WE CONTINUE OUR WANDERINGS.--JOINED BY ETIA.--WE STARVE.--GAMBO
AND ETIA GO IN SEARCH OF BERRIES.--A HERD OF ELEPHANTS.--THE
ROGUE ELEPHANT CHARGES ME.--HE IS KILLED.--HE TUMBLES DOWN NEAR
ME.--STORY OF REDJIOUA.
Now we have left the land-crabs and the spiders, let us continue our
wanderings in the jungle. I am ransacking the forest to discover and
understand all that is in it. We had a lot of fun at that time. I was in
good health and spirits. I was perhaps a little reckless, and did not
seem to care for any thing. When there was danger in an undertaking, I
frequently did not think enough about it, but rather took delight in it,
scorpions, centipedes, and venomous serpents being the exception, for I
rather objected to them, and did not fancy meeting them in my hunt, or
under my bed, nor, indeed, any where else. Whenever I could, I killed
them without mercy.
I delighted to sleep under the trees, in the midst of the thickest part
of the forest, and where savage beasts were plentiful. In that case I
always kept a sharp look-out, and saw that our fires were kept blazing.
Friend Etia had come to meet us, and was going to join us in the woods
for a few days, and we were all glad to see him. One day, while we were
hunting, we came to a spot where large quantities of fern were growing
under the tall trees, and we saw that in the morning a large herd of
elephants had been there, for their heavy footprints were strongly
marked on the ground. Immediately there was great rejoicing, for we knew
that the elephants could not be far off.
How eager were the faces of Malaouen, Querlaouen, and Gambo. They looked
at their guns as if to say, "I hope you will help me to kill an
elephant." The guns I gave them were their great pets.
Gambo and Etia had gone away through the jungle, and were to remain two
days collecting berries and nuts, and then they were to come back to us.
We were in a sorry plight--we were starving. We could not wait for them,
for fear that, while waiting, the elephants would move off. What a pity!
each of us might bag an elephant. By the way, should I say bag? When I
was a boy I used to bag squirrel; that is to say, put them in my bag.
It was about three o'clock when we came upon the tracks of the
elephants. What a number of them must be together! "There must be at
least twenty," whispered Malaouen. "There must be at least thirty," said
Querlaouen. Malaouen insisted there were only twenty. Then I had my say,
and I said I thought there were about twenty-five. We tracked them till
five o'clock, and then concluded that we had better have our camp built
where we were, rather than go too near to them.
Being the dry season, we were not afraid of rain or tornadoes, so we
chose a place to lie down, under a gigantic tree, as there we would only
require a fire in front of us, our backs being protected by the tree,
and the leopards would have less chance at us, and we would not have to
build so many fires.
In the evening we furbished our guns, chose the steel-pointed bullets we
used for elephants, and then went to sleep on the dry ground.
During the night we were awakened by a tremendous crashing of trees all
round us, and we saw elephants bounding in the forest like wild bulls,
tearing every thing before them, and then disappearing through the
darkness. They seemed perfectly mad.
Malaouen shouted, "Chaillie! the bashikouays are coming; let us make a
big fire." He had hardly said this when I heard the tremendous roar of a
male gorilla, then the piercing shrieks of his female, followed by the
cries of a young gorilla.
We immediately scattered the fire-wood we had lighted. It was high time,
for the bashikouay were coming. The insects began flying over our heads.
Happily, we were in the midst of a fortress of fire.
In less than half an hour they had gone on their march, and the forest
became as silent as the night itself.
We had had a narrow escape. If it had not been for the timely warning of
the elephants, we should have been obliged to clear out double-quick
through that jungle in the middle of the night. It would have been no
joke.
"The bashikouay have driven away every thing before them. What will
become of our elephants?" I said. "They may have gone a great distance,
and it may take us five days to overtake them. I wish the bashikouay had
gone somewhere else."
We went to sleep again, and when we awoke it was broad daylight. The
birds were singing, and the sun's rays peeped through the dark foliage.
