Next came the war dances, which reproduced the incidents of the past, incidents
never likely to be repeated under British rule. A solitary singer began the strain,
and the others gradually joined in,—clappingly, jinglingly, bubblingly, slightly
nasally, a strange ring audible throughout, and not less audible the stirring boom
of a bamboo drum. Suddenly, from out the surrounding gloom, against which in
strong contrast stood the white stems of the cocoa-trees, and into the red light of
the torches, merged slowly one after another, in Indian file, a string of “mad,
savage-looking devils.” Crouching and bounding, now backwards, now
forwards, from side to side, they gradually approached. Their hands carried great
clubs, the tips of which were decked with white plumes of silvery “reva-reva,”
flashing whitely as they were whirled around; their fantastic finery rustling
loudly with every wild movement, eyeballs glaring out from blackened faces,
their motions sudden and simultaneous, their splendid stalwart forms swelling
with muscles and shining with oil,—they looked “awfully savage and fine;” and
to a captive bound and about to be eaten, one would imagine well that the whole
performance would be thoroughly enjoyable.
“Now stealthily working their arms and clubs, as if feeling their victim, then
with a shout bounding forward, brandishing aloft their clubs, suddenly, as if
struck by some unseen hand, falling to the ground on bended knee, swaying first
to the right, then to the left, and bringing their clubs down with an ominous thud;
again leaping up, bounding back, from side to side, then to the right-about, and
all over the place; it is impossible for me to attempt describing them, so I won’t.
They were, I suppose, braining enemies by the dozen, and as they worked
themselves into mad excitement, so the more they bounded, smashed their
enemies’ heads, and were happy. Their drilling was admirable; standing in line
with the string, every club whirled as one, every bound and frantic motion went
together, and we are told they make fine soldiers, as far as drill is concerned,
from this idea of time that they have. In their dances they were led by a small
boy—a chief’s son, this function being their prerogative,—a lithe tawny little
savage, with a great mop of frizzled yellow hair, and his face dabbed with
charcoal. In his hands he carried an enormous palm-leaf fan, with which he
directed the dancers. Going through all the movements of the dance, he at the
same time careered over the ground, now shouting loud words of command to
the singers, and now to the dancers, yards away on their flanks. He was simply
splendid, flying about like a demented demon, here, there, and everywhere, the
dancers, whether their backs were turned or not, all keeping exact time with him.
As these men appeared, so, slowly, still bounding voicelessly, terrifically about,
and whirling their clubs, they vanished into the darkness.”