. They flared up in dull,
red flames, lighting up the nearest surroundings, and we wound our
way upwards through the trunk vines and leaves that nearly shut in
the path. It seemed as if we were groping about without a direction,
as if looking for a match in a dark room. Soon, however, we heard
the dull sound of the drums, and the noise led us to the plateau,
till we could see the red glare of a fire and hear the rough voices
of men and the shrill singing of women.

Unnoticed, we entered the dancing-ground. A number of men were standing
in a circle round a huge fire, their silhouettes cutting sharply into
the red glare. Out of a tangle of clubs, rifles, plumes, curly wigs,
round heads, bows and violently gesticulating arms, sounds an irregular
shrieking, yelling, whistling and howling, uniting occasionally to
a monotonous song. The men stamp the measure, some begin to whirl
about, others rush towards the fire; now and then a huge log breaks
in two and crowns the dark, excited crowd with a brilliant column of
circling sparks. Then everybody yells delightedly, and the shouting
and dancing sets in with renewed vigour. Everyone is hoarse, panting
and covered with perspiration, which paints light streaks on the
sooty faces and bodies.

Noticing us, a man rushes playfully towards us, threateningly swinging
his club, his eyes and teeth shining in the darkness; then he returns
to the shouting, dancing mob around the fire. Half-grown boys sneak
through the crowd; they are the most excited of all, and stamp the
ground wildly with their disproportionately large feet, kicking and
shrieking in unpleasant ecstasy. All this goes on among the guests;
the hosts keep a little apart, near a scaffolding, on which yams are
attached. The men circle slowly round this altar, carrying decorated
bamboos, with which they mark the measure, stamping them on the ground
with a thud. They sing a monotonous tune, one man starting and the
others joining in; the dance consists of slow, springy jumps from
one foot to the other.

On two sides of this dancing circle the women stand in line, painted
all over with soot. When the men's deep song is ended, they chant the
same melody with thin, shrill voices. Once in a while they join in
the dance, taking a turn with some one man, then disappearing; they
are all much excited; only a few old hags stand apart, who are past
worldly pleasures, and have known such feasts for many, many years.

The whole thing loo