The gestures were pantomimic and menaced him with abominable mutilations; the words described in simple and unexpurgated language the grievous death agonies which immediately awaited him, and the eternity of torture in hell which he would subsequently suffer.
Feversham understood and inwardly shuddered, but he only imitated her gestures and nodded and mowed at her as though she was singing to him of Paradise.

Others, taking their war-trumpets, placed the mouths against the prisoner's ears and blew with all their might.
"Do you hear, Kaffir ?" cried a child, dancing with delight before him.
"Do you hear our ombeyehs?
Blow louder! Blow louder!" But the prisoner only clapped his hands, and cried out that the music was good.
Finally there came to the group a tall warrior with a long, heavy spear.
A cry was raised at his approach, and a space was cleared.

He stood before the captive and poised his spear, swinging it backward and forward, to make his arm supple before he thrust, like a bowler before he delivers a ball at a cricket match.

Feversham glanced wildly about him, and seeing no escape, suddenly flung out his breast to meet the blow.

But the spear never reached him.