Gilpin observer., 1899-01-26
THE HowLINo DERvlsH.
Hard to Find Him Now in All His
Glory.

oioIys
With the destruction of the Khalifa's
power in the Soudan the bowling
dervish is likely to become "a thing of
the past" He was to be seen in his
native element in the sands of the
Soudan when undertaking Jehad or
holy war against the British. Latterly
his old residence has been made too
hot for him, and the bowling dervish
Is no longer the disagreeable and un-
welcome visitor of Soudan explorers.
If he Is not to be found in the Soudan,
thorough representative Of the old
school of Dervishes may still be met
with near the Turkish capital at Scu-
tart, where may now and then be seen
gaunt and haggard Dervish pacing
along with uplifted head so framed in
complicated harness of swords and
knives that he could not possibly bend
without being impaled. Huge pins are
thrust into his flesh, rafting discs of
metal hang by chains at his waist to
warn passers-by of the approach of the
holy man. You wonder what would
happen to him if he sneezed. Mostly,
the Dervishes are not so picturesque.
You meet on the street a swarthy little
man in round-eyed glasses. He shakes
your hand with effusion, and takes you
to the Dervishes' church-where
slight admission fee is taken, by the
way. There a row of Dervishes are
lined up and down two sides of low
ceiled room. Frankish visitors sit in
little alcove. at one side, and Turkish
women peep from a latticed gallery
above. The Dervishes are dressed in
all manner of ways, some even in
European clothes. A few are boys
learning the trade. Before the Mecca
inches in the East squats the Sheik,
an intellectual-faced man with grave
demeanor, and fine, serious eyes. The
line of men begin to pant, to howl. to
sway back and forth in unison, to
chant their strange litany. What they
are saying is La Allah il Allah
There is no god but God. They work
themselves into a frenzy. Flecks of
foam fly from their lips. Their breath
comes in gasps. From time to time the
leader shifts the key two notes lower
or higher. After twenty minutes that
seem like hours he begins barking the
single word HUI meaning He, Allah.
This gutteral sound is the Turkish
shout when the Sultan is seen de-
scending the Palace hill to his mosque.
1t is at once a cheer and prayer. AS
the bowling goes on the men become
exhausted; their eyes start from their
heads, they bang their heads against
the posts that support the roof. Only
the smallest boy, little fellow of six,
in a brown European coat and red
fez, continues to grin. 1t Is simply fun
to him. Finally the men retire, pant
ing, gasping, reeking with sweat. From
nowhere a group of children dash upon
the floor. They lie fiat in a row from
the Meccaniche, side by side like sar-
dimes in a box. The Sheik walks over
them, out and back, stepping carefully
on each little body in turn. 1t does
not hurt. He is not heavy man, and
is careful where he steps. There was
time when the Sheik rode over his
line of believers on horseback, when
the howlers thrust weapons into their
flesh, when they swallowed powdered
glass, and died in bravely borne agony.
But, as previously remarked, nothing
is so good now. Even the Dervish with
the walking arsenal Of arms proppins
his chin Is rarely seen.