degroom, linked
arm in arm, marched up and down on a pad about twenty yards in length, a
nude minstrel marched in front, and drew unearthly music from a kind of
mouth organ. Girls squatting in the dust _en route_ clapped their
hands and chanted a chorus. The groom hopped first on one leg and then on
the other, and tried to look gorgeously happy; the bride kicked her satin
skirts out behind, pranced along the track as gracefully as a lady camel in
the mating season; behind the principal actors in the drama came a regiment
of youths and girls, and the antics they cut were worthy of the occasion.
Now and again some dusky Don Juan would dig his thumb into the ribs of a
daughter of Ham. The lady would promptly squeal, and try to look coy. It is
not easy to look coy when you have not got enough clothes on your whole
body to make a patch to cover a black eye; but still they tried it, for the
sex seem to me to be much alike on the inside, whether they dress in a coat
of paint or a coat of sealskin.

By-and-by the groom took his bride by the arm, and made an effort to induce
her to leave her maids of honour and "trek" towards the cabin which
henceforth was to be her home. The lady pouted, and shook his hand off her
arm; whilst the maidens laughed and clapped their hands, dancing in the
dust-strewn sunlight with such high kicking action as would win fame for
any ballet dancer in Europe. The young men jeered the groom, and incited
him to take charge of his own. He hung down his ebony head and looked
sillily sullen, and the bride continued to "pout." Have you ever seen a
savage nigger wench pout, my masters? Verily it is a sight worth travelling
far to see. First of all she wraps her mouth in a simper, and her lips look
like a fold in a badly doubled blanket. Then slowly, she draws the corners
towards, the centre, just as the universe will be crumpled up on the Day of
Judgment. It is a beautiful sight. The mouth, which, when she smiled,
looked like a sword wound on the flank of a horse, now, when the "pout" is
complete, looks like a crumpled concertina. The groom again timidly
advanced his hand towards the satin-covered arm of his spouse, and the
"pout" became more pronounced than ever. The white of one eye was slyly
turned towards the bridesmaids, the other rolled with infinite subtlety in
the direction of him who was to be her lord and master; and the "pout" grew
larger and larger, until I was constrained to push my way amidst the