I was really annoyed, for I was sure the elephants had gone a long way
off. We could not pursue them, I thought, for it would take so much time
that Etia and Gambo might return and not find us. Then Malaouen said
that the elephants had probably gone back among the ferns, and we had
better try to find them there. He was not mistaken, for when we went
back there we saw at once that their footsteps were in that direction.
We traveled slowly in the dense jungle, now and then frightening a
guinea-fowl. At other times we would see a snake running away before us,
or we would meet a strange insect or a queer butterfly. Malaouen, who
this time walked ahead of me, suddenly turned round and made me a sign
to stop, and then he came near me, his feet appearing not to touch the
ground; I could not hear them. He whispered to me the word _njogoo_
(elephant). I started, I looked round, I could not see any, and I could
not understand how Malaouen could have seen them. His quick ear had
heard the sound of the footsteps of one. We advanced carefully. At last
I saw the elephants lying quietly on the ground. I counted twenty of the
huge beasts, and among them I recognized a tremendous bull elephant.
What a sight it was! On a sudden the elephants got up, and they all
retreated slowly through the forest, with the exception of the old bull,
who stood still. I think I still see him, with his long ears, his big
tusks, his thick, wrinkled black skin, covered with scattered and short
hair. Malaouen and I lay flat on the ground, as flat as we possibly
could. It was no child's play. We were to have a little business to
transact with the bull, the fighting one of the herd. If we missed him
he would charge us, and, what made it worse, we could not get a good
shot at the huge and leviathan-like creature. Presently Malaouen
crawled forward; I lay still. How he could crawl without making a noise
I could not tell, but he did it, till at last he almost came under the
elephant's body. The elephant was looking toward me, and Malaouen had
succeeded in approaching from behind. I was thinking that if Malaouen
did not kill the elephant where he stood, I would run the risk of being
charged by him and trampled to death, unless I shot the beast dead upon
the spot. I felt like shouting to Malaouen to be careful, and not to
miss his shot at the elephant. When his gun rose, it rose slowly but
surely; then I heard a tremendous detonation, and down the elephant came
in my direction, close upon me. I fired, and the monster fell just in
front of where I was lying. Three or four yards more, and he would have
tumbled down upon me, and probably made a pancake of your friend.
Querlaouen came rushing to the rescue, but the great beast lay without
motion. Querlaouen had killed him. I had shot the elephant right between
the two eyes, which is not a good spot, while Querlaouen's bullet had
gone right into his body through the lower part of the belly.
We looked like ants by the side of that huge creature. We cut his tail
off, and then returned to our old camp, which was not far distant, where
we were to meet Etia and Gambo.
In the afternoon they came in, and when we showed them the elephant's
tail they looked at us with amazement, as if they did not believe their
own eyes. Then they shouted, "You are men! you are men!" They were
loaded with wild nuts, and thus we were to have plenty of food!
[Illustration: DEATH OF THE BULL ELEPHANT.]
In despite of my best endeavors to prevent it, there must be some
heathen ceremonies to celebrate our victory over the elephant.
The hind quarters were cut off, and, with a piece of the flesh, were set
apart and carried into the forest for the spirit Alombo to feed upon.
Then my men muttered some words that I could not understand, but I did
not care, for we were very much like the man who, when traveling in
India, received an elephant as a present, and did not know what to do
with it.
The next day, after taking as much elephant meat as we could, we moved
away, for the flies were coming pretty thick; and besides, the
bashikouay might return again, and the smell would not be of the
pleasantest after a couple of days' sojourn by the body of the dead
elephant.
So we started for another part of the forest, and built our camp several
miles farther to the north of the place where we had been. Of course we
chose a spot where there was a beautiful little stream, so that we had
plenty of good water to drink. The next morning we were to go hunting,
and we were glad to be all together again, it was so nice. We busied
ourselves smoking our elephant meat, so that we might be sure of having
food for a good many days, though we should not find any berries.
We furbished our guns, and had a real nice day in getting ready for some
grand hunting. Nothing during the night disturbed us, and the next
morning we all felt strong and refreshed. Querlaouen and I went hunting
together, while Malaouen and Gambo went off in another direction.
