Condemned To The Torture
:
The Great White Queen
EAGER to witness the agony of the son of the powerful Naya of Mo, the
crowd of evil-faced men in silken robes who surrounded their brutal chief
watched with lively anticipation the preparations that were in a few
moments in active progress. The black slaves of the weirdly-dressed
executioner first carried in a large blazing brazier, and rolling away
the thick crimson carpet placed it upon the floor of polished marble in
front of Samory's divan.
A slave boy had, in response to a sign from the great chief, lit his long
pipe with its bejewelled mouthpiece, and as he half reclined on the couch
he smoked on calmly, regarding the execution of his orders with
undisguised satisfaction.
The slaves, each wearing black loin-cloths with bunches of sable ostrich
feathers on their heads that waved like funeral-plumes as they walked,
brought in grim-looking instruments of iron like blacksmiths' tools,
strange spiked chains, fetters with sharp spikes on the inside, and many
curiously-contrived irons, each devised to cause some horrible torture,
each red with rust, the rust of blood.
As my eyes fell upon them I involuntarily shuddered. Omar, my loyal
friend, was about to be murdered by these inhuman brutes, and I knew that
I was powerless to defend him from their fiendish wrath. Already he was
standing in the grip of two black-plumed slaves, while no attempt had
been made to secure me. I stood near him, breathlessly anxious,
wondering what the end would be.
Presently, when all was ready, a silence fell. Then, the deep voice of
Samory was heard, asking the final question:
"Speak, son of a dog," he cried, addressing my unhappy friend. "Wilt thou
tell us where the secret Treasure-house of the Sanoms is situated?"
"No," Omar answered, flashing at his enemy a look of defiance. "I will
not betray my mother's secret to my father's murderer."
"Then use thy powers of persuasion," he said, lifting his hand towards
the executioner. "Unseal his lips, and that quickly."
"Chief of our race, whose praises rise earliest and most frequent in the
presence of Allah, I am ready to obey thee," answered the hideous
functionary. So saying, he took up a long iron instrument, fashioned like
a pair of pincers and thrust it into the burning coals.
"Vain, O persecutor," cried Omar in a loud voice. "Vain are thy tortures
against the will power of the son of the Great White Queen, whose veins
are filled with royal blood. Tremble at thy doom, a myriad of my race are
determined against thee, and thy throne noddeth over thine head. The
fiend of darkness is let loose, and the powers of evil shall prevail."
"Hold thy peace," shouted the Moslem chieftain, enraged. "Thine own blood
shall make satisfaction for those of my race slain by thy warriors when
last we marched upon thy kingdom."
"The curses of Takhar, of Tuirakh, and of Zomara, dreaded by all men, be
upon thee," my companion cried, lifting his voice until it sounded loud
and clear through the vaulted hall, and pointing to the slave-raiding
king whose power no European influence could break. "May the vengeance
of my injured blood fasten upon thy life."
Those around Samory looked aghast as Omar uttered these ominous
predictions in the spirit of prophecy, for they perceived he spoke as he
was moved, and the whole council seemed dismayed. Silence and amazement
for a few moments prevailed. Omar alone appeared unconcerned at his fate.
Quickly, however, the executioner bent over his fire, and as the wretched
victim of the potentate's hatred was dragged to a kind of square iron
frame that lay upon the floor, thrown down, and fastened thereto by his
wrists and ankles, the fiendish-looking hireling took the long pincers,
now red hot, and tore from Omar's shoulder a great piece of flesh.
A piercing scream of agony rent the air, mingled with the triumphant
jeers of the excited councillors, but my friend's teeth were tightly
clenched and his face blanched to the lips. Again and again cries of
agony escaped him as the red-hot iron touched him, although he exerted
every nerve to maintain a dogged silence. From his back, shoulders, and
chest the brutal negro ruthlessly tore pieces, holding them up to the
assembled court in triumph, while the air was filled with the nauseating
odour of burning flesh.
The sight was so sickening that I turned faint, and with difficulty
prevented myself from falling.
"Wilt thou now impart to us the knowledge that we seek?" asked Samory in
ringing tones that sounded above the whispered exultations of his
courtiers.
"Never," gasped Omar in a weak voice, his eyes starting from his head.
"Life cannot be unchequered by the frowns of fate, but death must bring
dumbness to my lips. Caution, when besmeared in blood, is no longer
virtue, or wisdom, but wretched and degenerate cowardice; no, never let
him that was born to execute judgment secure his honours by cruelty and
oppression. Hath not thy Koran told thee that fear and submission is a
subject's tribute, yet mercy is the attribute of Allah, and the most
pleasing endowment of the vicegerents of earth."
