The Pygmies

Long ago, in the days of myths, there lived an earth-born giant named Antaeus and a race of little earth-born people called Pygmies. This giant and these Pygmies, being children of the same Mother Earth, lived together very friendly far off in the middle of hot Africa.

It must have been very curious to behold the Pygmies' little cities with streets two or three feet wide paved with the smallest pebbles and bordered by houses about as big as a squirrel's cage. If one of the Pygmies grew to the height of six or eight inches, he was considered a prodigiously tall man. There were so many sandy deserts and high mountains between them and the rest of mankind that nobody could get a peep at them more than once in a hundred years.

The king's palace was about as tall as a dolls' house, and it and the rest of their houses were built neither of stone nor wood. They were neatly plastered together by the Pygmy workmen, much like birds' nests, out of straw, feathers, eggshells, and other bits of small stuff, with stiff clay instead of mortar. And when the sun had dried them, they were just as snug and comfortable as a Pygmy could desire.

Their giant friend, Antaeus, was so very tall that he carried a pine tree for a walking stick. It took a far-sighted Pygmy to see the top of his head on a cloudy day. But at noon, when the sun shone brightly over him, Antaeus presented a very grand spectacle. There he used to stand, a perfect mountain of a man, with his great countenance smiling down on his little brothers and his one eye, which was as big as a cartwheel and placed right in the center of his forehead, giving a friendly wink to the whole nation at once. In spite of the difference in their size, it seemed as if Antaeus needed the Pygmies for his friend as much as they needed him for protection. No creature of his own size had ever talked with him. When he stood with his head among the clouds, he was quite alone and had been so for hundreds of years and would be forever.

Even if he had met one of the other giants, Antaeus would have fancied the earth not large enough for them both and would have fought with him. But with the Pygmies he was the most merry and sweet-tempered old giant who ever washed his face in a cloud.

The Pygmies had but one thing to trouble them in the world. They were constantly at war with the cranes. From time to time, very terrible battles had been fought in which sometimes the little men were victorious and sometimes the cranes. When the two armies joined battle, the cranes would rush forward, flapping their wings, and would perhaps snatch up some of the Pygmies crosswise in their beaks. It was truly an awful spectacle to see the little men kicking and sprawling in the air and then disappearing down the crane's crooked throat, swallowed alive. If Antaeus observed that the battle was going hard with his little allies, he ran with mile-long strides to their rescue, flourishing his club and shouting at the cranes, who quacked and croaked and retreated as fast as they could.

One day the mighty Antaeus was lolling at full length among his friends. His head was in one part of the kingdom and his feet in another, and he was taking what comfort he could while the Pygmies scrambled over him and played in his hair. Sometimes, for a minute or two, the giant dropped to sleep and snored like the rush of a whirlwind. During one of these naps, a Pygmy climbed upon his shoulder and took a view around the horizon as from the summit of a hill. Suddenly he saw something, a long way off, that made him rub his eyes and look sharper than before. At first he mistook it for a mountain, and then he saw the mountain move. As it came nearer, what should it turn out to be but a human shape, not so large as Antaeus, but an enormous figure when compared with the Pygmies.

The Pygmy scampered as fast as his legs would carry him to the giant's ear and, stooping over, shouted in it, "Brother Antaeus, get up this minute! Take your walking stick in your hand, for here comes another giant to do battle with you!"

"Pooh, pooh!" grumbled Antaeus, only half awake. "None of your nonsense, my little fellow. Don't you see that I am sleepy? There is not another 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 toward the prostrate form of Antaeus. 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 that looked bulkier and heavier than the pine-tree walking stick of Antaeus.

By this time the whole nation of Pygmies had seen the new wonder, and a million of them set up a shout all together: "Get up, Antaeus! Bestir yourself, you lazy old giant. Here comes another giant, as strong as you are, to fight with you."

"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 see that, if his stature were less lofty than the giant's, yet his shoulders were even broader. What a pair of shoulders they must have been, for they were later to uphold the sky! So the Pygmies kept shouting at Antaeus, and even went so far as to prick him with their swords. Antaeus sat up, gave a yawn that was several yards wide, and finally turned his stupid head in the direction the little people pointed.

