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Cunnie Rabbit, Mr. Spider and the Other Beef: West African Folk Tales

by Florence M. Cronise · English · Gutenberg #48828 · 321,624 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Cunnie Rabbit, Mr. Spider and the Other Beef: West African Folk Tales

Author: Florence M. Cronise
        Henry W. Ward

Illustrator: Gerald Sichel


        
Release date: April 30, 2015 [eBook #48828]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CUNNIE RABBIT, MR. SPIDER AND THE OTHER BEEF: WEST AFRICAN FOLK TALES ***

CUNNIE RABBIT, MR. SPIDER AND THE OTHER BEEF

[Illustration: A GHOST STORY.

     [_See Chap. XI._]
]




  CUNNIE RABBIT, MR. SPIDER
  AND THE OTHER BEEF

  WEST AFRICAN FOLK TALES


  BY
  FLORENCE M. CRONISE
  AND
  HENRY W. WARD

  _ILLUSTRATIONS BY GERALD SICHEL_


  [Illustration]


  LONDON
  SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO. LIM.
  NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
  1903




     _Printed by The Motley Press, 18, Eldon Street, E.C._




PREFACE


This little volume is sent forth with many misgivings. It claims
neither literary excellence nor an entrancing theme, but professes
fidelity to truth, and a desire to call attention to certain quaint and
interesting phases of the inner life of a much misunderstood race.

In the compilation of these folk-lore tales, the one aim has been to
make them accessible to English readers, and at the same time to retain
as much as possible of their native grace and quaintness.

To accomplish this aim, the stories have been told in the dialect used
by the people in their intercourse with the English, and an attempt has
been made to embody the tales in a native setting with local atmosphere
and colour. In addition it has seemed necessary to make a rather
copious use of footnotes and explanations.

Much care has been exercised not to modify the spirit and real content
of the stories. The plots and the clever little inventions are wholly
native. It has seemed advisable to select only a few of the more
readable stories, in the hope that they may win the sympathy of the
general reader, rather than to attempt an extended collection that
would discourage all but special students of folk-lore.

The stories themselves possess much intrinsic merit; if they fail to
enlist the reader, the fault must be ascribed to the compilers.

The sole credit for discovering and collecting the stories is due to
Miss Cronise; the arrangements of the stories here presented, and their
setting, have been largely the work of Mr. Ward.

The authors are under many obligations to Mr. Alfred Sumner, a native
African now in this country at college, whose intimate acquaintance
with the life and customs of his people proved most helpful; also
to Rev. D. F. Wilberforce, a native missionary, who has long been
interested in the oral literature of his country, and in consequence
has been able to give us suggestions of unusual value. To Miss Minnie
Eaton of Moyamba Mission, and to other friends, who spared no pains
to place desired information within our reach, and especially to the
Mission boys and girls in Africa whose sympathetic interest made this
collection a possibility, the gratitude of the authors is due.

     FLORENCE M. CRONISE.
     HENRY W. WARD.




 CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                          PAGE

        INTRODUCTION                                  1

     I. WHEN THE NIGHT HAS COME                      37
          MR. SPIDER WINS A WIFE.

    II. WITH THE SPIRITS OF THE WOOD                 50
          GORO, THE WONDERFUL WRESTLER.
          MR. SPIDER A CLEVER TRADER.
          MR. TURTLE MAKES A RIDING-HORSE OF MR.
            LEOPARD.

   III. A BACK-YARD KITCHEN                          77
          CUNNING RABBIT AND HIS WELL.
          GOATS OF THE WOOD AND OF THE TOWN.

    IV. EVENING ON THE WATER                         96
          SPIDER DISCOVERS THE WAX GIRL.
          MR. CHAMELEON IS TRANSFORMED INTO A
            BOAT.
          SPIDER, ELEPHAN' EN PAWPAWTÁMUS.

     V. A PURRO INITIATION                          124
          CUNNING RABBIT BECOMES A KING.
          MR. SPIDER INITIATES THE FOWLS.

    VI. THE BURNING OF THE FARM                     147
          SPIDER TRIES TO BRUSH THE DEVIL'S FARM.
          THE DEVIL TURNS PIGEON.

   VII. MAMMY MAMENAH AND HER FRIENDS               165
          A STONE THAT WORE A BEARD.
          THE GIRL WHO PLAITED THE DEVIL'S BEARD.
          "MARRY THE DEVIL, THERE'S THE DEVIL
            TO PAY."

  VIII. CHILDREN OF NATURE                          188
          THE THREE TWINS.
          WHICH TWIN RESTORED HIS FATHER TO
            LIFE.
          WHICH ONE WAS MOST GREEDY.
          MR. SPIDER CREATES A FRIGHTFUL TORNADO.
          MR. LEOPARD SHOWS HIS HAND.
          MR. LEOPARD FOOLS THE OTHER ANIMALS.
          A CASE OF TIT FOR TAT.
          DR. SPIDER'S FATAL PRESCRIPTIONS.
          MR. SPIDER "PULLS" A SUPPLY OF MEAT.

    IX. AN AFTERNOON IN THE BARREH                  240
          THE DANCING BIRD.
          THE WICKED IS TAKEN IN HIS OWN SNARE.
          AN OLD MAN TURNS ELEPHANT.
          THE MAN WHO COULD NOT KEEP SECRETS.

     X. KONAH TURNS STORY-TELLER                    264
          THE DEVIL'S MAGIC EGGS.
          TOOTHACHE ENTAILED.
          WHY MR. SPIDER'S WAIST IS SMALL.

    XI. WHILE THE BIRDS DID NOT COME                281
          MR. SPIDER SECURES A POWERFUL WITCH
            MEDICINE.
          MR. SPIDER GETS INTO TROUBLE AGAIN.
          A GHOST STORY.

   XII. A HARVEST HOME IN TEMNE-LAND                298
          WATCH-POT AND GREEDY.
          THE ORIGIN OF THE AXE.

  XIII. KONAH HAS A WONDERFUL DAY                   317
          THE NEW VERSION OF EVE AND THE APPLE.




CUNNIE RABBIT




INTRODUCTION


The collection of folk-lore tales, from which the stories contained in
the present volume have been selected, was made by Miss Cronise while
a teacher in the mission school at Rotifunk, Protectorate of Sierra
Leone, West Africa; a mission under the control of the Woman's Board of
the United Brethren Church.

The stories were collected without the remotest thought of offering
them for publication. The first motive was a desire to enter more
intimately into the life and mental habits of the people whom she was
to instruct. This motive was soon reinforced by the attractiveness of
the stories themselves, and by the fascinating manner in which they
were told.

The tales were gathered from the mission children, most of whom
had been brought from native homes farther inland, and from adult
employees of the mission who had been long enough in contact with these
white people to be found worthy of entire confidence, and to give their
confidence in return.

Notwithstanding the many touches of English influence noticeable in
the stories, it is believed that the ones here presented are, in all
essentials, characteristically native. The same stories were heard
from different persons, under different circumstances, and with every
evidence of their being the spontaneous outflow of traditional lore.
Sometimes a tale already heard in detail from an adult, would be told
in mere outline by some child fresh from a hut of the forest.

A year or more had been spent among these people before it was
discovered that they possessed a distinct oral literature, and
considerably more time passed before any attempt was made to collect
and record it.

Missionaries had been in this section for fifty years, but being wholly
absorbed in more serious concerns, they were either unaware of this
native literature, or more probably looked upon it as a part of the
heathen superstition which they felt called upon to obliterate.

No one at all familiar with folk-lore, will need to be told of the
peculiar difficulties experienced in making the present collection.
Natives are instinctively suspicious of foreigners, and uneasy in their
presence, and not only must this natural barrier be broken down, but
there must spring up mutual understanding and sympathy, and outward
environments must be congenial before there can be any satisfactory
story-telling. The collection was made as opportunity offered, after
other duties were performed. Various devices had to be resorted to, the
commonest being to offer some attractive little inducement to a child
of the mission or adjacent town. The child, curled up on the floor,
or perched on any convenient object, would at once evince the most
sympathetic interest, and then it would be a simple matter to draw out
stories heard in the native wilds. By rapid writing, so abbreviated as
to approach shorthand, the narratives were taken down literally, word
for word. Then again, familiarity made it possible to sit near a group
of children gathered in the evening for talk and laughter, and there to
overhear the conundrums they propounded, and the stories they related
to one another. Sometimes an adult could be induced to relate stories
for an evening. One such story was a portion of a loosely connected
narrative, the whole of which would occupy the evenings of an entire
week.

Two years of patient endeavor brought to light one hundred and
twenty-five distinct stories. There was positive assurance of
unnumbered more being current among the people, and evidence was
occasionally found of the existence of another class of stories, such
as the missionary would not care to hear or to record.

It may be, then, that while the fables here given truthfully reflect
the life of the people, they do not reflect the whole life, but only
the better, purer part.

Strangely enough, during all the years that the English have been
in possession of West Africa, no one has taken the pains to collect
any considerable part of the oral literature that is particularly
abundant there. So far as we have been able to learn, practically
nothing has been done in all the Sierra Leone region, toward collecting
and publishing this great body of traditional literature. Schlenker
included seven tales in his "Temne Traditions" published in 1861, and
an occasional "Nancy Story" has appeared in Sierra Leone newspapers,
but no serious effort has been made toward a collection; and yet
perhaps no region of Africa is richer in native literature.

How completely this literature envelops the life of the people, may be
inferred from the fact that the youngest children in the mission were
found to possess the salient features of many stories, which they must
have acquired before being taken from their people.

These stories seem to be the chief source of entertainment, not only of
the young, but of the adult as well. The children of all races are fond
of fables and fairy-tales, and the black man in his native state is
always a child.

Whatever the distant origin of these legends and fables, it is plain
that they now serve as a pleasing diversion for leisure hours, and
gratify the natural hunger of the human mind for representations of
its own desires as realized, without being hampered by literal fact.
They fill even a larger place in the mental and ideal life of these
unlettered people, than the great mass of fictitious literature does
among more cultured races. There are many close parallels between
this native literature and fiction as it is found among civilized
peoples. Both allow a delightful freedom to the genius of the
story-teller--though the imagination of the African is representative
rather than creative,--both please by depicting some form of ideal
achievement, both make frequent appeals to the humorous and pathetic in
experience, and both furnish entertainment for hours of idleness, or
offer the soul an ideal refuge from life's hard and stern realities.

Among the Africans, story-telling is mainly a pastime. It flourishes
only under congenial environments and favoring conditions. These are
abundant leisure, a company of sympathizing listeners, and freedom from
excitement.

Story-telling most often springs spontaneously from the chat, when
a number of persons are together with nothing particular to do;
sometimes, however, time and place are appointed. Stories may be told
whenever circumstances are favorable, but as conditions are most
inviting when darkness is in possession of the outer world, most of the
story-telling takes place at night. If the moon shines, its light is
sufficient; should the night be dark or chill, fires are kindled, and
in the flickering light of these, picturesque groups of natives may
be seen, brought together by some impulse which they do not stop to
question. Before the group breaks up, stories are quite likely to be
started, and naturally one will draw out another, each furnishing the
inspiration and the excuse for the next. The social instinct of the
negro is very strong, and it leads him to seek the companionship of his
fellows as often as possible. Crowded together in village communities,
with few and irregular demands upon their time, and with instinctive
hospitality and friendliness, the black tribes cultivate without
conscious effort, their native traditions and fanciful literature. Any
one may relate these tales, either as one is suggested to his mind,
or on request of some one present; yet in many communities, there
are persons so well versed in these common myths and legends, and so
gifted in rehearsing them, that they are looked upon as the village
story-tellers, and are expected to do most of the reciting. If the
people know that a person so gifted is among them, they go and beg him
for a story, offering him some present--perhaps tobacco, kola nuts,
cowry shells, which are used as currency, or some other small article.
Then they build a great fire and sit around it while the story is told.

We have it also on good native authority, that there are occasionally
professionals who make their living by going from village to village,
and exchanging for food and shelter, stories interspersed with songs.
Many of these African troubadours display remarkable dramatic power.
Voice, eyes, face, hands, head, and indeed the whole person aid in
giving force to the words.

The reader will greatly enhance his pleasure in the perusal of the
following tales, if he will give his own imagination full play, and
will supply what the narrator added by the manner of his delivery.

Riddles and story-telling are not infrequently continued throughout
the entire night, and in connection with an unusual occasion, such as
the funeral ceremonies of some distinguished person, or the marriage
festivities of a similar personage. They may be protracted for several
nights.

Many little songs, or rather choruses, occur in the stories. These
are rendered in a kind of chanting measure, a weird melody, usually
accompanied by a rhythmical clapping of the hands. They are invariably
short, usually in the minor key, and, in the longer stories, are
repeated at intervals, seemingly to give variety and animation to the
narrative. It makes a peculiar impression upon the distant listener to
hear these periodical choruses break forth suddenly on the night air,
and just as suddenly cease.

The songs are invariably given in the native language, and the crude
attempt at translation given by the narrator, fails utterly to
reproduce their musical qualities.

Negro folk-lore, whether in Africa or America, consists largely of
animal stories, in which human qualities and characteristics are
ascribed to the various animals. In the Temne legends, the Spider, the
Cunning Rabbit, the Deer, the Leopard, the Turtle, the Elephant, the
Lizard, the Chameleon, the Cat and the Hawk appear very frequently,
while many other animals, birds and insects are introduced. It appears
to be assumed, throughout the stories, that there was a time when
all animals dwelt together in a single community, until some of the
animals began to prey upon the others, thus scattering them over the
face of the earth, creating enmities, and destroying the power to
understand one another. The communities were organized with king and
headmen, and had houses and farms, occupations and wants, like the men
of later times.

Several accounts are given of how the animals came to be dispersed. The
one contained in this collection, of Mister Spider and his powerful
witch medicine, is evidently, in part at least, a late invention. It
represents Spider in his usual rôle of devising some cunning scheme
for securing a supply of food for himself and family. In this instance
he procures a gun and ammunition, and announces that he has secured a
medicine to kill off the witches that infest the town; and thus, under
pretence of rendering the community a valuable service, he begins to
kill and to devour the animals one by one. They finally take alarm, and
flee to different parts of the earth.

Another story, bearing the marks of greater antiquity, represents the
animals as living together in peace and harmony, until the Leopard
develops a taste for fresh meat, and begins to prey upon the other
animals. They hold a council, and finally decide to take the only
boat in existence, and to remove to an island of the sea, leaving Mr.
Leopard alone on the mainland. Every day some one is left to guard the
boat, while the others are away procuring food. Once, while the Deer
is left on guard, Leopard comes to the shore, and in a disguised voice
calls for the boat to be brought across. Mr. Deer, always represented
in these stories as being extremely stupid, is deceived, and rows the
boat across. Of course Mr. Leopard devours the unfortunate Deer, seizes
the boat and plans a general feast when the animals return to the
village at night. To save themselves, they scatter in every direction,
and thus animals become dispersed over the earth.

Hereafter the animals appear to have had dealings with each other, more
or less, but were never again united, although there is mention of
their gathering for special purposes on several occasions.

The stories frequently assume to account for the peculiar traits or
physical characteristics of the various animals; as, for instance, why
the Deer coughs, why the Leopard is spotted, why the Spider is flat
and why his waist is small, why the Elephant's tusks protrude, and why
the Turtle's shell is rough and scarred.

Certain definite qualities and characteristics are ascribed to
particular animals, and to these they hold consistently through all
the stories. The Deer is always stupid and helpless; the Elephant
enormously strong but lacking in mental acuteness; the Cunning Rabbit
intelligent and lovable; and the Spider shrewd, designing, selfish, and
sometimes vindictive and cruel.

It is noticeable that the weak and helpless creatures are made to
prevail against the strong and mighty, not by any use of force, but by
cleverness and cunning. Thus Mr. Spider defeats both the Elephant and
the Hippopotamus in a pulling match, by the clever ruse of challenging
them, in turn, to a trial of strength, proposing to draw the Elephant
from the shore to the water, and the Hippopotamus from the water to
the shore. The Spider procures a rope so long that neither antagonist
can see the other. At the appointed time he ties one end of it to the
Elephant, and says that when he is ready to begin the contest, he will
give the signal by shaking the rope; then going to the water's edge, he
ties the other end to the Hippopotamus, giving the same instructions.
Finally, going to the middle of the rope, he gives the signal, and the
struggle begins, while Mr. Spider enjoys the sport from behind a tree,
to which place of safety he has had the good judgment to retreat.

As the two monsters are so equally matched in strength, the struggle
continues, with advantage to neither, until both are completely
exhausted and fall down dead. Mr. Spider, viewing the results of his
cleverness, soliloquises: "Yo' pass me fo' 'trong, but aintee I pass
yo' fo' sense?"

The victims of this cunning supply food to Mr. Spider and his family
throughout the famine, and that indeed was the Spider's purpose in
the ruse. The story throws in the gratuitous information that the
Spider cast into the water such portions of the carcasses as were not
desirable for food, and from these pieces came fish, the first of their
kind.

Mental superiority counts for more than mere brute force, even where
there is a direct trial of strength, as in the story of "Cunning
Rabbit and his Well." The other animals come to wrestle with Cunning
Rabbit for the privilege of taking water from his well, but on account
of his "sense," Cunning Rabbit is always victor, even to hurling the
Elephant into the air, although the latter tried to hold himself down
by wrapping his trunk around a tree.

Sometimes a necromantic spell is called in to aid the weaker, as in the
case of Goro, the Wrestler, in which the song of incantation chanted by
the mother, enables the child to prevail.

It satisfies the ethical sense of all people, to represent helpless
innocence as finally triumphant over the selfish power of might.
Perhaps the black race has more than usual reason for representing in
its imaginative literature, that cunning, craft and cleverness are
the qualities most to be admired and cultivated. It has always been
an oppressed people, defenceless in the contest with wild beasts,
without adequate resources in the struggle with nature, and helpless
against the cruelties of their more aggressive fellowmen. Little wonder
that they exalt cunning, deception and craft. If there is a dash of
viciousness in these, all the better. It is only poetic retribution.
Consequently the African is taught dissimulation as a fine art, and
cunning as the most worthy of accomplishments.

The Spider appears to be the national hero, the impersonation of
the genius of the race. To him are ascribed the qualities most
characteristic of the people, or those most to be desired: cunning,
sleeplessness, almost immortality, an unlimited capacity for eating,
and an equal genius for procuring the necessary supplies. He possesses
a charmed life, and escapes from all intrigue. He is a tireless weaver,
and has spun the thread of his personality into all the warp and woof
of the national life. With him the adults associate most of their
traditions, while the children love him, and push him tenderly aside if
he chances to come in their way. He is inclined to be lazy, and refuses
to lift even the lightest burden if it is in the nature of work; if it
is something to eat, he can carry the carcass of an elephant with the
greatest ease.

The Spider occupies the same place in the folk-lore of West Africa, as
does Brer Rabbit in the tales of the southern negro, and as Annancy
holds among the negroes of the West Indies, or Hlakanyana among the
Kaffirs of South Africa. A comparative study of these several heroes
and the literature gathered about them, would be extremely interesting
and profitable, but would carry us beyond the bounds set for this
introduction.

Mr. Harris, in his introduction to "Nights With Uncle Remus," has
pointed out the essential identity of Brer Rabbit and Hlakanyana. There
is perhaps a closer parallel between the Spider of the Temne tales,
and Annancy, the hero of the West Indian stories. A comparison of Mr.
Spider and Brer Rabbit reveals many similarities and some differences,
the latter due no doubt to the mellowing influence of contact with a
finer civilization, an influence that has softened the character of
the transplanted negro, and wrought the same change in the hero of his
stories. Both are exceedingly clever, and equal to any emergency. Brer
Rabbit, however, is inoffensive in his mischief, and very properly
gets out of every scrape without serious consequences. If ever he gets
others into trouble, it is to save himself, or to settle an old score.
Mr. Spider's cunning has at times a touch of viciousness in it. It
sometimes overreaches itself, and brings Mr. Spider to grief, though
never to destruction.

Cunning Rabbit rivals Mr. Spider in shrewdness and wit, and in the
reverence and esteem given him by the people. In pure intelligence and
in amiability of disposition he is without a peer. He is uniformly
pronounced "King of de beef fo' wise, oh!" He and Mr. Spider are
usually on amicable terms, but when their interests clash there is a
notable contest of wits. The natives say: "Two cunnie meet up, de one
cunnie, de odder cunnie," but Cunning Rabbit always has a shade the
better of it in the end.

We have found it very difficult to identify this little creature,
called by the natives "Cunnie Rabbit." It is evidently not a rabbit
at all, but the water deerlet or chevrotain, noted for its nimbleness
and cunning. It is about eighteen inches long, slender and graceful
in form, with a soft fawn-colored skin, and the daintiest of legs and
feet. The little creature is very difficult to secure. Its shyness,
fleetness and cunning have led the natives to invest it with a sort of
veneration.

A fragment of skeleton submitted to Dr. F. W. True, Head Curator
Department of Biology, Smithsonian Institution, was pronounced to
belong to Hyomoschus Aquaticus, an animal peculiar to West Africa.

It would be the merest conjecture to surmise that this water deerlet,
the Cunning Rabbit of African folk-lore, may be the ancestor of Brer
Rabbit, as the negroes of the South portray him, and yet there is a
shadow of evidence for such belief. The negroes might have transferred
the qualities of their Cunning Rabbit to the American hare, because of
the similarity of their popular names. It certainly requires a very
friendly eye to see in the hare all the mental acumen accredited by the
negroes to Brer Rabbit.

To students of comparative folk-lore, these little stories will furnish
much food for reflection. They probably come as nearly fresh from the
hearts of a primitive people, and are as little modified by outside
influences, as any collection made in recent times.

To the oft-repeated question as to how the story was learned, and
whence it came, the uniform answer was: "Oh, please, Missus, f'om
_f-a-r_ up country," with a much prolonged emphasis on the "far," and
an intonation that expressed wonder at such a question's being asked,
as all such stories must come from the infinitely remote in space and
time.

It will be observed that very many of the stories in this collection
are almost identical with a number of the tales in the "Uncle Remus"
series, and with a few in the "Annancy Stories," to say nothing of
likenesses found in the folk-lore of the American Indians, and the very
natural similarity between these tales and those current among the
negroes of other portions of Africa.

The "Tar Baby" story, which seems to be in the oral literature of
all African tribes, and a standard among the folk-lore tales of all
peoples, appears here as the "Wax Girl."

The incidents leading up to the encounter of Mr. Spider with the Wax
Girl, differ from the preliminaries in the story of Brer Rabbit and the
Tar Baby, but the encounter itself is the same in both. The outcome
also differs in the two stories, but in each is entirely consistent
with the story as a whole. Brer Rabbit has been guilty of no offence
that deserves punishment, so he suffers only temporary humiliation,
and finally regains simultaneously his freedom and his prestige, by
inducing Mr. Fox to fling him into the brier patch. Mr. Spider, on
the other hand, has practised gross deception, and has appropriated
to his own use what should have been shared with others, so he very
appropriately receives as punishment an unmerciful flogging at the
hands of the outraged community.

Mr. Spider's feat of strength in his contest with the Elephant and the
Hippopotamus, already referred to, is a variant of the same contest
between Mr. Terrapin and Mr. Bear.

The Temne story of the Turtle making a riding-horse of Mr. Leopard,
finds its parallel in Brer Rabbit's riding Brer Fox, as told by "Uncle
Remus," and in the "Annancy Stories," by Pamela Colman Smith, where
Annancy rides the Tiger.

In one instance Mr. Leopard feigns death, and when the other animals
gather around to wail for him, he seizes and devours them. This is much
like Mr. Wildcat's attempt to secure the wild turkey by the same ruse.

