THE PYGMIES.
A great while ago, when the world was full of wonders, there
lived an earth-born Giant, named Antaeus, and a million or more
of curious little earth-born people, who were called Pygmies.
This Giant and these Pygmies being children of the same mother
(that is to say, our good old Grandmother Earth), were all
brethren, and dwelt together in a very friendly and
affectionate manner, far, far off, in the middle of hot Africa.
The Pygmies were so small, and there were so many sandy deserts
and such high mountains between them and the rest of mankind,
that nobody could get a peep at them oftener than once in a
hundred years. As for the Giant, being of a very lofty stature,
it was easy enough to see him, but safest to keep out of his
sight.
Among the Pygmies, I suppose, if one of them grew to the height
of six or eight inches, he was reckoned a prodigiously tall
man. It must have been very pretty to behold their little
cities, with streets two or three feet wide, paved with the
smallest pebbles, and bordered by habitations about as big as a
squirrel's cage. The king's palace attained to the stupendous
magnitude of Periwinkle's baby house, and stood in the center
of a spacious square, which could hardly have been covered by
our hearth- rug. Their principal temple, or cathedral, was as
lofty as yonder bureau, and was looked upon as a wonderfully
sublime and magnificent edifice. All these structures were
built neither of stone nor wood. They were neatly plastered
together by the Pygmy workmen, pretty much like birds' nests,
out of straw, feathers, egg shells, and other small bits of
stuff, with stiff clay instead of mortar; and when the hot sun
had dried them, they were just as snug and comfortable as a
Pygmy could desire.
The country round about was conveniently laid out in fields,
the largest of which was nearly of the same extent as one of
Sweet Fern's flower beds. Here the Pygmies used to plant wheat
and other kinds of grain, which, when it grew up and ripened,
overshadowed these tiny people as the pines, and the oaks, and
the walnut and chestnut trees overshadow you and me, when we
walk in our own tracts of woodland. At harvest time, they were
forced to go with their little axes and cut down the grain,
exactly as a woodcutter makes a clearing in the forest; and
when a stalk of wheat, with its overburdened top, chanced to
come crashing down upon an unfortunate Pygmy, it was apt to be
a very sad affair. If it did not smash him all to pieces, at
least, I am sure, it must have made the poor little fellow's
head ache. And O, my stars! if the fathers and mothers were so
small, what must the children and babies have been? A whole
family of them might have been put to bed in a shoe, or have
crept into an old glove, and played at hide-and-seek in its
thumb and fingers. You might have hidden a year-old baby under
a thimble.
Now these funny Pygmies, as I told you before, had a Giant for
their neighbor and brother, who was bigger, if possible, than
they were little. He was so very tall that he carried a pine
tree, which was eight feet through the butt, for a walking
stick. It took a far-sighted Pygmy, I can assure you, to
discern his summit without the help of a telescope; and
sometimes, in misty weather, they could not see his upper half,
but only his long legs, which seemed to be striding about by
themselves. But at noonday in a clear atmosphere, when the sun
shone brightly over him, the Giant Antaeus presented a very
grand spectacle. There he used to stand, a perfect mountain of
a man, with his great countenance smiling down upon his little
brothers, and his one vast eye (which was as big as a cart
wheel, and placed right in the center of his forehead) giving a
friendly wink to the whole nation at once.
The Pygmies loved to talk with Antaeus; and fifty times a day,
one or another of them would turn up his head, and shout
through the hollow of his fists, "Halloo, brother Antaeus! How
are you, my good fellow?" And when the small distant squeak of
their voices reached his ear, the Giant would make answer,
"Pretty well, brother Pygmy, I thank you," in a thunderous roar
that would have shaken down the walls of their strongest
temple, only that it came from so far aloft.
It was a happy circumstance that Antaeus was the Pygmy people's
friend; for there was more strength in his little finger than
in ten million of such bodies as this. If he had been as
ill-natured to them as he was to everybody else, he might have
beaten down their biggest city at one kick, and hardly have
known that he did it. With the tornado of his breath, he could
have stripped the roofs from a hundred dwellings and sent
thousands of the inhabitants whirling through the air. He might
have set his immense foot upon a multitude; and when he took it
up again, there would have been a pitiful sight, to be sure.
