seconds or so. Yet it was
quite long enough, for, when I lifted my aching eyelids, I saw everything
as in a red mist. My left eye was frightfully painful, and every few
seconds it seemed as if something in front of it obscured its vision.
With the right eye I could still see fairly well, except that everything,
as I have said, looked red instead of its usual colour. The hot iron had
been thrown down and was frizzling on the wet ground a few paces from me.

[35] Measured some weeks later by Dr. Wilson.

CHAPTER LXXXV

Bleeding all over--Insulted and spat upon--"Kill him!"--Urging on
the executioner--Refusal to stoop--An unpleasant sword
exercise--The execution suspended.

MY position as I stood with my legs wide apart, with my back, hands and
legs bleeding, and seeing everything of a ghastly red tinge; amidst the
deafening, maddening noise of gong, drum, cymbals and horn; insulted,
spat upon by the crowd, and with Nerba holding me so tight by my hair as
to tear handfuls of it from my scalp, was one in which I cannot wish even
my bitterest enemies to find themselves. All I was able to do was to
remain calm and composed and to watch with apparent unconcern the
preparations for the next sufferings to be inflicted upon me.

"_Miumta nani sehko!_" ("Kill him with a rifle!") shouted a hoarse voice.

A matchlock was now being loaded by a soldier, and such was the quantity
of gunpowder they placed in the barrel that I made sure whoever fired it
would have his head blown off; so it was with a certain amount of
satisfaction that I saw it handed over to the Pombo. That official placed
the weapon against my forehead, with the muzzle pointing upwards. Then a
soldier leaning down, applied fire to the fuse and eventually there was a
loud report which gave my head a severe shock, and the overloaded
matchlock flew clean out of the Pombo's hand, much to everybody's
surprise. I forced myself to laugh; and their confusion, added to the
tantalising failure of every attempt they made to hurt me, drove the
crowd to the highest pitch of fury.

_"Ta kossaton, ta kossaton!_" ("Kill him, kill him!") exclaimed fierce
voices all round me. "_Ngala mangbo shidak majidan!_" ("We cannot
frighten him!") "_Ta kossaton, ta kossaton!_" ("Kill him, kill him!"),
the whole valley resounding with their ferocious cries.

A huge two-handed sword was now handed to the Pombo, who drew it out of
its sheath.

[Illustration: A BANNE