Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

I am indebted to Mr. Hill, the general manager of the above-mentioned company, for a plan of the furnace. It may be interesting to add that, even had Perry contrived to shelter himself from the flames at the foot of the wall he mentions, he would very soon have met with a death too awful to contemplate, as the molten iron would have flowed down and overwhelmed him. The authorities inform me that Perry’s adventure is altogether unprecedented in the whole of their experience. At the moment when his first cry was heard the furnace had been alight for some considerable time, having been started with a large quantity of wood and many barrow-loads of hot coal in order to raise the heat quickly!

[_From a Photograph._]]

THE HEADLESS WOMAN.

BY CHARLES NEEDHAM.

I had just recovered from a troublesome throat affection, and under the doctor’s orders had moved out of town for a spell of fresh air and quieter surroundings, selecting the little village of Canewdon, in South-East Essex, as my retreat. I had always had an eye on the village, first making its acquaintance whilst yachting off the coast and in the River Crouch, where my boat had its permanent berth.

Canewdon is actually little more than a straggling hamlet four miles by road to the north of Rochford, and about nine from Southend-on-Sea. It required only a very short residence there for me to find that the secluded little place considered it had its own corner in history, and a very pretty turn in folk-lore and superstition as well. To begin with, Canewdon claims King Canute as one of its founders, and its domestic romances and tragedies would make a presentable volume in the hands of a scribbling antiquary. It had, however, something more than mere history, and far less to my liking, for me to feed my imagination upon, as I was soon to discover.

_From a Photograph._]

After a good look round I settled upon a comfortable old cottage, with a small garden traversed by a brook, only a very short distance from the ancient, square-towered church. Into this, having taken it at a very moderate rental, I moved a small amount of furniture, my books, and other paraphernalia, and prepared to settle down to the life of a hermit for a time. The woman who came from close by to “do” for me looked upon me, I fancy, as something of a curiosity, but, for some reason I had not then discovered, she seemed a little uneasy at my solitary existence. She would remark that I must be lonely, or that it was unlikely that I should stop in the place very long. I put all this down to a friendly disposition, coupled with a desire to draw me out as to my place in the larger world I had dropped from so suddenly.

For the first day or two matters went smoothly enough, and I began to feel that my choice of locality had been a lucky and inexpensive one. Then something occurred which startled me sufficiently to make me alter my opinion.

I always used the little kitchen at meal-times for convenience’ sake, and one night I remained there reading until very late, the kitchen being lit only by one small lamp at my back. I had just closed my book--it was about one o’clock--and was summoning the effort required to take me bedwards, when I noticed a very slight movement of the iron latch upon the door leading into the back garden. My thoughts naturally flew to burglars. The locality was lonely, and no doubt my coming had been duly talked over in the village with all the exaggeration and surmise an out-of-the-way place is capable of.

I was, of course, considerably startled, and sat watching the latch slowly rise, evidently actuated by a very delicate and even pressure from without. The door itself was bolted at both top and bottom, and when the latch had risen clear of the hasp I fully expected to hear the bolts rattle as the person outside put his weight against the door to try it. But nothing of the sort happened; the latch, after remaining suspended for a moment, fell back again into place as slowly and evenly as it had risen.

Startled and puzzled as I was, I still held to my belief that this must be a timid attempt at robbery, and that, finding the back door locked, the intruder would try the front one also. Nor was I wrong, for I had scarcely slipped quietly into the sitting-room and taken up my position when the latch there began to rise in precisely the same manner. This door possessed only one bolt, and that at the bottom, so that the door, an old and ill-fitting one, would show the slightest pressure at once. But none was placed upon it, and the latch fell into place as evenly and noiselessly as before. By this time I must confess to being slightly scared, and when a chair banged heavily on the floor and a loud shout of “Who’s that?” brought no sound of a retreating shuffle on the cobble-stones outside, I had to summon all my remaining courage to unbar and fling open the door. Not a soul or a sound met me as I stepped outside. The night was a light one in early September, so that a retreating figure could have been followed by the eye for twenty or thirty yards. After a careful look round the garden I went to bed nonplussed at the weirdness of the whole affair.

The following day brought another intruder--a material one this time. I found that during the morning a travelling caravan had taken a pitch just outside my hedge; and its owner turned out to be an Oxford man, who, with his wife, was leading a vagabond life about the shires. He was an extremely well-read man, and we soon got on the best of terms, exchanging books and opinions, till he inspanned for pastures new a week later. The night before he left I was treated to another queer happening.