It must suffice to have mentioned a few variants only, although there
are many more of the same nature. If anything further were needed
to prove that the folk-tales of the American negroes were brought
with them from Africa, the striking parallels in the tales of the two
countries ought to supply the proof.

The magic nuts, or eggs, or other articles, which appear in the
folk-lore of most races, and which on being opened let out, at one
time a profusion of all things desired--riches, fine houses, servants
etc., and at other times, reptiles, insects, and cruel monsters, are
also found among these tales. The story of the devil's magic eggs is a
representative of this class. In another story the bangah-nuts take the
place of the eggs.

There are also traces of the "half thing" conception. In one story a
man's possessions consisted of half things of various kinds, a half
pot, a half bowl, everything half. A bird that possessed magic power,
befriended the poor man, and transformed the "bush" into a village
filled with riches, to be his on condition of never disturbing the
bird's egg. The condition is finally violated, and the man, made
utterly destitute, learns that half a thing is better than none. In
the story contained in this collection, in which a young girl marries
a devil, it will be noted that the devil in taking human form, was
compelled to supply his hideous deficiency by borrowing half a head,
one foot, one hand, everything half; and after his successful wooing,
when he approached his own home, with his bride, all the half things
that he had borrowed fell off one by one, until finally "all t'ing nah
heen skin bin lef half."

In all the stories we possess, there is only one mention of the
divining mirror. It is employed by a lover, and startles him by
revealing his loved one lying dead.

It may aid the reader to appreciate these fables from Temne-Land, if a
few paragraphs of this introduction be given to a brief discussion of
the peculiar beliefs, customs, and environments of the people who have
formulated the stories, and who repeat them with never-dying interest.

If we could get a true and complete picture of the black man's
mental and moral world from his view point, we should be able to
confer a measureless boon upon all those who must deal with him; but
unfortunately we have no such good gift to offer. The negro character
is so perverse and enigmatical that it defies satisfactory analysis.

The stories themselves will furnish the best kind of information on
these points, and to the serious student, this perhaps will be their
chief value. However a summary of a few of the facts available will
not be amiss. What is said, though applicable directly to the Temnes,
will be true in a general sense of all the surrounding tribes, and
in a limited way of all the race. As a people, the Temnes are filled
exceedingly with innate pride and natural dignity, and love to be
noticed and honored. They are fond of riches as they understand them,
and are shrewd traders. Their wealth consists of wives, slaves, cows,
and goats, and these they value in the order named. Mentally they are
bright and quick-witted, though only as concerns the reproductive
powers of the mind; for independent thinking they have little capacity.
The memory powers are especially strong and persistent. The black man
keeps in his head records that a white man would be compelled to write
in a book.

The native African has few ambitions beyond the satisfying of his
appetites, and the gratification of his sensual desires. Contentment
with his lot is the bane of his life, so far as any hope of improvement
is concerned, and yet these stories reveal glimmerings of better
things, and a capacity to formulate ideals. It is not an easy matter to
know the impulses that lie deep within the breast of any people,--the
central life impulses, out of which flow all desires and motives, and
all standards of happiness. It is still more difficult to get at this
central impulse in an uncivilized people, because heathenism renders
the soul-life of its adherents extremely difficult to understand.

The literature of a people is the best revelation of its soul-life,
especially of the ideals it would consciously or unconsciously set up.
It is in this fact that such collections as the one here offered, find
their greatest worth.

The inner life of the African is so completely under the control of
his superstitious beliefs, that to comprehend it adequately, one must
understand all the hideous network of superstitions that envelop the
whole life of the people.

Mr. Alfred Sumner, an educated native, has kindly furnished us the
following facts concerning this phase of the life of his people.

"All the people believe in signs and omens, good and bad; every
occurrence that is a little beyond the ordinary, or seems a little
strange, must receive some interpretation from the natives. In fact,
occurrences that are not beyond the natural, so long as they do not
happen every day, are the sign of something. The withering of a tree,
the falling of a fence, the stumbling against something in the road,
the ringing of the ear, the dancing of the eyelid, the itching palm,
two babies laughing at each other; these and many more things that
time would fail us to mention, mean something to the native; tokens of
good, warnings of calamity near. The cry of the witch bird, and the
"cluck, cluck, cluck" of the boa-constrictor, mean the certain death
of someone. If one should be killed by lightning on the road, persons
passing the spot from that time on, must pluck a leaf or a small
branch and throw it there to avert the same death. Some parts of a
road have been entirely abandoned and new paths made on this account.
One dare not sew his cloth while it is on his body, lest a relative
of his die. There are many more, to us silly superstitions, in which
the natives fully believe. To them they are signs and wonders. Some
are easy to interpret, others must come under the prophetic eye of the
"country-fashion" man--a man who interprets signs and wonders either by
spiritual means, or on sand, or with stones. All sorts of charms are
made and worn. Various articles are used in their composition--such
as oil, leaves, beads, hair, finger-nails, toe-nails etc. Most of the
charms the women put on in Africa, are merely small bits of paper with
Mohammedan writing, wrapped in a piece of soft leather. They are either
to ward off evil, or to bring about luck, according to the writing
on the paper. All the "Sebbehs"--that is, the flat, regularly formed
charms--are made in this way. Not all of the charms are to be seen
by everybody; some are very private, and must be worn next the skin.
The "hoodoos" and "fetiches" are of more importance than the ordinary
charms, and their composition is more complex, consisting of leaves,
barks, roots, horns and bones, either of man or beast, or of both, all
carefully placed in a country-pot made of clay, and kept from every eye
save that of the owners and perhaps near relatives. These fetiches may
serve as gods, and are believed to have the power to return evil for
evil to any one who may harm their owners. What is called "gree-gree"
is a fetich that is employed by its owner to revenge any wrong received
by him. The "He-ge-de" is considered to have the power of self-motion,
and of attacking in a death-combat the one to whom it is sent. These
charms may be used by any one, irrespective of rank or age; but some of
them are very costly, and only the rich can afford them. The leopard's
teeth are considered very great and valuable ornaments--pearls of great
price; and natives are loth to sell them. They may well be called their
diamonds, as they not infrequently calculate their wealth by the number
of leopard's teeth owned."

It is thus seen that the natives are born, reared, and die in nameless
terror of unseen powers that teem in woods, fields and towns. Their
spirits are legion. A few of these are believed to be good, the
majority bad, exceedingly bad. It is the greater part of their
existence to circumvent the evil spirits, and to win the favor of the
good. The tiniest babe is decorated with strings, shells, or bits of
wood, supposed to possess the power to ward off evils which mother-arms
cannot avert. Those of maturer years, even down to old age, often
sacrifice to conciliate they know not what.

Sickness is believed to be caused by a witch. If one is seized with
serious illness, a witch-doctor is called in to exorcise the evil
spirit; failing in thus obtaining relief, the next resort is to
incantations and ordeals, to discover who is guilty of bewitching the
afflicted one, some individual being held guilty of bringing on the
malady.

The power of the witch-doctor is considered absolute, and woe to the
unfortunate one that falls under his ill-will. He is believed to
possess the power of double vision, and to be able to see spirits,
and to know their doings. Never is the power and efficiency of his
incantations doubted. His exorbitant fees are paid with a cheerfulness
that would quite astound a Christian doctor. A curse pronounced in
the name of a witch-medicine is supposed to be relentless towards the
one against whom it is directed. The following is a good example of a
native curse.

"Oh, thou medicine, the person who stole this my rice, cloth, lamp,
fruit, bed, or pot, I give this person into your hands. If you leave
this person you leave your fowl (used in sacrifice). I swear the
person's lungs, heart and liver. If the person goes to work, let him
cut himself, and if he goes to war let him be killed; everything he
does, let evil come upon him."

The "Country-fashion" man, also, is supposed to possess the power
of double vision, but of a slightly different kind. He can see the
mysterious occult powers that operate beyond the reach of ordinary
vision. He is therefore prophet and seer, the interpreter of signs and
omens, and various mysterious occurrences.

In the social relations of the people, a loose caste system prevails,
based chiefly upon might. The chief exacts obedience and service from
all beneath him. Men make servants of women, and of other weaker men.
In a polygamous household, the head wife regards the other wives as her
inferiors and servants, while each wife makes practical slaves of her
own children. The older children in turn exact service of the younger.
He is poor indeed, who cannot find another weaker than himself to do
his bidding. Society is a pyramid with the weakest at the bottom, and
the strongest at the top.

It remains to make the necessary explanations of the dialect of the
stories, and with that this introduction must close.

The general reader may feel like protesting against the use of a
dialect that presents so many difficulties, and the philologist will
object to the form employed, as being too much influenced by English
associations to represent the dialect of the people in its native
purity.

To both classes of readers our apology may seem weak and inadequate.
In the first place, the stories would lose much of their vitality and
force if the flavor of the peculiar mental qualities of the people who
tell them should be lost by an attempt at translation. The ideal means
of expression would be the vigorous and picturesque native tongue, did
it not exclude all but the initiated from sharing the stories. The next
best thing is to allow the native mind to express itself in its own
adaptation of a foreign language.

As to the form the dialect has been allowed to take, it may be said
that it differs from that used by the people in daily conversation,
only as formal English differs from the colloquial. There is a little
nearer approach to subordination of clauses than is found in ordinary
conversation, and a larger per cent of English words is employed,
as might be expected from those who have had some training in that
language. This necessarily involves an inconsistency, inasmuch as
the stories are represented as being told by natives in their native
environment; but as the whole undertaking has presented peculiar
difficulties, some degree of allowance may be expected.

The dialect is that of the Temne people, and is essentially the
dialect of Sierra Leone, from which it was derived. Each new tribe,
in learning the dialect, modified it slightly, so that, although it
is perfectly intelligible to all the tribes using it, an attempt to
represent the words phonetically, reveals many differences. Wherever
the pronunciation of common words, such as "make," "take," "come" etc.,
very closely approximates the English usage, we have not hesitated to
give the correct English form.

The whole dialect is a hopeless jumble of English and African words.
It is very much condensed, almost stenographic in its brevity, and
requires the aid of voice and gesture to round it out to like-life
fulness. This requirement, the native temperament, being emotional and
picturesque, meets to perfection. These accessories the imagination of
the reader must supply, if he is to receive the keenest pleasure from
the perusal of the stories.

With the native, a common device of expression is the repetition of the
emphatic word or phrase, or else its very much prolonged utterance.
The word "Sotáy"--accent on the last syllable--when used in the sense
of "a long time," is prolonged until the very utterance conveys the
impression desired. Naturally, the vocabulary is very meager. There
are no words to express shades of meaning. Every thing that in any
way pleases the eye is "fine." Every thing that pleases the taste,
either literally or figuratively, is "sweet." Rice is "sweet," pepper
is "sweet," and fighting is "sweet." Gender is ignored. "He" stands
for "he," "she," or "it," indiscriminately. "Me Mammy he go bring
yo' him son Mary, to-morrow." Idea of number is rudimentary. "He" is
uniformly singular, and "dem" is usually plural. "Um" occurs often
in the objective singular, but the variation in number appears to
be purely accidental. "Dey" is rarely used for the pronoun "they,"
although to avoid confusion it has been allowed to appear quite
frequently in the stories. "Dem" and "den" are used interchangeably
for "they," and since there is no distinction in case, they may also
be used for them. "Den" is seldom used for "then," but is usually a
pronoun. The reader will need to exercise special care on this point.
For the adverb "there," the natives invariably use "deh." There is a
peculiar use of an auxiliary that will need careful notice. Its sound
is between that of "dey" and "duh;" the latter has been chosen. "He duh
come" means "He is coming," or "He comes," in the historical present.
However, laws of language are trampled on with utmost unconcern. "Go"
is used occasionally as a sign of the future. "He go come" meaning "he
will come," and "he go go," "he will go." Certain words are repeated
to form a single expression, as "so-so," meaning "merely," "nothing
but." "San'-san'" is sand, and "bug-a-bug" is the white ant. Idiomatic
expressions occur frequently, and unless mastered at once, may prove
confusing; once understood, they are very expressive. "He no tay"
means "it does not stay," that is, Time does not linger, or, It is
but a short time. "Pass" is used in all comparisons, in the sense of
surpass, excel, exceed, etc.; as--"Spider pass Elephan' fo' sense,"
"I pass yo' fo' 'trong." "Pull" is employed in the peculiar sense of
"produce," "devise," "create," as: "He pull one big holler," "He pull
dis sense," "God pull de people," referring to the creation of Adam
and Eve. "No mo'" is an expression frequently found, and although no
single English expression can cover the meaning in all of its uses, it
signifies "only that and nothing more." "He de one man no mo'" means
"only he and no one else." "So-so san'-san' no mo'," "entirely sand,
nothing more."

But of these expressions there are not many, so the difficulty in
mastering them will not be great. It has often been difficult to find a
spelling that represents correctly the sound desired. The natives never
say "house," but always "ho'se," giving "s" its sibilant sound. With
the further aid of the vocabulary printed at the end of the volume,
there should be little difficulty in reading the stories.

It may be said in conclusion, that no one can be more conscious of the
fragmentary nature of the literature presented in this volume, or of
the faulty manner of its presentation, than are the authors themselves.

     F. M. C.
     H. W. W.

  _Toledo, Iowa._




CHAPTER I

WHEN THE NIGHT HAS COME


The African day was lingering for a brief moment in a tropical
twilight, as if reluctant to give over a world of natural beauty to
the impenetrable darkness of a moonless, forest night. The mud huts of
the native village, with their conical, palm-thatched roofs, showed in
the fading twilight like great shocks of harvested grain in a little
field fenced in by a high hedge of trees. Narrow foot-paths--the only
suggestion of streets--wound irregularly through the village, and in
these, children, innocently nude, were romping, and chasing each other
with all the noisy delight of that care-free age. Men and women, led by
their inclination to gossip, or by an instinctive shrinking from the
gathering darkness, were unconsciously drifting into groups about fires
that had been kindled here and there in the irregular open spaces.
Other light the village had none, and the little fires seemed only to
exaggerate the thick curtain of gloom that was now drawing around the
place. The countless invisible and mysterious forces that control the
destiny of the unfortunate black man, seemed to be taking on bodily
shapes, and to be stealing forth under cover of the night to work their
spells through forest and earth and air. Out of the stilly darkness
came myriad voices of the night--familiar ones from within the village,
the explosive chant and monotonous beat of the drum that accompanied a
weird tribal dance, or the shouts of irrepressible childhood still at
play, or more often the hum of conversation that told of the sway of
gossip, or the fascination of myth and story. Anon came the awesome,
half-terrifying voices from the outer night--the uncanny insect chorus,
or the distant call of wild beasts, speaking to one another a language
that seemed full of meaning, but which the human ear had lost the power
to understand.

To-night the voices possessed a peculiar fascination for the group
gathered around Sobah's fire. Coarse banter and desultory gossip had
ceased to interest; the spirit of the night was upon them, and the
voices from the darkness seemed to address them personally, and to
assert the kinship of all creatures. It scarcely needed the accumulated
traditions of untold generations to convince these listeners that
their ancestors had once possessed the ability to comprehend their
fellow-creatures, and so had dwelt on terms of equality and friendship
with them. As it was, Sobah and his friends did not trouble themselves
about beliefs, but in imagination passed easily and naturally into that
realm where all creatures spoke a common language, and possessed common
needs and attributes.

For some time Sobah had been sitting in silence, wholly absorbed in his
own mental processes. Suddenly an inspiration seemed to stir him. He
tossed back his head, his eyes began to sparkle, and his face to glow
with the anticipated delight of the story that had come to him from the
depths of his capacious memory. These significant preliminaries were
quickly noted. "He duh get story," was the warning exclamation passed
around the group. Every eye was at once riveted upon Sobah's face, and
every countenance took on a look of eager expectancy.

Konah, a bright-eyed, ebony-hued beauty of thirteen years, who all her
life had seemed to possess the supernatural power of being present
unnoted whenever anything new or marvellous was to be seen or heard,
came up just at this moment, led by unerring instinct, and settled down
unobserved in the shadow, ready to absorb every word.

Casting a dignified glance around the company, to assure himself that
all were properly attentive, Sobah proceeded to relate the wonderful
exploits of Mr. Spider, in meeting the requirements of his prospective
mother-in-law.


MR. SPIDER WINS A WIFE

"One ooman get girl pickin (pickaninny). Dis girl done do fo' married,
but no man no deh (there) wey (who) able fo' married um, because de
mammy no 'gree. Well, Spider come, he say he go married de girl, en de
mammy answer um, say:

"'Yo' mus' fus' do dis t'ree t'ing; bring Lion teet' wey fresh wid
blood 'pon um, en sass-wood palm-wine, en bowman'" (boa-constrictor).

Here the story was interrupted by a chorus of "Eh! eh's!" and other
exclamations of wonder at the impossibility of each of the three
conditions imposed.

"Lion 'trong too much," protested Dogbah, who was sadly wanting in the
imaginative quality, and demanded hard, prosaic fact, "Spider no able
fo' get heen teet' fresh wid blood 'pon um."

Gondomah, who was of a rather silent and thoughtful turn, said
meditatively, as if speaking to himself:

"Palm-tree no get banana, sass-wood no get palm-wine." It was his way
of asserting the impossibility of securing palm-wine from the poisonous
sass-wood.

"Spider leelee (little) too much fo' bring big, big bowman," was the
verdict of Oleemah, and yet his tone contradicted his words.

Sobah silenced the interruptions with the pertinent question: "Aintee
Spider pass all fo' cunnie? He able fo' do um." Then he proceeded:

"Spider say he go try fo' all dem t'ing fo' get de girl. He go inside
one big forest wey (where) all de beef (animals) duh (do) pass. He make
leelee fiah by de road. De part wey de smoke duh go he make good bench,
so de beef kin sit down. He say: Make dem come wa'm fiah,[1] de cole
too much, because nar (it is) rainy season. He say make dem no come
togedder, make dem come one one. He kare (carried) one hammer, heaby
one, wey he fo' hole wid two han'. He hide um. Well, den beef all duh
come. De' one he no wan' he no hit um, he jus' duh coax, make dem go
get de big beef fo' come. Well, w'en den beef all done come, w'en dey
duh wa'm fiah, dey go call Lion fo' say: 'Eh! Spider one good man, dis
make he duh make good fiah fo' we en we cumpin (companions).'

[1] Wa'm fiah, _i.e._ warm themselves by the fire.

"Well, one day Lion come, en Spider he make de smoke good fashion; put
plenty leaf deh. W'en Lion come he say:

"'Fren', I sorry fo' dah cole wey ketch yo'. Kahbo (welcome)! All day I
duh make good fiah fo' yo'.'

"Well, he go wipe de bench good fashion, he say, make Lion sit down fo'
wa'm fiah. De Lion sit down. Spider take mo' leaf, raw one, fo' make
smoke come out _plenty_. Dis yeah big smoke go 'pon Lion; he shut he
yi, he duh open he teet', he duh wa'm hese'f; he no know say Spider
duh watch um fo' hit um wid hammer 'pon heen teet'. Spider take de
hammer soffle (softly), he hit Lion _one_ tem, no mo', but dah hit wey
he _hit_ um! Lion he pull one big, big holler tay (until) all de groun'
duh shake. He spit heen teet' out 'pon de groun', he run!"

Sobah had been telling his story with voice, countenance, hands and
suggestive motions of his whole body, and as the climax approached,
his impressiveness increased. The hearers were shaking with suppressed
mirth, and when they saw the result of Spider's cunning, and Lion
beating an ignominious retreat, leaving his teeth behind him, they
could restrain the inevitable outburst of laughter no longer. Some of
the more excitable threw themselves upon the ground in an ecstasy of
delight. Konah had become so identified with her favorite, Mr. Spider,
and was so pleased with his success, that she forgot her own art of
cunning, and crept boldly out of the shadow.

Sobah chuckled contentedly, while the outburst was expending itself,
then went on.

"Spider hese'f run, he mean say de Lion go grip um. W'en he see Lion no
duh follow, he turn back, he take de teet', he kare um go to de ooman,
he say:

"'Look me, I done bring dah raw lion teet' wid de blood.'"

"De ooman say: 'All ret, but he lef' mo' t'ing fo' do. Go bring dah
sass-wood palm-wine.'

"Spider come out, he take heen ax, he sharp um, "Wahtah, wootah!
wahtah, wootah!"[2] He fine one sass-wood 'tick (tree), he klim 'pon
um, he dig hole, he come down. He go buy country-pot, big pot, he tie
big rope 'pon um, make um 'trong; ef he no 'trong bimeby de pot go fa'
down, he broke, because palm-wine go full um. W'en he done hang um he
no sleep all net, he go 'roun' to den people all, he tief (steals)
plenty palm-wine, he trow um 'way (empties it) inside de pot wey hang
to dah dry sass-wood 'tick, en he full dis pot wid de people yown
palm-wine[3] sotay he t'row 'way' nah groun'. He duh rub palm-wine
inside de hole, en 'pon de 'tick all. He tell one man say:

"'Make yo' follow me, look ef de palm-wine run.'"

[2] These words represent the sound made by sharpening the axe.

[3] Sotáy he trow 'way nah groun', _i.e._ until it overflows upon the
ground.

[Illustration: "Spider take the hammer soffle."

  [_See p. 43, line 3._]
]

This bit of shrewdness on the part of Mr. Spider, Sobah unfolded with
intensest appreciation in tone and gesture, and was rewarded at this
point with grunts of satisfaction and approval from the listeners, and
with exclamations of unbounded admiration for the clever little hero
who could both steal and deceive without detection. As soon as the
silence told him they were ready for more, he proceeded.

"W'en dey go, dey meet de pot full. Spider tell heen cumpin fo' take
um down, en dey two dey tote um sotay (until) dey reach de ole ooman.
Spider pin (place) um down 'pon de groun', he say:

"'Mammy, look dah sass-wood palm-wine!'

"De ooman ax de man: 'Nar true?'

"He say: 'Yes, nar me see um wid me yown yi.'

"Well de ooman say:

"'Odder t'ing lef' yet fo' do befo' I gie yo' me pickin. Go bring live
Bowman.'

"Spider go nah puttah-puttah,[4] he look sotay (until) he jus' meet
Bowman, he say:

"'Fren', how do?'

[4] Puttah-puttah, _i.e._ black mud deposited upon the banks of rivers
or pools.

"Bowman answer um: 'Tankee!'

"Spider kare one long 'tick, big one, he say:

"'One day me bin say Bowman long pass dis 'tick, but me cumpin done
deny, dey say: "No, he no kin pass um fo' long." Make yo' lie down 'pon
de 'tick fo' try ef yo' pass de 'tick fo' long, or de 'tick pass yo'.'

"Well, Bowman lie down; Spider take leelee rope, he begin fo' tie
Bowman to heen neck, he say:

"'Nar play I duh play.[5] No make palaver, nar so I go tie yo' fo' make
yo' no ben' ben' any place, fo' make yo' lie 'traight 'pon dis 'tick.'

[5] _i.e._, It is play; I am playing; I am merely playing.

"Bowman 'gree; he lie down soffle. Spider no tie um 'trong, he jus' tie
um leelee tay he reach de tail side. He go back to de head, he draw de
rope tight, he say:

"'Aintee I bin tell yo' nar play I duh play? I kare yo' fo' go to dem
plenty people, fo' make den no deny me agin.'

"W'en Spider finish fo' tie um, Bowman no get 'trenk (strength),[6]
betty no dey agin fo' um. Spider tote um, he go gie um to dah mammy,
he mudder-in-law. W'en de ooman see Spider done bring Bowman, he call
plenty people, dey talk de palaver, dey say Spider do well, make de
mammy gie um de girl fo' married, en he gie um. Nar so Spider do fo' he
wef."