But, being the son of Mother Earth, as they likewise were, the
Giant gave them his brotherly kindness, and loved them with as
big a love as it was possible to feel for creatures so very
small. And, on their parts, the Pygmies loved Antaeus with as
much affection as their tiny hearts could hold. He was always
ready to do them any good offices that lay in his power; as for
example, when they wanted a breeze to turn their windmills, the
Giant would set all the sails a-going with the mere natural
respiration of his lungs. When the sun was too hot, he often
sat himself down, and let his shadow fall over the kingdom,
from one frontier to the other; and as for matters in general,
he was wise enough to let them alone, and leave the Pygmies to
manage their own affairs--which, after all, is about the best
thing that great people can do for little ones.
In short, as I said before, Antaeus loved the Pygmies, and the
Pygmies loved Antaeus. The Giant's life being as long as his
body was large, while the lifetime of a Pygmy was but a span,
this friendly intercourse had been going on for innumerable
generations and ages. It was written about in the Pygmy
histories, and talked about in their ancient traditions. The
most venerable and white-bearded Pygmy had never heard of a
time, even in his greatest of grandfathers' days, when the
Giant was not their enormous friend. Once, to be sure (as was
recorded on an obelisk, three feet high, erected on the place
of the catastrophe), Antaeus sat down upon about five thousand
Pygmies, who were assembled at a military review. But this was
one of those unlucky accidents for which nobody is to blame; so
that the small folks never took it to heart, and only requested
the Giant to be careful forever afterwards to examine the acre
of ground where he intended to squat himself.
It is a very pleasant picture to imagine Antaeus standing among
the Pygmies, like the spire of the tallest cathedral that ever
was built, while they ran about like pismires at his feet; and
to think that, in spite of their difference in size, there were
affection and sympathy between them and him! Indeed, it has
always seemed to me that the Giant needed the little people
more than the Pygmies needed the Giant. For, unless they had
been his neighbors and well wishers, and, as we may say, his
playfellows, Antaeus would not have had a single friend in the
world. No other being like himself had ever been created. No
creature of his own size had ever talked with him, in thunder-
like accents, face to face. When he stood with his head among
the clouds, he was quite alone, and had been so for hundreds of
years, and would be so forever. Even if he had met another
Giant, Antaeus would have fancied the world not big enough for
two such vast personages, and, instead of being friends with
him, would have fought him till one of the two was killed. But
with the Pygmies he was the most sportive and humorous, and
merry-hearted, and sweet-tempered old Giant that ever washed
his face in a wet cloud.
His little friends, like all other small people, had a great
opinion of their own importance, and used to assume quite a
patronizing air towards the Giant.
"Poor creature!" they said one to another. "He has a very dull
time of it, all by himself; and we ought not to grudge wasting
a little of our precious time to amuse him. He is not half so
bright as we are, to be sure; and, for that reason, he needs us
to look after his comfort and happiness. Let us be kind to the
old fellow. Why, if Mother Earth had not been very kind to
ourselves, we might all have been Giants too."
On all their holidays, the Pygmies had excellent sport with
Antaeus. He often stretched himself out at full length on the
ground, where he looked like the long ridge of a hill; and it
was a good hour's walk, no doubt, for a short-legged Pygmy to
journey from head to foot of the Giant. He would lay down his
great hand flat on the grass, and challenge the tallest of them
to clamber upon it, and straddle from finger to finger. So
fearless were they, that they made nothing of creeping in among
the folds of his garments. When his head lay sidewise on the
earth, they would march boldly up, and peep into the great
cavern of his mouth, and take it all as a joke (as indeed it
was meant) when Antaeus gave a sudden snap of his jaws, as if
he were going to swallow fifty of them at once. You would have
laughed to see the children dodging in and out among his hair,
or swinging from his beard. It is impossible to tell half of
the funny tricks that they played with their huge comrade; but
I do not know that anything was more curious than when a party
of boys were seen running races on his forehead, to try which
of them could get first round the circle of his one great eye.
It was another favorite feat with them to march along the
bridge of his nose, and jump down upon his upper lip.
