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 torture.

“Don’t you know how to behave!” demanded Schubert.

The native made no answer.

“If you don’t salute properly I’ll order you thrown down and thrashed again!”

The native saluted in a sort of imitation of the German military manner.

“Now, will you lie in wait for the bwana makubwa to trouble him with your pig’s affairs again?”

“No.”

“Will you go back home?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve learned a lesson, eh?”

“Yes.

“Then say thank you!”

“Thank you!”

“Rrruksa!"* [Ruksa, you have leave to go.]

The poor wretch turned and went, staggering rather than walking, to the door and disappearing into outer darkness without a backward glance.

“Now for some more songs and a round of drinks!” Schubert shouted.

But Fred was no longer in mood to make music, or even to be civil.  He shut the concertina up, and asked the Jew how much he owed.  The sergeants went on singing without music, and while we waited for the Jew to reckon up Fred’s score Schubert came over to us, sat down between me and Fred, and proceeded to deal with the new situation in proper German military manner, by direct assault.

“Always you English criticize!” he began.  “Can you never travel without applying your cursed standards to everything you behold?  I tell you, we Germans know how to rule these black people!  We understand!  We employ no sickly sentiment!  We give orders—­they obey, or else suffer terribly and swiftly!  In that manner we arrive at knowing where we are!”