[6] _i.e._, There was no chance for improvement. It was a hopeless case.

Cold type does scant justice to the sympathetic tone and expressive
movements with which the story was told, or to the low chuckling laugh
with which its finer points were enforced.

Gratified by the pleasure his story had given, Sobah was content to
rest for the present, and after listening respectfully for some time to
his less gifted companions, left the group and disappeared within his
hut.

As the inclination seized them, the others strolled away into the
darkness. Careful Mammy Mamenah covered the fire, and soon the night
was given over to the undisputed possession of spirits and other
creatures of darkness.




CHAPTER II

WITH THE SPIRITS OF THE WOOD


When one morning, not long after the story of Mr. Spider's successful
courting, Sobah felt the hunter instinct strong upon him, he left the
work of the little rice farm to Mammy Mamenah and some pickaninnies,
took his trusted hunting-spear and sought the forest depths. He was a
knowing hunter, artful and sure, and as familiar with the ways of the
denizens of the woods as with the habits of his village neighbors.

But through all the morning hours his skill and cunning proved of
no avail. He sought the well-known haunts of the desired prey, and
lay patiently in wait, or followed a fresh trail, with every faculty
alert. All in vain, for the spirits of the forest seemed in league
against him. Always some unseen presence would give warning of his
approach, or bewitch his aim. Tired out at last, and full of nameless
dread, he threw himself down at the foot of a monkey-apple tree to
think out the mystery. The cough of a deer from a neighboring thicket
seemed to taunt his ill-success. A monkey swung down from a limb over
his head, and chattered threateningly. A heavy body seemed to fall
through the branches of a tree just behind him, and yet, as he turned,
no object falling was visible. Starting up with the cry, "Now debble
dat!" Sobah reached instinctively for the charm he always wore on his
person as a safeguard against danger and an assurance of success. To
his consternation he discovered that it was not in its accustomed
place. The cause of his former ill-luck was now explained. This charm
contained a potent medicine brought from afar, and had been consecrated
as his personal guardian and helper. Greatly wrought up now at finding
himself in this devil-haunted region without a charm so powerful,
he made his way from the woods and to his hut with eager haste. To
his great relief he found the precious little article hanging where
he had carelessly left it. Much reassured when this object of his
superstitious trust was again dangling from his neck, he started out
once more, and in a new direction, bent on retrieving his lost prestige
as a hunter. Sustained by that feeling of confidence which is half
of success in any undertaking, he, keen-eyed and alert, followed the
path along the river. Sagaciously hiding in a covert that overlooked a
little path leading down to the water's edge, he awaited developments.
A little later his quick ear detected the lightest possible step
approaching along the path; then a pair of intelligent eyes peeped
around a tuft of rushes, and soon there appeared the most graceful
little body Nature ever made, incased in a glossy coat of softest
satin, and supported by the daintiest of feet. Even in repose the
little creature suggested the very poetry of motion, and looked as if
the working of a slight spell would transform it wholly into spirit and
let it fly away.

Sobah's heart had been nurtured in savagery, yet it almost stayed the
hand from striking.

"Cunnie Rabbit," he muttered to himself, for so the natives call this
deerlet, "I go get yo' now."

Surely the charm was working, for there the shy creature stood, and
moved not until the well-directed spear from the hunter's hand laid it
low.

While Sobah was gloating over his prize, a company of men from the
village came along. After effusive congratulations, they tied Cunnie
Rabbit upon a pole, covered the body with a white cloth, and eight men
took up the burden and staggered along toward the village with it, as
if the load were all they could possibly carry. "Eight man tote um,"
Mamenah explained later to the inquisitive Konah, "dem duh make as ef
he heaby. Dey say he nar (is) king of de beas' fo' wise oh; not fo'
stout, but fo' sense."

The stew that accompanied the usual boiled rice at that evening meal,
was delicious enough to please a more fastidious palate.

With appetite richly satisfied for once, and in great good humor with
himself and the world, Sobah was in a more genial mood than usual,
when, later, a company of neighbors gathered around him. They had just
come in from their little farms, and, remembering similar occasions,
and knowing that if the hunter had been successful in the chase, his
tongue would be "sweet" for story-telling, each man carried on his
back a bundle of wood. Throwing it in a heap suggestive of a fire, they
remarked: "Lookee de wood fo' de fiah," thus making a covert request
for a story, and paying the story-teller a delicate compliment. Sobah
felt the beauty of this indirect appeal, and was much pleased by it,
but there was no need for haste, so he allowed the talk to run on
various topics before he made a formal response to the desire of his
friends.

All chatted freely of the experiences of the day. A bit of war news
from "up country" had drifted in, and was heard with relish. Most of
all the behavior of the various animals Sobah had met that day, and the
supposed connection between the little charm and that behavior, held
awed attention. Out of this talk concerning the human-like actions of
certain animals, grew, naturally, references to the animals that appear
with human attributes in the many fireside tales so dear to the hearts
of the people.

Sobah was recognized as the story-teller of the village, and so when
mention was made of the deer that coughed, Oleemah proposed that Sobah
should tell them the story of how the deer acquired such a habit,
adding diplomatically, "Yo' pass we all fo' pull story good fashion."

The story-teller was already in a gracious frame of mind, and, pleased
with this last tribute to his art, lost no time in responding with a
legend of Creation's early dawn.


GORO, THE WONDERFUL WRESTLER.

"One tem all dem beef (animals) dey gadder to one place, all dem beef
dis wuld, but de head of dem all, dat now one ooman en he pickin
(pickaninny). De pickin name Goro. One net big rain fa' down, he out
all de fiah. Now de mawnin' cole, all dem beef dey trimble, dey cole
too much. No fiah no deh fo' make demse'f wa'm. Dey see one leelee
place deh wey smoke duh come out. Dey sen' Deer, dem say:

"'Go bring fiah fo' we, over yandah to dat place.'

"Deer go, he meet de ooman en he pickin wey duh sit down close de fiah.
Dey try wa'm demse'f by de fiah. W'en Deer reach he tell de ooman
'Mawnin'; he say: "I come beg fiah."

"De ooman say, 'I nebber greedy (begrudge) pusson fiah, but I get one
law heah. Pusson wey wan' fiah mus' fet (fight) wid me pickin, mus'
beat um. Yo' see de leelee girl? One place outside dah do', he nar (is)
de fet place, he rub, he smooth. Go fet me pickin; ef yo' beat um yo'
take de fiah.'

"De Deer he look de pickin foolish nah heen[7] yi, he say:

"'Mammy, yo' wan' make I kill yo' pickin?'

[7] "Heen" refers to Deer. The proposal to wrestle with the little
child appeared foolish in the Deer's estimation.

"De ooman say: 'Nebber min', kill um, de fault not yo' yown.'

"Deer say: 'All ret.'

"De pickin come, dey two grip, dey begin fo' fet, de ooman begin fo'
sing; he duh sing fo' he pickin, he no duh sing fo' de Deer. He sing:

    "'Goro, Goro,
    Fet like how yo' bin fet ebery day,
    Tay (until) all de groun' duh shake.'"

As if in sympathy with the rhythm of the song, Sobah's whole body began
to sway back and forth, his voice rose and fell in musical cadences,
and his hands began to clap in time to the movement of the song.
All the listeners took up the rhythmic swaying of the body and the
measured clapping of the hands, and as soon as they caught the words,
joined heartily in the chant. Not satisfied with the first result,
Sobah led off with a repetition. This time there was no occasion for
dissatisfaction, and the story proceeded with increasing animation.

[Illustration: The Deer after fighting with Goro.

  [_See p. 56._]
]

"Goro fet, he fet. He hase (raised) de Deer up; de Deer go take one
yeah up befo' he come down. W'en he fa' down he get cough. Some tem ef
yo' deh nah (in) bush en Deer cough, yo' go say, 'Nar (is) pusson.'"

"Dat nar true," broke in Dogbah eagerly, a spark of understanding
falling on his dull mind. "Mese'f bin hearee um cough to-day nah bush.
Dah fa' wey he bin fa' long tem make he cough so," and he shook with
laughter, as if Mr. Deer's hard fall were highly amusing.

Sobah, taking up the interrupted thread of the narrative, said: "Well,
Deer go home widout no fiah."

"Elephan' he say: 'I go go, I jus' wrap me mout' 'pon dis girl I twis'
um, I hase (raise) um up, I wop um down, I take de fiah.' Well he begin
root dem big, big 'tick wid he teet' fo' show how he 'trong; he say:
'Nar _so_ I go meet de girl.'

"Well, w'en Elephan' go, he tell de ooman how do, he meet de fiah, he
wan' take um. De ooman say: 'All ret,' he say: 'Look me pickin. Go
fet.' De pickin begin, de ooman sing de same sing w'en dey grip fo' fet.

    "'Goro, Goro,
    Fet lek how yo' bin fet ebery day,
    Tay all de groun' duh shake.'"

This time the apt imitators caught up the refrain at once, and gave
it with great zest. "Soon," continued Sobah, after a momentary pause,
"de girl he hase de Elephan' up, he sen' um up; but since de Elephan'
stout he no able, he jus' sen' um up as far as one week. De one week
finish, de Elephan' come down. W'en he fa' down 'pon de groun' he hurt
he teet', en he teet' swell. Dat make Elephan' he teeth big."

At this point Sobah struck an attitude suggestive of the Elephant's
state of general dilapidation. His face took on a look of mingled
pain and disgust, and this in turn was succeeded by a smile of
self-approbation, and ended in a peculiar chuckling laugh that carried
infectious mirth to all the circle of listeners.

[Illustration: The Elephant after the fight with the Goro.

  [_See p. 59._]
]

Settling back once more to his usual air of serious dignity, Sobah
continued his recital.

"Elephan' he go back, he no kare any fiah.

"Well, Lepped come, he tell de ooman say: 'I come fo' fiah.'

"De ooman say, 'All ret,' he say, 'Look me pickin, he go fet yo.'

"Dey begin fo' fet, Goro en Lepped. Dey fet en fet. De girl he hase
(raise) de Lepped up; he sen' um, he go, he take t'ree mont'; he come
down, he fa' down 'pon 'tone, he cut hese'f, de blood sprinkle all 'pon
um. Dat make de Lepped he spot, spot."

This explanation of the Leopard's spots, seemed reasonable enough to
these simple-minded people, who ask only that some cause out of the
ordinary should account for ordinary things. Dogbah was about to offer
a comment again, but before his slow wits could formulate his words,
the story-teller had plunged into the next sentence.

"De Lepped he go widout no fiah. De beef, w'en dey see um, dey say:

"'Eh! We no get no fiah to-day.'

"Now Puss he get up, he say: 'I go go.'

"Dem beef dey laugh um, dey say: 'All ret.' Dey say: 'Yo' see all dem
big beef? Dey go, dey no able fo' bring fiah. Yo' say yo' duh go? All
ret, go try.'

"De Cat he go, he say: 'Mammy, I come fo' fiah.'

"De ooman say: 'All ret, go try wid me pickin.'

"De Cat go, de ooman begin fo' sing. De girl he jus' take de Cat wid
one han', he hebe (raise) um up, he go take one yeah en ha'f befo' he
come down. He fa' hard, he begin fo' cry 'Meouw! meouw!' Dat make Puss
duh cry anytem, net or day tem he duh cry. He go home widout no fiah.

"Now Spider go, he say, 'Mammy, I come fo' fiah.'

"De ooman say: 'All ret, oonah (you) go fet wid me pickin.' De ooman he
no even se'f sing. Dah girl take Spider wid one fingah, he hebe (raise)
um up fo' two yeah."

A murmur of dissent caused the story-teller to pause and cast a look
of inquiry around the company. It was evident that the ardent admirers
of crafty little Mr. Spider could not bear to have him disposed of so
easily. But Sobah checked the rising protest by a commanding gesture,
and a look that seemed to say: "I am sorry, but I must tell the story
just as it is." When the silence assured him of a hearing, he continued.

"W'en Spider come he fa' down, he broke he foot. Dat make Spider duh
crawl now; dat make he walker wid four foot, sometem six. Long tem[8]
he walker wid two foot 'traight lek pusson. Spider go home widout no
fiah.

[8] "Long tem" is usually, as in this case, the equivalent of a long
time ago. The remote past, rather than duration, is intended.

"Cunnie Rabbit he go, he say: 'Mammy, I come fo' fiah.'

"De ooman say: 'All ret, go to dah pickin, fet wid um.'

"W'en dey fet, de girl come hebe (raise) um up, he take six mont.' De
t'ing wey make he no go far, he get too much sense."

This was uttered with peculiar emphasis, and was answered by a
prolonged "Y-a-h-oh; y-a-h-oh!" of assent that indicated a keen
appreciation of Cunnie Rabbit's superior mental qualities. The next
sentence was almost equally satisfactory, and regained for the story
what favor it had lost by the humiliation of Mr. Spider.

"W'en Cunnie Rabbit come down he fa' down, he get up one tem (at once),
he begin fo' run, he _run_. Dat make tay (until) to-day he hard fo'
ketch. He kin run fas' pass all dem beef.

"All de odder beef duh go, dey no able fo' beat de pickin. Conk (snail)
he get up, he go, he walker 'bout slow, slow. W'en he tell dem beef: 'I
go go fo' fiah,' Cunnie Rabbit take um en hebe (threw) um nah (out) de
do'. He fa' down, he hurt hese'f, he get blood 'pon um. De blood mark,
mark um, but he say: 'Nebber min', I go go.'

[Illustration: De Conk.]

"He go, he tell de ooman, 'How do;' he say, 'Mammy I come fo' fiah, en
I mus' kare dis fiah go home.'

"De ooman say: 'All ret; look de place wey fo' fet wid me pickin.

"De Conk do lek he duh walk 'roun de place slow, slow; but he duh get
slipple (slippery) spit, he duh rub all de place. W'en he done finis'
fo' rub, he say: 'Come fet now.'

"De girl come, he duh boas', he no know de cunnie wey de Conk bin pull
fo' beat um. Den grip fo' fet, he en de Conk. De Conk he hase (raise)
de girl up, he go fo' five yeah. De ooman no see he pickin, he duh cry.
Conk take de fiah, he go home. Dey cook, dey yeat, dey gladee. Dey done
finis' fo' cook en yeat befo' de girl fa' down. W'en de ooman see how
de Conk hebe (raise) he pickin up, he begin fo' cry. Nar (It is) de
ooman bring cry nah (into) de wuld.

"Story come, story go."

This well-known form of ending was followed by a long silence. The
night was already far advanced, but the black man is a creature of the
night. Deeper than the color of his skin lies his kinship with the
darkness, however much he may dread the powers of evil that creep forth
as soon as the day is gone.

At last the silence was broken by Gondomah, a man of modest bearing,
who, though seldom essaying the rôle of a story-teller, could not yet
be reconciled to the place assigned to Spider in the last story. Half
to himself he said: "Spider nar smart man, nobody no go pass um."
Then, emboldened by the sound of his own voice, and by the encouraging
silence, he proceeded in the fewest possible words to relate how.


MR. SPIDER SOLD A VERY FINE DOG.

"One tem Spider say he go go far up country fo' buy plenty cow. Early
mawnin', fus' fowl crow, he grap (got up), he walker tay (until) de
sun middle de sky. He done tire. W'en he reach to one big, _big_
grass-fiel' he go lay down. He close to one lion, but he no know. Dey
all two, dey duh sleep. Well, soon de Foulah people dey bring plenty
cow wey dem duh kare down fo' go sell. De Foulah people dey no sabbee
lion, dey nebber see um yet. W'en dey meet dis lion heah de one man say:

"'Eh, lookee! Wey t'ing dat?'

"Odder one say: 'He big dog, aintee?'

"Den 'tan' up wid wonder. Dey no see Spider fo' long tem, because he
leelee so. W'en dey fus' meet up nah grass-fiel' Spider bin hearee um,
he come out heen sleep. He hearee how dey say dat de lion one big dog.
W'en he look de plenty cow he t'ink: 'How I go do fo' get dem cow? I
mus' get um.'

"He grap (got up), he tell dem Foulah man 'How do.' Dey answer um
'tankee.' Dey ax um say:

"'Daddy, now dis dog heah, yo' get um?'

[Illustration: Mr. Spider sells a very fine dog.

  [_See p. 66._]
]

"Spider say: 'Yes, nar me yown dog dat.'

"De Foulah man wan' fo' buy um, dey talk de palaver, dey bargain fo'
gie um all de cow fo' buy dis dog. Spider say: 'All ret, but no wake
dis dog yeah, oh! because he done use me too much.[9] Bimeby w'en yo'
wake um, he go follow me, he no 'gree fo' follow oonah (you). W'en I
done go far 'way, den oonah mus' wake um.'"

[9] "Done use me too much," _i.e._ He is too accustomed to me.

By this time Gondomah was warming to his theme, and surprised even
himself with his unwonted eloquence. The listeners, ever ready to see a
rich point, had for some time been quivering with intense appreciation
of Spider's rascally shrewdness, and just here gave expression to
their delight in a fit of uncontrollable laughter, and exclamations of
approval.

Gondomah, elated beyond measure, paused long enough to regain his
composure, and then went on.

"So den people dey gie Spider all de cow. Dey wait tay (until) he done
get far 'way, dey begin fo' call de dog. Jus' de Lion wake he open he
yi, he 'tretch hese'f, he raise he tail, take um put um 'pon he back.
He jus' grip one of de Foulah people, he kill um; de odder all run go.
Spider he done get de cow.

"So ef Spider tell yo' say he go do anyt'ing, no deny.[10]

[10] "No deny," _i.e._ Do not doubt his ability.

Sobah, a little jealous of the attention that had been paid to this
upstart story-teller, had been searching in the vast storehouse of
his memory for a fitting tale with which to bring himself again into
favorable notice. The one which came to his mind caused a broad smile
to spread over his face, and a chuckle of satisfaction to rise in his
throat. Oleemah, noticing these signs of pleasure, and suspecting that
they foreshadowed a good story, asked encouragingly:

"Wey t'ing make yo' gladee so? Do, yah? tell we."

Not needing further urging, Sobah launched into his narrative with much
animation.


MR. TURTLE MAKES A RIDING-HORSE OF MR. LEOPARD.

"One day Trorkey (Turtle) bin walker close to Lepped he ho'se (house),
en he see de ooman lepped 'tan' up nah de do'-(door) mout'. He tell um
say:

"'How do, Mammy? How yo' kin 'tan'?'

"De Mammy answer um: 'Tankee, I well leelee bit, how yo'se'f, Daddy? I
no bin see yo' long tem.'

"Trorkey answer um: 'I no so well, Mammy; dis de hour w'en feber duh
walker all 'bout, en me skin all duh hurt. I duh go to de bush fo' pull
med'cin', fo' make leelee tea. Which side Mr. Lepped to-day?'

"He wef answer: 'He done go walker; I duh wait um jus' now. Yo' no bin
see um nah road?'

"Trorkey say: 'No, I no bin see um. I sorry he done go, because ef he
here I go ride um lek hoss.'

"Lepped he wef deny, he say:

"'No, yo' won' do um, yo' no go able ride me man lek hoss.'

"Den Trorkey go home. W'en Lepped come nah ho'se he wef tell um say:

"'Trorkey bin pass heah to-day, he say he go ride yo' lek hoss.'

"Well, den de man lepped vex, he run go to Trorkey, he go ax um ef he
bin say he go ride um lek hoss. Trorkey deny, he say:

"'I no say so.'

"Den Lepped say: 'All ret. Come, we go ax me wef.'

"Den de Trorkey say: 'I no able fo' walk. De sick too 'trong 'pon me.'

"Dat de cunnie he duh do.

"De Lepped say: 'Come, I go tote yo', I go ax me wef.'

"Den de Trorkey say: 'Gie me one leelee rope, make I tie um 'roun yo'
mout', make I hole um, so w'en I duh shake, shake, make I no fa' down.'

"En de Lepped gie um de rope.

"Well, de Trorkey say: 'Gie me one leelee 'tick, make I go flog dem
fly, make I go dribe dem w'en dey duh follow we.'

This bit of apparently artless guile on the part of Mr. Turtle,
threatened to convulse the audience, but interest in the development of
the story had become so intense as to check the rising tide of mirth
for the present, while the story-teller went on with growing enthusiasm.

"Well, de Lepped gie um de 'tick.'

"Den Trorkey he say, 'Come go now.'

"Well, w'en de Lepped done kare Trorkey go, Trorkey duh joomp, he duh
flog de Lepped, he duh make lek pusson wey duh ride hoss.'

[Illustration: Mr. Turtle makes a riding-horse of Mr. Leopard.

  [_See p. 72._]
]

Sobah described this little episode with inimitable drollery in tone
and manner, and ended the 'wey duh ride hoss', with a peculiar nasal
explosion that served to emphasize the humor of the situation. The
result was instantaneous, and convulsive laughter continued many
minutes, breaking out afresh every time anyone would remark: 'Aintee he
flog um good fashion?' When the laughter had subsided sufficiently, the
story proceeded:

"W'en dey go meet Lepped he wef nah road, de ooman laugh en say:

"'Oh! Nar true wey dis Trorkey bin talk, say he go ride me man lek
hoss, so nar true.'

"W'en Lepped reach, he hebe Trorkey down, den he tell he wef, he say:

"I done bring Trorkey come, fo' de word he duh talk, say he go ride me
lek hoss.'

"He wef say: 'Wey t'ing Trorkey do so? He no ride yo' lek hoss'? en de
ooman laugh agin.

"Now Lepped see Trorkey bin make he fool; he ketch Trorkey, he tie um
'pon one big 'tick, he flog um sotay (until) he back all cut, cut. Dat
make sotay to-day de mark all lef 'pon Trorkey he back."

There was more laughter at the retribution that overtook Mr. Turtle,
and then the talk drifted to personal matters.

Finally, as if led by some common impulse, the company began to
disperse, some to the solid comfort of a hard mud bed, and some to
consort with the hideous spirits of darkness and the night.




CHAPTER III

A BACK-YARD KITCHEN


Sobah had gone with his boat on a trading trip to Freetown, but he was
a thoughtful husband and father, and had left a generous supply of rice
and dried fish.

Mammy Mamenah and Konah were leisurely preparing their evening meal,
for once alone. No, not entirely alone, for in their kitchen, which
was also the back-yard, was gathered just at this time a strangely
assorted group of creatures more or less intimately connected with the
household. By mutual consent, some precedence of rights seemed to be
granted to the two human beings, but they did not seem to be inclined
to exercise their rights to any oppressive degree. In dress and bearing
they were almost as simple and blissfully unconscious as the other
creatures that shared their back-yard space with them. Konah's sole
attire was a string of beads fastened around her waist, while Mammy
Mamenah had the conventional piece of cloth, three feet wide, wrapped
around her body, tucked deftly beneath her arms, and extending to
her knees. Chickens roamed over the place with the air of rightful
ownership. Goats nibbled the bits of grass that grew around the edge of
the bare spot, and climbed over or peered into anything that appealed
to their curiosity. A monkey, limited in his activities by the length
of string fastened around his slender body, was going through various
evolutions in the endeavor to reach the tail feathers of a parrot that
was shrilly scolding at a mangy little dog. The furnishings of the
kitchen were few and simple in the extreme. The stove consisted of
three stones so arranged as to support a pot of rice, and at the same
time to allow a fire to be kindled beneath. A large pot for the rice, a
smaller one for the stew, some calabashes and a large mortar and pestle
for pounding the rice, completed the outfit. The rice had been set to
boil, and Mammy Mamenah had nothing to do but wait for it to cook.
She had seated herself upon one end of a small log, the other end of
which was in the fire. Konah had squatted upon the ground in front of
her mother, and by artful and suggestive questions was endeavoring to
draw out a story about some of her animal friends. A heathen mother
does not concern herself about the pleasure of her child, and takes no
trouble for the child's happiness, unless there is some amusement in it
for herself, but Konah was the third child, the two older ones having
died of small-pox, and on that account was treated more nearly with
indulgence than were other children. A spirit of comradeship, almost of
affection, had grown up between this black mother and her story-loving
child. The many hours they had passed together had tended to deepen the
feeling of fellowship and sympathy.