If the truth must be told, they were sometimes as troublesome
to the Giant as a swarm of ants or mosquitoes, especially as
they had a fondness for mischief, and liked to prick his skin
with their little swords and lances, to see how thick and tough
it was. But Antaeus took it all kindly enough; although, once
in a while, when he happened to be sleepy, he would grumble out
a peevish word or two, like the muttering of a tempest, and ask
them to have done with their nonsense. A great deal oftener,
however, he watched their merriment and gambols until his huge,
heavy, clumsy wits were completely stirred up by them; and then
would he roar out such a tremendous volume of immeasurable
laughter, that the whole nation of Pygmies had to put their
hands to their ears, else it would certainly have deafened
them.
"Ho! ho! ho!" quoth the Giant, shaking his mountainous sides.
"What a funny thing it is to be little! If I were not Antaeus,
I should like to be a Pygmy, just for the joke's sake."
The Pygmies had but one thing to trouble them in the world.
They were constantly at war with the cranes, and had always
been so, ever since the long- lived Giant could remember. From
time to time, very terrible battles had been fought in which
sometimes the little men won the victory, and sometimes the
cranes. According to some historians, the Pygmies used to go to
the battle, mounted on the backs of goats and rams; but such
animals as these must have been far too big for Pygmies to ride
upon; so that, I rather suppose, they rode on squirrel-back, or
rabbit-back, or rat-back, or perhaps got upon hedgehogs, whose
prickly quills would be very terrible to the enemy. However
this might be, and whatever creatures the Pygmies rode upon, I
do not doubt that they made a formidable appearance, armed with
sword and spear, and bow and arrow, blowing their tiny trumpet,
and shouting their little war cry. They never failed to exhort
one another to fight bravely, and recollect that the world had
its eyes upon them; although, in simple truth, the only
spectator was the Giant Antaeus, with his one, great, stupid
eye in the middle of his forehead.
When the two armies joined battle, the cranes would rush
forward, flapping their wings and stretching out their necks,
and would perhaps snatch up some of the Pygmies crosswise in
their beaks. Whenever this happened, it was truly an awful
spectacle to see those little men of might kicking and
sprawling in the air, and at last disappearing down the crane's
long, crooked throat, swallowed up alive. A hero, you know,
must hold himself in readiness for any kind of fate; and
doubtless the glory of the thing was a consolation to him, even
in the crane's gizzard. If Antaeus observed that the battle was
going hard against his little allies, he generally stopped
laughing, and ran with mile-long strides to their assistance,
flourishing his club aloft and shouting at the cranes, who
quacked and croaked, and retreated as fast as they could. Then
the Pygmy army would march homeward in triumph, attributing the
victory entirely to their own valor, and to the warlike skill
and strategy of whomsoever happened to be captain general; and
for a tedious while afterwards, nothing would be heard of but
grand processions, and public banquets, and brilliant
illuminations, and shows of wax-work, with likenesses of the
distinguished officers, as small as life.
In the above-described warfare, if a Pygmy chanced to pluck out
a crane's tail feather, it proved a very great feather in his
cap. Once or twice, if you will believe me, a little man was
made chief ruler of the nation for no other merit in the world
than bringing home such a feather.
But I have now said enough to let you see what a gallant little
people these were, and how happily they and their forefathers,
for nobody knows how many generations, had lived with the
immeasurable Giant Antaeus. In the remaining part of the story,
I shall tell you of a far more astonishing battle than any that
was fought between the Pygmies and the cranes.
One day the mighty Antaeus was lolling at full length among his
little friends. His pine-tree walking stick lay on the ground,
close by his side. His head was in one part of the kingdom, and
his feet extended across the boundaries of another part; and he
was taking whatever comfort he could get, while the Pygmies
scrambled over him, and peeped into his cavernous mouth, and
played among his hair. Sometimes, for a minute or two, the
Giant dropped asleep, and snored like the rush of a whirlwind.
During one of these little bits of slumber, a Pygmy chanced to
climb upon his shoulder, and took a view around the horizon, as
from the summit of a hill; and he beheld something, a long way
off, which made him rub the bright specks of his eyes, and look
sharper than before. At first he mistook it for a mountain, and
wondered how it had grown up so suddenly out of the earth. But
soon he saw the mountain move. As it came nearer and nearer,
what should it turn out to be but a human shape, not so big as
Antaeus, it is true, although a very enormous figure, in
comparison with Pygmies, and a vast deal bigger than the men we
see nowadays.
