I sprang up and rushed into the house, but what I had been sent for I could not think. I sat on the ground and wondered, and again I sent my eyes round the little hut. Ah! that is it! oil, of course. They have plenty of meat, and are going to make palm-oil chop. I seized the calabash of oil from under the bed, and ran with it to the woman who had sent me, and was received with a chorus of “Bia! bia!” (“Just so”), and for the third time received the old chief’s pat on the head, and heard the words, “Mwana mbai!” I began to feel a little less strange, and to listen for other words, for I had already found that the way to please these people was to be bright and do my best. I found that they called nyáma (meat), tito; bauta (oil), mune; ngoya (mother), ngwao, and fafa (father), sango, and I was just trying to learn these words well so as to remember them afterwards, when the chief called to me, “Bokwala!” “Em’óne” (“I am here”), said I, in my own language, for I knew not how else to answer. “Dua na yeka dia,” said he, beckoning me to their group, who were gathered round to take their evening meal, which was just being served. I drew near, and received my share of food, and so I learnt some more words, which meant, “Come and eat food.” I began to think that my master did not seem a bad sort of man after all, and that perhaps I might get used to my life there; but then I could not help remembering the fight, and that only two nights before these people had been feasting off my people, and would do so again when they had an opportunity, and I went to sleep that night with my mind made up that if ever I could see the least chance to do so, I would escape, even if it had to be alone. Many days and nights passed in this way, we slaves having to do all kinds of work and being sent on errands continually, sometimes even being told to mind the little children when the mothers went to their gardens. Of course, we looked upon all this as oppression, and felt great shame, for we boys frequently had to do women’s work, and what can be more degrading than that? And I could never forget that I was the son of a chief! As we learnt more of their language, and began to understand what was said in our presence, we found that there was plenty of reason for fear as to our future, even though we had been kept alive for the present. When our people were spoken of it was as tito (meat), and fighting expeditions were looked upon as hunts. It was quite usual to ratify agreements between chiefs by the killing of a slave and feasting on the body, and this was even done sometimes when a chief wanted to pay special honour to a visitor. And when we heard these things being discussed and plans being laid for them, we trembled with fear, and wondered how long we should be all there together.