A WILDERNESS LABORATORY 171 



he of the woman's voice, held the torch always 

 close before the dancer's face; while the drum- 

 mer — the most striking of them all — was a 

 stranger, Omeer by name. Omeer, with the 

 double-ended tom-tom in a neck-shng, followed 

 Gokool about, his eyes never leaving the latter's 

 face. Little by little he became wholly rapt, 

 absorbed, and his face so expressive, so working 

 with emotion, that I could watch nothing else. 



Gokool was a real actor, a master of his art, 

 with a voice deep, yet shifting easily to falsetto 

 quavers, and with the controlled ability of em- 

 phasizing the slightest intonations and delicate 

 semi-tones which made his singing full of emo- 

 tional power. He got his little orchestra to- 

 gether, patting his palms in the tempo he 

 wished, then broke suddenly into the wailing, 

 dynamic, abrupt phrases which I knew so well. 

 Had not my servants droned them over my 

 camp-fires from Kashmir to Myitkyina, and 

 itinerant ballad-singers chanted them from Cey- 

 lon to the Great Snows! 



Gokool's dress was wide and his skirt flar- 

 ing, so that, when he whirled, it stood straight 

 out, and it was stiff with embroidery and scin- 

 tillating with tinsel. From his sleek, black hair 