When the Pygmy was quite satisfied that his eyes had not
deceived him, he scampered, as fast as his legs would carry
him, to the Giant's ear, and stooping over its cavity, shouted
lustily into it:
"Halloo, brother Antaeus! Get up this minute, and take your
pine-tree walking stick in your hand. Here comes another Giant
to have a tussle with you."
"Poh, poh!" grumbled Antaeus, only half awake. "None of your
nonsense, my little fellow! Don't you see I'm sleepy? There is
not a Giant on earth for whom I would take the trouble to get
up."
But the Pygmy looked again, and now perceived that the stranger
was coming directly towards the prostrate form of Antaeus. With
every step, he looked less like a blue mountain, and more like
an immensely large man. He was soon so nigh, that there could
be no possible mistake about the matter. There he was, with the
sun flaming on his golden helmet, and flashing from his
polished breastplate; he had a sword by his side, and a lion's
skin over his back, and on his right shoulder he carried a
club, which looked bulkier and heavier than the pine-tree
walking stick of Antaeus.
By this time, the whole nation of the Pygmies had seen the new
wonder, and a million of them set up a shout all together; so
that it really made quite an audible squeak.
"Get up, Antaeus! Bestir yourself, you lazy old Giant! Here
comes another Giant, as strong as you are, to fight with you."
"Nonsense, nonsense!" growled the sleepy Giant. "I'll have my
nap out, come who may."
Still the stranger drew nearer; and now the Pygmies could
plainly discern that, if his stature were less lofty than the
Giant's, yet his shoulders were even broader. And, in truth,
what a pair of shoulders they must have been! As I told you, a
long while ago, they once upheld the sky. The Pygmies, being
ten times as vivacious as their great numskull of a brother,
could not abide the Giant's slow movements, and were determined
to have him on his feet. So they kept shouting to him, and even
went so far as to prick him with their swords.
"Get up, get up, get up," they cried. "Up with you, lazy bones!
The strange Giant's club is bigger than your own, his shoulders
are the broadest, and we think him the stronger of the two."
Antaeus could not endure to have it said that any mortal was
half so mighty as himself. This latter remark of the Pygmies
pricked him deeper than their swords; and, sitting up, in
rather a sulky humor, he gave a gape of several yards wide,
rubbed his eyes, and finally turned his stupid head in the
direction whither his little friends were eagerly pointing.
No sooner did he set eyes on the stranger, than, leaping on his
feet, and seizing his walking stick, he strode a mile or two to
meet him; all the while brandishing the sturdy pine tree, so
that it whistled through the air.
"Who are you?" thundered the Giant. "And what do you want in
my dominions?"
There was one strange thing about Antaeus, of which I have not
yet told you, lest, hearing of so many wonders all in a lump,
you might not believe much more than half of them. You are to
know, then, that whenever this redoubtable Giant touched the
ground, either with his hand, his foot, or any other part of
his body, he grew stronger than ever he had been before. The
Earth, you remember, was his mother, and was very fond of him,
as being almost the biggest of her children; and so she took
this method of keeping him always in full vigor. Some persons
affirm that he grew ten times stronger at every touch; others
say that it was only twice as strong. But only think of it!
Whenever Antaeus took a walk, supposing it were but ten miles,
and that he stepped a hundred yards at a stride, you may try to
cipher out how much mightier he was, on sitting down again,
than when he first started. And whenever he flung himself on
the earth to take a little repose, even if he got up the very
next instant, he would be as strong as exactly ten just such
giants as his former self. It was well for the world that
Antaeus happened to be of a sluggish disposition and liked ease
better than exercise; for, if he had frisked about like the
Pygmies, and touched the earth as often as they did, he would
long ago have been strong enough to pull down the sky about
people's ears. But these great lubberly fellows resemble
mountains, not only in bulk, but in their disinclination to
move.
Any other mortal man, except the very one whom Antaeus had now
encountered, would have been half frightened to death by the
Giant's ferocious aspect and terrible voice. But the stranger
did not seem at all disturbed. He carelessly lifted his club,
and balanced it in his hand, measuring Antaeus with his eye,
from head to foot, not as if wonder-smitten at his stature, but
as if he had seen a great many Giants before, and this was by
no means the biggest of them. In fact, if the Giant had been no
bigger than the Pygmies (who stood pricking up their ears, and
looking and listening to what was going forward), the stranger
could not have been less afraid of him.
