At no time during the making of the spear head does the native use his wrist, the whole of the pressure or movement coming from his elbow or even from his waist, while his body is kept in the rigid position referred to above. The finished spear head is called “ngongu nerbai” or “kolldürr.”
The process described is of such a delicate kind that the point not infrequently breaks just when the spear head is practically ready for use; this necessitates not only the construction of a new point, but the margins on both sides of it have to be chipped back in order that the point may be a projecting one.
One has to admire the industry of these men, when it is realized that the spear head in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred will be good for only one throw, the brittle stone shattering immediately it comes into contact with a solid body such as the bone of the prey or the ground.
CHAPTER XXX
MUSIC AND DANCE
Talented mimicry—Association of sound with music—Beating time to dance and music—Musical instruments—Skin drums—Rattles—Clanking boomerangs—Music sticks—Bamboo trumpet—Artificial fireflies—Vocal productions—Inflection of voice—Rhythm—Corrobborees and boras—Imitative notes—Crocodile—Emu—Crow—Frog—Wailing women—Jungle fowl—Clever acting—Kangaroo—Fight—Man-of-war—The hunting gin—Killing the bandicoot—Slaying the enemy—Envious of chirping insects—The effects of singing ensemble—Conversation by song.
An aboriginal is a born mimic. Nothing delights him more than to reproduce from Nature incidences and scenes before an appreciative and visionary audience. But in the same sense as detail of design in his drawings or carvings is often deemed unnecessary by his vivid imagination, so to the outsider his acting might seem tainted with an air of becoming vagueness which makes it appear pantomimic. Yet, as a conversationalist, an aboriginal is usually so animated by the recollections of his experience that he unconsciously becomes a dramatist, and his narration an epic. Granted the necessary perception, however, the feelings and emotions which actuate the performer are readily grasped by those observing his dances, and whose sympathy he is courting. He lets himself go, without mock-modest constraint, endeavouring by every action to interpret with his body the impulse he has received. Lured by the glint of an inspiration, his nearer vision is blinded, his musculature quivers involuntarily, and his only desire is to catch, to imitate, and to give expression to his exalted feelings. Held in a rapture, his feelings transcend anything he ordinarily perceives, his staid personality has vanished, and all that the inner individual attempts, or can attempt, is to externalize by his movements those sensuous, but illusive, impressions his soul is imbibing.
To many the real interpretation of such movement would be impossible; but the aboriginal lives for his dances, of which he possesses an almost inexhaustible variety, the outcome of tradition and invention. He has learned to make his dance a medium of sensual expression, and to combine an instinctive impulse with movement. By his dancing he impersonates both friend and enemy, he copies the hopping of a marsupial, or the wriggling of a serpent, or the strutting of an emu, and he emulates the legendary practices and sacred ceremonials of his forefathers. In his dances lives the valour of his warriors, and dies the evil magic of his foes. Through his dances he endeavours to commune with the spirits of his dead, he hears the voices of his mythical demigods, and he beseeches his deities to protect his person and to bless his haunts with an abundance of game.
The magnetical charm about a tribal dance lies in the rhythmic motion of the performers, in the harmonious way their naked bodies sway to the accompaniment of crude but effective music, and in the clever association of sound with motion and silence with rest. The dancers are mute during their performance, the music being supplied by a band or chorus of either men or women, or both, who squat near by. A performance without musical items is practically unknown. The dancers keep their movements and steps in such remarkably true accord with the vocal and instrumental parts that it is difficult to dissociate one from another; in addition, the rhythm for each new dance is usually set by the audience and followed by the dancers to the instant.
The beating of time is usually done by hand, especially if women are attending the performance. In most tribes, the person squats on the ground, holding the thighs together, and strikes the cleft thus produced with the palm of a hand. More commonly both hands are used together, with the inner side of one laid over the back of the other, and the fingers of the lower one placed together in such a way as to form a concave surface. By this means, loud, explosive sounds are produced.