Chapter VI: Part II: The Fairy Dog (1)

All that night and the whole of the next day Semai-mai trotted steadily up and down the mountain-paths. No man saw him, for he avoided every valley which seemed to be inhabited. He was determined to get as far as possible from the scene of his defeat, into a country where the name of Semai-mai had never been heard. He travelled for three days, and had then covered as much ground as a man would traverse in seven. He began to feel safer and more himself again, and turned over the situation in his mind. His shame and rage had at first been great, but he now saw that all was not lost. It is true he was but a dog, but the wonderful nail on his foot was all that the Fairy had promised. It was three feet long and six inches broad, and cut far better than any axe or hunting-knife he had ever possessed. Not only this, but he found that he only had to express a wish for food and it instantly appeared. Most excellent food it was, too; never had he tasted better. He also found that he could call down a mist at any moment in which to hide himself from an enemy, and he felt sure that time would show him yet greater marvels. Life still held enjoyments, and with patience and care he might regain much of his former power.

He cocked his ears, curled his bushy tail with an air of assurance, and went forward, determined to find a home in the kraal of the nearest Chief. Before long he came to the end of the mountain country. A great plain lay before him, well wooded, and watered by a broad river. Not many miles below was an immense kraal; the tiny brown huts could be seen distinctly in the clear air, and the green mealie-fields which surrounded the town. The cattle enclosure was very large; evidently the Chief was rich.

“I will descend and see what sort of a King this is,” said Semai-mai, and in an hour he was standing at the chief gate. Every one saw at once that he was no ordinary dog, and before many days were over he was in attendance on the King and was fed from his table. Now this was unfortunate, for the King was a cannibal, and Semai-mai was encouraged in his wicked tastes instead of learning to forget them. The King kept all his prisoners-of-war and fattened them up, and when a great feast arrived the best were killed and eaten with much rejoicing.

One day, a few months after Semai-mai’s arrival, the most lovely little boy was brought to the kraal. He had been stolen by a band of robbers while sleeping out in the fields, and they had carried him many days, hoping he would be a dainty morsel acceptable to the King. But the boy was so beautiful and his bearing so unusual that the King had him examined by his magicians. They unanimously declared him to be of royal blood, and as the King did not usually eat his equals, he said that the young Prince should be kept alive and brought up with his own sons. He also gave him Semai-mai, the fairy dog, as his servant, and treated him with much kindness.

Semai-mai liked the little boy; he ran his errands, went out hunting with him, chopped the wood for his fire, and slept in his hut at nights. The little Prince loved him in return, and they ate together from the King’s own dishes. By and by the Prince told him all he knew about himself. He was the only son of his father, who was a big Chief, and they lived up among the mountains. His mother would look for him everywhere; she was directing her maidens in the fields when he was carried away; some day she would be sure to come for him.

Semai-mai soon felt certain that the little boy came from some kingdom near his own, and he also looked eagerly for the boy’s mother when any woman arrived at the kraal, but no news ever came. Years went by. The Prince was now a well-grown youth, and Semai-mai continued his faithful friend. But while the Prince always avoided the cannibal repasts which came at the great festivals, Semai-mai enjoyed them, for his heart was unchanged.

One day an old woman came to the kraal to beg the King’s protection. She was poorly dressed and footsore, and her eyes had a wild look. The Prince and Semai-mai came to see her, more by habit than because they now expected any one. But the instant the Prince heard her speak he recognised his mother’s voice.

“Say nothing now,” was Semai-mai’s advice when he heard the news. “The King will doubtless put her in a hut to be fattened with the other prisoners, for she is old and useless. Watch your opportunity, and we will all escape and live in wealth elsewhere.”

A few nights later the Prince went to the hut where his old mother was. She nearly died of joy and surprise when she heard his name.

“Your father told me never to appear in his presence till I could bring you with me,” said she. “For years I have wandered in search of you. Your father had no other son; you were the pride of his heart and I his favourite wife till I lost you in the mealie-fields. I had given up all hopes of ever seeing home again, and believed you long since dead.”

“We will go home again and rule as before,” said the Prince, smiling gaily. “I had forgotten the way to my father’s kingdom, but you will show me. Say no word of our relationship; I must think over a plan of escape.”

Every day a man came to look at the old Queen and see if she was fattening well. Presently he announced to the King that the prisoners were all in excellent condition, and a feast-day might be appointed when it pleased the great Chief. The King then went to inspect the prisoners himself, declared them to be ready, and chose a day for the rejoicings.

Immediately every one in the kraal, man, woman, and child, went out to collect wood at early dawn, for great fires would be needed. As soon as the city was deserted the Prince and Semai-mai released the old Queen, collected all the cattle they could find in the fields, and started hot-foot for the mountains.

