Reproduced by kind permission of Messrs. Boosey & Co., London, W.
It was in the finale, the mighty tutti, that the swelling crescendo and the passion of the barbarian, orchestral music rose and fell and faded into silence after the drums had ceased their primeval grandeur.
“Ter fink Oi’ve lived to see this ’ere day,” said Grimes hoarsely.
“To think I’ve lived to hear it,” I responded, as we dodged our heads in the nick of time, as thirteen happy savages whirled past, swaying war-clubs!
Aged, tattooed chiefs, chiefesses and plebeian, savage old women joined in that dance. Off they went, their stiff limbs scorning old age, as memories of youth and pagan days returned. The little children gazed from the hut doors with awestruck eyes, screamed with delight, clapped their tawny hands with childish ecstasy to see the antics, the high kicks of their erstwhile sedate old grandparents. I can still see those astonished little brown beggars as they stand there; even the glass eyes of their old rag dolls, that they held in their arms, looked surprised. Those contortions seemed impossible. Grimes and I held our hands up, breathless, spellbound with expectancy—but not a leg quivered, not a hip, not a limb or muscle was dislocated.
I felt like some happy barbarian. My nationality faded. The cares of the world fell from me, and I felt a strange affection for that old, stalwart humorist, the idol, standing before me, and I could have worshipped that grotesque wooden god of the pae-pae!