In vain did the
unfortunate man protest his innocence. A swarthy Kroot-boy from Cape
Coast laid the cat on his brown shoulders right willingly, for he also
was an enemy of Sooka's; and in a few minutes the poor fellow's flesh
was cut and scored as if by a knife.
After the flogging was over Mr. Bransome amused himself by getting out
his rifle and firing fancy shots at Sooka, still tied to the post; that
is, he tried to put the bullets as close to the poor wretch as he could
without actually wounding him. To a negro, with his dread of firearms,
this was little short of absolute torture, and at each discharge Sooka
writhed and crouched as close to the ground as he could, while his
wide-opened eyes and mouth, and face of almost a slate colour, showed
how terribly frightened he was. To Mr. Bransome it appeared to be
fine sport, for he fired at least twenty shots at the man before he
shouldered his rifle and went indoors. Jackson said nothing to this
stupid exhibition of temper, but as soon as it was over he had Sooka
released; and I knew he attended to his wounds himself, and poured
friar's balsam into them, and covered his back with a soft shirt--for
all which, no doubt, the negro was afterward grateful.
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