very long ago—so long that the oldest blacks could not remember anything about it themselves—there was a legend of the first coming of fire.
fire came with a group of seven strange women, the kar-ak-ar-ook, who brought it from some unknown country. they dwelt with the blacks, and showed them how to use the new and wonderful thing: but they were very selfish, and would give none away. instead, they kept it in the end of their yam-sticks, and when the people begged for it, they only laughed at them. they alone knew how to make it, and they never told the secret to anyone.
so the blacks took counsel together.
"we might as well have never learned that there was fire at all," said one.
"better," said another. "before it came, we were content: but now, every one is sighing for it, and cannot get it."
"my wife is a weariness to me," said a third. "always she pesters me to bring fire to her, and makes my mouth water by telling me of the beautiful food she could cook if she had it. it is almost enough to make a man lose his appetite!"
"but who that has once tasted cooked food can ever forget it?" another said, licking his lips. "such flavour! such juiciness! twice the kar-ak-ar-ook gave fire to my wife, and let her roast wallaby and snipe—and since those glorious meals it is hard to eat them raw."
"ay, that is so," said one. "to my woman also, they gave fire twice, and she cooked me wombat and iguana. ky! how much i ate, and how sick i was afterwards! but it was worth it."
"and fish!" said another. "no one who eats raw fish can imagine what a difference fire makes to it. it is indeed a wonderful thing. the first time i saw it, i picked it up, admiring its pretty colour, and it stung me severely. in my wrath i kicked it, but its sting was still there, and it gave me a very sore foot. now i know that it is magic, and must not be touched, save with a stick—and then the stick becomes part of it. it is all very curious."
"it is worse than curious that such a thing should be, and be held only by the power of women," said an old man, angrily. "if we had fire, the winter cold would not strike so keenly to old bones. why should we submit to these women, the kar-ak-ar-ook? let us kill them, if necessary, and take it from them for ourselves."
but no one moved, and all looked uneasy.
"the women are magic," said one, at length. "the magic-men know that."
"yes, and the women's magic is stronger than theirs," another answered. "they have weaved spells, but what good have they done?"
"now, they say that unless they let some fire drop by accident, we can never get it from them: and if they do let it fall, then they will be just like other women, and have no power at all. i would like to see that!" said a big fellow, eagerly. "it would be very good for them, and they would make useful wives for some of us, for they know all about cooking food. i would not mind marrying one of them myself!" he added, in a patronizing tone, at which everybody laughed.
another big man spoke. his name was waung, and he was tall and powerful.
"it is all very ridiculous," he said. "no woman lives in the world who can get the better of a man. i have half a mind to get fire from them myself."
"you!" said the others, and they all joined in roars of laughter. for waung was a lazy man, and had never done much good for himself. "you! you would go to sleep instead of finding a way to get the better of the kar-ak-ar-ook!"
this made waung very angry.
"you are all fools!" he said, rudely. "i will certainly take the trouble to get fire, and will make one of the women my wife, and she shall cook in my wurley. but then i will have their magic, and none of you will get any fire from me, of that you may be sure. then you will all be sorry!" but this only made the men laugh more, and the noise of their mirth set the laughing-jackasses shouting in the trees. very seldom had the camp heard so fine a joke.
waung was filled with fury. he strode away from them, with his head in the air, shouting fierce threats. no one took the least notice of them, because he was known to be a boaster and a talker; but it was very amusing to see him go, and the blacks were always glad of a chance for laughter. even after waung had gone into his wurley, he could hear the echo of their merriment; and whenever two or three went past, they were still talking about him and laughing. "a pity waung is such a fool!" they said. "but perhaps it is as well, for if there were no fools we would not have such good jokes!" and that did not make waung feel any better.
next day he went to the kar-ak-ar-ook's wurley, and met them going out to dig for yams. their dilly-bags were on their shoulders; and they held their yam-sticks, and he could see fire gleaming in the hollow tops. waung looked at the digging ends of the sticks, and saw that they were very blunt. he said: "i will sharpen your yam-sticks for you."
the kar-ak-ar-ook thanked him, with a twinkle in their eyes. they knew there was some reason for such politeness from waung. so they held the yam-sticks for him to cut, and though once or twice he tried to make them fall, as if by accident, so long as they had even a finger upon them they did not move. so waung realized that fire was not to be obtained in that way. when he had finished the points, he stood up.
"i am sick of the tribe," he said, angrily. "they are silly people, and they turn me into a joke. if you like, i will come out and help you to get food—and, i can tell you, i know where to hunt. will you hunt with me?"
now the kar-ak-ar-ook were suspicious of waung, but they were lazy women. it did not amuse them at all to go hunting by themselves every day, for they were not clever at it, and it took them a long time to find enough game to cook. moreover, they were fond of food, and never had enough. they knew that no one could take away their yam-sticks so long as they held them; and so they were not afraid of waung.