That evening the whole company returned and found the Prince and the old woman gone. They tracked them by the footprints of the cattle, and sent warriors after them. But as soon as they began to overtake the fugitives—for the cattle were slow—Semai-mai threw a beautiful rainbow mist all round himself and his friends, so that they could never be seen. After many vain attempts the cannibals retired baffled, and gave up the chase in despair. All along the road Semai-mai had only to bark when food was wanted, and a plentiful meal instantly appeared. When they had all had enough he barked again, and not a trace of the food remained.

At the end of many days they came to the outskirts of the Prince’s own country. But here Semai-mai said, “We will not make ourselves known as yet; we will live alone.” For he was afraid the Prince might hear by some unlucky chance who he really was, and his power would be gone.

So for a long while the three lived together in a fertile valley by the side of a clear stream. Their cattle grew and increased till they became a noble herd. The Prince was now a man, and both rich and handsome. All went happily till one day he went out hunting and met a party of very pretty girls. They came, they said, from a kingdom among the mountains. The men of their people were ugly, but not a woman among them was plain, and many were far prettier than themselves.

The Prince longed to see this kingdom, and remembered he was now of an age to marry, and had besides many cattle and a beautiful home. So he sat by his mother that evening and said, “It is time I looked for a nice little wife. You want help in the house, and would like some one to grind the corn and carry water and wood.” The mother was pleased at the idea, but the dog sat still in sullen silence. Who might this wife be? Hitherto he had ruled both the Prince and his mother, but this new woman might spoil all.

The next day the Prince set out for the kingdom where all the men were ugly and all the women beautiful; you can guess it was the kingdom of Sobuso. Before long he had won the heart of a lovely girl, the daughter of a great Chief, and niece of the King himself. All arrangements were made for the wedding, and the Prince departed joyously for home, to tell his mother of his success.

All was got into order for the bride, and the appointed number of cattle were sent to her father, in accordance with custom. Every day Semai-mai grew more and more gloomy. The Prince and his mother thought little of it, and never once imagined that he disapproved of the marriage. But now that Semai-mai knew that the bride came from Sobuso’s kingdom, he determined to make an end of everything. As soon as he knew that the wedding-party was in sight he killed both the Prince and his mother with his long bright nail, and ate them right up.

Then he sat down in the sun before the door of the hut, looking very big and important. The Princess came up to the gate with her attendant maids, in all her bravest attire, and looked for the bridegroom and his mother. She waited a long time, then ventured forward and looked all round the kraal. Not a living thing could be seen save this huge brown dog. Presently Semai-mai came up to them and said, “The Prince is waiting in the big hut, let me show you in.”

The Princess and her maids followed him, much astonished to find a talking dog. Semai-mai took them into the biggest hut and made them sit round. Then he killed and ate them all in turn, beginning at the bride and finishing with the youngest bridesmaid. When all was over he went out and sat in the sun once more. Only now he was larger than any dog that ever was seen, for after every meal he grew bigger and bigger.

Many weeks passed by, and the bridal party never returned to give news of the wedding. The Princess’s father grew anxious, for no one appeared, nor was there any message. At last he sent a party of men to find out what had happened. Semai-mai saw them coming, and caught them all in the big hut, just as he had caught the bridal party. He ate them all but one, who slipped out by a lucky chance. Semai-mai was now bigger than an elephant, and the man who escaped ran home and said the enemy was an enormous dog, who was a cannibal.

The Chief cried out, “What fools and cowards serve me! I will go and kill the monster myself.” So he took a shield and assegais and some picked men and set out for the dog’s kraal. When he saw him and realised how huge he was, his surprise was very great. For Semai-mai was now taller and bigger than the largest hut, and could be seen from the entrance of the valley. The Chief advanced bravely, and he and his men let fly their assegais, but not one touched Semai-mai. He simply shook himself, sprang on the Chief and ate him, and then killed nearly all his men. Only a very few escaped, and they ran back to the kingdom of Sobuso in wild terror, declaring that no one could hope to conquer the fairy dog.

Semai-mai in the meantime gathered all his master’s cattle together and set out for his former kingdom. Before many days were over he had reached the great plain in which his people lived. But now he saw nothing but a huge forest extending for many miles; not a single habitation was to be seen where formerly great cities flourished. His heart failed him for a moment; then he lifted his head and barked three times.

Instantly the forest disappeared; then great cities rose in its place, and thousands of warriors came out in warlike array to greet him. Semai-mai had released his people from enchantment. But he himself still remained an enormous dog; nor, in spite of his great powers, did he find it possible to make any change.

For a long time no friend of the Princess or her father dared to venture within reach of the fairy dog. But the dead Chief was a very great man, and brother to Sobuso himself, so it was not long before the story came to the latter’s ears. At first he could hardly believe it, but when he found the tale was true, and his relatives had really been destroyed by a cannibal dog, he determined to rid the country of such a monster. So he called out all his army and bade his magicians treat them with every charm they knew. Then he assembled them together. “Whatever happens,” said he, “this dog must die. I myself will be the first to attack him.”