"Who are you, I say?" roared Antaeus again. "What's your name?
Why do you come hither? Speak, you vagabond, or I'll try the
thickness of your skull with my walking-stick!"
"You are a very discourteous Giant," answered the stranger
quietly, "and I shall probably have to teach you a little
civility, before we part. As for my name, it is Hercules. I
have come hither because this is my most convenient road to the
garden of the Hesperides, whither I am going to get three of
the golden apples for King Eurystheus."
"Caitiff, you shall go no farther!" bellowed Antaeus, putting
on a grimmer look than before; for he had heard of the mighty
Hercules, and hated him because he was said to be so strong."
Neither shall you go back whence you came!"
"How will you prevent me," asked Hercules, "from going whither
I please?"
"By hitting you a rap with this pine tree here," shouted
Antaeus, scowling so that he made himself the ugliest monster
in Africa. "I am fifty times stronger than you; and now that I
stamp my foot upon the ground, I am five hundred times
stronger! I am ashamed to kill such a puny little dwarf as you
seem to be. I will make a slave of you, and you shall likewise
be the slave of my brethren here, the Pygmies. So throw down
your club and your other weapons; and as for that lion's skin,
I intend to have a pair of gloves made of it."
"Come and take it off my shoulders, then," answered Hercules,
lifting his club.
Then the Giant, grinning with rage, strode tower-like towards
the stranger (ten times strengthened at every step), and
fetched a monstrous blow at him with his pine tree, which
Hercules caught upon his club; and being more skilful than
Antaeus, he paid him back such a rap upon the sconce, that down
tumbled the great lumbering man-mountain, flat upon the ground.
The poor little Pygmies (who really never dreamed that anybody
in the world was half so strong as their brother Antaeus) were
a good deal dismayed at this. But no sooner was the Giant down,
than up he bounced again, with tenfold might, and such a
furious visage as was horrible to behold. He aimed another blow
at Hercules, but struck awry, being blinded with wrath, and
only hit his poor innocent Mother Earth, who groaned and
trembled at the stroke. His pine tree went so deep into the
ground, and stuck there so fast, that, before Antaeus could get
it out, Hercules brought down his club across his shoulders
with a mighty thwack, which made the Giant roar as if all sorts
of intolerable noises had come screeching and rumbling out of
his immeasurable lungs in that one cry. Away it went, over
mountains and valleys, and, for aught I know, was heard on the
other side of the African deserts.
As for the Pygmies, their capital city was laid in ruins by the
concussion and vibration of the air; and, though there was
uproar enough without their help, they all set up a shriek out
of three millions of little throats, fancying, no doubt, that
they swelled the Giant's bellow by at least ten times as much.
Meanwhile, Antaeus had scrambled upon his feet again, and
pulled his pine tree out of the earth; and, all aflame with
fury, and more outrageously strong than ever, he ran at
Hercules, and brought down another blow.
"This time, rascal," shouted he, "you shall not escape me."
But once more Hercules warded off the stroke with his club, and
the Giant's pine tree was shattered into a thousand splinters,
most of which flew among the Pygmies, and did them more
mischief than I like to think about. Before Antaeus could get
out of the way, Hercules let drive again, and gave him another
knock- down blow, which sent him heels over head, but served
only to increase his already enormous and insufferable
strength. As for his rage, there is no telling what a fiery
furnace it had now got to be. His one eye was nothing but a
circle of red flame. Having now no weapons but his fists, he
doubled them up (each bigger than a hogshead), smote one
against the other, and danced up and down with absolute frenzy,
flourishing his immense arms about, as if he meant not merely
to kill Hercules, but to smash the whole world to pieces.
"Come on!" roared this thundering Giant. "Let me hit you but
one box on the ear, and you'll never have the headache again."
Now Hercules (though strong enough, as you already know, to
hold the sky up) began to be sensible that he should never win
the victory, if he kept on knocking Antaeus down; for, by and
by, if he hit him such hard blows, the Giant would inevitably,
by the help of his Mother Earth, become stronger than the
mighty Hercules himself. So, throwing down his club, with which
he had fought so many dreadful battles, the hero stood ready to
receive his antagonist with naked arms.
"Step forward," cried he. "Since I've broken your pine tree,
we'll try which is the better man at a wrestling match."
