by Talbot Mundy
Not content with the effect of his words, he strode up presently to a front-rank man and hit him in the face with clenched fist. In the effort to recover his balance the man let his rifle get out of alignment. Schubert wrenched it from him. It fell to the ground. He struck the man, and when he stooped to pick the rifle up kicked him in the face. Then he strode down the line and beat two other men for grinning. All this the lieutenant watched without a sign of disapproval, or even much interest.
Meanwhile the chain-gang emerged from the boma gate, going full-pelt, fastened neck to neck, the chain taut and each man carrying a water-jar. The minute they had crossed the square Schubert commenced with company drill, and for two hours after that, with but one interval of less than five minutes for rest, he kept them pounding the gravel in evolution after evolution — manual exercise at the double — skirmishing exercise — setting up drill — goose-step, and all the mechanical, merciless precision drill with which the Germans make machines of men.
His debauch did not seem in the least to have affected him, unless to make his temper more violently critical. By seven o’clock the sun was beating down on him and dazzling his eyes from over the boma wall. The dust rose off the square. The words of command came bellowing in swift succession from a throat that ought to have been hard put to it to whisper. If anything, he grew more active and exacting as the askaris wearied, and by the time the two hours were up they were ready to a man to drop.
But not so he. He dismissed them, and swaggered over to the marketplace to hector and bully the natives who were piling their wares in the shade of the great grass roof. Then he went into the boma to breakfast just as a sergeant in khaki came over and unlocked the hospital door. I followed the sergeant in, but he ordered me out again.
“I have come to see the doctor,” I said. “I need attention.”
He was not one of the sergeants who had been drunk in the D.O.A.G. the night before, but a man of a higher mental type, although no less surly.
“It will be for the doctor to say what you need when he has seen you!” he answered, turning his back and busying himself about the room. Will translated, and I limped out again.
By and by the doctor came, and passed me sitting on the steps amid a throng of natives who seemed to have all the imaginable kinds of sores. He took no notice of me, but sent out the sergeant to inquire why I had not stood up as he passed. I did not answer, and the sergeant went in again.
Fred by that time was simply blasphemous, alternately threatening to go in and kick the doctor, and condemning Will’s determination to do the same thing. Finally we decided to see the matter through patiently, and all sat together on the steps watching the activity of the square. There was a lot going on — bartering of skins and hides — counting of crocodile eggs, brought in by natives for sake of the bounty of a few copper coins the hundred — a cock-fight in one corner — the carrying to and fro of bunches of bananas, meat, and grain in baskets; and in and out among it all full pelt in the hot sun marched the chain-gang, doing the township dirty work.
By and by Schubert emerged from the boma gate followed by natives carrying a table and a soap-box. He set these under a limb of the great baobab that faced the boma gate not far from the middle of the square. I noticed then for the first time that a short hempen rope hung suspended from the largest branch, with a noose in the end. The noose was not more than two feet below the branch.
Schubert’s consideration of the table’s exact position, and the placing of the soap-box on the table, was interrupted by the arrival of Coutlass, his Greek companion and the Goanese arm in arm, followed closely by two askaris who shouted angrily and made a great show of trying to prevent them. One of the askaris aimed his rifle absurdly at Coutlass, both Greeks and the Goanese daring him gleefully to pull the trigger.
They purposely came close to us, not that we showed signs of meaning to befriend them. They were simply unable to understand that there are degrees of disgrace. To Coutlass all victims of government outrage ought surely to be more than friendly with any one in conflict with the law. Personal quarrels should go for nothing in face of the common wrong.
“There is going to be a hanging!” Coutlass shouted to us. “They thought we would remain quietly in camp with that going on! Give us chairs!” he called to Schubert. “Provide us a place in the front row where we may see!”
Schubert grinned. He returned to the boma yard and presumably conferred with an officer, for presently he came out again and gave the Greeks leave to stand under the tree, provided they would return to camp afterward. Later yet, Brown came along and joined us on the steps, looking red-eyed and ridiculous.
“Goin’ to be a hangin,” he announced. “I been askin’ natives about it. Black man stole the condemned man’s daughter an’ refused to pay cows for her accordin’ to custom or anythin’ — said he could do what the white men did an’ help himself. Father of the girl took a spear and settled the thief’s hash with it — ran him through — did a clean job. Serve him right — eh — what? Germans went an’ nabbed him, though — tried him in open court — goin’ to hang him this mornin’ for murder! How does it strike you?”
We were not exactly in mood to talk to Brown — in fact, we wished him anywhere but with us, but he thought self perfectly welcome, and rambled on:
“Up in British East we don’t hang black men for murder unless it’s what they call an aggravated case — murder an’ robbery — murder an’ arson — murder an’ rape. Hang a white man for murderin’ a black sure as you’re sitting here, an’ shoot a black man for murderin’ a white; but the blacks don’t understand, so when they kill one another in such a case this, why we give ’em a short jail sentence an’ a good lo lecture, an’ let ’em go again. These folks have it t’other way round. They never hang a German, whether he’s guilty or not, but hang a poor black man, what doesn’t understand, for half o’ nothin’!”