It was not long before they found out Semai-mai’s new home. After a journey of many weeks across the mountains they came in sight of the three great cities. From the heights above they could see Semai-mai’s hut in the middle of the city, close to the cattle-kraal. It was impossible to mistake it, for it was four times as big as any hut they had ever seen. Sobuso sent out spies, and then waited all day for their report. At night they returned, but they brought bad news. “You have no idea how mighty the enemy is,” said they. “No assegai is big enough to kill him, and no man tall enough to throw it. We must return home and make special weapons, or our cause is hopeless.”

Sobuso was much depressed. “Leave me alone,” he said. “I must think out fresh plans.”

So he sat alone for many hours. Night came suddenly and quietly, and every man was soon asleep. It was very very still, and the air was warm. Only the frogs could be heard croaking far away along the river-banks. Sobuso thought and thought, but could see no way out save retreat. He remembered now his fight long ago with Semai-mai; if this dog were no other than that famous Chief only magic could help him, for no one had beaten Semai-mai by his own strength.

Before him lay the great plain and the dim outlines of his enemy’s kraals, scarcely to be distinguished in the warm darkness. Then suddenly, at the very outer edge of the world, appeared a line of amethyst. The line widened and gradually moved forward. A wide circle of faint blue mountains then came into view, beneath them great plains of silvery green, and last of all the three cities, every hut distinct and clear. The moon was rising behind the mountains. A moment later its rays touched Sobuso himself. A strange shadow lay on the grass before him. He turned quickly and saw before him a most extraordinary creature.

It was a very old woman, leaning on an immense assegai, much taller than herself. In her hand she held two calabashes. She had not a tooth in her mouth, and her head was covered with long hair, so that you could only see her eyes. She had no feet, only two long toes. She stood with her back to the moon; Sobuso felt her gaze on him, but could distinguish no features.

“Great King,” she cried, “you shall kill Semai-mai.”

“It is impossible; I have no assegai big enough.”

“King of Kings,” said the old woman, “take these two calabashes of medicine and this assegai. They come to you from the Fairy of the valley; Semai-mai shall now be rendered powerless for ever. In the early morning, when all your men are still asleep, rise up and sprinkle the contents of this first calabash on them. Stand so that the wind blows from you towards them and carries the magic drops. Sprinkle it then on yourself, and you and all your army will be invisible. Never let this assegai go out of your hand. Go up to Semai-mai. He will not see you, stab him with the assegai and then throw the contents of the second calabash over him. You must cut off his big nail, and strike him with it three times; he will then be powerless to harm you.”

A cloud came over the moon, and when it passed away Sobuso found the old woman was gone. But the assegai and two calabashes were on the ground, and he picked them up and went to a spot above his sleeping men. He waited till a tiny breeze sprang up before daybreak. Then he sprinkled them with the magic drops, and at dawn he set them in order and all marched down to the gates of Semai-mai’s royal city. The sun was fully up, and the huge dog could be seen moving about the kraal like a big house. He had hundreds of wives and many thousands of cattle, and he walked about, gloating over his possessions. Sobuso sent in a few of his men to make sure that the potion had worked well. They returned, saying that they had moved everywhere freely, and had even gone up to the royal hut, but no one had paid them the least attention.

Sobuso and his men then entered the gate and marched straight up the chief road. No one regarded them, so they were soon within reach of Semai-mai. Sobuso took his assegai and aimed it right at the dog’s head. He fell down stunned, with an immense thud. Sobuso rushed forward, cut off the long nail at one blow, and threw the second calabash over the monster. Then he struck him three times with the shining nail.

Straightway the dog’s side opened and out came first the bridegroom, then his mother, then the bride and her maids, and last of all Sobuso’s brother and all his men. As each appeared in turn Semai-mai grew smaller and smaller, till at last he was no bigger than an ordinary dog.

There was great rejoicing, as you may imagine, and when all were united they held a council as to what they should do with Semai-mai’s possessions. Finally, they divided all his property and people into three parts. One part went to the Prince, another to the Princess’s father, and the third to Sobuso himself, who had rescued them from such great peril.

As for Semai-mai, when all was over he revived and sprang to his feet again. But the Fairy’s curse had been carried out. He was now just an ordinary dog. He could not kill his enemy or speak like a man, nor had he any magic power. No one would be in any danger from him again. He ran far away to the cannibal King who first befriended him, and was fed from his table for the rest of his life.

XVI

THE FAIRY FROG

A SWAZI TALE

Tombi-ende was the most beautiful girl in her father’s kingdom. She had milk-white teeth and sparkling eyes, her figure was perfect and very gracefully turned, and no one could lead the dance half so well as she. Besides, you could not help noticing her the moment she appeared, for she was taller than all her sisters, and carried her head like a true Princess. Her parents looked on her daily with joy and pride. They called her Tombi-ende, “the Tall Maiden,” and expected she would one day be a mighty Queen.

