18 DECAPITATION OE TWO MURDERERS.
tied nor handcuffed, and guarded carelessly by a few
jesting soldiers. The Sultan’s order to proceed with
the execution not having arrived, a considerable delay
occurred, during which the most intelligent-looking of
the two prisoners stated to me that he had committed
the act when in a state of unconsciousness! A jail
official here announced that the Sultan wished the
sahib to give the order, and I informed Colonel Rigby
of the circumstance. He at once saw through the
timidity of the Sultan, and said, as the sentence had
been passed weeks ago, he could give no orders about
it. Returning to the place of execution, where both
men still sat, we found the mob had increased. An
Arab boldly asked me, “ Why should two men suffer
for-one white?” On my remarking that “ Sooner or
later the men must suffer—the sun was broiling over
the poor creatures’ heads—would it not be charity
to go on with the execution?” the reply was, “ They
are mere animals, and have no feeling.” Still no
one would give the order. Again the Sultan was
applied to. A rush was now rudely made on the
crowd by half-a-dozen handsomely-dressed Arabs,
brandishing their shields and swords. I thought it
was a rescue, but kept my place; and it appeared
they only wanted to get up to the prisoners, around
whom every one laughed heartily at the momentary
panic. Here one of the guard with whom I had been
conversing laid hold of my arm, and, followed by a
noisy drummer, the prisoners, and mob, we pushed on
for a dozen yards, and stopped in an open space where
some cows were lying. A twig of grass pinioned
each man, and they were made to sit on the ground,
EXECUTION SCENE. 19
speaking calmly, while the crowd, all crushing around,
joked as if at a holiday rout. Another delay occurred;
no one had given the order. On being asked, “Might
it commence?” I replied, “ Yes, certainly; proceed.”
The executioner at once took his place, drew his
sword, weighed it in his hand, threw up his sleeves,
and slipped his feet out of his shoes, while the dense
mass all seemed breathless. The executioner was a
small man, respectably dressed, looking like an Turban
“Nubbeebux.” The prisoners sat three yards apart,
one slightly in advance of the other. The foremost
was then ordered to bend his head, when, with one
stroke, the back of his neck was cut to the vertebrae;
he fell forward, and lay breathing steadily, with his
right cheek in his own blood, without a sound or
struggle. The executioner, after wiping his sword on
the loin-cloth of the dying man, coolly felt its edge.
The other victim had seen all, and never moved nor
spoke. The same horrible scene was again enacted,
but with a different result; the man jerked upwards
from his squatting position, and fell back on his left
side, with no sound nor after-struggle. Both appeared
as if in a sweet sleep; two chickens hopped on the
still quivering bodies, and the cows in the open space
lay undisturbed. I left the spot, hoping never to
witness such another scene; but I had the satisfaction
of feeling that justice was carried out, and
that had I not been present those murderers would
have escaped punishment, owing to the effeminacy
and timidity of the Sultan of Zanzibar. Their
accomplices, each with a cleft log on his neck,
were taken to witness the bodies: they were to