Cautiously they judge their distance, letting the lash of the whip just touch their adversary’s calf. When they have thoroughly satisfied themselves that they can get a perfect swing, one of them stands firmly, half turned away from the other, who immediately swings his whip with tremendous force and brings it down on his opponent’s calf with a crack like the report of a gun.
THE EXTRAORDINARY “WHIP GAME” OF BRITISH GUIANA—THE COMPETITORS SLASH AT ONE ANOTHER’S BARE LEGS IN TURN, OFTEN CUTTING DEEP INTO THE FLESH.
[From a Photograph.]
The man who has received this blow, though it has in all probability cut right into his calf, does not flinch, but joins the whipper in a wild sort of dance, accompanied by loud shouts of “Yau, au!” Again the same man presents his calf to be cut at, again the lash descends, and more dancing follows, until it is time for the other man to go through the same ordeal. When he has had his share the two adjourn to the hut and indulge freely in “paiwarie,” and other players take their places, until all the grown-ups have tasted of the delights of the game. The younger fry then step forth and challenge each other. Women, of course, do not take any active part in this weird performance beyond handing round the drinks.
Though this is rather a strenuous game, there are many less painful ones with which the children amuse themselves. One of these, called the “Jaguar Game,” is similar to our own “Fox and Geese.” A long procession of boys line up and grip each other by the shoulders, and sway backwards and forwards crying out, “There is no jaguar to-day!” Whilst they are singing this merrily, a youngster bears down upon them from his hiding-place amongst the onlookers. He comes running along on his hands and one leg, the other leg being raised in the air to represent the tail of the jaguar. On his appearance the whole line of boys is thrown into confusion; they grow wildly excited and swerve and sway, and dodge round, always keeping in a long, snake-like line, with the foremost boy facing their adversary, the jaguar. It is the jaguar’s duty to catch the last one in the row and bear him off to his lair.
Sometimes this game is varied by the jaguar having two young cubs with her, who also run on “all threes”; they add greatly to the excitement of the sport by snapping, snarling, and generally behaving as young cubs should. The game goes on till all the row has been captured.
In the “Monkey Game” laughter reaches its highest point, for this is one of the wildest they play; and not only the children indulge in it, but the grown-up men sometimes take it into their heads to play it, when it assumes a very different aspect. With the children it is pure fun, with little or no danger attaching to it.
A crowd of youngsters line up and move about like monkeys who are merely enjoying themselves. Suddenly one of them stops and gives vent to a shriek of fear; the others take up the cry and immediately break their line and run wildly all over the place, chattering excitedly. When the simulated panic is at its height the smaller boys spring on to the backs of the bigger ones, and are raced about all over the place till fatigue puts an end to the fun. When their elders play the “Monkey Game,” however, they often become so worked up that they really behave like a crowd of monkeys gone stark, staring mad.
Sir Everard F. im Thurn, K.C.M.G., at present Governor of Fiji, to whom I am indebted for the photographs of these Guiana games, relates a most trying experience he went through during one of these mad frolics. He says that the players suddenly burst in amongst the huts, swarmed up the roofs, tearing great mouthfuls of thatch away in their flight, and then dashed into the rooms, upsetting everything they came across and destroying food and furniture. “The old man of the settlement and his wife, in real anxiety for their goods, tried to protect what they could, tearing it even from out of the ’monkeys’’ hands or throwing food to them to distract their attention from more valuable property. At last, with the help of two bystanders, the old man secured the more violent of the players, and, despite some too genuine scratchings and bitings, managed to fasten them by ropes round their loins, monkey-wise, to the posts of houses. At last five had been so caught and tied in one house; and then, if there had been uproar before, there was pandemonium now. The captives screamed and shrieked and yelled; they rolled as far as their cords would allow, and tore with their teeth everything that came in their way: food, clothes, hammocks, pans, and calabashes.... The whole mighty uproar only ceased when all were literally too tired to do more.”
This quaint instance of a game running away with its players seems strange to us, but probably if a savage saw some of our football matches he, too, might think the players had suddenly gone mad.