At a camp on the Upper Congo, in 1877, Chakanja drew near our fire as
story-telling was about to begin, and was immediately beset with eager
demands for a tale from him. Like a singer who always professes to have
a cold before he indulges his friends with a song, Chakanja needed more
than a few entreaties; but finally, after vowing that he never could
remember anything, he consented to gratify us with the legend of the
Elephant and the Lion.
"Well," he answered, with a deep sigh, "if I must, I must. You must
know we Waganda are fond of three things--To have a nice wife, a
pleasant farm, and to hear good news, or a lively story. I have heard a
great many stories in my life, but unlike Kadu, my mind remembers them
not. Men's heads are not the same, any more than men's hearts are
alike. But I take it that a poor tale is better than none. It comes
back to me like a dream, this tale of the Elephant and the Lion. I
heard it first when on a visit to Gabunga's; but who can tell it like
him? If you think the tale is not well told, it is my fault; but then,
do not blame me too much, or I shall think I ought to blame you
to-morrow when it will be your turn to amuse the party."
Now open your ears! A huge and sour-tempered elephant went and wandered
in the forest. His inside was slack for want of juicy roots and
succulent reeds, but his head was as full of dark thoughts as a gadfly
is full of blood. As he looked this way and that, he observed a young
lion asleep at the foot of a tree. He regarded him for awhile, then, as
he was in a wicked mood, it came to him that he might as well kill the
lion, and he accordingly rushed forward and impaled him with his tusks.
He then lifted the body with his trunk, swung it about, and dashed it
against the tree, and afterwards kneeled on it until it became as
shapeless as a crushed banana pulp. He then laughed and said, "Ha! ha!
This is a proof that I am strong. I have killed a lion, and people will
say proud things of me, and will wonder at my strength."
Presently a brother elephant came up and greeted him.
"See," said the first elephant, "what I have done. It was I that killed
him. I lifted him on high, and lo, he lies like a rotten banana. Do
you not think that I am very strong? Come, be frank now, and give me
some credit for what I have done."
Elephant Number 2 replied, "It is true that you are strong, but that was
only a young lion. There are others of his kind, and I have seen them,
who would give you considerable trouble."
"Ho, ho!" laughed the first elephant, "Get out, stupid. You may bring
his whole tribe here, and I will show you what I can do. Ay! and to
your dam to boot."
"What? My own mother, too?"
"Yes. Go and fetch her if you like."
"Well, well," said Number 2, "you are far gone, there is no doubt. Fare
you well."
Number 2 proceeded on his wanderings, resolved in his own mind that if
he had an opportunity he would send some one to test the boaster's
strength. No. I called out to him as he moved off--
"Away you go. Good-by to you."
In a little while Number 2 Elephant met a lion and lioness, full-grown,
and splendid creatures, who turned out to be the parents of the
youngster which had been slain. After a sociable chat with them, he
said:
"If you go further on along the path I came you will meet a kind of game
which requires killing badly. He has just mangled your cub."
Meantime Elephant Number 1, after chuckling to himself very conceitedly,
proceeded to the pool near by to bathe and cool himself. At every step
he went you could hear his "Ha, ha, ha! loh! I have killed a lion!"
While he was in the pool, spurting the water in a shower over his back,
he suddenly looked up, and at the water's edge beheld a lion and lioness
who were regarding him sternly.
"Well! What do you want?" he asked. "Why are you standing there
looking at me in that way?"
"Are you the rogue who killed our child?" they asked.
"Perhaps I am," he answered. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because we are in search of him. If it be you that did it, you will
have to do the same to us before you leave this ground."
"Ho! ho!" laughed the elephant loudly. "Well, hark. It was I who
killed your cub. Come now, it was I. Do you hear? And if you do not
leave here mighty quick, I shall have to serve you both in the same way
as I served him."
The lions roared aloud in their fury, and switched their tails
violently.
"Ho, ho!" laughed the elephant gaily. "This is grand. There is no
doubt I shall run soon, they make me so skeery," and he danced round the
pool and jeered at them, then drank a great quantity of water and blew
it in a shower over them.
The lions stirred not, but kept steadfastly gazing at him, planning how
to make their attack.
Perceiving that they were obstinate, he threw another stream of water
over the lions and then backed into the deepest part of the pool, until
there was nothing seen of him but the tip of his trunk. When he rose
again the lions were still watching him, and had not moved.
"Ho, ho!" he trumpeted, "still there! Wait a little, I am coming to
you." He advanced towards the shore, but when he was close enough the
lion sire sprang into the air, and alighted on the elephant's back, and
furiously tore at the muscles of the neck, and bit deep into the
shoulder. The elephant retreated quickly into the deepest part of the
pool, and submerged himself and his enemy, until the lion was compelled
to abandon his back and begin to swim ashore. No sooner had the
elephant felt himself relieved, than he rose to the surface, and hastily
followed and seized the lion with his trunk. Despite his struggles he
was pressed beneath the surface, dragged under his knees, and trodden
into the mud, and in a short time the lion sire was dead.
The elephant laughed triumphantly, and cried, "Ho, ho! am I not strong,
Ma Lion? Did you ever see the likes of me before? Two of you! Young
Lion and Pa Lion are now killed! Come, Ma Lion, had you not better try
now, just to see if you won't have better luck? Come on, old woman,
just once."
The lioness fiercely answered, while she retreated from the pool, "Rest
where you are. I am going to find my brother, and will be back
shortly."
The elephant trumpeted his scorn of her and her kind, and seizing the
carcase of her lord, flung it on shore after her, and declared his
readiness to abide where he was, that he might make mash of all the lion
family.