"Aha! then I'll soon satisfy you," shouted the Giant; for, if
there was one thing on which he prided himself more than
another, it was his skill in wrestling. "Villain, I'll fling
you where you can never pick yourself up again."
On came Antaeus, hopping and capering with the scorching heat
of his rage, and getting new vigor wherewith to wreak his
passion, every time he hopped.
But Hercules, you must understand, was wiser than this numskull
of a Giant, and had thought of a way to fight him--huge,
earth-born monster that he was--and to conquer him too, in
spite of all that his Mother Earth could do for him. Watching
his opportunity, as the mad Giant made a rush at him, Hercules
caught him round the middle with both hands, lifted him high
into the air, and held him aloft overhead.
Just imagine it, my dear little friends. What a spectacle it
must have been, to see this monstrous fellow sprawling in the
air, face downwards, kicking out his long legs and wriggling
his whole vast body, like a baby when its father holds it at
arm's length towards the ceiling.
But the most wonderful thing was, that, as soon as Antaeus was
fairly off the earth, he began to lose the vigor which he had
gained by touching it. Hercules very soon perceived that his
troublesome enemy was growing weaker, both because he struggled
and kicked with less violence, and because the thunder of his
big voice subsided into a grumble. The truth was that unless
the Giant touched Mother Earth as often as once in five
minutes, not only his overgrown strength, but the very breath
of his life, would depart from him. Hercules had guessed this
secret; and it may be well for us all to remember it, in case
we should ever have to fight a battle with a fellow like
Antaeus. For these earth-born creatures are only difficult to
conquer on their own ground, but may easily be managed if we
can contrive to lift them into a loftier and purer region. So
it proved with the poor Giant, whom I am really a little sorry
for, notwithstanding his uncivil way of treating strangers who
came to visit him.
When his strength and breath were quite gone, Hercules gave his
huge body a toss, and flung it about a mile off, where it fell
heavily, and lay with no more motion than a sand hill. It was
too late for the Giant's Mother Earth to help him now; and I
should not wonder if his ponderous bones were lying on the same
spot to this very day, and were mistaken for those of an
uncommonly large elephant.
But, alas me! What a wailing did the poor little Pygmies set up
when they saw their enormous brother treated in this terrible
manner! If Hercules heard their shrieks, however, he took no
notice, and perhaps fancied them only the shrill, plaintive
twittering of small birds that had been frightened from their
nests by the uproar of the battle between himself and Antaeus.
Indeed, his thoughts had been so much taken up with the Giant,
that he had never once looked at the Pygmies, nor even knew
that there was such a funny little nation in the world. And
now, as he had traveled a good way, and was also rather weary
with his exertions in the fight, he spread out his lion's skin
on the ground, and, reclining himself upon it, fell fast
asleep.
As soon as the Pygmies saw Hercules preparing for a nap, they
nodded their little heads at one another, and winked with their
little eyes. And when his deep, regular breathing gave them
notice that he was asleep, they assembled together in an
immense crowd, spreading over a space of about twenty-seven
feet square. One of their most eloquent orators (and a valiant
warrior enough, besides, though hardly so good at any other
weapon as he was with his tongue) climbed upon a toadstool,
and, from that elevated position, addressed the multitude. His
sentiments were pretty much as follows; or, at all events,
something like this was probably the upshot of his speech:
"Tall Pygmies and mighty little men! You and all of us have
seen what a public calamity has been brought to pass, and what
an insult has here been offered to the majesty of our nation.
Yonder lies Antaeus, our great friend and brother, slain,
within our territory, by a miscreant who took him at
disadvantage, and fought him (if fighting it can be called) in
a way that neither man, nor Giant, nor Pygmy ever dreamed of
fighting, until this hour. And, adding a grievous contumely to
the wrong already done us, the miscreant has now fallen asleep
as quietly as if nothing were to be dreaded from our wrath! It
behooves you, fellow-countrymen, to consider in what aspect we
shall stand before the world, and what will be the verdict of
impartial history, should we suffer these accumulated outrages
to go unavenged.