We had been talking and reading in my tiny sitting-room till about eleven o’clock, when my vagabond friend bade me a sleepy “Good night” and opened the front door. He had, however, only just put his foot on the cobbles when he stepped backwards with a sharp exclamation, and a scared look on his face.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“It’s awfully queer,” he replied; “I could have sworn I saw a face looking straight at me close to that bush”--he pointed to the privet hedge at the left of the door--“but there didn’t seem to be any body to it. I’m certainly not drunk, but I may have been dreaming.”

After my recent experience, which I had not thought it worth while to mention to such a hard-headed soul as my chance companion, I felt anything but comfortable. We were both rather ashamed of our brief lapse from common sense, and laughed the incident off as best we might.

The following day found me in all the doubtful glory of my solitude once more, and I must confess to having been thankful when an invitation reached me that same evening, from friends at Fambridge, for a few days’ fishing.

I have never suffered from that popular present-day malady known as “nerves,” possibly because of an open-air existence with plenty of exercise, but, though I had only been there a short time, the cottage and the locality now seemed to have become almost uncanny to me. Had I mixed more with the inhabitants, I should have discovered, as I did later, that this strange feeling was not without some foundation.

The few days I spent in Fambridge put all thought of the two queer incidents out of my mind, which will show that the subsequent events were not the outcome of an overtaxed imagination or a course of long brooding upon disquieting phenomena.

It must have been about nine o’clock in the evening that my Fambridge friend put a little Welsh pony into his governess-car to drive me back the four odd miles to my cottage. The night was fine, but there were clouds about and no moon, so that objects outside the radius of the lamps were hard to distinguish. The pony had already had a fairly hard day of it along the coast, but he was a sturdy little beast and pulled like a steam-engine, rattling us down to the outskirts of Canewdon in excellent time.

We had been bowling along, talking about the day’s sport, and were now rapidly nearing a stile leading to a footpath upon the left of the road, which takes one by a short cut across a field, over another stile, into the churchyard, and so into the village High Street. We had barely reached the stile when the pony pulled up short, reared, and refused to go another step in that direction. The pony, always a strong and willing little chap, had never done such a thing in his life before, and my friend was not only puzzled but annoyed. A sound beating had no more effect than words of encouragement; there the little beggar stuck, his four legs splayed out, the picture of all that was most stubborn in nature, whilst we two sat in the car trying to devise some plan by which to budge him.

My friend was at last obliged to ask me to take the short cut I have just spoken of instead of being driven round by the road the remaining mile and a half to my cottage. I was, of course, willing enough. The short cut would take me barely ten minutes, and I had very little to carry; so, bidding him “Good night,” I jumped out. As I came from behind the trap I noticed a tiny flickering light a few yards ahead, upon the left-hand side of the road, but it was very dim and did not arrest my attention sufficiently to make any impression on the mind. I was able to lead the pony round without any difficulty, and when his head faced Fambridge he seemed to recover his spirits at once, and the red points behind the lamps receded at a rattling pace up the road. When these had disappeared I turned again to climb the stile, but became at once uneasily conscious of something unusual a little way ahead of me.

The spot the pony had refused at was a good deal shadowed by large elms, and these, together with the cloudy sky, made the road still more obscure. The small light, which I had taken little notice of at first--thinking it probably one of the village lights showing through the trees--was still ahead; only, instead of being upon the left of the road, it was now upon the right. For a few seconds I stood looking at it, feeling very much like turning tail and bolting down the road. The flame, for it was no other, showed greeny--white against the black background and shivered in a strange, eerie way.

The most extraordinary part of the business was that it seemed to come from nothing visible, but to appear, as it were, burning in space three or four feet above the road.

I had, of course, read ghost stories in which “corpse candles” and ghostly lights of one sort and another figured largely, but I had never expected to come across one, and this could be translated in no other way.[2] The close proximity of the churchyard, with the square tower of the church itself showing through the trees, added too much colour to the scene to my liking; but, scared though I was, a certain fascination took hold of me, and I advanced a step or two in order to examine the phenomenon at closer range. I had scarcely taken two paces, however, when the clouds parted a little, giving a better light beneath the trees, and at the same moment the weird flame flickered wildly and went out.

[Footnote 2: The light somewhat resembled the _ignis fatuus_, or will-o’-the-wisp, but was larger and greener in colour. Moreover, there was no pond or marshy ground anywhere near the road.]