"perhaps what you say is true," one answered slowly. "at any rate, i do not care. you may come with me if you wish, and sometimes we will give you some cooked food."
so the camp got used to the sight of waung and the women going out to hunt together; and after a while they forgot that they used to laugh at them, and they had to find another joke. they envied waung very much if they saw him eating scraps of cooked meat given him by the women: and you may be sure that waung did not give any scraps away. he became quite good friends with the women, though they were always suspicious of him, and gave him no chance of handling their yam-sticks. the fire in the hollow tops never went out. waung could not guess how they managed to keep it alive there, and it puzzled him very much. but he never forgot that he had vowed to take it from them, and he made many plans that came to nothing, because the kar-ak-ar-ook were always watchful.
at last waung hit upon an idea. out in the scrub he found a nest of young snakes, and these he managed to tame, for he was a very cunning man. even when they were nearly full-grown they would do his bidding, and he taught them many queer tricks. then he went in search of an ant-hill, and sought until he found a very large one. for the kar-ak-ar-ook had told him that they loved ants' eggs more than any kind of food.
one night, waung took his snakes, and buried them in the ant-hill, saying, "stay there until i send to let you out." they looked at him with their fierce, beady eyes, and wriggled round until they made themselves nests in the soft earth, which caused the ants very great inconvenience and alarm. then waung covered them up and went home, taking the kar-ak-ar-ook a little kangaroo-rat that he had killed.
the women were hungry, and the sight of waung's offering did not please them.
"it is very small," they said, discontentedly. "what is the matter with you? you have brought us scarcely any food for three days."
waung laughed, swinging his spear.
"hunting has been bad," he said, carelessly. "i have been lazy, perhaps—or the game was scarce. but i have a treat for you to-morrow."
"what is that?" they asked, eagerly, looking up from skinning the kangaroo-rat.
"what would you say to ants' eggs?"
"we like them more than anything else," they cried. "have you found some?"
"i have found a very big hill," waung said. "it should be full of eggs."
"and you will take us there?"
waung did not want to seem too eager. he hesitated.
"i do not want the eggs," he said, at length. "a man wants something he can bite—eggs are for women. but will you cook me a wallaby if i take you there?"
"where is the wallaby?" asked the kar-ak-ar-ook.
"i have not caught it yet. but i have set a snare in a track i know—and while you dig ants' eggs i have no doubt i can get one. that does not matter, however—i can get one some time. will you cook it for me, if i show you the ants' nest?"
the kar-ak-ar-ook promised, for the temptation of the ants' eggs was very strong. they ate all the kangaroo-rat, and found it quite too small for their appetites: so they went to sleep hungry, and were still hungrier when they awoke in the morning. they had only a few yams for breakfast, and so they were very eager to start when waung sauntered up to their wurley.
they all went a little way into the bush, and then came upon the great ant-hill. at the sight, the kar-ak-ar-ook ran forward, with their sticks ready to dig.
waung said:
"i will go on to my snare, and come back to you."
but he went slowly. the women had not taken any notice of what he said. they plunged their yam-sticks into the hill, and began throwing out the earth quickly. then they uttered a loud scream, for the snakes came tumbling out of the loosened earth and ran this way and that, hissing fiercely—and some ran at them.
waung turned back at their cries.
"hit them with your sticks!" he shouted. "kill them."
the kar-ak-ar-ook hit furiously at the snakes with the pointed end of their yam-sticks. but a stiff, pointed stick is not much use for killing snakes, as waung well knew, and he called to them roughly:
"that is no good—use the thick ends!"
the women swung their sticks round at his cry, and brought the thick ends down across the snakes' backs. the blows were so strong that many of the snakes were killed at once—but that was not the only thing that happened. fire flew out of the hollow ends of the sticks, and, in great coals, rolled down the side of the ant-hill. the coals met and joined, so that they were all one very large coal.
waung had been watching like a cat. he had picked up two flat pieces of green stringy-bark; and now he leaped forward, snapped up fire between them, and fled. behind him came the kar-ak-ar-ook, screaming. but as waung stole the fire, their magic left them, and they were helpless.
then bellin-bellin, the musk-crow, who carries the whirlwind in his bag, heard the voice of pund-jel speaking to him out of the clouds, commanding him to let loose his burden. so bellin-bellin, obedient, but greatly afraid, untied the strings of his bag, and the whirlwind leapt out with a wild rush. it caught the kar-ak-ar-ook, and whirled them up into the sky, where you may still see them, clustered together, for they were turned into stars. now they are called the pleiades, or seven sisters. but the blacks know that they are the kar-ak-ar-ook women, and that they live together in the sky, still carrying fire on the ends of their yam-sticks.
"it caught the kar-ak-ar-ook and whirled them up into the sky."
"it caught the kar-ak-ar-ook and whirled them up into the sky."
