They stood one each side of their victim and brought the whips down on his naked skin alternately.
"Slowly!" ordered Schubert.

"Slowly, and with all your strength! The brute doesn't feel it when you beat so fast! Let him wait for the blow! Don't let him know when it's coming! So--so is better!" Not every blow drew blood, for a native's skin is thick and tough, especially where he sits.

But the blows that fell on the back and thighs all cut the skin, and within two minutes the native's back was a bloody mass, and there was blood running on the floor, and splashes of blood on the whitewashed wall cast by the whips as they ascended.
I made up my mind the man was going to be killed, for Schubert gave no order and the askaris did not dare stop without one.

The victim writhed, but did not cry out, and the writhing grew less.

Even Brown sobered up for a time at the sight of it.