Now all the women bent forward and longed to say, "She is mine, she is mine!" but Miami, who was ill and weak, sat at the door, and said--

"Continue the matting to my doorway, for as I feel my heart is connected with her as by a cord, she must be the child whom the parrot carried to my mother with a banana stalk and two pieces of sugar-cane."

"Yes, yes, thou must be my own mother," cried the princess; and when the gra.s.s-cloth was laid even to the inside of the house, she ran forward, and folded her arms around her.

When Gumbi saw them together he said, "Truly, equals always come together. I see now by many things that the princess must be right.

But she will not long remain with me, I fear, for a king's daughter cannot remain many moons without suitors."

Now though Gumbi considered it a trifle to destroy children whom he had never seen, it never entered into his mind to hurt Miami or the princess. On the contrary, he was filled with a gladness which he was never tired of talking about. He was even prouder of his daughter, whose lovely shape and limpid eyes so charmed him, than of all his tall sons. He proved this by the feasts he caused to be provided for all the people. Goats were roasted and stewed, the fishermen brought fish without number, the peasants came loaded with weighty bunches of bananas, and baskets of yams, and manioc, and pots full of beans, and vetches, and millet and corn, and honey and palm-oil, and as for the fowls--who could count them? The people also had plenty to drink of the juice of the palm, and thus they were made to rejoice with the king in the return of the princess.

It was soon spread throughout Manyema that no woman was like unto Gumbi's daughter for beauty. Some said that she was of the colour of a ripe banana, others that she was like fossil gum, others like a reddish oil-nut, and others again that her face was more like the colour of the moon than anything else. The effect of this reputation was to bring nearly all the young chiefs in the land as suitors for her hand. Many of them would have been pleasing to the king, but the princess was averse to them, and she caused it to be made known that she would marry none save the young chief who could produce matako (bra.s.s rods) by polishing his teeth. The king was very much amused at this, but the chiefs stared in surprise as they heard it.

The king mustered the choicest young men of the land, and he told them it was useless for any one to hope to be married to the princess unless he could drop bra.s.s rods by rubbing his teeth. Though they held it to be impossible that any one could do such a thing, yet every one of them began to rub his teeth hard, and as they did so, lo! bra.s.s rods were seen to drop on the ground from the mouth of one of them, and the people gave a great shout for wonder at it.

The princess was then brought forward, and as the young chief rose to his feet he continued to rub his teeth, and the bra.s.s rods were heard to tinkle as they fell to the ground. The marriage was therefore duly proceeded with, and another round of feasts followed, for the king was rich in flocks of goats, and sheep, and in well-tilled fields and slaves.

But after the first moon had waned and gone, the husband said, "Come, now, let us depart, for Gumbi's land is no home for me."

And unknown to Gumbi they prepared for flight, and stowed their canoe with all things needful for a long journey, and one night soon after dark they embarked, and paddled down the river. One day the princess, while she was seated on her cushions, saw a curious nut floating near the canoe, upon which she sprang into the river to obtain it. It eluded her grasp. She swam after it, and the chief followed her as well as he was able, crying out to her to return to the canoe, as there were dangerous animals in the water. But she paid no heed to him, and continued to swim after the nut, until, when she had arrived opposite a village, the princess was hailed by an old woman, who cried, "Ho, princess, I have got what thou seekest. See." And she held the nut up in her hand. Then the princess stepped on sh.o.r.e, and her husband made fast his canoe to the bank.

"Give it to me," demanded the princess, holding out her hand.

"There is one thing thou must do for me before thou canst obtain it."

"What is that?" she asked.

"Thou must lay thy hands upon my bosom to cure me of my disease. Only thus canst thou have it," the old woman said.

The princess laid her hands upon her bosom, and as she did so the old woman was cured of her illness.

"Now thou mayest depart on thy journey, but remember what I tell thee.

Thou and thy husband must cling close to this side of the river until thou comest abreast of an island which is in the middle of the entrance to a great lake. For the sh.o.r.e thou seekest is on this side. Once there thou wilt find peace and rest for many years. But if thou goest to the other side of the river thou wilt be lost, thou and thy husband."

Then they re-embarked, and the river ran straight and smooth before them. After some days they discovered that the side they were on was uninhabited, and that their provisions were exhausted, but the other side was cultivated, and possessed many villages and plantations.

