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.