Africa. "I am
fifty times stronger than you; and, now that I stamp my foot upon the
ground, I am five hundred times stronger! I am ashamed to kill such a
puny little dwarf as you seem to be. I will make a slave of you, and
you shall likewise be the slave of my brethren, here, the Pygmies. So
throw down your club and your other weapons; and as for that lion's
skin, I intend to have a pair of gloves made of it."
"Come and take it off my shoulders, then," answered Hercules, lifting
his club.
Then the Giant, grinning with rage, strode tower-like towards the
stranger, (ten times strengthened at every step,) and fetched a
monstrous blow at him with his pine tree, which Hercules caught
upon his club; and being more skilful than Antæus, he paid him back
such a rap upon the sconce, that down tumbled the great lumbering
man-mountain, flat upon the ground. The poor little Pygmies (who really
never dreamed that anybody in the world was half so strong as their
brother Antæus) were a good deal dismayed at this. But no sooner was
the Giant down, than up he bounced again, with tenfold might, and such
a furious visage as was horrible to behold. He aimed another blow at
Hercules, but struck awry, being blinded with wrath, and only hit his
poor innocent Mother Earth, who groaned and trembled at the stroke. His
pine tree went so deep into the ground, and stuck there so fast, that,
before Antæus could get it out, Hercules brought down his club across
his shoulders with a mighty thwack, which made the Giant roar as if all
sorts of intolerable noises had come screeching and rumbling out of
his immeasurable lungs in that one cry. Away it went, over mountains
and valleys, and, for aught I know, was heard on the other side of the
African deserts.
As for the Pygmies, their capital city was laid in ruins by the
concussion and vibration of the air; and, though there was uproar
enough without their help, they all set up a shriek out of three
millions of little throats, fancying, no doubt, that they swelled the
Giant's bellow by at least ten times as much. Meanwhile, Antæus had
scrambled upon his feet again, and pulled his pine tree out of the
earth; and, all aflame with fury, and more outrageously strong than
ever, he ran at Hercules, and brought down another blow.
"This time, rascal, shouted he, you shall not escape me."
But once more Hercules warded off the stroke with his club, and the
Giant's pine tree was shattered into a thousand splinters, most of
which flew among the Pygmies, and did them more mischief than I like to
think about. Before Antæus could get out of the way, Hercules let drive
again, and gave him another knock-down blow, which sent him heels over
head, but served only to increase his already enormous and insufferable
strength. As for his rage, there is no telling what a fiery furnace it
had now got to be. His one eye was nothing but a circle of red flame.
Having now no weapons but his fists, he doubled them up, (each bigger
than a hogshead,) smote one against the other, and danced up and down
with absolute frenzy, flourishing his immense arms about, as if he
meant not merely to kill Hercules, but to smash the whole world to
pieces.
"Come on!" roared this thundering Giant. "Let me hit you but one box on
the ear, and you'll never have the headache again."
Now Hercules (though strong enough, as you already know, to hold the
sky up) began to be sensible that he should never win the victory, if
he kept on knocking Antæus down; for, by and by, if he hit him such
hard blows, the Giant would inevitably, by the help of his Mother
Earth, become stronger than the mighty Hercules himself. So, throwing
down his club, with which he had fought so many dreadful battles, the
hero stood ready to receive his antagonist with naked arms.
"Step forward," cried he. "Since I've broken your pine tree, we'll try
which is the better man at a wrestling match."
"Aha! then I'll soon satisfy you," shouted the Giant; for, if there
was one thing on which he prided himself more than another, it was his
skill in wrestling. "Villain, I'll fling you where you can never pick
yourself up again."
On came Antæus, hopping and capering with the scorching heat of his
rage, and getting new vigor wherewith to wreak his passion, every time
he hopped. But Hercules, you must understand, was wiser than this
numskull of a Giant, and had thought of a way to fight him,--huge,
earth-born monster that he was,--and to conquer him too, in spite of
all that his Mother Earth could do for him. Watching his opportunity,
as the mad Giant made a rush at him, Hercules caught him round the
middle with both hands, lifted him high into the air, and held him
aloft overhead.