Forgetting the advice of the old woman, they crossed the river to the opposite sh.o.r.e, and they admired the beauty of the land, and joyed in the odours that came from the gardens and the plantations, and they dreamily listened to the winds that crumpled and tossed the great fronds of banana, and fancied that they had seen no sky so blue. And while they thus dreamed, lo! the river current was bearing them both swiftly along, and they saw the island which was at the entrance to the great lake, and in an instant the beauty of the land which had charmed them had died away, and they now heard the thunderous booming of waters, and saw them surging upward in great sweeps, and one great wave curved underneath them, and they were lifted up, up, up, and dropped down into the roaring abyss, and neither chief nor princess was ever seen again.

They were both swallowed up in the deep.

"Is _that_ all?" asked Safeni, who had been listening breathlessly to the story.

"That is all," replied Katembo.

"Why, what kind of a story is this, that finishes in that way?"

"It is not mine," answered Katembo. "The telling of it has been according to the words I heard, and it is not good to alter a tale."

"Then what is the object of such a story?" demanded Safeni, in an irritable tone.

"Why, to warn people from following their inclinations. Did not the girl find her father? Did not her father welcome her, and pardon the mother for very joy? Was not her own choice of a husband found for her?

Was not the young chief fortunate in possessing such a beautiful wife?

Why should they have become discontented? Why not have stayed at home instead of wandering into strange lands of which they knew nothing? Did not the old woman warn them of what would happen, and point to them how they might live in peace once again? But it was all to no purpose. We never know the value of anything until we have lost it. Ruin follows the wilful always. They left their home and took to the river, the river was not still, but moved on, and as their heads were already full of their own thoughts, they could not keep advice. But Katembo has ended."

CHAPTER SIX.

THE STORY OF MARANDA.

"Master," said Baruti, "I have been trying hard to recall some of the other legends I used to hear when I was very small, and I now recollect one, which is not very long, about Maranda, a wife of one of the Basoko warriors, called Mafala."

Maranda's father was named Sukila, and he lived in the village of Chief Busandiya. Sukila owned a fine large canoe and many paddles, which he had carved with his own hand. He possessed also several long nets which he himself also made, besides spears, knives, a store of gra.s.s-cloths, and a few slaves. He was highly respected by his countrymen, and sat by the chief's side in the council place.

As the girl grew to be fit for marriage, Mafala thought she would suit him as a wife, and went and spoke of it to Sukila, who demanded a slave girl, six long paddles ornamented with ivory caps, six goats, as many gra.s.s-cloths as he had fingers and toes, a new shield, two axes, and two field-hoes. Mafala tried to reduce the demand, and walked backwards and forwards many times to smoke pipes with Sukila, and get him to be less exacting. But the old man knew his daughter was worth the price he had put upon her, and that if he refused Mafala, she would not remain long without a suitor. For a girl like Maranda is not often seen among the Basokos. Her limbs were round and smooth, and ended in thin, small hands and feet. The young men often spoke about Maranda's light, straight feet, and quick-lifting step. A boy's arm could easily enclose the slim waist, and the manner in which she carried her head, and the supple neck and the clear look in her eyes belonged to Maranda only.

Mafala, on the other hand, was curiously unlike her. He always seemed set on something, and the lines between the eyebrows gave him a severe face, not pleasant to see, and you always caught something in his eyes that made you think of the glitter which is in a serpent's eye.

Perhaps that was one reason why Sukila did not care to have him for his daughter's husband. At any rate, he would not abate his price one gra.s.s-cloth, and at last it was paid, and Maranda pa.s.sed over from her father's house into that of her husband.

Soon after, the marriage Maranda was heard to cry out, and it was whispered that she had learned much about Mafala in a few days, and that blows as from a rod had been heard. Half a moon pa.s.sed away, and then all the village knew that Maranda had fled to Busandiya's house, because of her husband's ill-treatment. Now the custom in such a case is that the father keeps his daughter's dowry, and if it be true that a wife finds life with her husband too harsh to be borne, she may seek the chief's protection, and the chief may give her to another husband who will treat her properly.

But before the chief had chosen the man to whom he would give her, Mafala went to a crocodile--for it turned out that he was a Mganga, a witch-man who had dealings with reptiles on land, as well as with the monsters of the river,--and he bargained with it to catch her as she came to the river to wash, and carry her up to a certain place on the river bank where there was a tall tree with a large hole in it.