But this was not to be the end of my ghostly experience. The stronger light brought many roadside objects into prominence, and the moment the flame disappeared I became conscious of an indistinct black blotch against the lighter background of the hedge. It was, of course, too dark for me to be certain of its exact shape, even had I been in a calm enough state of mind to take in details; but in any case I was allowed only a momentary glimpse, for whilst I stood with the breath caught in my throat, this mysterious something took three rapid strides across the road and disappeared without a sound into the thick hawthorn hedge opposite.

At this stage I must confess to having lost all control of myself. Without another look I took to my heels and ran, as though all the powers of darkness were behind me.

The scare I had got made me quite oblivious of my direction, but I suppose natural instinct guided me, for I found myself at last, almost pumped out, trotting into the little High Street of Canewdon by the road along which I should have driven, and no doubt in far better time. I had no relish, in my then state of mind, for another lonely night in the cottage, although it stood only fifty yards away, so I made my way to the Chequers, the only inn the village possessed, and asked for a bed.

My recent arrival in the place had given me little time to become acquainted with the village notables, but I fancy the landlady knew me by sight, and no doubt thought the request strange. In any case her “Certainly, sir,” was followed by a close scrutiny. “You’re looking very queer, sir,” she added; “has anything happened?”

Surrounded by more human elements, I began to feel thoroughly ashamed of myself, and rather doubted the wisdom of giving the narrative away; but the thought that, perhaps, being a resident, she might be able to throw some light upon my weird experience finally decided me to make a clean breast of the whole affair; and I promptly did so in the little inn-parlour.

I had barely got half-way through the incident upon the road when she sat back in her chair, and said in a quiet, almost matter-of-fact tone:--

“You’ve seen the headless woman, sir.”

“The headless woman?” I asked, startled. “Who’s she?”

“I may as well tell you,” she replied, “though we don’t talk of it much here. Have you noticed a wooden house painted white, and standing alone about a hundred yards this way from the stile on the Fambridge road?”

I said that I had, and thought it was a farmhouse.

“Well, so it was till the murder happened,” replied the woman. “The story goes that somewhere about forty years ago a farmer there took to drink, went mad, and murdered his wife. He didn’t stop at that, either, for he cut off her head and buried it, and it wasn’t found till some time after the body had had decent burial.”

“So she’s supposed to haunt the place?” I asked.

“There’s no suppose about it, sir,” she replied, very quietly; “a tidy few people here have seen her, much the same as you did. My husband has, too, by the stile leading into the churchyard. It took him a week in bed to get over it. Sometimes it’s just a face, and sometimes just a black bundle like a body without a head; but always near one of them two stiles, and round about harvest time. Heaven send I never see the sight!” she concluded, devoutly.

“I’m not particularly anxious to renew the acquaintance myself,” I replied, “but how do you account for the lifting of my latch?”

“Well, I can’t say for certain, sir, but, if my memory serves me, there was a gaffer living in your cottage--he’s dead now many a year--who used to work at the White House and was there when the murder happened. He saw her pretty often in his garden, I’m told, but couldn’t be got to speak of it. It may be she walks there too.”

I spent a very mixed kind of night at the inn, and on the following day returned to Fambridge and less ghostly company. From here I made arrangements for a change of quarters, and from that day to this I have not set eyes upon Canewdon, nor have I any inclination to do so.

This strange happening is perhaps too strange for everybody’s belief. My “spirituous” state at the time is an opinion largely held by chaffing friends; but I ask that three points be taken into consideration. I am practically a teetotaller; my imagination is no more abnormal than that of most of my fellows; and, lastly, no whisper of ghostly visitations in the village had reached my ears prior to the narrative as told by the landlady.

The whole affair would make an interesting little piece of investigation for the Psychical Research Society.

BY E. WAY ELKINGTON, F.R.G.S.

Savages, big and little, play games like other folk, and some
of their methods of amusing themselves are very curious indeed.
Mr. Elkington has made a collection of the least-known and most
peculiar pastimes, and here describes and illustrates them.

Throughout the world there is a peculiar similarity in the games of the human race, and undoubtedly they all spring from the same sources, being the result of imitation, by children, of the duties and pleasures of the elder generation. In the savage races, however, we find them in their most primitive and interesting state, and in this article I propose to describe a few of the least known and most peculiar--some which I have myself witnessed, and others that I have collected from well-known travellers.