"From the lips of a fool there sometimes falleth wisdom," Samory said
impatiently. "Thou hast deemed it wise to thwart the will of one whose
wish is law, therefore ere the bud of thy youth unfolds in the fulness of
manhood, thou shalt be cut off as the husbandman destroyeth the deadly
serpent in the field."
"Is there no way to build up the seat of justice and mercy but in
murder?" cried Omar. At a signal from the slave-raider, however, the
scarred-face brute again withdrew the pincers from the fiery brazier, and
applied them once more to the wretched prince's back.
He winced and turned with such strength that his limbs, fettered as they
were in bonds of blood-smeared iron, cracked, while the muscles and veins
stood out knotted like cords. The spotless marble of the floor was
stained by a dark red pool, becoming larger every moment as the
life-blood dripped slowly from beneath.
The scene was revolting. I placed my hands over my eyes to shut out from
my gaze the horrible contortions of the victim's face.
Yet those assembled were gleeful and excited. Omar was the son of their
unconquerable enemy, and they delighted in witnessing his humiliation and
agony. Times without number the negro with the strangely-marked visage
seared the flesh of my helpless companion; then in response to his orders
his black-plumed slaves drew tighter the bonds that confined his ankles
and wrists until the sound of the crushing of bones and sinews reached
our ears.
Again a loud shriek echoed along the high-roofed hall. Omar was no longer
able to bear the excruciating pain in silence.
"Courage," I cried in English, heedless of the consequences. "Courage.
Let this fiend see that he cannot rule us as he does his cringing
slaves."
"Think! think of yourself, Scars!" he gasped with extreme difficulty. "If
they kill me, forgive me for bringing you from England. I--I did not know
that this trap had been prepared for me."
"I forgive you everything," I answered, glancing for a moment at his
white, blood-smeared countenance. "Bear up. You must--you shall not die."
But even as I spoke, the executioner, who had been bending over the fire,
withdrew with his tongs a band of iron with long sharp spikes on the
inside now red with heat, and as the slaves released the pressure upon
his wrists and ankles the sinister-faced negro placed the terrible band
around the victim's waist and by means of a screw quickly drew it so
tight that the red-hot spikes ran into the flesh, causing it to smoke and
emit a hissing noise that was horrible.
Again poor Omar squirmed in pain and gave vent to a shrill, agonised cry.
But it was not repeated.
Everyone stood eager and open-mouthed, and even the villainous Samory
rose from his divan to more closely watch the effect of the fearful
torture now being applied.
The victim's upturned face was white as the marble pavement. From the
corners of the mouth a thin red stream oozed, and the closed eyes and
imperceptible breathing showed plainly that no torture, however inhuman,
could cause him further agony. He had lapsed into unconsciousness.
"Hold!" cried Samory at last, seeing the executioner about to prepare yet
another torture. "Take the pagan author of malice from my sight, let his
wounds be dressed, and apply thy persuasion unto him again to-morrow at
sundown. He shall speak, I vow before the great Allah and Mahomet, the
Prophet of the Just. He shall tell us where the treasure lieth hidden."
"O, light of the earth," cried one of the councillors, a white-bearded
sage who wore a robe of crimson silk beautifully embroidered. "Though the
hand of time hath not yet spread the fruits of manhood upon this youth's
cheeks, yet neither the splendour of thy court nor the words from thy
lips could steal from the young prince the knowledge of himself. He hath
cursed thee with the three curses of the pagans Takhar, Tuirakh, and
Zomara, the Crocodile-god, held in awe by all."
"Well, thinkest thou that I fear the empty threats of a youth whose
hostility towards me arises from the fact that I captured his father on
the Great Salt Road, and smiting off his head, sent it as a present to
the Naya?" asked Samory in indignation.
But as the black-plumed slaves removed the inanimate form of Omar, the
aged councillor stepped forward boldly, saying:
"I perceive, O source of light, that the dark clouds of evil are
gathering to disturb the hours of futurity; the spirits of the wicked are
preparing the storm and the tempest against thee; but--the volumes of
Fate are torn from my sight, and the end of thy troubles is unknown."
The councillors exchanged glances and stood aghast, but Samory, livid
with rage, sprang from his divan and commenced to upbraid the aged seer
for his words of warning. I was not, however, allowed to listen to the
further discussion of the old man's prophecy, being hurried by two of the
torturer's slaves back to my underground cell, where I remained alone for
many hours awaiting Omar, who, I presumed, was being brought back to
consciousness in another part of the great impregnable fortress, the
mazes of which were bewildering.