But no one has an altogether happy lot. And though Tombi-ende was tall and beautiful, and had the gayest and most wonderful handkerchiefs with which to deck herself, and more beads and bracelets than any other girl in the country-side, this only gave her the more trouble. For none of her sisters were as pretty as she, or as much admired, and as time went on they grew more and more jealous. At last they decided that Tombi-ende must die, or no one would ever notice them at all.

So they made a plan to kill their sister as if by accident. One day they all came to her and said, “Let us go and get red ochre [19] out of the great pit; there is none left in the kraal at all.”

So every maiden shouldered her pick, and they walked together, singing and laughing, for many miles. At last they reached a great red pit, many feet deep, surrounded by tall grass on every side. There they stopped; each girl leapt down in turn, dug out a lump of the precious red earth, and then jumped up again. They all stood round the pit waiting for one another. But directly Tombi-ende jumped down, every one of those wicked girls seized her pick and threw earth upon her as fast as she could, till poor Tombi-ende was buried alive. Then they ran away, leaving her for dead, for the red earth is very heavy.

But Tombi-ende was not dead. The people who passed heard screams coming from the pit, and sometimes a voice calling:

“I am Tombi-ende,
I am not dead,
I am like one of yourselves.”

Two men turned out of the path and looked down into the great hole, but all they could see was the red earth glistening in the sun, so they turned away and walked on.

The wicked sisters meanwhile went back to their father’s kraal and told all whom they met, “Tombi-ende is dead. She fell down into the red ochre pit and was smothered.” But when the King came to question them they grew confused, and could not tell their tale. So he chopped off their heads there and then with a great battle-axe, and gave their bodies to the vultures. And that would have been the end of them had not a dear good old Fairy come along who knew that Tombi-ende was not dead, and was sorry to see her sisters so severely punished. She went to the bodies and sprinkled them with medicine from her magic calabash. The sisters sat up at once, alive and well, rubbing their eyes. “Take the girls away and keep them out of the King’s sight till Tombi-ende returns,” said the Fairy, and every one was only too glad to obey her.

Tombi-ende lay in the red ochre pit for many hours, and thought no one would ever rescue her. But at evening she heard a great croaking above her. Looking up she saw an enormous frog blinking his little eyes at the edge of the pit.

“Beautiful Princess,” said he, “what are you doing here?”

“Alas!” said Tombi-ende, “my sisters are jealous of me and hate me, and they have left me here and thrown earth upon me, so that I cannot get out.”

“I will help you,” said the frog. He jumped into the pit, opened his big mouth and swallowed the Princess entirely. Then he jumped up again, and landed safely on the path above, the Princess still inside him.

Forthwith the frog set out on his travels. He hopped all night, carefully avoiding any kraals by the way, for a frog brings bad luck, and is not welcome in human dwellings. Whenever he passed a bird he sang:

“Do not swallow me,
I carry the Princess Tombi-ende,”

and no creature touched him. The next morning they narrowly escaped a great danger, for they met a horrible ogress. She had heard that Tombi-ende was still alive and defenceless, and had already been to the red ochre pit and found it empty. Now she was searching for her everywhere in savage haste, but luckily she paid no attention to a big frog, and went her way without heeding its appearance.

At mid-day the frog stopped, opened his mouth, and let the Princess walk out. Then he said, “Wait here and rest. By and by we will go on again.” He also provided food; he merely croaked, and delicious porridge appeared in a little brown pot, all ready for the Princess to eat.

Tombi-ende ate and then slept under the bushes, for she was very tired. Towards evening the frog swallowed her again, and they set forth once more on their journey. They had decided not to go back to her father’s kraal, for fear of her jealous sisters, but journeyed towards the home of her grandmother, where she was sure of every welcome. They travelled for days, resting in the heat, but never stopping all night long, and one morning they arrived at the grandmother’s kraal.

The frog went up to the door of the chief hut and sang loudly:

“I am carrying Tombi-ende,
The Beautiful Princess,
Whom they killed in the red pit.”

The old grandmother came out, saying, “Who is this speaking? Who knows what has become of my darling Tombi-ende?”

“I know all about her,” said the frog. “Bring clean mats, spread them before me, and you will see.”

All the women brought fine new mats and put them before the frog. When all was ready the frog just said, “Woo-oo-oh!” and in a moment Tombi-ende herself was before them, as tall and beautiful as ever.

Great was the joy of all, and no one could hear her tale often enough, or her praises of the wonderful frog.

“What can we do for you as a reward for your kindness?” said the grandmother to the frog. “Is there nothing we can give you?”

“I only ask you to kill two oxen and two bulls,” said the frog, “and let us have a feast.”

So a great feast was held, and the frog sat by the Princess’s side and had great honour. Next morning he had disappeared, and though the Princess searched for him all round the kraal he could nowhere be found.