In a short time the lioness had found her brother, who was a mighty
fellow, and full of fight. As they advanced near the pool together,
they consulted as to the best means of getting at the elephant. Then
the lioness sprang forward to the edge of the pool. The elephant
retreated a short distance into deeper water. The lioness upon this
crept along the pool, and pretended to lap the water. The elephant
moved towards her. The lion waited his chance, and finally, with a
great roar, sprang upon his shoulders, and commenced tearing away at the
very place which had been torn by lion sire.
The elephant backed quickly into deep water as he had done before, and
submerged himself, but the lion maintained his hold and bit deeper. The
elephant then sank down until there was nothing to be seen but the tip
of his trunk, upon which the lion, to avoid suffocation, relaxed his
hold and swam vigorously towards shore. The elephant rose up, and as
the lion was stepping on shore, seized him, and drove one of his tusks
through his adversary's body; but as he was in the act, the lioness
sprang upon the elephant's neck, and bit and tore so furiously that he
fell dead, and with his fall crushed the dying lion.
Soon after the close of the terrible combat, Elephant Number 2 came up,
and discovered the lioness licking her chops and paws, and said--
"Hello, it seems there has been quite a quarrel here lately. Three
lions are dead, and here lies one of my own kind, stiffening."
"Yes," replied lioness, gloomily, "the rogue elephant killed my cub
while the little fellow was asleep in the woods. He then killed my
husband and brother, and I killed him; but I do not think the elephant
has gained much by fighting with us. I did not have much trouble in
killing him. Should you meet any friends of his, you may warn them to
leave the lioness alone, or she may be tempted to make short work of
them."
Elephant Number 2, though a patient person generally, was annoyed at
this, and gave her a sudden kick with one of his hind feet, which sent
her sprawling a good distance off, and asked--
"How do you like that, Ma Lion?"
"What do you mean by that?" demanded the enraged lioness.
"Oh, because I hate to hear so much bragging."
"Do you also wish to fight?" she asked.
"We should never talk about doing an impossible thing, Ma Lion," he
answered. "I have travelled many years through these woods, and I have
never fought yet. I find that when a person minds his own business he
seldom comes to trouble, and when I meet one who is even stronger than
myself I greet him pleasantly, and pass on, and I should advise you to
do the same, Ma Lion."
"You are saucy, Elephant. It would be well for you to think upon your
stupid brother there, who lies so stark under your nose, before you
trouble with your insolence one who slew him."
"Well, words never yet made a plantation; it is the handling of a hoe
that makes fields. See here, Ma Lion, if I talked to you all day I
could not make you wise. I will just turn my back to you. If you will
bite me, you will soon learn how weak you are."
The lioness, angered still more by the elephant's contempt, sprang at
his shoulders, and clung to him, upon which he rushed at a stout tree,
and pressing his shoulders against it, crushed the breath out of her
body, and she ceased her struggles. When he relaxed his pressure, the
body fell to the ground, and he knelt upon it, and kneaded it until
every bone was broken.
While the elephant was meditatively standing over the body, and thinking
what misfortunes happen to boasters, a man came along, carrying a spear,
and seeing that the elephant was unaware of his presence, he thought
what great luck had happened to him.
Said he, "Ah, what fine tusks he has. I shall be rich with them, and
shall buy slaves and cattle, and with these I will get a wife and a
farm," saying which he advanced silently, and when he was near enough,
darted his spear into a place behind the shoulder.
The elephant turned around quickly, and on beholding his enemy rushed
after and overtook him, and mauled him, until in a few moments he was a
mangled corpse.
Soon after a woman approached, and seeing four lions, one elephant, and
her husband dead, she raised up her hands wonderingly and cried, "How
did all this happen?" The elephant, hearing her voice, came from behind
a tree, with a spear quivering in his side, and bleeding profusely. At
the sight of him the woman turned round to fly, but the elephant cried
out to her, "Nay, run not, woman, for I can do you no harm. The happy
days in the woods are ended for all the tribes. The memory of this
scene will never be forgotten. Animals will be henceforth at constant
war one with another. Lions will no more greet elephants, the buffaloes
will be shy, the rhinoceroses will live apart, and man when he comes
within the shadows will think of nothing else than his terrors, and he
will fancy an enemy in every shadow. I am sorely wounded, for thy man
stole up to my side and drove his spear into me, and soon I shall die."
When she had heard these words the woman hastened home, and all the
villagers, old and young, hurried into the woods, by the pool, where
they found four lions, two elephants, and one of their own tribe lying
still and lifeless.
The words of the elephant have turned out to be true, for no man goes
now-a-days into the silent and deserted woods but he feels as though
something were haunting them, and thinks of goblinry, and starts at
every sound. Out of the shadows which shift with the sun, forms seem
crawling and phantoms appear to glide, and we are in a fever almost from
the horrible illusions of fancy. We breathe quickly and fear to speak,
for the smallest vibration in the silence would jar on our nerves. I
speak the truth, for when I am in the woods near the night, there swims
before my eyes a multitude of terrible things which I never see by the
light of day. The flash of a fire-fly is a ghost, the chant of a frog
becomes a frightful roar, the sudden piping of a bird signalises murder,
and I run. No, no; no woods for me when alone.
And Chakanja rose to his feet and went to his own quarters, solemnly
shaking his head. But we all smiled at Chakanja, and thought how
terribly frightened he would be if any one suddenly rose from behind a
dark bush and cried "Boo!" to him.