A great crowd began gathering about the tree, and was presently driven by askaris with whips into a mass on the far side of the tree from us. Whether purposely or not, they left a clear view from the hospital steps of all that should happen. Evidently warning had been sent out broadcast, for the inhabitants of village after village came trooping into town to watch, each lot led by its sultani in filthy rags and the foolish imitation crown his conquerors had supplied him at several times its proper price. The square was a dense sea of people before nine o’clock, and the askaris made the front few hundreds lie, and the next rows squat, in order that the men and women behind might see.
Then at last out came the victim with his hands tied behind him and a bright red blanket on his loins. He was a proud-looking fellow. He halted a moment between his guard of German sergeants and eyed the crowd, and us, and the tree, and the noose. Then he looked down on the ground and appeared to take no further interest.
The sergeants took him by the arms and led him along to the table between them. Out came the commandant then, in snow-white uniform, with his saber polished until it shone — all spruced up for the occasion, and followed by a guard of honor consisting of lieutenant, two sergeants, and six black askaris.
There was a chair by the table. At sight of the commandant the sergeants made their victim use that as a step by which to mount the table and soap-box, and there he stood eying his oppressors as calmly as if he were witnessing a play. A murmur arose among the crowd. A number of natives called to him by name, but he took no notice after that one first steady gaze.
“They’re sayin’ good-by to him,” said Brown, breathing in my ear.
“They’re telling him they won’t forget him!”
The crack of askaris’ whips falling on head and naked shoulders swiftly reduced the crowd to silence. Then the commandant faced them all, and made a speech with that ash-can voice of his — first in German, then in the Nyamwezi tongue. Will translated to us sentence by sentence, the doctor standing on the top step behind us smiling approval. He seemed to think we would be benefited by the lecture just a
s much as the natives.
It was awful humbug that the commandant reeled off to his silent audience — hypocrisy garbed in paternal phrases, and interlarded with buncombe about Germany’s mission to bring happiness to subject peoples.
“Above all,” he repeated again and again, “the law must be enforced impartially — the good, sound, German law that knows no fear or favor, but governs all alike!”
When he had finished he turned to the culprit.
“Now,” he demanded, “do you know why you are to be hanged?”
There was a moment’s utter silence. The crowd drew in its breath, seeming to know in advance that some brave answer was forthcoming. The man on the table with his hands behind him surveyed the crowd again with the gaze of simple dignity, looked down on the commandant, and raised his voice. It was an unexpected, high, almost falsetto note, that in the silence carried all across the square.
“I am to die,” he said, “because I did right! My enemy did what German officers do. He stole my young girl. I killed him, as I hope all you Germans may be killed! But hope no longer gathers fruit in this land!”
“Ah-h-h-h!” the crowd sighed in unison.
“Good man!” exploded Fred, and the doctor tried to kick him from behind — not hard, but enough to call his attention to the proprieties. His toe struck me instead, and when I looked up angrily he tried to pretend he was not aware of what he had done.
Under the trees the commandant flew into a rage such I have seldom seen. Each land has a temper of its own, and the white man’s anger varies in inverse ratio with his nearness to the equator. But furor teutonicus transplanted is the least controllable, least dignified, least admirable that there is. And that man’s passion was the apex of its kind.
His beard spread, as a peacock spreads its tail. His eyes blazed. His eyebrows disappeared under the brim of his white helmet, and his clenched fists burst the white cotton gloves. He half-drew his saber — thought better of that, and returned it. There was an askari standing near with kiboko in hand to drive back the crowd should any press too closely. He snatched the whip and struck the condemned man with it, as high up as he could reach, making a great welt across his bare stomach. The man neither winced nor complained.
“For those words,” the commandant screamed at him in German, “you shall not die in comfort! For that insolence, mere hanging is too good!”
Then he calmed himself a little, and repeated the words in the native tongue, explaining to the crowd that German dignity should be upheld at all costs.
“Fetch him down from there,” he ordered.
Schubert sprang on the table and knocked the condemned man off it with a blow of his fist. With hands bound behind him the poor fellow had no power of balance, and though he jumped clear he fell face-downward, skinning his cheek on the gravel. The commandant promptly put a foot on his neck and pinned him down.
“Flog him!” he ordered. “Two hundred lashes!”
It was done in silence, except for the corporal’s labored breathing and the commandant’s incessant sharp commands to beat harder — harder — harder. A sergeant stood by counting. The crack of the whip divided up the silence into periods of agony.
When the count was done the victim was still conscious. Schubert and a sergeant dragged him to his feet, and hauled him to the table. Four other men — two sergeants and two natives — passed a rope round the table legs. Schubert lifted the victim by the elbows so that his head could pass through the noose, and when that was accomplished the man had to stand on tiptoe on the soap-box in order to breathe at all.
“All ready!” announced Schubert, and jumped off with a laugh, his white tunic bloody from contact with the victim’s tortured back.
“Los!” roared the commandant
The men hauled on the rope. Table and soap-box came tumbling away, and the victim spun in the air on nothing, spinning round, and round, and round — slower and slower and slower — then back the other way round faster and faster.