The grandmother knew that Tombi-ende was now in no danger at home, so she sent a message to her father to tell him of his daughter’s safety. The King was much delighted, and at once despatched Tombi-ende’s brother to fetch her home. He rested a few days at the kraal, for the journey was long, and then they both set out on their return.

Now the rains had been short that year, and many streams were dry. The sun was very hot, and after hours of walking the Princess and her brother were very thirsty. Nowhere could they find the accustomed springs, for the ground was harder than brick dried in an oven, and the water-courses were dry. They went on and on till they were fainting with the heat. Suddenly they met a stranger, an immensely big man, who stood right across the path. Except for his size he was like other men, and they did not at first distrust him.

“What do you want?” said he in a deep bass voice, which rumbled like thunder.

“We are looking for water,” said the Prince; “all the springs are dried up, and we are yet many days from home.”

“If I give you water,” said the giant, “what will you give me in return?”

“Ask for anything in my father’s kingdom,” said the Prince.

“Give me this beautiful Princess,” said the giant, with a wicked smile. “If not, you will die of thirst. All the springs are dry within three days’ journey.”

The brother and sister were in dismay, but although the Prince hated the idea of giving his sister to a stranger, they were both so helpless that he could only consent.

The giant chuckled, and led the way to a great fig-tree by the side of the dry water-course. He struck his stick upon the ground, and out of the very roots of the tree sprang a fountain clear as the moon and cool as the depths of the forest. They all drank eagerly and long, and it was only after some minutes that the Princess lifted her head and looked towards the giant. She shrieked long and loud, for the giant had turned to a most terrible Inzimu, monstrous and misshapen, covered with red hair, and glaring at her with his little wild eyes. His long tail lay behind him on the grass, and his white pointed teeth showed between his thick lips.

The Prince looked up at once, and he also saw in what great peril his sister lay. The ogre was terribly strong, and no fighting could save them. He simply glared at them, his eyes full of evil pleasure.

Suddenly the Princess heard a well-known croak, and right out of the water sprang a great frog.

“There is my preserver,” said Tombi-ende. “Help us, frog! No one is so clever and wise as you!”

The frog advanced right in front of the ogre, who looked at him with disdain. He just opened his mouth and said “Boo-oh! Boo-oh!” In one minute he had swallowed the ogre right up, tail and all, and then he disappeared into the fountain. There he stayed till the ogre was drowned. When he came out again the water had dried up, and the ogre lay buried among the roots of the great fig-tree.

“Ah, frog, how can I thank you enough?” said the Princess. “This time you must not disappear, you must come home with us.”

In three days they reached her father’s kraal. The King’s guard stood in order to greet them, gloriously arrayed in otter-skins, with shields and assegais. Her father stood at their head, and hailed them both with joy.

“But what,” said her father, “is that horrible frog at your side? I must have the wretch killed.”

“Do not kill him, father,” said Tombi-ende, “he saved my life twice.”

And at those very words the frog suddenly grew into a handsome man, taller than Tombi-ende herself. He was in full war-like array, with shield and assegai, and a great plume of white ostrich feathers on his head. Any one could see at once that he was a Prince.

All greeted him with loud shouts; only Tombi-ende was not so very much surprised.

“I am no frog,” said the Prince, “my father is a great Chief. The ogre from whom I rescued the Princess overcame me by witchcraft in former days, but now that I have won the love of a maiden I am once more free. Give me the hand of your daughter in marriage, and one hundred cattle shall be yours.”

A few days later Tombi-ende married the fairy frog, and all will acknowledge that it was a reward he well deserved. As for the wicked sisters, the King forgave them in his great joy, and Tombi-ende forgot all her troubles in a new home.

XVII

NYA-NYA BULEMBU; OR, THE MOSS-GREEN PRINCESS

A SWAZI TALE

There was once a little Princess named Kitila, the prettiest and nicest child you could possibly find. She was her mother’s one delight, and her father was a very great Chief indeed. But for all that many little girls were far happier than she, for her father hated her mother and did everything he could to show how much he despised her and her child. He did not allow Kitila so much as one necklace of beads, and her little skin cloak was shabby and poor. He had another daughter, Mapindane, whose mother was his favourite Queen. He loved her dearly, and delighted in her beauty and pretty ways, for she also was a charming child. But so much did he dislike Kitila that he was quite annoyed to see that she was pretty and likely to be admired. At last he determined to humiliate her and her mother for ever by dressing her in the skin of the Nya-nya Bulembu, so that every one might be frightened of her and no Prince might ever love her.

Now the Nya-nya Bulembu is a strange beast who lives in the water. He has long teeth and claws, and his skin is covered with bright green moss. No one has anything to do with him who can help it, and his very name means “the Despised One covered with Moss.” The King thus hoped that his little girl would be taken for the monster himself, and would be hated by all as much as he himself disliked her. You will see, however, that he would have done much better to be kind to his little daughter, for the Nya-nya Bulembu is a fairy beast, and it is not wise to meddle with him.

