ve."

"Slave! I a slave?"

"Certainly, and worth over fifty dollars at Zanzibar."

"I a slave! Do you know Selim?"

"Selim? What Selim? I know plenty of Selims."

"My Selim. Only my Selim. A white Arab boy, of my size?"

"What of him?"

"He is my brother."

"Your brother! A white Arab boy your brother. Dog of a pagan!"

"The blood ceremony was entered into between us. I am the King of the
Watuta."

"You a king of the Watuta! Ha! ha! ha! We have plenty of kings with
us. Do you see that woman before you? She is a queen in Uwemba. Kings
sell well. If you were king of all the devils, and brother to all the
Arab Selims, you are my slave now, and the likeliest, best looking I
ever had. I will not part with you under one hundred dollars. Wallahi!
There, go. Men, take them away. Strike camp. He for the sofari"
(journey.)

"But listen, chief, I am not your slave. Let me go. Simba and Selim
will be angry with you if you keep me. Let me go, chief. Oh! let me go
to the camp; it is right close here."

"Silence! No words, not one word. You are my slave. Arabs know how to
keep slaves. For the bad slaves there is a yoke-tree, besides chains.
Be wise, and keep silence. You shall go to Zanzibar with that chain
around your neck; if you are bad, you shall go with the yoke-tree around
your neck. For those slaves who talk too much we have sticks. Be wise,
I tell you. Drive the gang on, men."

Kalulu was desperate; the blood rushed to his head; he got furious. His
senses and feelings were one wild riot. He could not describe how or
why he leaped with frantic energy at the villain. He was possessed with
fury. He therefore struck at him, caught hold of him, tried to beat his
brains out with his chain, and would have done it, no doubt, or so
bruised his features that they would have become undistinguishable; but
he now had to deal with clever men, who knew what the spasmodic,
despairing energy of slaves newly captured was. Before he had given the
man more than three blows he was dragged off, kicked, pounded, cuffed,
bruised, and almost strangled. Then a systematic flogging took place;
such a flogging that a villainous half-caste, enraged, would be likely
to give, while he fought with all his might, and gave half-a-dozen of
them work enough to hold him. When the punishment was over, he was not
left to meditate upon his position, but was marched off in the direction
of Unyanyembe, the last of