We were really lost in that great jungle, and yet we appeared to think
that the forest belonged to us. We were to come back toward sundown; no
one was to camp out by himself. That was the law I made that day. The
country was hilly, and under the tall trees the ground was covered with
a dense jungle. That day nothing was seen, and toward night we were glad
to rest our weary limbs by the huge pile of blazing fire, and then we
went to sleep, hoping to be more fortunate the next time. Our supper was
composed of a few wild berries, but chiefly of elephant meat, my men
enjoying the elephant marvelously. After our supper, and before we went
to sleep, Querlaouen got up and said, "Now I am going to tell you a
story."
REDJIOUA, A KING.--AKENDA MBANI.
"Long ago, long before our fathers lived, in a far country there lived a
king called Redjioua. That king had a daughter called Arondo. Arondo
(sweetheart) was beautiful--more beautiful than all the girls of the
country. Redjioua said to the people, 'Though a man would ask my
daughter in marriage, and present me with a great many slaves, goats,
and tusks of ivory, so that he might "soften" my heart to have her, he
can not have her. I want only a man that shall agree that, when Arondo
will be ill, he must be ill also; that when Arondo dies, he must die
also the same day.'
"Years passed by; no one came to ask Arondo in marriage, for all were
afraid of the law the king had made, no one being willing to die when
she died."
I questioned Querlaouen, "Did Arondo ever marry?"
"Wait a little while and you will hear," said friend Querlaouen, as
gently as he could.
"There was a man in that country called Akenda Mbani (never goes twice
to the same place)." Many names among the tribes of Equatorial Africa
have a meaning, and remember that Akenda Mbani's means "Never goes twice
to the same place."
"Akenda Mbani came to the king and said to him, 'I come to marry Arondo,
your daughter, the one you have (_tena coni_) made a law concerning; so
I have brought no ivory, or slaves, or goats. I come without the things,
for I agree to die when Arondo dies.'
"So Redjioua gave his beautiful daughter, the pride of his heart, the
loveliest woman of his dominion, to Akenda Mbani.
"Akenda Mbani was a great hunter, but, as his name implied, he never
went twice to the same place in the forest to hunt. But his name did not
prevent his moving about his own village.
"After he had married Arondo, he went hunting, and one day he killed two
wild boars, after which exploit he returned to the village of his
father-in-law, carrying one of the boars on his back. He went to
Redjioua and said, 'Father, I have killed two wild boars; I bring you
one.' The king said, 'Thank you, my son; go and fetch the other.' Then
Akenda Mbani replied, 'When I was born, my father, in giving me my name
of Akenda Mbani, gave me a coni (a law) never to go twice to the same
place.' So the other wild boar was lost, as no one could tell where it
was to be found in the forest.
"Then he went hunting again, and killed two antelopes. Of course Akenda
Mbani said he could not go and fetch the other."
Then Gambo interrupted the story by saying, "The king knew very well
that Akenda Mbani could not go twice to the same spot; why did he ask
him to go?"
"I can not say why," said Querlaouen; "I tell you the story as it has
come to us from our forefathers."
"Shortly afterward Akenda Mbani killed two beautiful _bongos_, and
brought one back. Then the people came and asked him to show them the
way, so they might fetch the other. But Akenda Mbani said, 'You know
that if we do not keep the coni our father gave us, we are sure to die.
I do not wish to die for a bongo, so I can not go.' He thus went
shooting month after month, but would never go back to the same spot.
"One fine evening, as Akenda Mbani was seated in front of his house, the
people came to him and said, 'A people called Oroungous have come; they
have come to trade, and also to buy ten slaves.'
"Akenda Mbani turned to his wife and said, 'Let us go and meet the
Oroungous, who are still in their canoe on the river-bank, and who have
come to be my guests.'
"Then they went and met the Oroungous. Akenda Mbani took a chest of
goods, and put the chest on the head of his wife, and he himself took a
sword, and they returned to their home, leaving the Oroungous on the
beach.
