a Alle oleae 
without preliminary notice. In some pe- 
culiar manner a few hours before the ap- 
pearance of the dancers the word is 
spread about. On the housetops and bal- 
conies and windows overlooking the 
great market-place, as well as on the 
slopes of the cemetery and tops of the 
walls, begin to gather white-robed Moor- 
ish women, gaily-dressed children, and 
stately Moors, with here and there 
groups of Christians, while the great 
market-place itself is thronged with thou- 
sands of spectators. 
Then one may hear in the distance the 
rumble of drums, the shrill notes of pipes, 
and finally the crowd at the lower gate 
breaks apart and the red and: green ban- 
ners of the Aisawa brotherhood pass 
through. The music becomes louder, 
having the free air of the soko to swell 
in, half a dozen pipes shriller than the 
shrillest bagpipe, three or four drums 
louder than any drum ever heard on 
A HAMADSHA 
THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 
Photo by George E. Holt 
WHO HAS OVERWORKED 
battlefield, shouting, crying, wailing to- 
gether in an indescribable ecstasy, in 
which the monotonous repetition of notes 
seems to focus on one small point all the 
delirium which uncivilized man has been 
able to put into his barbaric music. 
And then, worked into a frenzy, come 
the dancers, two lines of white-robed fig- 
ures rising and falling in regular ca- 
dence. For perhaps five minutes they 
dance in one spot; then they pass on a 
few feet, never ceasing their dancing. 
The rhythm of the dance is two short 
notes and one long one. To the first two 
notes the dancers, their hands held in 
front of them, raise themselves on tip- 
toes; with the third long note they sink 
on bended knees and raise themselves to 
their toes again, gradually adding, as the 
dance continues and the ecstasy increases, 
a hundred other motions, but never get- 
ting away from the rhythm. They may 
whirl about, they may wave their arms 