Finally Konah put her desire in the form of a direct entreaty, 'Mammy,
do yah (please) pull story.'

In response Mammy Mamenah drew the child's head down upon her lap, and,
loosening the kinky wool, proceeded to replait it in innumerable little
braids that caused the jet-black hair on the shapely head to stand out
in regular rows like the ridges of a cantaloupe.

"'Yo' lek story too much,' she said reprovingly; then, repenting almost
immediately, added: 'Wey t'ing yo' wan'?'

The question was unnecessary, for the child's very pronounced
preference for Cunning Rabbit, above all the creatures of her fairy
world, was well known to her mother. So in a low crooning voice she
began the story of


CUNNING RABBIT AND HIS WELL.

"Long tem, Cunnie Rabbit en all dem beef bin gadder. Den meet up to one
place fo' talk palaver, because de country dry too much. Dey no get one
grain (drop) wattah sotay (until) all man wan' fo' die. Dey all get
word fo' talk, f'om de big beef to de small, but nobody no able fo'
fine sense fo' pull dem f'om dis yeah big trouble. Cunnie Rabbit he no
bin say notting, he jus' listen wey dem beef talk; he t'ink say: 'Wey
ting I go do fo' get wattah?'

"Bimeby he grap (get up), he go home, he begin fo' dig well. He dig, he
dig, he _dig_. De wattah come plenty. He drink sotay (until) he done
satisfy.

[Illustration: Cunning Rabbit and his well.

  [_See p. 80._]
]

"Now dem beef hearee dat Cunnie Rabbit get well. Spider he grap fo' go
walker to Cunnie Rabbit. He say:

"'Fren', we no get one grain wattah fo' drink, we go die. Make yo' gie
we.

"Cunnie Rabbit tell um, he say:

"'De pusson wey wan' make me gie um wattah, make he come fet me.'

"Spider say: 'All ret.'

"Now Spider en Cunnie Rabbit dey fet. Cunnie Rabbit hase (raise) Spider
up to dah sky. He come down, he lay down flat. He grap (get up), he
hase Cunnie Rabbit up. Cunnie Rabbit go to de sky; he blow one horn
wey (which) he hole nah (in) he han'. W'en he blow um dark come, w'en
he blow um agin, do' clean.[11] He fa' down, he grip de wuld, VIP! He
han' long, dey go inside de groun'. Cunnie Rabbit get up back, he hase
Spider up. One rainy season, one dry season he stay 'pon top de sky.
W'en he come down, w'en he too fa' down 'pon de groun', he say: 'Ee!
Ee! Ee! Fren', I no able agin. Den he shake Cunnie Rabbit he han'; he
say: 'Oonah (you) 'trong man.'"

[11] When into the darkness of a mud hut the first rays of dawn
penetrate sufficiently to afford from within a clear-cut outline of the
door-way, the time is designated by "do' clean."

To the recital of this very extraordinary combat between two very
unusual people, Konah had been listening so intently that her restless
limbs forgot to move, and her breathing was partly suspended. A
movement of relief at this point in the narrative, and a long sigh
of satisfaction at the sensible outcome of the contest, showed that
her sympathy with the characters of the story was warm and real.
She shifted her position, stooped to pull a chigger from one of her
little black toes, then curled her head down on the other side for the
comfortable enjoyment of the tale, which was continued while the tiny
braids took form under the mother's deft fingers. The resumption of the
story was delayed just a little; for two children, Konah's playmates,
catching the echo of a story through the open door of the hut, came to
share the pleasure. Mamenah, finding more amusement in entertaining a
larger audience, proceeded with greater energy.

"Dem beef all come, dey try, dey no able. Elephan' come, he say:

"'Wey de man wey say he de mos' 'trong? Make he come one tem, make we
fet, so I go take wattah. I too t'irst.'

"Cunnie Rabbit come, he boas', he say: 'Nar (it is) _me_ dis.'

"Elephan' take he long mout', he wrap Cunnie Rabbit, he wrap um 'trong.
He fling um, turn, turn um, he hebe um up, so he jam to de sky. De
sweat wey he bin sweat, dat nar de hair 'pon heen skin. Cunnie Rabbit
come, he 'tan' up, he hase de Elephan' up."

"Cunnie Rabbit wey leelee so," chuckled Konah, unable to restrain her
satisfaction at the prowess of her hero, but the interruption was
unnoted.

"Elephan' heen long mout' come nah groun', he wrap den 'tick fo' hole
hese'f, he broke um w'en he go up. He say: 'Cunnie Rabbit wey leelee
so, nar _he_ do me so?'

"He hole Cunnie Rabbit wid heen long mout' agin, he drag um, he make
big noise 'pon de groun' w'en he drag um. He pin Cunnie Rabbit down;
den (they) fet, den fet, den fet. De place wey den fet he big pass
(bigger than) dis town, he double um four tem fo' big. Dey fet tay
(till) fiah ketch dah place. Dah one wey box he cumpin, fiah ketch; dah
odder one wey box he cumpin, fiah ketch. De place he bu'n clean, so-so
san'-san' (sand) lef' no mo'."[12]

[12] "So-so san'-san' lef' no mo'," _i.e._ merely sand was left, nothing
more. The fire kindled by the terrible combat had consumed everything
combustible. This is a characteristic African hyperbole. See also the
much exaggerated statement of the space covered by the combat, and
of the size of the cup that each animal was required to empty at one
draught.

Here the narrator's voice, momentarily pitched to a higher key,
exclaimed: "Make yo' dribe dem goat, dey do rascal trick;" and the
child, only less nimble than the goats, drove with an 'Ah! hey!' an
inquisitive one from dangerous proximity to the greens, made ready to
be put into the stew. The animal retreated to a short distance, with
an air that indicated contemplated return at the first opportunity,
while Konah turned a calabash over the greens, pushed the log further
into the fire, and sat down to pick into bits the dried fish, so that
her mother might be left to do uninterrupted justice to the marvellous
contest of "dem beef."

"Well, dem beef dey all duh try, dey no know how fo' do. Dey all go
make bargain. All dem beef dey pull (bring) plenty clo'es, so plenty
dey done full dis town heah, dey full Freetown. En dis yeah clo'es
dey gie um all to Cunnie Rabbit. Dey say: '_Do_;[13] ef yo' no gie we
wattah we go die.'

[13] "Do," often accompanied by a low cringing inclination of the body
and clasped hands, is a very strong form of entreaty.

"Cunnie Rabbit say: 'All ret. Make all man take one one cup wattah
drink.'

"But de bargain _dis_. Ef de pusson no done _all_, he fo' take one
piece clot' en gie um to Cunnie Rabbit, en say: 'Dis nar fo' de wattah
weh I wais.' De cup he cover dis whole town, he cover 'Merica, he cover
Englan', he cover Freetown fo' big oh!"[14]

[14] The use of America and England, in the comparison, comes from
the vaguest possible conception of those countries, derived in this
instance, it may be supposed, from information picked up by Sobah
during his visits to Freetown. The series, America, England and
Freetown, is intended to form a climax.

       *       *       *       *       *

The sparkling eyes and white teeth of the little listeners indicated
their appreciation of this enormous conception, but they were too eager
for the story to interrupt.

"Now Elephan' say: 'Make me fus' drink.'

"He take de cup, he full um nah well. He put heen long mout inside so,
he draw de wattah; he draw um, he draw um, he draw um sotay he done
um. Lepped say: 'Make me come try.' Dey full de cup, Lepped he drink,
he drink, he _drink_ sotay (until) he done de wattah. De beef all
drink, dey all done um. Den leelee beef dey done de wattah inside de
big cup. Dey all no able fo' go agin. Fo' walker go home dem no able,
but den able fo' grap (get up to) cook. Dey cook big, big, _big_ ress
(rice). De pot fo' cook de ress--Lie man say de pot big lek dis whole
town heah, Grimah all, Moshengo all. Well, me wey no duh lie, I no lie
_anyt'ing_, I jus' put leelee salt fo' make he sweet, I say he big lek
all Temne country, all white man country, double all two, I put half
'pon um agin en mo' town, so de pot big."

This climax elicited from Konah an explosive little exclamation. She
cracked together the tips of her fingers, rolled over on the ground,
then righting herself, asked:

"Mammy, how yo' t'ink say dey go able done dah _big_ ress?"

Very contemptuous, very subduing was the voice in reply:

"Aintee yo' know say long tem (long time ago) dem beef able anyt'ing?"
Then resuming the crooning tone: "Dey yeat dah ress, goat all, cow all,
fowl, sheep, all dem elephan', dey yeat dah ress.

"One big, big wattah spread 'pon dem all, dey all no know which side he
come out. De ashes f'om de fiah he spread 'pon dem beef all. Well, dey
all swim, dey all go to dem yown home. One tem beef all bin white, but
since w'en de ashes bin deh 'pon dem long tem, some kin (can be) red,
some kin brown, some black, some spot-spot."

Mammy Mamenah's tale was told, and she turned now to her fish and
greens, her pepper, palm-oil and pea-nuts, to prove herself as able to
make a palatable stew for the rice now cooked, as she was to tell a
story.

As these articles were being placed in the pot, the children looked
on with swelling anticipations of a feast sufficient to satisfy the
most extravagant demands of their keen appetites, as of course the
openhearted hospitality characteristic of the country, would keep the
little visitors to share the rice and stew.

"Make yo' put plenty peppy, Mammy," urged Konah, with an eagerness that
betrayed her weakness for that fiery condiment.

"Shut mout'", replied the woman, with much more gruffness than she
felt, but nevertheless she put in a generous supply of the little red
fire-balls.

Soon the stew was over the fire, and once more they all sat down to
wait. Konah, with her dreamy mind full of the story she had just
heard, and her eyes full of the new light of dawning intelligence,
sat watching the goats that were frisking and playing about the yard.
It began to break in dimly upon her mind that all those antics might
have meaning apart from the present, and might spring from some dim
remembrance of experiences from the long ago, when the animals belonged
to a higher order of beings.

Just then one of the goats dropped to its knees and began to rub its
neck along the grass.

"Ah, Mammy!" exclaimed the little girl excitedly, "yo' see dah goat?
W'ey t'ing dat he do?"

"He 'member how he bin swim, long tem," answered the woman somewhat
indifferently. "Not to kratch he duh kratch,[15] but to swim he duh
swim long tem, w'en de ocean come 'pon de beef all."

[15] This is a characteristic circumlocution. It means that the goat is
not scratching, but is swimming, as he did a long time ago.

Another goat, some distance away, was chewing its cud with much energy
and determination. The process attracted the children, one of whom
raised a question as to its meaning.

"Yo' no know dat?" replied Mamenah, this time with growing interest.
"Dat nar de ress wey dey yeat long tem. He no done yet; goat, cow, dey
duh yeat all tem, even net tem, day tem, dey yeat dah ress."

A frisky kid was playfully kicking up its heels, and anon leaping into
the air.

"Wey t'ing make he do dat?" asked Konah, laughing gleefully at the
antics of the kid.

The woman, now thoroughly in sympathy with the children's questions,
launched into a series of explanations without waiting for further
inquiries.

"W'en de goat bin come out de wattah wid swim, so he bin dry hese'f, he
bin wipe de wattah f'om he skin, he bin kick en kick. Lookee! Yo' see
dah goat wey duh 'tan' up yandah, duh shake heen yase (ears) so? Dat de
cole wey bin 'pon um long tem, duh make he yase trimble tay now."

"Eh! hey! Yo' see how dah goat duh lay down _so_, heen head 'pon 'tick?
_So_ he bin do fo' blow (breathe) w'en he done tire fo' swim."

"Ah! I duh watch dem. Hey! Yo' see dem turn dem tail so?"

The goat was wriggling its tail so that it looked not unlike a paddle
in rapid motion. "Dat nar paddle wey duh he'p um fo' pull; he bin turn
um fas' fas' w'en he inside de wattah."

Two goats were standing on their hind legs, playing, and two others
were engaged in a mock fight. These manœuvres needed explanation, and
Mammy Manenah went on after a momentary pause. "W'en de goat wan' tell
Cunnie Rabbit 'How do,' dah tem w'en he go beg wattah, _so_ he bin
'tan' up fus' tem. W'en dey fet dey 'member say how dey fet long tem
wid Cunnie Rabbit. Dat make dem try agin."

By this time two of the animals were solemnly touching noses, and
seemed to be discussing some grave matter. To an inquiry of the
children as to the meaning of this behavior, the reply came: "Oh dat?
Nar bargain dem make long tem fo' get wattah."

A plaintive little bleat brought out the explanation: "Long tem, w'en
one leelee goat bin go beg de wattah, Cunnie Rabbit say: 'Make yo' call
yo' Mammy, make he come;' den de pickin say: 'Mah! mah!' Dat make de
leelee goat say 'Mah mah,' tay (till) to-day."

Then reminded of another characteristic goat trait, she continued
earnestly:

"Aintee yo' see w'en one goat kin run, all start wid run fo' follow um?
Cunnie Rabbit bin sen' one say: 'Make dem call all, make dem come drink
wattah f'om dah big cup.' Now 'member dey duh 'member.

"Dey gladee w'en pusson call um fo' yeat, dey run. Dey 'member w'en
Cunnie Rabbit say: 'Who no come fo' yeat dah ress, he go meet um done."

A goat that had been making a tour of inspection around the yard, was
just now peering inquisitively over the edge of a large barrel, an
unusual acquisition from Sobah's last trading trip to Freetown.

"Oh dah goat deh?" This in reply to a look of inquiry from the
children. "Long tem he go peep inside well, w'en he no get one grain
wattah. He duh peep inside Cunnie Rabbit heen well."

"Goat no 'fraid pusson?"--this after an interval of silence--"Oh! Yo
know fo' wey t'ing dey no go 'fraid pusson? I tell yo' 'bout um. Spider
make dem lek pusson," and with that she drifted off naturally into an
account of Mr. Spider and the goats, and incidentally showed why some
goats are tame, and others wild.


GOATS OF THE WOOD AND OF THE TOWN.

"Spider he bin pusson, long tem, he no bin 'tan' lek[16] to-day; he
done turn odder kine of t'ing now. Dah tem he get big, big, big cassada
(cassava) fa'm. He say: Make dem goat all come tell um 'How do.' Den he
go root cassada, he root cassada; he pile um high, he jam de sky fo'
high. He tell dem goat, he say: 'Who wan' go nah town, make he go nah
town; who wan' go nah bush, make he go nah bush. Now he shabe (divided)
de cassada. All dem wey say dey wan' go nah town, he gie um four, four
stick cassada;[17] he say: 'Aintee me pusson? Yo' mus' lek pusson.'

[16] "He no bin 'tan' lek," _i.e._ Did not stand like, did not appear
as he does.

[17] "He gie um four, four," _i.e._ He gave four to each.

"Dey say: 'All ret.'

"De one wey (who) wan' go nah bush, he gie dem two, two 'tick. Dat make
sotay (till) now, dem bush-goat no lek pusson, dey say dey wan' be
inside bush."

A cow that had been grazing just behind the fence, came up now and
looked over into the yard, at the same time switching her tail in a
vigorous attempt to dislodge a large fly that had settled upon her
back. Konah noticed this interesting performance, and glad of the
opportunity to seek further explanations, aroused her mother from the
reverie into which she had fallen, with the question:

"Yo' see de cow wey 'tan' up yandah? Wey t'ing do he bin make heen tail
so, knock um behine heen back?"

The efforts of the cow now became almost frantic, much to the delight
of the children. Mamenah explained:

"W'en dey bin swim, long tem, he tie one big, big cassada to heen tail
fo' cham (chew). Wen he wan' fo' cham um, he turn um, knock um 'pon
heen back, so he kin turn cham um. So yo' kin see cow 'tan' up, knock
heen tail behine back. Not to fly he duh dribe, dat cassada he bin
'member, long tem."

After this last explanation, there was silence for some minutes, until
the children, returning from the land of dreams to that of reality,
became aware that they were exceedingly hungry. The rice had sometime
since been removed from the fire and beneath its grass-woven cover had
steamed until now the stew was ready to pour over it. Konah ran to the
brook, and returned with a calabash of water, and the little company
crouched upon the ground to enjoy what to them was a succulent repast.
Balls of rice of considerable size were squeezed up, and by a deft
motion of the hand were transferred to the mouth, until the appetites
were thoroughly appeased. Finally even Konah cared for nought else but
to throw herself listlessly back against a tree that stood near, and,
lolling out her tongue, she fanned it with a shred from a banana leaf
to quench the fire of the coveted cayenne. It was hot, nevertheless
the torture was delicious. Sweet, very sweet is "peppy" to an African
palate, and how much is enough is a problem dependent largely upon the
supply.




CHAPTER IV

EVENING ON THE WATER


Sobah was a born trader, in this respect exemplifying one of the
strongest propensities of his tribe. He had frequently made trading
trips "up country," and had sometimes taken a boat-load of produce even
to the markets of Freetown. To-day the spirit of commerce possessed
him again. Securing a crew of six to man his boat, he passed the day
in collecting his stores and stowing them away on board. Hampers of
rice, palm-oil, pepper, kola-nuts, country cloths, rubber and ivory,
the latter secured in barter from an "up country" chief, comprised the
cargo. A white fowl was placed in the bow of the boat, in the belief
that its presence would ensure a prosperous voyage.

Late in the afternoon, as the full tide was about to ebb, the boat
pushed out into the current, and the six sturdy boatmen settled
themselves for an all-night row to the mouth of the river. Soon their
oars were swinging in perfect time, and the weird melody of the native
boating-song seemed to bind boat, tide, swaying bodies and plying oars
into one inseparable harmony of sound and motion.

If the souls of these children of Nature had been as responsive to
sights of beauty and loveliness as they were to rhythmical motion and
sound, they would have thrilled with admiration and delight at the
panorama brought to view by a sudden turn in the river. Great mangrove
trees, leaning over to whisper to their neighbors on the other shore,
intertwined their huge branches in a lofty archway over the stream.
Thickets of shrubbery filled all the intervening spaces, and tumbled
over the river bank. Tropical vines, wild, entangled, luxuriant,
trailed over all and hung in graceful festoons of green from the
branches of the trees. Banked along the water's edge were masses of
calla-like lilies, interspersed with ferns. Out of the mass of verdure
on the river bank, peeped the bright crimson leaves that, crowning the
ends of the branches, served as flowers on a shrub whose other foliage
was of the deepest green. Near by another shrub displayed a whorl of
leaves like unto the foliage in shape and form, but creamy white,
arranged around the tiniest suggestion of a flower. Birds of bright
plumage flitted here and there among the trees, monkeys chattered and
scolded in the leafy depths, and snakes suspended their sinuous bodies
from tall canes, or were coiled upon beds of moss. Alligators lay
basking lazily in the evening sun.

Looking down the river from the bend, the stream seemed to be one
continuous avenue of green, with occasional touches of color. Save
for the sinister suggestion from the presence of the snakes and the
alligators, the spot might have been a bit of fairy-land so quiet
and so isolated that it seemed no human being had ever invaded its
sanctity. It was a place to cause the cultured heart to go out in
reverence to meet the spirit of the Infinite.

But our scantily clad boatmen had no eye for all this beauty, no
soul to vibrate in unison with the sacred scene. On the other hand,
their hearts were filled with dread and superstitious fears. To their
beclouded minds the place seemed haunted by unseen spirits of evil. An
alligator slipped with a little splash into the water and disappeared
from sight. The sun now sinking in the west, cast ominous shadows amid
the thickening foliage. The hearts of the boatmen were filled with a
nameless dread, their song died entirely away, and, dropping a piece
of silver into the water to propitiate the spirit of the river, they
raised their oars lest the sound of rowing should disturb the genius of
the place, and floated with the tide in almost breathless silence until
the boat reached the broader waters beyond. Then breathing more freely,
they began to row again, gently at first, but with gradually increased
speed until the oars were in full swing to the echo of the boating-song.

The first streaks of day found them at the bar-mouth, but a strong gale
from the sea made it impossible to proceed, and they were compelled to
anchor for an indefinite period. Tired out with the night's rowing, the
men doubled up in positions of varying discomfort, and slept soundly
for many hours. Aroused at last, they kindled a fire in the box of
gravel in the bow of the boat, cooked a bountiful supply of rice and
fish, and, gathering around the great rice-pot, they proceeded to stow
away the food in such quantities as only a black man's stomach can
contain.

All through the remainder of the day the gale continued with but slight
abatement. It was plain that the night also must be spent at anchor
before the voyage could be resumed. The evening meal was a repetition
of that of the morning, quantity not excepted, and after it was over
they entertained themselves in their own peculiar way. Full stomachs
brought on an amiable frame of mind, and the gathering shades of
evening developed a feeling of sociability and loosened the tongues
of the men. The hour was auspicious for story-telling. The physical
man was at ease, there was time and to spare, and the gathering night
drove the mind in upon itself. Under such circumstances stories were
inevitable, and needed only some suggestion to set them going. Dogbah's
capacity for rice, shown a little before at their evening meal, was the
occasion of a rather coarse jest, at which all the men, including the
victim, laughed heartily.

That reminded Sobah of the same propensity in Mr. Spider, the
impersonation of most of the black man's virtues, and many of his
vices. With a merry twinkle in his eye, and a suggestive shrug of his
shoulders, Sobah shifted to a more commanding position, preparatory to
beginning his story.

The men, accustomed to receive half their communications through signs
more or less occult, understood at once what was coming, and put
themselves into listening attitudes. The story was full of life and
movement, and was entered into with much spirit by both narrator and
listeners.


SPIDER DISCOVERS THE WAX GIRL.

"Spider bin get fa'm wey (where) be bin lib wid heen wef en heen pickin
(pickaninnies). Dis yeah fa'm bin big, oh! en de ress plenty, but wey
(since) Spider nebber satisfy fo' yeat, he greedy (begrudged) heen wef
en heen pickin all. He make one plan fo' heself fo' make dem lef he one
(alone) nah fa'm.[18]

[18] To better insure their safety against invading tribes, the people
live in villages, often mud-walled, and go at day-break to their farms,
where a hut, or a thatched roof supported by poles, serves as temporary
abode and shelter. In order to indulge undisturbed his inordinate
appetite, Spider plans to be left alone at night upon his farm, when
the other members of the household return to the village.

"He tell he wef, say: 'Dah tem w'en I go die, yo' mus' bury me close me
fa'm-ho'se.'

[Illustration: Mr. Spider pretends to die.]

"Aftah he done tell heen wef dat, he no' tay agin,[19] Spider he bin
sick, he head duh hurt um fo' true, true. He no able fo' yeat anyt'ing
agin. He say dah sick 'trong 'pon um. Jus' t'ree no mo (merely), well,
Spider he die. He wef en heen pickin' dey cry fo' um, en dem people
all. Dey bury um close de fa'm-ho'se lek how he bin say. Well, net
tem he wef take all he pickin, he go nah town, but sun tem dey wuk
nah fa'm. W'en dey wan' fo' go back nah town, dey bin lef clean ress
plenty, den bin lef fis' en palm-ile, en peppy, en all t'ing fo' cook.

[19] "He no 'tay agin," _i.e._, It did not stay, was a short time.

