none of them knew The Marseillaise, so he
played that as an antidote each time after they had made the hard-wood
rafters ring and the smoke-filled air vibrate with Teutonic jingoism.
The Jew, who probably knew more than he cared to admit, grew more and
more beady-eyed each time The Marseillaise was played.

There was a pause in the proceedings at about ten o'clock, by which
time all the sergeants except Schubert were sufficiently drunk to feel
thoroughly at ease. Schubert was cold-eyed sober, although scarcely
any longer thirsty.

A native was brought in by two askaris and charged before Schubert with
hanging about the boma gate after dark. He was asked the reason. The
Jew, sitting beside me with his book of names and charges, poured cool
water over my bandages and translated to me what they all said. He
spoke English very well indeed, but in such low tones that I could
scarcely catch the words, drawing in his breath and not moving his lips
at all.

The native explained that he had waited to see the bwana makubwa--the
commandant. He had nowhere to go and no money with which to pay for
lodging, so he proposed to wait outside the gate and watch for the
coming of the commandant next morning. He would intercept him on his
way down from the white house on the hill.

He was asked why. To beg a favor. What favor? Satisfaction. For
what? For his daughter. He was the father of the girl whom the
commandant had favored with attentions. She had been a virgin. Now
she was to have a child. It would be a half-black, half-white child.
Who would now marry a woman with such a child as that? Yet nothing bad
been given her. She had been simply sent back home to be a charge on
her parents and an already poverty-stricken village. Therefore he had
come to ask that justice be done, and the girl be given at least a
present of money.

The sergeants roared with laughter, all except Schubert, who seemed
only appalled by the impudence of the request. He sat back and ordered
the story repeated.

"And you dare ask for money from the bwana makubwa!" he demanded.
"You dog of a Nyamwesi! Is the honor not sufficient that your black
brute of a daughter should have a baby by such a great person? You
cattle have no sense of honor! You must learn! Put him down! Beat
him till I say stop!"

There was no need to put him down, however. The motion of the hand,
voice inflection, order were all too well understood. The man lay
f