274 CONFESSIONS OF A BEACHCOMBER 



Shall the uncultured blacks not have their own way 

 when they seek entertainment, holding "as it were the 

 mirror up to Nature," and finding that it reflects the 

 commonest of all themes ? They among all the nations 

 of the world alone have discovered what to them is music 

 and the poetry of motion in an occurrence that has no 

 geographical limitations, is not restricted by language, nor 

 to be withered by age. 



While the orchestra taps its boomerangs and claps its 

 hands and grunts, two boys in mere nature progress to- 

 wards the fire in a series of stiff, stilty jumps, the legs from 

 the hips to the ankles being rigid ; then the knees shake in 

 a rapid succession of spasmodic jerks ; the actors emit 

 sounds resembling the preliminary growling and snarling 

 of a couple of angry dogs. Action and utterance develop 

 in speed and time as the fight begins in earnest, and the 

 art of the performance consists in its duration the powers 

 of sustained effort, the accuracy of time maintained between 

 the orchestra and the actors, and the fidelity to nature of 

 the vocal effects. A singularly uncouth subject for an 

 opera or even a ballet the snarling, scuffling and snapping 

 of quarrelsome dogs whose fury is working up to a climax, 

 and it soon becomes as monotonous to unaccustomed ears 

 as the masterpieces of some German composers to those 

 whose musical education is below the required standard ; 

 but the boys will spend the best part of the long night in 

 its unvarying repetition. 



Once a variation did take place. " Yellowbelly " (pro- 

 nounced decently " Yellowby ") danced first in the 

 company of giggling " Peter ; " and then fat " Charley " and 

 big " Johnny," shy " Mammeroo " and little deaf " Antony," 

 in turns, his body glistened with perspiration, and his eyes 

 sparkled with the joy of a phenomenal accomplishment. 

 All beholders were filled with wonder and gratification. 

 It was Yellowby's night out. The spirit of Terpsichore 

 was upon him. His enthusiasm amounted to exultation. 

 He was astonishing not only the silent and subdued 

 natives of Dunk Island, but even his own familiar friends. 