They say hanging is a merciful death — that the pressure of rope on two arteries produces anesthesia, but few are reported to have come back to tell of the experience. At any rate, as is not the case with shooting, it is easy to know when the victim is really dead.
For seconds that seemed minutes — for minutes that seemed hours the poor wretch spun, his elbows out, his knees up, his tongue out, his face wrinkled into tortured shapes, and his toes pointed upward so sharply that they almost touched his shins. Then suddenly the toes turned downward and the knees relapsed. The corpse hung limp, and the crowd sighed miserably, to the last man, woman and child, turning its back on what to them must have symbolized German rule.
They left the corpse hanging there. It was to be there until evening, some one said, for an example to frequenters of the market-place. The crowd trailed away, none glancing back. The pattering of feet ceased. The market-place across the square resumed its hum and activity. Then a native orderly came down the steps and touched me on the elbow. I struggled to my feet and limped after him up the steps.
Practically at the mercy of the doctor, I made up my mind to be civil to him whether that suited me or not. I rather expected he would come to meet me, perhaps help me to chair, and I wondered how, in my ignorance of German, I should contrive to answer his questions.
But I need not have worried. I did not even see him. He had left by the back door, and the orderly washed the wound and changed my bandages. That was all. There was no charge for the bandages, and the orderly was gentle now that his master’s back was turned.
“Didn’t he leave word when he would see me?” I asked.
“Habandh!” he answered — meaning, “He did not — there is not — there is nothing doing!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
IPSOS CUSTODES
We were an ignorant people. Out of a gloom we came
Hungering, striving, feasting — vanishing into the same.
Came to us your foreloopers, told us the gloom was bad,
Spoke of the Light that might be — simply it could be had —
Knowledge and wealth and freedom, plenty and peace and play,
And at all the price of obedience. “Listen and learn and obey,”
We were told, “and the gloom shall be lifted. Ignorance surely
is shame.”
We listened to your foreloopersy till presently Cadis* came.
We were an ignorant people. Our law was “an eye for an eye,”
And he who wronged should right the wrong, and he who stole should die —
Bad law the Cadis told us, based on the fall of man;
And they set us to building law-courts on the Pangermanic plan —
Courts where the gloom of ages should be pierced, said they, with Light
And scientific theory displace wrong views of Right.
The Cadis’ law was writ in books that only they could read,
But what should we know of the strings to that? ’Twas gloom when
we agreed.
We were an ignorant people. The Offizieren came
To lend to law eye, tooth, and claw and so enforce the same.
Now nought are the tribal customs; free speech is under ban;
Displaced are misconceptions that were based on fallen man,
And our gloom has gone in darkness of the risen German’s night,
Nor is there salt of mercy lest it sap the hold of Might.
They strike — we may not answer, nor dare we ask them why.
We sold ourselves to supermen. If we rebel, we die.
—— —— —— —— * Cadi — judge. —— —— —— ——
I sat down once more on the hospital steps, and listened while Fred and Will relieved themselves of their opinions about German manners. Nothing seemed likely to relieve me. I had marched a hundred miles, endured the sickening pain, and waited an extra night at the end of it all simply on the strength of anticipation. Now that the surgeon would not see me, hope seemed gone. I could thin
k of nothing but to go and hide somewhere, like a wounded animal.
But there were two more swift shocks in store, and no hiding-place. The path to the water-front led past us directly along the southern boma wall. Before Fred and Will had come to an end of swearing they saw something that struck them silent so suddenly that I looked up and saw, too. Not that I cared very much. To me it seemed merely one last super-added piece of evidence that life was not worth while.
Plainly the launch had come from British East, of which Schubert had spoken. Hand in hand from the water-front, followed by the obsequious Schubert, all smiles and long black whip (for the chain-gang trailed after with the luggage, and needed to be overawed), walked Professor Schillingschen and Lady Isobel Saffren Waldon. They seemed in love — or at any rate the professor did, for he ogled and smirked like a bearded gargoyle; and she made such play of being charmed by his grimaces that the Syrian maid fell behind to hide her face.
None of us spoke. We watched them. Personally I did not mind the feeling that the worst had happened at last. I was incapable of sounding further depths of gloom — too full of pain bodily to suffer mentally from threats of what might yet be. But the other two looked miserable — more so because Fred’s bearded chin perked up so bravely, and Will set his jaw like a rock.
Not one of us had said a word when the biggest askari we had seen yet strode up to us — saluted — and gave Fred a sealed envelope. It was written in English, addressed to us three by name (although our names were wrongly spelled). We were required to present ourselves at the court-house at once, reason not given. The letter was signed “Liebenkrantz, — Lieutenant.”
The askari waited for us. I suppose it would not be correct to say we were under arrest, but the enormous black man made it sufficiently obvious that he did not intend returning to the court without us. The court-house was not more than two hundred yards away. As we turned toward it we saw Lady Saffren Waldon being helped into the commandant’s litter, borne by four men, the commandant himself superintending the ceremony with a vast deal of bowing and chatter, and Professor Schillingschen looking on with an air of owning litter, porters, township, boma, and all. As we turned our backs on them they started off toward the neat white dwelling on the hill.