Just imagine it, my dear little friends! What a spectacle it must have
been, to see this monstrous fellow sprawling in the air, face downward,
kicking out his long legs and wriggling his whole vast body, like a
baby when its father holds it at arm's length towards the ceiling.
But the most wonderful thing was, that, as soon as Antæus was fairly
off the earth, he began to lose the vigor which he had gained by
touching it. Hercules very soon perceived that his troublesome enemy
was growing weaker, both because he struggled and kicked with less
violence, and because the thunder of his big voice subsided into a
grumble. The truth was, that, unless the Giant touched Mother Earth as
often as once in five minutes, not only his overgrown strength, but the
very breath of his life, would depart from him. Hercules had guessed
this secret; and it may be well for us all to remember it, in case we
should ever have to fight a battle with a fellow like Antæus. For these
earth-born creatures are only difficult to conquer on their own ground,
but may be managed if we can contrive to lift them into a loftier and
purer region. So it proved with the poor Giant, whom I am really a
little sorry for, notwithstanding his uncivil way of treating strangers
who came to visit him.
When his strength and breath were quite gone, Hercules gave his huge
body a toss, and flung it about a mile off, where it fell heavily,
and lay with no more motion than a sand hill. It was too late for the
Giant's Mother Earth to help him now; and I should not wonder if his
ponderous bones were lying on the same spot to this very day, and were
mistaken for those of an uncommonly large elephant.
But, alas me! What a wailing did the poor little Pygmies set up when
they saw their enormous brother treated in this terrible manner. If
Hercules heard their shrieks, however, he took no notice, and perhaps
fancied them only the shrill, plaintive twittering of small birds
that had been frightened from their nests by the uproar of the battle
between himself and Antæus. Indeed, his thoughts had been so much taken
up with the Giant, that he had never once looked at the Pygmies, nor
even knew that there was such a funny little nation in the world. And
now, as he had travelled a good way, and was also rather weary with his
exertions in the fight, he spread out his lion's skin on the ground,
and reclining himself upon it, fell fast asleep.
As soon as the Pygmies saw Hercules preparing for a nap, they nodded
their little heads at one another, and winked with their little eyes.
And when his deep, regular breathing gave them notice that he was
asleep, they assembled together in an immense crowd, spreading over a
space of about twenty-seven feet square. One of their most eloquent
orators (and a valiant warrior enough, besides, though hardly so
good at any other weapon as he was with his tongue) climbed upon a
toadstool, and, from that elevated position, addressed the multitude.
His sentiments were pretty much as follows; or, at all events,
something like this was probably the upshot of his speech:--
"Tall Pygmies and mighty little men! You and all of us have seen what a
public calamity has been brought to pass, and what an insult has here
been offered to the majesty of our nation. Yonder lies Antæus, our
great friend and brother, slain, within our territory, by a miscreant
who took him at disadvantage, and fought him (if fighting it can be
called) in a way that neither man, nor Giant, nor Pygmy ever dreamed
of fighting, until this hour. And, adding a grievous contumely to the
wrong already done us, the miscreant has now fallen asleep as quietly
as if nothing were to be dreaded from our wrath! It behooves you,
fellow-countrymen, to consider in what aspect we shall stand before the
world, and what will be the verdict of impartial history, should we
suffer these accumulated outrages to go unavenged.
"Antæus was our brother, born of that same beloved parent to whom we
owe the thews and sinews, as well as the courageous hearts, which made
him proud of our relationship. He was our faithful ally, and fell
fighting as much for our national rights and immunities as for his
own personal ones. We and our forefathers have dwelt in friendship
with him, and held affectionate intercourse, as man to man, through
immemorial generations. You remember how often our entire people have
reposed in his great shadow, and how our little ones have played at
hide and seek in the tangles of his hair, and how his mighty footsteps
have familiarly gone to and fro among us, and never trodden upon any
of our toes. And there lies this dear brother--this sweet and amiable
friend--this brave and faithful ally--this virtuous Giant--this
blameless and excellent Antæus--dead! Dead. Silent! Powerless! A mere
mountain of clay! Forgive my tears! Nay, I behold your own. Were we to
drown the world with them, could the world blame us?