"W'en dey done go, Spider get up soffle f'om he grabe, he go inside
fa'm-ho'se, he go take pot, he was' um, he put um nah fiah, he cook
plenty ress; he go look, he take fis', he take 'nuff fo' hese'f. Well,
he kin yeat dat all net sotay fus' fowl crow. Jus' w'en fowl crow,
Spider go back nah he grabe. He go lay down deh soffle. Dem people dey
come now. W'en dey wan' cook dey go look den ress, dey meet only leelee
bit. Dem no know who take um. Well, Spider do dis trick ebery net fo'
one week. W'en den people go home, Spider bin come out f'om he grabe.
Dem people heah dey no know how fo' do. Well, one pusson tell um say:

"'Make yo' mus' go to de country-fashion man. W'en he look de groun' he
tell yo' wey t'ing kin do dat.[20]

[20] The country-fashion man is a sort of African seer, who seats
himself upon the ground, spreads a white cloth in front of him, throws
upon it small stones and bits of various things, and in some way from
these makes his predictions, fumbling in an apparently aimless way,
and muttering to himself, or to the spirits of darkness with which he
claims to be in communion. This is about as much as the uninitiated and
curious can learn in regard to "Looking the ground."

"Den go to dat country-fashion man. Wen he look de groun' he tell dem,
say, ef den wan' fo' ketch dah pusson wey (who) do dah trick, dem fo'
get big wax,[21] make um lek young girl, en dis girl heah dey mus' put
nah one co'ner inside de ho'se. So dey duh do all. Well, Spider no
know anyt'ing happen. Wen de people done go, he come out soffle, lek
wey he do de odder tem. He get de big, big pot, he was' um, put um nah
fiah. He go take ress, he go cook de ress; den he take de pot, he pin
(placed) um down 'pon de groun' close de fiah. He take odder leelee
pot, he go look ef den get fis'; he fine leelee bit. He cook de fis'
good fashion, make soup wid um. He pin de soup down close de ress. He
go take de plate now, he was' um, but he no get 'tick-'poon[22] fo'
dish up. He take 'tick wid fiah 'pon um fo' go look 'poon. Well, w'en
he take de fiah-'tick, he see dis wax 'tan' up one side. He say: 'Eh!
eh! Yo' bin heah so all de tem, en make me trouble fo' cook ress all,
sotay I done cook de soup? Yo' no come se'f fo' he'p me?'

[21] The wax referred to exudes from a tree called by the natives
"chockooh." It is very tenacious.

[22] "'Tick-'poon" _i.e._ a stick used as a substitute for a spoon.

[Illustration: "De Country-fashion Man look de groun'."

  [_See p. 103._]
]

"De t'ing no talk.

[Illustration: The Wax Girl.]

"'Well, now I done finish, go make yo' dish up de ress, make we yeat.'

"But w'en de t'ing no answer, Spider say:

"'How yo' kin do? I duh talk, yo' no hearee wey t'ing I duh say? I
_say_, yo' mus' go pull dah ress, make we yeat.'

"W'en de t'ing no duh talk, Spider hole um wid he han'. 'Jus he hole
um, now he han' fash'n (stuck fast), he say:

"'Because I no hole yo' wid all two han', dat make yo' duh hole me
tight?'

"W'en he hole um wid he odder han', he han' fash'n agin en he say:

"'Eh! eh! Lef me now! Ef yo' no wan' pull (bring) dah ress tell me,
make me go pull um fo' mese'f. Yo' t'ink say nar (it is) play I duh
play? Fo' dat yo' kin do so? He look lek say yo' wan' make me kick yo'.'

"He kick um; he foot fash'n, he say:

"'Yo' make so I go kick yo' wid dis me odder foot jus' now.'

"W'en he take de odder foot, kick um, dat fash'n agin. He say:

"'Eh! eh! Ef yo' no lef me I go box yo' wid me head.'

"Den he butt um, en he head fash'n 'pon de wax.

"'Ef yo' no lef me, I go conk (strike) yo' jus' now wid me chest.'

"He conk um, he chest fash'n. W'en Spider he fine how he fash'n all, he
begin fo' talk soffle, he beg, he _beg_, he say:

"'Lef me now, do yah. Soon do' go clean.'

"W'en he beg, de t'ing no duh talk: jus' 'tan' up deh. Spider fet, he
fet, he _fet_ t-a-y (till) do' go clean; he no come out. De mo' he duh
fet de mo' he duh fash'n. He wef come out town, he come meet Spider, he
say:

"'Ah! Fren', nar _so_ yo' bin do all de tem? Aintee yo' say yo' duh die
fo' make yo' take all de ress? Well, mese'f I no go lef yo' come out
f'om dah place. Yo' fo' 'tan' up deh (there).'

"Spider 'tan' up dey tay (till) all de people to de town come meet um;
dem beat um _fine_."

"Well, fus' tem Spider bin roun' lek pusson, but he fash'n so 'pon
dah wax w'en den people all duh beat um, dat make he flat tay (till)
to-day. Dis now de punishment he duh get. Story done."

The narrative of Mr. Spider's successive disasters with the Wax Girl
moved forward with accelerated energy. Now and then came a brief pause
to allow the story-teller to reinforce voice and tone with a fitting
gesture, or to give vent to that peculiar, deep-throated chuckle which
was his only outward evidence of inward delight. The eyes of the
listeners danced and sparkled. They mimicked Spider's successive blows
as the speaker illustrated them, and swayed to and fro, or shook with
convulsions that threatened every minute to become uncontrollable.
The last statements were uttered hurriedly, as if to give the pent up
storm of laughter a chance to escape before it should work serious
consequences. With the words "Story done," the men gave way to
unrestrained and unrestrainable hilarity.

"He conk um, he conk um, he conk um," repeated Oleemah, in a voice
choked with mirth, trying by the repetition to experience again all the
delicious humor of the situation.

"He han' fash'n, he foot fash'n, he head fash'n, he chest fash'n,"
remarked Gondomah, while his whole frame shook with merriment, and the
remark started a new fit of laughter.

Long after the noisy outburst had ceased, the comments continued
concerning Mr. Spider's propensity for trickery, and his notorious
capacity for "yeat."

It was not long before the tales were going again regarding some of Mr.
Spider's numberless exploits. This time Oleemah was the story-teller.
He had been sitting unusually silent for some time, but now, lifting
his head and sniffing the air significantly, he remarked:

"One tem Cappen Spider, he en Lizzad make boat of Chameleon."

Here he paused, as if there were nothing more to say, but the men,
scenting a story, urged him to go on. After a decent show of
reluctance, he proceeded to tell how


MR. CHAMELEON IS TRANSFORMED INTO A BOAT.

"One tem Spider, Lizzad en Chameleon, dem t'ree beef bin meet up 'pon
de road. Dey wan' go nah Freetown, but none no get boat fo' kare dem.
So now dey go talk to dense'f who go be de boat. Well, dey come fine
say, Chameleon, he go be de boat, because he favor boat. He han' nar de
row-lock, heen tail wey fo' place de rudder, heen head nar de bow, de
inside part fo' put de load. Chameleon 'gree. W'en dey ready fo' start,
Chameleon say: 'Make I turn over; w'en I lay down flat, make yo' sit
down 'pon me.'

"Spider say: 'All ret.'

"W'en he en Lizzad done klim 'pon dis boat-Chameleon, Chameleon say:
'Make Lizzad take dem hoe (oars).'"

Here Dogbah, who was rather slow of comprehension, interrupted with a
question as to how Lizard was to use oars without row-locks.

Oleemah cast a disapproving glance at the questioner, then
good-naturedly went on to explain what seemed to him self-evident.
Holding up two fingers and a thumb as nearly in the shape of
Chameleon's hand as possible, he said:

"Aintee yo' know Chameleon get two fingah en one t'umb so?" Lizzad put
de hoe between um; he begin fo' pull, en dey begin fo' go. Spider nar
de cappen; Lizzad dey take fo' boatman, because he kin pull wid he four
foot.

"W'en dey go dey meet one place wey de stone plenty; Cappen Spider wey
duh steer, he make de boat go agin de stone. So he duh do all tem, he
jus' duh jam Chameleon 'pon dem stone. Chameleon done tire, he say: 'We
no reach yet?'

"Spider say: 'We no half, yet.'

"Now he duh steer close one big, big rock, en de same tem Lizzad duh
pull _hard_. Chameleon he back broosh 'pon stone, en he say: 'Wee-ee!
Fren', I no lek dah trick wey yo' do me to-day.'

"Spider make lek he sorry, he say: 'Fren', hush yah!'[23]

[23] "Hush yah," or "as-yah," is the strongest expression of sympathy
in the Sierra Leone dialect.

"So Chameleon lay down agin. Lizzad pull, he pull, he pull, he pull, he
pull so-t-a-y (till) Chameleon ax um, he say: 'Wey t'ing do de place
far so?'[24]

[24] "Wey t'ing do de place far so?" _i.e._, Why is the place so far?

[Illustration: Mr. Chameleon transformed into a boat.

  [_See p. 111._]
]

"Spider say: 'He no far agin; we go reach jus' now.'

"W'en dey go long tem, dey begin fo' see de town. Chameleon ax um agin,
he say: 'Fren', we no reach yet?'

"Spider say: 'Look de town yandah.'

"Chameleon say: 'I no ax yo' fo' dat; I say, Ef we done reach dey?'

"Spider say: 'No, look de town yandah agin.'

"Chameleon say: 'Fren, I no lek dah trick. Tell me one tem ef we done
reach dey.'

"Spider tell de same word agin, en Chameleon vex, he say 'I _mus'_ come
out jus' now under yo', make all man swim fo' hese'f.'

"Spider beg, he beg sotay (till) Chameleon say: 'All ret.'

"Den dey go agin, go reach de place, en Chameleon say: 'We done reach?'

"Spider say: 'Yes.'

"Chameleon ax: 'Ef make I turn over?'

"Spider say: 'No, come make yo' go to de sho' mo' leelee bit.' W'en
dey reach to de sho,' Spider say: 'Turn over now, we done ketch
Freetown.'

"Dis tem Chameleon get one foot en one han', en leelee nose, because
Spider 'deed bin jam um 'pon dem stone. Dat make Chameleon walker slow
tay to-day."[25]

[25] To an African mind, everything in the least unusual needs to be
accounted for. Consequently some solution, however fanciful, must be
offered for the slow locomotion of such a pompous appearing character
in the native stories as the Chameleon. Raising one foot after the
other slowly, very slowly, he puts it down with a meditative precision
that leads the people to ascribe to him these words: "I duh walker,
mash (take) one step, den odder step. Ef I walker hard I go sink de
groun', de groun' go bus', he too sof', en bimeby de wuld go broke. Dat
make I duh walker soffle, so I no fa' down."

Oleemah leaned back against the side of the boat, and gave himself up
to a train of memories that had been awakened by the story just ended.
The men, less meditative, renewed their enjoyment by various comments
on Spider and his guileful ways.

"Aintee now dat rascal trick wey Spider do heen boat Chameleon?" asked
Dogbah, and his broad grin showed that Spider's rascality was not
looked upon with any great disfavor. "Dat rascal trick" recalled the
time when Spider was worsted in his encounter with the Wax Girl, and
again the men shook with merry laughter.

Sobah, feeling a little hurt by some of the rude jests at Spider's
expense, had been turning over the leaves of his memory in search of
some exploit of that little hero, more than usually clever, in order
to offset the somewhat inglorious part he had played in the two other
tales.

"Well, Spider he 'trong man," he finally retorted to the slighting
comment of Dogbah.

Challenged for proof of his assertion, Sobah began to relate Mr.
Spider's marvellous achievement in a trial of strength with Elephant
and Hippopotamus.


SPIDER, ELEPHAN' EN PAWPAWTÁMUS.

"Hangry tem (famine) done ketch dis Africa.[26] All dem beef no get no
yeat, de country dry too much. Well, Spider he en Elephan' meet up one
day. Spider tell Elephan', 'How do.' Elephan' answer um, 'Tankee,' en
he say:

"'Fren', how yo' do fo'get yeat? Mese'f no get notting, de country dry
too much.'

[26] Native lack of management, and shiftlessness in providing for
the future by planting a sufficient amount of rice, cause, for the
great mass of the people, an annual scarcity of food just preceding
the season of ingathering. Add to this the frequent wars, and the
occasional devastations by locusts, and the explanation is afforded for
the famines so frequently mentioned in the oral literature concerning
the animals, the pathetic sharers in the suffering of their human
friends.

"Spider hese'f done po'; hangry duh ketch um _bad_, but wey (since) he
cunnie, he answer Elephan', he say:

"'Nar true de place dry, but I t'ink I go soon be able fo' fine yeat
fo' mese'f en me famble.'

"Den de Elephan' say: 'Ef yo' fine de place, make yo' come tell me.'

"Spider say: 'All ret, I 'gree. I kin sorry w'en I look yo' skin, how
he leelee so. He no big lek fus' tem; bimeby he no go big pass me yown.
Yo' no look lek yo' get 'trenk too much; I t'ink say I able fo' draw
yo' f'om de sho' to de wattah.'

"Elephan' no know say Spider duh pull cunnie, en hese'f de one Spider
wan' fo' kill. He answer: 'All ret,' he say: 'Mese'f kin draw yo' f'om
dah wattah to dah lan'.'

"Spider say: 'All ret,' he say he go fine big rope.[27] He go, he duh
walker inside bush tay he meet rope big lek pusson head, he duh kare
um go to de wattah. He 'tan' up close de sho' tay (till) he meet up
wid Pawpawtámus, he tell um, say: 'I kin draw yo' f'om de wattah to de
lan'.'

[27] The native rope is a vine that grows in the jungle, and which is
sufficiently strong to serve the purposes of a rope. Fastened to a
large stone it even holds a boat at anchor.

"Pawpawtámus say: 'Wey t'ing dat yo' duh talk? Yo' leelee too much, I
jus' make me fingah _so_, I kin draw yo'.'

[Illustration: Mr. Spider challenges Pawpawtámus.]

"Spider say: 'All ret, which tem we go try de fet?'

"Pawpawtámus answer um, say: 'To-morrow mawnin' make we come try.'

"Spider 'gree, he say: 'Dah tem I ready, I go gie yo' de rope.'

"Den he lef, he go tell Elephan' de same word: 'Wen I ready I go gie
yo' de rope.'

"De two beef no know say dat dey two go draw each odder. So Spider
bring de rope, he go tie de one end 'pon Elephan', de odder 'pon
Pawpawtámus. He tell all two, he say:

"'Yo' mus' ready; I go draw yo' now.'

"So Spider hese'f go middle de rope, he begin fo' draw de rope to one
side en de odder side fo' gie signal. Den he turn behine one big 'tick;
he 'tan' up deh, fo' see wey t'ing go be. Dem two big beef begin fo'
pull. Dey draw each odder sotay (until) dey no able; dey done tire fo'
draw. De two equal, de one no pass he cumpin (companion) fo' 'trong.
Dey draw sotay (until) dey all two die."

No mere words can convey an adequate impression of the realism
and power that Sobah's portrayal gave to this mighty struggle. In
unconscious response to the growing intensity of the theme he had risen
to his feet, and now became so completely absorbed in the struggle he
was depicting, that tone, look, and straining muscle seemed to reflect
every phase of the terrible combat, until with the tiring out of the
contestants, he too sank back upon his seat as if exhausted.

It was an effective bit of unstudied eloquence. The long pause that
followed was necessary to allow the tension of feeling to sink again to
the level of the remainder of the story. Then the narrator went on in a
more subdued vein.

"Spider done satisfy. He look de beef, he say: 'Yo' pass me fo' 'trong,
but aintee I pass yo' fo' sense?'

"Well, he go, he take dem two, he drag dem nah sho'."

This was a rather surprising feat even for Mr. Spider, and Sobah
glanced out of the corner of his eye to see how it was being received.
The look on several faces seemed to indicate that credulity was being
tested too far. The momentary pause gave Oleemah a chance to protest:
"Ah! Daddy, Yo' t'ink say Spider, wey leelee so, able fo' drag dem big,
big beef?"

"Aintee yo' know dat Spider able fo' tote yeat?" Sobah replied. "Ef
yeat big lek Elephan' he go tote um. I no care ef anyt'ing fo' yeat how
he big, he kin hase (raise) um go, but he lazy fo' wuk. Ef yo' gie um
leelee wuk fo' do, he no able." Then he resumed his narrative.

"Spider shabe (divided) de beef all; he call plenty people fo' tote um,
kare um go nah he ho'se. He pay um only leelee bit 'pon dah Elephan'.
Spider en he famble lib 'pon de two beef sotay de hangry tem done.

"Well, dah tern fis' no bin nah de whole wuld. W'en Spider shabe de
beef, all de piece he no wan', he t'row 'way nah de wattah; den turn
fis'. Nar so Spider make fis' all come nah de wattah."

This novel account of the "living creatures that the waters brought
forth abundantly," did not seem incredible to that simple-minded crew.
The water about their boat was alive with fish at the very moment, and
if Spider did not make them, who did?

Hobahky, in whose nostrils the odor of fish-stew was a sweet savor, put
his feelings into: "Aintee Spider good man fo' make dem fis' all come
fo' we?"

Oleemah was inclined to give most credit to Spider for the clever ruse
by which he secured food for himself and family during the famine.

Meanwhile the wind had abated, and was shifting to a more favorable
quarter. The clouds that had obscured the moon in the earlier evening,
had cleared away, and now the moon was shining full and bright. Sobah's
experienced eye had been taking in the situation, and after a full
survey he decided that, after all, the voyage might safely be resumed.

Accordingly they set up their little mast, spread the sail, and were
soon scudding away in the direction of Freetown, leaving thoughts of
Spider to less strenuous hours.




CHAPTER V

A PURRO INITIATION


A short time after Sobah's return from his trading trip, occurred the
initiatory mysteries of the Purro secret society. Nearly all the male
population of the village had gone to the "devil-bush," or lodge of the
society, to take part in the mystic ceremonies. A place had been hewn
out of the dense forest, and across the front next to the village, was
a barricade of bamboo fifteen feet high, with a single small opening
covered by matting. Cabalistic symbols marked the presence of the Purro
devil; and a long yellow snake, the guardian of the Purro society, was
coiled up on the limb of a tree just inside the entrance. None but the
initiated and the candidates dared to go within. Down in the village
the women and children spoke with bated breath, and seldom ventured
outside their huts. From the devil-bush came the dread rumble of the
specially constructed drum, and the still more horrible call of the
Purro devil. The air was full of dread, and awe, and mystery. Konah
nestled close to her mother, not venturing even to ask questions. All
at once the loud blare of some terrible instrument, heard from the edge
of the village, and followed by the most hideous cry that ever came
from human throats, told that the Purro devil was marching abroad,
seeking new subjects for initiation. Konah and her mother, with some
women and children who happened to be visiting them at the time, ran
to the small inner room of their hut, and hid their faces against the
dark wall. The uninitiated men who happened to be in the way, turned
aside and buried their faces in their hands, that they might not look
upon the dread Purro devil and his followers. On they came, the devil
blowing his awful-sounding instrument, and the Purro boys uttering
their terror-inspiring cry. The procession wound through the crooked
streets, and passed on to the neighboring village. After the hideous
noises died away, the women and children crept timidly out of hiding.
The sun had gone behind the western forest, and Mamenah, Konah, and
their visitors, came out to the front piazza, Mamenah seating herself
in the hammock and the others upon the low mud wall.

[Illustration: The Purro Devil.

  [_See p. 124._]
]

Konah's mind was full of Purro mysteries, but here was something
which she dared not investigate personally. Her questions brought no
satisfactory response, so she sat and pondered. Mammy Mamenah, wishing
to entertain her friends, and at the same time to shake off her own
uncanny feeling, finally asked:

"Yo' know dah trick wey Cunnie Rabbit pull (played), fo' blow all dem
horn?"

They had not heard the story, but were at once ready to listen to it.
At the first question, Konah was all eagerness and animation. Any
story was delightful to her quick imagination, but the name of "Cunnie
Rabbit" was a seductive charm beyond her power to resist.

"Oh Mammy, tell 'bout um," she ventured to request, and her voice was
full of pleased anticipation.

Leisurely swinging in the hammock, Mamenah crooned her story in a tone
more than usually subdued, for the echo of the Purro call was still
fresh in her memory.


CUNNING RABBIT BECOMES A KING.

"All dem beef en Cunnie Rabbit bin meet up to one place. Now dey pull
(removed) all dem horn, en put um 'pon de groun'. Any (every) beef pull
he yown."

"How dem beef able fo' pull dem horn?" asked one of the children in a
tone of incredulity.

"Dah tem wey de story bin tell 'bout, dem beef able fo' do anyt'ing;
dey able fo' pull dem horn, dey able fo' take um agin. Well, dah tem,
dey pull dem horn all. One grain (single) pusson no lef' se'f wey (who)
get horn, en dey say:

"'De pusson wey blow all dis yeah horn one (by) one, widout he no lef
fo' blow, dis one we go take fo' king.'

"So Spider grap (get up), he blow de horn long, long tem, but bimeby he
tire, he no done um, now he lef fo' blow.

"Elephan' grap, he say wey he big so, he go blow _all_.

"Cunnie Rabbit he say: 'Yo' duh story, yo' no able fo' do dis t'ing.
Yo' see Spider wey duh pass yo' fo' cunnie, he no done dem; nar (is it)
yo' go done dem?'

"Elephan' say: 'All ret, I go begin one tem (at once).'

"He blow sotay (till) he done part of dem plenty horn, but he no able
fo' finis'; he lef fo' (left off) blow. Well, now all de odder beef duh
try, dey all no able. Cunnie Rabbit grap (get up) en begin fo' blow,
but wey (since) he cunnie, w'en he bin wan' lef (leave off), he bin
pull one trick. Yo' know w'en dem Purro boy bin come nah town, to-day,
w'en de debble bin talk en dey no wan' make people hearee, well, he
make dem holler sotay he lef fo' talk, sometem 'bout t'ree minute.

"Well, Cunnie Rabbit, w'en he done tire, he look, he listen; he make
lek pusson wey duh hearee somet'ing. Den he holler dis one big holler.
De odder beef mean say de Purro boy duh come. Dey 'tan' up en holler
one big, big holler tay all de groun' duh shake. Dey no take notice
dat Cunnie Rabbit lef fo' blow. Well, w'en dey all stop fo' holler,
he begin back fo' blow. W'en he done tire agin, he duh pull dis same
sense; so he do t'ree tem, fo' make he get leelee tem fo' rest. Well,
nar so he done all dem horn, en de beef take um fo' de king."

[Illustration: Cunnie Rabbit pretends to blow all the horns.

  [_See p. 130._]
]

Konah was entirely satisfied with the success of her cunning little
favorite, and for several minutes gave vent to a delighted chuckle.
Presently the thought of Mr. Spider and his cleverness came into the
mind of one of the women, and turning to Mamenah she asked for a story
about him.

"I no able fo' 'member odder story," answered the woman doubtfully. The
others, however, were not to be denied, so Mamenah began to stir the
cobwebs of her memory to see if she could discover Mr. Spider and some
of his doings. Her mind was still full of secret society initiations,
and that probably was the reason why this particular experience of Mr.
Spider was brought to the surface. Konah saw that a story was coming,
so she came and curled up on a mat close to the hammock. The moon just
then peeped over the tops of the trees, and shone full on the eager
little upturned face waiting for the story to begin.


MR. SPIDER INITIATES THE FOWLS.

"One tem fowl bin gadder all togedder." There was a tone of solemnity
in the woman's voice when she made this simple introduction to her
tale, a note which showed that her thoughts were more serious than if
fowls were the only beings concerned. The child felt the change of tone
at once, but merely leaned a little nearer, and listened more intently.
In the same serious tone the story went on.