As with ourselves, it is not only the children who play, and the pastimes of their grown-up brothers are equally interesting. Naturally the games of the elders require more skill, and in some cases considerably more endurance and fortitude. For instance, the whip game, played by the red-men of British Guiana, is one that calls forth the most enduring qualities of these sturdy natives, and is an ordeal in which few Englishmen would care to take part. The origin of it is not known; some say that it was originally an act in a burial scene, but more probably it is a festival game.

For all functions in Guiana a copious supply of drink is prepared, the local name of which is “paiwarie.” This is a native-made fermented liquor, which has the desired effect, in its preliminary stages, of putting the drinkers into a good humour. After a certain quantity of “paiwarie” has been handed round, the players of the whip game, men and boys, line up in two rows facing one another; each is provided with a whip ornamented with fibre tassels, those of the two end players having whistles attached. When all is ready a gentle stamping is commenced, which gradually grows louder and louder till the earth begins to throb and the players show signs of getting worked up. Then shouts of “Yau, au!” are heard, and the now excited players wave their whips and sway gently backwards and forwards as they stamp their feet. Presently the two end men with the whistles attached to their whips pass down the centre of the row, whilst those lined up move slowly in an opposite direction. Now the stamping increases and the whistlers whistle at each other in wild excitement. Then they begin waving their whips at one other, feigning to strike with tremendous force, but finally they come down on their opponents’ calves with only a mere touch. After this has gone on for some time the two leaders run back to their original places at the head of the row, and others go out and do as they have done.

When all the players have gone through this exhibition the real business begins; so far it has only been play.

The women now come on to the scene bearing calabashes of wine, which is greedily swallowed, and then two of the players challenge each other to a real whipping competition.

Silence soon prevails, and the onlookers take up their places ready to watch this extraordinary ordeal.

As soon as the challenge has been accepted the two men step out in front of the audience and stand facing each other. As a rule they are splendidly-built fellows, and as they wear practically no clothing for this ceremony, their physical development is very noticeable.

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 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.

]

The “Shield Game” is another pastime of the grown-up natives. In this each man is provided with a strong shield made of palm-leaf stalks. Armed with this he faces his opponent. After much preliminary stamping and feigning they close and a mighty struggle commences, in which each man endeavours to push his adversary back. It is a kind of tug-of-war reversed. Besides being a game, it is often used as a means to settle disputes, in which, of course, the strongest man wins. The accompanying photograph gives an excellent idea of the pastime. Occasionally when tribes fall out a whole line of experts are chosen from each side, and the dispute is settled without bloodshed by the success of either side. It will be gleaned from this that the quality of “pushfulness” has an added value in British Guiana.

To go back to the games of children and also to jump a few thousand miles to the west, we find some interesting and curious pastimes among the aboriginals of Australia, where the young idea copies the ways of its fathers and makes games of their serious ceremonies. Amongst other things they play at marriage, taking some of the romantic details prior to the ceremony to make their game. In some parts of Australia an aboriginal has first to catch his wife before he can marry her, and the youngsters have probably heard from their mothers that this was not always the easiest thing to do, for there may have been others anxious to wed her--provided always that she was a good worker, looks being of small account. So the children have taken all these things into consideration and made their game from them.

As these aborigines have no proper villages, but live in shelters thrown together in the most primitive fashion, the children choose a spot in the bush where Nature has made a sort of covering; they then congregate and imitate grown-up people, chattering about nothing in particular, whilst the young man hovers round in the bush. Suddenly he bears down on the players and attempts to abduct one of the girls. This arouses the others, who all try to stop him, and one of the young gallants attacks the would-be abductor and a mock fight ensues, the winner bearing the maiden off in triumph to the bush.

_From a Photo. by permission of the Queensland Government._]

Amongst the men there are few real games; they all seem to take life rather seriously, and as soon as they are grown up they devote their whole time to obtaining food and taking part in the numerous religious ceremonies, some of which are most elaborate and trying functions. To us these may appear very like games, but to the aborigines they are particularly sacred. Of late years, however, they have turned one or two of these ceremonies into dances or corroborees, but probably this has been done to amuse the whites and extract money from them--like the Maoris, who now dance the “Haka” as if it were a spectacular dance for the benefit of the Pakeha. With the coming of civilization and peace some phases of its serious import have gone. The photograph given above shows Australian aborigines performing the kangaroo dance, which is a modified exhibition of one of their ancient ceremonies. It is not an exciting affair, nor beautiful, as these savages are not adepts at dancing. All they do is to crawl about, stamping and gesticulating, whilst the man dressed as a kangaroo goes backwards and forwards and up and down the line with a sort of high-stepping action. This kangaroo dance at one time had a significant meaning, and was probably danced in connection with an old-time legend, but, like many similar ceremonies, it is now carried on simply because the ancestors of the present generation taught it. This in itself would be quite sufficient to keep the most absurd custom alive, for ancestors are held in great reverence amongst savages.