"Antaeus was our brother, born of that same beloved parent to
whom we owe the thews and sinews, as well as the courageous
hearts, which made him proud of our relationship. He was our
faithful ally, and fell fighting as much for our national
rights and immunities as for his own personal ones. We and our
forefathers have dwelt in friendship with him, and held
affectionate intercourse as man to man, through immemorial
generations. You remember how often our entire people have
reposed in his great shadow, and how our little ones have
played at hide-and-seek in the tangles of his hair, and how his
mighty footsteps have familiarly gone to and fro among us, and
never trodden upon any of our toes. And there lies this dear
brother-- this sweet and amiable friend--this brave and
faithful ally---this virtuous Giant--this blameless and
excellent Antaeus--dead! Dead! Silent! Powerless! A mere
mountain of clay! Forgive my tears! Nay, I behold your own.
Were we to drown the world with them, could the world blame us?
"But to resume: Shall we, my countrymen, suffer this wicked
stranger to depart unharmed, and triumph in his treacherous
victory, among distant communities of the earth? Shall we not
rather compel him to leave his bones here on our soil, by the
side of our slain brother's bones? so that, while one skeleton
shall remain as the everlasting monument of our sorrow, the
other shall endure as long, exhibiting to the whole human race
a terrible example of Pygmy vengeance! Such is the question. I
put it to you in full confidence of a response that shall be
worthy of our national character, and calculated to increase,
rather than diminish, the glory which our ancestors have
transmitted to us, and which we ourselves have proudly
vindicated in our warfare with the cranes."
The orator was here interrupted by a burst of irrepressible
enthusiasm; every individual Pygmy crying out that the national
honor must be preserved at all hazards. He bowed, and, making a
gesture for silence, wound up his harangue in the following
admirable manner:
"It only remains for us, then, to decide whether we shall carry
on the war in our national capacity--one united people against
a common enemy--or whether some champion, famous in former
fights, shall be selected to defy the slayer of our brother
Antaeus to single combat. In the latter case, though not
unconscious that there may be taller men among you, I hereby
offer myself for that enviable duty. And believe me, dear
countrymen, whether I live or die, the honor of this great
country, and the fame bequeathed us by our heroic progenitors,
shall suffer no diminution in my hands. Never, while I can
wield this sword, of which I now fling away the
scabbard--never, never, never, even if the crimson hand that
slew the great Antaeus shall lay me prostrate, like him, on the
soil which I give my life to defend."
So saying, this valiant Pygmy drew out his weapon (which was
terrible to behold, being as long as the blade of a penknife),
and sent the scabbard whirling over the heads of the multitude.
His speech was followed by an uproar of applause, as its
patriotism and self-devotion unquestionably deserved; and the
shouts and clapping of hands would have been greatly prolonged,
had they not been rendered quite inaudible by a deep
respiration, vulgarly called a snore, from the sleeping
Hercules.
It was finally decided that the whole nation of Pygmies should
set to work to destroy Hercules; not, be it understood, from
any doubt that a single champion would be capable of putting
him to the sword, but because he was a public enemy, and all
were desirous of sharing in the glory of his defeat. There was
a debate whether the national honor did not demand that a
herald should be sent with a trumpet, to stand over the ear of
Hercules, and after blowing a blast right into it, to defy him
to the combat by formal proclamation. But two or three
venerable and sagacious Pygmies, well versed in state affairs,
gave it as their opinion that war already existed, and that it
was their rightful privilege to take the enemy by surprise.
Moreover, if awakened, and allowed to get upon his feet,
Hercules might happen to do them a mischief before he could be
beaten down again. For, as these sage counselors remarked, the
stranger's club was really very big, and had rattled like a
thunderbolt against the skull of Antaeus. So the Pygmies
resolved to set aside all foolish punctilios, and assail their
antagonist at once.
Accordingly, all the fighting men of the nation took their
weapons, and went boldly up to Hercules, who still lay fast
asleep, little dreaming of the harm which the Pygmies meant to
do him. A body of twenty thousand archers marched in front,
with their little bows all ready, and the arrows on the string.
The same number were ordered to clamber upon Hercules, some
with spades to dig his eyes out, and others with bundles of
hay, and all manner of rubbish with which they intended to plug
up his mouth and nostrils, so that he might perish for lack of
breath. These last, however, could by no means perform their
appointed duty; inasmuch as the enemy's breath rushed out of
his nose in an obstreperous hurricane and whirlwind, which blew
the Pygmies away as fast as they came nigh. It was found
necessary, therefore, to hit upon some other method of carrying
on the war.
