Having traversed the whole length of this strange dressing-room, we reached the teacher’s house, and had time for an evening meal before the signal was given for the festivities to begin. The roll of drums could be heard in all directions, for eight villages were to be represented, and each had its own forest dressing-room. Then came the shrill call of a policeman’s whistle (certainly a new importation into a Papuan dance), and the first party marched in in Indian file, to the accompaniment of drum-beating and chanting. Their ball-room was an open space that might have been called the village green if only it had had grass growing upon it, and here they began to dance with the monotonous swinging of the body and slow lifting of the feet, distinctive of this district.
In quick succession in marched other groups representing other villages, till seven lots were in motion at one time. Each group of dancers supplied its own orchestra, nothing but the drum and the chant, and as there was no conductor to give the key and the time, seven different times and seven different keys were going simultaneously. Result—Bedlam, but happiness for the natives.
The ball-room floor was far from tempting. The village is built round the top of a hill, formed by an outcrop of stone, and the softer parts had worn away and left knife-like edges running from end to end of the village. These may have interfered with the comfort of the dancers, but certainly did not put an end to their performance. Hour after hour the same tom, tom, tom of the drums, the same chant made a little more objectionable as the voices became tired and hoarse. As any dancer became weary he withdrew without any effect upon the figure such as it was. Two at least who were present wearied of the monotony and wished they were back at the Mission House at Delena. Sleep was out of the question, and at last light began to show at the back of the great mountain range, and as it became stronger revealed a bedraggled remnant of those who had started with such energy some ten hours before. They were evidently tired out, but native custom would not allow them to stop till the all-important pig-killing had been accomplished, and they were called to receive their share.
Painfully deliberate were the movements of those in charge. The sun mounted higher, and the ground got so hot that the dancers were obliged to put more energy into their movements, like the much-talked-of cat on hot bricks. When they could bear it no longer their friends brought banana leaves and refuse from the food, and threw amongst their feet so as to make a carpet. The dancers never travelled over a great area, but it was amusing to watch how they now took care not to move off the leaves so thoughtfully provided for them.
Some of the weary men were, I think, relieved when we asked them to step out of the dance and let us take their pictures. The village club house was like a theatrical property shop. Feather head dresses eight and ten feet high were standing round the walls, hanging from the rafters, and one even on the roof. We hardly recognized some of our friends under the paint and feathers. Will any of you, I wonder, recognize an old friend in an unfamiliar head dress.
Miria the Sorcerer.
Delena Church.