One day the King called his Chief Councillors and his people together and told them of his intentions. “The little Princess Kitila,” he said, “is to be dressed in the skin of the Nya-nya Bulembu. Fetch me an animal which is young, with regular teeth, long claws, and a perfect skin well covered with green moss.”

The King also gave orders for plenty of green mealie-bread to be made with which to entice the animal out of the water. A party of picked men then went out together and came down to the river. They followed its course till they came to a deep pool, where the water was quite black. The huntsmen stood round in a ring and sang the song of the Nya-nya Bulembu:

“Nya-nya Bulembu, Nya-nya Bulembu,
Come out of the water and eat me!
The King has sent us for the great Nya-nya Bulembu!
Come and let us see you!
Laugh and show us your teeth!”

Out came a huge old monster, with only two or three teeth left, and no moss on his skin at all.

“No,” said the huntsmen at once, “we don’t want you.”

They journeyed on again in a great storm of wind and rain. When it had passed away, and the sun shone once more, they found themselves at a second big pool, which was blue as the sky. Here they stopped and sang the song of the Bulembu once more. Out came a vicious-looking creature, with but little moss on his coat, and only one tooth three feet long.

“No, we don’t want you either,” said the huntsmen, and they travelled on again till they came to a third pool, which was bright green. Round it grew a most beautiful fringe of green moss, and the water itself was vivid green, like the grass in spring.

Once more the huntsmen sang the magic song, and out came a nice green Bulembu, beautifully covered with moss, and showing all his long white teeth. They set big pieces of mealie-bread for him, and as he came out to eat they caught him alive. Then they travelled like the wind to the King’s kraal. As they drew near home they sang:

“Have all your assegais ready!
The Nya-nya Bulembu is coming!”

All the men in the kraal seized their assegais and hurried to the gate by which the Bulembu must enter. They stood in line in front of the entrance, and as the green monster rushed upon them he fell on their spears and died. Then they took the body to the hut of the despised Queen, and began to prepare the skin for use.

First they cut the body open, and to their great surprise out came the most lovely bead-work. There were necklaces, bracelets, and girdles of every colour and pattern, the most lovely little embroidered bags, and the most beautifully woven mats. Nothing that a King’s daughter could want was missing, and everything was of the finest workmanship. It seemed as if the supply would never come to an end, for the more beads they pulled out the more appeared, till there were enough to last the Princess her life long. But the moment they began to remove the skin no more appeared. They stripped the Bulembu most carefully, preserving the nails and all the teeth, and when the skin was quite complete they wrapped the little Princess in it. The instant it touched her it fitted as if it were a part of her; indeed, she could not get it off again, for it was the skin of a fairy beast, as the old King knew well. You could no longer see that she was a little girl at all, she looked just like a hideous green monster.

Kitila and her mother cried most bitterly at this undeserved disgrace, but the Chief Councillor could only say, “It is the King’s order; we must obey him.”

The two little Princesses were never allowed to play with the other children. They sat by themselves every day in the middle of the huts near the cattle-kraal, the one in her green skin with long white teeth, the other in all the prettiest beads imaginable and a lovely little cloak of leopard-skin, the finest the King could procure. The two little girls were great friends, and as they played and ate their food hundreds of little birds came every day and picked up the fragments.

Many years passed by, and the girls grew into womanhood. Mapindane was now very lovely, and was a joy to behold as she sat in the sun, but poor Kitila was still clothed in her hideous green skin, and looked the same as ever. The feast of the first-fruits was now at hand. The King’s wise men had been absent a month travelling to the coast to fetch water from the great sea, for no other may be used for the potion which cleanses the land from all evil. They set their calabashes in the sand at low tide, and when they are filled by the magic power of the ocean they return home joyfully. Every day they were expected, and when at last they arrived the King gave orders that all preparations should be made.

The day before the feast every one went out to gather the first-fruits in the fields, and no one remained in the kraal but one old Queen to watch over the two Princesses. The two girls sat in their usual place, and the birds flew round them as they ate and picked up all they could. Suddenly a flock of rock-pigeons swooped down upon them, and in a moment they had seized the beautiful Princess and carried her away, but the green monster they left alone.

The old Queen looked up and shrieked, “There goes the lovely Princess! There goes the King’s favourite child!” She called out all the people from the fields and sent them after the pigeons. But the birds rose high into the air, and then headed straight for the North. They carried Mapindane far far away to a new country, and placed her in the kraal of a very great King. There she stayed till the King saw her, and made her his wife, and there she lived in great happiness. But she could never send a message home, for no one had even heard the name of her people, or knew the way through the thick forests which lay between them.

So her father and mother never knew of her good fortune, and always believed that the birds had eaten her. Poor Kitila in her green skin was worse off than ever, for the bereaved Queen was very jealous and angry, and as she was all-powerful, Kitila was no longer allowed to live as a Princess, but was set to do all sorts of degrading work. At last the King said to her, “You are no good at all; you must go and scare birds. You are so ugly that every bird who sees you will fly away at once.”

