Passionate in the extreme, too, she was, and if a slave or subject dared to disobey, a prick from the poisoned spear was the reward, and he or she was dragged out into the bush to writhe and die in terrible agony.
Probably a more frightful woman never reigned as queen, even in cannibal lands.
Kaloomah, on his arrival, bent himself down--nay, but threw himself on his knees and face abjectly before her, as if he were scarcely worthy to be her footstool.
But she greeted his arrival with a smile, and bade him arise.
"Many presents have we brought," he said in the figurative language of the Indian. "Many presents to the beautiful mother of the sun. Cloth of scarlet, of blue, and of green, cloth of rainbow colours, jewels and beads, and the fire-water of the pale-faces."
"Produce me the fire-water of the pale-faces," she returned. "I would drink."
Her voice was husky, hoarse, and horrible.
Kaloomah beckoned to a slave, and in a few minutes a cocoa-nut shell, filled with rum, was held to her lips.
The queen drank, and seemed happier after this. Kaloomah thought he might now venture to broach another subject.
"We have brought your majesty also a little daughter of the pale-faces!"