The general motioned to a man foremost among the group.
One of the guards thrust the man forward. He approached the general, plainly cowed. The officer spoke a few words to him; then turned to the men with the whips.
“Ten lashes!” he ordered.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the first lash fell upon the man’s shoulders. He uttered a moan of pain, but he did not cry out. Again and again the lash fell; until the ten blows had been delivered. Then the prisoner stumbled back to his place.
Jack grew sick at the sight.
The next man summoned before the general was the Russian who had occupied the dungeon with Jack. The man went forward quietly and with an air that impressed the lad with its courageousness. Again there were a few short words and the officer ordered:
“Ten lashes!”
The Russian made no move as the first whip descended across his shoulders. He took the next blow unflinchingly and the others that followed, and returned to his place without a word.
All this time Jack had been standing within a few feet of the place where the whipping had taken place. He had stuck to the spot, for he knew it would be unwise to show any sign of weakness or fear.
The next to face the general was a woman. Perhaps her age was thirty, perhaps fifty. From her face, so care-worn and haggard, it was impossible to tell. A few words the general held with her, too, then turned to the men who wielded the whips.