The World. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1891-1896, 1892-12-16
Howlise DERyIsHEs.
The Queer Performances of These Cur.
tous People.

The Queer Perform. nees OF These Cur
ions People.
They were of all ages; fat and lean,
smooth-shaven and bearded; some in
rich garments, others in more sombre
and cheaper stuffs. One face cut it
self into my memory-that Of hand
some, clear-skinned young man, with
deep, intense eyes that fairly famed,
and sinewy, graceful body. On one
OF his delicate. lady-white hands was
large turquois ring. Yapouly whis-
pered to me that he was the son of the
high priest, and would succeed his
father when the old man died.
The chant continued. rising in VOL
ume and intensity, and Nubian in
white handed each man a skullcap.
These they drew over their perspiring
heads.
The movement, which had begun
with the slow rolling Of their heads,
now extended to their bodies. They
writhed and twisted as il in agony,
like row of black-capped felons
standing on an invisible gallows,
Suddenly there darted out upon the
mats boy scarcely ten years of age,
spinning like top in front of the
priest, his skirts level with his hands.
The chant now broke into a wall,
the audience joining in. The bowls
were deafening. The twelve were
rocking their heads in wild frenzy,
groaning in long, subdued means
ending in peculiar ''hough," like the
sound OF a dozen distant locomotives
Juggling up steep grade.
Allah, hou! Allah, houl Allah,
hou P'-the last word expelled with
jerk
A dozen little children were now
handed over the rail to the Nubian,
who took them in his arms and laid
them in a row, their face fattened to
the mats. The old priest advanced
within a step of the first child, his lips
moving in prayer.
Yapouly Isaac leaned over and
whispered: ''Seel now he will bless
them"
l raised myself on my feet to see.
the better. The old priest balanced
himself for a moment, stepped firmly
upon the first child, his bare feet sink
ing into its soft yielding flesh, and
then walked deliberately across the
line of PROSTATE children. AS he
passed. each little tot raised it's head,
waited until the last child had been
trampled upon, then sprang up, kissed
the old priests robe, and ran laugh
ing from the room.
The dervishes were now in the last
stages of exhausted frenzy. The once
handsome young priest was ghastly,
frothing at the mouth, only the whites
Of his eyes visible, his voice thick, his
breath almost gone. The others were
dropping, with knees bent hardly able
TO stand.
Suddenly the priest turned his back,
Frustrated himself before the artar,
and prayed silently. The whirling
child, who for half an hour had not
stopped, sank to the floor. The line
of dervishes grew still, one tottered
along the floor, clutched at the hang
ing. curtain, and passed into the sun
light.
I forced my way along the closely
packed aisle and rushed into the open
air, impelled by wild desire to rem
der some assistance. The sight that
met my eye staggered me. My breath
stopped short In the midst of the
court stood the Nubian, serving coffee,
the howlers crowding about him, clam
oring for cups, and painting for breath
like team of athletes in from a foot
race. looked for my young priest
with the turquoise ring. He was sit
ting on bench, rolling a cigarette,
his face wreathed with smiles!- IF.
Hopkinson Smith, in Harper's Maya
zine.