Nine-and-forty strokes he took without a sign of yielding.

At the eight-and-fortieth Sachse moaned a little, and the referee gave the match against him.
Schubert rose to his feet unaided, grinning, red in the face, but without any tortured look.
"Now you can say forever that you have flogged two white men!" he told the askari.
"Who will believe me ?" the man answered.
Sachse had to be helped to his feet.

He was pale and demanded brandy.
"What did I tell you ?" laughed Schubert.

"A Prussian is better than any man! Look at him, and then at me!" He shouted for his servant, who had to be fetched from the boma--a smug-faced little rascal, obviously in love with the glory reflected on the sergeant-major's servant.

He was made to produce a basin and cold water--he discovered them somewhere in the dim recesses of the store--and sponge his master's raw posterior before us all.