One of the most amusing games I have ever witnessed in savage lands was in New Zealand, where I saw a crowd of children dancing an imitation “Haka.” The “Haka,” when danced seriously by grown-ups, is a most awe-inspiring and thrilling exhibition which stirs every nerve in your body; but when children dance it, it becomes a grotesque and laughable affair. The Maoris, men, women, and children, have a well-developed sense of humour, which is more than most savages have, and the word “savage” hardly applies to them, for more civilized and Christian beings would be hard to find. When white men first came in contact with them they found them anything but civilized except in their ideas of justice, in which they were able to give us lessons; in hospitality even now they can put a white man to shame. However, for the purpose of this article I will call them savages.

The children from their earliest days begin to laugh. I do not remember ever seeing one cry--and they seem to spend the rest of their days with a smile hovering somewhere near their faces, ready at the slightest provocation to come out. As the “Haka” is composed of a series of body movements, in which facial expression plays a prominent part, the children have plenty of scope to caricature the whole performance, which they turn into a merry pantomime, stamping and shouting, rolling their eyes, and hanging out their tongues in curious imitation of the real performers. The girls, too, have their dances, and these are really both pretty and interesting, for they are handsome creatures who know they are good looking, and enjoy showing themselves off to the best advantage, as one can see by the pretty and fascinating movements of the various dances they practise. The only thing that mars them is their anxiety to make grotesque faces every now and then, but perhaps this too is done by way of contrast. The men have the same failing, and though their expressions are more savage they do not add to the charm of the dances. To perform a dance of welcome in front of a visiting tribe, and pull horrible faces at them the while, is hardly likely to make the visitors feel at home, but the Maoris understand it, and so do not get cross, as you and I might.

_From a Photo. by permission of the New Zealand Government Tourist Department._]

In the Solomon Islands, British New Guinea, and the New Hebrides the children are also of a playful disposition and have many games which resemble ours, such as leap-frog and pick-a-back, whilst the elder generation have musical instruments resembling the jews’ harp, the fiddle, and the Pandean pipes.

_From a Photo. by E. H. Man._]

Certain musical instruments are more or less common all over the world, but often the method of playing them differs, as the accompanying photograph will show. It represents a young Nicobarese playing a reed flageolet with his nose! Lots of people in the most civilized lands sing through their noses, but playing through them is, I believe, only practised in savage lands. In these same islands the natives have a sounding-board which I suppose they would call a musical instrument, for it takes the place of the well-known tom-tom used in other countries. Here it is beaten to keep time for dancers. It is a curiously constructed instrument, resembling a native shield; in fact, some travellers have mistaken it for one. Scooped out of the trunk of a tree in the same way that ordinary dug-out canoes are made, it is about five feet long and two or three feet broad; like a shield, it is concave in shape. One of the ends is pointed, and when in use this is stuck in the ground diagonally; a stone is placed under the other end to raise it. To play it the native plants one foot firmly on the buried end whilst he strikes the board with his disengaged foot.

“Musical” entertainments are popular in the Nicobar Islands, and the young men vie with each other in composing ditties which they hope will become popular and thus make them famous. So far none of these songs have been pirated in England, but this does not say that in the islands they are not “all the go.” Such tunes are composed to be sung to the accompaniment of the sounding-board and dances. These, among the women, resemble more than anything else the antics of timid ladies bathing at the seaside. The dancing of the men is not much help to the musician either, as it consists of a few movements rather like dumb-bell exercises for chest development, so that it can be understood that the young Nicobarese has no light task before him when he seeks fame in composition.

_From a Photo. by E. H. Man._]

On the West Coast of Africa there is a remarkably interesting dance in which the movements of the dancer supply the “music.” For the particulars of this dance and for the photograph of the performers I have to thank Mr. T. J. Alldridge, some time District Commissioner. The native dancing girls wear most fantastic garments. Their bodies are covered with a net made of native cotton, from which hang great bunches of palm-leaf fibre. Tufts of the same material decorate their wrists and waists, and some wear curious knicker-bockers. To these latter garments are attached small pieces of hollow iron, from which rings are hung, and when the dancer gets in full swing these make a curious jingling noise. An accompaniment is also played by other women on another quaint instrument called a _sehgura_, which is made out of a hollow gourd covered with a net, on which are fixed a number of seeds. To produce the sound the ends of the net are held in the two hands and tightened and slackened alternately, while rhythmic shaking is now and then indulged in to vary the accompaniment.