"But to resume: Shall we, my countrymen, suffer this wicked stranger to
depart unharmed, and triumph in his treacherous victory, among distant
communities of the earth? Shall we not rather compel him to leave his
bones here on our soil, by the side of our slain brother's bones? So
that, while one skeleton shall remain as the everlasting monument of
our sorrow, the other shall endure as long, exhibiting to the whole
human race a terrible example of Pygmy vengeance! Such is the question.
I put it to you in full confidence of a response that shall be worthy
of our national character, and calculated to increase, rather than
diminish, the glory which our ancestors have transmitted to us, and
which we ourselves have proudly vindicated in our warfare with the
cranes."
The orator was here interrupted by a burst of irrepressible enthusiasm;
every individual Pygmy crying out that the national honor must be
preserved at all hazards. He bowed, and making a gesture for silence,
wound up his harangue in the following admirable manner:--
"It only remains for us, then, to decide whether we shall carry on
the war in our national capacity,--one united people against a common
enemy,--or whether some champion, famous in former fights, shall be
selected to defy the slayer of our brother Antæus to single combat. In
the latter case, though not unconscious that there may be taller men
among you, I hereby offer myself for that enviable duty. And, believe
me, dear countrymen, whether I live or die, the honor of this great
country, and the fame bequeathed us by our heroic progenitors, shall
suffer no diminution in my hands. Never, while I can wield this sword,
of which I now fling away the scabbard--never, never, never, even if
the crimson hand that slew the great Antæus shall lay me prostrate,
like him, on the soil which I give my life to defend."
So saying, this valiant Pygmy drew out his weapon, (which was terrible
to behold, being as long as the blade of a penknife,) and sent the
scabbard whirling over the heads of the multitude. His speech was
followed by an uproar of applause, as its patriotism and self-devotion
unquestionably deserved; and the shouts and clapping of hands would
have been greatly prolonged, had they not been rendered quite inaudible
by a deep respiration, vulgarly called a snore, from the sleeping
Hercules.
It was finally decided that the whole nation of Pygmies should set
to work to destroy Hercules; not, be it understood, from any doubt
that a single champion would be capable of putting him to the sword,
but because he was a public enemy, and all were desirous of sharing
in the glory of his defeat. There was a debate whether the national
honor did not demand that a herald should be sent with a trumpet,
to stand over the ear of Hercules, and, after blowing a blast right
into it, to defy him to the combat by formal proclamation. But two or
three venerable and sagacious Pygmies, well versed in state affairs,
gave it as their opinion that war already existed, and that it was
their rightful privilege to take the enemy by surprise. Moreover if
awakened, and allowed to get upon his feet, Hercules might happen to
do them a mischief before he could be beaten down again. For, as these
sage counsellers remarked, the stranger's club was really very big,
and had rattled like a thunderbolt against the skull of Antæus. So the
Pygmies resolved to set aside all foolish punctilios, and assail their
antagonist at once.
Accordingly, all the fighting men of the nation took their weapons, and
went boldly up to Hercules, who still lay fast asleep, little dreaming
of the harm which the Pygmies meant to do him. A body of twenty
thousand archers marched in front, with their little bows all ready,
and the arrows on the string. The same number were ordered to clamber
upon Hercules, some with spades, to dig his eyes out, and others with
bundles of hay, and all manner of rubbish, with which they intended to
plug up his mouth and nostrils, so that he might perish for lack of
breath. These last, however, could by no means perform their appointed
duty; inasmuch as the enemy's breath rushed out of his nose in an
obstreperous hurricane and whirlwind, which blew the Pygmies away as
fast as they came nigh. It was found necessary, therefore, to hit upon
some other method of carrying on the war.