The crocodile bided his chance, and one morning, when Maranda visited the water, he seized her by the hand, and swept her onto his back, and carried her to the hiding-place in the hollow tree. He then left her there, and swam down opposite the village, and signalled to Mafala that he had performed his part of the bargain.

On the crocodile's departure Maranda looked about the hole, and saw that she was in a kind of pit, but a long way up the hollow narrowed like the neck of a gourd, and she could see foliage and a bit of sky. She determined to climb up, and though she scratched herself very much, she finally managed to reach the very top, and to crawl outside into the air. The tree was very large and lofty, and the branches spread out far, and they were laden with the heavy fruit of which elephants are so fond [the jackfruit]. At first she thought that she could not starve because of so many of these big fruit; then, as they were large and heavy, she conceived the idea that they might be useful to defend herself, and she collected a great number of them, and laid them in a heap over some sticks she had laid across the branches.

By-and-by Mafala came, and discovered her high up among the foliage, and after jeering at her, began to climb the tree. But when he was only half-way up, Maranda lifted one of the ponderous fruit and flung it on his head, and he fell to the ground with his senses all in a whirl and his back greatly bruised. When he recovered he begged the crocodile to help him, and he tried to climb up, but when he had ascended but a little way, Maranda dropped one of the elephant fruit fairly on his snout, which sent him falling backwards. Mafala then begged two great serpents to ascend and bring her down, but Maranda met them with the heavy fruit one after another, and they were glad to leave her alone.

Then the man departed to seek a leopard, but while he was absent Maranda, from her tree, saw a canoe on the river with two young fishermen in it, and she screamed loudly for help. The fishermen paddled close ash.o.r.e and found that it was Sukila's daughter, the wife of Mafala, who was alone on a tall tree. They waited long enough to hear her story, and then returned to the village to obtain a.s.sistance.

Busandiya was much astonished to hear the fishermen's news, and forthwith sent a war-canoe full of armed men, led by the father, Sukila, to rescue her. By means of rattan-climbers they contrived to reach her, and to bring her down safely. While some of the war-party set out to discover Mafala, the others watched for the crocodile and the two serpents. In a short time the cruel man was seen and caught, and he was brought to the river-side, bound with green withes. His legs and his arms were firmly tied together, and, after the Basoko had made Maranda repeat her story from the beginning, and Sukila had told the manner of the marriage, they searched for great stones, which they fastened to his neck; and, lifting him into the war-canoe, they paddled into the middle of the stream, where they sang a death-chant; after which they dropped Mafala overboard and he was never heard of more. That is all there is of the story of Maranda.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE STORY OF KITINDA AND HER WISE DOG.

On another night Baruti, whose memory was freshened by the reward which followed a story worthy of being written in the Master's book, told us about Kitinda and her wise dog, so well indeed that by common consent he was acclaimed one of the best among the story-tellers.

But it was not so well rehea.r.s.ed to me while I had my pencil in hand as he had delivered it at the camp fire. It bothered him to be asked to dictate it a little slower to me, and he showed marked signs of inattention when told to repeat a sentence twice over. All I can flatter myself is that it contains the sense of what was said.

Kitinda, a woman of the Basoko, near the Aruwimi river, possessed a dog who was remarkable for his intelligence. It was said that he was so clever that strangers understood his motions as well as though he talked to them; and that Kitinda, familiar with his ways and the tones of his whines, his yelps, and his barks, could converse with him as easily as she could with her husband.

One market-day the mistress and her dog agreed to go together, and on the road she told him all she intended to do and say in disposing of her produce in exchange for other articles which she needed in her home.

Her dog listened with sympathy, and then, in his own manner, he conveyed to her how great was his attachment to her, and how there never was such a friend as he could be; and he begged her that, if at any time she was in distress, she would tell him, and that he would serve her with all his might. "Only," he said, "were it not that I am afraid of the effects of being too clever, I could have served you oftener and much more than I have done."

"What do you mean?" said Kitinda.

"Well, you know, among the Basoko, it is supposed, if one is too clever, or too lucky, or too rich, that it has come about through dealings in witchcraft, and people are burned in consequence. I do not like the idea of being burned--and therefore I have refrained often from a.s.sisting you because I feared you could not contain your surprise, and would chat about it to the villagers. Then some day, after some really remarkable act of cleverness of mine, people would say, 'Ha! this is not a dog. No dog could have done that! He must be a demon--or a witch in a dog's hide!' and of course they would take me and burn me."