[Illustration: "One tem fowl bin gadder all togedder."

  [_See p. 133._]
]

"Dey say dey wan' put Bundo,[28] but dey no get nobody fo' put dem
Bundo. W'en dey duh talk dis word so, Spider come, he meet dem duh
talk. He say, he go put de Bundo. He go to de town, he tell de chief he
wan' to put all fowl Bundo. Now de chief say: 'All ret.'

[28] "Put Bundo" signifies to initiate into the mysteries of the Bundo,
a powerful secret organization for women.

"Spider tell de chief fo' sen' plenty man fo' buil' one big, big ho'se.
Well, w'en dey done buil' dis ho'se heah, Spider say to de fowl:

"'To-morrow so, now make yo' se'f ready, oonah (you) all.'

"Now he go sharp he knef, Wahtah, wootah! wahtah, wootah! De fowl dey
too plenty; dey get one town fo' demse'f, soso fowl (only fowls). Now
Spider he sharp he knef good fashion, he come tell de fowl, he say:

"'Oonah go make de fench 'roun de ho'se, so nobody see de Bundo.'

"Well, w'en dey finis' buil' dis fench wid palm 'roun de ho'se, he tell
de chief, say:

"'I wan' one big, big pot; I wan' plenty ress (rice) fo' de Bundo fo'
yeat.'[29]

[29] The initiation lasts for several weeks, during which period the
candidates are not allowed to mingle with the people of the town. A
supply of food is therefore necessary, and it is this supply that
Spider asks the chief to provide.

"W'en de chief done gie um all dis, Spider say:

"'I wan' plenty palm-ile, twelve jug[30] palm-ile.'

[30] The native jug for storing palm-oil, is a joint of bamboo, stopped
up at both ends, or a gourd.

"Well, w'en de chief done gie um all dis, he ax Spider, say:

"'Wey t'ing yo' wan' agin? Talk, make I gie yo'.'

"Now Spider say: 'I wan' make de fowl gadder one place, make dem go
inside de ho'se.'

"De chief say: 'Dis net heah I go sen' word.'

"Befo' de net done fa' down good fashion, w'en de place dark leelee
bit, de chief heen (his) messenger walker all 'bout wid dis de chief
heen command.[31] He tell de fowl all, make dem mus' gadder mawnin'
early, make dem go inside de ho'se wey dey done buil' fo' um, make
nobody no lef de town fo' go odder place.

[31] The customary way for the chief to issue a proclamation is to send
a town crier around, after the people have gathered in the town for the
night.

"Nah (in the) mawnin' early, all dem fowl meet up one place; dey go
inside de big, big ho'se, en Spider hese'f go inside. Ebery mawnin'
Spider kill 'bout one t'ousan', he put um inside pot."

Konah's quick wit had anticipated Spider's selfish designs, but a
thousand fowls for breakfast seemed such an enormous amount even for
his notorious appetite, that she laughed outright at the absurdity of
it.

The cunning scheme of Mr. Spider, hidden under a cloak of disinterested
service, appealed more strongly to the woman, so she went on with a
touch of irony in her voice:

"Nar dis de Bundo he duh put. He duh yeat all dem fowl him one (alone),
he done um. Only leelee one wey duh hatch he lef.

"Nar de chief ax um, say: 'Which side yo' duh pull de Bundo?'[32]

[32] "Pull de Bundo" signifies a public display just after initiation,
a procession with songs and dances. For this purpose special and
numerous ornaments, and gaudy but scant covering are worn on the
partially nude bodies, which are tattooed and greased until they shine.

By the query: "Which side yo' duh pull de Bundo," the chief implies
that the preparatory rites over which Spider has been supposed to
preside are at an end, and a statement should be made as to the place
where the new members are to be introduced to the public.

"Spider tell de chief de place, den he say:

"'I wan' make yo' buy plenty dress fo' dem. Which tem yo' go buy de
dress? Because I wan' pull de Bundo one tem, make I go.'

"Now the chief gie um all dem t'ing fo' dress dem; hankercher, bead,
all t'ing wey kin tie nah han' nah foot, all t'ing de chief gie um.

"Well, w'en Spider done yeat de fowl, he pack de bone all one place.
Now he tell de chief, he say:

"'To-morrow, w'en de sun middle de sky, I go pull de Bundo.'

"Well, dah net he gadder he pickin all, he say, make dem ready fo' go
dis net.

"Well, all t'ing wey de chief gie Spider fo' de Bundo, he tie um in
bundle, in mat; he gie um to he pickin (pickaninnies) fo' tote (carry);
he lock de do' tight.[33] Now he tell de pickin, say:

"'Dis net yeah, make we come go, make we go walker all net; bimeby de
chief go ketch we, go flog we.'

[33] "Lock" means merely "close," as no stronger method for securing a
door is known than bracing a stick against it. Sometimes a door is only
a suspended mat.

"Dey walker _all net_. Well, w'en do' clean, dey hide nah bush. Spider
know dat Lepped inside dis bush, en Spider hese'f he 'fraid. Well, w'en
de sun middle de sky, dat de tem fo' pull de Bundo, en plenty people
duh gadder. Dey no see Spider nah de ho'se, so dey try fo' open de do'.
Fus' dey no able; dey try long tem befo' dey open dis yeah do'. Now
dey see dis great t'ing wey Spider done do. He pack de bone one side,
he pack de fedder one side. Now de chief say make dem go ketch Spider.
He sen' plenty pusson aftah um. Well, nar de Lepped holler inside bush,
en Spider 'fraid bad; hese'f duh holler because 'fraid duh ketch um.
W'en dem people hearee how Spider holler, dey know which side he duh
hide, en dey go ketch um. W'en dey done ketch um, w'en dey done bring
um nah de road, dey get de pickin all, but Spider he loss f'om dem
han'. He go to one Mory[34] man, he tell um say:

"Make sebby (charm) fo' me, fo' make me joomp lek monkey.'

"De Mory man answer, he say:

"'Yo' mus' gie me one fine present fus'.'

[34] The Mory men, or Mohammedans, travel over the country, gaining
a living by working on the credulity of the superstitious folk. They
manufacture "sebbys" or charms, of which the most common are bits of
Arabic writing, usually taken from the Koran, and enclosed in black
leather of square or oblong shape, measuring an inch or two. These
charms are worn around neck, wrists or ankles.

Natives will sacrifice almost any other possession to procure such
charms. Their awed faith in the potency of charms and fetiches is one
of the most dumbly pathetic facts in African life.

"Now Spider tief plenty clot' en bead f'om de t'ing wey de chief gie
um fo' pull Bundo. He gie um to de Mory man. Now de man make sebby, he
tie um 'pon Spider. He tie one 'pon heen foot, he tie one 'pon de odder
foot; one 'pon de han', one 'pon de odder han'. W'en he finis' he say:

"'Go show yo'se'f to de chief.'

"Well, w'en de chief see Spider, he tell de people, say:

"'Make all man mus' ketch Spider.'

"Dey dribe um, dey dribe um sotay (till) dey reach nah bush. Spider
joomp nah 'tick, he joomp nah odder 'tick lek monkey. He bin get one
sebby (charm) inside he han'. Dis he no fo' wop down. Ef he fo' get
en wop um down, dat go make he lose he power fo' joomp lek monkey do,
en de people dey go ketch um. _All day_ dem people dribe um. W'en net
come dey turn back, go nah town. Dey say dey done try all dem bes' fo'
ketch Spider. Dey wan' ketch um, dey no able, because he duh joomp lek
monkey. Nobody no able ketch monkey nah tree.

"Now all man duh hang head (think) fo' sabbee (know) wey t'ing dey go
do fo' ketch Spider. At las' dey grap (get up), dey go to dis same
Mory man wey Spider bin go to. He de bes' Mory man nah de wuld. W'en
dey meet dis man, dey tell um all t'ing. Now de man say: 'Because oonah
wan' ketch um, make oonah mus' gie me big, big present befo' I go gie
yo' sebby (charm) fo' ketch Spider.'

"Now dey go get de present. He pass de one wey Spider gie, _far_ 'way.
Dey gie um to de man, en de man say:

"'Go ketch one black monkey, come bring me, but make he black fo' true.'

"Well, dey go make trap, dey go ketch dis black monkey heah, but he
no die. Dey go gie um to de man. Now dis Mory man he make _one_ sebby
(charm), same wid Spider yown; he tie um 'pon dis monkey heen neck. He
gie um good whip, fine one; de whip get six rope. He gie dis monkey
sebben man, sebben 'trong man fo' wait tay he ketch Spider, so dey kin
go tie um, bring um come to de chief. Five man no able hole um; because
he get de five sebby, he get five man 'trenk.

"Well, now dis monkey hese'f grap, he go fo' ketch Spider. Spider se'f
grap. He duh joomp, duh joomp, duh joomp sotay he t'ink dis black
monkey yeah he no able fo' ketch um; dat make he no joomp lek wey
he duh joomp befo'. Den de monkey he meet up wid um, he gie Spider
one cut. Nar so dey do, dey joomp all day. De black monkey he follow
behine Spider, he duh flog Spider ef he no joomp quick. Well, Spider
he make hase (haste) agin; he joomp, he joomp, he joomp. Bimeby he go
nah one rock place. De sebby (charm) wey he hole nah he han', de one
wey he no fo' wop down, he take um, lay um 'pon de 'tone weh he sit
down. He done lef dis monkey far distance, because he get five sebby;
de monkey he only get one, so Spider joomp mo' pass monkey. He t'ink
fo' say de monkey no meet um agin. He go nah one fa'm, he root cassada
(cassava), he sit down 'pon rock, he yeat de cassada. Well, dis black
monkey come up wid um. Spider no know; he duh yeat. Now de monkey flog
Spider, he duh flog um. But Spider bin lef de sebby wey he get to he
han', de sebby bin fa' down, so he no get 'trenk fo' joomp. He 'trenk
inside de sebby. Now de monkey hole Spider sotay (till) de people reach
de place. Spider look de sebby (charm) 'pon Monkey heen neck, he wan'
take um. W'en he jog um fo' try pull um, Monkey no 'gree. Now dey tie
Spider, dey kare um go to de chief. De chief put um nah prison, he deh
four day, dey no duh gie um yeat. Well, Spider en Cunnie Rabbit bin
fren; de one cunnie, de odder cunnie. Two cunnie meet up, dey two 'gree
togedder. W'en net come so, Cunnie Rabbit go tief Spider nah prison. He
get magic, he able go inside place wey (which) lock.

[Illustration: The Black Monkey starts after Mr. Spider.

  [_See p. 141._]
]

"Mawnin', w'en dey go nah prison, dey no see Spider inside. Spider he
free, he done go home back.

"So nar Spider bring tief long tem nah de wuld. He bin begin tief, so
now we all duh tief."

Another of Mamenah's neighbors came in just here, with an interesting
bit of news, and story-telling was at an end for this evening.

Konah still sat curled up on the mat, with her woolly head bent low,
and her mind far away in fancy-land. Finally she crept inside the hut
to her hard mud cot, and soon was flying before a black spectre that
in the guise of a monkey kept pursuing her. Again she travelled a path
with heaps of feathers on one side, and piles of bones on the other.
Finally she lost the power to move, and felt herself bound and carried
away to prison, and then in helpless loneliness she sobbed aloud. In
the midst of her distress a kindly voice spoke: "Look me, I yo' fren',
I go he'p yo' come out prison," and Cunning Rabbit stood beside her.
With that her heart gave a bound of joy and relief, the troubled dreams
fled, and sound sleep held her until the light of a new day drove away
all the spectres of the night.




CHAPTER VI

THE BURNING OF THE FARM


The day "fo' bu'n fa'm" had come. The thick underbrush of three or
four years' growth had been laboriously chopped down by men and boys
some weeks before and left in a tangled mass all over the little farm
to become tinder for the flames under the burning sun of the long dry
season now drawing to a close. Sobah had already postponed burning
for several days longer than was necessary, for he had inherited the
procrastinating tendency of his race, whose unwritten motto seems to
be: "Do nothing to-morrow that can be put off until the day after
to-morrow." This morning the sky was clear, and there was no excuse for
further delay. Sobah, Mamenah and Konah started for the little piece of
ground which had been allotted to them by the chief that year, going by
the footpath which led from the village to the farm over the hill, a
mile away. They had gone scarcely a third of the distance when Konah,
who was running carelessly in advance, stumbled over an obstruction
that happened to be lying in the road. This was a bad sign, and nothing
would avert the evil consequences but a return to the village, and a
roundabout journey by another road. So they plodded back, and started
once more by the longer way. Here a new difficulty presented itself.
Just beyond the brook the path led beneath a tree under which a man had
been killed by lightning some months before, and superstition invested
the spot with special terrors. Sobah, however, knew the counter-charm,
and plucking a leaf from a near-by shrub, cast it upon the place and
passed on with an easy mind. Mammy Mamenah and Konah followed with the
same precaution. The farm was reached without any other unfavorable
signs. Some of Sobah's neighbors, earlier arrived, were engaged in
burning an adjoining farm, and the air was heavy with the smoke and
flying cinders. Fagots from the fire furnished torches by which Sobah's
five-acre tract of dry brush was soon transformed into a lake of fire.
The flames writhed and tossed angrily, like some great monster rushing
to devour its prey. Konah was sure some devil was the animating power,
and the uncanny movements of the fiery arms filled even the older ones
with a feeling of awe and dread. It did not take the flames long to do
their work in that dry fuel, and hardly had they died away when flocks
of birds began to circle around the place, waiting for the fire to
cool sufficiently for them to descend and enjoy their feast of roasted
snails. Satisfied with their morning's work, Sobah, Mamenah, Konah, and
the neighbors who had joined them in completing their labor, went to
their farm-house to rest during the heat of the day, then to return to
the village in the cool of the evening.

An hour's quiet repose made Konah's active nature eager for
entertaining occupation. She climbed upon a large stone that lay at
the shady side of the farm-house, and sat with one foot drawn up under
her and the other dangling beside the stone, looking meditatively out
over the blackness and smoke that told where the fire fiend had roared
and revelled with resistless fury a little while before. The feeling
still had possession of her that there was something more than natural
in the way the fire had raged, and to her mind the supernatural was to
be accounted for by multitudinous devil and witch influences. With her
mind full of such thoughts, she was delighted to hear one of the men
putting to Sobah the very questions that were crowding her own mind.
"Oh, debble any place," he explained in reply. "He deh nah cotton-tree,
he deh nah bush, he deh nah wattah, he deh nah groun'. He able fo' turn
anyt'ing; he turn stone, he turn tree, he turn pigeon, he turn pusson.
Pusson kin buil' debble-ho'se, put med'cin' inside wey dribe debble way
f'om fa'm, en wey make he get good heart fo' um. Ef he get good heart,
he no go do um bad. Notting no able fo' do um bad."

This to Konah's mind, bound in the universal network of superstition,
was undisputed fact. Had she not in each transit to and from the farm,
passed a tiny devil-house, placed on the outskirts of her home village?
This presented itself now to her mind's eye: Four sticks driven into
the ground, supporting a frame three feet square, roofed with bamboo,
and enclosed on three sides. The fourth, left open, revealing a devil
in the form of a small stone, a little food near by, the skull of some
small animal, a bottle, a little horn, and some mysterious medicine
tied in a very dirty rag.

The child had never questioned very deeply the significance of each
article, taking the whole by faith as one accepts the religion of
his ancestors, but her developing mind now longed to interrogate her
father, who, she was sure, must be able to explain everything. This,
however, she dared not do, for it was not a child's place to presume;
neither did she care to incur a testy command to be silent, or to
run away and do some work. The reproof she would not so much have
minded, being used to it; but idleness was even sweeter than appeased
curiosity. So she absent-mindedly picked little pieces from the stone
on which she was sitting, and wondered, until presently Sobah, feeling
that he had explained matters sufficiently for any reasonable purpose,
had given himself over to the train of thoughts which his talk had set
in motion, and was ready to tell a story in which Spider and "debble"
were concerned. There was no announcement of the fact, yet by some
occult means everyone knew that the proper time had arrived, and quite
spontaneously turned to listen. A glance at the faces of his audience
was all the encouragement the most exacting story-teller could require,
and Sobah was really fond of being the mouthpiece for the yarns that
Spider spun. The tale embodied some of the unseen powers that they had
been discussing a few minutes before.


SPIDER TRIES TO "BRUSH" THE DEVIL'S FARM.

"One tem Spider he go to 'trange lan'. Well, w'en he reach deh, he go
to de king. De king nar he lan'lord. W'en tem reach fo' brush fa'm, he
ax de king fo' one piece lan' wey de people nebber brush. Dey say one
big debble get de lan', en no man no venture fo' go deh. Spider ax de
king fo' dis same spot, he say he wan' fo' brush deh. De king he tell
um, he say:

"'Nobody wey brush deh kin bring de ress (rice) nah town, he no go even
yeat de ress.'

"Spider say: 'Me go yeat um; I go brush deh, en I go yeat de ress.'

"De king say: 'Well, all ret;' he say. 'Try yo' bes'.'

"Spider he bring cutlass,[35] he go early in de mawnin' fo' go commence
brush befo' de sun hot. W'en he go he jus' duh chop one 'tick, den he
hearee de debble ax:

"'Who chop dah 'tick?'

[35] The cutlass is the general purpose tool used for cutting away
underbrush, for harvesting, and even for the felling of forest trees.

[Illustration: "De pot begin fo' run f'om Spider."

  [_See p. 157._]
]

"Spider say hese'f duh chop dah 'tick.

"Den de debble say: 'By to-morrow yo' go meet I done brush all dis bush
heah.' He tell Spider make he no brush, because he go brush fo' um.

"Spider go fo' drink wattah nah de fa'm-ho'se. Befo' he come back he
meet de bush already brush. He run go nah town, he tell de king, he say:

"'I done finis' brush de fa'm wey yo' gie me.'

"De king answer, he say: 'All ret.'

"Befo' one week tem, de place all done dry fo' burn. Nex' day w'en de
sun all done hot, Spider he go, he set de fiah, he holler, he say:
'Hey! hey! hey!' He do dat fo' make de debble go hear um, so de debble
go ax lek how he duh do befo'. Den de debble ax, he ax: 'Who dat duh
bu'n fa'm?'

"Spider answer um lek he bin do befo'.

"Den de debble say: 'Go sit down, I go bu'n um jus' now fo' yo'.'

"Soon w'en Spider go look, he see de fa'm done bu'n all, he swep' clean.

"Spider go tell de king, he say: 'I done bu'n me fa'm.'

"De king say: 'All ret.'

"He tell de king, he say: 'Buy ress fo' me.'

"De king gie um few hamper ress. Spider make hoe; long, long one. Nah
mawnin' tem he get up, he take de ress, he go nah fa'm early, befo' do'
clean. W'en he reach to he fa'm, he put down he bly (basket), he take
he han', he dip de ress wid um, he hebe (scatter) um, schar-r-r!

"Now de debble ax um, he say: 'Who hebe de ress?' He say: 'I go hebe de
ress, make de pusson no humbug,[36] I go hebe de ress jus' now.'

[36] "Humbug" in the Sierra Leone dialect always means "trouble", and
contains no suggestion of trickery. The thought here is: Let the person
give himself no trouble.

"But de Spider he no see de debble, he jus' duh see de wuk done, en
jus' duh hear de voice, but he no duh see nobody. W'en he 'tay leelee
bit, Spider he see ress all 'pon de groun'. Spider take de hoe, he
scrape de groun', har-r-r!

"W'en de debble he hear, he say: 'Who duh dig de groun' fo' cover de
ress?'

"He say: 'Go home;' he say: 'To-morrow mawnin' yo' go meet I finis' de
place.'

"Spider go, he tell de king, he say 'I finis' plant me ress.'

"De king say: 'All ret.'

"Spider go back agin to de fa'm, he meet de ress already done grow,
done high, he meet de grass begin fo' grow middle de ress. He go fo'
root de grass f'om dah ress; he root one de grass; he root um _hard_,
so de debble kin hear. De debble he ax: 'Who root de grass?' He say:
'Befo' evenin' tem de pusson go meet I root all de grass.'

"Spider go to de fa'm-ho'se wey he sit down. Evenin' tem he come out to
de fa'm, he walk all 'bout, he see de fa'm clean. De ress he _fine_!

"Bimeby de tem reach fo' de ress fo' begin bear, de ress done bear all;
dem bird dey duh come fo' yeat de ress. Spider w'en he meet de bird, he
holler, 'Shoo! shoo!' Dem bird dey all get up, dey fly.

"Den de debble ax um, he say: 'Who duh dribe dem bird?' He say: 'De
pusson no need fo' dribe de bird, I go dribe dem f'om de ress.'

"De debble he dribe dem bird ebery day f'om de ress, tay de ress all
done ripe fo' cut. De fus' day Spider go cut some. Yo' know de fus' day
pusson kin cut leelee fo' yeat, dat all. [37]W'en he go cut de ress,
he go parch um, dry um to de pot; he beat um. He done beat de ress all,
he begin fo' cook, he put big ress nah fiah fo' cook um, he cook all.
Aftah he put de pot nah fiah, en de wattah in de pot done w'am nuff, he
put de ress inside de pot. Jus' de ress done, he take de pot, pin um
down close de fiah. Spider he go huntin', he kill bush beef, he cook
um. Aftah de soup finis', he pull um f'om de fiah, he go was' dem dish
fo' come take up. Spider come fo' touch de pot wey get de ress. De
pot begin fo' run f'om Spider. Spider run aftah de pot, he duh _run_,
duh _run_, duh _run_, duh _run_! Spider done tire, he stop fo' run,
he 'tan' up; de pot se'f 'tan' up. W'en Spider 'tan' up, de pot stop
fo' run. W'en he see dat de pot stop fo' run, well, him begin fo' run,
fo' go take de pot quick. W'en Spider reach close de pot, de pot begin
'gain fo' run. Spider en de pot duh run sotay (till) Spider he tire;
he lef en go back nah fa'm-ho'se, he go sit down. He stay leelee bit,
he see dah empty pot come back inside de fa'm-ho'se en 'tan' up. Spider
no know how fo' do; he sorry, he wan' fo' cry. He say: 'But nebber
min', I tink odder sense wey I go do bimeby, evenin' tem.'

[37] The following account of how Mr. Spider cooks his rice before he
goes to capture the animal from which he makes the stew for the rice,
is an exaggerated illustration of the African tendency to allow each
hour to provide for its need. The custom, however, is to cook the rice,
set it aside to steam under a grass-woven cover, until the stew is
made, and finally to wash the calabashes, _i. e._ gourds which serve as
bowls for food and water. Usually eating from the pot dispenses with
the last part of the ceremony.

"He stay hungry all day. Evenin' tem he cook de ress; he no even wait
fo' de ress fo' finis' cook, he make big cottah,[38] he put um 'pon he
head; he take de pot, he hase um up, put um 'pon he head; he tie de pot
all wid rag 'roun' he head, fash'n um so he no able fo' loose. He start
wid run fo' go nah town. De ress duh boil de same tem dat he duh run.
Jus' he wan' fo' reach de town, de pot slip 'way f'om um. He begin fo'
run aftah de pot, en de pot duh run tay Spider give up, he done tire.
W'en he stay leelee bit, he see de empty pot agin. Spider, because he
no get ress, he 'bliged fo' go pick de leelee young cassada; he cook,
he yeat um.

[38] A circular pad worn upon the head when "toting" a hammock or other
burden.

"De nex' day, de same; he get de same trouble tay he gie up de fa'm
altogedder, en go home.

"De king ax um, he say: 'Spider, how he 'tan'? Dat word wey I bin tell
yo', dat nar (is it) story?'

