ace-downward on the floor without so much as a murmur of objection,
and buried his face in both hands. The askaris promptly stripped him
of the thin cotton loin-cloth that constituted his only garment,
tearing it in pieces as they dragged it from him.

"Go on!" ordered Schubert. "Beat him!"

Both the askaris had kibokos. The longest of the two was split at the
nether end into four fingers. The shortest was more than a yard long,
tapering from an inch and a half where the man's fist gripped it to
half an inch thick at the tip. They stood one each side of their
victim and brought the whips down on his naked skin alternately.

"Slowly!" ordered Schubert. "Slowly, and with all your strength! The
brute doesn't feel it when you beat so fast! Let him wait for the
blow! Don't let him know when it's coming! So--so is better!"

Not every blow drew blood, for a native's skin is thick and tough,
especially where he sits. But the blows that fell on the back and
thighs all cut the skin, and within two minutes the native's back was a
bloody mass, and there was blood running on the floor, and splashes of
blood on the whitewashed wall cast by the whips as they ascended.

I made up my mind the man was going to be killed, for Schubert gave no
order and the askaris did not dare stop without one. The victim
writhed, but did not cry out, and the writhing grew less. Even Brown
sobered up for a time at the sight of it. He came and sat between me
and the Jew.

"It's a shame!" he grumbled. "Up in our country twenty-five lashes is
the masshimum, an' only to be laid on in the presence of a
massishtrate. You beat a black man an' they'll fine you first offense,
jail you second offense, an' third offense God knows what they'll do!
Poor ole Brown o' Lumbwa! They fined me once a'ready. Nessht time
they'll put me in jail! Better get quite drunk an' be blowed to it!"

He staggered back to his chair by the farther wall, leering at Schubert
as he passed.

"You're no gentleman!" he asserted aggressively. "You're no better 'n
a black man yourself! You ought-to-be-on-floor 'stead o' him!
Dunno-how-behave-yourself! Take your coat off, an' come outside, an'
fight like a man!"

Schubert gave the order to stop at last. The askaris stood aside,
panting from the effort.

"Get up!" ordered Schubert.

The miserable Nyamwesi struggled to his feet and stood limply before
Schubert, his back running blood and his face drawn with tortur