The tropic sun which scorches and burns the toughest of skins was now directed full on the pupils of his eyes.
The sailors sought comfortable positions and waited for a long exhibition of pain, but they were mistaken.

The torture acted far more quickly than even the whip.

There was no outcry.

Not once during his struggles did Van Roos make a sound from his throat, save for a quick, heavy panting.

Perhaps by contrast with the yells of Borgson, which were still in the ears of the men, this silence was more horrible than the most throat-filling shrieks.