In this part of the world there are several interesting games of chance, for natives are inveterate gamblers and will stake all they possess--huts, wearing apparel, and even their wives. One of their favourite pastimes is played with a concave board, which is put on the ground facing the players, who stand or squat a little way off. They then spin a sort of top into and across it until one of them fails to send it with sufficient force to carry it to the far end; it is then the business of the next man to spin his top with sufficient force to drive his opponent’s out, and so beat him.

Gambling seems to be common in all parts of the world; the Eskimo have many interesting games where chance and skill are combined. One called “nuglutang” is very popular and is played by several men at a time. From the centre of the room (generally from the roof) is slung a plate of ivory having a hole in its centre. The Eskimos stand away from it, and each in turn endeavours to throw a stick through the orifice. In one of their games, called “saketan,” they have a curious way of “staking.” The game is a sort of roulette; a board is placed on the ground, and a small cup with rounded bottom and a lip is spun on to it. The man in front of whom the lip stops is the winner, but, unlike most winners, he is actually a loser, for he has to go and fetch something to pay in as a stake, which the next “winner” takes, but he in turn pays in another forfeit in its place for the man who follows. So the game goes on until the last man wins, and he appropriates the stakes out and out, making himself the only real winner, whereas the first player to whom the cup pointed is the only loser in a game which causes the wildest excitement whilst the issue is in doubt.

_From a Photograph._]

It is a peculiar thing that string games, like some others already mentioned, are popular all over the world amongst the coloured races, and what is perhaps far more extraordinary is the fact, recently discovered, that some of these string figures are made in exactly the same way, and are of the same design in places as widely apart as America, the South Sea Islands, and Japan. The last photograph, taken by Mr. William A. Cunnington, shows a very interesting string figure from Central Africa called “Sumbo” (a fishing net), which is by no means a simple one.

For the description of this figure and permission to reproduce the photograph I have to thank the Secretary of the Anthropological Institute.

Besides having tricks of this sort in which the hands only are employed, there are many now known which are made with hands and feet, and others again are worked round the neck and the hands.

Dr. Haddon has made a particular study of the subject, and has, in collaboration with Dr. Rivers, published particulars of many of the string tricks performed in various parts of the world.

_From a Photograph._]

_The Marriage of Lulu._

BY THE REV. A. FORDER, OF JERUSALEM.

The author is a missionary who has travelled extensively in the
East, and is thoroughly familiar with the wild tribes of the
desert. In the subjoined narrative he relates the love-story of
a young Arab girl--a real life romance with the conventional
happy ending of fiction.

It was that time of the day which Orientals call _asr_, between four o’clock and sunset--just the time when the Arab chief likes to be on hand so that he may receive and welcome any who may seek the hospitality and shelter afforded by his simple home, and see for himself that sufficient food for man and beast is provided, so that both may sup and be satisfied.

On a certain afternoon Sheikh Khaleel sat at his tent door watching the sun slowly sink toward the west, wondering, as he pulled at the dying embers in his pipe, if it would be his lot to entertain any guest that night.

As his sharp eyes looked out from under his shaggy eyebrows he saw in the distance a rider mounted on a camel, whose head was directed straight for the camp under the chief’s control.

It was not long before both camel and rider stood at the door of the guest-tent, and the chief, having tethered the ship of the desert to one of the tent-pegs, invited his guest to enter, and at once set about preparing the coffee according to Arab custom.

The new arrival, whose name was Abd-el-Thullam (the servant of cruelty) was well known to the Arabs for scores of miles round, and a visit from him always meant something unusual and of importance, hence the wonder of the host and his neighbours at the coming of one with so uninviting a name, which was obtained by deeds that gave subject for conversation around many a camp-fire after supper. Speculations as to the coming of this well-known chief were many, and although not audibly expressed filled the minds of all present, and of none more so than the women, who were separated from the menfolk only by the coarse goats’-hair curtain that divided the tent. Little did the host’s only daughter think that she was the cause of this unexpected visitor coming among them, or how much his presence meant to her and others.

