Love fills our cot with wealth untold.
THE LEGEND OF THE ELEPHANT AND THE LION.
By Henry M. Stanley.
Copyright, 1893, by Henry M. Stanley.
It was a custom with us, when crossing Africa in 1874-77, to meet after dinner around the camp-fire, to while away the evening with pleasant gossip, reminiscences, curious African legends. Sunset in the tropics is soon followed by darkness, and the heavy vapors rising from the hot, steaming ground appear to give thickness and substance to it. A large fire is then very agreeable, as it drives away the damp and dew; and it is a comfort to look into its flames and glowing embers, wherein each man sees what he sees. No doubt the drift of the mind at such times, to think of such things as are driven away by the needs of the stirring day, suggested that we could be more sociable and more interested if we related to one another such stories as were told to us by the old folks at home. On trial it was found that there were some of our men who were most accomplished in the art of narration, and I fancied, after writing one or two out, that there was some kind of a moral of an African character in each, after which I paid more attention to them, and, on retiring from the circle, I would hastily jot down what I had heard. If there were some points still obscure in the story I would invite its narrator to relate it to me at the first halting-place. But then I would find also that there was a great deal of difference between the story told to me alone and that related to the audience round the fire—there was then less local color, less detail, and less animation.
At a camp on the Upper Congo, in 1877, Chakanja drew near our fire as story-telling was about to begin, and was immediately beset with eager demands for a tale from him. Like a singer, who always professes to have a cold before indulging us, Chakanja needed more than a few entreaties; but finally, after vowing that he never could remember anything, he consented to gratify us with the legend of the Elephant and the Lion.
“Well,” he answered, with a deep sigh, “if I must, I must. You must know we Waganda are fond of three things—to have a nice wife, a pleasant farm, and to hear good news, or a lively story. I have heard a great many stories in my life, but, unlike Kadu, my mind remembers them not. Men’s heads are not the same, any more than men’s hearts are like. But I take it that a poor tale is better than none. It comes back to me like a dream, this tale of the Elephant and the Lion. I heard it first when on a visit to Gabunga’s; but who can tell it like him? If you think the tale is not well told, it is my fault; but then, do not blame me too much, or I shall think I ought to blame you to-morrow, when it will be your turn to amuse the party.
“Now open your ears. A huge and sour-tempered elephant went and wandered in the forest. His inside was slack for want of juicy roots and succulent reeds, but his head was as full of dark thoughts as a gadfly is full of blood. As he looked this way and that, he observed a young lion asleep at the foot of a tree. He regarded it for a while, then, as he was in a wicked mind, it came to him that he might as well kill it, and he accordingly rushed at it, and impaled it with his tusks. He lifted it with his trunk, swung it about, dashed it against the tree, and afterwards kneeled on the body 352 until it became as shapeless as a crushed banana pulp. He then laughed, and said, ‘Ha! ha! This is a proof that I am strong. I have killed a lion, and people will say proud things of me, and will wonder at my strength.’
“Presently a brother elephant came up and greeted him.