"He answer um, he say: 'No, nar true word dat yo' bin talk, but nebber
min'.'

"De king ax um, he say: 'Dah ress, yo' bin cut all?'

"He say: 'Yes, I done cut all de ress, he deh 'pon top de fa'm-ho'se
wey I pile um.'

"De king he say: 'Yo' see 'trong head (obstinacy) no good, yo' labor
fo' notting.'

"Spider he bin get 'trong head, dat make he bin see all dis trouble."

Konah followed the story through with intense interest, too absorbed
to ask questions, even if she had dared. A rice pot that could perform
such feats, was an entrancing object to her imagination. So delighted
was she with the magical powers that were manifest in the story, that
she forgot to hear the moral of the tale regarding obstinacy and
self-will. Sobah, however, was so impressed with the application of the
story, that he plunged into the recital of another tale teaching the
same moral, and with a much more tragic outcome.


THE DEVIL TURNS PIGEON

"One big debble ho'se bin close by one town. Dem debble wey bin deh,
dem bad. Dey say: 'Make nobody no fo' set trap inside de bush.' So one
'tranger come to de town. All man tell um say: 'No fo' set trap inside
dah bush (forest),' but he deny; he make 'tronger head, he say he mus'
set trap deh. So he go make trap. W'en he set dis trap inside de bush,
soon one pigeon go inside de trap. Dis bird nar debble wey bin turn
bird en go inside de trap. De bird begin cry, he say: 'Daddy, come
loose me.'

"So de 'tranger go loose de pigeon, he put um one side. De pigeon cry
agin, he say: 'Daddy, kare me go nah ho'se. (De pigeon duh say so).'

"So de man take de pigeon, he kare um go nah ho'se.

"De pigeon cry: 'Daddy, kill me one tem.'

"W'en de man done kill um, he say: 'Daddy, pull de fedder 'pon me.'

"W'en de man done pull de fedder, de pigeon say: 'Clean me.'

"W'en he done clean um, de pigeon say: 'Put pot nah fiah.'

[Illustration: The Devil turns Pigeon.

  [_See p. 160._]
]

"W'en he done put de pot, de pigeon say: 'Cut, cut me.'

"W'en de man done cut um, he say: 'Put me nah pot, cook me one tem.'

"Den de man cook um.

"Now de pigeon say: 'Daddy, put salt,' en he put salt. He say put
peppy, en he put peppy. So de pigeon say: 'Tase de salt, ef he go do
nah de soup.' Now de pigeon say de soup done. W'en he done cole, de
pigeon say: 'Pull me, make yo' yeat me.' Well, w'en de man yeat um he
lef half. De pigeon say: 'Yeat me all.' He yeat all.

"Evenin' tem de man go nah bush agin. Jus' he reach nah bush, he open
he mout' fo' talk. Jus' he open um de bird fly f'om he mout' go 'way,
en hese'f fa' down, he die. W'en de people look fo' um all inside de
bush, dey no see um, de debble done kare um go.

"So deny no good. Ef pusson tell yo' say: 'No do dis t'ing, yo' no mus'
make 'tronger head."

The dreadful consequences that might be expected to follow upon a
headstrong course, Sobah set off with solemn look and awed tone; then
shaking his head warningly, he concluded with the proverb: "Ef yo'
wan' yeat out de debble he yown bowl, make yo' get 'poon wid long
handle."

The story echoed a feeling of universal childhood, the undefined dread
of some mysterious visitation upon disobedience and kindred sins that
finds expression in the goblin stories of all tongues.

Konah felt it keenly, being impressed as much by the solemn manner of
the recital, as by the matter of the story.

The older ones too, being but grown up children, were filled with much
of the same vague awe, but years had dulled the keenness of their
spiritual sensibilities. After some desultory talk on less serious
matters, the men stretched out on the floor of the hut, and were soon
asleep.




CHAPTER VII

MAMMY MAMENAH AND HER FRIENDS


One evening, about a week after the burning of the farm, a little
company of women and children, in varying degrees of undress, was
gathered in the larger room of Mamenah's hut. A fire had been kindled
in the middle of the earthen floor; for the first showers, forerunners
of the coming rainy season, had fallen. The children amused themselves
as inclination led them, with sports ranging from gentle kitten-like
romps, to a genuine fight, with biting, scratching, and hair-pulling
accompaniments.

There was evident among the women, a feeling of abundant leisure, and
of relaxation from responsibility. The "planting" of the rice had been
completed. The seed had been scattered over the lately burned ground,
had been rudely scratched in with a very primitive hoe, and was now
awaiting germination under the moisture of the oncoming rains, and the
warmth of occasional sunshine.

So the women felt free to spend the hours in gossip, and in the
telling of tales. They chatted about personal matters, about the rice
just planted, and then about the precautions taken to ward off evil
influences, and to secure favorable conditions for their crops.

Mammy Mamenah told what a tempting bowl of rice she had prepared and
offered to the spirit that dwelt in the big cotton tree near the corner
of the farm, in order to enlist his kindly offices in guarding the rice
field.

Mammy Yamah had set up a stick at the edge of her farm, and placed on
top of it a bit of medicine wrapped in a leaf, which she had secured
for an exorbitant fee from a medicine man. She was sure that anyone
daring to molest would fall in spasms and die. Each had some specific
with which to avert harm, or to secure favor.

Mammy Magbindee had a bit of news that made Konah's eyes dilate with
wonder. It had been told in the village that very day by a person who
had it from one who saw the mound, and of course it was true. Besides
such occurrences had often been known before, and could not be doubted.
A rich man had died in an adjoining town a few years before, and had
been fittingly buried. Just now the grave had been accidentally opened,
and strange to relate, it was found that gold had grown out of the ears
of the man, and kept on growing until it filled the whole grave. But of
course gold grows this way, for gold is in the world, and if it does
not grow, where does it come from? Freaks of Nature can have but one
cause, the presence of some "devil," and this thought reminded Mammy
Mamenah of an old legend regarding another marvel of nature, which she
proceeded to relate much to the delight of the whole company.


A STONE THAT WORE A BEARD.

"One day Spider go fo' set trap inside one big bush (forest). He meet
one big stone wey duh get plenty bear'-bear'.[39] Dis not to true
stone, he nar one debble wey bin turn stone."

[39] Beard.

A prolonged "Y-a-h-oh!" of assent from the women squatted about on
the floor, accompanied by the swaying of bodies, and the exclamation
from some one: "Nar true word yo' duh talk," showed how heartily they
believed in the power of their devils to assume any form they willed,
in order to carry out their purposes. It was a sympathetic audience
that followed the remainder of the story. The children were listening
open-eyed in silent eagerness. Mamenah went on impressively.

[Illustration: The Stone with the Beard.

  [_See p. 167._]
]

"Ef pusson say de stone get bear'-bear' (beard), he go fa' down de same
place close de stone, he go wan' die. So one day, w'en Spider go set
trap to dis place, he meet de stone. Now he say: 'L-a-w-cus! Dah stone
get plenty bear'-bear'.' So he fa' down de same place. He no able fo'
grap (get up) all day. W'en at las' he betty leelee bit, he go home.

"Spider wan' fo' make cunnie fo' yeat he cumpin (companion), en he come
fin' out say dis plan go be fine fo' get um. So one day he go to Deer,
he tell um, say:

"'Fren, come go follow me, I go look me trap.'

"Deer say: 'All ret.'

"All two dey walker half way, den Spider say:

"'Deer, make yo' go befo', I go show yo' de road; de road nar dis.'

"W'en dey done reach close de stone, Spider 'tan' up, he wait. Deer go,
him too big fool, him say: 'L-a-w-cus! Look dah stone, he get plenty
bear'-bear'.'

"Nar so he fa' down deh, he wan' die. Spider make hase come cut he
t'roat, he kare um go, he en he pickin en he wef. Dey yeat de Deer all.

"De odder tem he go call Feleentambo (gazelle), he say: 'Fren', come
go follow me, I go set me trap.'

"So w'en dey duh go, he 'tan' up one side, he tell Feleentambo make he
go befo'. W'en Feleentambo go he see de stone, he no keep he mout', he
say: 'Dah stone get plenty bear'-bear'.' So he fa' down deh. Spider
run, he cut he t'roat.

"Nar so he do _all_ dem odder beef. At las' he go call Cunnie Rabbit,
he say: 'Fren', come go follow me to me trap.'

"Well, dey go. W'en dey reach close de stone, Spider 'tan' up, he say:
'Fren', pass befo', look de trap ef he ketch.'

"Cunnie Rabbit go befo', he go see de stone heah, but he silence.
Spider wait, he wait fo' hearee ef he go talk, but he no talk. So he
call Cunnie Rabbit, he say: 'Wey t'ing yo' see?'

"Cunnie Rabbit say: 'I no see anyt'ing.'

"Spider tell um, say: 'Yo' no see yandah to dat stone?'

"Cunnie Rabbit say: 'Wey t'ing?'

"Spider put he han' to he chin, he say: 'Yo' daddy no get so?'

"But Cunnie Rabbit get sense, he no talk, so Spider tell Cunnie Rabbit:
'Make yo' mus' say "Stone get pl----"

"Cunnie Rabbit hese'f say: 'Stone get pl----'

"Spider vex, he say: 'Ah, me fren', yo' stupid! Make yo' mus' say: 'Dah
stone get plenty b--'

"Well Cunnie Rabbit say: 'Dah stone get plenty b--'

"Spider say: 'Ah, me fren', yo' no kin say de stone get plenty
bear'-bear'?'

"So Cunnie Rabbit hese'f say so, en dey all two fa' down de same place.
Dey wan' fo' die, dey no able fo' grap (get up). Nar deh, Trorkey go
meet dem. Well, because Cunnie Rabbit bin good pusson, Trorkey he hase
(raise) um up, en Cunnie Rabbit go 'way. Trorkey say: 'I bin go lif'
yo', Spider, but bimeby yo' go lie 'pon me; yo' go say yo' fine Trorkey
fa' down so heah, en yo' se'f bin he'p um.'

"Spider say: 'No, I no go do so.' He beg Trorkey sotay (till) Trorkey
he'p um, he hase um up.

"F'om dat day Cunnie Rabbit get sense. Spider hese'f no able um,[40] he
pass all odder beef."

[40] "No able um", _i. e._ Was not able to surpass him.

A delighted little exclamation from Konah greeted this praise of her
Cunnie Rabbit. For several minutes after the close of the narrative,
there was an indistinguishable jabber of voices, all eager to add some
"debble story", if possible more exciting than the one just told.

Finally Mammy Magbindee gained the right of way, and her story was:


THE GIRL THAT PLAITED THE DEVIL'S BEARD.

"One tem debble bin sit down to de road-side. Any pusson wey bin go nah
dat road, de debble bin yeat um. Well, one day, one girl say:

"'I go kill to-day dis debble heah.'

"W'en he go he meet de debble, he duh sleep close de road-side. De
debble get long bear'-bear' (beard). De girl go soffle, he hole de
bear'-bear', he duh plant (plait) um. Den he draw de debble go nah
town. He draw um, he draw um tay de people inside de town hearee wey de
girl duh draw um, en wey de debble duh sing:

    "Tittie (sissy) duh kare me bear'-bear',
     Tittie duh kare me bear'-bear'.'

"W'en de people hearee um, den go he'p de girl fo' draw. Dey go put de
debble nah big road en kill um. W'en dey done kill um, dey wan' 'plit
um, but somet'ing no bin deh fo' take. One leelee prophet bird[41] come
nah bush, he say:

"'Oonah mus' take dah leelee sharp t'ing nah bush (thorn), oonah kin
'plit um.'

[41] The prophet bird is about the size of a hummingbird. It utters
notes which are believed to indicate danger or success, especially when
heard at the beginning of a journey, or just preceding the beginning of
some task. The sounds from the tiny throat are sufficient to reverse
the best laid plans, or to establish greater confidence in them.

[Illustration: "De debble, he duh sleep close the road-side."

  [_See p. 172._]
]

"Now dem people take dah bird, dey fling um far 'way, but he come agin
back, he say:

"'Oonah take dah leelee sharp t'ing nah bush, 'plit um.'

"Dey fling um agin, but de bird come back agin en sing de same sing.
Dah tem wey make t'ree, dem people say:

"'Make we try ef de t'ing true wey de bird bin talk; ef so, we go make
um fine present.'

"Den dey go take de sharp t'ing. W'en dey jus' touch de debble heen
body so, he 'plit. Wen he 'plit, all den people come out; dey no bin
die, dey bin make fa'm inside de debble; dey bin bu'n fa'm, make
ho'se, dey duh cook, dey duh yeat. W'en he done 'plit, all man come
out, plenty people come out."

Neither story-teller nor listeners realized that there was anything
preposterous in such a being as the one here described. On the other
hand, the gasps and groans that greeted each startling revelation,
contained not a tinge of incredulity, but only a kind of reverence
for this supernatural capacity so in accord with their conception of
spirits and devils.

The several steps leading up to the climax, were rolled off in rapid
succession; "W'en dey touch heen body so, he 'plit, w'en he 'plit
all dem people come out, dey no bin die, dey bin make fa'm inside de
debble, dey bin bu'n fa'm, buil' ho'se, dey duh cook en yeat; plenty
people come out," yet each was rounded off with such peculiar emphasis
of tone and gesture, that it came with a distinct impression of its
own, only heightened by the cumulative effect of succeeding revelations.

A pause of several minutes was necessary before the story could proceed.

"Well, one ole granny, w'en he come out, he say:

"'I fo'get me leelee pot, en me pickin, en me med'cin'.'

"Dem people say: 'No go agin inside dis debble heah!'

"He answer um back, say: 'I mus' go.'

"W'en he go inside, now de t'ing shut.

"Dis tem de bird done fly go, den done present[42] um money en plenty
fine t'ing. Dey try fo' 'plit de debble agin, lek how dey bin do fus'
tem, but dey no able, because de bird bin _make_ um open de fus' tem.
Wey t'ing fo' do? Dey try all kin' of sharp t'ing nah dis wuld, but den
no able. Dey go bury de debble so.

[42] The accent falls upon the first syllable of the verb, the
pronunciation being the same as that of the noun.

"Dat make 'tronger head no good. Ef pusson tell yo' say, make yo' no
mus' do anyt'ing, no do um."

Others were eager to relate stories to match the ones already given,
but quite naturally and woman-like, the one all were most ready to
hear was the one that smacked of romance, and promised to recount the
uncanny courtship and marriage of a beautiful young girl and the devil.
It was Yamah, the youngest woman present, who told the story, and
she told it with an earnestness that might have sprung from personal
experience.


MARRY THE DEVIL, THERE'S THE DEVIL TO PAY.

"Now one day, one mammy get girl pickin (pickaninny). Dis pickin he too
fine. Dem rich people en eberybody go ax fo' um fo' married, but he no
'gree. One rich man he deh down, down, _down_ (south), he get plenty
hoss, plenty people, plenty goat, en plenty t'ing wey I no able fo'
talk. Dis man come fo' see de girl he people, so he go get de girl, but
w'en de people tell dis girl, he no 'gree. De mammy bin tell de girl,
say:

"'Anybody yo' see wey (whom) yo' lek, anyt'ing wey (which) yo' see I
go kill um fo' present um. But de girl no see, anybody wey (whom) he
(she) lek.

[Illustration: Marry the Devil, the Devil to pay.]

"One day dah big, big, big, big debble, nah dah big, big bush, he
hearee dis news, fo' say nobody no able fo' get dis girl heah, en
dis debble he say: 'Nar me go married dis girl.' He grap, he go fix
hese'f good fashion lek pusson. Aintee yo' know say debble he able make
hese'f fine? He able fo' make hese'f fine pass anybody nah dis wuld.
He put on all de bes' clot' wey he kin get fo' len' (borrow). He len'
half side[43] head, half side body, all t'ing half side. So w'en dis
debble finis' fix hese'f good fashion, he call he hammock en four man
fo' tote (carry) um. He tell one man wey he lef' nah ho'se say: 'I duh
go married,' en he start fo' come see dis girl heah. W'en he come, he
reach nah de town wey de girl bin deh. De girl duh 'tan' up close de
windah, he duh look de road. W'en he see dis man yeah duh come, he tell
he mammy, say: 'I done see pusson wey I lek, nar he go marry me.'

[43] For explanation of "half side," see Introduction, page 21.

"W'en de debble come close de ho'se, de girl go meet um, he bring um
come inside.

"De debble say: 'I come fo' marry to yo'.' De girl say: 'All ret.'

"Now de girl go tell he mammy, he say: 'Mammy, dah cow wan' die.'

"Now de mammy say: 'Kill um fo' yo' man.'

"Now de girl say: 'Mammy, dem fowl dey sick.'

"De mammy say: 'Kill um fo' yo' man. Anyt'ing yo' wan', take um.'

"Dis girl yeah, w'en he go cook de beef en de fowl, wid ress en plenty
odder t'ing, he go gie um to de man nah heen ho'se.[44] But dis debble
yeah, he nebber yeat ress oh, he jus' duh yeat pusson, he nebber yeat
odder t'ing. W'en dis girl bin kare dis yeat nah debble heen ho'se,
w'en dah girl done go, de debble dig nah fireside, he put all dis ress
inside dah hole, he cover um. Bimeby de girl come, he t'ink say de man
jus' yeat leelee bit, he ax um, say:

"Wey t'ing yo' no duh yeat fo'?'

[44] The man's house signifies the hut assigned to him by the chief on
his arrival in the town. This custom supplies the lack of hotels.

"De debble say: 'I done yeat plenty.' But dis girl he (she) no know dis
nar debble, oh!

"Well, dis girl heah, he get one brudder wey sick wid craw-craw;
craw-craw[45] 'pon heen skin all. Dis boy wan' go tell dis debble 'How
do'. W'en he go, dis debble holler 'pon um. De boy 'fraid, he go sit
down.

[45] Craw-craw is a very prevalent skin disease, a species of itch not
very contagious.

"Well, dis debble wan' pass go home. De girl say he no go lef, he mus'
go wid de man. Heen people dey no 'gree make he go yet, but he say he
mus' go now, so dey say: 'All ret.'

"Dey gie um all t'ing fo' make um go. Dis same day dey lef de town fo'
go home. W'en dey go, dis boy wey (who) sick wan' fo' follow um. He say
he mus' follow he sister, but de debble no 'gree, he say because de
pickin too waw-waw (ugly).

"So w'en dey go, dah pickin duh follow um leelee (at a distance). Well,
dey walker all day. W'en de debble turn, he see dis pickin yeah, he
ketch um, he flog um, he say: 'No go follow we!'

"So de pickin go hide behine leelee bit, en de two pusson dey duh go.
Soon de debble duck heen han' nah heen pocket,[46] he pull
one white kola,[47] he open um; he gie de girl half, hese'f take half.

[46]When the men choose to clothe themselves further than with the
customary loin cloth, they wear a long loose gown of hand-spun and
woven cloth. Often this has a large pocket sewed on the front.

[47] The kola is eaten to still the pangs of hunger, and because an
appetite for it is easily acquired. Then its intense bitterness becomes
sweet. The white kolas are slightly preferred to the pink, either being
given as a token of friendship and hospitality.

"De pickin come meet dem agin. W'en de man wan' flog de pickin de ooman
say: 'Fren', no flog um, make he follow we.' 'Den de pickin follow
leelee, leelee. Well dey walker all day. W'en dey go, dis debble heen
one side head come out, fa' down. Well dis girl yeah say: 'Fren', look,
yo' head fa' down.'

"Well, de debble pull one sing:

    'Lef um deh (there), lef um deh, Berkinee;
     Lef um deh, oh Berkinee.'"

The song, a weird chant in the minor key, had a slow swinging movement,
and the whole company beat time with hand-claps, bringing the right
hand down slowly upon the left, and swinging the body in unison.
The song was given as a chorus, and served to quicken feeling and
to intensify the interest of the story. When it was ended, Yamah
proceeded:

"Dey go sotay (till) de one foot fa' down. De girl call um back, he
say: 'Fren', yo' foot fa' down.'

"Den de debble pull de same sing:

    'Lef um deh, lef um deh, Berkinee;
     Lef um deh, oh Berkinee.'

"Aftah he done finis' sing, dey go sotay (till) all t'ing nah heen skin
lef half. Dey reach evenin' tem nah (to) de man heen place, en dey come
see dis leelee brudder. Den cook, den yeat.

"Well, de net, w'en dis heen (his) wef done sleep, dis debble grap fo'
kill um, fo' yeat um. He take one big, big knef, he duh sharp um. But
dis pickin yeah, he no sleep, he jus' duh make lek pusson duh make nah
net (snore). W'en de debble finis' fo' sharp he knef, de pickin cry:
'W-e-y-ee! Me craw-craw duh kratch me oh?'

"Den de debble come to um, he say: 'Pickin, yo' no sleep yet?'

"De pickin duh say: 'No, sah, me craw-craw duh hurt me, en me nebber
sleep 'pon bed. I ken lay down 'pon pile country clo'es.'[48]

[48] One country cloth is thought to be sufficient bed for anyone. The
evident purpose of the little boy in asking for a "pile" of clothes is
to give the devil a task requiring much time, in order to delay his
designs against the young woman.

"De debble go bring plenty country clo'es, he make fine bed fo' um. He
put de pickin deh, make um sleep, so he kin yeat dis ooman. But dis
ooman duh sleep oh! He duh sleep, he no know anyt'ing wey duh go on.

"Well, de man mean say de pickin done sleep, en he take he knef, he duh
sharp, sharp um, make he come broke de ooman he head. He say: 'Fo' yeat
pusson, he good, he sweet, en dis ooman he fat.'

"But dat pickin no sleep oh! He cough en de debble say: 'Pickin, yo' no
sleep yet?'

"De pickin say: 'No, sah, hangry done ketch me.'

"De pickin know say dis man wan' yeat dah ooman, so he duh try make
he mus' get some way fo' sabe um (save her); dah make he duh talk all
light t'ing yeah. W'en dah debble gie um yeat, he go put de pickin
agin nah de bed, make he lay down sleep. De tem nar middle net. Well,
dis man yeah, w'en he done sit down long tem, he mean say de pickin
done sleep. He take he knef agin, he sharp um. Now de pickin duh
kratch, kratch he skin. De debble hebe he knef down quick, he go ax de
pickin: 'Wey t'ing make yo' no sleep yet? Wey t'ing dey kin do fo' yo'
craw-craw w'en yo' bin deh to yo' Mammy?'

"De pickin say: 'Dey kin take fis'-net, go take wattah nah wattah-side
fo' was' um. I wan' was', but I nebber was' wid wattah wey dey bin get
nah bowl, excep' de wattah fus' inside fis'-net, befo' dey turn um nah
de bowl.'

"So de debble he grap (get up), he go nah wattah-side, he kare fis'-net
en bowl. W'en he duh duck de fis'-net inside wattah so, en he hase de
fis'-net, de wattah all lef back. Because he wan' hurry yeat de ooman,
he stupid; he no wait t'ink he no able get wattah wid fis'-net. De
pickin bin ax dis t'ing wey hard fo' do, fo' make leelee chance fo'
sabe de ooman. He wake de ooman, he say: 'Yo' no know dat debble wan'
kill yo' dis net yeah? Nar lie I tell um, say he mus' get wattah wid
fis'-net befo' I kin was'. He done go. Grap (get up), make we come go;
ef no so, ef he meet yo', he go kill yo'.'

"Dis boy yeah en dis ooman dey start, dey walker hard dah net. Well,
dah debble, w'en he no able get dis wattah, he come nah ho'se, he meet
de ooman en de pickin done go. So he run go follow dem. He walker sotay
he wan' go meet dem, but dis pickin hearee de debble duh come behine,
he say: 'Come hide!' So dey hide. De debble go sotay he wan' reach nah
town, but he no meet dem, so he come back. Dis ooman en de pickin pass,
go home.

