It was just after sunrise that we moved off again; my guardian must have been impressed with my importance, for he saddled the camel for me himself, and |37| brought me a gourd of camel’s milk. During this day’s journey, the Emir Mohammad Hamza, of the Jaalin tribe, who was commanding a section of the dervishes, rode up to me and inquired about my health—the usual form of salutation. He told me not to be afraid of any harm coming to me, and then rode off again. That evening we arrived at a small encampment of dervishes close to some wells, when I was taken before another Emir whom I was told was Makin en Nur, and who, from the deference paid him by the others, was doubtless the chief. He, too, put a few questions to me of the same commonplace nature as the others, and waved his hand for me to be removed. On being sent for again, I was accused of being a Government spy, and asked what I had to say for myself. I replied, “I have told you the truth; what do you want me to do now? tell you a lie, and say I _am_ a spy? If I do so you will kill me for saying I am one, and if I say again I am _not_, you will not believe me, and kill me just the same. I am not afraid of you; do as you please.” When he questioned me again, I said, “I refuse to answer any more questions.” My manner of speaking to them caused no little surprise, as it was doubtless different to what they had expected, and to what they had formerly experienced from captives. A young dervish was called in, and told to conduct me to a spot removed from the other prisoners. As we walked along, the youth said, “God is just; God is bounteous; please God to-morrow our eyes shall be gladdened by seeing a white Kaffir yoked with |38| a shayba to a black one.” This shayba is the forked limb of a tree; the fork is placed on the neck pressing against the larynx, the stem projecting before the wearer; the right wrist is then tightly bound to the stem with thongs of fresh hide, which soon dry and “bite” the flesh, and the ends of the fork drawn as closely together as possible, and fastened with a cross-piece. It is a cruel instrument of torture, for the arm must be kept extended to its utmost; to attempt to relieve the tension means pressure on the larynx; but when yoked to another man he throws pressure on you, and you on him. A prod in the ribs under the arm of either victim, with sword or rifle, affords endless amusement to their tormentors in the victims’ gapes and grimaces as they gasp for breath; but the captor’s cup of happiness is filled when an extra hard prod knocks one man off his feet, and the poor wretches are only helped up again when they are almost choking.