II.—The Cunning Hare; or, Why the Tortoise has a Patched Shell.
The hare (asima bieso, native name) was known to everyone as a very cunning animal. He was very fond of meat, although he was unable to kill anything himself. He therefore thought out a scheme by which he would be able to obtain meat without any trouble.
The first thing the hare did was to call all the animals together, and when they arrived, he said: “We ought to have a king over us,” to which the animals agreed, and, after some discussion, the elephant was chosen. A law was also passed, at the hare’s suggestion, that a piece of ground at the roadside should be set aside for the king’s own private use, and that if anyone was caught defiling this piece of ground in any way he should be killed and eaten.
In the night time the hare went to the king’s private piece of ground and made a mess there.
When the morning came he hid himself in the bush near the place, in order to see who might be the first animal to pass the piece of ground, so that he could give false information against him.
After he had been waiting for a short time, a bush cat passed on his way to the farm, whereupon the hare jumped up and said: “Have you visited the king’s piece of ground this morning?” Upon the bush cat saying “No,” the hare ordered him to go there at once. He did so, and returned saying that the place was very dirty indeed. The hare then said: “How is that possible? I visited the place myself this morning, and it was quite clean then. You must have defiled it yourself, and I shall report you.”
The hare then ran into the town and told the people what he had seen. The big wooden drum was then beaten, and when all the animals had come together the bush cat was put upon his defence.
The bush cat told the people what had happened, and that he had nothing to do with the matter. But the hare stood up as the accuser, and the people decided that the bush cat was guilty, and the king ordered him to be killed, and said that the meat was to be dried by Keroho and brought to him in the morning.
Now, Keroho is a fruit-eating animal, who is very lazy, and sleeps most of the day. He always seems tired, and after he has taken a few steps he lies down, and sleeps for a time.
The hare had suggested to the king that Keroho should be told to dry and guard the meat, and said to the king that, as Keroho only eat fruit, he would not be likely to steal any of the meat.
In reality the hare suggested Keroho for a very different reason, and that reason was that Keroho was a fat animal in good condition, and far too lazy and sleepy to guard the meat properly.
When the evening came, Keroho made a fire and cut up the body of the bush cat and set it out to dry. He then went to sleep.
The hare, being very greedy and fond of meat, wanted to have it all to himself, so, when all the people had gone to bed, he slipped out of his house by the back way, and very soon had taken the dried meat out of Keroho’s yard and returned to his house, where he made a good meal, and buried what he could not eat.
Early in the morning the hare went and beat the big drum to call the animals together at the king’s house.
Keroho, hearing the drum, got up and went to the fire in his back yard, where he had left the meat drying, and, to his intense astonishment, found that it had vanished. He was very frightened at this, and went to the meeting trembling in every limb. He tried to explain that he had left the meat before the fire when he went to bed, but the hare got up at once and said, “Do not believe him, most likely he has sold the meat to get some money. I propose that Keroho be killed so that we shall not lose our meat.”
All the people agreed to this, so Keroho was killed and cut up, the meat being given to the bush cow to keep.
The hare, in order to make himself acquainted with the bush cow’s house, waited until sundown, and then went to the bush cow’s house with a large calabash of strong tombo. The hare was careful to drink only a little himself, and very soon the bush cow had finished the whole calabash.
That night the bush cow slept very soundly, and at midnight, when nothing could be heard but the occasional hoot of an owl or the croaking of the frogs in the marsh, the hare went very quietly and stole the meat from the bush cow’s fire and took it home with him, as before.
The following morning he beat the drum as usual, and the people met together. The bush cow, failing to produce the meat, was killed by the king’s order and his meat given to another animal to dry.
As usual, the hare stole the meat at night and the animal was killed the next day. This went on until there were only seven animals left.
The meat of the last animal that was killed was handed over to the tortoise. The tortoise at once placed his wife on guard over the meat, and went off into the bush to cut rubber.