Arab etiquette forbids any direct asking of questions or quizzing into the affairs of a guest, so both before and after supper the conversation was upon subjects far away from the one that had brought Abd-el-Thullam into the camp of Sheikh Khaleel, and the simple folk of the wilderness closed their eyes in sleep without having the faintest idea of the object of Abd-el-Thullam’s visit.

With the morning light the camp was astir, both men and women going about their daily callings, each one wondering what the day would reveal. After the matutinal cup of coffee the guest made known the object of his coming, doing so in such forceful and measured language as to impress upon the little company of listeners the fact that his wishes must be complied with.

Condensed into a few words, the rather lengthy speech of the “servant of cruelty” was somewhat as follows: “Sheikh Khaleel, may Allah grant you a long life and build your house (grant you sons to perpetuate your name and family). To the women of my household I desire to add another, for has not our Prophet given us permission to have four wives? Already I have three. Now I have come to ask for your daughter, and am ready to give the price that you may ask for her. As I am to join a raiding party in a few days the matter must be settled at once. May Allah give you patience and wisdom.”

The statement was so unexpected that no one could make reply for a minute or so. At last the silence was broken by Khaleel saying, “The will of Allah be done! What is decreed must come to pass.”

Now, the business of a betrothal and marriage is not usually hurried among Arabs, for much talking is necessary to settle the price of the bride, and time is needed in which to pay the amount agreed upon, and to arrange and comply with the wedding festivities and customs. Hence Sheikh Khaleel and his neighbours were surprised in a two-fold way, first by the boldness of the request, and secondly by the desire to hasten the matter. So, reminding the impatient suitor that “God was with the patient ones,” Khaleel bade him wait a while.

But the man desirous of many wives pressed his claim and asked the price of the girl, again saying that he was ready to give whatever was asked.

All the while Khaleel had been wondering if this was not his chance to make a good bargain, although for two reasons he was loath to part with his daughter, whose name was Lulu (the pearl). Was she not his only daughter--in fact, the only child Allah had spared to him? Moreover, although there had been no formal or public betrothal, he knew well enough that Lulu’s heart and affections had already been won by a young man of his own camp and community. But here was the opportunity to drive a good and hard bargain. And what did it matter, after all? It was only about a girl, who might any day be taken ill and die; also, he might have to get her off at a small return later on if he allowed this chance to slip by.

At last Khaleel spoke, making known the terms on which his daughter could become the fourth wife of the unwelcome guest. They were as follows: a mare, one hundred goats, fifty sheep, and two hundred silver medjidiehs (each worth three and fourpence), all to be paid within three days, with the stipulation that, should Lulu die before the time for taking her to her new home, viz., seven days of feasting, the above payment should become the sole property of Chief Khaleel, her father. In addition to the above the new son-in-law was to give for five successive years one hundred measures of new wheat and fifty of barley.

The terms were received in silence, and anyone glancing at the faces of those assembled could gather that each thought the price high, but all knew that the visiting chief was rich and well able to pay the fee demanded, if he chose to do so.

Nearly the whole day was spent in arguing, persuasion, and calculation, but Sheikh Khaleel was immovable, the more so as he saw a chance of getting his terms.

Finding that talking was of no avail, Abd-el-Thullam finally consented to the terms on condition that, as soon as the purchase price was paid, the seven days of wedding festivities should commence. To this Khaleel gave his consent, and, although the day was far spent, the prospective bridegroom mounted a horse which had been brought for him and rode away, leaving the camel on which he had arrived as an earnest of his return. For three days the camel was tied before the guest-tent, and was only redeemed just in time to save it from being forfeited.

We must now leave the guest-tent and for a time consider some other people who were keenly interested in the happenings just related.

First, a word about Lulu. As already stated, she was the only child of her father, and, such being the case, she was naturally better cared for and more thought of than if there had been rivals in the shape of brothers. Her father spared her in many ways the indignities so commonly imposed upon females in the East, one distinction between her and other girls of the tribe being that her face had not been tattooed.

At the time of our story her age was about fourteen. The bloom of youth on her cheek, with the uprightness of figure so common among Arab girls, made her queenly in appearance in spite of her oft-patched flowing robes.

Among her own kith and kin she reigned supreme, for, having lost her mother soon after her birth, she had claimed the nursing and attention of most of the women in the camp; hence she was ruled by none and spoiled by all.