"A moon (month) passed away since the Oroungous had left, and the chest
which the Oroungous had brought, and which Arondo carried to her house,
had not been opened. One evening Arondo said to her husband, 'Let us go
and see what is in the chest.' So they went and took the cover off, and
inside they discovered the most beautiful things, that had come from the
white man's country. The chest was quite full of beautiful cloths.
Arondo desired her husband to take two fathoms of one beautiful cloth,
as she liked it. So Akenda Mbani cut off two fathoms. The chest was then
closed again, and they left the place.
"Then Akenda Mbani seated himself on an _ebongo_ (stool), and Arondo on
the _acoco_ (bed), and she began to sew. She had only pierced the cloth
four times with her needle when she exclaimed, 'Husband! husband! I
begin to have a headache!' Akenda Mbani replied,'Take care, take care.
Do not be sick if you do not wish me to die;' and he looked her steadily
in the face. Arondo called again, 'Akenda Mbani! Akenda Mbani! my
husband, do tie a string round my head, for I have a great deal of
pain.' Then Arondo tied a string round her husband's head also, though
he had no headache.
"In a short time Arondo began to cry again, for she suffered greatly,
and her headache was getting worse and worse. Akenda Mbani was becoming
frightened, for he did not want to die.
"The news of Arondo's illness spread all over the village, and soon
reached the ears of King Redjioua, her father. The whole people of the
village came to see Arondo, and many were around her when she was crying
and calling on her father. The king said, 'Do not cry, my daughter; you
will not die, my child.' As soon as Arondo heard this, she moaned, 'Ah
father! ah father! why did you say I will not die, for you know that if
you _daga_ (mourn, lament, fear) death it is sure to come.'
"She had hardly uttered these words when she died. The people mourned
and wept, putting their hands over their heads.
"Redjioua said, 'As my daughter is dead, Akenda Mbani must die also.'
Akenda Mbani answered, 'I will die, that I may be buried with Arondo, my
wife.' So Akenda was killed.
"The king ordered a slave to be buried alive with his daughter. There
were also placed in her grave ten dishes, ten jars full of palm wine,
ten baskets, ten tusks of ivory, and many other things, among which was
the chest of the Oroungous."
There was a dead silence among us all, for we wanted to hear the end of
the story. Querlaouen stopped for breath, and then continued:
"The place where the people are buried is called Ndjimai, and here they
laid the bodies of Akenda Mbani and of Arondo, side by side in one
grave, laying over them the spears of Akenda Mbani, his battle-axe, the
bed upon which he and his wife had slept, his cutlasses, and his
hunting-bag. Then the people said, 'Now let us cover the grave with
sand,' which they did until a little mound was formed.
"Then Agambouai (this name means the speaker of the village) said,
'King, there are leopards here.' As soon as Redjioua heard this, he
cried, 'Do not build a mound over the grave of my child, for fear that
leopards may see it, scratch up the earth, and eat the body of my
beautiful daughter.'
"They replied, 'Let us take the things back and dig a deeper grave.'
Then they took away the things, and seated the bodies of Arondo and
Akenda Mbani on two seats. When they had finished their work, and
thought the grave deep enough, they replaced all the things they had
taken out. Then they lifted the body of Arondo and laid her gently in
the grave. Next they took hold of Akenda Mbani, and raised him gently
to place him by the side of his wife; but he opened his eyes and mouth,
and said, 'Don't you know I never go twice to the same place? If any of
you attempt to place me again in the tomb, I will kill him, for you know
I NEVER GO TWICE TO THE SAME PLACE.'
"He then rose, and, accompanied by the people, returned to the village;
and when Redjioua saw him he said, 'How is it that Akenda Mbani has
returned? I thought he had been killed and buried.'
"Up to the time of Redjioua, when a husband or wife died, the survivor
was killed; but Akenda Mbani broke the law by rising again from the
grave. Since then, no one is killed on account of the spouse dying."
* * * * *
From this legend, which has been handed down from generation to
generation, I conclude that perhaps at a remote period it was compulsory
for both husband and wife to die at the same time.
After a hearty laugh at the lucky escape of Akenda Mbani, my men thanked
their stars that they were not born at that time, and then we all went
to sleep.