Occasionally they revolve for awhile with both arms extended, like windmills.
Half of them appear to have their eyes closed, and to be dancing in a sort of drunken ecstacy, but somehow they did not run against each other, and the performance went on in good order. The chief whirled a little while with the rest, and then he moved about in the group urging the slow ones to whirl faster, and occasionally hurrying up the musicians, by beating time with his hands to a somewhat quicker measure. After a while he halted the music a couple of minutes, and the “whirlers”. slowed down to half speed and wiped off the perspiration. Several of the “whirlers” now drove back the surrounding crowd with sticks, and for about two minutes I thought there was a lively prospect of a first-class row.
The halt did not long continue. The chief gave a signal and the music began again as lively as “St. Patrick’s Day in the Morning,” for it was in double quick time, and made warm work for the gentlemen engaged. The whirling was now in dead earnest, and made the skirts expand like those of the première danseuse executing a pas seul when she revolves across the stage in her finale which is to secure her the thundering plaudits of the audience.
They whirled.
And whirled.
And they kept on whirling.
And they whirled some more.