"De girl tell him people all t'ing wey he see, he say: 'Trongah yase
(ears)[49] no good. Ef I bin hearee oonah (you) w'en yo' bin say make I
no go wid dis man, I no fo' see all dis trouble yeah'.

[49] "Trongah yase," _i.e._, "strong ears," wilful disregard of advice.

"So now he make _so_. Ef yo' wan' go any place, ef any pickin wan'
follow yo', no deny. Sometem (perhaps) dis pickin yeah go sabe yo' f'om
big, big trouble."

By the time this story was ended, most of the children were asleep, but
Konah's insatiable hungering after the strange and mysterious, kept her
wide awake. Some of the women, too, were beginning to feel the drowsy
effects of the night, and especially of the close, smoke-laden air
within the over-crowded little room.

Magbindee went to the door, and seeing the moon just then peeping
through a rift in the clouds, rudely awoke her sleeping child, and
started with it to her own hut.

Others followed her example, and soon Sobah's hut was left to stillness
and to dreams.




CHAPTER VIII

CHILDREN OF NATURE


Nature is very human in many of her moods. She has her periods of
feverish energy and impetuous application, then her periods of gentle
outpouring and watchful tenderness, and again her periods of apparent
idleness and indifference. In Temne-land these moods succeed each
other with a regularity and certainty that is quite pronounced. The
dry season just ended, was the period of repose and idleness. Nature
had been taking her vacation. The currents of life stood still, and
vegetation sank into a partially dormant state. Nature, resting, seemed
forgetful of her human children. Day after day, week after week it had
been the same,--sunshine, profuse, clear, steadfast and pitiless; air
quiet and calm and listless.

Then came signs of waking up. The winds arose gradually, becoming more
and more intense, with dashes of rain. Then a tornado swept through
villages and jungles, accompanied by terrific lightning and thunder.
Nature is wide awake now, and has begun work with a haste and energy
that seem intended to atone for the long idleness.

The life currents have started to flow again. Already the steady
rains are falling, and for weeks and weeks they will fall; soaking
everything, flooding the lowland districts, and bringing out everywhere
an incredibly varied and luxuriant vegetation.

Then months hence there will come a rift in the clouds, the sun will
peep through upon the water-soaked earth and teeming vegetation, and
the work of undoing will begin.

But this is anticipation.

The rainy season is on now in earnest. The rice farms need no attention
at present, and other occupations are hindered by the rains. Nature is
also shaping the destiny of her children.

These simple Temne people, freed in a measure from the requirements of
their ordinary occupations, respond the more readily to impulses that
arise from social and intellectual instincts.

Led by the dumb craving of their natures, they have set an evening
for a social gathering at the home of Sobah. The chief attraction,
as everybody knows, will be story-telling, but there is to be no
stiff formality. Everything will be spontaneous, and subject to the
inspiration of the moment.

As the appointed evening comes on, the clouds thicken, and the rain has
become a downpour. But what does that matter? There is little danger
of injuring clothing,--if such an article is in evidence, and as to
discomfort,--well, the street at this moment is full of youngsters who
revel in the mud and water as if that were the acme of earthly bliss.

The older people are following an impulse only a little higher, as they
stalk, heedless of rain, to Sobah's hut. A good fire is burning in the
middle of the room, for the night will be dark and chill. With many a
"How do", many a "Tankee" and many a touching of the inside fingertips,
in conventional hand-shake, the greetings of the hour are passed.
Oleemah has brought with him Soree, his kinsman from a distant village.
Soree and Sobah are old acquaintances and warm friends, and not having
seen each other for months are effusive in their greetings.

With many grunts and exclamations of pleasure they rush at each other
and, swinging the outstretched arm in a semicircle, smite the open
palms together in heartiest good-fellowship.

"Eh, fren, how do, I gladee fo' see yo' fo' true, true," said Sobah
warmly. "How yo' kin 'tan'?"

"I well, tankee," answered Soree, with deep satisfaction, "en I gladee
too much fo' come tell yo' how do. Yo' look lek say de ress bin plenty
since de las' tem we bin meet up; yo' get skin big pass (surpass) me
yown."

Each member of the company was allowed to seat himself as best he
could, on the mud bed, on the floor, on anything. There was no need for
haste, no record of time was kept.

Soree, as the guest from abroad, was questioned eagerly for news of his
country and people, particularly of the war-boys, and he in turn was
quite as interested in the gossip of the village.

Sobah had just related an incident from one of his trading expeditions,
in which he had been imposed upon as to the quality of the articles
bargained for, and in conclusion summed up his observation of human
nature in the proverb: "Fis'erman nebber say he fish rotten."

After Sobah's bit of reminiscence, there was a silence broken only by
the noise of the children, who were amusing themselves in their own
peculiar way. An atmosphere of ease and endless leisure enveloped the
place.

Finally an inspiration came to Mammy Yamah, who was "picking" cotton,
and she said:

"One man bin deh (there), since w'en he born tay to-day, he hair white.
Yo' sabbee (know) dat?" The conundrum was familiar and easy, and one
of the smaller boys, who happened to be listening, answered at once:
"Cotton".

There was a general stir among the pickaninnies, for here was something
within their mental grasp, and they left the dog to sleep undisturbed,
and ceased to play with the tame little ground-squirrel which Gengah
had brought, partly to exhibit to the other children, but chiefly
because he and the squirrel had become boon companions. The minds were
all intent as Soree propounded this riddle:

"One ole man he inside ho'se, but he bear'-bear' (beard) come out nah
do' (door)."

There was a puzzled silence until Oleemah, who sat nearest the door,
and whose eyes were filled with the smoke that sought exit from the
smouldering fire, started up with kindling face and exclaimed: "Eh,
hey! Ladder wey (which) pusson no duh klim."

This second conundrum, familiar to some present, and requiring the same
word for solution as the preceding, was uttered in so triumphant a tone
that a chorus of voices called out the double reply: "Smoke," and the
few who were less rapid in thought echoed the word with equal gusto.

Now came Mammy Mamenah with the following:

"De king he get ho'se, do'-mout' (door-mouth) no deh, windah no deh,
but pusson duh talk inside."

This no one could guess, and Mammy was obliged to point to a hen
sitting on a nest at one end of the mud bed and say wisely: "Dat pusson
duh sabbee; one week tem he go hearee de talk."

The patient brooder looked around as if to corroborate the woman's
testimony, and as if thinking of the baby peeps that would announce
her long vigil ended, and more active work begun.

This broad hint made the solution of the conundrum easy for most of
the company, but Dogbah was still in the dark, as no one had named
the answer specifically. Finally, unwilling to relinquish the point,
although he was sure to bring ridicule upon himself, he asked: "Well,
wey t'ing dat?"[50]

[50] "Wey t'ing dat?" _i.e._ What (thing) is that?

"Yo' stupid too much," replied Oleemah sarcastically. "Yo' no know dat
egg no get do'-mout', no get windah, but pusson duh talk inside?"

Of course there was a loud laugh at Dogbah's expense, but he could
console himself with knowing the solution of a very good conundrum.

Another pause followed, and then a young man who had spent several
months in Freetown, had this to propose:

"Dey sew dress fo' one girl; he no deh, but w'en he reach, de dress
jus' fit um."

Many laughable guesses were made, and occasioned no end of merriment.
After the vain efforts ceased to amuse, the propounder explained that
the dress was a fish-net. When once the comparison was clear, it was
highly appreciated.

Gratified by the prestige his knowledge of town customs gave, the young
man propounded another conundrum that proved almost as puzzling as his
first one. It was this:

"One big ho'se bin deh, he get one post, no mo' (more)."

The problem seemed easy enough, but its solution proved to be a very
difficult matter. Every conceivable likeness to a house with one post
was offered, but still the Freetown sojourner showed his white teeth in
a broad grin, and shook his head.

Konah had been taking lively interest in all the guessing, but thus far
had not been able to give any correct answer except the ones already
familiar to her. This time her active wits were working with unusual
rapidity. The important part of a native house is the roof. Many of the
farm-houses, Konah knew, consisted entirely of a thatch supported by
posts. A short time before, she had seen the chief on a state occasion,
beneath a large white cotton shelter with gay stripes, and--presto! she
had the answer, for that house had but a single post. "Umbrella," she
answered triumphantly, but still there was a look of perplexity on
most of the faces, for the country article was made of bamboo, and was
worn upon the head like a hat. However, as soon as reference was made
to the one which the chief had, the matter was plain, and the conundrum
was recognized as a good one to try on the uninstructed at the first
opportunity.

Mammy Mamenah was making a mat out of palm fibre variously colored,
but her mind had been as active as her fingers, and now she held the
interest riveted upon her by:

"One man get t'ree slave; ef one gone, two no able fo' work."

The three fire-stones for the support of the rice-pot were not far off,
and the sight of them suggested the solution to another woman, who
then, reminded of her afternoon's task of broom-making, said:

"One man get plenty slave, he tie dem 'pon one rope, he hang dem up."

The children had all been used to gathering coarse, stiff grass,
arranging it symmetrically, and tying it at the larger end, to form
a broom, so they felt that the mental gymnastics had reached a point
where they could participate. They had curled up in one corner of the
room, to avoid the sharp tones, and the cuffs on the head that would
follow if they disturbed their elders. Over the spot where they sat,
the thatch was performing an expected part of its function, leaking,
and perhaps the falling drops suggested: "Water hang."

The adults were slow in answering, but the shining black Foday very
proudly responded, "Dat nar orange."

"Water 'tan' up, water grow," suggested by the previous answer, and
propounded by Konah, was at once declared to be sugar-cane; for while
the conundrums were new to some, they were current, and many knew their
solutions.

"Two man bin close togedder, but dey nebber see each odder," was
offered by the young man from Freetown, who thought that he was giving
these rustics another puzzle, but he was much chagrined when "Two yi,"
came in a lusty chorus from the boys' corner, followed by a shout of
derisive laughter. The answer "Two yi," suggested the next conundrum:
"Two man wid ribber middle dem," and likewise suggested the response:
"Two yi en nose," which came promptly.

"Me daddy buil' ho'se, soso (entirely) windah," was a good description
of a fish-net which they had this very day seen woven by a man in the
barri,[51] and consequently the answer was not long delayed.

[51] See footnote page 240.

"One t'ing, yo' walk 'pon um, but he nebber move." There was a moment
of thought, broken by Konah's words: "Dat nar de groun'; but ef we tell
Chameleon he no go believe we, because he t'ink say he one big pusson,
he able fo' bus' de groun', broke um; dat make he duh mas' (tread) um
soffle w'en he walker. Chameleon, wey leelee so!"

Sobah now introduced a slight change in the mental bill of fare.

"Hill," he announced, when there was a pause in the talk that
threatened to be prolonged.

The interest of the company had begun to lag, but was quickened at once
by this announcement. A hill requires effort in the ascent, and the
term as used by Sobah was readily understood to signify a short story
presenting a mental problem for solution, and leaving the question
open for the hearers to exercise their ingenuity, and was a sort of
challenge to find the solution.

"How?" was shouted back by the listeners, demanding to have the story
with its proposition stated.


THE THREE TWINS.

"Hill!"

"How?"

"T'ree twin bin deh, two boy en one girl. One day den two boy go
huntin', but de place wey dey go huntin' bin hilly place, so den lef'
behine de hill. One twin look t'rou' de hill, en see one hog behine de
hill; so he shoot t'rou' de hill, en de shot kill de hog. De odder twin
he go t'rou' de place wey de big shot go, en he take de hog en kare um
go home. W'en dey reach nah ho'se, den meet den sister done finis' cook
de heart of de hog, de liver en de lung, befo' den reach home wid de
hog.

[Illustration: The Three Twins.]

"Now _yo'_ fo' talk which one of dese t'ree twin do de big t'ing pass
(surpass) all."

A lively argument followed this story, and it was evident that there
was a difference of opinion. However, the majority seemed to think "de
girl do de big t'ing pass all."


WHICH TWIN RESTORED HIS FATHER TO LIFE?

Soree, between whom and Sobah was springing up a good-natured rivalry,
now offered a twin story that was one better--in number at least--than
Sobah's.

"Hill!" he announced.

"How?" was the response.

This indicates that all were ready to listen, so Soree related the
following:

"Dis man heah he get four son, dey all twin. De fadder bin huntin' man.
W'en he (his) pickin (pickaninnies) leelee he go huntin'; since dat
he no come back. De wef he (her) heart trouble um, because he no know
wey t'ing become of he man. W'en den four boy no done full grown, dey
sized boy no mo' (merely), dey ax dem mammy 'bout dem daddy en de mammy
answer: 'He bin go huntin'; me no know wey t'ing bin come of um.'

[Illustration: Which twin restored his father to life?

  [_See p. 200._]
]

"So de las' boy, de one wey (who) make four, he say: 'I go surely know
wey t'ing become of me faddah, I mus' fine um.'

"De odder one say: 'Ef yo' fine um, I kin manage fo' make faddah; ef
yo' pick (collect) all de bone I kin join um.' De odder one say 'I kin
gie body'; de odder one say: 'I go gie um life.' But dey no tell de
mudder w'en dey duh talk 'bout dis t'ing, dey jus' ax um which road den
daddy bin take w'en he wan' fo' go hunt. De mammy say: 'Dis back road.'

"Dem four boy dey grap (get up), dey go. Well, dey cut de way t'rough
de bush, dey wandah, dey wandah far 'way nah de bush. De las' one he
see one leelee road, he hole um wid all heen bruddah, he 'tan' up
befo'. W'en dey go, dey go, dey go, dey meet one ribber. Jus' dey reach
deh de las' one see heen fadder gun, en he meet heen dry head (skull).
Now de odder t'ree boy jus' duh come, en de las' one tell um say: 'I
finis' me yown part.'

"Well, de one wey bin say he go join de bone, he dibe bottom de
wattah, he meet all dem bone, he bring um all 'pon top de lan', join
dem all lek pusson, en he say: 'Look, me finis' me yown part.'

"De odder one he mix mud, he plaster um 'pon all de body, make de hair
all. He take palm-leaf, he duck um inside de puttah-put,[52] he fash'n,
fash'n um 'pon de mud. De blackness he duh shine, he fine de man. W'en
he finis' he tell de odder twin, he say; 'Me done me yown part.'

[52] See footnote page 47.

"De one wey pass all fo' ole (old), he get one leelee horn wey kin
protec' de life, kin bring life back. One country-fashion man make de
horn, but not fo' dis purpose, he make um w'en de four twin leelee, fo'
protec' dem, so nobody no go kill de baby. So dis boy go to de fadder
to he nose, he put de horn deh, he blow inside de horn. De fadder
sneeze, he grap, he take heen gun, he go home. Heen wef bin cry, he
t'ink say somet'ing happen to heen pickin, dey all done die, because
since early mornin' dey bin go 'way tay late nah evenin'. Jus' he look
he see he man come nah road. De cry turn to laugh, great joy.

"Well, now dem four boy yeah, which one make dem get fadder?"

Soree allowed the argument to run on for a time, and noticing with deep
satisfaction that opinions were hopelessly divided, closed the matter
by saying with a touch of triumph in his tone: 'Nar dis de question dey
duh argue tay (till) to-day. Yo' no able um.'

Sobah felt that his first story had not won him as much credit as he
deserved, and so was constrained to offer another.


WHICH ONE WAS MOST GREEDY?

"T'ree man bin deh. Dey go far up country wey dey nar 'tranger to de
king en de people. Dey all t'ree greedy too much, en because 'Tuckmah'
mean say greedy pusson, pusson wey get sweet-mout', dis make all man
duh call de one Tuckmahkodinay, de odder Tuckmahfongkah, en de las'
one Tuckmahtontoun. W'en dey reach net tem to one big town, den go to
de king heen (his) ho'se. Dey tell de king 'How do?' dey say: 'We nar
'tranger, we duh come out far country, make we sit down dis net to yo'
town.'

"De king ax um plenty question: which side dey come out; how de ress
'tan', ef he plenty; ef dey bin see war boy w'en dey pass. Dey tell de
king all t'ing wey dey bin see, en he gladee fo' de word wey dey talk;
he gie dem one cow. Fo' few day dey sit down to dis king him town.
Soon one mawnin' dey dribe de cow befo', dey walker tay dey reach to
one leelee fa'm-ho'se; nobody no deh. Tuckmahkodinay he say: 'Make we
kill de cow, make we yeat um.' Dey go inside ho'se, dey fine cutlass,
en calabas', en pot, en all t'ing fo' cook, but pusson no deh. One man
take de cutlass fo' cut de cow he t'roat, fo' kill um. Tuckmahkodinay
say: 'Bimeby de blood go was', I go hang me mout' underneat', make me
ketch de blood.'

"De one wey hole de cutlass mistake, he cut off he cumpin (companion)
him (his) head. He sorry, but wey t'ing fo' do? Nar (there are) de two
man lef'. Dey cook de beef all. W'en dey finis' cook Tuckmahtontoun
tell Tuckmahfongkah, he say: 'Go get wattah, make we yeat.'

"Deep well bin deh, he no far off, so Tuckmahfongkah say: 'Bimeby
Tuckmahtontoun go yeat all de beef w'en I turn me back, make I mus'
walk wid me back' (backwards).

"So he duh do, but befo' he kin t'ink say he reach to de well, he fa'
over inside, he die. Tuckmahtontoun he see say he cumpin no come back,
he say: 'Wey t'ing do Tuckmahfongkah, he no duh make hase come wid
de wattah, make we yeat. I t'ink I betty go mese'f.' He go, he meet
Tuckmahfongkah done die. Hese'f de one man lef'. He take de calabas',
he full um, he hase (raise) um put um 'pon he head, he turn back come
agin to wey he done cook. Befo' he reach close he see Fileentambo
(Gazelle), he holler: 'Oh yah! Dah beef duh t'ief me sweet yeat (meat)
wey I done cook. Ah, m-o-nay! I duh get trouble to-day.'

[Illustration: Tuckmahfongkah fals down the well.]

"He put down de wattah, he run, he call: 'Hah, hah!'

"Jus' de beef hearee dis he turn quick, he see de man, he scare; he
wan' fo' run, he foot slip, go inside de boilin' pot. He pull um quick,
he run, he run. De man say de beef done kare all de sweetness, he
greedy um de leelee bit wey he kare 'pon he foot, so he run aftah um,
he run, sotay (till) he ketch um. W'en he wan' fo' lick de Fileentambo
heen foot, dah foot wey bin inside de pot, Fileentambo he kick de man,
bus' (burst) he t'roat. Tuckmahtontoun fa' down one tem, he die.

"Dem t'ree pusson deh, which one get sweet-mout' pass? Oonah (you) fo'
judge."

Sobah was satisfied that his hill was a difficult one to climb; and,
without waiting to hear the opinions that might be advanced, he turned
his attention to replenishing the fire which had burned low.

The rain continued steadily outside, and a generous share of it found
its way through the thatch. Darkness, thick and impenetrable, enveloped
the hut. Inside, the fire, now blazing afresh, lit up the dusky faces
and cast weird shadows upon the blackened mud walls. The air was thick
with smoke and reeking with odors, but no one heeded that. These
were big, overgrown children, bent on an entire night's amusement
and entertainment in the most refined form they knew; and, like all
children, they must enjoy their game in spite of discomforts, perhaps
even enjoy it the more because of the discomforts.

Soree felt that he was expected to furnish the next story, but some
delicate inner sense told him that they had had enough mental nuts to
crack, and so he considerately turned to stories of a more fanciful and
entertaining type.

"Yo' know dah story 'bout Mr. Spider en Mr. Lepped?" he asked to gain
time to collect his thoughts. They had heard similar stories, but were
just as eager to hear this one. After scratching his head thoughtfully
a few minutes, Soree cleared his throat as a signal that he was ready
to begin.


MR. SPIDER CREATES A FRIGHTFUL TORNADO.

"Now Spider, he en Lepped bin fren' one tem; dey sit down togedder
(live) to one ole fa'm-ho'se. W'en dey go hunt, dey no see any beef.
_So_ dey do tay till hangry ketch um _bad_. Now Lepped say: 'Come go,
Spider, come make we go yeat we (our) pickaninny.'

[Illustration: Mr. Spider creates a frightful tornado

  [_See p. 209._]
]

"Spider say: 'Yes, nar true, but make we yeat yo' yown fus', because
yo' fus' talk.' Lepped 'gree. Bimeby dey done yeat Lepped he pickin
all, en him wef; but not to one day dey yeat all. One day dey kill
one, odder day dey kill one tay (till) all finis'. Turn done come fo'
yeat Spider yown. Spider say: 'To-morrow make we meet to one odder
fa'm-ho'se, bottom one big 'tick (tree) yondah.'

"Lepped say: 'All ret.'

"Now Spider lef Lepped, he go home, he go cut plenty long palm-branch,
big long palm-branch. He tie um, make big bunch. He shabe (divide)
de bunch one one to he (his) pickin en he (his) wef. Well, Spider go
mawnin' to de place, he meet Lepped deh. All two duh sit down talk. Dey
hearee noise. Spider heen wef Nahker en de pickin duh drag dem palm
leaf 'pon de groun' fo' make Lepped t'ink say tornado go come. W'en
Spider en Lepped hearee dis yeah big noise, Spider grap (get up), he
knock he foot 'pon de groun', he say:

"'Mr. Lepped, yo' able fo' sit down? Big breeze duh come, he go sweep
we 'way. De place wey he go lef we, now deh we go die, we no go see
none o' we famble agin.' He say: 'Mr. Lepped, do fren' tie me quick,
befo' dis breeze yeah reach. Make he no kare me go.'

"Lepped say: 'No;' he say: 'Fren', yo' fus' tie me.'

"Spider say: 'No, fren', yo' fus' tie me.'

"Lepped say: 'No, yo' fus'.'

"Spider get up, he say: 'Well, I 'gree, because dis storm heah wan'
big, big people, he go kare yo' up fus' ef I no tie yo'.'

"He kare um to dah big plum tree, he say: ''Tan' up 'traight, no shake,
'tan' up soffle.'

"Lepped he 'tan' up close de 'tick. Spider go cut rope. Long tem Spider
bin huntin' fo' flog Lepped, but he no able um, so now he pull dis
cunnie. All dis tem dey hearee de breeze duh come. Lepped say: 'Make
hase, de breeze duh come.'

"Spider bring de rope, he begin fo' tie Lepped f'om he toe 'roun' de
'tick, tay he reach to he neck, 'roun', 'roun', 'roun' de 'tick. W'en
he finis' Lepped no kin move, he no able fo' shake he body. Spider
laugh, he say: 'I bin do yo' fool.' He tell he pickin, he say: 'Me
pickin, oonah (you) hebe de whip, oonah (you) come, we done ketch de
brah (brother).'

"Him pickin dey klim 'pon de 'tick, dey yeat de plum, dey hebe (throw)
de seed 'pon Lepped he head. Aftah dey done yeat dey come down, dey
begin conk (strike) Mr. Lepped, dey _conk_ um, dey say: 'Yo' nar (are)
dog, yo' kin yeat people. Come yeat we of yo' able.'

"Lepped look dem wid bad yi, but he no know how fo' do.

"Spider tell Lepped, say: 'Aintee (is it not) so any day yo' kin hole
me, yo' flog me?' Now he go broke whip, he say: 'Mese'f I go flog yo'
to-day.'

"Spider bring de whip come, he flog Lepped, he flog um, he flog um.
Lepped he say: 'Do yah!' He beg long, long tem. Spider no 'gree, he
f

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