Now, the tortoise was looked upon as one of the wisest of all animals. For some time it had seemed to him very curious that every night the meat should disappear and another animal should be killed. He therefore determined that, when it became his turn to dry and guard the meat, he would take every precaution possible, and would try to catch whoever it was who always removed the meat at night, as he had no intention that his body should supply food for the remaining six animals.
Before going into the bush, he gave his wife strict injunctions not to let the meat out of her sight.
When he returned in the evening, he cut up the meat, saying as he did so: “Ah, there goes another poor animal. I wonder whose turn it will be to-morrow, but it shall not be mine if I can help it.”
So he made a big fire and put the meat on, and then covered it all over with the rubber he had brought back with him from the bush.
The tortoise then told his wife that he was tired, and went to bed pretending to be asleep, but he had one eye open all the time, and that eye he kept fixed upon the meat, as he was not going to take any risks, knowing full well that, if the meat disappeared, as it had a habit of doing, he himself would be the next victim.
When all was quiet, and the hare thought everybody had gone to sleep, he went round to the back of the tortoise’s house and put his right hand out to take the meat, but when his hand closed on the rubber, he found that he could not remove it because the rubber was so sticky. He tried his hardest to get his hand away, but without success. He then called out softly, because he was afraid of waking the tortoise, “Let me go! Let me go!” but the rubber never answered, and held on tighter than ever. This made the hare angry, so he whispered to the rubber, “Look here, if you don’t let my right hand go at once I will hit you very hard with my left hand, and then you will be sorry.” He got no reply, but thought he heard a laugh somewhere. The hare then hit the rubber with his disengaged hand as hard as he was able, and that hand also stuck fast.
Then the hare heard the tortoise murmur, “Yes, to-morrow I will discover that rat who is always stealing the king’s meat.”
At length the hare became absolutely terrified, and kicked the rubber hard with one of his feet, which became as fast as his hands were, and very shortly the other foot also became caught up, so that he was held quite securely.
When the morning came, the tortoise called his wife to help him, and together they put the meat and rubber into a basket with the hare on top, and carried them all to the king’s house.
When the drum was beaten, the people assembled as usual, and discussed amongst themselves to whom the meat of the tortoise should be given when he was killed. In the middle of the discussion, the tortoise appeared carrying the meat with the hare on top.
The tortoise then charged the hare with attempting to steal the king’s meat, and told the people of the trap he had set. The hare was found guilty, and was ordered to pay a large number of brass rods, and he was told that if they were not forthcoming, he would be killed, and that his mother and sister would be killed with him, as he had been the cause of the death of so many animals.
The hare begged for a little time to enable him to get the rods, which was allowed to him.
He then ran home and got his mother and sister to come with him at once to the foot of a big cotton tree, and, having got a rope round the lowest branch, he very soon got to the top of the tree, where he built a small hut for himself and his people.
The hare then went down to the lowest branch where the rope was, and hauled his mother and sister up. He put them in the hut at the top of the tree, and sat down himself next to the rope with a sharp knife in his hand.
As the hare did not appear at the appointed time to pay the rods, the people went to his house, and found that they had all disappeared. It did not take long, however, to discover that he had taken refuge in the cotton tree, so they all went there and found the rope hanging down.
Then they all began to climb the rope together, leaving the tortoise on the ground, and just as he was about to commence to climb, the others having already reached halfway, the hare cut the rope with one cut of his sharp knife, and all the animals fell down upon the tortoise, smashing his smooth shell into small pieces, and hurting themselves very much. No one was killed, however, and they limped home one after the other.
On the way they passed the tortoise’s house, so they told Mrs. Tortoise that they had fallen on her husband from a great height, and that his shell was broken into pieces.
On hearing this the mammie tortoise got her basket and went off to the cotton tree. Having picked up all the pieces of her husband’s shell, and having placed them in the basket, she lifted the tortoise and carried them all home.
When she got inside she put all the little pieces of the shell together and placed them on her husband’s back, where they grew quite strongly, but the marks showed where the pieces were joined together, and that is why you always find that the shell of a tortoise is covered in patches, and not smooth as it was formerly.—[E.D., 26.5.10.]