After holding a council, the captains ordered their troops to collect
sticks, straws, dry weeds, and whatever combustible stuff they could
find and make a pile of it, heaping it high around the head of
Hercules. As a great many thousand Pygmies were employed in this task,
they soon brought together several bushels of inflammatory matter,
and raised so tall a heap, that, mounting on its summit, they were
quite upon a level with the sleeper's face. The archers, meanwhile,
were stationed within bow shot, with orders to let fly at Hercules the
instant that he stirred. Everything being in readiness, a torch was
applied to the pile, which immediately burst into flames, and soon
waxed hot enough to roast the enemy, had he but chosen to lie still.
A Pygmy, you know, though so very small, might set the world on fire,
just as easily as a Giant could; so that this was certainly the very
best way of dealing with their foe, provided they could have kept him
quiet while the conflagration was going forward.
But no sooner did Hercules begin to be scorched, than up he started,
with his hair in a red blaze.
"What's all this?" he cried, bewildered with sleep, and staring about
him as if he expected to see another Giant.
At that moment the twenty thousand archers twanged their bowstrings,
and the arrows came whizzing, like so many winged mosquitoes, right
into the face of Hercules. But I doubt whether more than half a dozen
of them punctured the skin, which was remarkably tough, as you know the
skin of a hero has good need to be.
"Villain!" shouted all the Pygmies at once. "You have killed the Giant
Antæus, our great brother, and the ally of our nation. We declare
bloody war against you, and will slay you on the spot."
Surprised at the shrill piping of so many little voices, Hercules,
after putting out the conflagration of his hair, gazed all round about,
but could see nothing. At last, however, looking narrowly on the
ground, he espied the innumerable assemblage of Pygmies at his feet.
He stooped down, and taking up the nearest one between his thumb and
finger, set him on the palm of his left hand, and held him at a proper
distance for examination. It chanced to be the very identical Pygmy who
had spoken from the top of the toadstool, and had offered himself as a
champion to meet Hercules in single combat.
"What in the world, my little fellow," ejaculated Hercules, "may you
be?"
"I am your enemy," answered the valiant Pygmy, in his mightiest squeak.
"You have slain the enormous Antæus, our brother by the mother's side,
and for ages the faithful ally of our illustrious nation. We are
determined to put you to death; and for my own part, I challenge you to
instant battle, on equal ground."
Hercules was so tickled with the Pygmy's big words and warlike
gestures, that he burst into a great explosion of laughter, and almost
dropped the poor little mite of a creature off the palm of his hand,
through the ecstasy and convulsion of his merriment.
"Upon my word," cried he, "I thought I had seen wonders before
to-day--hydras with nine heads, stags with golden horns, six-legged
men, three-headed dogs, giants with furnaces in their stomachs, and
nobody knows what besides. But here, on the palm of my hand, stands a
wonder that outdoes them all! Your body, my little friend, is about the
size of an ordinary man's finger. Pray, how big may your soul be?"
"As big as your own!" said the Pygmy.
Hercules was touched with the little man's dauntless courage, and could
not help acknowledging such a brotherhood with him as one hero feels
for another.
"My good little people," said he, making a low obeisance to the grand
nation, "not for all the world would I do an intentional injury to such
brave fellows as you! Your hearts seem to me so exceedingly great,
that, upon my honor, I marvel how your small bodies can contain them. I
sue for peace, and, as a condition of it, will take five strides, and
be out of your kingdom at the sixth. Good-by. I shall pick my steps
carefully, for fear of treading upon some fifty of you, without knowing
it. Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho! For once, Hercules acknowledges himself
vanquished."
Some writers say, that Hercules gathered up the whole race of Pygmies
in his lion's skin, and carried them home to Greece, for the children
of King Eurystheus to play with. But this is a mistake. He left them,
one and all, within their own territory, where, for aught I can
tell, their descendants are alive to the present day, building their
little houses, cultivating their little fields, spanking their little
children, waging their little warfare with the cranes, doing their
little business, whatever it may be, and reading their little histories
of ancient times. In those histories, perhaps, it stands recorded,
that, a great many centuries ago, the valiant Pygmies avenged the death
of the Giant Antæus by scaring away the mighty Hercules.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE DRAGON'S TEETH