“Since yesterday; and if you do not let me go, Kalulu will punish you for entering his hut.”
“We’ll see about that. Warriors, bear him to Ferodia!” said Tifum, turning to his companions.
And Selim was borne away, despite his remonstrances, to Ferodia’s presence, who happened to be seated under the tree in the middle of the square.
“Here is the runaway,” said Tifum, laying a heavy hand on Selim’s shoulder, to Ferodia.
“Ha! pale-faced dog!” shouted Ferodia, angrily. “What made you run away? Did you think to better yourself by doing so? Speak.”
“I am not a dog!” retorted Selim in a passion; for he was getting desperate at the prospect of another lease of such cruel bondage as he had experienced. “I am not a dog, but you are a dog.”
“Eyah, eyah! hear him! A slave insults Ferodia the chief!” cried the obsequious Tifum. “Fool, do you know what you say?”
“Silence, pariah!” thundered Selim, more passionately. “I defy you!—I spit on you! You are dirt. Do your worst, great chief—the Arab boy will not bend to you!”
As the boy uttered these words, showing more spirit, and such anger, and bitter contempt as none of the Watutu ever had witnessed before, both Ferodia and Tifum were struck speechless for a moment; but Ferodia broke the silence at last with fiery accents, saying:
“Tifum, dost thou hear me? Lay that stubborn ass down on his face and cut his back for me with thy whip. Beat, beat, and spare not.”