There was a lieutenant arrayed in spotless white with a saber in glittering scabbard watching us all from the boma gate.

A little later that morning we knew better why the Jew fled indoors at sight of him.
Schubert was standing in mid-square with a hundred askaris lined up two-deep in front of him.

There were no other Germans on parade.

The corporals were Nubians, and the rest of the rank and file either Nubian or some sort of Sudanese.

He was haranguing them in a bastard mixture of Swahili, Arabic, and German, they standing rigidly at attention, their rifles at the present.
Not content with the effect of his words, he strode up presently to a front-rank man and hit him in the face with clenched fist.