From that day the Princess was no longer called Kitila, but Nya-nya Bulembu. She often said to her mother, “How hard my life is! Why was I born to all this?”

But her mother always remembered the Bulembu’s magic gifts, and said, “Do not despair; all will come right presently.”

And so it did; for the first time the Princess went to the fields she met a Fairy in the shape of a very old man. He took pity on her, and gave her a stick, saying, “When you come to the fields just wave this, and call aloud. All the birds will fall down dead at once. When you go bathing take the stick with you into the water; it will give you your true shape again. But remember never to leave go of it, or your power will depart.”

Kitila took the stick, and found it quite as powerful as the Fairy declared. She had no trouble with the birds, but kept the crops in safety as easily as possible. Every day in the hot, still afternoon, when all creatures are asleep, she went down to the river. As her foot touched the water the green skin floated away, and hundreds of pretty girls came to play with her at her call.

She stood in the water and sang:

“Nya-nya Bulembu, Nya-nya Bulembu,
Here I am!
I was dressed like a monster,
But I am like any girl.
To-day they fed me with the dogs.”

Then she called for food, and instantly a feast appeared, and she and all the Fairies ate and laughed together. But when she came out of the river her green skin reappeared, and she was once more Nya-nya Bulembu.

The other little boys and girls who were also scaring birds were dreadfully afraid of the monster, and never went near her. They never asked her to join them in the afternoons when they played together in the water, but they often wondered what she looked like when she bathed by herself in a lonely pool. One day they went down to see, but they hid behind the trees, so that the Princess never knew. When a beautiful girl appeared instead of the ugly monster, they were so astonished that they ran straight home and told the whole story to the Princess’s mother. The despised Queen was very pleased, but she told the children not to say a word to any one. So the moss-green Princess continued to scare the birds.

Some months later a great Prince came to visit the King. He was young and handsome, but he was noted above all for his wisdom and good judgment. His father had sent him to seek a bride; she was to be the most beautiful woman he could find, and every one was anxious to see the girl chosen by so wise a Prince. The young man travelled far and wide, but found no maiden whom he could love. At last he came to the kraal in which lived the moss-green Princess. He went straight to the King and asked him if he had any daughters.

“Yes,” said the King, “but I have only one. You shall see her with pleasure.”

“Let the Prince see the monster,” said Mapindane’s mother, with a bitter laugh. So the Prince was taken to the fields where Kitila was scaring birds. When he got there the little boys and girls who were at work came to him and said, “Do you want to see Nya-nya Bulembu? She is bathing just now, we will take you to the pool she always visits.”

They took the Prince, and placed him where he could see the moss-green Princess enter the water without being seen by her. When he first saw the green monster appear he held his breath with horror, and thought some trick had been played upon him. But directly this hideous creature touched the water the green skin fell away, and there stood the loveliest maiden he had ever beheld. He instantly fell in love with her, and vowed to make her his wife, no matter what spell might have fallen on her. He watched her all the afternoon playing with the Fairies in the cool green shadows, and longed to join them, but did not dare. He heard Kitila sing the story of her life. Then he went straight back to the kraal and asked to see the King.

“I will marry your monster,” he said.

The King was surprised beyond measure, but he consented, and all preparations were made for the wedding. The wonderful presents the green monster had brought years before were now gathered together and made a royal outfit for the young Princess. The Prince returned to his father, and sent a present of one hundred cows to the King, to show in what consideration he held the bride, and also a fine head of cattle for her mother.

Then he waited for the moss-green Princess to come to him, for in Kafir-land the marriage always takes place in the bridegroom’s home. All his people waited, too, in great expectation, for the Prince was known to have chosen the most beautiful girl he could find. Their horror was great when they saw a strange green monster arrive, with long white teeth and claws, attended by four bridesmaids.

“What!” said they. “Is this the peerless beauty chosen by so wise a Prince? How can he marry such a monster?”

The poor Princess sat at the door of the chief hut, trembling lest she should be refused admittance, and the Prince repent of so bad a bargain. But he kept faith with her in spite of her green skin, and received her kindly. She was taken to a beautiful hut, and the next day was fixed for the wedding.

Very early in the morning the Princess and her maids went down to a deep pool in the river to bathe. The sun had barely risen, the air was fresh and cool. Nya-nya Bulembu took the stick in her hand and stepped into the water. As she touched it the green skin fell away, but instead of floating on the water it flew straight up into the air, and was carried many miles, till it fell down right at the door of her mother’s hut. Then the despised Queen knew that all was well, and her daughter happy at last.

The Princess came out of the water in her true form—no longer Nya-nya Bulembu, but Kitila, the King’s daughter. She returned to the kraal with her bridesmaids, all in their wedding array, and was met by the women who were to be her friends in her new home, for they were to take her to the Prince. Great was their joy and astonishment when they saw so lovely a Princess. They declared that such beauty had never been seen among them before, and praised the wisdom of the Prince who had chosen her.

