Broken by that grim suspense, Borgson yelled in terror.
Kamasura laughed and glanced at the circle of sailors like a ringmaster in a circus in search of applause.

The whip now whirled rapidly over his head and fell again and again, and every stroke brought a fresh and louder scream from the mate.

Another sound, rhythmic and barbarous, punctuated those shrieks of anguish.

It was the singing of Kamasura, who as he wielded the lash remembered a chant of his native land and shouted it now in time with the blows of the blacksnake.
On the upper deck Sloan lay prone on his face, sobbing with terror; Harrigan kept his face hid and clutched at his head with both hands; McTee stared straight down upon the scene of the torture with burning eyes.

Inside the wheelhouse Kate crouched beside the bunk on which Henshaw was stretched, staring straight above his head.