Hercules and the Wagoner

The story

Once there was a wagoner who yoked his oxen before dawn and loaded his cart high with goods to sell at the market in the next village. He wore an old brown felt cap, his hair touched with grey at the temples, and being rather impatient, he hoped to finish his errand quickly and be home again by nightfall.

By the time the sky had brightened, the road grew soft and slick, for rain had fallen heavily the night before. One wheel struck a deep rut and sank in with a heavy crack. The cart lurched sideways, the sacks slid against their ropes, and the two oxen stopped short, unable to pull it free.

The wagoner stood helpless in the mud, his face pale with worry. He did not kneel to look at the wheel, nor take up the reins to urge his oxen, nor put his own shoulder to the cart. Instead he threw up his hands and cried out again and again, "Hercules, help me! Please come and save me!"

He called until his voice grew hoarse. Just when he was ready to weep with frustration, a tall figure appeared beside the road — none other than the mighty Hercules himself, a tan lion-skin cloak draped over one broad shoulder, watching him with a calm and steady gaze.

Hercules did not lift the cart himself, nor make the mud disappear with a wave of his hand. He only said, kindly but firmly, "Put your own shoulder to the wheel first, my friend. Urge on your oxen. Do your best before you ask for help."

The wagoner blinked, glancing down at his own clean hands, and felt his cheeks grow warm. He rolled up his sleeves, gripped the shaft, pressed his shoulder hard against the wheel, and shouted to his oxen to pull. The first try gained only an inch. The second splashed mud up his trouser legs. At the third try, both oxen leaned in together, and the wheel came free with a great sucking sound.

Hercules nodded, well pleased. "You see," he said, "you could do it yourself all along. Do not call for help again until you have truly tried." Then his tall shape faded quietly into the sunlight. The wagoner wiped the sweat from his brow and drove on, arriving dusty and tired at the market village by evening, his goods delivered right on time. From that day forward, whenever the road grew hard, he rolled up his sleeves and tried first — before he ever called for help again.