Part 18 (1/2)
Hist! Something stirred in the hazel bush near her. Can I describe little Annabelle's amazement at finding in the bush a palace and a tall and dark-faced fairy before it?
”I am Amunophis, the Lily of Ethiopia,” said the strange creature. ”And I come to the children of the Seventh Veil.”
She was black and regal, and her voice was soft and low and gentle like the Niger on a summer evening. Her dress was the wing of the sacred beetle, and whenever the wind stirred it played the dreamiest of music.
Her feet were bound with golden sandals, and on her head was a crown of lotus leaves.
”And you're a fairy?” gasped Annabelle.
”Yes, I am a fairy, just as you wished me to be. I live in the tall gra.s.s many, many miles away, where a beautiful river called the Niger sleeps.” And stretching herself beside Annabelle, on the lawn, the fairy began to whisper:
[Ill.u.s.tration: The Black Fairy]
”I have lived there for over five thousand years. In the long ago a city rested there, and from that spot black men and women ruled the world.
Great s.h.i.+ps laden with spice and oil and wheat would come to its port, and would leave with wines and weapons of war and fine linens. Proud and great were the black kings of this land, their palaces were built of gold, and I was the Guardian of the City. But one night when I was visiting an Indian grove the barbarians from the North came down and destroyed our shrines and palaces and took our people up to Egypt. Oh, it was desolate, and I shed many tears, for I missed the busy hum of the market and the merry voices of the children.
”But come with me, little Annabelle, I will show you all this, the rich past of the Ethiopian.”
She bade the little girl take hold of her hand and close her eyes, and wish herself in the wood behind the cornfield. Annabelle obeyed, and ere they knew it they were sitting beside the clear water in the pond.
”You should see the Niger,” said the fairy. ”It is still beautiful, but not as happy as in the old days. The white man's foot has been cooled by its water, and the white man's blossom is choking out the native flower.” And she dropped a tear so beautiful the costliest pearl would seem worthless beside it.
”Ah! I did not come to weep,” she continued, ”but to show you the past.”
So in a voice sweet and sad she sang an old African lullaby and dropped into the water a lotus leaf. A strange mist formed, and when it had disappeared she bade the little girl to look into the pool. Creeping up Annabelle peered into the gla.s.sy surface, and beheld a series of vividly colored pictures.
First she saw dark blacksmiths hammering in the primeval forests and giving fire and iron to all the world. Then she saw the gold of old Ghana and the bronzes of Benin. Then the black Ethiopians poured down upon Egypt and the lands and cities bowed and flamed. Next she saw a great city with pyramids and stately temples. It was night, and a crimson moon was in the sky. Red wine was flowing freely, and beautiful dusky maidens were dancing in a grove of palms. Old and young were intoxicated with the joy of living, and a sense of superiority could be easily traced in their faces and att.i.tude. Presently red flame hissed everywhere, and the magnificence of remote ages soon crumbled into ash and dust. Persian soldiers ran to and fro conquering the band of defenders and severing the woman and children. Then came the Mohammedans and kingdom on kingdom arose, and with the splendor came ever more slavery.
The next picture was that of a group of fugitive slaves, forming the nucleus of three tribes, hurrying back to the wilderness of their fathers.
In houses built as protection against the heat the blacks dwelt, communing with the beauty of water and sky and open air. It was just between twilight and evening and their minstrels were chanting impromptu hymns to their G.o.ds of nature. And as she listened closely, Annabelle thought she caught traces of the sorrow songs in the weird pathetic strains of the African music mongers. From the East the warriors of the tribe came, bringing prisoners, whom they sold to white strangers from the West.
”It is the beginning,” whispered the fairy, as a large Dutch vessel sailed westward. Twenty boys and girls bound with strong ropes were given to a miserable existence in the hatchway of the boat. Their captors were strange creatures, pale and yellow haired, who were destined to sell them as slaves in a country cold and wild, where the palm trees and the cocoanut never grew and men spoke a language without music. A light, airy creature, like an ancient G.o.ddess, flew before the craft guiding it in its course.
”That is I,” said the fairy. ”In that picture I am bringing your ancestors to America. It was my hope that in the new civilization I could build a race that would be strong enough to redeem their brothers.
They have gone through great tribulations and trials, and have mingled with the blood of the fairer race; yet though not entirely Ethiopian they have not lost their ident.i.ty. Prejudice is a furnace through which molten gold is poured. Heaven be merciful unto all races! There is one more picture--the greatest of all, but--farewell, little one, I am going.”
”Going?” cried Annabelle. ”Going? I want to see the last picture--and when will you return, fairy?”
”When the race has been redeemed. When the brotherhood of man has come into the world; and there is no longer a white civilization or a black civilization, but the civilization of all men. I belong to the world council of the fairies, and we are all colors and kinds. Why should not men be as charitable unto one another? When that glorious time comes I shall walk among you and be one of you, performing my deeds of magic and playing with the children of every nation, race and tribe. Then, Annabelle, you shall see the last picture--and the best.”
Slowly she disappeared like a summer mist, leaving Annabelle amazed.
IT'S A LONG WAY
WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE
It's a long way the sea-winds blow Over the sea-plains blue,-- But longer far has my heart to go Before its dreams come true.