After holding a council, the captains ordered their troops to
collect sticks, straws, dry weeds, and whatever combustible
stuff they could find, and make a pile of it, heaping it high
around the head of Hercules. As a great many thousand Pygmies
were employed in this task, they soon brought together several
bushels of inflammatory matter, and raised so tall a heap,
that, mounting on its summit, they were quite upon a level with
the sleeper's face. The archers, meanwhile, were stationed
within bow shot, with orders to let fly at Hercules the instant
that he stirred. Everything being in readiness, a torch was
applied to the pile, which immediately burst into flames, and
soon waxed hot enough to roast the enemy, had he but chosen to
lie still. A Pygmy, you know, though so very small, might set
the world on fire, just as easily as a Giant could; so that
this was certainly the very best way of dealing with their foe,
provided they could have kept him quiet while the conflagration
was going forward.
But no sooner did Hercules begin to be scorched, than up he
started, with his hair in a red blaze.
"What's all this?" he cried, bewildered with sleep, and staring
about him as if he expected to see another Giant.
At that moment the twenty thousand archers twanged their
bowstrings, and the arrows came whizzing, like so many winged
mosquitoes, right into the face of Hercules. But I doubt
whether more than half a dozen of them punctured the skin,
which was remarkably tough, as you know the skin of a hero has
good need to be.
"Villain!" shouted all the Pygmies at once. "You have killed
the Giant Antaeus, our great brother, and the ally of our
nation. We declare bloody war against you, and will slay you on
the spot."
Surprised at the shrill piping of so many little voices,
Hercules, after putting out the conflagration of his hair,
gazed all round about, but could see nothing. At last, however,
looking narrowly on the ground, he espied the innumerable
assemblage of Pygmies at his feet. He stooped down, and taking
up the nearest one between his thumb and finger, set him on the
palm of his left hand, and held him at a proper distance for
examination. It chanced to be the very identical Pygmy who had
spoken from the top of the toadstool, and had offered himself
as a champion to meet Hercules in single combat.
"What in the world, my little fellow," ejaculated Hercules,
"may you be?"
"I am your enemy," answered the valiant Pygmy, in his mightiest
squeak. "You have slain the enormous Antaeus, our brother by
the mother's side, and for ages the faithful ally of our
illustrious nation. We are determined to put you to death; and
for my own part, I challenge you to instant battle, on equal
ground."
Hercules was so tickled with the Pygmy's big words and warlike
gestures, that he burst into a great explosion of laughter, and
almost dropped the poor little mite of a creature off the palm
of his hand, through the ecstasy and convulsion of his
merriment.
"Upon my word," cried he, "I thought I had seen wonders before
to-day--hydras with nine heads, stags with golden horns,
six-legged men, three-headed dogs, giants with furnaces in
their stomachs, and nobody knows what besides. But here, on the
palm of my hand, stands a wonder that outdoes them all! Your
body, my little friend, is about the size of an ordinary man's
finger. Pray, how big may your soul be?"
"As big as your own!" said the Pygmy.
Hercules was touched with the little man's dauntless courage,
and could not help acknowledging such a brotherhood with him as
one hero feels for another.
"My good little people," said he, making a low obeisance to the
grand nation, "not for all the world would I do an intentional
injury to such brave fellows as you! Your hearts seem to me so
exceedingly great, that, upon my honor, I marvel how your small
bodies can contain them. I sue for peace, and, as a condition
of it, will take five strides, and be out of your kingdom at
the sixth. Good-bye. I shall pick my steps carefully, for fear
of treading upon some fifty of you, without knowing it. Ha, ha,
ha! Ho, ho, ho! For once, Hercules acknowledges himself
vanquished."
Some writers say, that Hercules gathered up the whole race of
Pygmies in his lion's skin, and carried them home to Greece,
for the children of King Eurystheus to play with. But this is a
mistake. He left them, one and all, within their own territory,
where, for aught I can tell, their descendants are alive to the
present day, building their little houses, cultivating their
little fields, spanking their little children, waging their
little warfare with the cranes, doing their little business,
whatever it may be, and reading their little histories of
ancient times. In those histories, perhaps, it stands recorded,
that, a great many centuries ago, the valiant Pygmies avenged
the death of the Giant Antaeus by scaring away the mighty
Hercules.