Note.
The Inkum people came from a country about five or six days’ march north-west of the site of their present town, where hares abound. There are no hares in the country now occupied by them on the Cross River. This is one of their old stories, which they brought with them when they were driven south by the Awala tribe, and is still handed on from one generation to another.
Told by Abassi, an Inkum boy.—[E.D.]
III.—The Story of Igiri and her husband Inkang, who brought up
a mushroom baby boy, and what became of him.
Chief Inkang of Inkum was married to a woman named Igiri. She was a fine well-made woman, and the chief was so fond of her that he would not have any other wives.
Igiri was quite faithful to her husband, and never went with other men. They lived together for several years without having any children, much to their mutual grief.
Inkang then told his wife to consult the ju-ju man, to see what should be done, in order that she might bear a son who would inherit his father’s property and look after his mother in her old age. The ju-ju man was consulted by Igiri, and the usual sacrifices of fowls and eggs were made, but without any result.
When the time for collecting mushrooms arrived, which is the beginning of the rainy season, about the month of May, Igiri went out with her basket to collect mushrooms for their food, and her husband went with her.
When they arrived at the forest they separated, Igiri going in one direction and Inkang going off in another, but not so far away that they could not hear one another shout.
Igiri went on gathering the mushrooms and putting them in her basket, until at last she came across a very large mushroom which was fat and white. Then Igiri said, “How I do wish that this mushroom would turn into a boy baby, which we want so badly.”
The mushroom, who was kind-hearted, then took pity on Igiri, and turned itself into a boy baby, much to the joy of the woman, who at once picked the baby up and placed him in her basket with the mushrooms.
Without troubling to look for any more mushrooms, she put the basket on her head and called out to her husband, saying she was going home at once, and that he was to follow.
When she reached the house, she was so pleased at having got the baby, that she asked Inkang to help her down with the basket. At this he was rather surprised, as, although it is the custom for anyone near to help the women to put down their heavy loads when they come in from the farm, this would not be done with a light load like mushrooms.
Inkang therefore said to his wife, “What have you put in the basket to make it so heavy that you want me to help you down with it? Is it not mushrooms you have there?”
His wife replied, “Only help me with the basket, and you shall then see what I have got.”
Inkang’s curiosity was immediately aroused, so he went to his wife and helped her to place the basket carefully on the ground. Then they opened the basket together, and, to the chief’s intense surprise and joy, he saw a fat little baby boy lying smiling in the bottom of the basket, half covered with mushrooms. He then embraced his wife, who told him all that had happened in the forest.
Inkang then said, “We must hide the boy in the house until he grows up, so that the people will not know what we have got.”
Igiri took great care of the child for the next six years, and he grew up a strong boy.
When the planting season came round, which is towards the end of the dry season, the chief and his wife used to go off every morning early to their farm, returning in the evening. The boy was always left at home, but the woman prepared food for him and placed it high up over the fireplace, and showed the boy how to get at it by standing on a native-made box.
The first day they went to the farm the little boy got his food down and eat it, but did not notice that a small boy from the neighbouring town was watching him. The next day the small boy from the town, who was hungry (yams being scarce at that time), waited until the mushroom boy had gone out, and then went softly in and stole all the food, filling the calabash with water, which he replaced where he had found the food. This happened for three days in succession, until the mushroom boy became so hungry that he determined to go back to the forest where he came from, and turn himself back into a mushroom again. He was angry with Inkang and Igiri because he thought they were fooling him, and, of course, he knew nothing about the thief boy who had stolen his food each day.
On his way to the forest he met his foster parents returning from the farm, and told them what his intention was. They did their best to persuade him to return home with them, but he was obstinate, and ran away to the place in the forest where he came from, and, having arrived there, turned himself into a mushroom and disappeared for ever.
Since that time the mushroom has refused to take pity on women who have no children, and he has never changed himself into a baby again.
Told by Abassi of Inkum.—(E.D., 27.5.10.)