No sooner did he set eyes on the stranger than he leaped to his feet and seized 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 domain? 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 here because this is my most convenient road to the garden of the Hesperides, where I am going to get some golden apples for King Eurystheus."

"Then you shall go no farther!" bellowed Antaeus, for he had heard of the mighty Hercules and hated him because he was said to be so strong. "I will hit you a slight rap with this pine tree, for I would be ashamed to kill such a puny dwarf as you appear. I will make a slave of you, and you shall likewise be the slave of my brothers here, the Pygmies. So throw down your club. As for that lion's skin you wear, I intend to have a pair of gloves made of it."

"Come and take it off my shoulders then," answered Hercules, lifting his club.

At that, Antaeus, scowling with rage, strode, tower-like, toward the stranger and gave a mighty blow at him with his pine tree, which Hercules caught upon his club; and, being more skillful than the giant, he paid him back such a rap that down tumbled the poor man-mountain flat upon the ground. But no sooner was the giant down than up he bounded, aiming another blow at Hercules. But he was blinded with his 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 that before Antaeus could get it out, Hercules brought his club down over his shoulders with a mighty whack that made the giant let out a terrible roar. The roar echoed away over mountains and valleys. As for the Pygmies, their capital city was laid in ruins by the vibration it made in the air.

But Antaeus scrambled to his feet again and succeeded in pulling his pine tree out of the earth. He ran at Hercules and brought down another blow. "This time, rascal!" he shouted, "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. Before Antaeus could get out of the way, Hercules let drive again and gave him another knockdown blow. Then, watching his opportunity as the giant rose again, Hercules caught him around the middle with both hands, lifted him high into the air, and held him aloft.

But the most wonderful thing was that, as soon as Antaeus was off the earth, he began to lose the vigor that it now appeared he had gained by touching it. Hercules soon discovered that his enemy was growing weaker, both because he kicked and struggled with less violence, and because the thunder of his big voice subsided to 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; it may be well for us all to remember it in case we should ever have to fight with a fellow like Antaeus. For these earth-born giants are not 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.

When Antaeus' strength and breath were gone, Hercules gave his huge body a toss and flung it a mile off, where it lay heavily with no more motion than a sand hill. His ponderous form may be lying in the same spot today, and might be mistaken for that of an uncommonly large elephant.

What wailing the poor little Pygmies set up when they saw their enormous brother treated in this terrible way! As soon as they saw Hercules preparing for a nap, they nodded their little heads at one another and winked their little eyes. And when he had closed his eyes, the whole Pygmy nation set out to destroy the hero.

A body of twenty thousand archers marched in front with their little bows all ready and their arrows on the string. The same number were ordered to clamber on Hercules, some with spades to dig his eyes out, and others with bundles of hay to plug up his mouth and nostrils. These last could not harm him at all, for as soon as he snored he blew out the hay and sent the Pygmies flying before the hurricane of his breath. It was found necessary to hit upon some other way of carrying on the war.

After holding a council, the captains ordered their troops to collect sticks, straws, and dry weeds and heap them around the head of Hercules. 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 Hercules. A Pygmy, you know, though so very small, might set the world on fire just as easily as a giant could.

But no sooner did Hercules begin to be scorched than up he started. "What's all this?" he cried, and stared about him as if he expected another giant.

At that moment the twenty thousand archers twanged their bowstrings and the arrows came whizzing like so many mosquitoes. Hercules gazed around, for he hardly felt the arrows. At last, looking narrowly at the ground, he spied the 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 looked at him.

"Who in the world, my little fellow, are you?" Hercules asked.

"I am your enemy," answered the Pygmy. "You have slain the giant, Antaeus, our brother by our mother's side, and we are determined to put you to death."

Hercules was so amused by the Pygmy's big words and warlike gestures that he burst into laughter and almost dropped the poor little mite of a creature off his hand.

"Upon my word," he said, "I thought I had seen wonders before today—Hydras with many heads, three-headed dogs, and giants with furnaces in their stomachs—but you outdo 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 amazed at the little man's courage, and so he left the Pygmies, one and all, in their own country, building their little houses, waging their little warfare with the cranes, and doing their little business whatever it might have been.