Too hopeless to expect mercy, she made no appeal for help, though the horrible fear that possessed her was eloquent in her wild-staring eyes.
In the universal beche-de-mer English, Captain Van Horn had learned that she was not regarded with relish by her companions, and that they were on their way to stake her out up to her neck in the running water of the Balebuli.

But first, before they staked her, their plan was to dislocate her joints and break the big bones of the arms and legs.

This was no religious rite, no placation of the brutish jungle gods.

Merely was it a matter of gastronomy.

Living meat, so treated, was made tender and tasty, and, as her companions pointed out, she certainly needed to be put through such a process.