_From a Photograph._]

Some of the youths, too, had paid her attention, and, having grown up side by side with her, were more than mere friends. One, whose name was Abd-Salaam (the servant of peace), had even found it in his heart to love her, which aspiration he knew was not in vain, for on more than one occasion Lulu had assured him that when the time came for her to become a wife none but the “servant of peace” would suffice.

Now it so happened that all that had passed and been settled in the guest-tent between father and visitor was unknown to either Lulu or her lover, for the former had been away all day gathering fuel on the hill-sides in company with another girl, while Abd-Salaam had gone with others to a distant town in charge of some sheep, the day he left the camp being the one on which the wife-seeker arrived.

It is customary among the Arabs for the girl who is to be betrothed not to be consulted as to any likes or dislikes on her part, and she knows nothing about her being traded off to some stranger until informed by having the large outer garment of the suitor thrown around her, and hearing the announcement that she belongs to him.

The surprise of Lulu, therefore, on her return to the camp may be imagined when the scribe of the community approached her and, all unawares, covered her with a large camel-hair _abba_, saying, “The name of God be with thee, O Lulu. None shall have thee but Abd-el-Thullam.”

Surprised as she was, she threw off the cloak and entered the tent, inwardly vowing that none should have her but the constant companion of her girlhood. With the liberty allowed her as the chief’s daughter she went into the guest-tent, and, with hands clenched and determination written on her face, informed her father that her home and lot should not be among strangers, and that the hated “servant of cruelty” should be no husband of hers. In this way warfare was declared, and the probability of trouble in the near future announced.

That night she was sprinkled with sheep’s blood, as a sign that her life belonged to another. Next day she was accompanied by the women to a spring, and, according to custom, thoroughly washed and purified, while on the day following busy fingers worked incessantly making a wedding-robe for the supposed bride. Lulu tolerated all these formalities in silence, but inwardly decided that, do what they would and act as they might, she would never be the bride of the one who was to supplant the choice of long ago.

The afternoon of the third day came round, but no suitor with the price of the bride had appeared, and it looked as though Lulu would be released from her probable marriage, and her father become the possessor of a camel for little trouble. Just an hour before sunset, however, a cloud of dust in the distance told of the coming of flocks, and ere the golden orb disappeared altogether Abd-el-Thullam had handed over what was demanded in return for his prospective bride. The bleating of the sheep and the clinking of the silver pieces only made Lulu vow afresh that no tent of a stranger should shelter her.

The price having been paid in the presence of witnesses, the wedding festivities commenced. The firing of old flint-lock guns was the signal that announced holiday-keeping for a week. Sheep were killed, bread baked in abundance, and coffee-drinking went on continuously. This is a time much appreciated by the dwellers of the wilderness, for then they are able to satisfy the cravings of hunger and for once in a season eat until satisfied.

Whilst the men raced on their horses or fought imaginary battles, the women whiled away the hours in dancing, singing, or sipping coffee between puffs at their long pipes. So the days passed, and the end of the marriage feast approached.

Only Lulu took no part or interest in all that was going on, and as the men or women chanted in turn the virtues, praises, and good fortune of both bride and bridegroom, it all fell like water on a duck’s back so far as the girl-bride was concerned. Inwardly she longed for the return of her boy lover, so that he might in some way intervene to stop the proceedings, and so win her for himself according to their mutual pledge.

But the “servant of peace” did not come, for the demand in the town for sheep was poor, and he had to wait many days ere the flock was disposed of and he free to return to his goats’-hair home. As time and tide wait for no man, neither did the last day of the wedding festivities tarry, and all too soon for the greatly-distressed Lulu the seventh day dawned, and with it no visible escape from what seemed her inevitable fate.

With the constant attention of the women, escape by flight was well-nigh impossible, but before noon a probable way of deliverance presented itself which Lulu was not slow to grasp. A small company of gipsies arrived at the camp, one of whom--an old woman--professed a knowledge of drugs, and verified her statements by producing a small box of mysterious-looking compounds in powder.

The arrival of the party drew away attention from Lulu, but she engaged the attention of the vender of drugs, and elicited from her the fact that among her wares was poison. It was only the work of a few minutes to exchange cash for a mysterious powder, directions for the use of which were imparted to Lulu in an undertone.

As evening drew on preparations were made for the sending away after supper of bride and bridegroom. The camel that was to carry Lulu to her new home was decorated and made ready, and the torches and tom-toms seen to and handed out to those who were to accompany the procession on its way to the camp of Abd-el-Thullam. It seemed that nothing remained to be done save to partake of supper and start.