The marriage ceremony then took place, and the Princess lived among them ever after in much happiness and honour. The fame of her beauty was such that people came from South, East, and West to see so lovely a woman.

But the old King was well punished, for while he often heard of the happiness of Nya-nya Bulembu, he never saw his favourite daughter again, and always believed her dead.

XVIII

THE ENCHANTED BUCK

A SWAZI TALE

Lungile sat in the sunshine watching her mother put the finishing stitches in her sedwaba. It was a great occasion. The sedwaba, you know, is the name of the full kilt of black ox-skins which no girl wears till her bridal morning. It takes a long time to make. Lungile’s father had prepared the skins many months ago. He had brayed them on the inner side and dyed them inky-black with charcoal, till they looked quite like velvet. And then Lungile’s mother, who sewed better than any one for miles around, cut out the kilt so that it should fit tightly round the waist but fall into cunning folds at the knee, and stitched all the pieces together most beautifully. Now the kilt was ready and Lungile might set out for the home of her betrothed as soon as ever she pleased.

That evening she saw all the maids who were to accompany her to the wedding, and arranged the day of departure. It was kept a dead secret; Lungile’s father and mother would not expect to know, for every Kafir bride loves to slip away in the early morning without farewells. Two days later, at the first flush of day, Lungile and her maids set out on their journey. It was early summer; the first rains were over and the valleys and hills were covered with thousands of flowers, vivid scarlet or blue like the sky, while here and there were great patches of delicate yellow, the very hue of the English primrose. The air was fresh and crystal-clear, and the girls laughed and sang songs of travel. Lungile was full of joy, for her bridegroom was a Chief’s son, and she had chosen him out of many wooers. For she was not only beautiful; she was just as good and industrious as she was lovely, and many suitors had asked her in marriage. She hoed all her father’s lands, and the beer she made was the best for many miles, so that there was no kraal where she would not have been welcome.

The girls journeyed together for some days, till at length they reached the bridegroom’s lands, and went straight to his father’s kraal. His mother greeted them with every kindness, and showed them a beautiful hut in which they might live till all the preparations for the wedding were made. They had been expected for some time, and now that they had arrived every man and woman in the kraal was kept busy.

While the women ground corn or went out to gather wood, the bridegroom and his father considered what oxen should be killed for the feast.

“We will take two of those the Chief Maginde sent as your sister’s marriage-gift,” said the father. “They are the finest in the herd, but you are my eldest son, and deserve the best we can do.” The first ox was driven up and killed with much ceremony; the bride was delighted to see what fine beasts her father-in-law was giving for her pleasure. All the women in the kraal were now busy getting water and preparing the fires; only Lungile and her maidens sat in their hut, thinking of the wedding which was so soon approaching.

When all was ready for cooking and the guests already nearing the kraal, the meat was cut into long strips and set on the fire to roast. To the horror of the bridegroom’s mother, who was watching it, the meat began to jump about on the fire. It simply would not keep quiet, and after attempting to make it lie still twice, she became frightened.

“There must be witchcraft here,” said she, and called her husband to see this strange thing. She left the strips of meat on the fire, but when she returned with all the wedding party at her heels not a vestige of the meat remained. All had disappeared, nobody knew where.

“The animal was undoubtedly bewitched,” said the father. Every one looked at the bride’s hut; she was a stranger, and they already expected all was not well with her.

“Bring the white bull,” said the father. “He is the finest we have; perhaps if we kill him it may break the spell.”

The white bull was brought forward. He was the chief of all the cattle the bridegroom’s father had received on his daughter’s marriage two years before, and because of his colour he was held to be a harbinger of peace and good fortune. He was snow-white from head to tail, save for two long black horns of great beauty. All praised the Chief’s kindness and generosity in giving him, and felt sure all would now be well.

The young men soon killed the bull and the meat was cut up. This time it was placed in large pots to boil. All stood by and watched; even the bride had heard of the trouble and waited anxiously in her hut, for witchcraft at her wedding was indeed a misfortune.

For a while all seemed quiet. Then the water began to boil in the pot in which the bull’s head had been placed. Instantly there leaped out of the pot a beautiful young man, with a bearing like that of a great Chief. He ran away with incredible speed, and even as he ran changed into a handsome buck with glancing horns. In a moment he was out of sight.

The whole company broke up in horror. “Bring the bride here,” said the Chief; “without doubt she is a witch, and has brought trouble on us all.”

In a few minutes poor Lungile was brought out of her hut with her attendant maids, trembling and weeping.

“Go back home,” shouted the Chief, “and never let us see your face again. You are no wife for my son, nor would any decent family ever receive you. I send you back to your father and demand my marriage-gift of cattle; he may deal with you as he thinks fit.”